#rip replay button

[pellucid-constellations]

Fable - During

Pairing: Azriel x Reader

Summary: Azriel was too late, and something was brewing. The fate of your wings rested in the balance and there was nothing left of him to reconcile with.

Word count: 2.2k

Warnings: Angst, injury, violence

a/n: This is part of a mini-series but each part can be read on its own/out of order. The next part is going to be long guys <3 Thank you for reading all of this angst!!!

Series Masterlist (all parts ♡)

~~

The ground beneath Azriel’s feet must have disappeared. 

He was unstable, falling, plummeting into an unknown abyss. 

When he looked down, Azriel saw the plush carpet at his feet, but as he replayed Rhysand’s words—four words, echoing—the blur behind his eyes made the physical obsolete. We can’t find her, Rhysand had said, followed by a multitude of questions from Cassian that Azriel could not hear. Everything was buzzing and the carpet was gone. 

Where was Lucien? Azriel remembered that Lucien was to go with you. Where was he? 

He had to be dead because if he were alive and you were missing, Azriel would kill him himself. 

“Lucien,” Azriel spoke, his voice rough, interrupting the conversation he had not been part of. 

“What?” Rhysand asked. 

But Cassian ignored his High Lord’s confusion. “She was never bringing Lucien,” he growled, throwing his brother a sneer. “She only said that to make sure you went on your date. I told her I should’ve come. I told her—” 

Azriel had lost his breath. He was grappling for it, trying to make sense of Cassian’s words as his lungs began to burn, but you wouldn’t do that, would you? Why would you lie to him? Over something like this? 

“Cassian, enough,” Azriel gasped, the buzzing of his brother’s voice a constant barrier in the losing battle within his head. “Who’s looking for her? Where should we go?” 

Azriel was dressed in a ridiculous button-up shirt with slacks that now felt too tight on his legs. His sleeves were rolled up to his forearms and his shadows took advantage of the open space, trailing up to protect him from nothing. Because nothing was here—he wasn’t in danger. 

You were. 

Azriel had only gotten through drinks with Elain before the call from his High Lord sent him into the sky. He couldn’t remember if he apologized. Azriel’s shoes were pinching his feet. 

“I had just lost connection with her when I called you. I sent her to the northeast camp. There’s a possibility that—” 

Azriel was traveling through the shadows, darkness consuming him before Rhysand could finish his sentence. He should have grabbed Cassian for backup, but that was a thought Azriel would only have much, much later. 

His mind was on you—only on you. 

That wasn’t unnatural for Azriel; you were one of the most important people in his life and you had been in trouble before. Life-threatening, war-induced trouble, but somehow, this felt different. 

You had been distant lately. 

Azriel had noticed, but Azriel had also been so zeroed in on getting Elain’s attention that he figured he would have time to check on you in a few weeks. 

When he landed in the camp, the foreboding quiet made him consider that he might never get to check on you again. Illyrian camps were never quiet. There was always shouting or fighting or nagging mothers getting after their young. But the insects in the bushes could be heard in this camp, and Azriel paused amid his racing heart to make sense of the noise. 

And then he heard the scream. 

Your scream.

And he was running. 

His shoes groaned as they pounded into soft dirt and you screamed again. Azriel had never heard that sound come from you. The way it erupted into the air—it was as if it was ripped from your throat, evoked from nothing but agony. 

He pushed himself harder, faster, until the screams became closer and a small hut materialized on the horizon. The image of the quaint house brought Azriel relief, but that relief was short-lived because your screams had become tired in his journey. With each step, your voice broke more and more and Azriel didn’t even feel angry. 

The rage he expected to feel was consumed by the terror that gripped him. 

He ripped open the door and that terror only increased tenfold. 

Azriel was usually focused during battle, his mind razor-sharp. He was known for calculating every step, for remembering each life he took, and being able to recount each slice of his blade when asked for a report days later. Azriel was a warrior and a spy. 

But Azriel could not remember his actions. 

From the moment he opened the door and found you on the ground, surrounded by enemies and so broken, he lost the ability to calculate anything other than death. 

He figured a few must have gotten away because he vaguely registered that the door made a sound. But over the screams, that sound was inconsequential, and with the image of you before him, lying in your blood, chest only minutely rising and falling, everything else was inconsequential. 

He only remembered that the rage finally found him. 

Only when bodies littered the floor did the anger make way for the visceral fear that came with reaching for you—grabbing you as you let out small, weak sounds and took labored breaths. 

“Y/n?” Azriel stressed, eyes roving over your figure with haste that his hands couldn't match. He had to be careful; so much of you was broken. “Y/n,” he spoke again, as if the echo of your name would somehow fix you, snap you out of the hurt. 

Azriel’s breath quivered. His scarred hands hovered over your skin now, afraid to touch you more than to bring you into his arms. His fingers shook. Your wings—it was your wings. 

“You’re okay,” Azriel affirmed, whispering only to himself. “You’re okay. You’re okay.” 

Salt tainted the surface of his tongue, and Azriel then recognized that he was crying. Fat, heavy tears blurred his vision and fell into his mouth as he repeated his mantra into the stagnant air. 

Your wings looked beyond repair. When Hybern destroyed Cassian’s, the roots remained. The delicate flesh was burned and torn, but regrowth was still feasible.

Only small pieces of the membrane along your back remained. 

Azriel’s soul wept. 

You groaned, and Azriel stopped his inspection of your back, his hands brushing your hair off from where it stuck to your skin. 

“Y/n?” he tried again. “Can you hear me? I’m—I’m going to bring you home, okay? You’re going to be fine, I promise.” 

He shouldn’t have promised that. His voice broke as he spoke the words and Azriel knew he shouldn’t have promised that because you only let out a broken rendition of ‘my wings?’ that Azriel had no response to. He only squeezed his eyes shut and pressed his forehead to your temple before shadows consumed him once more. They had been rampaging around the pair, whispering worried, angry words in Azriel’s ear, but they remained faithful. 

They brought you home. 

Mor screamed first. 

He assumed everyone would be out looking for you, but Azriel hadn’t broken the connection to Rhysand’s mind, and they had been expecting him. His family stood before him as your blood stained the rug of his High Lord’s favorite sitting room. Rhysand was missing, gone to retrieve Madja, but Azriel was only looking for those he knew could help you. 

His throat caught on air as he frantically searched for Feyre in the room. When he saw her wide eyes, he let out a desperate, “Help her,” that sounded nothing like him. His High Lady’s shoulders rose and fell with hurried panic as she came forward and then hesitated. 

Azriel heard someone vomit in the corner of the room—Cassian, he thought—and Mor came to kneel beside him. 

“Feyre,” he sobbed. “Please. Please, try.” 

Mor was crying. Cassian had wiped his mouth and come to stand beside Feyre, but everyone was too afraid to touch you. You rested in Azriel’s arms, but even his palms remained face up and did not connect with your skin. He would break you more, he was sure of it. Your wings bent at odd angles and hung from your body by only tethered threads and no one knew what to do. 

Azriel thought that dying would be better than this. 

His button-up was stained red. 

“Fuck.” Rhysand’s voice rattled the air in the House. At some point, Feyre had broken her hesitancy and kneeled before you, a gentle glow emitting from her hands as she tried to stitch together the broken remains of your skin. When her mate appeared with the elder healer, she turned wild eyes towards him. Rhysand stood frozen, mimicking each person in the room, but he was the High Lord—a composed leader—so his reverie lasted only seconds before he was sent into action. 

“The table,” Rhysand demanded. “Lay her on the table.” 

No one moved. 

Azriel couldn’t stop looking at you. 

Madja then spoke, no, demanded, “Now.” 

The table was cleared, everything swiped to the floor with abandon. As gently as he could, Azriel rose from the floor on shaking legs and heaved you up with him, offering soft apologies as you cried out. He wished you would pass out from the pain, be free of it all, but the agonizing reality that you might not wake up struck him harder. 

“I’m so sorry, y/n,” he whispered against your hair. His body ached. Azriel leaned you against the table as the other members of his family turned you on your stomach. He kneeled to meet your lidded gaze, your face pressed against the wood. “Madja’s going to fix it, okay?” 

The healer was giving orders—Cassian to get water, Mor to support your head, Feyre for support. It was all a buzz in Azriel’s ears. He licked his lips and tried to meet your eyes, but they were trailing off, unfocused. 

“Y/n?” he tried. “Angel?” A name he had dropped once Elain came into the picture. Your lashes fluttered. His attention peaked. “It’s okay, angel. I’m so, so sorry. I’m sorry—” 

Azriel was torn from his position on the ground, a heavy hand shoving him up and against the wall. His shadows remained caressing your skin, but a fist met Azriel's face and he lost sight of you. 

“This is your fault.” 

“Cassian!” Mor called, desperately pleading with no one. 

“It is,” Cassian seethed, his arm pressed to the Shadowsinger’s throat. “If he hadn’t been searching for something with a woman not even meant to be his, he would have been there. She would have said anything to ensure your happiness. Anything, Azriel.” 

Azriel blinked and Cassian’s face was inches from his own. “I didn’t—” 

“You have been blinded, brother. You’ve been blind for years and now this is the price.” 

“I don’t—what are you saying?” Azriel pleaded, trying and failing to look over Cassian’s broad wings to catch a glimpse of you. 

“Cassian, this is not the time,” Mor scolded, but the anguish burned so deeply in Cassian’s eyes that Azriel could tell he wasn’t hearing her. 

“She gave you everything,” his brother continued. “She—” 

Your scream punctuated the building tension in the room. Cassian whipped around and Azriel used the opportunity to shove him away, the Shadowsinger racing to your side once again. But, once again, he was pushed away. Rhysand held his shoulder back this time, shaking his head with a furrowed brow. 

The screams echoed in the room and they hurt. 

They hurt everyone. 

Feyre and Mor stood beside Madja, the three of them set to the fruitless task of saving your wings. A small part of Azriel spoke the truth that they were also just trying to save you. You had lost so much blood and he still knew nothing of your other injuries. 

“Rhys,” Azriel begged, beseeching him with his gaze. 

But Rhysand only shook his head once more. “They need the space.” 

“She needs me.” 

Cassian scoffed and ground his jaw, but a glance in the general’s direction found only tears and the quivering of his lips as he pressed them together. 

“You need to let them work.” 

“This is my fault,” Azriel spoke, his tone dead, lost within the echo of your screams. “I was seeing Elain,” he admitted. He met Rhysand’s eyes. “You told me not to. She lied so I could go.” 

Rhysand didn’t even look disappointed. He didn’t look surprised. He only ticked his jaw to the side and breathed deeply through his nose as your screams filled the room once more. 

Azriel flinched. The soles of his shoes were caked with blood and cracked along the stitches. 

Rhysand would have the right to be angry. He had the right to send Azriel away and force him to sit in uncertainty and the consequences of the night, but Rhysand found something familiar in the Shadowsinger’s eyes—something different. Something that Rhysand could find in himself if he were to search his mind from the night he thought Feyre to be dead. 

Impossible, the High Lord assumed, but you were still screaming and there was no time to inspect the intricacies of Azriel’s reaction. 

So Rhysand only held back the maelstrom of his own emotions, his sister broken on the table just feet from him, and kept his response to that of a leader. 

“Let them work, Azriel.”

[drudinn]

bet.

Kenji Sato (Ultraman Rising) x F!Reader 

Synopsis: How will the infamous baseball star react when you make a bet with him before his game?

Content: MDNI established relationship, cocky!ken, no use of y/n (second person pov) pet names, swearing | smut, unprotected, praise, rough, ch0king, oral (fem!receiving), dirty talk, fingering, dom!ken, br33ding, overstimulation

Word Count: 2704

A/N: The Ken Sato show is on replay in my head 24/7 and this fic is to feed my fixation. First fic I've ever written be nice </3. Pls let me know if you wanna see more! (asks open hehe)

MASTERLIST

Being engaged to the baseball superstar Ken Sato has its pros and cons. Pros being, having a loving partner, a lavish lifestyle, and essentially anything you wanted. Whereas, the cons were Kenji’s competitive temperament. Which to be fair, had its perks in itself; One of which was being able to push his buttons just so he could put you in his place. 

౨ৎ°⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

Upon entering the Tokyo Dome, your ears were met with the roars of the stadium and the soft chants of your fiance's name, “Sato! Sato! Sato!”. This was his highly anticipated debut game for the Yomiuri Giants, and every fan in the stadium was looking forward to seeing him. You felt a sense of admiration as you took in the sight of thousands of dedicated fans. You then quickly turned your attention to the section of the stadium that housed the players locker rooms.

Before heading to the vip section of the stadium, you made the decision to see Kenji and give him some motivation before his game. You tidied yourself up, brushing off the specks of dust on your dress. This was a big day for Kenji, the least you can do is look the utmost best for him.

Your knuckles met the hard wood of the large double doors that led to the locker room, and you paused before inviting yourself in.

“Kenji?” You called out into the seemingly empty locker room. 

Kenji perked up upon hearing your voice and walked over to the locker room entrance. “What are you doing here, baby?” he said as he leaned on the wall, giving you a warm smile. You couldn’t help but admire him. He was in the middle of changing into his uniform, his jet black hair disheveled from his baseball helmet. Seeing this soft, yet sexy side of him riled you up. You glanced down and noticed the buttons on his jersey that read ‘GIANTS’ across it, were yet to be buttoned up.

You approached him, pressing a soft peck on his cheek as you reached towards the buttons of his jersey. You carefully buttoned it up for him, your touch soft and precise.

As you buttoned up the last button, your lips formed into a sweet smile as you smoothed out the jersey, “Just wanted to see you before you stepped out onto the field.”

Kenji’s hands carefully wrap around your waist as he pulls you in closer. He hums satisfied with your soft gesture. “Mm, how thoughtful of you baby.” he whispers to you softly.

You press your cheek to his chest and smile. “Kenji,” you say in a low and mischievous tone.

“Wanna make a bet?”

Kenji looked down at you suspiciously. He knew that tone, he knew your antics. He raised his brow at you, a small grin forming on his face. “What do you have in mind?”

Your arms snaked up his figure to wrap around his neck and press a kiss to his jaw. Kenji’s breath hitched and his hands traveled down your ass to give it a playful squeeze. 

You pulled him close and in a low and sultry voice said, “If you score a homerun tonight, you get to rip this dress off me after your game.” Kenji smirked at your deal and cocked his eyebrow amused. “Just one sweetheart? You doubtin’ me?” He shook his head before meeting your gaze. “And if I don’t?” 

You giggled low in his ear. “No sex for the next three days.” 

Kenji pulled away to look at you in mock offense. He recollected himself and let out a breathless chuckle. “We can’t have that, can we?” he said with a cocky grin. 

You shook your head and grabbed him by his collar to press a quick kiss to his lips before pulling away. Kenji whined as he felt you break the kiss and walk back to the door. He followed you over to open the door for you, a pout present on his face as he watched you walk out. You turned around to give him a wink, and mouthed a loving “good luck” before, turning back around and making your way to the stands. 

You took your seat and watched as the players took their spots on the field, you watched awaiting for Kenji’s arrival. The Jumbotron flashed Kenji’s face as he walked out onto the field and the stadium roared at his presence.

“Sato! Sato! Sato!”

 Kenji felt his adrenaline pumping as the crowd's chant echoed through the stadium. He always loved the thrill of being cheered for, the feeling of everyone's eyes on him as he walked up to home plate. This time around it was extra special knowing you were in the crowd cheering for him alongside everyone else. His eyes roamed the stadium until he found your gaze and flashed you a smile. He gripped his bat tightly, a sly grin on his face as he eyed the pitchers mound.

Once he stepped up to the plate, the crowd's chant became louder and more intense. He breathed in the energy of the stadium, and even still the only thought that lingered in his mind was that little bet of yours and the image of you helpless under him. He repositioned his hold on his bat, his muscles tense with anticipation. The tension in the stadium was palpable, as fans held their breath waiting for the first pitch.

The pitcher threw the ball at Kenji and you leaned in with hyperfocus as you watched Kenji slam his bat into the ball with perfect precision. Time slowed as you watched the ball fly into the stands, and the crowd erupted with excitement. “A beautiful home run from Ken Sato!” The announcer exclaimed. 

You looked at the jumbo-tron and saw his face on the screen, his name flashing in bright orange letters. He ran the bases with a charming smile and pointed at the camera with a wink you knew was for you. He won the bet; simple as that. 

The game goes on, with Kenji dominating the field and hitting amazing shots left and right. The fans go wild with every strike, and the atmosphere is electric. He has a shit eating grin the entire time and you can’t help but roll your eyes at his ego that you secretly loved so much. You knew what was waiting for you once the game ended and you squeezed your thighs together in anticipation. 

The opposing team was struggling to keep up, and their pitcher was starting to look dejected. Kenji's teammates pat him on the back and cheer every time he makes it back to the dugout. During the final stretch of the game Kenji hits the game-winning homerun. 

Confetti flutters down from the ceiling like a shower of colorful rain, creating a beautiful celebration. Kenji's teammates mob him on the field, cheering and congratulating him on his performance. 

The fans are ecstatic, chanting "Sato! Sato! Sato!" as they celebrate another Giants' victory. Kenji looks up at you with that same cocky smile he gave you in the locker room. He tilts his head at you and you know the meaning it holds, it stood as a warning more than anything. 

He won, and god he was not planning on holding back when claiming his reward.

Kenji found you waiting for him outside the locker room and it took everything in him not to take you right then and there. You practically purred at his touch. “Congratulations baby.” 

“Thanks for the motivation.” He mumbled as he dug his lips into the crook of your neck. 

Shit he needed to get you home now. He practically dragged you to his car and sped his way through the streets of tokyo. One look at you through his rearview mirror had him clutching the steering wheel tighter. You met his gaze in the rearview mirror and spread your legs teasingly. He clenched his teeth at the sight as his pants grew tighter and patience grew thin. “Keep that attitude up, sweet girl.” He parked the car in front of his house and upon entering he wasted no time sinking his teeth in your neck as he threw you on the couch. You landed on the plush sofa and before you could you react, Kenji was clawing at your dress like an animal. He ripped the dress off of you in one swift motion, paying no mind as it landed somewhere in the distance.

 He groaned at the sight of your naked body as he toyed with the hem of your underwear.

“Fuck, you have no idea what you do to me, baby.” He pressed a soft kiss to your collar and your body shuddered at the contact. His fingers hooked around your underwear as he pulled them off with ease. 

“Kenji.” You breathed out helplessly. He was right where he wanted you and he was just getting started. He peppered small kisses from your neck to your chest as his hands roamed your body, memorizing every curve. Your whines only egged him on as he moved to squeeze your chest. You let out a soft moan at the feeling and your body ignited.

 He shifted his weight as he moved lower down your body. His big hands traveled down your thighs and spread them to reveal your wet throbbing cunt. He got on his knees as he pulled you towards the edge of the couch to leave teasing kisses across your thighs. His kisses trailed dangerously close to your entrance, but never made contact, making you squirm. You buck your hips at the sensitivity and he lets out a low chuckle. “So needy.” He runs his tongue along your thigh and just as you open your mouth to complain, he takes your pussy into his mouth. 

You throw your head back as he licks slow circles around your clit. Your needy whines are all he needs to hear as he sucks on your clit and licks a long strip through your folds. You taste better than any dessert he’s ever had, and he's sure he could stay in between your thighs for hours. Your fingers tug at his soft black locks, as his tongue fucks your sopping cunt. He dips a finger into your entrance and you feel your eyes roll back. “Oh my god Kenji-” 

He curls his fingers and you scream as he makes contact with the spot that's sure to throw you over the edge. He thrusts his long fingers in and out at a relentless pace as his tongue laps up your sweet juices. He looks up at you with half lidded eyes and smiles against your pussy when he sees your exasperated expression. Seeing you so fucked out and helpless under him does something to his ego he couldn’t explain. 

“Can’t get enough of this sweet lil cunt.” He drawls. The overstimulation of his tongue and fingers plunging deep into your tight cunt drives you to the edge embarrassingly fast. 

“Ngh- fuck kenji. M’close” 

He feels you squeeze around him and he hums satisfied. “Cum f’me. Let go, sweet girl.” He sucks harder and you swear you see stars as your orgasm hits you like a wave. You’re arching your back and tugging at his hair, as Kenji’s fingers fuck you through your high. 

“Goood fuckin slut.” he grins as you grind against his mouth, greedily soaking in the pleasure. He smiles as your chest heaves up and down after you finish. He looks down at your splayed and exhausted figure with a chuckle. He reached his hand down to brush the hair from your sweaty forehead and pressed a kiss to your temple. 

“Look so pretty like this baby.” He says with a smile before taking his shirt off and unbuckling his belt to strip his pants and boxers off. He pushed his erection against your heat teasingly and throbbed when he heard you whimper.

 He pulled you up, flipped you onto your stomach and pressed your face into the couch. You yelped at the sudden change in position, but played along as you arched your back presenting your ass to him on full display. He growled as his palm made contact with your cheek, the noise of the slap ricocheting off the room along with your moans.

“Fuck.”

 He pulled you flush against him and without warning sunk his cock into your cunt. He let out a guttural moan as he watched his cock disappear into your pussy. He grabs a fistful of your hair as he pulls out, only to slam his thick cock back inside. 

“So. fuckin. tight.” He snarls with each thrust, not once letting his pace falter. His length splits you apart, and as you lose yourself in the pleasure, part of you begins to second guess if you should’ve made such an easy bet in the first place. Kenji relishes in the way you arch so beautifully against him and lets out a moan. “So perfect.” he praises under his breath as his hands roam your body shamelessly. 

He pulls you up, and fucks you at a deeper angle, hitting a delicious spot inside of you that makes you mewl. His fingers wrap around the base of your neck as he squeezes softly to remind you who exactly is responsible for the reason you’re a mess right now. His breath is strained against your ear as you clamp mercilessly around his cock. He sucks at the skin on your neck, that's sure to leave a mark. He didn’t care, at least everyone would know you were his. 

The sound of your slick and the slapping of skin fill the noise of the living room. 

You sob at the intensity of his thrusts, “Hah- shit Kenji, d-don’t stop”. 

He indulges in your sweet moans and rocks his hips into you faster and sloppier. “Takin’ me so well.” 

He groans in your ear as he pulls out to reposition you on your side. You looked like a fucking masterpiece to him, and if he could burn this sight into his head he would. He smiles feverishly as he pounds into your poor pussy, your cervix sure to be bruised. You practically whine at the feeling as you feel your orgasm approach you. You babble on and on about how close you are, and Kenji only grips your thighs tighter in response. You scream as you come undone on his cock and he groans when he feels you squeeze him impossibly tighter.

 “Atta fuckin’ girl.” Despite your soft cries and desperate pleas that you were sensitive and overstimulated he doesn’t stop.

 He sucks in a breath of air as he presses his body against you, and you wrap your legs around his torso. He huffs in your ear as his rhythm gets sloppier and you know he's close, “It’s like you're made for me.” 

Kenji was drunk off your pussy and god was he close. You squeeze your legs around him tighter, a silent plea for him to fill your sweet cunt up with his seed. He doesn’t hesitate as he bucks his hips into you, and with a final thrust cums deep inside your cunt. You whine as you feel his warm seed fill you up. He pulls out hesitantly as he catches his breath and watches as his cum seeps out of your pussy. He gathers your slick with his fingers and shoves it back inside with a smile. 

“Good girl.” He pats your thigh lovingly before he walks off to get a towel and clean you up. He returns and presses a sweet kiss to your forehead before cleaning up the mess in between your thighs. Kenji props himself up next to you on the couch and opens his arms for you to get comfortable in his embrace. You cuddle up close to him and he wraps his arms around you as he whispers sweet nothings into your ear.

 “That bet was too easy,” He jibes at you as you roll your eyes.

 “Whatever,” You mumble back, careful not to inflate his already high ego. He giggles at your remark and holds you closer to whisper in your ear. 

“Let’s make another bet, baby.”

[neeeooon]

shut me up ;

30 | eat that girl for lunch

ft. fem!reader & reo, kunigami, chigiri, nagi, bachira, rin, isagi, kaiser, shidou, sae

cw. cussing, kms + kys jokes, suggestive (looks, lyrics, feelings), mentions of sex (past)

staring down at your homework, posture horrendous, you wondered why it was so quiet next door. not just that night, but ever since the incident with drunk kaiser. you weren’t complaining, but you found it strange that kaiser hadn’t invited anyone over.

focusing back on your schoolwork, you popped in an earbud and hit one of your playlists to numb your brain. you hummed along to lunch by billie eilish as you sorted whether your equations rejected the null hypothesis. truly brain-numbing.

the lyrics came naturally, practiced, as you sang along on cue. you replayed the song three times before eventually letting it move on, surprised when a bastard city song started playing. you smiled as you sang, temporarily forgetting about statistics as you reminisced about the bastardz concerts.

you hoped they’d sign one of the companies begging to manage them so they could grow, but isagi told you they liked being independent. tapping your phone to pick the next song, you spotted a text on your screen that made your blood run cold.

blond next door: i didn’t know you were a billie fan

blinking, cheeks aflame, you flipped your phone over and threw a notebook at the wall behind your bed. there was a chuckle, followed by a tap tap, and you flung yourself against the plush comforter with a sigh.

you: shut up

you smiled at your message, watching the three bubbles appear and vanish a few times before your screen went black. then, kaiser’s contact name and picture-less profile were all you could see. you sat up, bewildered, wondering why on earth he was calling you when, if he raised his voice a little, you could have heard him through the wall.

messing up your hair with the unfortunate number of times you ruffled it, you hit the answer button and pressed the phone to your ear. “what is it?”

kaiser chuckled lowly on the other line, and from how close to the wall you were, you could faintly hear him on the other side. “what about that song do you like?” he asked. you wished you could bury your head in a pile of sand until he forgot who you were.

“um,” you hesitated, thinking of an appropriate answer to give the musician. “i don’t really know… her voice is nice. the beat is cool. i’d love to hear a rock version—i absolutely love rock covers of popular music.” you don’t know why you kept talking, but he didn’t interrupt you. it felt oddly comforting, especially when you were so close to ripping your hair out over your homework a few moments ago.

kaiser listened as you listed off your top songs on repeat, commenting only when you had a song or artist in common. you didn’t realize how late it was getting until your neighbor gently rapped his knuckles just above where your headboard ended. “you should sleep. you have a class in the morning, right?”

again, you were left momentarily speechless. you shook it off with a sarcastic laugh. “stalking my schedule, hm? i knew you were obsessed.”

“yeah, yeah. good night, y/n.”

smiling, you dropped the phone close to your chest and whispered, “good night, kaiser.”

you stood in the unisex club restroom, mirrored gaze flicking between smudging your eyeliner and watching reo fix his hair. nagi said he’d come but texted that he fell asleep and wanted to play video games instead. chigiri and kunigami said they were on their way, though.

finishing your makeup, you fully turned your stance to face reo and flashed a wolfish grin. “good?”

he looked away from his reflection and nodded at your eye makeup in approval. “very. so, what’s the special occasion, anyway?”

you hurriedly glanced back at the mirror. “occasion? it’s been a while since we all hung out, right? that’s good enough for me!”

reo laughed when you jumped at him, throwing an arm around his shoulders and pulling him closer. "it'll be fun! we can all grab dinner after, if you want."

"your treat?" he teased, laughing harder when your face wavered.

"sure," you drawled, excusing yourself politely as you dragged reo through a group entering the restroom. the two of you found an open spot near the middle of the floor, directly in front of the stage, and waited patiently for the remaining two in your group to arrive. you'd just received a text from chigiri that he and kunigami were out front when feedback from a mic momentarily filled the club.

looking up, your face automatically split into a grin when you noticed the six bastardz making their way on stage. bachira spotted you quick and waved frantically, elbowing shidou and pointing in your direction. you jumped as you waved back to match their enthusiasm, giggling like a teenager.

the two had teased that they were planning something special tonight, and though they wouldn't tell you, you had a feeling bachira or shidou would be getting a longer solo.

"hey," kunigami greeted, gently nudging you with his shoulder as chigiri and reo analyzed each other's outfits. you smiled back. "hey. when was the last time you came to one of their shows? not including the ones you had to work."

"it's been a minute," he confessed, rubbing the back of his head. "they were always a little loud for me." you nodded, as it had taken you some time to adjust to their sound, too. "but!" kunigami straightened. "it's excuse to hang out with everyone, so i'll take it."

the sound of someone running their fingers (or one of your picks) across strings radiated throughout the room, rumbling the floors and shaking the ceilings. you hollered before you knew what you were doing, excited to hear whatever they had in store.

"we've got something new for you tonight," isagi shouted into the mic after the band introduced themselves.

after the first beat, your smile faded. by the second, you were pretty sure your heart had stopped.

your eyes didn't have to scan too long before spotting kaiser—his nails painted, hand on the mic, electric eyes locked on yours. you may have died.

"i could eat that girl for lunch."

yes, you were definitely dead, because there was no way on earth kaiser, your evil, diabolical, loud-mouthed neighbor, who kept you up all night with his r-rated activities, was looking at you like that as he sang the song you'd just expressed your love for.

"yeah, she dances on my tongue. tastes like she might be the one."

the fans around you screamed, but you could not pull yourself away from whatever trance kaiser's gaze had on you. he didn't look away, not once, and you hoped the lack of lighting distracted from the burn in your cheeks and the tremble in your knees.

there were too many similarities to be a coincidence. the song, the nails, the smile, the eyes. god, you wanted to melt into his eyes until the vibrant blue consumed you.

you shook your head, forcing yourself out of his spell.

"baby, i think you were made for me."

the air was getting thinner. thicker? you couldn't tell, but you were eternally grateful that kunigami didn't ask anything other than, "you good?" when you suddenly leaned some of your weight against him.

"clothes on the counter for you, try 'em on." you chose the wrong time to look up. kaiser's lips curled back into the most devious of grins, his eyes almost navy. his piercings glinted under the lights. "if i'm allowed, i'll help you take 'em off."

you realized maybe you were the strange one for not immediately falling for his charms after meeting him. if this was how he looked at every girl he seduced, no wonder he didn't run out.

bet he doesn't sing covers of their favorite song, though.

you didn't realize how brightly you were smiling until chigiri nudged you in the ribs with a knowing look in his eye. "isn't this the song you played, like, eight times in the car the other day?"

there was no reason to deny it as you locked eyes with the singer. "yeah." you shook your head and flashed a wink to try and tease him back.

kaiser's eyes glittered, and your heart sped beneath your ribs.

"eat that girl for lunch," he sang, voice taking on a slightly smoother sound. you melted, especially when he changed the final line. "she might be the one."

masterlist // previous (ch 29) // next (ch 31)

notes -> this idea comes from @em0kuto !! 💕 hopefully you enjoyed it 😈

tags -> @x3nafix @n0tbelle @nensi @ohagiyoo @tired-child00 @melinana @chaoslibra @kaidostwin @bubybubsters @miss-aesthetic-13 @ihsoti @arwawawa2 @lonigiri @realrintaro @mivqko @sorasushik1 @pookalicious-hq @higuchislut @tofumiarchives @p1z-d0n7jud6em3 @rainychi2 @ch4rstxr @sapph1r3x @sagging-saging @5-laska @tuna-toes @seinuis @sindulgent666 @evilari111 @newinhalerpls @kisses2kanao @sugacor3 @meizumi @90s-belladonna @meowstertruck420 @kyutiipie @ranzess @cookiesandcreammy @nevvynev @stwberri @mikeymyfav @dontmindtheevie @kaikaidenkai @mizukiblogs @ravenbc @yvanllie @cyberasterrr @lily-isalittlegirl @yourlocaleffy @hanamatopoeia

© neeeooon, 2025

[foreingersgod]

Let’s Stay Home (PT 2) . EE

pairing: emily engstler x reader

synopsis: see part 1

A/N: THIS IS ANOTHER POOR ATTEMPT OF ME WRITING SMUT, I APOLOGIZE FOR HOW BAD THIS IS LOL!!

MINORS AND AGELESS BLOGS DNI

she was restless all night. you could tell from the way her hands shook when she poured your glass of wine and from the way her legs bounced under the table. her hands refused to leave the plushness of your thighs the entirety of dinner, strong and lengthy fingers scrunching at the fabric of your dress. you tired to act nonchalant about it, wanting to have a nice dinner with your girlfriend. but the more she kept dropping suggestive little comments and touching you discreetly, the more you tried to get out of that restaurant as quick as possible.

the wine turned sour and your meal became bland the more you had to endure emily’s torture. it didn’t sit right with you that you were the only one being taunted, so you decided to do a bit of teasing of your own. throughout the night, you’d do small things that you knew would get a rise out of her.

you started out with cluelessly playing with your hair, something that had her constantly distracted. then you’d purposely lean your elbows on the table which pushed out your cleavage ever so slightly. emily, sitting next to you at the table, would hardly be able to finish her sentence as the tops of your breasts came into view. it was almost becoming too easy at this point. then, to be extra cruel, you’d run the toe of your heel up her leg. it sent shivers up emily’s arms as she watched you do it, the end of your dress hiking up your leg as you moved your foot up and down. her mind kept reverting back to earlier that night, when you guided her hand across the intricate lace of your new lingerie. thoughts of ripping that dress right off of you replayed over and over, something she had every intention of doing.

she tried her best to seem unbothered, like you had done when she couldn’t keep her hands off you, but she was failing miserably. her hand would often find its way to her mouth, biting on her knuckles to ground herself. you had fucked her up beyond belief and you hadn’t even laid a finger on her. she was a mess for the remaining moments of dinner, couldn’t even take the last bite from her plate before she was hailing over the waiter and paying the check. although she was more than eager to get you back home, wanting to take off that stupid fucking dress that caused this whole thing in the first place, she kept her composure as she guided you out to the car.

“you’re a fuckin tease,” she said as the doors to the car shut, you were already doing up your seat belt “d’you know that?”

“i don’t know what you’re talking about, em” but you did. you knew exactly what she was referring too.

“you’re in for it when we get home” she implied, muttering under her breath.

“that attitude isn’t going to get you that surprise” you chimed, watching as her hands gripped the steering wheel suddenly “may i remind you?”

she said nothing, only shaking her head and jutting her tongue across the inside of her cheek. she did up her own seatbelt quickly before speeding out of the parking lot to get home. she didn’t now how much longer she could last.

you considered being a bit nicer for the car ride home, but something in you just couldn’t resist messing with emily a tiny bit more. she just looked too good over there in the drivers seat. her hands grasped the steering wheel, making her veins bulge ever so slightly as she drove. her blazer had been discarded to the back seat which left her in a plain white button up. the sleeves were rolled up to her elbow, displaying her toned muscles. she looked positively irresistible, there was no chance you were stopping any time soon.

you snaked your hand over the car console, fingertips lightly gliding over to emily’s thigh. your hand rested on her legs, positioned in dangerous territory. your touch hovered over where she needed you most. you felt her tense up, shifting in her seat and spreading her legs open more. you began to run your hand up and down her thigh painfully slow, making her jerk her hips into you. a satisfied smirk toyed at your lips as you kept your gaze on the road in front of you. you could feel her eyes shift to you and then the road then back to you again.

“i’m serious, ma” she croaked “stop teasing me”

“m’just tryna get you warmed up baby” you stated, stopping the motion of your hand with a gentle pat “relax”

she felt like all the air had been knocked out of her, words becoming caught in her throat before she could muster a response. a faint groan emitted from her lips when you continued the soothing movements of your hand. it was impossible for her to say anything the rest of the ride home, too busy imagining what she was going to do to you when you got inside.

the car pulled to an abrupt stop as emily pulled into the drive way. her buckle was undone in seconds, turning off the ignition and bolting to your side of the car. she opened your door, offering her hand to you to help you out. you smiled sweetly at her as you accepted it and followed her inside your shared home.

you weren’t able to turn the lights to kitchen on before you felt familiar hands on you waist, soft lips meeting with the skin of your neck. you could feel the tension between the two of you as you sighed deeply, reaching helplessly for the light switch.

“leave it” she demanded, pushing your hand away from the light switch as she guided you towards the stairs. she couldn’t wait another second to get you into bed.

“em,” you muttered, tilting your head to the side to allow her more access to kiss down your shoulder.

“cant wait to get you out of this fucking dress” she said as you approached the door of your bedroom “i believe i’m owed a surprise, am i not?”

once you had made it inside, you were instantly hit with the soft glow of the moonlight that flooded through the window. you turned around to face emily, admiring her features through the dimly lit room. she was breathtaking, hair pulled back, shirt already half way unbuttoned. she wasn’t lying-she really couldn’t wait.

“maybe…” you licked your lips, slipping off your heels and reaching behind you to undo the zipper of your gown “you’ll have to come and find out”

something in emily switched, like she was being granted something that she had been waiting for for centuries. in lighting speed, she had closed any space between the two of you, pulling you flush against her. her lips met with yours hungrily, tongue sliding into your mouth as you groaned deeply. the kisses were sloppy and wet, but certainly passionate. she reached behind you to push your hands away from the zipper, taking the liberty to do it herself. without pulling away from you, she delicately tugged the satin fabric down your body, letting it pool at your feet.

“hope you like it,” you smiled against her, moving your head back to allow her to view your stripped figure “picked it out just for you”

weeks ago, you’d purchased the most gorgeous set of lingerie as a small gift for yours and emily’s anniversary. it was a dainty little set, red and lacey and tight. the bra was strapless and quite sheer, adorned with thin lace flowers. the matching thong was similar in design, the crimson material hugging your ass in the most flattering way. you remembered trying it one when you had got home while emily was away at practice, you had never felt so beautiful in your life.

“oh my god” her gaze dropping as she took a step away from you. her jaw slacked, eyes blown wide with lust as she took you in “jesus fucking christ baby”

“is it ok?” you asked innocently, wanting to hear her say it aloud.

“is it ok?” she scoffed, shepherding you towards the bed. you felt the backs of your knees meet with the foot of the bed, making you stumble slightly “baby, it’s more than ok, you look fucking stunning”

with a tender nudge, she pushed you onto the bed, forcing you to sit on the linen duvet. you leaned back onto your elbows and spread your legs to make room for her. she moseyed in between your legs, unbuttoning the rest of her white button up in the process, eyeing you up and down. she shrugged off her shirt, now fumbling with the buckle of her belt and the clasp of her dress pants. you watched impatiently, wanting her hands on you as soon as possible.

her now naked figure hovered over you, knee slotting in between your legs. she leaned down far enough to where her lips were inches away from yours. you closed your eyes, whimpering as you bucked your hips to try and create friction between your clothed cunt and her bare thigh.

“em, please” you moaned.

“please what?” she smirked, hands planted on either side of your torso to keep her above you.

she moved away from your face, now shifting to kiss along the exposed parts of your body. her lips left messy kisses along your collarbone, then to the tops of your breasts where she left deep purple marks along your skin. she exhaled breathlessly as she reached your bra, staring at the way your nipples hardened through the thin lace. she brought a hand up behind you to unclasp the bra in one fell swoop, allowing the beautiful fabric to cascade down your chest. satisfied, she wrapped her lips around your nipple, her hand kneading at your other tit. you gasped at the sensation, your own hand finding its way to the back of her head. she switched to the other one, tongue swirling across the pebbled bud. but she only stopped when she heard you, your meek voice echoing off the walls.

“please touch me-don’t stop”

those three words were all she needed to hear, her gateway into complete bliss. she pushed off of the bed to kneel in front of you, hands gliding down the sides of your body until they reached the waistband of your panties.

“anything for you”

you looked down, eyebrows knit together in anticipation as you felt emily’s hot breathe against your core. she looked at you through hooded eyes, biting down on her lip as she took in such a beautiful sight: you laid on the bed, practically naked and begging for her to touch you. her fingers hooked under the band of your underwear and tugged gingerly.

“can i?” she asked. you nodded vigorously in return.

without hesitation, she began to pull your panties down your legs, tossing them to the side. the coolness of the air hits you quickly enticing a small jolt from you. emily ran her tongue over the top row of her teeth, leaning back on her heels to admire that state of your aching pussy. you were already soaked for her, arousal quite literally oozing from you, which most definitely left a noticeable spot on your underwear throughout dinner.

“so fucking pretty, this pussy” she cooed, giving your thighs a small massage before running a finger through your folds. you groaned, not content with her reservedness “this all f’me?”

“yea, em-all for you”

she placed various kisses to your inner thighs before turning her attention to where you had been pleading for her to touch. fingers spreading you open, you felt her tongue come into contact with you. she licked a deep stripe up your pussy, attaching her lips to your clit as she sucked slowly. you moaned loudly, fingernails finding her scalp and gripping the roots of her hair. she took this as a sign of endearment, slipping down to sink the length of her tongue in your throbbing hole.

“holy shit-” you cried, hearing the obscene noises emitting from your pussy. the way her tongue swirled in your wetness, provoking the wettest squelching noises that had you at a loss for words.

“that’s it, ma” she inserted a finger into you, feeling the way your body tensed upon the feeling. you tightened around her finger as you breathed loudly into the humid room “that’s my good fucking girl”

she watched as your back arched, perky tits pointed to the ceiling and your head digging farther back into the mattress. god you were unbelievable. she added another finger to you, making a small scissoring motion to lure you to your orgasm. she found herself moaning into you, completely lost in the taste of you. she didn’t think she could ever get enough of it, wishing she could lay between your legs forever. the pace of her fingers sped up and she could sense herself becoming increasingly wet the more you moaned out in intense pleasure. she was eating you out like it was her last meal, sucking and licking every inch of you until your body began to heave, insinuating you were getting close.

“oh baby, yes” you gripped the back of her head harder “don’t stop, em, i’m gonna-oh my-i’m gonna cum”

you humped her face vigorously, feeling your slick coating her mouth and chin. it was like you had no control of your body with the way your hips moved back and forth. you could feel your high approaching quickly as emily continued to devour you.

“i-i’m so close” your words began slurring together.

“i know” emily curled her fingers into you, hitting that delicious, spongy spot inside of you “i know”

your eyes rolled to the back of your head, knowing the familiar feeling that was beginning to build up. her tongue and fingers kept their speed, making you overwhelmed with ecstasy. emily felt your legs starting to shake and noticed how your breathe became staggered.

“you got it,” she coaxed you “cum for me, come on, give it to me”

you let out a lewd and obscene moan as you reached your high, cumming on her face promptly. they approached near sobs as the pleasure washed over you, transcending your whole body. emily wasted no time in lapping up your juices, catching every last drop of your release. her tongue cleaned you up as you sunk into the bed, recovering from your orgasm.

emily got off of her knees and joined you on the bed as you scooted up to lay against the plush pillows. she laid next to you, bringing you into her bare chest, feeling the rapid beat of your heart. she raked her fingers through your hair as you smiled drowsily, still on cloud nine.

“you did so good, baby” she pressed her lips to the top of your head, grinning from ear to ear as she thought about how much she loved you “so so good”

you hummed in response, lifting your head to look at her. you returned her smile while drawing yourself away from her. ignoring the trembling of your legs, you hoisted yourself to straddle emily. she looked at you confused as her hands instinctively rested on the dips of your waist. what a vision you were, tall and proud and positively glistening in your own sweat.

“what’re you doing?”

long, nicely manicured nails left pinkish marks along emily’s skin as you trailed them up her stomach and over her chest. she squeezed her eyes shut when she felt your fingers gently scrape over her tits. she let out a faint ‘fuck’ as you advanced to her neck, wrapping around it and tightening your grip softly.

“don’t think i’m gonna let our anniversary end without returning the favor, em”

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

A/N: this is cringy and bad and i’m so sorry lol :’)

[cloudedangels]

This is a PT 2 of sorts from this lovense fic ▪︎ 18÷ mdni, duh!!! ♡~ from this request!

Caleb is mad with need. He says he's cleaning for you, but everything about being inside your home without your presence drives him crazy. He can't stop thinking about whether it not he could feel what you felt. So he tries your vibrator, just this once, just to understand.

☆ 1,761 words ☆

tags: caleb x reader, caleb solo, male masturbation, vibrator use, lovense lush 2, mutual pining, emotional smut, caught in the act, overstimulation, toy play, soft dom, sub!caleb, longing, desperate arousal, domestic intimacy, voyeuristic undertones, affectionate filth, reader walks in, mention of bodily fluids, post-orgasm intimacy, praise kink, slight powerplay, petnames, caleb whimpers, aftercare tease

Caleb lets himself in with the key you gave him, quiet as a shadow slipping through the door.

He means well, really. He just wanted to surprise you… thought maybe he’d tidy up, start dinner, be waiting with a crooked little smile when you got home from work. The place smells like you, and that alone nearly knocks him over. He misses you so much.

That faint hint of laundry soap and your sweet apple lotion, the one you pretend you don’t use every day, but he knows better. The way it clings to your sheets, your shirts, the hoodie he stole back from you and still hasn’t returned.

He sets his bag down by the door and rolls up his sleeves.

Just a little cleaning. Something useful.

But when he walks past the bed, he sees it.

Soft cotton, pale and delicate, crumpled right at the edge of the mattress like it was tugged off in a hurry. Your panties.

He stares. Stops breathing for a second.

Not folded, not tucked, not hidden. Just there.

He should leave them alone. He really, really should. But his hand moves before his shame can stop it. He picks them up like they might burn him, holding them gently between two fingers before bringing them to his face. They smell like you.

God.

His knees go weak. He sits on the edge of the bed, your panties in his lap, and his body remembers:

The way you trembled with the toy inside you.

How wet you were, how flushed.

The desperate little way you’d clung to him, face buried in his shoulder, while the hum of that vibrator poured through your cunt and straight into his cock.

He’s hard. Already. And his stomach twists.

No. No, c’mon, stop—

He forces himself up. Puts the panties down, moves to the kitchen… runs water, tries to wash a dish.

But his hands shake. His jeans are tight. His mind won’t stop replaying it—how open you were, how wrecked. How you moaned when he turned the dial up. How your pussy squeezed that thing like it belonged more than his cock did.

How it vibrated through you—onto him.

He palms himself through his jeans with a low hiss, then rips his hand away like he’s been burned.

Get a grip, man. Jesus.

But he can’t. Not when he knows exactly where you keep it. Not when his body’s still aching like it hasn’t been touched in years.

And maybe that’s how he ends up back in your room.

The drawer slides open with a soft slide.

It’s still there. It sits, neat and pink and innocent as sin, fully charged too.

He stares at it for a long time.

Then he picks it up.

It’s warm in his hand—either from charging or from memory, he can’t tell. Smooth. Familiar now, even if it still feels like contraband. Like a secret he shouldn’t be allowed to touch again.

But he does. Of course he does.

Just to… feel it. Just to remember.

He sits again, back on the bed, thumb brushing over the control button. The vibrator gives a faint buzz, almost shy.

His breath catches. It’s immediate.

It’s not even on properly yet, just a pulse of readiness, and already his cock twitches where it’s straining against his jeans.

Fuck.

He closes his eyes.

He remembers how you sounded. That first gasp when it slid in. The way your thighs trembled. The way you clutched him. Like he was your anchor. Like he could take it for you if he tried hard enough.

He wants to understand.

He wants to feel it.

He slides back on the bed, kicks his jeans down just enough, and hesitates. Eyes flicker down. His cock is flushed, heavy, leaking at the tip. Just from this.

Just from you.

He shifts, reclines a little further, presses the toy down—not inside, not really. He doesn’t dare. But under. Between his thighs, snug against the heat of his skin and the curve beneath his balls.

He squeezes his legs together gently.

It purrs.

He jerks—gasps—and nearly drops it. The hum is so much more intense than he expected, and his whole body shudders.

“Oh—fuck—”

He clamps a hand over his mouth, heart hammering.

That’s what you felt?

He presses it again, a little more firmly, thighs squeezing, the soft fabric of his boxers damp and stretched and barely containing the thick pulse of his arousal.

It buzzes against that sensitive patch just behind his cock, and a full-body shiver takes him. He throws his head back against your pillows, thighs trembling.

He moans, high pitched and pathetic.

God, no wonder you cried out like that. No wonder you couldn’t hold still. No wonder you clung to him like it was the only thing keeping you grounded.

It hurts. It pleases. It makes him ache. His hand drifts down, wraps around himself—and even that feels like too much.

His hips jerk. The toy shifts. He grits his teeth.

Another soft little whine.

He’s not even moving it.

He’s already so fucking close.

“Shit, shit—”

His other hand fumbles for the control. He tries a different setting—something softer, maybe. But it’s worse. The toy pulses now, in waves, with a slow, devastating rhythm that has his back arching and his breath catching in shallow little pants.

He strokes himself without rhythm, without thought, just trying to keep up with the sensations. It’s dizzying. Addictive. It feels like you—like your breath in his ear, your slick around his cock, your body shuddering on top of him while you begged him not to stop.

His legs are shaking.

He can’t keep quiet.

Whimper after whimper slips through his clenched teeth, and every muscle in his body feels tight with it, like he’s on a wire that could snap.

He presses the toy tighter, rocking slightly against it, chasing friction, and moans.

That sound is what does it.

Because that’s when the door opens.

Soft.

Quiet.

But he doesn't hear it, and even if he did… he can’t stop.

You think you hear him from the hall.

Caleb? Should he be here? Did you imagine him?

You step into the room and freeze.

He doesn’t even see you at first—his eyes are screwed shut, brow furrowed, lips parted and pink and glistening with spit. His hand is working his cock in short, desperate jerks, and the toy is still humming beneath him, tucked where it shouldn’t be, where it hurts so good he might cry.

His thighs clamp tighter.

His hand stutters once—twice—

Then he looks up, and he sees you.

His moan breaks with your name—shattered, breathless, embarrassed. But he can’t stop. Not now. Not when his orgasm’s already catching, curling low in his spine, stealing his breath.

The second he spills, he gasps your name. He whimpers, loud and high, and comes all over himself.

You’re standing in the doorway, frozen. Your keys are still in one hand, bag half-off your shoulder, eyes wide.

And then you drop both.

The thud of your bag hitting the floor makes him flinch. He scrambles to pull the toy away, to cover himself, to say something—

But you’re already crossing the room.

Your voice is soft. Too soft.

“Fuck, Caleb…”

He looks like he wants to disappear. His face is all flushed, shirt damp, thighs still trembling. The toy lies twitching where it fell—slick and spent and vibrating faintly into the sheets.

“I—I didn’t mean—” he stammers. His voice is wrecked. “I was just— I missed you—”

You kneel by the bed, and you smile, blushing red.

Shit. Your smile might kill him.

“My naughty boy,” you murmur, reaching to brush his hair back from his face. He shivers under your touch, eyes fluttering shut.

“You’re so fucking pretty like this…”

His eyes open—wide, overwhelmed. “You’re not mad?”

You shake your head. “Mad?” You glance at the mess of him, then back up. “I’m wet, Caleb. I walked in and found you already fucked out and falling apart in my bed, with my toy pressed to your cock.”

His breath catches. You see it—the way he jolts, like your words are heat poured straight into him.

“I just…” Your voice wavers slightly. “I just wish I’d seen it.”

He moans softly, the little noise almost like an apology, like the ache of your absence just hit him again.

“I—I didn’t mean for you to walk in on me like that,” he says. “It just— I couldn’t stop thinking about you. What it felt like… when you were on me. Shaking. Crying. That little moan you make when it goes too high…”

You shift, thighs clenching. His voice alone is doing something to you.

“Can you tell me?” you ask, quieter now. Your fingers brush his hip, soft. “What it was like?”

He flushes deeper—god, he’s pink all the way to his chest—and nods, slowly.

“It was… it was too much,” he admits, a hand coming up to hide part of his face. “Like—it hurt. But good. It was right on the edge, and it kept pulling me toward it, and I couldn’t stop. And I just kept thinking of you. Of your legs around me. Of how wet you were. I wanted to know what it felt like to… to fall apart like you did.”

You breathe in sharply.

He lowers his hand, searching your face.

“You’re red,” he whispers.

You nod, shy, biting your lip. “You’re not the only one who’s overwhelmed.”

He sits up a little, dazed, as your hand moves gently to his chest, then down—fingertips grazing just above the waistband of his boxers, through the mess on his stomach. He shivers.

“You came so much,” you murmur, half in awe. “Messy.”

He groans, softly, hiding his face again. “Don’t say that.”

“But it’s true,” you tease, letting your fingers trace lower. “So fucking messy, Caleb. I should clean you up…”

His hand catches yours, nervous. “You don’t have to—”

You squeeze gently. “I want to.”

Your voice lowers again, lashes dipping. “And then… maybe you can help me too.”

He blinks.

“With your mouth,” you add, barely above a whisper.

You hear his sharp inhale. He’s trembling again.

You smile, lips brushing his jaw. “I’m already wet just thinking about it. Just from seeing you. You in my bed, with my toy, moaning my name…”

He groans aloud now, head falling to your shoulder.

“God, pips, I’m gonna die,” he mumbles.

“No, baby,” you whisper. “You’re gonna eat me out... You're not allowed to die.”

[gtgbabie0]

synopsis: {Slow dancing with post-crash!Nat in the kitchen to old songs}

I’d sell both my kidneys for her happiness.

Natalie had been messing around with her old cassette player for hours now— hellbent on fixing the damn thing so she could reminisce back on her old tapes, a few of which she had made just for you during those restless nights when the only thing on her mind was those pretty eyes of yours and the taste of your strawberry chapstick on your lips— before everything went to literal shit.

She was a complete disaster for you then and still is now.

“I think that old piece of junk might be a lost cause, babe.” Natalie doesn’t need to see you to know you’ve got a smirk plastered across your face— she’s still hunched slightly at the shoulders as she taps the metal end of a screwdriver against the boombox.

“This ‘piece of junk’?— oh, so you think I can’t fix it?” It’s a challenge. It’s unmissable from the way her eyes gleam as she turns to you, crossing her arms over her chest, and if you’ve learned anything from those game nights with your niece, well, you don’t want to test her.

“No, No, I didn’t say that. But—”

“See, because—” and there she goes, stepping closer to you with a grin and her hands reaching out for your waist so she can tug you closer— “I remember fixing your dishwasher just fine, babe.”

It’s a damn lie because she didn’t do it ‘just fine’— but you let her gloat just this once because she’s smiling so widely, her cheeks dimpling and her nose all scrunched like a bunny. you’d agree with just about any bullshit to keep that smile on her pretty face.

“Mhm, what do you even wanna do with that thing anyway?” You ask, nodding over to the boombox as you reach out to tuck a stubborn lock of brown hair behind her ear— knuckles lightly grazing along her jaw, tenderly, in a way that has her preening into your touch ever so shamelessly.

Her eyes are practically glowing with excitement, brows quirking— she leans forwards to press her lips to yours, “Wait right here, pretty girl,” she murmurs in between kisses before pulling back to fiddle with the cassette player, pressing a few buttons and...

Nostalgia hits you hard, straight to the chest— a sickly sweet warmth blooming deeply within you as the familiar song fills the room, Natalie turns to you with a grin that borders on smug because she knows exactly what you’re thinking, replaying that night in your mind like it happened yesterday.

“Mhm, you remember?” of course you do.

Your face softens into something impossibly tender, and it makes Natalie’s heart do a stupid little jump. “You are such a goof.”

“It’s gonna be our wedding song,” and it wasn’t a lie, her tone is far too gentle for it to be said as a joke— not to mention the fact that it’s a claim you’ve heard many, many times before from her lips.

The same song that played when you first kissed her, the same song that was on the radio when she asked you to be her girlfriend, and coincidentally the very same song that you both listened to the night you got recused, cuddled up on that god awful hospital bed.

Natalie’s hands hold your hips, swaying you both gently to the familiar rhythm— your smile deepens as you shake your head at her antics, your arms draping over her shoulders to hold her close to you. This was your favourite side of her, so relaxed and at ease as she dances with you in the kitchenette— giggling as your socked feet occasionally collide with hers, it felt so normal in a way you weren’t sure you’d ever feel again.

“I love you.” She whispers against your hairline, pressing a few soft kisses to your temple— then one to your cheek, “Don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“Well, it’s a good job I’m not going anywhere,” you reply, breath catching as she leans in to rest her forehead against yours with a content hum— her lips capturing yours in a kiss that snatches your breath away, your fingers slipping into her hair.

The tenderness of the moment is ripped away as she suddenly pulls back to only break out into song— reciting the lyrics with all the grace of a dying cat, which is so dumb because you know she can sing, quite beautifully actually. But she’s so lost in the moment as she dances you all around the kitchen, the pair of you in a fit giggles, clinging onto one another.

[ozzgin]

Yandere! CoD Headcanons: König x Reader x Ghost (II)

“Sharing is caring” is likely familiar to most, though the nuances of it may sometimes differ beyond the classic expectations. You’re trapped between two jealous, possessive and feverishly infatuated men with no escape in your sight. That implies, of course, you’ve been looking for a way out of this bizarre partnership. Have you? Be honest…

TW: NSFW, obsessive behavior, size kink, violence

Tags: @223princess

[Part I]

Yet another classic rule that comes with your job is to always be ready to deal with the unexpected. Plan as well as you may, the battleground is not as generous as to stick to your schedule. Yet the same principle applies out of combat, too. It’s just…you had’t really imagined such an outcome to be possible. Your extensive training covered most scenarios, from raids, to ambushes, natural disasters, everything except, well, this. You wonder if the code of conduct might include a paragraph about work romance, specifically your teammates taking turns to fuck you shamelessly at any hour of the day.

You gaze at your reflection in the slightly fogged mirror and quickly look away, embarrassed. You can’t bear to see the markings that are peppered all over your body, betraying the depraved activities you’ve indulged in for the past weeks. How did it even come to this? You sit on the edge of the bed, drying your hair, and hesitantly replay the event in your head. Your helpless form crouched on the storage floor, looking up at the two large men gripping at each other’s throats. Behind their masks you could sense their ferocious intent to kill. How would you explain it to your superiors? You gathered up your remaining confidence and barked at them to stop at once. They were indeed taken aback by your sudden yell that could’ve put any drill sergeant to shame. You wanted to get to the bottom of the conflict and put all this bullshit behind as soon as possible. Until they offered you the honest cause of their hostile rivalry. You could only stare in disbelief.

Your first instinct was to wonder if this was some sort of elaborate prank. What the hell, were they a bunch of high schoolers learning to handle their first crush or fucking grown adults in the middle of a military operation? You were never oblivious to it: mixed gender missions always came with a lot of casual hookups to blow off steam. Not your thing, but there’s plenty of other people down to it. Your suggestion was met with angry, vehement refusal. Both Ghost and König were outraged at the insinuation they’d put their dicks in some rando, as if that’s all there was to it. As if anyone else would do. Ironically this is where they found their common ground. König had lifted you nonchalantly by the collar of your uniform and asked you if you’re playing dumb. You could only shrug, even more confused. Ghost joined him and explained, casually and matter-of-fact, that you can call it a hookup as long as you remember it’s a lifelong arrangement. You were to walk out that door with the knowledge you belong to them and they would take any necessary steps to ensure your compliance. The hunting knife that was meant to plunge into his rival was now propped under your chin, dangerously close to your throbbing artery.

Now this should’ve been your sign to nod obediently, pack your suitcase at the earliest convenience and get the hell out. And that was your honest intent, initially. You could almost visualize the documents granting your absence from duty. Then you felt your buttons pop from their seams, forcefully ripped apart by König’s large hand. It occurred to you that you were propped against the wall by two men twice your size. You could hear their now labored breaths, muffled by their masks. The Austrian man roughly readjusted your posture, having you rest against his hips and throwing your legs around his waist. You gasped quietly once you sensed a bulge pressing into you. He fumbled with his zipper, but Ghost interrupted him with an irritated scolding. “You can’t just ram it in, you fucking dumbass.” You didn’t take long to understand the meaning and shivered at the thought. Without a warning, Ghost slid his hand into your now unbuckled pants. Two fingers begun pressing circles over your underwear and an unconscious whine escaped your lips. Satisfied by your reaction, he brought himself closer and increased the pace until he felt the moisture pooling in the fabric, which was enough encouragement to gently slip his way inside of you. In an attempt to help, König lowered his head over your breasts, fondling your now sensitive nipples with his tongue. His mask draped over your skin, adding a mild tickle to the overwhelming buildup. You suddenly remembered the storage no longer had a door after König kicked it out of its hinges, so you tried to push the muscular man away. “W-what if someone comes in?” Against your will and to your surprise, the question rolled out like a prolonged moan and you blushed awkwardly. “They won’t, if you shut up.” Ghost responded curtly. He considered it for a moment, and added smugly: “Don’t worry, that pretty mouth of yours will be real busy soon.” You closed your eyes tightly and prayed you wouldn’t be caught.

And you weren’t. You got away with it. That time, and the other time, and all the other times. At this point you question whether your other teammates truly haven’t noticed or have since learned to look away. Another possibility is that the psychotic duo has threatened the others into silence. Given their cocky attitude whenever you protest about the openness or risky timing, it wouldn’t surprise you at all. Even worse, their libido seems to be increasing exponentially as a consequence to their incessant competition of owning you. They seem to be plagued by a delirious need to have you at all times, and you’re rather afraid to admit that your desire to flee is slowly being replaced by a similar addiction. Rabid dogs in heat. That’s the only analogy that comes to mind.

Last time you didn’t even get the chance to return to the base. The soldiers had exited the truck, cheering their success and marching towards the gate. König had been quiet the entire ride, not even bothering to hide his ardent stare, his eyes hooded with lust. You were about to hop off yourself when you felt his burning grip on your wrist, pulling you back in and onto his lap. Oh, how he loves fucking you like this. His toned legs are sprawled out dominantly and his calloused hands guide you over his erection. No matter how many times you do it, the start is always painful. He’s just that big. But that’s his favorite part. Seeing you wince and tear up, holding your stomach as if shielding it from the foreign object assaulting the walls of your frail body. Then the thrusts become smoother and your movements break into an erratic pleading for more. He wants to witness it all. God, you turn him into a wild animal. His fingers dig into your skin and towards the end you’re a whimpering mess, shamelessly drooling over his uniform in a daze. As you coat him with your slick cum, he grunts and barely manages to speak. “Fuck, I’m gonna lose my mind for good one of these days.” His voice is deep and reverberates against your heaving chest.

Scratch that. Last time you didn’t even make it to the truck. You were laying behind a boulder, wiping the sweat and dirt off your face. You’d just finished taking out your targets and announced your return in the headset. Ghost approaches you with a hidden smirk and squats before you, extending a hand towards you. “Need help?” You nod with gratitude and take off your helmet. You reach for his hand, hoping he’d pull you up, but instead his fingers claw around your throat and push you against the ground. “Good, I have the perfect thing for a little slut like you.” He climbs over you without letting go of your neck and undoes your jacket with ease. Hell, he’s been doing it so often he could manage even blindfolded. With the free hand he shoves one of your legs away to make space. Truth be told, he’s very much biased towards this particular arrangement. He can already feel the unbearable pressure of his member waiting to be freed. He adores being able to take all of you in. Your expression, your small body trapped under his massive frame. He can fuck you as he pleases, until you turn into a rag doll, and there’s no way out. You grit your teeth in anticipation and hold onto his arm that’s choking you once he goes in. You must’ve been molded just for him. There’s no other explanation for his feral clinginess, scratching and biting and pulling in desperate, agonizing pleasure. After the deed has been done he can admire his masterful work, gazing lovingly at your flustered, disheveled form, gasping for air and dripping with his seed.

Your shake your head and try to chase away these perverted memories. You’re still damp from the shower and continue massaging your scalp with the towel, when you hear a knock on your door. Oh, no. No. “Busy!” is all you manage to shout. The door opens nonetheless and Ghost and König waltz in, entirely indifferent to your refusal. “Can’t I have one moment to myself?” You groan, frustrated. König leans against the wall and Ghost kneels in front of you. There’s a hint of cheekiness in his voice. “Sure. Tell us to go away and we will.” You blink and ponder his words. Remembering all the past encounters has gotten you a little bit eager, that’s true, but… “Say it.” He repeats himself. You squirm and look away, a deep red spreading across your face. Your lips are pursed. König lets out a soft laugh and closes the door, then faces you. “Since you wanted to be a brat, you have to beg for it now.”

What have you gotten yourself into?

[basketonthedoorstepofthefbi]

Safer to Kiss (part 2) - Spencer Reid x Fem!BAU!Reader

read part 1 here!

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!BAU!Reader

Word Count: 3236

Summary: the day after drunkenly kissing your best friend and coworker, Spencer Reid, the BAU catches a case. Lots of talking with other members of the team, general group dynamic chaos, and ✨Pining✨

Warnings: Mentions of alcohol, normal Criminal Minds violence, maybe some mild cursing? Mostly just pining teehee

A/N: thank you so much to everyone who interacted with part 1! I am so pumped about this lil series, and part 3 is already started 🙈 I love love LOVE hearing from you guys, it makes me so happy and inspired to continue writing. 🥹 also not my gif, all credit to the owner bc LOOK AT HIS LIL FACE

————

Spencer’s hands were on your hips. Spencer’s hands were on your hips. Suddenly the three glasses of wine and 2 glasses of champagne were null and void, because you felt completely sobered by the time your mouth pulled away from his. The reality of the situation hit you like a bus - you, in a drunken stupor, had stupidly, idiotically, irreversibly kissed your best friend. Right on the lips. There was no excusing it as a friendly peck on the cheek.

Your entire face felt hot as you pulled away, and as Spencer’s hands retracted to his own space. You felt wobbly - okay, maybe you hadn’t sobered up - and when you were once again leaning against the railing of the stairs on your apartment building’s stoop, you blinked a few times.

Spencer blinked a few times, too, as if to process what had just happened. He’d tasted like red wine, which you saw he’d only had one single glass of tonight, and spearmint gum. The combination reminded you of spring.

Your best friend tasted like spring.

Your eyes widened, buggy, as if they might pop out of your head, and you opened your mouth to say something, but no words came out.

Spencer spoke instead, with an earnest expression on his face. “Y/N-“

“Thanks for getting me home in one piece, okay, goodnight!” You rambled off, the words sliding off your tongue like they were on a luge, all blurring together into one, long megaword. You slid in behind the door and stumbled up to your unit before you could say another word.

You couldn’t believe yourself, replaying the moment on your stoop over and over as you locked the door, leaning against it and running your hand over your face. Spencer’s expression had been completely dumbfounded when you pulled away from the kiss. There was no doubt in your mind that he had been about to politely reject you, in that way that only he could do. I’m sorry, Y/N, but I think we’re better off as friends, he would say, simultaneously humiliating you and ripping your heart in half.

That’s why you’d cut him off, before he could say anything, before he could address the situation, before either of you had to acknowledge that it had actually happened.

You slept poorly that night, your anxiety getting the best of you. It was that look on Spencer’s face, how you just knew he was going to tell you in the kindest, most sensitive tone that he didn’t like that you kissed him. And your Nan’s voice ringing in your head - You’ll find someone someday, Button. You’ll be just as happy as your sister someday, Button.

You tossed and turned, and woke up with a violent hangover. All the coffee in the world was not enough to cure the aftershock of the night before.

Your stomach was in knots, a lethal combination of hangover ickies and irreversible mistake anxiety, and as you took a cab to work, you leaned your head against the seat behind you.

You flashed your badge to security and boarded the elevator to ride up to the sixth floor. The doors opened to reveal Penelope Garcia, clutching a stack of folders to her chest, waiting for you.

“Good morning, pumpkin,” Penelope flashed a smile, then grabbed you by the wrist, practically yanking you along behind her as she headed towards the conference room. Your head was pounding and while you loved Penelope with all your heart, in that moment, you wanted to throttle her. “You look horrible. We’ll discuss that later, and don’t even think about trying to internalize it and brush me off. I might not be a super magic genius psychic profiler, but I can tell when one of my love-bugs has had a wild night and I want details. Unfortunately for you, darling, you have a case. Hotch asked me to pull you directly into the conference room. Everyone’s waiting.”

Usually, when Penelope rambled on like that, you were able to keep up. In this weakened state, however, the words hit you like someone throwing putty against a wall, and it took a minute to process. You found yourself standing in front of the closed door of the conference room, with slackened posture and narrowed eyes. “Okay,” you managed to murmur before Penelope dragged you behind her, into the conference room.

You could feel the team’s eyes on you as you slumped into the empty seat. You avoided eye contact with everyone, especially Spencer, projecting to the room that you were not to be asked about your disheveled appearance and obvious headache. You spared a glance at Spencer. He looked perfect, as per freakin’ usual, with a purple button-up dress shirt and a dark tie over it. He sat up straight in his desk chair, as if last night hadn’t affected him in the slightest. You hated that.

Hotchner cleared his throat. “Let’s begin. Garcia?”

Penelope’s eyes lingered on you, fluttering from you to Spencer, and you watched as she seemed to resist the urge to say anything. “Ooookay,” she spoke, drawing the word out as she stood before the table. She used the TV remote to present the case’s info on the monitor. “We’ve got a local case today, my fine furry friends. Three men killed in three weeks,” you took a drink of the water in front of you as Penelope presented three driver’s license photos on the TV screen. “All bodies have been identified. Twenty-three-year-old Harvey Gibson, twenty-nine-year-old Kyle Moore, and twenty-eight-year-old Malcolm Greene. All three were found in alleys in downtown D.C, cause of death multiple stab wounds to the chest, stomach, and genitals.”

You choked on your water when you saw the last photo. Malcolm Greene, as in, Malcolm Greene, the guy you spoke to last night at the art gallery? You remembered spotting him from across the room, and thinking about how Spencer had said he’d gone on a date (albeit, an unsuccessful one) over the weekend, and you wanted to prove to yourself that you could be interested in other men. And then you’d gone over to Malcolm, spoke to him for an embarrassing two minutes and twelve seconds, and walked back to Spencer with a red face. And now he was dead?

Concerns about your relationship with your best friend aside, your eyes met Spencer’s across the conference table and the two of you seemed, for a moment, to fall back into your old dynamic, having a somewhat telepathic conversation with just your expressions.

That’s the guy…? Spencer seemed to say, his brows furrowed slightly.

A subtle bob of your head was how you responded. Yep, that’s him.

Spencer’s mouth formed a straight line, a mannerism that everyone around the table seemed to notice.

“Reid, Y/L/N, what’s going on?” Derek piped up, inclining his head to the side curiously. “Something you’d like to share with the class?”

Spencer’s mouth opened as if he were about to spill the beans, but he paused, seemingly deciding not to rattle off whatever he was going to say. Instead, he gestured to you.

“Spencer and I went to an art gallery after work last night,” you sighed, feeling your cheeks turn pink. “I may have… flirted, briefly, with Malcolm Greene.”

Derek let out a low whistle, and you saw Emily and JJ share an amused look. Rossi was even cracking a smirk.

Only Hotch remained as stoic as ever. “How long did you speak with him?” He asked.

“Two minutes, twelve seconds,” you and Spencer said simultaneously, and your eyes snapped to his across the table. You swallowed the lump in your throat and somehow felt your whole face turn even redder.

“Some smooth-talker you are,” Derek snickered, and you shot him a glare. Penelope, standing behind him, smacked his shoulder. “Did you get his digits that fast?”

“I don’t really see how that’s pertinent to the case,” you protested, sitting up straight and crossing your arms over your chest.

“It’s just like any other witness interview, Y/N,” Hotch reminded you calmly, shooting the rest of the team a warning glance. “Even the most minute detail could help.” He seemed to realize that you were humiliated, and that the rest of the team’s eyes on you were not helping the situation. “We can talk about it later,” he compromised.

“So, multiple stab wounds to the chest, stomach, and genitals, huh?” Rossi offered as a rough transition back to the topic at hand. Across the table, you heard Emily stifle a laugh.

“Yes, sir. All bodies were posed in a classic casket fashion, arms folded across their chests, eyes closed,” Penelope reported.

“Sign of remorse,” JJ noted, jotting it down on her pad of paper.

“Any cash missing from their wallets, or jewelry missing off their body?” Hotchner asked.

“No, sir, all wallets were found in the clothes of the victims, presumably where they had been kept untouched,” Penelope answered.

“So, not a robbery gone wrong,” Rossi concluded.

“The disposal of the bodies feels inconsistent with the cause of death,” Spencer pointed out, twirling his pen around his finger. His cadence was quick and pensive. “Multiple stab wounds to those particular areas of the body indicate intense rage at the time of the murder, disposing them in alleyways seems to be a choice of opportunity and convenience, but posing the bodies is a sign of remorse, like the UnSub suddenly realizes what he’s done and regrets it.”

“Do the victims have any friends or family in common?” You asked, crossing your ankles beneath the table.

“As far as my preliminary scans can tell, all three men were completely unrelated,” Penelope said. “The only common denominator is how they died and how their bodies were disposed of.”

“Not entirely,” Emily pointed out, standing up and using her pen as a pointer, gesturing to the three ID photos on the screen.

“Don’t these guys all look… strikingly similar?” Emily proposed. All men were white, with aquiline noses, dark hair, and dark eyes. “In fact, don’t they all look exactly like someone we know?”

You took in a sharp breath, just as Penelope let out a small gasp and Derek let out a soft chuckle. “They’re all pretty boys, like Pretty Boy,” Derek laughed.

“So our UnSub has a type,” JJ added.

Derek smirked. “The UnSub and Y/N both have a type.”

Your face turned bright red, and your jaw tensed. You felt Spencer’s eyes on you for a fleeting moment, and before you could say anything, Hotchner stepped in. “Let’s get going on this. Reid, JJ, and Morgan, I want you at the crime scene. Prentiss, Rossi, and Y/L/N, come with me to the local police precinct and interview family and friends. Garcia, too.”

There was an array of agreements murmured, and everyone began to disperse. You wanted to shake Derek by the shoulders for his little comment, especially after all the teasing you took when you realized the man you briefly spoke to last night was now dead.

You were on your way back to your desk when you felt a light touch on your elbow. When you saw it was Spencer, you bit the inside of your cheek. “Can we talk for a second?” He asked, and you shook your head.

Pointing pathetically to your desk, you responded, rather articulately, with, “The case…”

“Yeah, I know. The case. But, Y/N, we have to talk about last night,” Spencer said, looking down at you. Even though you were actually tall for a woman, Spencer still had at least four inches of height on you. Maybe five. “I mean, you just, like, escaped from me the first second that you could. Was it…?”

You furrowed your brows, confused as to what Spencer was trying to say. “Did you mean to kiss me?” He asked.

This was it. This was the out. He was giving it to you, whether he knew it or not. This was the opportunity to take it all back, to say it was a mistake. You could blame it on the wine, on your Nan’s phone call, on Malcolm - what was he gonna do, sell you out?

The chance to save your friendship with Spencer Reid was right there, and you stood there and you looked up at Spencer with your mouth open, words ready to spill out, when -

“Hey, Reid, you coming, man?”

Saved by the Morgan.

You saw Spencer’s jaw tighten, and he exhaled sharply. You were still frozen, unsure of what to say, of how to say it, so when Spencer simply frowned at you and then turned around to join Derek, you weren’t surprised.

You ran your hands over your face, still reeling, foggy from your hangover, thoroughly embarrassed from the entire situation.

“Y/N,” Rossi’s voice piped up, and you turned to see him with an arched brow. “C’mon, we gotta get going,” he gestured for you to follow him.

You sighed, your shoulders slumped, as you joined Rossi. You boarded the elevator with him, just the two of you, to head down to one of the Bureau’s black SUVs. “What’s going on with you?” Rossi asked, furrowing his brows.

In terms of group dynamics, David Rossi was like the team’s mother, in comparison to Hotchner, who was most certainly the patriarch of the BAU. You loved Rossi. He was kind, fairly level-headed, and he always stuck his neck out for the people he cared about. He also was pretty funny, and could make a killer lasagna. All those merits aside, you so did not want to talk about it.

“Not right now, Dave,” you shook your head, leaning against the wall of the elevator, running your palms down your thighs.

Rossi nodded understandingly, but you had an inkling he wasn’t about to just drop it. “I get it. Hungover, in a weird spot with Reid-“

“I’m not in a weird spot with Reid,” you corrected him, and Rossi smirked, knowing he had gotten you to crack. You shot him a (mostly) playful glare. “I had maybe a little too much to drink last night. And I maybe had, accidentally, perhaps…” you groaned, rolling your eyes at the idiocy of your actions the night before. “I kissed Spencer last night. It only lasted for, like, a minute, and right when it was over, I freaked out and went inside my apartment, and now things are just, like, weird between us. And I don’t know what to do.”

“Well, kiddo,” Rossi began, and you pursed your lips. He always hit you with a kiddo when he was about to tell you something you didn’t want to hear. “As a person who has been with many romantic partners-“

You feigned a gag.

Rossi just chuckled and continued. “I think you have to ask yourself - how do you want Spencer to react? Would you prefer to bury this and never speak of it again, or is this the catalyst you needed to finally tell him how you feel?”

You narrowed your eyes. “What do you mean, tell him how I feel?” You asked, playing dumb. Maybe Rossi was just grasping at straws.

“Oh, c’mon, kid, we’ve all seen how you look at each other. The only person who doesn’t know that you’re in love with Spencer is, well, Spencer.”

You felt your entire face flush. “You’re not serious,” you chuckled in disbelief.

Rossi looked at you and batted his eyelashes in a very feminine expression. The expression dropped and he said, “You make this lovestruck school girl expression at him at least once a day.”

“I do not!” You crossed your arms over your chest defensively, just as the elevator dinged, signaling your arrival to the Quantico lobby.

“Yeah, kid, you do. It’s pretty cute, actually. You’re like two lovesick puppies, chasing each other’s tails.”

“He does not think of me like that, Rossi,” you insisted indignantly, your voice taking a more hushed tone as the two of you walked at the same quick pace through the lobby, and outside towards the garage of Bureau vehicles.

The sun hit your face just as Rossi spoke again. “You’re such a good profiler, Y/N. How do you not see it?”

You decided not to dignify Rossi’s opinion with a response. Rather, you just shook your head and continued towards the garage to meet up with Prentiss and Garcia.

When you arrived at the police precinct, Garcia set up in the conference room, and you, Emily and Rossi each took turns interviewing the next of kin for the victims. You interviewed the mother of the first victim, Harvey Gibson.

An art student at Georgetown, steady boyfriend for three years he planned to propose to on Christmas, no criminal record, called his mother every other day. He was a good kid. Comforting his mother, walking her through all the questions the police had asked her three weeks ago — it was always a lot. But with your head already fuzzy and your mind on other Reid-related things, by the time you escorted Mrs. Gibson out of the police station and thanked her for her time, you felt heavy.

It didn’t help when the team reconvened about an hour later, sitting around a conference room at the local police station. You could tell Spencer’s eyes were floating to yours every so often, but you refused to meet them. You were working right now. You couldn’t let the revelation with Rossi distract you from your job.

Penelope took the lead, addressing the entire team. “So, our original thought of the three victims being unrelated actually has turned out to be incorrect,” she began. “Not only do all three of our victims look alike, but they all visited the same art gallery twenty-four hours prior to their murders.”

“Not the one we went to last night?” Spencer asked.

“No,” Penelope clarified. “From Emily’s discussion with Malcolm Greene’s brother, along with tracking the location of the other two victims’ cell phones prior to their deaths, we can determine that all three victims visited a different art gallery - The Restful Owl, just two blocks over from where you and Y/N went last night.”

“So, the victims all meet a certain physical description,” JJ recapped. “Brown hair, brown eyes, early-to-late twenties, and all visited The Restful Owl art gallery.”

“The gallery seems like a solid lead,” Hotch agreed. “All three victims were interested in art in some capacity - Harvey Gibson was studying art, Kyle Moore worked at an art museum, Malcolm Greene was a collector.”

“Perhaps the ruse the UnSub used was related to a particular piece or artist,” Spencer proposed, wrapping and unwrapping his fingers around his pen. “We should get the security tapes from each victim’s visit to the gallery, observe who they spoke to, how they reacted to specific pieces. Maybe the UnSub lured these men to the sites of their deaths by promising them a deal on a work, or something of the sort.”

“Good idea,” said Hotchner. “Prentiss, Morgan, follow up with the gallery. If there’s a specific person or piece all three victims stopped to interact with, I think our next step is pretty clear.”

“What’s that?” Penelope asked.

“We send in someone who just so happens to be exactly the UnSub’s type to the art gallery as bait,” Rossi concluded.

All eyes, including yours, moved across the table, landing on Spencer.

[vel-vet61]

Taste of Tempting Strawberries | smutty explicit 18+ general wack oral filth from missing Kendall the miserable little freak🧎‍♀️ I have an ao3 that’s at valiidpunkman too. ask is open for anything while I’m bored and yearning :(

—

You should’ve known Ken wasn’t kidding around when he confessed how much he truly appreciated the gift of eating pussy, taking it as seriously as he would a feast in a drought.

He proved you right tonight and then some, looking this angelic, perfectly fucking ethereal like this. That shaved head bowing itself down into your lap. Breathing in lung fulls of your body’s scent, you could hear every long breath in and shaky breath out as he kisses the legs spread before him. Little details that revealed so much about how he was feeling. So pathetically eager for those pretty strawberry-patterned panties he licked you through to disappear. Tossed on the floor. Never to cover or conceal what’s underneath from his eyes again.

He hums absentmindedly like he would with his favorite dessert. Which to elucidate, really isn’t far off from what he’s gearing up for to eat right now.

Those fingers are needy and impatient but perfectly balancing a delicacy — smoothing them over your thighs, squeezing them and lapping at them like the starved kind of man that he is. It looked too beautiful to keep him dangling off on the hook, watching him hungrily mouth at the strawberries on the print. Gnaw at your pussy lips until he hears audible reactions. It’s beautifully filthy being this ravaged at.

“‘M starving here honey c’mon, you gonna lemme have a real taste?” He asks lowly, polite for your permission as his mouth sucks a soft hickey, Kendall’s greedy mouth indenting into your skin.

It’s made you breathless, every sensation he touches you through. The hole in your stomach fills with raging butterflies at his gentle nature clashing with such rigorous hunger.

Your head falls up and down to nod, wordlessly spreading out for him even more. Sticking your clothed pussy in his face, where his saliva marks lay right on the crotch. It took nothing else for him to resist his urges any longer. Eyes bulging through those eyelashes, he stares at everything as he’s taking it in while ripping your panties down a leg. Scrunching them up, stuffing them into his back pocket just to be a creepy fuck later if God forbid she never spreads herself for him again. Maybe realize sooner or later he’s a big mistake.

It’s easy shaking off any insecurities protruding his mind when he could throw his brain in the fucking garbage when he gets to look at your throbbing bare pussy, leaking like you’re in heat. Kendall figures to prove his second thoughts wrong was to do a good fucking job, feel her cum on his tongue and his fingers as many times as you can handle so you couldn’t help but come back to him again for some more.

“Yeahhh, goddamn. Prettiest pussy right here, she’s just beautiful. Hold those open for me right now, you’ll get to wrap them around my shoulders in a second okay?” he utters, helplessly stroking your lips and your clit, smoothing the pads of his fingers up and down your delicate flesh. Shining already for him to play around with the mess.

“Atta girl. Open wide. You want my tongue first? Or these fingers?”

He’s circles your bulging clit like a shark, feeling your heartbeat jump right on your cute little button. As you clench around nothing except the emptiness of your slick walls, dripping another gush out from his smooth touch, he’s stunned to brief silence and hypnotized by the clear pretty swish around his fingers. Audibly you’re so turned on underneath him that it could’ve knocked him out landing his head right between your legs, knowing he’d wake up happy stuffing his face into you some more.

You’ve begun grinding mercilessly towards him, feeding Kendall the most delicious visuals of all. Ones he’ll press replay on and get lost into over, and over, and over again.

“Sounds like you need to be licked clean princess. Let’s open her up. Thaaaat’s it,” he directly starts spreading you open apart. “That’s it sweet girl. Gorgeous.”

Shaking his head, still in enormous bewilderment and disbelief he’s lucky enough to be here right now.

Done killing any time getting you wetter with his teasing, he opens his mouth before ducking right in to go for your silky clit. Buttering you up for him, getting those precious endorphins rushing to your brain with the help of his face and his tongue. That’s where he wants you.

He pops your bud in and out of his mouth, sucking and licking before smoothing that fat tongue warmly up to round itself around your entrance. Tasting and scoring that delectable wetness gushing out of you like honey.

“Yes….. that’s it—please keep licking it right there, oh….” you pant, red and sweating from that mouth not being shy, but going in deep. Twisting his tongue in, fucking it in and out. Slurping up any remains and even spitting directly onto the flushed labia.

Hands scrunch and grip possessively onto the skin of your ass. His breathing is so hot mixed with his spit, indulging like a fucking cheeseburger. His head is shaking back and forth as he dug in and repeated his tongue movements, swiping left and right and figure eight’s until he felt more of that beautiful, undeniable clenching down signal of reaching a melting point.

He tastes you literally melting for him, legs now tossed around his shoulders and shoving his face further in. Beneath you and him was Kendall’s raging hard on now outlined and leaking little spots of stains into the fabric, no different than those strawberry panties that sit in a little wet pile on the floor.

With an obnoxious slurp, one that brought a deeper shade of red outta your cheeks, he spits another pool on your open lips and kisses your puffed up clit. “Feel her clenching on me. Making you feel good, yeah? Like the way my mouth is fucking you?”

“Mmmmfff…..” you whine, shutting your eyes in unrelenting bliss. Feeling that smooth tongue annihilate you, shove itself inside you and make way to find every spongey sensitive spot. Your hips find themselves fucking onto his tongue like it’s his dick, sliding shyly but recklessly knowing it’s driving him and his own cock insane.

“Take it, take my tongue, fuck that pretty pussy on my face. Shit…..” he shuts up as you gain a quicker stronger momentum, engulfing his face and every bump and ridge and crevice to your pussy’s advantage, feeling every feature of his nudge your clit so irresistibly.

“Cum on my face. C’mon, fucking spray me with it. I don’t wanna be able to breathe,” he chuckles. Shoves himself back into you, hearing your wet gushing ruin both of you as you roll your head back and swear he took you to another dimension on his tongue. That wiggly, selfish tongue — slurping like your pussy’s leftovers are broth from a bowl, enticing and invigorating. His lips pout and kiss and press against you in every possible way you could’ve wanted, needed in order to finish tenfold.

“I….I can’t hold it Ken—“

“I don’t want you to.”

Looking up at you with those devastating eyes, you forget how you even ended up here and you don’t care if any part post nut makes you regret fucking this horny brat’s face — you couldn’t bring yourself to stop if everything you had on the line depended on it.

You hump and bump and grind, using that head like a damn sex toy while your clit almost painfully shudders from overstimulation at a particular swirl of his tongue.

“Mmmmm, myeah—“

You hear under you as you release yourself and cum on his mouth, on his chin. Waves crashing over your pussy for you couldn’t guess how long. Kendall’s smile is easy to feel while his mouth is still on you. Lingering, licking to clean up any mess in and around your used pussy. With how inflamed and engorged you were when you looked down, you would’ve thought he used some high powered fucking clit-sucker 5000 judging by the way your bud is visually used up and exhausted from his unrelenting stimulation. When you whine that if he licks you down there again you’ll nearly piss on his face he just laughs and says wouldn’t be so bad.

He wraps it up, kissing your pussy sweetly like if he were putting a bow on it and comes up for air. You can’t help but feel the rush again just seeing how disheveled eating you out made him. His shoulders still move up and down as he catches his breathing up with light gasps. His face is a mess, slathered in your remnants of cum. That bulge in his boxers looked like it’d been crying for air and attention for ages. You don’t think twice before gripping him clumsily in your grasp. Eager to feel and see how you’ve affected him.

He whips his head down and winces like he’s been burned, groaning raw from the electrifying pleasure. Your grip starts loose but gradually gains momentum as you tighten your fist, feeling his jumpy thickness cry out for you and release little dollops of pre-cum from the tip. Pearly white and pretty.

Kendall’s stomach does several somersaults while your own mouth goes in, teasing the very top.

“Didn’t…. mmm honey you know you don’t have to, I could’ve came awhile ago. You’re what I’m focused on,” he swallows, feeling his body betray him as you vacuum suck the whole crown of his thick head. Framing those blowjob lips so juicy and pretty around his length. Naughty and angelic wrapped up in one.

“Then keep focusing on me, on this,” you whisper. Tender licks wiggling around his throbbing erection.

“Mmmfuck. Fuck this isn’t fair, I’m gonna cum sooner,” he shuns himself, tossing his head back similar to how you did, unable to look at the real life fantasy plastered before him of your head gulping him up and down.

“I’m gonna have to fuck that selfish pussy another time.” Kendall confesses, licking the taste of you from his lips and daring another peak down. He’s filled with a tight feeling of admiration in his chest, in his cock, watching her throat bob and nearly choke up and down half of him. He thrusts his hips upwards gently, sad that it’s already almost over from her inescapable torment.

“Fucking get ready. Take me out if f’you don’t want a mouthful.”

The warning is rushed and raspy, sweat building up to the finale as his dick jumps and weeps from the generous swirls of your tongue. He watches you play with his balls with those impossibly soft fingers, gripping them exactly as hard as he needs to finally bust. Around seven or eight cumshots fly out from his swollen head like a geyser, landing every which way from your tongue to your forehead to your breasts and lips. The creamy mess he’s making only fueling your heat and desire seeing him orgasm and scrunch his face in an adorable helpless orgasm face that said he was sent off in the clouds. Distant from earth somewhere with every pump of your hand jacking him to empty the last thick drops of his load that make a mess streaming down his length and your wrist.

“Look fucking perfect covered in my cum,” he grumbles. Still in a wondrously vulnerable state of afterglow as you work a massage on his balls and his inner thighs still flexing themselves because of you. It’s so fast it’s unexpected when he’s on you again, meeting your wet mouth with his. Tasting yourselves combined on each other. He swirls your tongue with his the same thing he’d done to your pussy moments ago, melting you with his techniques yet again.

“You need any relief again you come back to me, understood? I’ll fuck every thought right outta this stressed out brain,” he gestures to your head and claws your scalp gently, scrunching up a handful of your locks soothingly. He snakes his beady eyes down the splatter trail of cum still all on you, flipping his dick back on as easy as a light switch from the visual. His fingers absently rub a blot of cum into your skin some more, like he’s moisturizing your skin to health, appreciating the naughty mess still painted on you.

“Shit, you’re ethereal. I wanna photograph.” he brings you in a bear hug, squishing both of you down to lie on the pillows of the bed.

He’s taken aback by your sudden swinging of the legs over onto his lap, towering over him, feeling the half-hard again cock slowly fill and rise again under the new position. The lump of his Adam’s apple gulps.

“Shit…. already uh, already needing another-?”

Fingers trace your hip bones.

“You say,” you lean down to mouth at his jaw. “whenever I want more relief—“

“-Come back for more. Good girl,” he sighs, closing his eyes and leaning into wherever you kiss. He puckers up in a quiet request to smack his lips against yours more, selfishly gnawing and twirling his tongue to consume everything inside. “My good fucking girl.”

Any of Kendall’s thoughts and worries float away to make room for you, what you feel like rubbing against him. What you sound like quivering on the edge just from the tip of his tongue.

He trails his lips down your neck, mumbling into the salty sweat drenching your skin that “I’ll take care of you good, so good you don’t have to do anything but just lie back and breathe for me baby. Just like that.”

Readjusting you both until you’re stretched out beneath him, so tired and pliant but ready and needy just the same.

“Tug on my hair when you’ve had too much,” he briefs before diving unexpectedly right back in, swirling his flat tongue generously over your bud and your lips.

“Ken, first of all you’re bald now and god dammit Ken—“

“I always eat before I fuck. Understand?”

That answering tone doesn’t leave you any room for argument, feeling his tongue go in for more while his eyes look up at you. Those eyes that say he isn’t gonna be done until he’s one hundred percent full.

Your brain barely could, but it starts thinking back to the conversation that led to how all of this started.

”And that’s it? That’s really your favorite part about getting laid? Going down on the girls?”

Kendall is cheeky and doesn’t hide it when he answers. “Fuck yeah it is. Watching her get hot and bothered on top of my face? Jesus Christ.” he whistles and puts his hands folded up behind his neck. You watch him likely replaying memories of numerous women in that very position, writhing on top of him for his tongue before he ever lets her even touch his dick.

“I’ve gone down on girls to make up for whenever they’re mad at me, or never got any head before, or just feel pretty bored as shit of their boyfriends not doing it for them in bed. S’real easy you know, just becoming this…. vessel for her to use. Tease her and praise her the whole time, get her real riled up…..” he trails off, feeling the atmosphere bloom and shift with every word of filth falling out of his mouth.

His eyes inevitably fall to your clothed mound as if he started fantasizing right then and there of the possibility. There’s resistance he tries displaying, tries not to make you uncomfortable or on the spot with everything but a glimmer of something else taking over him bleeds over his bar of temptation.

The finishing realization of how attracted and open jaw’d he gotten around you started at that tiny peak of pretty strawberries littering your panties that poke out from the band of your sweatpants. Triggering an incessant greed to look, touch, taste.

Kendall keeps his focus shamelessly on that tease of cotton strawberries, dancing on the tingling urges filling his mind up. His curiosity finds the best of him, finding her blush spreading down her neck just as lovely and endearing.

“Of course you’d weaponize a talent like that,” you scoff a laugh, trying to disguise your being flustered by the image of sitting on his mouth out of his begging of you to.

“M’not weaponizing if they give in, have their way in the end. It’s basically like quid pro quo,” Kendall bullshits, feeling a strike of adrenaline at the way you look back at him like you’ve been on the same page ever since the immature conversation started.

“Like quid pro quo, huh?”

It takes a moment to stifle everything in him before simply nodding. Clenching his jaw, clicking that aforementioned tongue in his mouth.

“Exactly.”

[teamackles96]

The Last Four Words

summary: Dean loses you after a hunt gone wrong.

pairing: Dean Winchester x reader

wordcount: 568

Main Masterlist | Dean Winchester One-Shots Masterlists

He couldn't believe it.

You were gone.

He would never see you again.

It didn't feel real.

One moment, you were laughing at a stupid joke he'd told. The next, he was holding you as you took your last breath. His tear-filled eyes memorized every inch of your face, trying to hold onto you as your body grew colder in his arms.

He sat in the dirt, cradling you for what felt like hours, lost in the impossible hope that this was all some cruel prank—that any moment now, you'd open your beautiful eyes and smile again.

Behind him, Sam and Cas stood silent, their own grief palpable, but they didn't dare intrude on Dean's mourning.

Every time he closed his eyes, the scene replayed in slow motion—the Demon creeping up behind you, the blade flashing before it plunged deep into your back. The way your knees buckled, his scream ripping through the air as he sprinted toward you. How he clutched your body to his chest, begging you to hold on, to stay with him, to give him any sign that you could fight this.

But there was nothing.  

Now...

He sat on the floor in your shared room, numbly staring at the ceiling, daring himself not to blink - to avoid seeing that scene again. 

He felt lost. 

Lost without you by his side telling him it was going to be okay.

Who was going to do that for him now? 

He continued to look up, dragging a hand down his face trying to stop the tears falling, when he heard a quiet beep. 

A low hum followed as his charging phone vibrated on his nightstand. Dean hesitated.  One half didn’t want to talk to anyone. The other was worried that Sam or Cas needed him.

Begrudgingly he got to his feet, flopping straight onto his bed to grab the device on the side table. Unlocking the phone his breath caught. 

A voicemail. From your number.

The timestamp of the voicemail seemed to be a little before you sent off for the hunt. 

His eyes flicked up in confusion, why didn’t he get this call before? Maybe there was no signal? Maybe he was on the phone to someone else? Maybe- 

“Hey babe, I’m just on my way back from the store. Sam called, he mentioned there’s some Demon activity near us? Before you panic - yes I got your pie which we can have tonight. Sam said whatever is going on should only take a couple hours. I’m thinking pie and Netflix tonight? Maybe some chill, if you’re lucky. You know, Netflix and Chill?” 

Your laugh—warm, teasing—made his chest tighten. He would never hear it again. 

“Hopefully you know what that is.” Dean chuckled under his breath, you would always joke about his age even though he was only 4 years older than you.  

“Anyway, I’ll be home soon. I love you Dean!”

His throat closed. His vision blurred.

I love you Dean.

Those would be the last four words he would ever hear you say and they were perfect. 

Tears slipped down his cheeks, but a small smile fought its way through. You were gone—but those four words were his to keep, forever.

Before he listened to it again, he made sure to press the correct button on the screen. 

The phone spoke back to him

Voicemail saved.

[child0feden]

OH MY DARLING

peter steele x reader x ( platonic! ) oc daughter

♡ general headcanons for peter as a girl dad!

୨୧ the most adorable request ever, love it and i hope you love this anon! i gave the daughter a name but it isn’t a major thing at all so you could imagine to be something else and the walking dead game brainrot is kind of heavy lol, sweetpea is just such a cute nickname so i ripped it <3

♡ requested by anon | view my metal masterlist here

reading music recommendations: ecstasy by crooked still - apple by cibo matto

♡ i feel like your daughter would be a carbon copy of peter!

୨୧ she has his deep green eye colour, his raven black hair and so on! she probably only inherited very small features from you but peter says he sees them very clearly in her

♡ the only thing she didn’t get from him is his height and build… i mean obviously, because she’s just a baby and all but even still, she’s super small, even for a child

୨୧ she’s the shortest in her daycare and just has the most adorable little features on her face!

♡ her tiny little button nose is your and peters favourite, both of you always place kisses on her nose, ever since she was a newborn

୨୧ maybe it’s just because i’ve been replaying the walking dead and just adore clementine so much but i can see you guys naming your daughter clementine! it’s just such a cute name

♡ peter would sing “ oh my darling clementine ” to her all the time when she woke up crying as a newborn and it just kind of stuck as she grew up

୨୧ whenever she has a bad dream as a toddler and needs help getting back to sleep, he’ll kneel next to her bed and stroke her hair whilst quietly singing the song in his deep voice as you watch lovingly from the doorway

♡ when he’s not singing her to sleep, he’s telling her a custom fairytale!

୨୧ he used to read ones from books for her but she never liked them too much, she’s super creative and original like her father, so she always thought they were just kind of boring and always the same

♡ so now, peter makes his own up as he goes! usually fairytales about vampires and other gothic things but she loves them

୨୧ she’s a total daddy’s girl! the second she was placed in his arms after being born, you could see they would share something special

♡ as a newborn, she’d cry for so long until peter took her into his arms! she would calm down a little with you but she would only fully stop crying when you handed her over to her papa and he rocked her tiny body in his big arms whilst he softly shushed her and leaned his head down to give her eskimo kisses

“ you’re okay, sweetpea… nothings wrong, see? papa’s got you, you’re okay… it’s okay ” ( her crying draws to a stop almost immediately as your mouth drops open in shock, peter simply throwing you a cheeky wink before cooing down at his little girl and giving her his finger to hold )

୨୧ whenever peter holds her in his arms, she almost doesn’t look real! ever since she was a baby, she looks more like a little porcelain doll rather than a real child due to their major difference in size and build

♡ but it’s so so so cute! he loves holding her because she’s just lighter than a feather to him

୨୧ she especially loves being placed on his shoulders because she says it makes her feel like a princess riding a big horse or tamed dragon

♡ taking her to type o negative concerts is always a trip! people backstage will immediately know who she’s related to the second they lay eyes on her, connecting her to the frontman within a split second due to how much she resembles peter

୨୧ you’ll often stand to the side of the stage, backstage and protected, your daughter held on your hip with soundproof headphones placed over her small and sensitive ears and yet she’ll still softly bob her head to the extremely muffled music making it through

♡ peter will usually dedicate a song to her, often her favourite one or one he wrote for her, and blow a kiss to the both of you as she catches it in her small hand and excitedly waves to him with a cheeky smile on her face

୨୧ speaking of a song he wrote for her, he absolutely has at least one song wrote about and for her!

♡ he probably wrote it when she was a newborn, during one of the many early nights where he had been awoken by her high pitched cries and went to comfort her whilst making sure you got your well deserved rest

୨୧ he wrote it on a notepad whilst sitting in a chair in her nursery after putting her back to sleep, looking up from the notepad every couple of minutes to admire his baby girl as she slept peacefully in her crib

♡ yeah, his perfect little girl was the most deserving of a song in her name

୨୧ he’ll always make sure that the backstage staff have juice boxes and snacks for her too! it’s the thing at the very top of the list for essentials that the band will need for a show

♡ peter will absolutely let your daughter colour in his tattoos if she wanted to!

୨୧ you’ll probably be cuddled up on the couch watching a movie or something and she’ll come running up to you two with a box of coloured markers, speaking in a rushed and excited tone whilst climbing up onto the couch, with a lot of help from her papa

♡ both you and peter give a laugh at how excited she is before peter gently ruffles her hair, letting her take his arm onto her lap and start colouring, admiring her with a loving look in his eyes

“ hm? oh! ‘s looking good, sweetpea! wow, look at that, you’ve stayed in the lines so well! ” ( she really hasn’t but it’s his baby girl, she can do no wrong )

୨୧ to be honest, he’d probably get a tattoo of one of her drawings!

♡ he’d give her a piece of paper and tell her to draw something cool and pretty before giving a piece to you too, asking you to write your name and get her to write her own when she’s done with her drawing

୨୧ within the week, peter has a messy dragon doodle and your and her name tattooed on his body, her name being a mere cute little chicken scrawl

♡ your daughter loves trying to scare her papa, always creeping up behind him whilst he writes some lyrics on a notepad or jumping out from behind a curtain as he walks by

୨୧ but of course, it never actually scares peter… he heard her tiny shoes tapping against the floor as she crept up behind him and her muffled giggles as she tried to hide them behind her hand

♡ and of course, he saw her outline behind the curtain and her fluffy socked feet were completely uncovered

୨୧ but he makes sure she doesn’t know that, he always puts on a spooked face and an over exaggerated gasp before kneeling down slightly and taking her into his arms as she giggles up a storm, proclaiming how she got him

“ you sure did get me, sweetpea! how didn’t i hear you, huh? you must’ve been floating like a ghost! my little ghost, hm? ” ( is lying really all that bad if it makes his baby girl show him that bright, beautiful little smile? )

♡ peter will always let her play with his hair!

୨୧ she wants to decorate it with an assortment of “ girly ” clips? go for it! he has no problem with it at all, he’ll sit on the floor in front of the couch whilst she sits on it behind him, so that there isn’t a major difference in height

♡ you and your daughter both love making his hair “ pretty ” and peter just loves seeing a smile on both of your faces, you’ll help her pick the prettiest clips and share beaming smiles with peter <3

[kpop---scenarios]

Reckless (6)

Pairing: Lee Know x Reader

Genre: Brothers Best Friend

Warning: Smut, sadness [18+ ONLY. MINORS DO NOT READ]

Word Count: 1.9k

Taglist: @hyunjinhoexxx @ovulatingrn @jisunglyricist @guiltycoco @fawnpeaks @purple-bell @caught-in-the-afterglow @ana-marais98 @rylea08 @astraystayastayastray @partyparty-yah @skzswife @sillyhal @feellikecinderella @asphalstead @minh0scat @anthropologymajorkpopmultistan @chanbahng29 @blackbluerose666 @mmarusa

@seungminsapuppy

One | Two | Three | Four | Five |

“Y/N?” You hear. “Y/N! Are you okay?” A voice asks. You slowly open your eyes, expecting to see Jisung and Jisoo around you but you're not home. You scramble to sit up, looking around your surroundings, this wasn't right. Was it all a dream? You look over, Hyunjin sits there, looking at you worriedly.

“I.. this isn't right? I was home? I have to call Jisung.” You say panicking.

As you grab your phone to dial, there's a frantic knock at the door.

“Y/N.. please..” you hear a familiar voice gasp. You get up, running to the door, unlocking it before ripping it open. Minho stands there, holding his stomach. Blood gushing from a wound, his shirt soaked.

“What happened!?” You cry as he collapses into your arms. “Jisung.. he found out.” He gasps. Tears fall from your eyes, you're sobbing over his body, you can't breathe. “Please Minho.. Please.. don't die, I love you please don't die.”

You gasp. You shoot up, sweat pouring from your body as tears continue to spill. Your chest is heaving as you replay the dream inside a dream you had just experienced. You were still on the couch at Hyunjin's. You look at your phone, it was 7:30am the next day.

Fuck. That means you never went home, you didn't have an argument with Minho, he never confessed to Jisung that he was in love with you. None of it was real. Fuck.

Hyunjin walks out of his room. “Good morning.” He laughs. “I thought you were gonna go grab some stuff yesterday?” He asks.

“I was.. but I guess I fell asleep.” You sigh.

“Are you okay? It sounded like you were having some weird dreams.” He says.

“Yeah.. something like that.” You whisper. “I'm gonna get ready and we can go to class.” You say.

The entire morning you felt off. Those dreams had really fucked you up and you felt like you couldn't tell what was real and what was a dream. It currently felt like you were in a dream, and you very well could be but you'd never know. Hyunjin had asked you if you wanted to grab lunch but you had no appetite at all. You couldn't focus, you couldn't stop thinking about that fucking dream. You walked through the halls with your head down, until you stopped in your tracks. Your stomach got butterflies. You looked up, seeing Minho standing there. You hadn't realized how much you had missed him until this very moment. How much you desperately wanted him at this very moment. You walked up to him, your fingertips grazing his cheek.

“You're real.” You whisper. You grab his wrist, pulling him with you, taking him into the first unoccupied classroom. You closed the door, locking it behind you.

“What is going on with you?” Minho asks. “You've ignored me for a month..” he pauses. You drop your books, walking up to him, crashing your lips onto his. He drops his books, wrapping one arm around you and one around your head, pulling you in closer to him. Your mouths move together, he slides his tongue into your mouth, deepening the kiss. You both were sloppy, so needy for each other. You missed him so fucking much. You move your hands down, fumbling with the button on his jeans. You finally undo it, pulling the zipper down and his pants just enough to release his cock. You grab it with your hand, gently stroking him as he moans into your mouth. You can feel his cock harden in your hands, and that made you so wet.

Minho spins the two of you around, backing you into the wall. He pulls down your pants and underwear, you take them off, kicking them away from you. You jump up, wrapping your legs around his waist. Minho lines himself up with you, slowly pushing his cock inside of you. It had been so long, it sent shivers down your spine as he filled you up.

“Fuck.” He hisses, pushing himself all the way inside of you. “You feel so good around my cock.”

“Move.” You gasp. You needed him to fuck you, so hard. Minho starts to thrust, snapping his hips hard enough to push his cock in so deep into you.

“I fucking missed you so much.” He breathes into your ear. Your heart melts at his words, you wrap your arms around him even tighter, nuzzling your face into the crook of his neck. He thrusts faster, the he's rubbing against your clit with every thrust, it feels so fucking good. You turn your head, your lips brushing up against his ear.

“I'm gonna cum.” You whimper just before your orgasm takes over. You moan loudly as pleasure flows through your body and your eyes roll back. You clench your cunt around him, making him moan louder and thrust faster. He wasn't far behind you, his orgasm hitting him seconds later. “Fuck.” He gasps as he cums, spilling his warm liquid deep inside you.

He holds you for a second, before you unwrap your legs from him and he pulls out of you. You quickly get your underwear and your pants back on as he buttons up his pants, fixing himself up.

“Wow.” He chuckles.

“Did you mean it?” You ask, you need to know.

“Mean what?” He asks, fixing his hair.

“Did you miss me? When you said you missed me, did you mean it?” You wonder.

“I mean yeah, the house has been quiet without you. Why have you been gone so long? And why were you ignoring me?” He asks.

“Are you still with Maya?” You ask, ignoring his questions.

“Kinda.. I guess.” He sighs. “I'm not really into it though. I'm interested in someone else.”

You perk up immediately. Interested in someone else, that person had to be you. He smiles at you, staring at your face. He looks like he wants to tell you something, like he wants to tell you that it's you. But then he turns scared.

“You know Rose? Yeah, I'd like to start talking to her.” He whispers. He knew what you were hoping his answer would be. He so desperately wanted to tell you that it was you but he knew how wrong he had been in sleeping with you, refusing to acknowledge his feelings and telling Jisung. He couldn't. Not after Jisung had explicitly said that you were off limits. He wanted you to hate him, he wanted you to forget him because you deserved so much more than he could give you but he was addicted to you, just like you were to him.

Tears spill down your cheeks, you sniffle, trying to hold them in but you're failing miserably. “Fuck you.” You snap. You grab your books, unlock the door to storm out. You didn't think he'd chase you but he did.

“Y/N!” He yells. People stop to stare. “Please. Can I explain?” He asks.

“Explain what, exactly?” You snap.

“You've done nothing but hurt me these last few months, and yeah maybe it's my fault because I let you. Because I was so fucking with you that I wanted anything I could get from you. But you refuse to tell me how you really feel just because you're scared of my brother and his reaction?” You scoff.

“I'm not allowed to love you! Okay? I'm not supposed too, but I fucking do. I can't breathe when you're not around me, but it can't happen. I can't keep fucking betraying my best friend like this. I'm going to tell him. I'll tell him everything, but this.” He pauses, pointing to you and himself. “Is done. It's not happening anymore. When I tell him, I have to tell him it's over.”

“Are you going to tell him you love me?” You cry.

Minho looks at the ground.

“No. I can't.” He whispers.

“Then it doesn't sound like you ever loved me.” You snap, storming away. You were done. You were done with school right now, everything. You wanted to curl in a ball and do nothing and that's what you did. You went to Hyunjin's and you knew he wasn't home. You packed up your belongings, you had intruded on his life long enough. You took your stuff and went back home. You walked in the door, tears stained on your face.

“Y/N?” Jisung says, looking shocked that you were here. “What's wrong?” He asks. You drop your belongings, your head hangs low, as you sob. Jisung rushes towards you, wrapping his arms around you.

“What happened?” He asks.

“I.. I can't tell you.” You cry.

“You can tell me anything.” He whispers, rubbing your back.

“I've been.. sleeping with..” you take a deep breath. You can do this. “Minho.” You whisper.

His hand freezes on the middle of your back. “Like.. my best friend Minho?” He asks.

“Yes.” You cry, you're sobbing even harder than before.

“Okay, okay, shhh. It's gonna be okay.” He whispers. “What happened? Was he mean to you?”

“He has been. He says it's because he knew it was so wrong and he was betraying you. He said he loves me but he knows he's not allowed to.” You sniffle.

“Why don't you go and lay down for a bit.” He says. “Just go rest. I'll deal with this.”

“What are you gonna do?” You ask, picking up your bag.

“Don't worry about that. Just go on.” He half smiles.

As you go upstairs to your room, Jisung sits back on the couch, resuming his show. You can only imagine how much anger is flowing through him right now. You put your stuff down and instead of unpacking you lay down in your bed. You needed to shower but fuck you were exhausted. You must have fallen asleep for a bit, because you woke up to the front door slamming. You knew it was Minho.

Jisung stands up, glaring at his best friend.

“Jisung.” Minho sighs. “I need to talk to you.”

“Yeah? That's funny, cause I need to fucking talk to you.” Jisung snaps. Minho drops his bag and books, walking closer to Jisung.

“You talked to Y/N?” Minho asks.

“Well yeah. When my little sister comes home sobbing, I tend to talk to her.” Jisung says.

“She was crying?” Minho whispers. His heart sinks. He hated himself so much.

“Yep.” Jisung says before making a fist and swinging. He hits Minho in the face, knocking him back.

“Fuck man.” Minho yells, holding his face. “I deserved that.”

“You deserve a lot fucking worse!” Jisung yells, walking over to Minho. He grabs the collar of his shirt, pulling him close. “The only fucking reason I'm not killing you right now is because she loves you and she told me that you love her too. Is that true?” He asks.

Minho nods his head. “I fucking do! How could I not?” He yells.

“Then make it fucking right.” Jisung yells, pushing Minho back.

“How? After everything, how can I make it right with her? She'll never forgive me.” He says, as you walk down the stairs.

“In the words of Olivia Pope.” You begin. “If you want me, earn me.” You say. Minho looks at you with pleading eyes. He can see your face is puffy and eyes are red from crying.

You start walking back up the stairs, turning to look back at him one last time, glaring directly into his eyes. You say one last thing to him before turning the corner.

“Asshole.”

If he really loves you like he says he does, he'll do whatever it takes to prove it to you.

[lieslab]

And normalcy's boring

꘎♡━━━━━♡꘎ ꘎♡━━━━━♡꘎

Pairing: Seungmin X gn reader

Summary: After hate comments flood your cosplay videos, due to your weight, your boyfriend isn't thrilled.

Genre: Comfort/hurt

Word Count: 2.5K

Depression resources

Trigger warning: Implied depression, self-insecurity, and struggling with being overweight.

A/N: I'm back to writing requests for the moment. I don't know a ton about cosplay, so I hope this is up to the standards. People are so cruel at times, but requestee, I hope this doesn't stop you from pursuing what you enjoy <3

_ _ _

The replay of comments in your head hit like a never-ending thunderstorm. Their meanings were enough to shake the sturdy ground beneath your feet and drench you in sadness. Just when you thought you saw the light, you remembered how deadly it was to have hope in the darkness. 

People were good at always coming up with something. Humans were full of flaws, everyone always was, but behind the screen in a digital world, it began to get harder and harder to remember that. Filters smoothed skin full of prominent pores and blemishes. The usual warm color was bleached from skin. 

Nit-picked flaws were edited and cropped out. Photos were taken at higher angles and the lighting was changed. We live in a photoshop-filled society and it seemed like nothing was going to change that lately. Everything just felt superficial and wrong. 

What happened to wholesome human connection and embracing flaws? What happened to living the life you wanted to live? Rather than letting insecurities weigh you down, you ignored the digital masses and lived your truth. No matter how much people hated, people deserved to live without the constricting confines of society. 

Bodies became less focused on living and more focused on trends. Pale skin. No, tan skin. Hip dips are the worst, but some people find comfort in the shape of their body. The rib cage is too wide. Flat chests are good, but next month, the opposite is true. 

Insecurities are pulled from thin air and sooner or later, you’re dissecting yourself in the mirror, just trying to find something to change to be accepted by the masses. If you let them, they will destroy you and they will kill you with their poisoned words. Your reflection will be a stranger and no matter how much you try to change it all, it will still feel fake. 

So you began to hit the delete button. Over and over and over and over again. Every post, every comment, every like. 

Undo. 

Unlike 

Unshare. 

Unexist. 

Delete. 

One video gained traction and just when you thought, maybe you finally broke through the algorithm and were finally being noticed, you certainly were, but it wasn’t for the right reasons. The first hate comment was deleted and just when you thought that was in, three more appeared, and then six, and suddenly you hit thirteen. 

The algorithm was working alright, you were finally being noticed, just not the way you wished you could be. What started out as a fun way to spend your pastime, it was ripped to shreds by strangers on the internet. You thought taking down that single video was enough, but the comments began to spread like a virus through the comments of each video section. 

You weren’t quick enough to mute certain words. You tried, but when people realized that their comments weren’t being picked up and posted, they went around the blocked words. The only common factor within all of them? Your weight. 

The little sparks of joy in your heart grew dull. Cosplay was supposed to bring forth happiness. You could finally put on the wig and do the makeup, a way to escape the harshness of this reality, and try to find joy in another, but it didn’t work. The little illusions were ripped apart by strangers with faceless profile photos. The happiness weighed down with a rock in the pit of your stomach and there was nothing more for you to find in the app anymore. 

You idolized dozens of cosplayers and followed your favorites. You splurged in necessary makeup and odd and end parts. Hours were pooled together in the dark as you created magic from old boxes and tins. You recycled what you could and found joy in bringing someone else to life. 

Unfortunately, others didn’t see it that way. For some, the internet wasn’t a place to find joy, but rather a place to hide and harass. Somewhere to go and bully and belittle others, just because they could. Nobody was going to stop them and to riddle another cosplayer? Why not? 

People forget that people are allowed to have other interests. Each human is full of different quirks and fun. People aren’t the same and that’s what makes us special, but you couldn’t see that through the comments pouring in. Your rainbows had been clouded with thunderstorms and tears. 

Seungmin was popping open a bowl of rice at the JYP building. Getting ready to mix sides together and have a rice bowl, he pulled up your main social media page like normal. Humming beneath his breath, he clicked on your profile name. 

Profile not found. 

His eyebrows furrowed and he clicked on the link again. 

Profile not found. 

“What do you mean?” He mumbled beneath his breath. “Profile not found? Did you get banned or something?” He sighed, stopped dumping his meat into his rice, and dialed your number. 

At home, there were tears in your eyes as you deactivated your account. You didn’t want to, but what more could you do? You didn’t want to give people the satisfaction of ridiculing and bullying you. You refused to be the laughingstock and the punching bag. 

Your phone screen lighting up with Seungmin’s contact name was a surprise. The three puppy emojis stared at you with tiny pink tongues sticking out. You sucked in a deep breath, sniffled, and wiped your eyes before answering the call. 

“Hello?” 

“Hey, what are you doing?” He pressed the speakerphone button and placed his phone down on the table beside him. The rest of the guys scattered down to the cafeteria and left the studio earlier. He just stayed put and ordered doordash. 

“Nothing much. I’m at home and just…” You trailed off and shrugged, despite him not being able to see you. “I guess I’m just hanging out. Why do you ask? Aren’t you eating?” 

“Well, yeah, but I was going to ask if you’ve seen your cosplay account lately. I went to watch your videos and it says the account isn’t available. If you got banned for a stupid reason, you can try and appeal.” 

“I wasn’t banned.” 

He paused with his hands wrapped around the soy sauce packet. “You weren’t? Why does it say the account isn’t available?” 

“I deleted it,” you responded quietly. 

“Deleted it? What? Why?” He grabbed the phone with a pounding heart. A hand tugged through dark hair and he brought the device closer to his mouth. “What do you mean?” 

“I mean that I shouldn’t have even had the account anyway. I’m fat, remember? It’s a criminal act to be overweight and try to cosplay your favorite characters.” You blinked rapidly, trying to stop your tears. 

“But it’s fine,” you continued. “I’ll just go ahead and make another account after I lose weight.” 

On the other end of the phone, Seungmin’s heart dropped. You always struggled with your weight, but when he saw you, he didn’t see that. He saw someone he loved with every fiber of his being. He didn’t see you the way that your brain morphed you. 

He didn’t see the features that you insisted made you look like a pig. He didn’t like the way you cracked jokes and compared yourself to a whale. It was one of your biggest insecurities and he knew that, but no matter how hard he tried to help you with it, you were still so stuck in your head. 

Comments adding fuel to the fire in your head was devastating. The little snippets of courage he instilled in you, smoke snuffed them out. The discourse and conversations the two of you had, the conversations about finding strength when your brain felt at its lowest, it felt like it had been for nothing. 

“Seungmin?” You asked quietly on the opposite end of the phone. 

He didn’t respond. For once, he had no words to say. His heart ached and the thought of imagining how those comments made you feel, it was a stab to his heart. People were mean for the cruelest reasons. 

“Stay there,” he finally uttered. “I’m coming home and you better be there when I get there or else.” He ended the call before you could respond. As quick as a flash, he repacked all his food and freed himself from the confined walls of the recording studio. 

At home, you felt awful for driving him away from his lunch. He should have been enjoying it and not worrying about you. You didn’t know it, but Seungmin was always going to worry about you. Whether it was the way you viewed yourself or the callosity from strangers, he’d worry about you no matter where he was. 

He’d grown to love you and everything about you. Of course, that meant worrying about you. That absolutely meant dropping everything for you when you were down. He wasn’t going to let you deal with your inner demons alone. 

You stayed on the couch lost in your own thoughts. Comments pushed through your head like a slow merry-go-round. Your eyes lingered on too many of them before you could hit the delete button. Hate comments comments became a pit of quicksand and you sank to your neck. 

Seungmin didn’t waste any time rushing home. He didn’t knock, but rather burst through the front door. It slammed shut behind him and you slowly glanced up from your spot on the beige couch. 

He bent down, placed his hands on his knees, and sucked in a sharp breath. Worried about him, you pushed yourself up from the couch. “Did you run all the way there? That was-” 

He stuck up a finger to gesture that he needed a moment. You sighed, headed for the kitchen, and disappeared to get him a bottle of cold water. When you came back with it, he thanked you, cracked it open, and took a few gulps. 

“Why did you come back here? You could have stayed in the studio. It’s not like I’m having a medical emergency.” 

“I came back because I know you.” He pulled the bottle from his face and sighed. “I know you take what people say to heart and I know it’s hard. I know people can be cruel, but you can’t take people’s words to heart.” 

You chuckled and shook your head. “You have no idea what it’s like being me. You don’t know what it’s like to have people-” 

“Try and dictate your life? Rip you apart for your facial features? Hate you for the things you can’t control sometimes? Comment on your body, forgetting that you’re a human with thoughts and feelings? I’m a k-pop idol, my life is full of never-ending complaints from people, it’s always something from management or fans.” 

Your eyes found the floor and slipped shut. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it like that, I just-” 

“You don’t think I’ve had to stand back and watch other fandoms and my own rip apart their supposed favorite idols? Comment on a weight gain? Cry out about weight loss? Speculate on a surgery they had or talk about something that’s none of their business?” 

His eyes met yours, but you refused to look at him. He recapped his water bottle and placed it on a side table. “I know what some people are like because I’ve done this since I was a kid. I know what it’s like to feel slaughtered by the masses and it sucks.” 

“People are horrible sometimes and I wish I could change it, but I can’t. As for deleting your account and videos, you’re giving them what they want. You’re letting them win and you’re letting the voices in your head win too.” 

He stepped closer and gently took your hands. Butterflies brushed against the rim of your stomach and your eyes shyly met him. Soft thumbs stroked the back of your hands. 

“I know you struggle with your weight and I know you’re insecure about it. I know weight loss is hard and it’s nobody's business, but yours. I do know that you don’t have to abandon the things you love because you’re not the right size.” 

“How often have you found happiness in crafting and creating? How many times have you pulled up a video and started to brainstorm things you need to create that cosplay? Look at how much joy it’s brought into your life.” 

The lump in your throat came from nowhere as you squeezed his hands. Lost in your own head, his words were a pillar to lean on. A sturdy structure support that you finally felt secure to rest against once more. 

“You know I used to hide my smile, but you know what I’d go back and tell myself? I’d tell myself to smile more. I shouldn’t have had to hide something so normal just because people told me it was ugly. I shouldn’t have to live according to the standards of other people and you shouldn’t either.” 

Your teeth bit into your bottom lip and you nodded. You fell in love with creating your cosplays. Not only that, it gave you something to work for. Goals were created, so you could exist and be happy. Before the stream of negative comments, even if you only got a handful of views, you were having fun. 

“So please, rethink closing your account. Maybe you can create another one. Maybe you can turn off the comments and let the hate fall to the wind. Let it blow away and let it go. Don’t take the opinions of strangers that you can’t see.” 

“Thank you,” you weakly uttered. Tears shone like diamonds in your eyes. Seungmin was the first to reach them and wipe them away. He was always the first. 

“If not to do it from joy, do it out of spite. Give the haters the middle finger. Keep practicing, keep creating, and keep growing. They can’t see the future, but I can and I know you’ll do amazing things. Maybe, you’ll get better and better and get invited to one of those cosplay convention things.” 

“You think so?” You whispered as you glanced up. 

“I think anything is possible when you live out of spite and chase your dreams.” 

A laugh suddenly broke through your tears. “You’re crazy, Kim Seungmin, a perfect kind of chaotic and crazy. I love it.” 

“I love you too or whatever. Now what are you waiting for?” He leaned over and grabbed your phone from the couch. “What should your username be? I think we should make it suck my di-” 

“No!” You cried out as you swiped your phone. “Kim Seungmin!” 

“Can I, at least, put middle finger emojis in your bio?” 

“No!” 

He huffed and crossed his arms over his chest. “You never let me have any fun. They’re lucky you’re nice because if it was me-” 

“You’d be mean?” 

“They’d never see the light of day ever again.” 

You knew you loved that man for a reason.

| ♡.﹀﹀﹀﹀.♡ | ♡.﹀﹀﹀﹀.♡ | ♡.﹀﹀﹀﹀.♡ |

Taglist: @lia-linny @seungnishi @stellasays45 @emilyywhyy @rockstarkkami @flightlessackerman @danihwang882

Masterlist

Taglist and inbox rules

Ko-fi

[rootedinrevisions]

Painted Him Perfect

SUMMARY: Inspired by Alexandra Kay’s song "Painted Him Perfect." Tyler and his soon-to-be ex-wife grapple with the stark reality of their crumbling marriage as she makes her way to Oklahoma to finalize their divorce. Despite the façade of a perfect relationship portrayed to their fans, her heartfelt video revealing their separation exposes the cracks hidden beneath the surface.

WARNINGS: ANGST. DIVORCE.

WORD COUNT: 3.5k

She stared into the camera, her finger hovering over the record button. It felt strange—foreign, even—to sit in front of the camera like this, alone. The space next to her on the couch seemed too big, too empty. It wasn’t supposed to be like this.

With a shaky breath, she pressed record.

“Hey guys,” she started, her voice soft but clear, “I know you’ve all been wondering... asking where my ring is, and why I haven’t been around much lately.” Her throat tightened, but she pushed forward. “It’s hard to say this, and I’m a little embarrassed, but... I guess it’s time I be honest.”

The camera was unforgiving, capturing every flicker of pain in her eyes, the quiver in her voice that she tried so hard to hide. 

She paused, swallowing hard. Just say it, she told herself. Rip the Band-Aid off.

“Tyler and I... we’re in the process of separating.” The words were out now, floating in the space between her and the camera, no longer just a thought she could bury deep inside. “I... we gave it everything we had. But sometimes, even when you love someone, it’s not enough to fix what's broken.”

Tears welled up in her eyes, but she blinked them back. She had to stay strong, for them, for herself. “The truth is, I painted him perfect. I painted our relationship perfect. I wanted to believe that what we had was flawless, but... it wasn’t. And it’s time we both move on.”

With trembling fingers, she reached out and stopped the recording. The silence in the room felt deafening. She stared at the dark screen for a moment, letting the gravity of what she’d just said sink in. It was done. The video was out there, and soon, everyone would know the truth.

Hours later, the rhythmic sound of the tires on the road was the only thing keeping her tethered to the present as she drove. Her hands gripped the steering wheel tightly, the divorce papers lying in the seat beside her like an unspoken weight. The highway stretched endlessly in front of her, but her thoughts were stuck on the video she’d recorded earlier.

I guess it’s time I be honest...

She’d replayed those words a dozen times since pressing upload, still second-guessing if she’d said too much, or too little. Had she painted herself too much as the victim? Had she been too hard on Tyler? Or maybe, she’d gone too easy on him. After all, he’d let her do all the talking. He hadn’t been the one sitting there in front of the camera, baring his soul. That had been her.

I painted pink skies at sunrise to cover all the blue... she thought bitterly. For years, she’d made excuses, drawn pretty pictures over the cracks in their marriage so no one would see.

Seven years. It felt like a lifetime, but also like it had gone by in a blur. High school sweethearts, everyone had called them the perfect couple. She’d believed it too, for a long time. She’d even convinced herself that love was supposed to hurt sometimes, that the sleepless nights spent waiting for him to come home, the tears shed quietly so no one else would hear—that was what real commitment looked like.

The reality, though, had been far different. The long-distance stretches while Tyler was off filming for the channel, the pressure to always be “on” for their audience, the way they’d smile through the tension in front of the camera, and then barely speak off it... It had eaten away at them, piece by piece, until there was nothing left to salvage.

A sharp pang of regret twisted in her chest as the road signs blurred past. She didn’t know if she was more upset about the end of their marriage or the fact that she had to drive all the way to Oklahoma to finalize it. Just his signature, she thought, glancing at the divorce papers again. Then it's done.

But why did it feel so unfinished? Why did a part of her still ache to see him? To talk to him one last time? Would this be the closure she needed, or just another painful reminder of how far they’d fallen?

She sighed heavily, turning up the music on the radio, trying to drown out her thoughts. The fans would know by now. The comments had probably started pouring in—shocked, confused, supportive, heartbroken. She hadn’t checked yet. She wasn’t ready to face it. What she’d told the camera had been the truth, but somehow, it still felt like a betrayal.

“Tyler and I... we’re in the process of separating.”

The phrase echoed in her mind. Even saying it aloud had felt surreal. How had they gotten here? The perfect couple. The YouTube sensation. The high school sweethearts that everyone thought had it all. We painted it perfect—a lie they both were complicit in.

She gripped the wheel tighter as she neared Oklahoma, her heart pounding in her chest. Would he fight it? Would he avoid signing the papers like he had been doing for weeks? So much so that she was now driving to where he was because he refused to come home. Would he try to stop her from walking away? Or would he finally just sign the papers, let her go, and close this chapter of their lives?

The thought of seeing him again stirred up something painful and raw. She wasn’t sure what was worse—the idea that he’d try to convince her to stay one last time or the fear that he wouldn’t.

The neon motel sign flickered dimly in the distance, casting a dull, orange glow on the cracked pavement. As she pulled into the parking lot, her heart sank further into the pit of her stomach. This was it—the place where everything was about to end. The place where she'd officially close the chapter on a love she'd clung to for too long.

She parked and sat there for a moment, staring blankly at the dashboard, trying to steady her nerves. Tyler and his crew hadn’t arrived yet. The thought brought a small wave of relief, but it didn’t last long. He’d be here soon enough. She’d have to face him, and there’d be no more hiding behind a screen or carefully crafted words. No more painted pink skies.

With a deep breath, she grabbed her overnight bag and made her way to the office, the cool night air doing little to ease the tension winding through her body. The clerk handed her a room key without much fanfare, barely making eye contact as he rattled off the directions. She thanked him quietly before heading to her room.

Once inside, she dropped her bag on the floor and sank onto the edge of the bed. She texted Tyler that she was there and what room she was in. Then she looked around. The room was small, plain—just a bed, a TV, and a small table near the window. It was far from the kind of places she and Tyler used to stay when they traveled together for his channel, but maybe that was fitting. Their relationship wasn’t anything like it used to be either.

She kicked off her shoes, curling her legs up under her as she sat on the bed, staring blankly at the wall. The silence was suffocating, the weight of her decision pressing down on her more than she had anticipated. She needed a distraction, something to fill the space, so without thinking, she reached for her phone.

She hesitated for a moment, her finger hovering over the YouTube app. She hadn’t looked at the comments since posting the video. A part of her didn’t want to. But the other part—the part that had shared her life with these people for years—needed to know how they were reacting. Did they hate her? Did they blame her? Or maybe they were just as confused as she was.

Opening the app, her video was the first thing to pop up on her feed. The thumbnail image was a still of her sitting on the couch, her eyes downcast, hands folded in her lap. She clicked on it and scrolled down to the comments, bracing herself for whatever she might find.

The messages were already flooding in. Thousands of them. Some were supportive:

"We love you, and we’re here for you, no matter what. 💖"

"I can’t believe this... You and Tyler were my favorite couple, but I respect your decision. It must have been so hard."

"I always looked up to you two. My heart’s breaking, but I understand."

She blinked back tears as she read through more of them. Some were shocked:

"What? I never saw this coming!"

"Please tell me this isn’t real... you two seemed so perfect together."

And then there were the ones that cut deep, even though she knew they didn’t mean to:

"I thought you guys were the real deal. It’s hard to believe all those vlogs were just a lie."

"I don’t know how to feel about this. I feel like I’ve been watching a fake relationship this whole time."

She bit her lip, scrolling faster, her chest tightening with every message. It wasn’t a lie. She and Tyler had loved each other. Maybe they still did, in a way. But what they had wasn’t enough anymore. They had grown apart, and pretending otherwise would’ve been cruel—to themselves and to the people who’d supported them for so long.

Her finger paused over a comment that stopped her in her tracks.

"Why didn’t you fight harder to save it? Real love is worth fighting for."

A bitter laugh escaped her lips, and she quickly wiped away the tears that had begun to spill. She had fought. She had given it everything she had—four-hour drives one way just to see him for a night. She had sat through numerous sessions of couple’s therapy with tears in her eyes, hoping, praying that they could fix what was broken. But in the end, it wasn’t enough. Nothing was enough.

She threw the phone down on the bed, her hands trembling as she ran them through her hair. Why did she look at the comments? What had she expected? Closure? Validation? She didn’t know. But now, sitting in this dim motel room, alone with her thoughts, all she felt was regret. Maybe not for the video, but for the way things had turned out.

The truth was, she had to be honest with them. She owed it to the fans who had supported them, who had cheered for their relationship, even when things were far from perfect behind the scenes. They deserved to know why she wouldn’t be around anymore. They deserved the truth.

But it didn’t make it any easier.

She leaned back against the headboard, pulling the thin motel blanket over her legs as she closed her eyes. Her mind wandered back to the good times, the times before everything had gone wrong. The road trips, the late-night filming sessions, the moments that felt so real, so genuine. She had painted those moments perfect in her mind, just like she had in the videos.

But now the paint was peeling, and all that was left underneath was the raw truth. They had fallen apart, and there was no covering it up anymore.

The sound of tires crunching gravel outside made her sit up straight, her heart jumping in her chest. She stood and moved to the window, peeking through the thin curtain. Tyler’s truck had just pulled into the lot.

He was here.

Her heart raced as she watched him get out of the truck, his movements slow and deliberate, as if he was dreading this meeting just as much as she was. His crew began unloading their gear from the back, but her eyes stayed locked on Tyler.

This was it. The moment of truth.

She stepped away from the window, her body tense as she moved back to the bed, her thoughts spinning. In a few minutes, she’d face him again. The man she’d spent nearly a decade of her life with. The man who, despite everything, still held a part of her heart.

And all she had to do was get him to sign the papers.

A soft knock echoed through the small motel room, pulling her from her spiraling thoughts. Her heart stuttered as she stood, wiping her clammy hands on her jeans before making her way to the door. She hesitated for a second, hand hovering over the knob. She wasn’t ready for this—for the finality of it all. But it had to be done.

With a deep breath, she turned the handle and pulled the door open.

There he was, standing just outside her door, looking as worn and exhausted as she felt. Tyler’s eyes met hers for only a split second before darting away, his jaw tense, hands shoved deep into his pockets. He looked like he hadn’t slept in days, and something about the sight of him made her chest tighten.

"Hey," she said softly, stepping aside to let him in.

"Hey." His voice was low, hoarse even, as he walked past her into the room. He paused in the middle of the small space, turning slightly as she closed the door behind them, sealing them off from the rest of the world.

For a moment, neither of them said anything. The silence between them was thick, suffocating, weighed down by everything left unsaid. She stood by the door, leaning against it, her arms crossed over her chest. Tyler shifted on his feet, his eyes glued to the floor, as if he couldn’t bear to look at her.

Finally, he broke the silence. “So... the video.”

She swallowed hard, the guilt already gnawing at her. “Yeah.”

Tyler lifted his head slightly, meeting her gaze for the first time since he walked in. There was a tightness around his eyes, a frustration simmering just beneath the surface. “You didn’t tell me you were going to post it.”

Her stomach twisted at the hurt in his voice. "I thought we talked about—"

“We talked about saying something, but we didn’t agree to this,” he interrupted, his voice sharp but not angry. Just... tired. “You went ahead and posted it without even running it by me.”

She exhaled, pressing her back harder against the door. “I know. I’m sorry. I just... I felt like I had to do it. People were starting to ask questions, and it didn’t feel right to leave them in the dark.”

“And it felt right to tell the whole world before we even finished this?” he asked, his voice quiet but laced with emotion. “Before we talked about this in person? Before we even signed the damn papers?”

His words hit harder than she expected. She had told herself she was doing the right thing, that she owed it to their fans to be honest. But she hadn’t considered how Tyler would feel, how he might see it as another layer of their relationship unraveling without him being able to stop it.

She dropped her gaze to the floor, her voice barely above a whisper. “I didn’t mean to hurt you. I just... I needed to be honest with them.”

There was a long pause, the air between them thick with unsaid words. Tyler rubbed a hand over his face, letting out a breath like he was trying to gather his thoughts.

When he spoke again, his voice was softer. “Are you really sure you want to do this? End it like this?”

Her heart clenched painfully at the question. She had known this moment would come, that he’d ask. And yet, standing here, face-to-face with him, she still wasn’t sure how to answer. She felt like she’d been unraveling for years, trying to hold onto a marriage that was slipping through her fingers. But now, standing in front of the man she’d loved for more than a decade, she wasn’t sure if letting go was the right thing anymore.

Tyler took a step closer, his eyes pleading. “We can fix this. We can try again—go to a different therapist, take some time away from everything, whatever it takes. Just... don’t throw it all away. Not like this.”

Her chest ached at the vulnerability in his voice, the desperation that was so unlike him. This was Tyler—confident, easygoing Tyler who had always been the strong one, the steady one. But now, here he was, asking her to give them one more shot, to believe in what they once had, even though she wasn’t sure she could anymore.

“I don’t want to give up on us,” he continued, his voice breaking slightly. “I still love you. I know things haven’t been perfect, but that doesn’t mean we can’t fix it. We’ve been through so much together. Don’t you think we owe it to ourselves to try one more time?”

Tears welled up in her eyes, and she blinked them back furiously. She had wanted to believe that for so long—that if they just worked harder, they could fix what was broken. She had made excuses for their distance, for the growing cracks in their relationship, because she couldn’t bear the thought of losing him. But now, after everything, she didn’t know if they could go back to the way things were.

“I don’t know if I have anything left to give,” she whispered, her voice trembling.

Tyler’s face fell, and for a moment, she thought he might walk out right then. But instead, he took another step toward her, his hand reaching out to touch her arm gently. “We don’t have to figure it all out right now. Just... let’s not make any decisions tonight. Let’s take some time. Let’s talk tomorrow.”

Her resolve wavered, and she hated herself for it. She had been so sure, so certain that this was the right thing. But now, standing here in the same room with him, she could feel her walls crumbling. A part of her still wanted to believe that they could make it, that they could find their way back to each other.

But another part of her knew that they were too far gone.

She stepped back slightly, creating space between them even though it hurt to do so. “Talking tomorrow isn’t going to change anything.”

“I’m not ready to give up,” he said, his voice thick. “But if you are… I guess I don’t have a choice.”

His hand fell to his side, and for a long moment, they just stood there in silence, the weight of her words hanging heavy in the air. Tyler’s jaw clenched, his expression hardening even as the hurt shone through his eyes. Slowly, his gaze drifted to the small table by the window where the divorce papers lay, neatly stacked, the pen resting on top of them.

The silence stretched between them, oppressive, until finally, Tyler moved. He walked toward the table, his movements slow and deliberate. She watched as he picked up the pen, holding it in his hand like it weighed a thousand pounds.

For a moment, he just stood there, staring down at the papers. She saw his shoulders rise and fall with a heavy breath, and her heart ached at the sight. This was it—the moment they both had been avoiding for so long.

Without looking at her, Tyler leaned down. The pen hovered above the line where his signature was supposed to go, and for a second, she thought he might not do it. But then, in one swift motion, he pressed the pen to the paper and signed his name. The scratch of the pen was deafening in the quiet room, each stroke feeling like a nail in the coffin of their marriage.

When he finished, he dropped the pen on the table, the clatter sounding final. He kept a copy for himself, rolling it up and putting it into his back pocket. He then pushed the other copy of the papers back across the table toward her, but still, he didn’t look up.

“Let me know,” he said quietly, his voice barely above a whisper. “If you change your mind.”

She stared at the papers, her heart heavy as she realized that it was really over. He had signed, but the weight of the decision still hung in the air between them, unresolved and agonizing.

She watched as he turned toward the door, every step he took feeling like a knife twisting deeper into her chest. Just before he reached for the handle, he paused, his hand resting on the knob.

“Whether it’s me or someone else…I hope you find whatever it is you’re looking for,” he said softly, not turning around. “I really do.”

And with that, he walked out, leaving her standing in the middle of the room, alone once again.

[starshine-hockey-girl]

Like a Ragdoll

I am not sure what possessed me to write smut for Lian Bichsel of all people, but I guess I was inspired by this clip.

I do feel slightly icky writing for someone so young, but I figure that NHL 20 year olds are different than civilian 20 year olds. That's my story and I am sticking to it.

Warnings - unprotected sex (oral and intercourse), alcohol use and mild domination.

APRIL 28TH - AMERICAN AIRLINES CENTER

The atmosphere in the American Airlines Center was electric. The Stars held a comfortable lead in the late third period. After a dismal performance in game 4, they had come back to make a decisive statement that their regular season record was not a fluke and they could stand toe to toe with the Colorado Avalanche. 

“They may have their Swedish captain back,” you thought to yourself, “but we have a Swiss rookie who isn’t afraid of anything.” The Swiss Rookie was your boyfriend, Lian Bichsel. 

Your eyes watched him carefully on the ice. The play unfolded as if in slow motion. Lian followed Pelly into the corner and delivered a series of cross checks into his back. While a scrum involving Sam Steele and Logan O’Connor developed around him, Lian had picked up the smaller Pelly and threw him around like a rag doll. 

As if by instinct, your body responded to the subconscious memory of Lian throwing you around the bed like a rag doll yesterday. You licked your lips and hoped no one noticed the flush spreading across your cheeks. There was something so arousing about watching your man act in such a way. Your mind couldn’t even find the correct word for it. Was it aggressive, authoritative, or commanding? You weren’t sure, but you knew it was arousing as fuck. 

The arena erupted in cheers as Sam Steel and Lian casually skated to the box. Both knew that the forthcoming penalty was warranted and decided not to argue the point. He removed his helmet and sat down before he looked up at the replay on the jumbotron. A devilish grin spread across the crowd screamed his name. When the camera panned to him in the box, he flashed a smile that nearly made your knees buckle. Then he held his hand to his ear in an unspoken “I can’t hear. Get a little louder” gesture. The crowd responded by growing even louder and his smile grew wider. 

The next minute in a half of the game sped by quickly. Your heart raced as you exited the lower level of the arena down to the locker room level. After politely declining offers from fellow WAGS to grab a post-game drink, you drove back to Lian’s apartment and let yourself inside.

You had received a quick text from him that he had post-game press to do so you made yourself comfortable as you waited. Despite not technically being old enough to purchase alcohol, Lian had managed to acquire a fully stocked bar. You poured yourself absinthe with pineapple juice and smiled as you took a long sip. The alcohol made you feel even more warm and tingly than you already had been.

You set the drink down and walked into his bedroom, stripping off your clothes as you entered. Initially you set your eyes on the dresser drawer which contained his myriads of t-shirts, but you bypassed it when your eyes fell on the dress shirt crumpled on the floor. You put it on your bare body before you lifted the fabric to your nose and inhaled sharply. It smelled like him. It was a delicious mixture of his natural musk, the cologne you had given him for Valentine’s Day and sweat. 

He had been wearing it when he arrived home after the disastrous game four. You barely had time for a greeting before he had lifted you off of your feet and deposited you on bed. Both of you laughed as you managed to get the shirt off of his muscular chest without ripping the buttons in your haste. You indulged the memory as you took your drink and went back to the living room to await your man. 

“My man,” you thought to yourself and chuckled. The mere sound of it awakened all of your senses. Your man who was so young and virile- the very picture of masculinity. Absent-mindedly your hand slid inside of the shirt, gently caressing your breast- just the way he did. Your thumb circled your nipple as it hardened. You bit your lip and looked toward the door. 

He would be home soon, or at least you hope that he would. It couldn’t hurt to stoke the fire that burned between your legs. Your hand slid between your legs and was met with the throbbing heat. You squeezed your thighs around your hand as your palm pressed against your throbbing clit. Your head fell back as you positioned yourself onto the couch. Your heels dug into the cushion as your hips rocked and your clit pressed against your hand. Soft moans escaped your lips as you felt the desire pulsate through your body. 

You were lost in the moment. Thoughts of Lian’s smile in the penalty box permeated your thoughts. The anticipation of his arrival fueled your movements. You felt yourself race to the edge of orgasm and forced yourself to stay there. You rode that line as your hips bucked against your palm. 

Suddenly you heard the door slam shut. Your head popped up and your eyes fell onto him. He said nothing as he approached you on the couch. Part of you felt like you should feel some sort of shame at your wantonness, but none appeared. You looked at him for any sort of unspoken reproach but instead he simply lifted you off the couch. 

Lian hoisted over his shoulder and lightly spanked your ass. “Two minutes for delay of game,” he laughed as he carried you down the hall. 

“Delay of game?” you laughed in return, “I am pretty sure that was the opposite of delay game.”

“Oh yeah,” he dropped you on the bed unceremoniously as he made quick work of stripping, “False start then.” You licked your lips as you watched the muscles emerge from his suit. You started to use your heels to propel yourself up the bed as you watched him undress. He simply shook his head and pulled your feet towards him which brought you back down to the edge of the bed. “Müülsi (little mouse),”  he growled as he positioned himself between your legs, “Don’t make me chase you like a cat.” 

You gasped as he casually draped his arm across your abdomen, pinning you down as his lips made contact with your clit. A loud groan escaped as his mouth began to work its magic. It didn’t take long for you to find yourself back on the edge. Your hands fumbled to grab a hold of the sheet as your hips pressed against his arm. “Bärli(little bear)” you moaned, “You are going to make me…..” Your voice drifted off as another wave of pleasure hit you.

“Say it again,” he teased as he continued his pursuit. 

You looked down to see him lift his face. He cupped his ear as the smile spread across his face, “Müülsi, say it again. I didn’t quite hear you.” 

You playfully pushed his head back, “I said you are going to make me cum.”

“I’m sorry. Can you say that again?” he grinned, “My English isn’t so good.”

“I said that you are going to make me cum,” your voice rose to a level just below a yell. 

“Ahhhhh, good,” he replied, “but be loud. Be as loud as I know that you were doing the game. Be loud like when I got my penalty.” You looked at him and blushed. He was onto you. He was onto the effect that his on-ice aggressiveness had on you. 

You laid back as he began again. Each lick elicited a yelp. “Louder,” he would moan into you after each sound. The room became an echo chamber of passion. Your cries of ecstasy mixed with his teasing taunts of “Louder. I know you can be louder.” Soon your body shook as the orgasm overtook you. The yelps had become screams of “Lian….. Lian…..Lian”. His name became a rhythmic chant as you rode the wave. Finally you began to float back to some semblance of reality. You stared at him dreamily as he crawled up your body to kiss you tenderly. Full mouth kisses from your mouth, across your cheek and down your neck. 

“Mmmm,”  he moaned into your ear, “So good for me- so loud.” His arm snaked under your body. Before you were able to process what was happening, he flipped you over like a rag doll. He grabbed your hips and pulled them upwards and back against him. You felt his hard cock press against your folds as he leaned forward. He nipped your ear before he whispered, “So loud, but I bet you can be even louder. Can’t you, Müülsi?” 

Your head bowed in submission as he entered you. The sensation was overwhelming. He filled you in every possible way. The sounds of his hips making contact with you as he fucked you filled your ears. 

“Yes, Lian,” you screamed, “Fuck me!” 

It sounded like music to his ears. You were completely under his control and he loved it. Your words fueled him as he pounded into you. He felt the orgasm rise in him, driving him harder and deeper until he exploded into you. He didn’t stop though. He continued as he felt the unrelenting passion grow him hard again as he fucked you into another incredibly loud orgasm. 

Together you collapsed in exhaustion. Your face buried into the pillow as tremors pulsated through your body. They served as reminders of the mind-numbing desire you felt for this giant of a man. He pulled you to him as he buried his face into your neck. 

“Mmmmm,” you moaned softly, “That was good.”

“Just good?” he nipped playfully. 

“Mmmm, maybe better than good,” you smiled, “You could always do it again to see if it gets better."

“Let me sleep and I will show you how good I can be,” he whispered huskily. 

You made a mock buzzing noise, “Delay of game - Bichsel!”

“I got your delay of game right here,” he laughed as he pulled you on top of him.

“Just what I wanted, just what I wanted,” you smiled. It was going to be a long night celebrating his victory and you couldn't think of anything you wanted more.

[hauntedhowlett-writes]

i can see you (javier peña's version)

pairing: javier peña x dea agent!female reader

rating: explicit (18+ mdni)

word count: 3.4k

summary:

when javier peña takes credit for your lead, you take revenge.

good thing you know javier can't resist a girl in red lipstick.

author's note:

first javier fic, based on taylor swift's "i can see you". if you enjoy, please consider leaving a comment or reblogging! gif by @pedropascalito

content warnings:

explicit sexual content (18+ minors do not interact), dub con - sexual activity under the influence of alcohol, alcohol consumption, no use of y/n, female masturbation, oral sex - male receiving, dirty talk, praise, lots of lipstick kink, pet names, sex while standing, teasing, semi-public sex (file room at work), vaginal fingering, mouth covering. please let me know if i've missed any!

You storm into the office, boots clicking on the linoleum as you make a beeline for Javier’s messy desk. He’s on the phone as you approach, ever present cigarette dangling from his lips as he speaks to whomever is on the other end of the line. You rip the receiver from his hand and slam it into the cradle.

“What the fuck?” Javier snaps, stubbing out his cigarette in an overflowing ashtray. “What if that had been an important call?”

“Fuck you, Peña,” you hiss, planting your hands on his desk with enough force that several papers slip from precarious piles to the floor. “Where the fuck do you get off taking credit for my lead?”

His eyebrows go up, his lips tilting in a condescending smirk that you want to smack right off his face. “That’s what this is about? We’re a team, alacránita. It was our lead.” 

Little scorpion, he calls you, because of your quick temper. He uses it when he wants you riled up, wants you angry at him, because what else is a scorpion to do but fight back when provoked?

“Oh, really? So, you were the one who stayed up ‘til three in the morning reading transcriptions, huh?” You tap your chin. “No, wait. That was me.”

Javier stands, grabbing his gun from the desk and tucking it into the waist of his jeans at his back. The action has his button down shirt stretching right across his chest and your eyes linger on the view. When you meet his gaze again you know you’ve been caught, the insufferable man grinning like a cat that got the canary. 

“Look, do you want to keep arguing or do you want to actually do something with your intel and go catch some narcos?” He asks, breezing by you. You grind your teeth together as you watch him leave.

“If it’s any consolation—“ Steve starts to say, but you cut him off.

“Shut up, Murphy.”

That night after a long day of work and one beer too many you find yourself staring at the ceiling of your bedroom, your thoughts drifting to Javier and his annoying smirk and the stupid way he carries his gun and his dumb aviators and his gorgeous brown eyes and how good he feels between your—

Fuck.

You try not to think about the first time you met Javier Peña. The real first time, not the awkward handshake and forced smile as he introduced himself as Agent Peña. 

The first time, when he sat beside you at a bar and introduced himself as Javi and you thought that it must be a common enough name, there was no way this handsome stranger was your soon-to-be partner. He told you he worked in environmental services and you claimed to be a teacher. He bought you a drink and his eyes never left your mouth as you wrapped your red lips around a beer bottle. 

A couple hours of conversation later, his hand slid to your knee and he looked at you with brown eyes full of fire as his fingers curled into the flesh of your thigh exposed by your skirt. He asked if you wanted to go someplace more quiet and when you said your apartment was across the street, his smile was full of promise.

As your mind replays the memory in vivid detail, you slide your hand beneath the elastic of your panties, hissing as your fingertips graze your sensitive clit. You circle the bundle of nerves slowly as you continue to imagine that night.

You think back to the feel of his hand in yours as you dashed across the street to your apartment building, how he pressed against your back and nipped at your neck as you unlocked your door. He made a comment about the boxes still scattered around your apartment, some joke you can’t remember as desire fizzles through your veins. 

“These pretty red lips,” he said, pulling you close and tracing his thumb along your bottom lip. “Been staring at them all night, wondering how they would look stretched around my cock.”

“I could show you,” you responded, sliding your hands down his chest until your fingers encountered the cold metal of his belt buckle. You unfastened it, pulling the leather loose from his sinfully tight jeans and tossing it to the floor. “If you’d like?”

“Get on your knees,” Javier said as he unbuttoned his fly, working the waist of his jeans down enough to free his hard cock from the denim. You dropped to your knees quickly and his dark laugh echoed through the room. “Stick your tongue out, baby.”

You remember the salty taste of him on your tongue, the way he slowly fed his thick length into your mouth as you gazed up at him from your position at his feet. Your fingers circle your clit faster as you think about how he’d traced your lips where they stretched around his cock with his thumb, gently pushing at the corner of your mouth. 

“Fuck, look at you,” he growled. You whine at the memory as you inch closer to your release with each swipe of your hand. “Mouth built for sin, isn’t that right?”

You plunge two fingers inside of you with mounting desperation as your mind continues to replay the memory like a movie - the way his dark eyes fixated on the slide of his cock in and out of your mouth, the intoxicating sounds that spilled from his lips, and how he had pulled back from you when he was close to finishing to show you the lipstick stains you’d left behind.

“Dirty fucking girl,” he said, dragging you up from the floor and kissing you breathless. 

It’s the memory of his lips pressed to yours that pushes you over the edge, your cunt pulsing around your fingers as you shatter, biting back Javier’s name as it claws its way up your throat. In the aftermath, staring up at your ceiling, a thought pops into your head.

You know just how to get Javier back for taking credit for your lead.

As a field agent for the DEA, it’s not often you wear more than jeans, a blouse, and a practical pair of boots to work. After all, carrying a sidearm in a dress or running in heels isn’t ideal. 

Today, however, you’re willing to make an exception. With a series of meetings on the calendar this afternoon, the risk of jeopardizing your work for the sake of fashion is, thankfully, slim.

You’ve put on your tightest dress, black polyester hugging your curves and balancing the fine line of work appropriate. The heels you dug out of your closet make your ass look fantastic but the cherry on top of the whole ensemble is the bright red lipstick you slicked on with careful precision.

Steve does a double take as you enter the cluttered office space, your heels clicking on the linoleum. Javier is at his desk, his back turned to you as he speaks to someone on the phone.

“Lookin’, uh, lookin’ good,” Steve says with a cough. “Did I miss a memo or somethin’?”

“Nope,” you reply, your lips popping in emphasis. 

You hear the click of the phone being placed back in its cradle with impressive force. You try to keep your eyes focused on the file you’ve got open on your desk but you can feel Javier’s heated gaze burning over your skin. You glance up, briefly, but it’s enough for you to find his dark gaze and see the tense cut of his jaw as he grinds his teeth together.

Once the meetings start rolling, you don’t have much opportunity to think about Javier, but you know he’s thinking about you. You have fun with the attention, leaning forward to make sure the man can get a good view down your dress, biting the cap of your pen, and licking your lips after each sip of coffee. With each new tease, you notice the way his hand curls into a tight fist on the table or how he shifts uncomfortably in his seat. 

When Messina asks him a question, the usually calm and collected man stutters his response, earning him a raised eyebrow from the woman in charge. You have to bite back a satisfied laugh at his expense, watching as his neck turns a blotchy red in his embarrassment. 

Once the meeting is over, you’re discussing the next plan of action with Steve as you leave the boardroom, Javier trailing behind the two of you. Steve asks Javier a question and a glance over your shoulder earns you the satisfaction of knowing he had been staring at your ass, his head snapping up so fast a flinch of pain flashes across his features as he replies to Steve.

Working through the pile of paperwork on your desk comes with the ever present weight of Javier’s gaze on you from across the room. He fields phone calls most of the morning, cigarette held to his lips as he converses in smooth, rapid fire Spanish that has you pressing your thighs together beneath your desk. 

When he turns away, you grab a stray piece of blank paper and scribble a note before lifting it to your face to press a red kiss mark to the smooth surface. You fold it twice and keep it held tight in your hand as you stand and saunter over to Javier’s desk. 

His dark eyes are fixed to the extra sway in your step as you approach, his grip tightening around the receiver. You set the note on his desk, leaning over just slightly to slide it across the wood towards him. You tap it once before straightening and walking back to your desk to resume your work, watching Javier from the corner of your eye as he unfolds the note.

Stop staring.

Javier crumples the note in his fist in frustration, keeping it pressed to his palm as he frees another cigarette from the pack on his desk. The rush of nicotine in his veins mingles with the white hot lust he’s been trying to beat down ever since he caught sight of you in that tight little dress, and you’ve not been making it easy.

You never make it easy. Ever since walking into work six months ago to a face that shouldn’t have been familiar sitting behind his new partner’s desk, he’s been fighting to remain professional. It doesn’t help that you’re one of the best agents he’s ever worked with - smart, resourceful, and capable of standing up to men trying to pull rank on you.

Today is testing his patience. The dress and heels are one thing, but the lipstick? That’s a low blow. All he can think about is the last time he saw you wear it, that night at the bar that turned into that night in your bed, all the pretty red color faded from your lips because you marked his cock with it instead. He spent the entire meeting with Messina trying not to watch the way you wrapped your lips around the tip of your pen, thoughts drifting to what it would be like to have you on your knees again, staring up at him with less venom and more desire.

He sets the note on his desk, pointedly ignoring it while you’re in the room. He knows you’re looking for a reaction and he’s not going to give you the satisfaction of one.

At least, not yet.

“Murphy, you still need that file we talked about? I’ve got another to pull,” you announce, standing from your seat. The blonde man looks up and nods.

“Yeah, see if you can find it while you’re in there,” Steve replies. You give him a little salute of acknowledgment before leaving the shared office space and making your way to the file room.

Once inside the windowless room at the end of the hall, you pull on the cord connected to the singular lightbulb in the ceiling meant to illuminate the dank space. It smells like paper and dust and it constantly looks like a bomb went off - cabinets half closed with how much has been shoved inside of them, stray stacks of folders that someone couldn’t be bothered to return to their proper place, and a wastebasket overflowing with crumpled paper. 

You lose yourself to the task of locating the files you and Steve needed, distracted enough that you don’t hear the click of the door opening and shutting behind you. It’s not until there’s a low murmur of your name in a hauntingly familiar timbre so you realize you’re not alone.

You turn to find Javier standing in front of the file room door, dark eyes fixed on you as he removes his suit jacket and drops it to the floor. Your mouth goes dry as he rolls up the sleeves of his white dress shirt, exposing deliciously tan forearms and muscles that flex hypnotically. 

“My eyes are up here, baby,” he says, a smirk on his lips that sends anger through your veins but lust to your belly. 

“What do you want, Peña?” You ask. Your voice wavers the slightest bit and you hope he doesn’t notice, but the tilt to his head and the way his tongue darts out to lick his lips says otherwise.

“I think the question is, what do you want?” He’s standing toe to toe with you now, your back pressed against a metal cabinet. “Or do you need me to show you?”

“Show me what?”

Javier chuckles. “What playing with fire will get you.”

“I don’t know what you mean,” you say, tilting your chin defiantly. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, some of us have work to do that doesn’t involve harassing our coworkers.” 

But he doesn’t back up, doesn’t give you the room to breathe that you so desperately need. Instead his large hand cups your hip, sliding slowly up your body, a trail of heat running from your waist to your breast until his palm settles against your neck. He rubs his thumb across your lips.

“What do you call wearing this, then?” He holds his thumb up for you to see the smear of red across his skin. “We both know what you were thinking when you put it on this morning, cariño.”

He presses his thumb to your lips, slipping it inside your mouth this time. You give the digit a tentative suck as he presses it forward and back across your tongue, a crude approximation of the memory that replayed in your head as you touched yourself. 

Javier smiles triumphantly and you can feel his other hand working at the hem of your dress, hiking it up higher until his fingers skim the bare skin of your thighs. 

“Tell me to touch you,” he demands, pulling his thumb free from your mouth. You press your lips together, fighting the overwhelming need to give into him as his knuckle skims your pussy through the fabric of your panties. “Stubborn alacránita,” he growls, circling your clit harshly and making you cry out.

His palm covers your mouth, your eyes going wide as he continues his tortuous attention. “Tell me to touch you,” he says again, brow pinched as his eyes search yours. It hits you that this man is just as desperate for you as you are for him, and the rush that knowledge gives you has you nodding your head.

He removes his palm, cupping your cheek and pressing his forehead to yours before whispering into the space between your mouths, “Say it.”

“Touch me, Javier,” you murmur, rolling your hips into his hand. “Please.”

He wastes no further time, hand slipping under the elastic of your panties and dragging through your slick folds. He grins at you, boyish and feral in equal measure as he slips a thick finger inside of you while his thumb presses to your clit. 

“Christ, so fucking wet for me already, huh? Sitting at your desk getting worked up thinking about pulling one over on me with this little dress?” He adds a second finger and the stretch of it makes you moan, his palm returning to cover your mouth. “If this is your idea of a punishment for that lead, I’m not feeling too apologetic.”

You try to glare at him but the curl of his fingers inside of you and the press of his thumb to your sensitive bundle of nerves has your eyes rolling back instead, your head hitting the cabinet behind you. Your hips chase his hand with each pump of his fingers and it doesn’t take long for that wave of pleasure to crash over you, your muscles going tight as you pulse around him and your chest heaves with deep breaths you can only take through your nose thanks to his tight grip on your mouth. 

Javier murmurs praise into your ear that you barely register as you come down from your high. He removes his hands from you to unbuckle his belt, freeing his hard cock that you only get a glimpse of before he’s urging you to turn around, pulling your hips back toward him and moving your panties out of the way. He runs the head of his cock through the mess he’s made of you before positioning himself at your entrance and pressing in, in, in.

You brace yourself against the filing cabinet, the sheer size of him making you gasp as he bottoms out. He smoothes a hand down your spine, giving you a moment to adjust before drawing his hips back and slamming forward with a sharp thrust.

Javier reaches up to grip your shoulder, giving himself more leverage as he pounds into you, using your body to chase his pleasure. You bite your lip to stifle your own sounds as the room echoes with the snap of his hips against yours and the grunts he can’t contain. The hand on your shoulder moves to your throat, pulling you up and arching your back until he’s holding you against his chest.

You turn your face over your shoulder and his lips crash against yours, his teeth digging into your bottom lip and making you whimper.

“Cum for me,” Javier commands, the hand on your hip moving to circle your clit again. As you start to pulse around him, he smiles against your lips. “Fuck, that’s it. Just like that, baby.”

Javier presses himself deep as his own release courses through him, filling you to the brim with warmth and stealing your breath. He kisses your shoulder, a sweet gesture that’s so at odds with what you’ve just done.

When he starts to go soft, he pulls out and fixes your underwear into place before smoothing the skirt of your dress back down your hips, the sound of him buckling his belt following suit. You turn to face him, prepared for some sort of self-satisfied remark from the egotistical man, but to your surprise he wraps a hand around the back of your neck and pulls you towards him for a deep kiss.

As he draws back and your eyes flutter open, you notice the smear of red across his lips, the sight making you smile. You lick your thumb, using the moisture to rub away the remnant of your time together. 

“Thank you, alacránita,” he murmurs, gently grabbing your wrist and pressing a kiss to your palm. You catch a glimpse of your watch, noting the time.

“Don’t you have a meeting right now?” You ask Javier. He checks his own watch.

“Fuck!” He hisses, grabbing his suit jacket and rushing from the file room, the door slamming shut behind him as you laugh and laugh and laugh.

Maybe your plan worked better than you expected, after all.

Javier slips inside the boardroom and takes the seat beside Steve as inconspicuous as possible, straightening his jacket and smoothing down his hair as he does. As he’s trying to focus on the words being thrown around the room, he feels a tap at his shoulder.

Steve leans closer to whisper, “What’s that all over your hand?”

He looks at the hand he’s rested on the table, noting the smear of red that extends from his palm to the thin skin between his thumb and forefinger. He clenches his hand into a fist and sets it in his lap instead.

“Nothing,” he replies.