#strikes but does not roar

[dirt-str1der]

Sagawa is unfuckable in my head but in my heart he and nishitani had something embarrassing going on

[paperultra]

back of house.

Pairing: OPLA!Vinsmoke Sanji x Fem!Reader Word Count: 1,113 words Warnings: Mild swearing

If it weren’t for his principles regarding women, you’re fairly certain Sanji would’ve throttled and strung you up to dry by now.

“I … I’m impressed, sweetheart,” he says with a bright smile, though under the swinging lights of the kitchen it seems more out of pain than pleasure. “You managed to burn water.”

Your cheeks flame as you peer into the blackened pot with him, all traces of the water you’d been tasked with boiling completely gone. Vanished. You have no idea how or why.

“I’m sorry, Sanji.”

“No need to apologize. Everybody makes mistakes –”

“Sanji!” you hear Zeff before you see him round the corner. “Why the hell do I smell something burning in my kitchen?”

“None of your business, old man,” Sanji snaps immediately, murmuring a quiet excuse me, dear to you before taking the pot by the handle and heading to the sink. He twists the faucet open and running water roars like thunder in your ears as he thrusts the pot underneath. “I have it under control.”

“Under control, eh?" Zeff says. He suddenly turns his squinted gaze upon you, and you shrivel. “This your doing, missy?”

“I –”

“Leave her alone,” Sanji interrupts. “I didn’t give clear enough instructions. It was my fault.”

“Oh, there’s no doubt about that.” Eyeing your guilty and defeated figure next to the stove, Zeff shakes his head with a sigh and points you to the door. “[Y/n], go out and wait tables for the rest of your shift.”

Immediately, you make a move to remove your apron. “Oka –”

Sanji makes a noise of dissent and turns the faucet off. “Wait tables? She can still chop the vegetables and help me plate.”

“You’ll do that yourself. Front of house needs the extra person, anyway.”

“I’m her mentor.”

“And I’m the damn boss.”

The rest of the staff roll their eyes and carry on while the two men argue in the middle of the kitchen. You swallow and take your apron off, balling it up in your hands. This isn’t the first time they’ve butted heads over your incompetence, and watching them now cuts at your last shred of dignity.

Clearing your throat, you grimace when Sanji’s head whips around to look at you.

“Zeff’s right,” you tell him. “Dinner rush is coming up soon and I’ll just be in the way, anyway.”

Zeff grunts with satisfaction.

The expression on Sanji’s face reminds you of a kicked puppy. “But …” he begins to protest.

“Oi, you heard what she said. Get back to work! We have customers waiting!”

Sanji blusters about before heading back to his station, casting you one final, forlorn look as he does so. You imagine that your own face looks just the same when you turn to leave.

—

You take orders and serve customers for the remainder of the day, as promised, and help with cleanup after closing time. And then, long after the sun’s dipped below the horizon, Sanji joins you on the upper deck with a steaming bowl of seafood fried rice.

“For the madam,” he says with a smile, offering you the bowl.

You accept it silently and take a bite as he sits down next to you. It’s perfect like it always is – savory and warm on your tongue, happy and gentle in your stomach. You’ve never known a home quite like Sanji’s cooking.

His eyes remain fixed on you as you eat all of the rice, scraping the bowl for every last grain and setting it down beside you once you’re finished.

“Thank you.”

“It’s nothing. I figured it would cheer you up.”

“It did.”

It did, and yet, your lips tremble and your throat closes up. You clench your hands into fists in your lap.

Sanji’s hand immediately presses your shoulder as you sniffle. “Are you alright?” he questions worriedly.

(His attentiveness strikes you like a hot iron sometimes, even now.)

“Why haven’t you given up on me yet?” you whisper.

His brow furrows. As if it’s obvious, he answers, “You want to be a cook. A lady’s wish is my command.” Sanji pauses. “And I can’t call myself the greatest cook in the East Blue if I can’t teach others to be great cooks as well.”

“I think you’d be the greatest regardless.”

You glance at him through watery eyes in time to see his face flush a deep red. He looks away hastily, chuckling with feigned modesty. “I’m flattered that you think so highly of me.”

Your shoulders lift in a shrug as you look back down at your hands. You reach up to blot away your tears.

How could you not think the world of Sanji? Or the world of anyone at the Baratie, for that matter? When you were kicked off the merchant ship you’d stowed away on two years ago, you had been sure that you’d be banned from setting foot in such a fine-looking restaurant. Years of scorn and slammed doors had not given you the chance to think otherwise.

But Sanji spotted you on the docks, called you madam like you really were one, cooked you a meal in the kitchen and talked to you. Zeff gave you a job and a bed of your own. The staff gave you a family.

“We’ll try again tomorrow. I’ll figure out something that’ll make everything click for you, and you’ll be a proper cook in no time.” Sanji leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees, and winks up at you. “I promise.”

As always, your heart skips a beat.

“Okay.”

Maybe, you realize suddenly, you don’t necessarily want to be a cook so much as you want to love the way Sanji does.

“That’s my girl.” Standing up, Sanji takes your empty bowl in one hand and offers the other for you to take. “Now, shall I walk the madam to her room, or does she wish to stay out on the deck for a while?”

You allow yourself to grin, considering. “The madam wishes to stay out here and …” you hesitate but then decide to soldier on, “and possibly chat with a dear friend for a few more minutes?”

Your pulse pounds in your ears.

Sanji’s eyes widen a bit. Then he blinks, and then he smiles, drawing his hand back and quickly sitting down next to you once more.

“A lady’s wish is my command,” he says.

He takes out a cigarette, making a quip about Patty while he lights it, and your combined laughter rings out across the Baratie. It’s perfect like it always is – savory and warm on your tongue, happy and gentle in your stomach.

Indeed, this is home.

[mikomischief]

tag dump #2

[void-tiger]

FINE. I’ll order from Amazon. Also fuck you (:

[candy69gurl]

I love your Noncon stories so much... like DAMNNNN..... CAN you please do a teacher gojo (Gojo sensei) x student female reader noncon???? Where she trusts Gojo so much but at the end of the day she ends up being raped by Gojo..... pleaseeeeeeeeeee 💗💗💗💗

Are you.. not weak?

Teacher Gojo x student f!reader

Warnings- 18+, dark, non/con, mentions of violence blood (fight with curse), age gap (both are adults), public sex, misuse of trust, loss of virginity, nipple play, fingering, blow job, sex against wall, use of nicknames (baby, sweetheart), mutliple orgasm, raw sex (cumming inside), clit slapping, breeding kink

wc - 4.5k

ART NOT MINE !

The curse swirls and coils, spewing putrid venom at you. You dive out of the way, just evading the devastating strike. The curse screeches and lunges at you again, this time successfully scratching your arm with its sharp claws. You flinch as the venom sears like molten fire against your flesh. The curse charges at you again, its teeth and talons hungry for your flesh. You manage to dodge the assault at the last second, but your stamina is swiftly dwindling.

The curse's venom has burned and left your arm raw. The flesh around the cut is already growing septic, and the pain is excruciating.

The venom rushes through your veins like boiling liquid pain, impairing your judgement and equilibrium. You can hardly stand owing to the shock and anguish. You grab your arm, attempting to stop the flow of blood.

You see the curse about to harm you again.

A-am i going to die?

Gojo's eyes widen as he realises the curse is hitting you. He moves at incredible speeds, appearing beside you in an instant. He pulls you out of the path, accepting the curse himself. His six eyes sparkle brightly as he confronts the curse with strong focus and determination. The curse roars in rage, lashing out at Gojo with its claws and teeth. Gojo does not let the strike hit him due to his infinity blocking any attack attempt to hurt him.

Gojo got the news that you not in your dorm so, so he hurries out to find you, his six eyes narrowing as he tries to figure out where you could possibly be. His cursed energy rises as he explores his surroundings, looking for your scent or any indication of where you could be. He dashes from place to place, looking for any trace of you.

When he sensed you, he dashed to where you were, taking in the sight of you fighting a special grade curse.

He notices that you are damaged, with a burn mark on your arm and venom pouring through your veins. Without hesitation, he utilises his Purple Hollow to break the Special Grade curse. His cursed energy coalesces in his palm as he aims a massive blast at the curse. The Purple hollow hits its target with lethal precision, incinerating the curse instantly. The force of the blast sends the curse flying back and leaves a massive crater behind. Gojo lets out a heavy breath in relief as the curse is no more.

Gojo immediately rushes over to your side, his six eyes scanning you for any potential injuries. He sees that you are unconscious, your breaths slow and shallow. He can see that the venom is still coursing through your veins and the skin around the wound is beginning to scab over. He grimaces in concern as he sees the extent of your injuries.

He softly grabs your arms, lifts you, and carries you on his shoulder.

What was she even thinking.. he sighs, and in a second, Gojo transports you to Shoko using his teleportation power, your limp and unconscious body on his shoulders.

Your eyes fluttered open, and the scene around you became fuzzy and unclear as you tried to make sense of it all.

You're laying in bed with your arm bandaged and a dull aching from your wounds.

You sit up slowly, trying to recall what happened.

Your eyes survey the room, and then to Gojo sitting next to your bed.

"S-sensei?"

He gets up and moves closer to you.

"How do you feel?" he says quietly, his voice full of concerm.

"Mf'ne," you reply.

He gives you a slight smile, his eyes still full with anxiety

"The venom has been neutralised, so your condition is stable for now." He informs you. "You still need to rest. That was a high-level curse.I can't believe you were able to put them off that long."

"Why were you fighting a special grade curse alone.......Do you realise how dangerous that is?"

His tone implies dismay.

"I-", you try to make up something quickly.

He notices the guilt and embarrassment on your face. "You were trying to prove something, weren't you?" 

He asks quietly.

You were up against Miwa, who was apparently a fan girl of Gojo. You failed miserably, failing to land a single hit on her throughout the entire match while she effortlessly evaded your attacks and countered you flawlessly. After the match, you overhear Gojo talking to Miwa.

Gojo: "You did well. Your technique is impressive, especially the way you used the environment to your advantage."

Miwa: "Thank you, sensei."

Gojo smiled at her.

Gojo: Keep this up and one day you will be able to the strongest sorcerer like me.

Miwa squealed and blushed, her face brightens.

You rolled your eyes and felt jealous and embarrassed. You felt determined to prove to GOJO that you're just as good, if not better than her so you decided to go and find a special grade curse to fight, alone.

You continue to roll your eyes as you recall what happened a few days earlier, still feeling envious and ashamed by your bad performance and how much Gojo complimented Miwa.

You snap back to reality and realise you're still in the infirmary bed. Your arm injuries continue to pain, and you feel fatigued and weak. Gojo is still sitting next to your bed, staring at you intently.

"I asked you something, Y/N," Gojo squints his eyes, and you can feel it through the blindfold.

"I-i, yes. I only wanted to prove myself that I am strong, and I failed."

Gojo sighs with disappointment.

"Trying to prove yourself by fighting a special grade curse alone.. that was reckless. It's just too dangerous." He looks at you with a mixture of concern and frustration in his eyes. "You're just lucky that I was able to find you in time before anything even worse happened."

"S-sorry.."

He shakes his head, still looking at you with concern.

"It's alright. Just... don't try to do something like this again, okay? If something happens to you, I can never forgive myself", his voice laced with a slight hint of amusement.

"h-huh?" He smiles slightly "I mean it. I wouldn't be able to forgive myself if anything bad happened to you." He pauses, his voice softening "You're my... favorite student after all"

He notices the blush on your cheeks and his smile widens. "Don't go blushing on me now", he teases, his voice laced with amusement.

He stops and gives you a serious look.

"You do understand that I'm saying this because I care about you, right?"

You nod without looking at his face.

"Just know that I'm constantly looking out for you and I will not allow anything bad to happen to you."

He pauses again, his face becoming more serious.

"I will keep my eyes on you."

You notice that Gojo has indeed been keeping a close watch over you. You can feel his eyes on you at all times, watching your every move and making sure you stay safe. He is also keeping an eye on who you talk to and what you do, making sure that you don't do anything foolish again.

He's been very vigilant and keeping a close eye on you, which makes you feel both secure and a bit uneasy at the same time.

Despite feeling somewhat uneasy, you trust Gojo and feel secure that he will protect you and keep you safe. You know that he is only doing this to make sure that you don't do anything foolish again, and ultimately you feel reassured by his watchful eyes.

It's true, you know that Gojo will come rushing to your rescue at the slightest indication of injury or discomfort. He's always keeping an eye on you and ready to act at any moment. His vigilance makes you feel both safe and loved, and you realize how lucky you are to have him. You know that he would do anything to protect and heal you.

The other sorcerers started noticing the strange behavior of Gojo. They found it odd that he began keeping a close eye on you and always watching out for you. They were wondering why he was doing this, as usually he doesn't bother about such small matters.

Whenever they pointed this out to him, he would give some reasons like "You're weak" and "You don't know what you are doing" which would make you angrily pout and say "I am not weak!", and "I know what I'm doing".

You are training with Yuji when something unexpected happens, and you find yourself in a lewd position with Yuji on top of you. Yuji fumbles over his own feet and falls on top of you, catching you both off guard. Both of you are flustered.

Just then, Gojo appears from nowhere. He sees you and Yuji in a very provocative position. He grabs Yuji's hoodie and pulls him off you.

"What you two are doing?" He notices Yuji blushing and stuttering, and you're still shaken and flustered by the situation.

"W-we were just t-training ..." Yuji stutters.

"Really. T-training is..." You also stutter, and you both appear flustered and embarrassed.

Suddenly, something explodes inside Gojo. At first, he thought it was just his annoyance with Yuji, but there was more to it. Fear or an unknown emotion he is not sure of it. He wanted to be your first choice, not anyone else.

Yuji says, "Uh.. I.. I have an important work.. I have to leave now." Yuji walks away with an awkward smile.

You both stand awkwardly, Gojo's expression unreadable. You avoid looking at him because you can feel his intense stare on you.

"Uh, I need to go somewhere," you suddenly say.

As you're about to leave, he says "You are not going anywhere."

"W-why not?"

"Because I said so. You are not going anywhere", his voice demmanding and angry He says with some intensity in that, his eyes are pinning you to your place.

" I-i don't understand why not ", you argue

"You don't need to understand."

You can see tension building up in his body, his muscles stiffening . He's acting weird than usual..... you cannot put your finger to it, but something's definitely wrong.

"Well , YOU CANT JUST ORDER ME AROUND LIKE THAT" you suddenly snap.

He stares at you with a fiery look, his eyes like daggers "Do not give me that attitude." His voice is laced with anger, he's clearly not in a good mood. He seems to be losing his patience with you.

"S-stop making fool of me infront of everyone."

He continues to stare at you for a minute, his rage rising

"Is that what you think?" He askss angrily, leaning closer to you while speaking.

You move back, now your back is against the wall of the Jujutsu High building

He appears to notice you leaning back and steps back slightly to give you some personal space. He's still looking at you with fierce eyes, and his voice remains keen as he speaks.

"I'm not making a fool of you in front of everyone. I'm just trying to protect you."

"I.. I don't need your protection"

He grimaces at that statement, his temper boiling up inside him once again. "Hah! You don't remember do you?", his voice harsh as he slams his hands on the wall trapping you against it. His voice is laced with anger as he speaks, he looks down at you. "You do not need my protection, then why the hell were you dying that day?", he growls.

"I.. am really grateful to you for that but that does not m-", you protest He interrupts you, his voice harsh.

"Shut up!" He's livid now, he takes off his blindfold with one hand and you can see his crystal blue, like diamond sword as he glares at you. "If you are really grateful why don't you show that to me?"

Your face shows confusion.

He's so close to you that you can feel his hot breath on your neck. He seems to be enjoying making you squirm, his eyes still filled with an intense look.  "Show me how grateful you are. Do I really need to spell it out for you?"

You try to push him away, but he holds his ground, not letting you go. You can feel his chest now against your body, heat radiating from him. He gives you a smirk as his hands move to hold your wrist, restraining you.

Your voice shake as you understand the situation you are in, "H-how am I gonna do that?"

"Hmmm..by giving me your virginity" he says with a hint of amusement in his voice .

Your eyes widen in fear and excitement, "Y-your joking."

His eyes are still intense and serious as he looks down on you. "Am I though?..."

"Sensei pls let me go", you plead, struggling.

"You wouldn’t wanna be on my bad side, sweetheart.” He grinned slyly, his grip tightening around her wrist. His breath ghosting across her cheek. He presses her against the wall more as his ears fill with her pondering heartbeats. “I will be gentle I promise..” His lips graze your earlobe gently, sending chills down your spine. 

"N-no please", your voice begging to let go.

“Hmm Don't you trust me Y/N? ” Gojo purs into your ear, his free hand roaming along your body, “I never intend to hurt you."

He releases his grip on your arms letting them fall down, and they shift to grab his shoulders to push him away. His hands cups your cheeks, squeezing them gently, keeping you close to his body. He chuckles darkly, a sinister look dancing in his eyes. “But don’t worry, I’ll make sure to give you what you need.”

He does not wait for your response, his hands already travelling down to your legs going up to your thighs under your uniform skirt. You bite your lower lip closing eyes "Aww, you like that, baby? That’s good.” His voice dripped with seduction as he continues upward, lingering on your thighs. Gojo can't help but chuckle softly, his mouth hovering above yours.

“Guess you ain’t as resistant as you pretend to be.” He leans in, his lips brushing against yours, seizing the opportunity to capture your lips with his own. His tongue darts out to taste you, claiming ownership of your mouth.  Gojo wants you, he needs you, and now he's taking you right here. His hands roam freely, exploring every inch of your lovely body. As the kiss intensified, he feels your submission within it. His hand moves up to cup your breast, kneading it gently through your clothes.

“Let me have you,” he growls his teeth gently grazing your bottom lip. His other hand slide down your side, cupping your ass and pulling you closer, the heat building up in your core is unmistakable. 

"P-please not here, w-what if someone-"

"Then you better not make any noise." He whispers against your lips. His hands shift, beginning to tug at the buttons of your uniform shirt.

“We’ll do this right, ok?” He says reassuringly, yet demanding obedience. He can't resist the urge anymore, his body screams for you, his soul desires you. He needs to make this moment last, to imprint it onto both your minds forever. He starts unbuttoning your uniform, revealing delicate skin beneath.Your eyes follow his hand movements. 

A gentle bite on your neck made you gasp softly; a rush of adrenaline filled the air. “Don’t worry baby, I’ll protect you from everything else.”

His voice was rough, almost animalistic in its hunger. He was determined to satisfy his primal urges. He unbottons all the bottons of your shirt.

You try to hide your exposed chest. 

Gojo's smirk widened as he feels you hiding yourself from him. "Don't do it.” He orders hoarsely, playing with the strap of your bra. "Don't you trust me?" 

You nod, tears threatening to spill out of your eyes.

He takes your hand which was hiding your breasts and kisses them gently. Pulling your bra up, he reveals your breasts, nipples hardening at his gaze. His thumbs brushed against your nipples, teasing them softly.  His hands travel down your waist, lifting your thigh up. His thumb rubbing against your clad clit.

You flinch at his touch, his lips curl up to an evil smile as he finds your neck again, nipping and sucking, marking you as his own.

  "Let me take care of you, baby." He pushes your undies aside, thrusting a finger inside you.

Your eyes shut close at his sudden thrust, "Aah, s-so sudden.." your one arm wrap itself around his neck and the other grabs his shoudler for balance.

"Your so wet yet you say you don't want this.. So Tight, ah" Gojo speaks, his voice low and husky. He adds another finger, stretching you wide. "You have no idea how much we both want this, Y/N. It's been killing me – waiting, watching you from a ar."

"nngh n-no more ssensei, c-cant stand"

Gojo's smirk grew bigger, his fingers moving inside you faster. “Can’t handle this, huh?” He chuckles darkly, thrusting his fingers deeper. "If you can't handle my fingers, how are you gonna handle my cock hm?"

"Pls I can't take anymore."

“You said you are not weak, why don't you try and prove it?” His voice was rough, his hips grinding against you. He hooks his finger on your chin, forcing you to meet his eyes.

"Hnghh-" you arch your body as his fingers move faster, hitting a spot that makes you whimper softly, your nails digging into his shoulder as you feel yourself reaching climax, he feels your walls tightening more. his other hand leaves your waist and grabs your breasts, squeezing them roughly, pinching and rolling your nipples slightly. His fingers curl inside you, and you cry out creaming with his fingers in you.

"Shh", he harshly covers your mouth, "you don't want people to see you like this do you?"

You shake your head frantically, as knees shake and you gradually collapse to the ground. He lets you collapse on ground as you breath after such an intense orgasm for the first time in your life.

“Easy, my little bird,” he coos, unbuckeling his belt pulling his erect shaft. “Open your mouth” 

Your eyes shift to his member to his face "W-what?"

"Don't make me repeat myself, Y/N." He says, his voice thick with lust. "Open your mouth if you don't want to get hurt when I fuck you with it." He repeats, his eyes boring into yours.

"I-its so big"

"Don't worry I will guide you through it" You slowly open your mouth, your eyes never leaving his. He smiles, his eyes filled with lust and desire. He slowly thrusts his cock into your mouth, feeling your tongue swirl around him. He moans softly, his fingers tangling in your hair protecting the back of your head, as he pushes your head against the wall. He thrusts deeper, feeling your gag reflex kick in.

He pulls back slightly, giving you a chance to breathe. He thrusts back in, feeling your throat constrict around him. He moans louder, his hands pulling your head closer to him. He thrusts faster, feeling your nose press against his stomach.

Gojo grins, "That's right, take it all." He groans, his hips pistoning harder, forcing you to take his full length. He slams into you, thrusting in and out of your mouth, his movements becoming erratic. He's so close, his eyes roll back in pleasure. His fingernails dig into your scalp, his balls slapping against your chin.

"Almost there..." he pulls out his dick before he can cum. "Mhm..Nah.. Not gonna cum in your mouth..", drools drip down your chin. You inhale as much air as possible "Good girl." He praises, his breath ragged. He picks you up with his hands beneath your thighs , he presses your legs tightly against the wall as he rubs himself against your wetness.

"D-dont go any further..", you protest.

“I promise I'll pull out if it hurts.” He says, his breath hot against your ear. He positions himself at your entrance, his tip sliding in easily. "I can never hurt you", he gives you a small peck on your lips, as he pushes himself for inside you.

"P-please it hurts .. Ahh.. p-pull it out"

"If you struggle more its gonna hurt you, so relax" He growls, his voice thick with lust. He pushes himself in, inch by inch.

Your body shakes with each inch he pushing inside you. Tears roll down your cheek, toes curling at the pain yet pleasure.

"You crying?" He asks with a teasing look in his face, his pace slowing down. "it won't hurt forever" He thrusts fully in you.

You body arches back against the wall.

"Just relax." He breathes, his hips rocking against you. "Feels good, doesn't it?" He asks, his dick sliding in and out of you rhythmically. He pumps you slowly at first, letting you adjust to the feeling.

Your mind is blank, your just taking everything he is giving to you. He starts thrusting faster, his grip on your hips tightens.

"You're so fucking good, baby. So tight and wet...” He pants, his eyes locked on yours. He slams himself inside you, your walls gripping his size. He bites his lower lip, trying not to release too soon. He slams against your womb, feeling you tighten around him. He kisses your forehead . "I'll cherish you forever, I'll protect you, promise". He holds your face with one hand, forcing you to look into his eyes. He leans down, his lips capturing yours. "I love you." He says between kisses.

"S-sensei hnghh .. a-ah .. l-love you too.. a-ah" Gojo groans, his thrusts becoming harder and rougher, You wrap your legs around his waist to feel him deeper.

"Hah! I knew you felt it too.." He thrusts harder, deep thrusts making you moan loudly. He grips your ass, making sure every inch goes in. "Tell me again! Tell me how much you love me!" He roars, one of his hand squeezed your breasts while the other was placed on the wall maintaining balance. His grip on your ass tightens as he feels his climax approaching.

“Love you!” You scream, your nails digging into his shoulders. "

"Yes! That's it!” He roars, his hips bucking wildly. He sucks on your breasts alternatively and fiercely, his teeth grazing your nipple.

“Fuck! Yes!” He releases, your breast with a lewd sound turning you around, pushing you against the wall, by your neck as he slams into you from the back

"Gon' cum", you whimper.

His dick slides in and out of you at a frenzied pace. He spanks your ass, causing you to yelp. He thrusts deeply, your walls milking him.

"Cum for me, baby!" He groans, his pace increasing. "Do it!" His voice tingling your ears as his thrusts getting more and more forceful. His nails dig into your skin as he nears his peak.

"mhm y-yes.. ah", you  cum, squeezing his dick so tightly that he can't help but moan His hips slowing down letting you relax before jerking and spilling inside you, filling your womb .

He collapses on top of you, catching his breath. "You're mine.. Now that I have take your virginity." He mutters, nuzzling your hair. "No one can take you away from me." He whispers, his heart racing.

He lifts away from you.. Your nails glide down the wall as your knees go weak and you collapse on the ground with your ass high up and his seed spilling out of you His cum dripping down your thighs "W-why did you cum inside?", your voice still shaken. He smirks, kneeling beside you, he cleans you up, his fingers running over your sensitive clit. "The way your walls were squeezing me. Seemed they didn't want to leave my dick alone mhm" He spreads your legs, admiring his work.

"Don't worry gon buy you emergency contraception" He laughs, shaking his head. "Though you would look good with my child" He slaps your cunt only to watch his seed drooling down and your walls clench around nothing.

"Let's go shall we? or you gon keep your ass high up in the air for me to invade you more"

You get up, glaring at him and try to walk but falls down but gojo holds before you fall. Gojo chuckles, holding your waist not letting you fall.

“You’re so cute when you try to be mad but fail, Y/N.” He says, smiling brightly. "Looks like you won't be able to walk for a few days huh" He says, helping you walk.

Yuji and Nobara notice you two approaching them, and Yuji's face lightens with amusement.

"Are you Okay Y/N?" Yuji smirks and raises his eyebrow.

Gojo shrugs. "Ahahahahahahaha.. She just fell down and I had to look out for her as I usually do"

Nobara rolls her eyes and whispers to Yuji, who giggles. "I wonder what happened here." She chuckles, crossing her arms.

Megumi looks at you with concern on his face.

Gojo snickers as he holds you tighter. "I told you she's fragile," he says, his arm draped around your shoulder.

You yell back at him "I AM NOT WEAKKK"

[moonstruckme]

Olá, adorei sua escrita, peço desculpas por quaisquer erros de digitação (inglês não é minha primeira língua).

Gostaria de solicitar algo com poly!marauders reagindo a eles no meio de alguma discussão, e quando levantam a voz ou fazem alguma movimento repentino ela apenas se encolhe de medo

(só escreva se você se sentir confortável com isso, peço desculpas se for um assunto delicado)

No worries, sweetness! I worry I don't communicate this very well on my requests page, but so long as any abuse is in the past and not still happening while the story takes place, I'm totally good! Thank you so much for requesting, hope you enjoy it <3

cw: implied past abuse

poly!marauders x fem!reader ♡ 1k words

Your face is burning hot, and you’re hoping no one can tell it’s from how hard you’re working to hold back tears. 

“I’m telling you,” James says with a severity that doesn’t suit him, “they’re not good for you. You need to stop hanging around them.” 

“You have no idea what you’re talking about.” You wave him off, relieved that your voice comes out as even as it does. “They’re my friends.” 

“They don’t fucking act like your friends.” Sirius is looking at you like you’re stupid, and you try not to tremble in the face of his anger. Every muscle in your body had tensed at the first show of frustration, an exasperated huff from Remus nearly ten minutes ago, and it’s only gotten worse since. You know, logically, that this situation doesn’t call for fight-or-flight, but there’s no telling your nervous system that. “They left you drunk and completely alone in the middle of the night. They’re assholes.” 

“What, just because you don't like them?” You glower at Sirius from across the room, and James shakes his head disappointedly from the couch. “You don’t get to dictate who I hang out with!”

“You’re completely blind to it!”

“You’re being ridiculous!”

“That’s enough!” Remus roars, and everything else ceases to matter. 

Your shoulders hunch in to protect your middle, one hand coming up in front of your face instinctively as your eyes squeeze shut. 

It’s only an instant of terror, shooting through your nerves like a lightning strike, and then your heart starts beating again, now at double time. You raise your head to find Remus looking cracked open, mouth parted in silent shock and anguish. 

“I’m sorry,” you say quickly, holding up your hands as if to ward off the effects of what you’ve just done. You’re trembling all over. “I’m sorry, that was—I didn’t mean to.” 

“Sweetheart.” James starts to reach for you, then stops, wrapping his arms around his torso like he’ll lunge for you if not restrained. His voice is so quiet you can barely hear it over your own heartbeat. “Don’t apologize, please. Are you okay?” 

You nod, fighting the urge to shake out the adrenaline still working its way through your body. “Yeah, I’m fine. I didn’t mean to react like that. It wasn’t you guys, I’m sorry.” A traitorous tear skids down your face. You brush it away. 

“No.” The word sounds like it’s hooked from inside Remus’ throat and scraped forcibly out. “I shouldn’t have yelled like that. I’m so sorry.” He looks at you, eyes imploring. “Do you wanna sit down?”

“I’m fine,” you say again. 

“Angel.” James’ eyebrows come together in pity. “You’re shaking all over. Come sit, we don’t have to fight anymore.” 

You blow out a frustrated breath, ignoring the warm wetness on your cheeks as more tears escape. “I’m not—I don’t want to stop fighting just because of this. I feel like I’m manipulating you,” you say, tone edged with bitterness. “I’m not trying to, though. Can we just forget that happened?”

“Hey,” Sirius says, uncharacteristically firm, “stop that.” You’d been afraid to make eye contact with him before, but now you turn to find he’s looking at you like you’ve clawed his heart right out. You’re all the more miserable for it, for the pain you know you’re dredging up for him. You both have experience with raised voices and forceful gesturing. Both harbor old and unreliable notions about what those lead to, instincts you can’t shed. “You can’t manipulate us by accident, understand? You don’t always have control over reactions to things like that. Just…” His forehead creases with a helplessness you recognize. “Just take a breath.” 

He waits, eyes boring into yours, until you do. It shakes on the way out, but it feels good. 

“Okay. Do you want a hug?”

Your throat clogs so no words can pass through, but you nod, and Sirius steps toward you. His arms come around you slow but solid, feeling out how much you want. You press your face the juncture of his shoulder and his neck, hands clutching at his back, and he tightens his grip on you. Under your hand, you can feel his heart beating almost as desperately as yours. 

Sirius doesn’t quite release you as he walks the both of you to the couch, folding you into his lap, but you pull away once your tremors ease. James looks miserable with worry, and you take his hand, squeezing reassuringly. “I didn’t mean to scare you guys,” you say. It’s as close to an apology as you expect they’ll allow you. 

“Don’t worry about that,” Remus insists. “I mean it, I shouldn’t have raised my voice that way. Regardless of your history, it was uncalled for, and I’m sorry.” 

You give him the best smile you can offer at the moment. “It’s okay, really.” 

“You’re not manipulating anyone,” Sirius says, hand still tight around your waist, “but let’s save the rest of that conversation for another time, yeah?”

You nod reluctantly, and James gives Sirius a pleading look until he lets you go, nudging you into James' side. “I’m fine,” you insist again as he presses his lips to the top of your head, rubbing your upper arm. “Don’t worry about me.” 

He scoffs lightly, kissing downward to your forehead, the tip of your nose. “I always worry about you. Nothing you can do about that.” 

Some of the tension clears from Remus’ countenance as he watches you. “I agree, let’s pick that discussion back up when we all have clearer heads. Dovey, can I make you some tea?”

“I don’t need to be coddled,” you argue as James moves his attentions to your cheek. 

“Oh, let him,” Sirius says, rolling his eyes, “it’ll make him feel better. You can make me some tea, Moony.” 

“I’ll take some, too,” James says. “If it’ll help, of course. Actually, do we have any biscuits?” 

You laugh as Remus sets off happily for the kitchen.

[killerkillerkillher]

Bound to Fall in Love

Angel/Demon! 141 x reader

Tags: kidnapping, sacrifices, religious references, reader is too angry to die, reader commits murder lol, canon typical violence??, reader gets a kissy on the forehead, a tad crack-ish

Inclusivity tags: reader is referred to w he/him and they/them pronouns, no bodily description, no y/n

A/n: call my brain an apple w all the worms it's got. This was just a blurb at first, but I made room in there for me to potentially make it into... something I guess.

minors dni!

"Cole, I can't fucking focus while they're just... staring at us like that."

"Ignore it, Bess. We have to finish these candles."

You wish a bolt of lightening would come down and strike all three of you at once. Or maybe the building spontaneously combusting would be better. Anything, anything, would be better at this moment than watching your boyfriend and best friend work together to light a summoning circle after having tied you up in your sleep.

For a fraction of a second, you wonder if any gods are watching, if any of them would be willing to give you a boon and allow you one last chance to punch both of these betrayers in the face.

"Okay, okay, the book," Bess mutters, going to the pick up her ritual book from the coffee table you bought. Honestly, if they were going to try to sacrifice you somewhere, your living room is one of the most disrespectful places. Probably right under your bed room.

"I'm sorry," Cole has the gaul to look down at you with a face stricken with grief. Like you're dead already. "We didn't know what else to do. We're both in bad places and you've always been so good to us, so we figured-"

"You better hope this fucking kills me." You grunt. Cole's face melts into a glare. "Because if I'm still breathing, it's going to take more than Satan's intervention to save you from me. I swear on my mother." You jerk forward, making him jump back a step.

"Cole...?" Bess looks at you, then up at Cole with unease. Cole doesn't say anything for a second, sorting his feelings out with a leer before turning to her.

"Read the book."

He drags you into the middle of their pentagram while she sings Latin words off the old book pages. The candles flicker and waver before their flames grow twice as tall. Cole rolls you onto your back and pulls a knife from his back pocket.

"I meant it when I said I'm sorry," Cole mutters. You snarl, but don't jump at him like you want to.

"Yeah? Yeah, you're sorry? Kiss my ass!" You shout over Bess's reading. "If I'm still alive after this, I'm killing you and burying you in the fucking septic tank!" You crane your head up so you can see Bess as well. "Time to get some stuff off my chest, yeah? Bess, I fucked your older brother on the day we graduated."

Her eyes go wide, and she almost stops talking, but Cole shoots her a look that forces her to continue.

"And his friend Carl, the one you had a crush on. And Cole? I never. Fucking. Finished. Ever! You are the only person I've dated who couldn't get me off." Cole's hand's twitch around the blade.

"Are you serious?"

"Does now look like a time to- ack!" You don't get to finish because Bess finished the spell and it was time for your blood to fuel it. The blade buries in your gut, turning this way and that way at measured increments. You just lay there and twitch, breathy gasps falling from your gaping mouth, the pain only throwing fuel to the fires of your rage.

"Please, we call you here! Honor us with your presence!" Bess chants. Cole step away from you when the candles roar and your vision is filled with bright red and orange.

The ground beneath you rumbles. Whispers fill your ears, nothing you can ever imagine understanding, but something tells you they're other summoners. Or maybe little souls of those who were just where you are now, with a people sacrificing them.

It's odd, you think as blood soaks your back, your hair. You thought you'd be more scared in what could be your final moments. But there's only anguish where there should be fear. Only unfettered violent tension felt in your muscles, and a tongue hungering for iron and gore. You're jaw is wound tight enough to shatter your teeth.

If you could think straight, if you weren't about to die, you might be a little concerned. Never have you wanted to sink your fingers into someone's soft bits as much as you do now. This is normal, right? A normal amount of rage for the people taking your life.

Something in your gut tells you it's not.

In the fog of your rage, you missed the appearance of a pair of men above you. They hover, leathery plum colored wings sagging. One wears a leather strap harness across his chest, while the other favors an unbuttoned silk shirt. One of them looks at you curious as the fire dies, steam and copper colored smoke bellowing from his mouth. A thick cigar hangs on his lips.

"You came! There's... two of you?" Cole gawks, then falls to his knees beside Bess. You can't help but scoff at their sniveling forms.

"We did. There are." The one without the cigar brushes back his long mohawk to get a better look at the whimpering humans. They're nothing new to them, just another set of weak little things looking to get something without putting in the work for it.

Well, they might have had to put in the work to capture you, based on the way you still squirm and fight the rope keeping your arms together. So much blood has left you. You are going to die. Yet you spend your last moments doing what most humans find to be a waste of precious time. Being angry. It's interesting.

"What do you want?" The bearded one in the silk shirt grunts out around his cigar. Bess lifts her head just a bit to speak.

"We want to make a trade. A soul for a better life for us."

There's a moment of silence. You blink your heavy lids, growing too tired to do much else anymore. Both demons look back at you, then to the kneeling humans.

"They're not dead." They say at the same time.

Bess and Cole stiffen and finally chance a glance at you. You're bleeding, a glassy look to your eye and a smile on your face, but you're not dead.

"See, Bess?" You cough up blood only to swallow it back down, "what did I tell you? The cunt can't make me come and can't... can't even make me go."

The mohawked devil pops a wicked smile, not even hiding it from his would-be contractors.

Cole fumes. "I can finish the job. Fuck, am I going to finish the job." He stands, moving to step into the circle only to yelp, the invisible border around the summoning circle becoming visible if only to shock Cole back.

"Not so fast," the bearded one spawns a scroll in his hand. He's eyes glow a molten orange as he scans it. "Section 1, clause 3, part 19 states: executioner(s) must sacrifice one(1) human soul to contractee(s)... Let's see... Here it is: Sacrificee(s) must be dead upon arrival so that proper collection can be done. If sacrificee(s) is still soul bond upon arrival, then they are made the true contractor and all work will be conducted with them."

"In other words," the mohawked one grinned, "you should have went for the heart." He taps at his chest.

"Or the neck." The other devil offers.

"Or that vein in they're thigh."

"The sephenous, Johnny."

"Yeah, that."

"No, no!" Cole grabs at his hair as Bess looks like she's about to start crying. You want to laugh. They deserve the despair. They deserve the horror in their mistake. They were going to kill you!

"That means," the devils lean back to look at you. "You're our contractor. You get two requests at the price of one, human. I suggest one of those requests includes healing you." He flicks the ashes of his cigar on your leg. You don't even have to think of what you want most right now.

"I want you to untie me." You roll on your side. They wait for the rest. Cole and Bess look like they're going to shit themselves from the pale faced looks of terror they give you. Your eyes narrow. "And a hammer. A old fashioned iron and wood handled hammer."

Another beat of silence before the infernals bend over in laughter. The room shacks, sulfuric smoke pouring from their mouths to funk up the room. Cole tries to cox Bess to her feet while they're distracted. Their feet can't move though. It's like they're glued in placed and no amount of pulling and tugging could get them loose. Shame.

"Yer a funny one, love. I'll love having your soul for a few eternities." The one in leather floats over you, tilting his head this way and that way to get a good look at you. You settle him with a neutral look. "My name is Johnny. You sure that's what you want? I think you've only got a few minutes left in you."

"Then let's hurry this up a little, huh?"

"Ooh, you heard 'em." The cigared one snickers and snaps his claws. Two contracts appear in front of your face, both written in a language you can hardly comprehend. A pen appeared in front of your mouth. "Sign on the dotted line please."

You take the quill in your mouth, dip it in the blood beneath you.

"Rah 'ere?"

"Mhm."

You lean forward to dot the paper with your sloppy signature, but bizarrely enough, it seems like the powers that be have decided that they haven't made enough appearances. The floor trembles, and you worry about your poor infrastructure for a fraction of a second, when a set of gold doors spawn right behind you. You roll back onto your back to intake everything. You swear you're hallucinating when a pair of white winged angels step out, the clouded blue of heaven at their back.

"Hello?" You greet stupidly. You must be losing your mind, right? What the fuck is happening.

"Do not sign a thing." The bronzen angel instructs. "Human, we are here as messengers. God sees great things for you in your ascension. Please do not squander that to these demons." He shoots a sharp look at the demonic pair. The angel's counterpart wears a white cloak, obscuring all but his glowing golden eyes. You half expect him to sing "Be not afraid." despite you actively shitting bricks.

Oddly enough, their appearence seems to have some sort of healing property. Your lethargy starts to clear and the blade in your gut starts to get pushed out. Nothing hurts anymore.

"Oh, so we've got a big soul on our hands here, huh?" Johnny smirks. "Price, what's the plan?"

Price the devil throws his cigar to the ground and crushes it.

"Do what we do best. Bargain."

"Don't play with us, Price." The shrouded angel grunts. He's got a mind piercing voice that's got your head ringing, and you swear it echoes despite the room being well furnished. "We can provide them with just as much, if not more, at no cost of their soul." Those gold orbs land on you. "All we ask for is your faith."

"Jesus fucking Christ!" You tug at your bonds with renewed vigor. The angels wince at the mention of their Lord, but only watch as you force yourself upright. "I could not give a rat's ass who gets what! How about this? First one to get me free and a hammer in hand gets my loyalty."

There's two resounding snaps from either side of you. The ropes disappear, a hammer is in your left and right hand. You don't think deeper on what that implies. You finally stand, dropping the hammer in your nondominant hand, and march over to the two people you thought you could trust. They kneel now, seemingly ready to beg for their souls.

"Come on, don't look scared now." You drop your hands on your hips. "What happened to you finishing the job?"

"I didn't want-"

"Say it with your chest." You poke his breast plate with the iron hammer head.

"I didn't want it to come to this!" Cole yells. The divine audience doesn't say anything about it. They watch you curiously as you bounce the hammer in hand. Your soul is visible to them. What should be a glowing ball of light is a red and white morning star, all sharp edges and pulsing like a heart. Your soul will certainly not end up with the others, that much is true.

"I just... I couldn't keep up with you! Your life style, the way you act, your job. I never left good enough. Bess expressed the same thing and we just... clicked. We would have just left, but we could have never lived without struggling, so we just..." He swallows. You can't look at him anymore, hands clenching at what he says next. "The book called for someone we cared for."

''That supposed to make me feel better?" You tilt your head. Cole winces, eyes falling on your feet. You look to Bess. "Thought you were better than this. You were going to kill me. Because what, I was happy? I loved both of you, you could have just talked to me."

"We're sorry! What more do you want?" Bess sobs. You straighten up, bouncing the hammer on your hip, acting like you next action is something to deliberate. You already know what they deserve, and a flash of sadness bubbles in your chest, but it quickly passes as a hot, searing emotion burns a hole into what little hesitation you had left.

"Reckon I want your souls after all the shit you've caused." You grin before swinging the hammer back and caving in Cole's chest.

"Fuck..." is all you can say after everything is done. Cole and Bess lay in a bloody heep, all recognizable features destroyed and crushed. You pant, hands trembling and nothing but white noise and static crunching around in your head. You just killed your best friend and boyfriend. For some reason, you've never felt so light.

Someone's whistle gets followed by a clap.

"Impressive. Done that before?" Johnny chuckles. He floats closer, hand running down your back as he moves past and pokes around the pulped organs. "Shite, did them right in. Can't tell which is which."

"I've never-" you start to answer, but hands are clapped onto your shoulders, shocking you into silence.

"Well, that was a good place to start, lad. Your swings were a bit sloppy, but we can fix that." Price squeezes at your trapezius, massaging the stiffness out of them. A throat clears, and Price sighs like he forgot there was other company.

"We aren't finished. The human is our ward now, Price." The uncloaked angel snaps his finger, pulling you from Price and making you spawn between the two angels. The bronzen angel smiles down at you with teeth so white you could damn near see your reflection.

"There you are. It's nicer to have you close. My friend here is Simon and I'm-"

"Come on, Kyle, you know he's ours!" Johnny spits, his wings flaring out. "We gave him the hammer first, so piss off."

"Uh...huh." Kyle's smile falls. "I think you're a bit mistaken. Look, after executing the human's request, I have his name here." A stone slab appears in front of your face. It's smells like sunshine and warm grass. What the fuck. "His pledge to the Lord has been set and his soul already has a place next to Their throne."

"Right, right, like we don't have documentation neither." Johnny huffs. The stone disappears as a scroll appears next to the devil. The smell of sulfur and smoke wafts over to you. "His name is right there, pretty boy. Getting yer fuckin' lookers on."

Kyle ignores the rude tone and does pull out a pair of reading glasses to go over the scroll. You stand there in the silence, a little too scared to speak up. What could you do anyway? In a blind anger, you didn't really have the mind to think any of this out. Angels and devils are fighting over you because you'd stupid ass was too blood hungry to think past murder. All that can be done is for them to figure this out amongst themselves, and for you to wait for the sentencing. Heaven, or Hell?

"...Simon." Kyle slowly pulls his glasses off. "This is legit. His soul is promised to all of us."

You glance up at Simon, the scary motherfucker. He blinks. Once. Twice. Then pinches the bridge of his nose with a hagard sigh.

"Shit."

That's not good.

Johnny laughs, Price grinning like a dog with a bone. Kyle marches over to you, patting your shoulders with an awkward smile. His demeanor reminds you of the way your mom acted when she said she was going to divorce your dad. And all you can think is "Not this again." Are you going to be spending your afterlife going between heaven and hell forever? Does God get weekends because Their day is Sunday or whatever?

"We need to go and talk this over with some superiors. We'll clean this up," Kyle snaps and the gore is gone, so is the ritual circle and candles. "And we'll get back to you in the morning." He places a feather light kiss on your forehead, and suddenly you're squeaky clean and in the softest set of pajamas you've ever worn. "Stay safe while we're gone and don't allow these two to influence you. Get some rest."

"Blah, blah, blah," Johnny mocks from the sidelines. Price tilts his head, and there's nothing but amusement behind those eyes. Yeah, this is exactly like your parents divorce.

"O-okay? I mean, I'll try." You shrug.

Simon nods. "That's all you can do." He steps back into the golden doorway and Kyle falls in stride. You make some distance, and with a final wave from a white toothed angel, the doors shut with a slam that shakes the house's foundation.

"Just you and us now, stud."

You turn with a comedic slowness to the devils. Price chuffs and floats forward. His assess you, takes you in in all your fluffy white pajama glory, and it seems he finds what he wants when he nods.

"Guess we've got to talk with top brass to see what's going on ourselves. Pity we couldn't stick around longer." The devil's eyes never meet yours, staying glued to various parts of your face. They hop from ears, to your eyebrows, down to your lips. Christ on a bike, is it getting hot in here? His blue, glowing cerulean eyes appear to flash with something.

"Shite, yer right." Johnny groans. "I hate going down there."

"Suck it up, love. You know how I feel about sharing." Price drops his interest in you like an old toy and takes Johnny close by his waist. You watch with a lead poisoned stare as their noses touch intimately, words you can't hear being exchanged. It's kinda of awkward to just stand there and watch but your brain isn't really functioning well enough to tell you to stop.

"Hey, stud." You blink, refocusing on the pair. Johnny seems to have climbed his partner, his legs on his waist and arms around his neck. Price makes busy opening a portal to hell in your livingroom with one hand, supporting Johnny under his ass with the other. "Sit pretty, yeah? 'll be back before those two arseholes, promise."

"Right... yeah." You nod. "Uh, be safe?"

"Be safe, he says." Price mutters. "Cute." Johnny waves until Price steps through the infernal hole and falls from view. The portal closes right behind him so you'd have no hopes of seeing anything but the red hue of smog and dust.

And here you are. A little dazed, a little sad, probably holding back a break down from the last hour of events. But you're alive and you're healed. There's no blood to clean, you're in comfortable pajamas. Could probably sleep right now if your brain would stop for a minute, but it doesn't look like that's in the plans.

So you look for something to do. Cole and Bess and moved around all your furniture to make the summoning circle. Guess you can start there, right?

[azen13]

CW: Yandere Themes Thinking abt Yandere!Neuvillette with a Sovereign!S/O who seeks asylum in Fontaine after years of hiding in Teyvat from the Fatui, Celestia, etc...

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆

The moment you enter the Palais Mermonia, Neuvillette feels your presence; like when the sun peaks through a blanket of clouds on an overcast day, something heavy falls off from his soul, like a curtain opening. His office doors open and you find yourself face-to-face with the only being like you in this land.

Of course Neuvillette can't just drop any of his appointments or cases, so he asks you empathetically to wait out in the lobby until his lunch break. Before he returns to his office, he asks one of the Melusines working to keep an eye on you and to make sure you don't get hurt or run off. His fingers twitch as he takes one last look at you, his eyes searching deep into your soul.

When he's finally finished with all his paperwork and met with several people, he ushers you in his office, his face imperceptible. Beneath his human facade, there are currents of emotions pushing against one another like boiling water: protectiveness, anxiety, fear, jubilance, relief. Neuvillette asks you if you want something to eat. Some water from Monstadt to go along with it, maybe?

He lets you tell your story and listens patiently. His expression, perfected over the course of hundreds of thousands of trials, stays perfectly intact, but the tides of his heart lurch as you tell him about all the atrocities committed to you.

The waters roar, and the dragon stirs.

When you ask for asylum and protection he is quick to agree. Very quick. Almost immediately he promises to set you up with a comfortable apartment, a simple job at the Palais organizing papers, some Mora to help you buy clothes, and whatever else you might need. He has to return to work, unfortunately. But he asks again if you can stay in the Palais Mermonia until he is done with work—or at least his official work—for the night.

Your agreement is the most beautiful sound he has ever heard.

The rest of the day, Neuvillette cannot think. There is an permanent indentation in his mind now from that first feeling of sensing your presence. The feelings duplicate themselves in his mind until he can hardly grasp his pen. Words on pages turn into soupy mush.

For the first time in centuries, Neuvillette does not stay late to continue working. When the clock strikes seven, he has already neatly organized the work he has to get done on his desk to pick up later. Briefly, his expression eases, thaws in a way, the corners of his lips slightly upturned, a hint of fondness finding its way into his iridescent eyes.

Unfortunately, he says, he can't organize all of the papers and contact all of the people needed right now to get you what he promised. However, he can offer you a guest room in his home. Your agreeance is so beautiful, your smile radiant like the sun and eyes shining like stars. He wants to see you smile. He likes it. Loves it, even.

As the two of you walk through the streets of Fontaine, the energy of the city begins winding down; there are still people clustered at cafes and musicians spouting tunes off into the evening summer air, but already, stars have begun to appear in the dazzling dusk sky.

You say you love the stars. Neuvillette listens with rapt attention, as though he is studying for the most important test of his life. He is an Akademiya scholar, and his Darshan is the study of you.

You are his star.

After the walk home, Neuvillette finds himself blessed by your expression when you gaze into the foyer of his house. It's nothing extraordinary like the opulence of the nobility, but it is upper-class; a quiet luxury permeates through every part of the home, from the banister carved with patterns of the sea to the walls painted a rich, deep blue.

He holds in a laugh when you see a potted plant and gaze at it like it is a miracle of life. Perhaps it is, with its delicate petals and fragrant scent. How—he wonders as he guides you to the guest room, nearly reaching to put his hand on the small of your back before deciding against it—could it survive this long? How did it not get ripped apart or trampled on by beasts and humans alike? The thought lingers in the back of his mind like the last traces of sunlight beaming in through the windows.

Neuvillette files it away.

When he goes to bed, he cannot sleep. Part of him is worried that there is something genuinely wrong with him, that he should seek medical attention. But that's impossible. And he knows it. It is an easy, dismissive lie; thin like ice in late winter. Once he smashes through it, he plunges into something lethal.

Is it wrong, Neuvillette thinks, that he wishes to protect you?

He should rephrase that. It is wrong that he wishes to keep you tucked away somewhere where those beasts will never hurt you again?

He holds a court case in his mind, you versus him. He cards through the evidence. The laws. He goes on a hunt in his archives for a tome on the law when he needs clarification.

When he composes a mental opinion to this rhetorical case, it is after several hours of back-and-forths in his head. But he knows now.

You are a special case, Neuvillette thinks. Cursed by Celestia even, he would say, with how much you have gone through, escaping the clutches of the Fatui and their Harbingers, and countless other evils. He can trace the scars on your hands knowing there are thousands of tragedies written in invisible ink over them. Could he be what decodes those messages? He can. He will.

To put it more plainly, you don't fall under the standard limits of jurisdiction of Fontaine's law. You are a Sovereign, not a citizen of Fontaine, and in addition, you fall under the qualifications of a person in extreme danger. Your very existence is endangered, the elusive essence of your being alluring to the foulest forces in Teyvat. And since the Archon of your element has not rescinded their powers, you are so very vulnerable.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆

Time passes strangely after that night. The god of time has always been a strange, fickle thing in an immortal being like Neuvillette's eyes, but after meeting you, it has only become more warped.

You go out to cafes together. Neuvillette buys you a croissant. You ask him what lavender tastes like. He describes it the best he can, and you buy a lavender latte. You and him share easy, pleasant conversation on a small streetside patio. That is just one morning. There will be an infinite number of mornings like that, but they will all carry that insurmountable significance to Neuvillette. Just like your smile. Your face. Your eyes. Hair. Nose. Everything. Anything. All of it.

This is love. It must be.

Days float on by like meandering clouds, the guest room slowly transforms into your room, and the thought of an apartment is abandoned. Neuvillette asks you to start helping him organize papers in his office, find the right tome he needs on Fontaine's laws from his expansive shelves. He buys you clothes in shades of blue, gray, and white, your outfit's color palette harmonizing perfectly with his. Your days are spent constantly together, going from home to the Palais Mermonia, back home, maybe going out for dinner or some other excursion like an opera or show, and Neuvillette is pleased.

Pleased because you have not tried to fight against this. Pleased that you are just as affected as he is. Pleased that he wakes every day knowing you are safe in your home. Pleased that you are his.

His grasp slowly tightens around you like a gardener lining his pruners up against a flower. His hands clasp yours. They draw around your back. Cup your cheek. Brush your lip. When a stranger finds themselves talking to you, Neuvillette's gravity draws you back in, like the earth and the moon. The stranger is simply a speck of dust in this cosmos, never to fall into your shared orbit again.

When you finally kiss after months of this slow pull, Neuvillette knows it is over. You are his. Your room is now his room. Your bed now his bed. Your love is now his love. Your life is now his life. And you know it. And he knows it. And you both know it's for the best.

He will protect you. His rose.

His star.

His love.

Forever.

[sukiipjs]

✿ RAIN LIKE BULLETS

°:. *₊ ° . ☆ °:. *₊ ° . ° .•

↳ matt sturniolo x fem reader

↳ words - 877

↳ summary - you were always randomly anxious when a storm started, luckily matts always there to help you.

↳ contains - fluff, use of y/n, use of pet names (baby), anxiety, idk

↳ song - rises the moon by liana flores

°:. *₊ ° . ☆ °:. *₊ ° . ° .•

°:. *₊ ° . ☆

my head lays on matt’s chest, my eyes closed in a deep sleep, matt as well as his arms spread out on the bed. suddenly my body jolts up and my eyes flash open, my first sound that i hear when i awaken is the clap of thunder outside.

i lift my head off matt, blinking my eyes, peaking out the window. raindrops like bullets run down the glass, loud thunder and lightning shining in the sky over and over.

i’ve always gotten irrationally anxious and i guess scared during storms like this, ever since my childhood. no idea why, i just do, it’s stupid i know but it’s just how i am.

my heart starts to beat faster as another bolt of lightning strikes. i sit and stare at the rain that bounces off the window, my hands slightly shaking as i follow a few drops as they run down the glass with my finger, trying to distract myself.

this is stupid, i think as i move my hand away from the cold glass and scoot myself to sit by matt again, leaning against the pillows and headboard.

i close my eyes, trying to focus on my breathing but as soon as i try, i get interrupted by the loud bangs of thunder and rain.

matt being beside me, his eyes open as his hand moves to his face, rubbing his eyes. he blinks a little, “y/n?” he says quiet when he sees i’m not in his arms anymore. his head turns and sees me sitting up, he moves his arms as he pushes himself by me, sitting up too.

“you good?” he stretches his arms in front of him, yawning as he does. my eyes open back up as i speak back, “uh yeah, thunder just woke me up,” my body jumps again as another loud bang approaches us.

his face softens as he sees me flinch, his eyes staring down at my hands as they shake. “are you sure?” he takes one of my hands in his, intertwining our fingers as he speaks concerned. i try to lift my face into a smile, failing but trying, “it’s dumb.”

“no it’s not, what’s wrong? you’re literally shaking,” a small laugh falls from his mouth as his thumb rubs against fingers, “its just-, i don’t know, i get really anxious during storms like this. i don’t know why, it’s stupid” i pull my hand away from him, hiding my face in them as i try to laugh, shaking my head, slightly embarrassed.

“that’s not stupid, baby. come here” he moves to my arm and he rests a hand on my wrist, trying to pull it away from my face. i drop my hands down, moving closer to matt then leaning my head back onto his chest. “i’m scared,” i say soft and quiet as another lightning strikes, my body shaking. still feeling a little embarrassed honestly.

“shhh, i know. you’re okay though,” his hands rest on the top my head, his fingers tangling themselves in my hair. another loud boom and flash of light, i quickly move to wrap my arms around matt. squeezing him as he slowly starts to rock me side to side, “i’m here, you’re okay”

we move in sync as matt starts to hum the tune of a great comfort song i love, rises the moon, the vibration of his voice rings my ears and i start to focus on his song, not the loud storm that roars on near us.

my eyes gently close as i nuzzle my head into matt more as he continues to comfort me, his hands gliding their way around my head, his body swaying with mine, and his soft, faint voice humming the song over and over.

one of his hands move off me as his body leans to the side, reaching out beside the bed to grab his phone and headphones. he types in the song and puts one ear bud in his ear and gives me the other. my head looks up at him and i move my hands from under him to i take the ear bud and i put it in my ear, listening to the song and not the heavy storm outside.

“i love you,” my voice is quiet but he hears, i move my head back to lay on him, faintly closing my eyes again. a low smile comes to matts face as he looks down at my head buried in his chest. “i love you too, we should try and get back to bed though, you okay?” i nod into him as he smiles more, he leans his head down to reach me, kissing my forehead before moving down, off the headboard, his body laying on the bed again.

the sounds of raindrops heavy on the window fills our ears mixed with the gentle song of rises the moon. i grab behind me and pull the blanket over us, covering my head, shielding me from the flashing lightning on the window. “goodnight,” my voice mumbles as i crouch my legs up, “mhm, goodnight” matt turns his head on the pillow as his hands stay tight on me, his fingers trailing on my back, coaxing me back to sleep.

☆ °:. *₊ ° . °

taglist - @slutforchriss @mattsleftnipple03 @mattsdinosweater @ccolleenn @mixvchelle @leah-loves-lilies @sturn-wrld @redz0nez9 @cheriematt 💞

[thegnomelord]

Prompt #2 with Dominant bottom trans Price? And sub top cis male reader? Maybe monster au and mage reader if you want.

Power bottom Price YES! You get me mate, you get it, @rodolfoparras please second me here on the power bottom Price supremacy. Play the game HERE

Prompt: “That’s enough. Take a cold shower and when you’re done come back to me.  Don’t dress yourself.  No drying off."

CW: NSFW, dom bottom Trans Price, Sub top Reader, dom/sub, edging and denial, cumming without permision, oral, temp play kinda?

In an attempt to teach you some god damn patience, Price gave you a simple order — don't cum. For a month. This challenge would have gone smoother had he not teased you every waking moment; from fondling your thigh under the table during meetings to whispering in your ear all the filthy things he was going to do to you, hell, you couldn't even cross paths in the hallway without feeling his hands grope your ass.

So it's no wonder you didn't last a week.

When you were sure he was going to be busy you snuck back to your room, not even bothering with disrobing and just unbuttoning your jeans to let your aching erection free. You spat into your palm and immediately went to town, using every precious second you had to stroke yourself and find a release to that blasted heat in your belly.

You came into your fist in record timing like a teenager, your mind so clouded with post-orgasmic bliss you didn't hear the door open. The clear sound of Price clearing his throat strikes fear into your heart like nothing else before.

You slowly turn, cock still in your hand, to find him standing behind you, face stern like you'd just fucked up a mission. "Have fun there?" He asks, voice gruff but a smug look in his eyes — he fucking knew this would happen.

"Price, listen I-"

"Did I give you permission to talk?" His sharp words make you shut your mouth so fast your teeth 'click'. "Thought not." He hums and takes large strides towards you, pushing you against the wall. "Look at'you, remembering your manners when you cock up." He teases and his hand knocks away yours before he takes a firm grip of your soft cock.

He strokes you rough and quick, making your head loll back and hit the wall as the pressure and feel of his calloused hand makes pleasure push through the fog of overstimulation until your cock's hard and leaking all over again.

"Does that feel good sweetheart?" He asks, nibbling on your neck. You nod your head frantically, panting in tandem with every stroke of his hand, your balls churning as he corrals you closer and closer towards a second orgasm-

His hand stops.

You think your heart does too.

"What? Did you think ah was going to reward you for misbehaving, silly boy?" He asks with a smug smirk and flicks the head of your cock, smirking when you yelp and watching your cock bob. "That's enough." He lets go of your cock. "Take a cold shower and when you’re done come back to me. Don’t dress yourself. No drying off."

"You can't be serious." You try to argue but the look he gives you—the same one he gives to dumb recruits who try to challenge him—has you shuffling into the bathroom without further complaint.

You have no idea how many swears you yell out while pelted with droplets of ice cold water, borderline pain shooting up your spine as your cock softens from the assault. You shut off the water quickly, shaking yourself off like a dog despite his instructions before going back to him.

You nearly trip on your feet when you find him naked and sprawled out on your bed, positioned in such a way that your eyes naturally fall to his cunt. Your mouth grows dry as you watch him lazily play with himself, thumb and forefinger slowly rubbing his clit before sliding down to spread his folds so you have a clear view of his pulsing hole. The breathless moan he gives as he pushes two fingers into himself has your pulse roaring in your ears, the wet 'squelch' of slick as his fingers spread his hungry cunt open making your ears burn.

"Insatiable muppet." He growls, drawing attention to the boner you're now sporting. "Go back in." He orders, motioning to the bathroom, "You're doing this until you learn."

You do as you're told, staying a little longer under the freezing stream and conjuring images of old grannies eating lunch in the nursery home to make sure you stay soft when you come out the second time. Your cock gives a half-hearted throb as you watch Price finger himself, but you manage to escape a third cold shower.

"Good lad." You have to pinch yourself to not react to his praise, but the pleased look in his eyes makes up for that. He spreads his legs more, pulling his fingers out of his cunt to pat his hairy thigh, "C'mere then."

Knowing what's expected of you, you drop to your knees and crawl to him, settling between his thighs so you're eye level with his slick folds. You have half a mind to just dive right in, but the residual freezing droplets on your skin remind you to look up at him and beg for permission with your eyes.

A slow breath escapes you when he puts a clean hand on your head, ruffling your hair as a reward. "Good, you're finally learning." He tugs on your hair, "Go on then, don't just stare at it."

Permission granted you shove your face straight into his cunt, nose burrowing into his pubic hair to breathe in his musky scent and lolling your tongue out. You start with slow and wide swipes of your tongue at the bottom of his cunt lips, easing him into pleasure by seeking out all the pleasant spots along his inner lips. When his slick starts mixing with the drool rolling down your chin you go up to caress his clit with the flat of your tongue.

Your slow and methodical ministrations make him moan so sweetly you forget everything but his cunt, lavishing it with precise attention until his thighs shake as they wrap around your head. He tugs on your hair to move your tongue where he wants it, making you slowly suffocate in his slick heat but you couldn't care less when he continues to moan like that; rough and deep and blissed out.

Then you shift to ease the ache of your knees and your cock head brushes against the sheets, bringing your attention to the hard cock between your legs. Immediately you grip his thighs and redouble your efforts in an attempt to keep him from noticing, tongue delving into his pulsing tunnel to tonguefuck him for a few moments then swiping up to suckle on his clit, lips sealing around the nub and sucking until his thighs shake.

Even slowly suffocating you know when he's getting close by the way his moans get deeper, his breathing becoming stuttered and a continues stream of 'good boy' 'there, do that', 'don't stop' falling from his lips. He grinds roughly against his face and it only takes a few more hard licks against his clit to make him cum.

His thighs nearly crack your skull as he convulses, grinding his spasming cunt into your face and you do your best to swallow down all of his slick, continuing to lick him through it until his hold eases.

You gasp for breath when he lets you go, chin and throat stained with his juices. He looks at you with hooded content eyes and as he shifts his leg to press his shin against your leaking erection you think you're in the clear.

"Hard again?" The duality of his sweet tone and the mean look in his eyes hits you like a train. "Did you think that would be enough?" He asks sweetly, rubbing your aching length until you're throbbing with the need to cum before pulling away at the last second.

Boneless as he is he still tugs on your hair to keep your attention on him, "Oh no, baby boy, you're far from forgiven." He smirks and motions to the portal to Hell that is your bathroom. "Get to it, you know the drill by now."

[humansofnewyork]

(10/54) “Mitra loved anything beautiful. She kept countless notebooks. And on every page she’d paste something beautiful: a flower, a feather, a line from a poem. One time we went to a large antique shop, and the owner challenged us to choose the most expensive items in the shop. Mitra looked around the store and chose two that nobody else had noticed. The owner was shocked. He announced that those were the only two that were not for sale. She had a genius for beauty. It was one of her greatest gifts. But her greatest gift by far, was her memory. Mitra could memorize an entire poem after hearing it a single time. Her favorite was Hafez: The Prince of Romance. She’d memorized two hundred of his ghazals. And whenever she found a verse that she loved, she’d bring it to me to read. We’d heard our voices many times before in arguments. But it was different when we read poetry. There was a softness, a delicacy. When you’re reading a poem, you must find the 𝘢𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘨. Melody. The instrument is your throat. And the words are the notes. Some you strike suddenly, with a bang. Others you unroll gently, like a bow being slowly pulled across the string of a violin. Every word has life. Every word has its own soul. The word roar has a soul. 𝘒𝘩𝘰𝘳𝘰𝘰𝘴𝘩! And so does the word kiss. 𝘉𝘰𝘰𝘴𝘦𝘩. We were married in the traditional way. It was a small ceremony at the home of Mitra’s father. On the morning of our wedding Mitra and I visited a famous photographer in Tehran. We took a series of photographs standing side-by-side. She was so conscious of her crippled hand, she found a way to hide it in every photo. But she’d never looked so beautiful. When the session was finished, I suggested one final photograph. I could tell the photographer was annoyed, but he agreed. And it’s the photograph that still hangs in our house today. Mitra is sitting on a chair. And I’m down on one knee, looking up at her, holding her hand.”

 میترا هر چیز زیبایی را دوست داشت. در دفترچه‌های پُرشُمارش و بر هر برگی از آنها چیزی زیبا می‌چسباند: گُلی، پَری، بیت شعری. روزی میترا و من به عتیقه‌فروشی بزرگی رفتیم - فروشنده ما را به چالش کشید که گران‌ترین‌هایش را شناسایی کنیم. میترا نگاهی به پیرامون انداخت و به دو قطعه اشاره کرد. صاحب فروشگاه شگفت‌زده گفت که هیچ‌کس تا کنون به آنها توجه نکرده بود. او گفت که این دو تنها چیزهایی هستند که فروشی نیستند. میترا نبوغ ویژه‌ای در زیباشناسی داشت. یکی از بهترین توانایی‌های او بود. ولی برجسته‌ترین توانایی او حافظه‌اش بود. میترا پس از یک بار شنیدن شعر، ‌بسیاری از آنرا به یاد می‌سپرد. عاشق شعر بود. تنها زمینه‌ای که بر آن توافق داشتیم. شاعر مورد علاقه‌‌اش حافظ بود: شاهزاده‌ی عاشقانه‌ها. میترا بیش از دویست غزل او را از بر داشت. برخی را که دلپسندش بود به من می‌داد تا بخوانم. باور داشت که من آهنگ درست شعر را پیدا می‌کنم. صدای همدیگر را در بگومگوهامان بسیار می‌شنیدیم. ولی هنگام شعر ‌خواندن چنان نبود. حالتی از دلپذیری و نرمش. در شعر، حنجره ساز شماست. و واژه‌ها نُت‌هایتان. برخی را ناگهان می‌نوازی - با آوایی بلند. برخی دیگر را به آرامی، مانند کشیدن آرشه بر زه. هر واژه‌ ویژگی خود را دارد. هر واژه‌ را جانی دیگر است. واژه‌ی خروشیدن جانی خروشان دارد! همانگونه که واژه‌ی بوسیدن و بوسه، دلآویزی و آرامشش را! پیوند ما ازدواجی سنتی بود. جشن کوچکی در خانه‌ی پدر میترا. بامداد روز ازدواجمان، به آتلیه‌ی عکاسی پرآوازه‌ای در تهران رفتیم. میترا را هیچگاه به آن زیبایی ندیده بودم. چندین عکس ایستاده در کنار هم گرفتیم. در هر عکسی حالتی را می‌یافت تا دست چپش را پنهان کند. هنگامی که کارمان تمام شد، پیشنهاد عکسی دیگر دادم. عکاس آزرده می‌نمود اما عکس را گرفت. و آن همین است که تا امروز بر دیوار آویزان است. میترا روی صندلی نشسته و من یک زانو بر زمین نهاده، محو تماشای او، دستش را در دست گرفته‌ام

[samodivaa]

frenzy of lust and sin 2〗

Part 1 Pairing: Instructor!Bucky x Recruit!Reader

Summary: During your training to become an agent, you've earned the moniker "Sergeant's girl" around the base—that doesn't give him the right to be possessive or jealous, but what gives you the right to be a brat? Warnings: sexual tension, age gap Words: 2.4k

Cause and effect are erratic. Sometimes the first precedes the second, sometimes the second the first. Or perhaps cause lies forever in the past while effecting in the future, but future and past are entwined.

“Is SHIELD so desperate that they allow to recruit women here?” 

Vlad says loudly, placing the glass down before bringing up his hand to rub his jaw as he chuckles. But nobody else on his table or the other dares to chuckle or laugh. As the room goes quiet, the man feels something like a touch of ice on his heart, like a recollection or, more exactly, a reminder, of something agonizing and revolting that is in that room now, at that moment, Bucky Barnes has heard him speak—he changes the expression of joy on his lips to one of alarm, but he doesn’t dare move from his seat. Someone makes his presence known, quiet thud of his boots cracking the stillness. The deathlike silence is broken—he seems petrified when he hears the melodious ringing sounds of Bucky’s dog tag chimes deep into his soul as if a funeral bell is ringing, pealing for his farewell. He puts the metal arm on the man’s shoulder—a beautiful yet deadly ornament, he can’t shake hands with the Devil and not get sulphur on his hands—his arm is a reminder not only to himself, but to others as well.

And some words set the devil’s creation which has been long caged, to come out roaring, dooming people to eternal perdition. Bucky’s expression is simple and confident, and his manners are always very polite and engaging. 

”I-I was just joking”   he pants, trembling while Bucky’s large blue eyes wander timidly over everyone in the room, the hollowness round them transforming to haggard wildness, the languid expression they usually possessed. Nothing happens. No words are needed, just one nod and one look with his predatory evil eyes. A warning. Bucky leaves the room. He never exhibits rudeness, loses control of himself, or turns violent. Not that easily.

“Vladimir, you don’t speak about the Sergeant's girl like that”    the man seating next to him says, shunning his puzzled gaze. “The Sergeant's girl?”    he asks, speaking short and with difficulty as shivers, and glances at his friend, half supplicating, half ashamed.

“Yeah, that's what we call her. You are on his blacklist now” “What does that mean?”   Vlad has an expression of agony, he seems convulsed with terror. He sinks in prostate of helpless fear, caused by his friend’s words and glance towards him, there is nothing else to produce such humiliation. He draws in his breath, strikes the table, and swears to himself. The other man is incapable of regarding the childish act with sternness, but he scowled at Vlad and mutters: “Well...that is for you to experience”

That fills Vlad with dread, no one has means of discerning, but there he is, powerless under the gripe of guilt. He shrugs his shoulders, shakes himself, indeed, as if his flesh creeps with aversion, and thrusts back his chair—he is deaf to every attempt at moving his sense of ego or pride.

============================== The same morning, rather afternoon, a different step approaches in the gym—heavier and longer, Bucky enters slowly and Vlad pursues his movements with apathetic eyes. The Sergeant makes no ceremony of greeting, availing himself of his privilege to walk straight in, without saying a word. His dark face is rather composed, his frame is scary, huge. Vlad rises with an impulse to dash out, when he sees him.

“Wanna spar?” Bucky demands sternly, supposing he can frighten Vlad by catching him thus, alone—Vlad perceives that the wretched creature has no power to sympathize with his mental torture since yesterday.

“No, thank-”     What a whining coward, Bucky thinks. “I am not asking” He invades Vlad’s personal, calmly, but only in appearance as his gaze fixes on the younger man’s features, his eyes that seem dilating with ecstasy. That radiant gaze makes his pulse seemingly imperceptibly stop and his soul departs. Vlad is a tall, athletic, well-formed man, beside whom, Bucky seems quite slender and youth-like, but no amount of muscles can outmatch decades of skill and murder. Bucky is brooding over the past sometimes, the strain of it is too much, but there is nothing that would make him escape from his old self altogether. Hydra taught him to endure, not to lose his temper easily—the best fighter is never angry, his actions are driven by a mechanical precision. Vlad’s self‐preservation rises up in him at once as Bucky comes closer and he looks at his instructor with questioning, suffering eyes, studies him, his face, uncertain if Bucky would strike or not. Vlad’s head is clouded with fear and regret, his faculties feel half asleep, but his eyes are fastened upon the older man. Ferocity still lurks in the ex Winter Soldier’s brows and his eyes full of black fire. 

Whatever has happened, Vlad exits trembling and scared—Bucky’s eyes are usually blue and in a certain light look soft, gentle, and even innocent. Then the light would change, the innocence would vanish, and the eyes look ice cold. This ferocity lurks yet in his angry browns and eyes full of black fire, but it is subdued when he realizes that he has a training session with you. ============================== You don't paint dreams or nightmares, you paint your own reality—but they don’t work unless you take action and you have the power to make it true. That’s how you ended up on the SHIELD’S training camp. All your life has been training—this is the final path before becoming a certified agent. And you have always been an object of discourse, as people might do at a strange repulsive animal—because you don’t have an ordinary childhood nor teen years. But despite that, you have proven yourself as one of the top recruits and yet, your dignity continues to be mocked, abused, compromised, toyed with, lowered and even bad-mouthed, but it can never be taken from you. You wear your skills like a suit of armor—in a dog-eat-dog field, you naturally lose parts of your humanity and emotions in order to survive.

The trashy rumors flourish like a weed—even though you were not there, you knew exactly what was said and what happened earlier in the day. You are grateful for Sergeant Barnes. For protecting your mind. Protecting your value, trying to create peace in your day to day life at the base. He doesn’t let you be exposed to mockery, shame, counterfeit friends or allies, even defending you even in your absence—but now it is different, you see it as a way to show all startling demonstrations of feeling—possessiveness, it makes you experience irresistible attraction towards Bucky, you have not been aware that your attachment has been rising unsolicited since you heard the rumor about Vlad, but for the minute you discover its’ existence, you lay all the blame on him. 

Pushing open the door to your room, you look at yourself in the mirror. Your face looks drawn. Tired. Because you have four different courses and it is hard to keep up sometimes. And all those terrible words are inked all over your skin. The scars, the struggles and all the names of those men who have done you wrong. But it makes you unstoppable and much more proud of your journey, how far a woman like yourself has improved, amongst all those people. Reaching for the cropped sweatshirt over the table, you head out of your room—you can’t wait for the training session with Bucky. It is nerve racking, knowing what you wear underneath. But you don’t flatter under pressure easily, you thrive. ============================== As you enter the training room, Bucky’s expression is serious and his cock twitches when he sees you—you love how his eyes soften slightly when he looks at you. The way he looks at you is always different than anyone else—but it all makes sense. From everyone else’s perspective it looks like he is being protective, but it is not just that—it is so much more than that. His throat bobs as you approach him towards the bench he is sitting on, just to surprise him and take a seat on the floor, right in front of his legs. “I'm tough, I could have handled the new guy by myself later” He is pressing his lips together, avoiding a smile. “I know you are” “That guy can’t even bruise my ego, I could have beaten the shit out of him” You force a grin, peering at him through your lashes which makes his blue eyes spark. You undress your cropped sweatshirt slowly, making sure he is looking at your cleavage which is purposely pushed up by a sport bra that you chose. His gaze drops from your eyes, to the swell of your chest—you bite back the disgust at how predictable he is. He even licks his lips. Your chest tightens and you bite your lip to hide the grin wanting to escape. “Well, you can practice on me today”  His eyes glow dark, his vibranium fingers tapping against the metal bench. For a slight second, confusion spreads on your feathers, brows drawing inwards and eyes moving back and forth as if you are trying to solve an invisible puzzle. But it all lasts for a moment as that looks vahines, eyes clearing as a smile spreads across your face. Blowing out a heavy breath, you stand up and stare at him—his lips twitch into a ghost of a smile. “Yeah, let’s do it”

He narrows his eyes before standing up and cracking his neck, taking in your perfect look—you are always put together, but today, you look a little extra, revealing more of your body than usual. “After you”    he says as his eyes follow you turning and heading to the mats. He breathes in deeply, trying to find a sense of calm. Anything to keep his mind away from the simmering feelings bubbling underneath his skin.

Get it together, Barnes 

==============================

Bucky loves to go to the gym at night. It's quiet. So quiet that he can almost hear other people's dreams he wishes he has. He stands weary and motionless before the window, gazing at the feathery clouds gliding around the moon which is by no means a waste of time when suddenly a faint rustle makes him turn round. You enter the gym, walk towards him until you are standing before him. His lips are pressed tightly together and twitching at the corners. For ten full seconds he looks at you in the eyes in silence with a firm relentless gaze as your fragrance touches him—healing and breaking him once again. 

“How do you know that I come to the gym at night?” You only stare at each other for a second longer and when your breath begins to slow beneath his penetrating eyes, you force words past your lips:

“Found a reason to practice my spying skills” you pursue anxiously. “Then why do I know that you came by three times this week?” Horror gradually passes from your countenance, the paleness gives place to a glow of your shame. Something has shifted between you, faintly, but the change is almost palpable. Your friendship has sat lightly between you, an ephemeral thing, without weight or gravity. But since you have learned that he has feelings for you—you are bolder in the pursuit of more. More of what? More of him? More of this side of him? Your body unwillingly tilts forward, unable to resist his gravitational pull. 

“If you knew, why did you let me do it?” A corner of his lips tips up “Following me like a stalker makes me feel special” Bucky says with a timid tone as he continues to stay still in his place, looking at you with a strange, bewildered expression, as though he is trying to collect his thoughts, and can’t. His mind is a prey to lust, which sets all the muscles of his face quivering. There is some damage to his soul this time, the lack of sleep showing underneath his eyes. He smiles absently. You are like a siren, singing to his shipwreck—he loves your songs.

“You are already special” you chastise. His shoulders pull taut. “I am one hundred and six…and you are, what, eighteen?”

“Nineteen” you release a shallow breath “How old were you when you were presumed dead?” And there is, Bucky fears, both your boldness and naivety—your desire, failing to guard you against your own deceits. Nefarious young woman with logic of your own. These necessities of upspringing in the seed, these beautiful determinations, on the part of a possible relationship entertained, to grow as tall as possible, to push into the light and the air and thickly flower of love.

—Nefarious young woman.

“About 30”   His hand muscles flex as he takes your hand in his, and bid you be composed, for a succession of shudders convulses your frame. He lifts his gaze and meets yours and you realize that never before has silence seemed to have its own sound. Like a buzzing hive of bees, it settles on his mind with ferocity, making you tremble. Things are blurry for a second, and at first you don't believe that he is really touching you. “You are so persistent, kotyonok, but you need to get some sleep.”

His eyes are nearly black, the pupils dilated. He can see it takes every last bit of your terrible will for you to remain still beneath his touch. And yet, you do not pull away. You know it is the best he can offer. It is not enough. He drops your hand. You take a deep breath. He still dwells in your soul, but it leaves you both sparkling and broken, because he is warning you away from him.

[starry-bi-sky]

Part eight of Clone Danny au

"Who is this person?" Red Robin asks, and Danny huffs irritably. Gotham's cool air was seeping slowly into his clothes -- he never had a problem with it in Amity, he was always moving too much to get cold.

"Does it matter?" he signs sharply, his patience suddenly growing thin with his increasing paranoia. His mouth twisted into a scowl under his mask. "I have someone who can come pick me up, they're clearly not dangerous if they're friends with me."

Red Robin held his hands up in surrender, sighing in a way that made Danny's tired, scared brain almost see red. He whirled on Batman, "Do you have a payphone anywhere? A few cents so that I can call Spirit? Please?"

Silently, Batman reached for his utility belt, popped open one of the compartments, and pulled out a few quarters. Danny made a mental note to make himself some kind of utility belt -- a fanny pack maybe? -- he needed to be more prepared for the unexpected. Like Batman was.

He pressed the tip of his fingers to his chin and gestured outward, "Thank you." he says, and takes the quarters, clutching them tightly.

"Hn." Batman grunts, a flicks the compartment closed with a silent click. "There's a payphone nearby for you to use. I will show you it."

"Thank you," Danny signs again, slumping in relief. "I'm sorry again for being here. I didn't mean to. It's my first time fighting this guy."

Batman grunts again and steps to the side, unhooking his grappling hook from his belt. "Do you not have a mentor to show you these things?" He doesn't turn away while he asks, which is nice. The living have a habit of turning away from him while they're talking (during the rare moments he sticks around long enough to chat), forgetting that Danny speaks with his hands.

He shakes his head, reaching for his own, homemade grappling hook. There was nothing like swinging through Amity's skyscrapers after a ghost, he felt like he was flying. He had to make it himself after his first dozen run-ins with ghosts where running on foot couldn't cut it. "Mentors are a privilege, you know. I'm doing this all on my own, or did the homemade costume not give it away?"

Red Robin passes around Danny with his own grappling hook, and he heard a barely-there snort of laughter from the man. Batman 'hrms' in a vaguely disapproving note, and readies his hook. "The payphone is that way, Phantom. Are you ready?"

Under his mask, Danny grins widely. Finally, something good. Perhaps flying will alleviate some of his anxiety. He holds up his hook, and nods sharply, walking over to the edge of the roof.

He watches Batman wait a moment, aim, and then off they go.

Flying through Gotham City felt much like flying through Amity Park, with its towering skyscrapers and close-built buildings. Danny bit back the holler of joy building in his throat as the wind rushed past him, blowing back the hood of his jacket and rustling through his hair.

God, he loved flying.

He watched Batman and Red Robin as well, entranced with the fluttering of their capes as they soared. It was inspiring how the two of them cut such striking silhouettes. It was memorable -- and, hey, where was Robin?

Danny wanted to ask, but with the roaring wind and the lack of freedom in his hands, he had no way of doing so. And he wasn't quite sure if it was any of his business... Regardless of how Batman and Red Robin dug into his own.

At some point they reached a stretch of air where the gap between buildings was bigger than before, and through his adrenaline-induced joy, Danny suddenly swung himself forward with more force than before.

He swung up, up, up into the air... and released himself, launching himself high high into the air. he looked down, seeing Batman and Red Robin further away and latching onto the next building.

Danny whooped loudly, confident in the wind to catch his yell before it caught the ears of the vigilantes accompanying him. His momentum began to slow, and for the length of a heartbeat he was stranded in the air, skies above and ground below. He breathed in, and like a bubble popping he began to fall again.

It took only a singular twist of his body for him to right himself and chase after Batman and Red Robin, who had turned their heads to look for him. He grinned apologetically once he caught up to them, although they couldn't see it.

It took only a few regretful minutes later to reach the payphone that Batman was referring to, and Danny mourned the loss of the sky to himself as his feet touched the ground alongside the two gothamites. "Thank you for the escort, gentlemen." He signs once he's hooked his grappling hook back onto himself and fished out the quarters. "If you could be so kind as to stand out of hearing range, that would be most appreciated."

Batman merely grunts and Red Robin nods, neither move when Danny half jogs over to the payphone. Pulling up his mask just enough to reveal his mouth, Danny inserts the coins and jabs in Ellie's number.

He waits, breath held as the dialtone rings. Once, twice, before finally there's a click and a groggy, familiar voice: "Hr'o?"

Danny can't stop the grin of relief that stretches over his face. "Spirit." He whispers, and glances back to Batman and Red Robin. His fingers tap against the phone nervously. "I need your help."

"Dan- Phantom?" Ellie says, sounding much more awake as rustling follows in the background. "What happened? Are you hurt?" There was a protective tinge layering Ellie's voice that Danny was all too familiar with.

"No, no, I'm fine." He says, trying to sound reassuring while retaining his hush voice. "I have a new rogue; a teleport ghost. he took me to Gotham and I need you to come get me."

"To Gotham?" Ellie hisses in disbelief, "Fuck, Phantom, that's miles away from here. Yeah, I'll come get you. Don't go anywhere."

Danny huffs sardonically, fingers twirling around the phone wire nervously. "Not like there's anywhere for me to go. I'll be waiting on one of the rooftops, Spirit. I'll see you then."

"See you then, be safe."

And then the phone clicks, the line going dead. Danny sighs, heavy and tired, and it turns into a jaw-cracking yawn. He hangs the phone back up, and pulls the mask down.

A silent figure approaches from the corner of his eye; Batman. Red Robin, at some point of the conversation, had left. "Is your person coming?"

Danny pulls his hood up. "Yes. They should be here... soon. Hopefully," he signs, "Thank you for your help, Batman."

------ Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 4.5 (Dani interlude) Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 7.5 (Dan Interlude) Part 8

Taglist: @the-navistar-carol @thought-u-said-dragon-queen @gin2212 @youracearocroatneighbour @luckybyrdrobyn @deeplyconfusedbear @epilepticnerd @beautifulmomenttodrawblank @sara0055 @blusunkhild @letmesayfuxk (?) @latheevening226 @tkiesai @rosedasy @meira-3919 @igotafewbadideas @princessbelix @cyber-geist

[hwanchaesong]

"Hardcore"

SugarDaddy!Jongho X F!Reader 

Synopsis: Bodies under the sheets, buddies over the streets

genre & warnings: fluff, angst, smut, cursing, drinking, kind of like forbidden love, university setting, cheating (i do not condone this), friendly banters, oral (m&f rec), unprotected sex, dirty talking, mentions of other sexual activities and hints of public sex, petnames, TXT Beomgyu's special appearance, etc etc mdni!

word count: 7.5k

/ATEEZ Sugar Daddy Oneshots Masterlist/

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"I just saw an insect fly inside your mouth."

You yelped and pursed your lips, turning around in your seat to glare at the boy who spoke behind you, a teasing grin on his face as he proceeded to sit beside you.

"Hello to you too, Beomgyu." you rolled your eyes and continued eating your lunch while your friend laughed at your lack of usual defensiveness whenever he points out your dumb countenance.

He went and picked one of the fries on your plate, your protests falling on deaf ears, "You should give me your food and eat his bulky ass instead." he says, subtly pointing at the man that you were previously gawking at.

Another comment from him that made your blood pressure spike.

"Don't you ever shut up?" you slapped his hand away from your tray, "And no, I will not do that, you dipshit."

Beomgyu raised his hands in defeat, feigned concern gracing his annoyingly charming face, "I was tryna help you."

"What do you want?" you groaned, looking at him and inquiring what his deal is, and like a lightbulb turned on in his head, he finally blurted out a news that you'll surely dread.

"I wanna inform you that we have swimming lessons for PE today." he suggestively wiggled his eyebrows at you, hinting at something which you immediately understood.

This is seriously not happening right now.

Your eyes naturally trailed over to the guy that you're currently interested in, chatting away with the science teacher (Lee Chan) on their table, which conveniently is your physical education teacher.

The previous one was a girl, but she had to take a leave from teaching for a while due to her pregnancy. Then your school just had to hire a hot dude for a substitute.

Choi fucking Jongho.

You weren't interested at first, but he sure as hell caught your attention when one day, he walked in on the gym wearing the tightest short that you had seen a man wear.

His thigh muscles are bulging, threatening to rip the flimsy fabric and you have to mentally kick yourself for staring.

That was the first one.

Strike two happened when a boring discussion about hand grip turned into him breaking an apple in half, a thought running in your mind that made you realize that you're doomed.

"I wish I was that apple."

You want to be that piece of juicy, red fruit just to be what? To be broken in half by his large hands?

Well damn, you're nuts for that one.

It should have been fine, you thinking of that way of your teacher. It's a small fantasy that you could live in for a while and get over it when the time comes.

It should be fine.. but your stupid self just had to say that out loud. Good thing that the whole class was roaring at your teacher's inhumane strength. Too bad, your seatmate slash best friend heard you clearly, and now, he has an item for blackmail against you.

"Whatever," you mumbled, munching on your sandwich, "it's not like we'll be standing close to each other during the whole period."

Beomgyu smiled once more, seeing right through your nonchalant attitude, "You'll never know what will happen."

Yes, you don't know what will happen unless fate or some fucking fairy guided you into some shit. But this-

This! So damn horrendous.

You see, whenever you wish for luck to come to you, it never does, and that's fine! But.. why the fuck do you have to be so unfortunate?

Like, truly miserable as your puppy eyes went down the drain when your sucker of a bestfriend gave you a thumbs up and mouthed the most inappropriate sentence you had ever encountered (you're just dramatic.)

'Go get the apple of your dreams!'

Oh, he's so dead later for putting you into this position. Later because right now, you're currently rummaging through your brain on how to survive the next (possibly the best) events of your life.

"I'm sorry for dragging you here, Ms. L/N." Jongho's voice brought you out of your inner dilemma, making you realize that you're still here, rooted on earth and standing in front of your whole class for the damned swimming classes.

You ain't a good swimmer, but to hell with Beomgyu because the guy pushed you as the offering for the person who wants to try and act as the lead model for the swimming classes.

"No problem, sir." you gave him a tight lipped smile, inhaling through your nose and trying to keep your crazy heart rate steady.

"Thank you." he smiled back, putting his attention back to the class and resuming his discussion about the proper way to dive.

"So here, put your arms in position-"

The instructor began discussing, but you couldn't focus for gods sake.

He's touching your shoulders. His hands are on your back and oh! His fingers guiding your head to tuck your chin. This is absolute heaven and hell at the same time.

Your muscles are all tense from his magnetizing touch, enjoying all of the sensations you're feeling and you are so close to fluttering your eyelids and just let your body drown in sins when suddenly, and annoyingly, you were brought back once more into reality by Jongho.

"Please do the dive for us, Ms. L/N." he gently pushed you, giving you an encouraging smile to which you could only subtly grimace at.

Here goes nothing.

You closed your eyes, held your breath and prayed, wishing for you to look like a mermaid when you enter the water. (Spoiler alert, you looked like a dying fish according to Beomgyu.)

You did your best, as you liked to think, and you really did feel like on top of the earth when Jongho himself went over to you after classes and draped a towel all over you, giving your shoulders a warm squeeze as he complimented you for your performance today.

"Great job out there, make sure to dry yourself completely so you won't get sick, yeah?" then he smiled, walking away from you before he saw your blushing face while stammering out a proper response.

He touched you. Again. Heck, he even commended you.

And he smiled at you. Again. That's like, three times now? Yeah? Right.

Oh man, looks like you're gonna go home with some delulu thoughts.. and with a wet something down there.

---------------------------------------------------

"You like that baby?" his deep voice resonated in your ears, his chest vibrating against your back as he pounded into your behind like you are nothing but his fuck toy.

You moaned at the feeling of his girth inside you, not satisfied with your lack of response, he went and pulled your hair, earning himself a delightful yelp from you.

"I asked you a question, doll."

"Y-yes, sir." you uttered a response, scalp stinging from his hair pulling but the sensation still managed to add to the pleasure.

"That's my good doll." he smirked, his thrusts getting erratic each second. "Since you're so good, I'll let you take all my cum inside, yeah?"

"Oh god-" you moaned out loud, loving the way he talks dirty to you, "Yes, please.. I-I want it all." you begged, tears already pooling at the corner of your eyes.

"Fuck-! I'm coming!"

"Jong-"

Three knocks and a yelling Beomgyu was all it took for your dream to be taken away. Right at the fucking climax.

"C'mon Y/N! Open up, stop sleeping all the time!"

"Ugh!" you groaned, jolting up with anger and shouting right back at the boy in front of your bedroom door.

"Why the fuck are you here?!"

Beomgyu snickers and invites himself into your sanctuary as soon as you opened your door, sitting on your spotless pink carpet and bringing some snacks and a suspicious piece of paper.

You raised an eyebrow, still slightly irritated that your wet dream was disrupted but curious at what storm your friend is brewing.

"Look." he says, showing you a poster along with tickets, "A guy named Yeonjun gave me this!"

"What the fuck is that and who the hell is Yeonjun?"

"A nice senior that I met in the frat!" he happily answered your questions despite the rude tone that you used. "Let's go and check this bar, I heard that they serve a lot of good shit."

"No thanks." you sassily replied, walking over your bed and sitting down on the soft sheets.

He rolled his eyes at your snappy attitude, plopping down on your bed as well, "Don't be such a killjoy!" he whined, "Besides, don't you want to find a hot guy and get laid? I know you haven't gotten a good fuck for like... I don't know? Months?"

You paused, contemplating the offer because yes.

It has been a while since you went out and had some fun. Maybe, you can blame it on that fact, that it was the reason why you're so frustrated.

Why you think and dream about him a lot.

Maybe, you do deserve a little treat after all the hard work that you're exerting for college.

"You actually made sense," you stood up and pat Beomgyu's fluffy hair, "that's nice."

He pouts and swats your hand away, "So, you in?" he excitedly asked.

"Yeah." you let out a little laugh at his childish antics when you finally agreed, pumping his fist in the air with a 'whoosh' coming out of his mouth, "It's a good way to let out some steam."

That is how you found yourself in your skimpiest outfit and hottest hair and make-up you could manage, dancing in some club named Hybe.

The place is classy to be honest. Glaring lights of different spectrum that shines through the mosaic tiles, blaring music from the most popular djs out there, and the fucking fancy drinks that they serve.

Yeah, you could let out some steam, like Beomgyu said.

But how do you do that exactly?

You sighed and excused yourself from the man that you're grinding with on the dance floor, giving some lame excuse of running out of social battery, to which he returned with a genuine smile and telling you to rest.

'What a good boy.' you think, returning to your booth and sitting down with a sigh before gulping down a glass of cocktail, eyes scanning the area with dismay.

Maybe this is a mistake, you couldn't get him out of your head and no matter how many handsome men come your way, they do not turn you on like how he does.

You groaned, burying your face on your hand when an eerily familiar voice resonated from behind you.

"Now, why is a gorgeous lady like you is alone?"

You turned around, eyes blinking slowly like a sleepy cat because surely, this is a dream. Right? Because how come that the Choi Jongho himself, is standing in front of you in all of his sexy glory.

"Oh." you both said at the same time, an awkward silence ensued that he broke himself.

"I.. uh, okay I'm sorry I didn't know."

A hobbling reason on his part but it is true.

In his defense, Jongho doesn't have any idea that it was you, he couldn't see your face directly because of the dim lighting, but he sure as hell can see your sexy as fuck figure that has been dancing away in the club for a few hours now.

He was so, so enamored that he thought, 'Hey, maybe I should go talk to her and get some good fuck tonight.' when he saw you walk back to your table.

He did not expect a familiar face to pop up, nonetheless, his student.

A student that he had been crushing on ever since he saw the way your boobs jiggle during a volleyball class. Or the way your ass looks great when doing the squats. Or your hot skin on his palms during the swimming lessons.

Still, he knows it's wrong for him to make a move on you, his moral compass going strong and the rational part of him kicks him in the shin when he sees your surprised face at his attempt at flirting.

He was about to go back after apologizing, really, but you just had to cripple his remaining sanity.

"Wait!" you unconsciously called out for him when he was about to leave, clutching the cuff of his suit and you paused, closing your eyes and praying to the gods out there to split open the floor right now and swallow you whole.

What the fuck are you doing? Damn, what will he think of you now?

Some kind of desperate slut?

"Yes?" he turned back around, an inquiring look on his face that made you think that maybe, just maybe, you could bag him, even just for tonight.

Yeah, you are a desperate slut. Only for him, though.

"You could.. stay?" you mumbled, wincing at how timid you sounded.

"What? Didn't quite catch that." he leaned down to better hear you, allowing you to inhale his manly, musky scent.

"I, uh.. uhm. I said, you could stay." you repeated, voice louder than before but for some reason, he still couldn't hear it.

"C'mon princess, speak up. Can't hear what you're tryna say."

What a menace. He did hear you perfectly and clearly, he just wants you to say it again. With more clarity, with more confidence. He kind of wants you to beg.

"Stay." you finally blurted out, finding some conviction when he called you princess, because who on earth would do that? It kind of gave you the impression that he is testing the waters with you, like an interim check whether he could spend the remaining time of his night with you.

"Please." you added, releasing his cuff with a sigh that you didn't know you were holding.

He smirked, breaking the nonchalant countenance and taking a seat beside you, his arm automatically flying on your shoulders, pulling you close to him.

"That wasn't so hard now, is it?" he whispered against your ear, his hot breath in contrast with the cold atmosphere in the club tickled you just enough to leave goosebumps on your skin. Before you could retort, he removed his arm, placing it on the table and waving a waiter to serve more alcohol.

You tried to hide your disappointment at the loss of contact, humming of approval when he asked you if you wanted to drink more.

Soon, you find yourself in a buzzing state, hazy mind, lips numb and swollen from the constant biting of the man you're with.

"God, you don't know how long I've been wanting to do this." he panted against your mouth, his rough hand squeezing your breasts through your thin dress.

"Jongho." you whined, lifting your back from the mattress, "Tell me then, how long?" you taunted, brushing your nose with his.

"Ever since I saw you." he admitted, peppering your face with butterfly kisses, trailing down your neck and attacking your sweet spot once he heard you moan from the surprise contact.

Your hands flew to his hair, "Tell me more."

Jongho groaned, loving how submissive yet demanding you are.

"I wanted to kiss you." he punctuated it with a peck, "Then I wanted to touch you." he continued, deft fingers trailing down your body until he reached your bottom, cupping your heat in his large hand, "Then I wanted to take you as mine. Claim you," his hand went inside your dress, pinching your inner thigh that made you squeak, "fuck you until you're crying."

If there is one thing that you're wishing for right now is that for time to stop. You don't want this night to end.

The man that you're pining since the start of the semester is basically confessing his desire for you, and you sure as hell is eating all that up. You didn't have to know whether his words were true or not, because you'll stupidly believe him. It shows how much you like him.

No need to worry though, everything that he's saying is the realest, deepest feelings and thoughts of you.

Jongho had already noticed you from the start. The way you talk politely, the hidden sass that only shows when you're bickering with your friends, your effort and dedication in your chosen course (which he really admires). And of course, the way you look at him like you wanted him to break you.

He saw it all, he felt it all.

And he loved it.

He loved the attention from you.

Who wouldn't? Anyone would be lucky to have you. The popular, intelligent, kind and pretty girl of the university.

But you didn't have to know such details on why he's so charmed by you. What's important is that you are on his bed, and that he's about to rock your world.

"Do it." you said with finality, gripping his hair to stare right into his eyes, "Do whatever you want to me."

That was all it took for him to go feral, ripping your dress (no bra, to his delight) and delving right into your soft chest. Your protests fell on deaf ears, because you really liked that dress, but then you couldn't complain anymore when he reassured you that he'll just buy you a new, better one.

You moan when he bites between the valley of your breast, groping your right mound while he busied his mouth with sucking on your nipple.

You are hyper aware of his electrifying touch. You feel everything. From his tongue flicking on your bud, the tugging of his fingers on your nipple, and the slithering hand down your navel that reached your panties.

"What's this?" he mumbles against your boobs, circling his fingers on the wet patch of the flimsy fabric, "Didn't take you for a lace girl." he snickers, making you slap his shoulders.

"Shut up." you whine, then you realize that he's still completely clothed. "Shut up and remove this." you ordered,  pulling the silk tie of his expensive looking suit.

"Aren't you a feisty one?" he raised an eyebrow, lifting himself from you when he felt like he's left enough marks on your chest area.

"I like that attitude," he says, removing the tie from his neck, "but I don't tolerate it, especially if my doll knows that she's not the one in charge here, yes?"

You gasped when he clutched your tiny wrists using only one hand, binding your hands together using the tie and connecting it to the bed post, rendering you immovable.

"Wha-!" you tried protesting, but he shushed you once more by pushing your panties inside your mouth.

Since when did he remove your underwear?

"Chin up, princess. Watch the show." he speaks in a deep, dark voice. Basically imploring you to glue your eyes on him as he started stripping himself.

He unbuttons his crisp, dress shirt sensually, sliding the clothing to his shoulders and my god, were you blown away.

You do know that he's sculpted, given that his muscles are almost always bulging from his outfits back at school, but to see him in this natural state of bareness registered something in you... he is ripped as fuck.

"Hngg." you twisted around the bed, trying to free yourself from the restraints to no avail. You wanted to touch him, make contact with his skin because watching is not enough. You need to feel him on your palm.

"What," he chuckles, tossing his shirt somewhere in the room and continues his mini strip show, "wanna have a taste of this?" he jeered, reaching for his belt and unfastening it too slowly for your liking.

You nodded your head fervently, batting your eyelashes at him in an attempt to make him give in and let you do as you please. He shook his head, removing his pants and undergarments in one go before proceeding to grab your jaw, not giving you a second to fully admire his naked body.. or his ginormous length.

"I did remember telling you to be patient, princess." he snickers at your fallen expression when you realize that you wouldn't be able to touch him as soon as possible, "Let's make a deal, yeah?"

Your eyes lightened up with hope, and in his point of view, you're so damn adorable despite the humiliating position that you're in.

"If you don't cum within five minutes of me eating you out," he finally utters, slotting himself in between your legs and dipping his fingers into your core, taking a swift sniff of how good you smell, "then you'll be free."

You gulped, not having enough conviction that you won't cum in five minutes because it's been too long. It's been a while since a man touched you, and you're afraid that one swipe of his tongue will immediately edge you. But for fucks sake, you have to try in order to get what you want.

You nodded again, making eye contact with him with determination, a proud smile on his face before going down town on you without much of a warning. Giving your sopping core a long lick, easily finding your bundle of nerves and sucking on it.

You took a deep breath, willing yourself not to cum. You tell yourself not to give in, even if his tongue traces all the shapes in your clit, even if his wet appendage goes deep into your cunt, even if the slurping noises are making you crazy.

"Ah fuck this." he cursed, inserting two of his fingers inside and curling them mercilessly, hitting all the right spots.

"Go ahead and cum, princess. Lemme taste you." he mumbles against your clit, sending nice vibrations that add to the pleasure, "Don't worry, I'll remove the tie later." he convinces you, not wanting to do the deal anymore because you're too irresistible. Giving oral like a madman is not sufficient, he needed to feel your insides as well, to give him an idea on how tight you are.

"Cum on my tongue, baby."

You writhed around the mattress, gushing around his tongue and fingers. Complaining when he didn't stop swiping his tongue on your pussy, the overstimulation getting to you.

"Sorry, sorry. Here let me." he laughs, showing his gummy smile that doesn't match the situation but still, the lights outside the house that shines through the window were adequate to let you see his amazing visuals.

He untied your wrists and got rid of the gag, giving you an apologetic smile as he rubs your red skin, probably from the harsh pulling that you did. "Got carried away." he explains, making you giggle at his sudden cute attitude, leaning up and giving him a quick peck.

"It's okay." you say, wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him down on you, "Besides, we have better things to do." pushing the innuendo behind your sentence by lifting your hips, grinding against his hardness.

He hissed at the sensation, "You really do know how to rile me up." he smirks, finally positioning himself, sliding his cock in between your folds to gather some slick, "Hope you don't regret this in the morning."

You rolled your eyes, "Oh, I won- Ah!" you wailed when he went inside you in one go, immediately thrusting in an animalistic pace without letting you adjust first.

He hits the right spot when he shifts his hips a bit, the tip of his cock brushing on your g-spot so perfectly, "Oh god! Right there! Jong-" he cuts you off again, sliding his hand on your neck and choking you, shaking his head in disappointment.

"That's not how you should call me, Ms. L/N." he whispers in your ear in a condescending tone, and in a state of lust with the pressure of his hand on your neck, everything that is happening around you seems to arouse you more.

"S-sir," you panted, your nails scratching his back when he slowed down his pace, waiting for you to finish your sentence, "please don't slow down. Fuck me harder."

Jongho took a deep breath, how could he even resist you and say no when you're this pretty under him?

"That's my good girl." he grunts, pistoning inside you and holding your hips in a bruising grip, your angelic moans motivates him to do more.

The embarrassing loud squelches and skin slapping from where the both of you are connected echoed through your ears, stupefying you even more from the lewdness that surrounds the four corners of the room. Each thrust of his hits the perfect spot inside you, and your sensitivity makes you feel even the prominent vein on his thick length.

You chanted his name, Sir Jongho, as he liked to be called, signalling him that you're close, as if you, clenching around his cock still isn't enough to give him the sign.

"Close?" he asked, furrowing his eyebrows in concentration, sweat falling from his forehead down to your cheeks, further pounding into you with much force if that's even possible when you gave him the green light, not having the proper ability to speak.

"Go ahead, baby. Cum." he egged you on, leaning down to suck on your neck while his hand went to your clit and rubbed it harshly, pushing his cock back and forth with vigor, making it his mission to turn you into a mess.

"God, Jongho!" you howled, cupping his face and kissing him deeply, and that's what made you cum, the intimacy of the contact. Your lips on his in a chaotic, open mouthed kiss where your teeth clashed and tongued meshed around with each other.

He groaned against your mouth, releasing his seeds in your gummy walls when he felt your insides wrap around him tightly. As much as he wanted to prolong the intercourse, the pleasure was too much to handle.

That's how good you felt, he guesses.

A few minutes of silence, with only your heavy breathings can be heard passed, coming down from your highs. You felt his weight on you, but you were too spent to care. His warmth lulls you into dreamland, then everything is black.

---------------------------------------------------

You stirred around the bed, feeling icky and sore, and when you went to hug what you assumed was a pillow, you were mortified.

Since when did your pillow, an inanimate object, have the capacity to hug you back?

You slowly open your eyes, seeing a different ceiling, and surely this is not the scent that you are accustomed to.

Again, since when did your room smelled like wood and spices? You recalled it, crystal clear, that cherry blossoms and vanilla are your go to scents.

Then you hear someone's breathing, the mortifying reality draws near when you decided to turn your head from the figure beside you.

Shit.

You bit your lip, panicking but you ultimately opted to be rational for once in your life, trying to calm yourself and rethink what the heck happened last night.

You remember begging him to stay with you at the booth, drinking shot after shot until you were wasted out of your mind.

"Alright, I think we need to get you home." Jongho chuckles, stopping you from downing the cocktail. Sensing that you had enough alcohol for the night.

"Noo!" you whined, reaching for the glass in his hand, "And I don't wanna go home yet!" you cried out, clinging into his arm.

Who knew you were this childish when you're drunk, he ain't complaining though, Jongho thinks that you're like a lovely, sweet piece of candy in this state.

"Come on, princess." dropping a wad of cash on the table (payment and tip) and helping you get up.

It was bearable for the most part, you were like a feather in his arms, light and airy, but the hardest part of the short journey to his car was your incessant mewling and your very obvious actions of seducing him.

"Oh wow!" you exclaimed, drunkenly looking around his luxurious vehicle, "You're fucking rich." you tittered at the newfound information, touching the leather covering of the seat, "You're hot, handsome, sexy, and rich? What a catch."

Jongho's posture stiffened, avoiding your sultry gaze by taking a deep breath to calm his libido down, inserting his keys and getting ready to drive.

"Thanks." he says without much emotion, "Now tell me your address so you can rest."

"Ugh." you rolled your eyes, leaning over to his side and you didn't miss the way he ogled at your exposed legs and cleavage, "I told you I don't wanna go home yet."

"Then what do you want to do?" he sighs, running a hand through his hair (which you find really attractive), exasperated at the situation. Seriously, you're making this difficult for him.

You gripped his face and forced him to look at you, his eyes widening at your daring initiative to make a move on him. His adam apple moved when he took a gulp, and that made you fancy him more.

"I want to kiss you," you admitted, hands moving down to his chest, his eyes wandering on your lips, "then I want you to fuck me like you mean it."

There goes his sanity, crashing his mouth on top of yours in a heated lip lock, lifting you up easily and placing you on his lap. Despite the cramped space, you two managed to fit, and it only made the scene hotter.

"Let's continue this at my place, yeah?" he asked, moving away from you and returning to his previous position in the driver's seat.

You were in Choi Jongho's car. You made out with him. He took you to his place. You fucked each other... and now you wanted to slap yourself because of your stupidity. How could you even let yourself make a mistake, goodness, you really need to control your horny ass.

Then you made up your mind, yep. You'll escape then act like nothing happened. Yeah, that's a great idea! Genius.

You moved like a turtle, attempting to wiggle away but you were stopped by his strong arms, pulling you flush on his chest.

"Finally you're awake." his gruff voice in the morning stirred something inside you and for the second time, you had to remind yourself to not let your hormones dictate your actions.

"I'm sorry!" you don't know what you're apologizing for, but you do know that whatever you did and said last night was inappropriate, given that he was the one who talked to you first, it was you who persuaded him to have sex with you.

"I'll leave for now then I will pay for the drinks last n-" he puts a finger on your lips, shushing you as he puts a strand of your stray hair behind your ear.

"Don't worry, I'll pay for your drinks at the bar from now on. I'll even let you do your fantasies on me. Just do me a favor angel," you stared into his orbs, sleepy yet warm, "keep this between us."

And that is how you find yourself every weekend on the bar (that he, surprisingly, owns), wearing the dresses he bought you, drinking free alcoholic beverages and at the end of it all, your limbs are entangled with his. Passionate 'lovemaking' as he liked to call it.

You love the thrill of this forbidden romance.

Sneaking kisses behind closed doors, hugging each other goodbye whenever he insists to drives you home, sucking him under the table while he did his best to talk to a student that needs his help, then fucking you on the said table, right on top of the papers he's checking.

He made you happy, and you know you make him happy as well, you can see it in his eyes. But it was more evident on you, as Beomgyu pointed out how 'bright' you are that the shift kind of scares him.

You only brushed it off with a smile, telling him that you're only taking care of yourself. Even if you badly want to tell him the whole story, you suppressed it, keeping your promise with Jongho intact as to not ruin both of your reputations. Besides, only a few months left before your original PE teacher returns, then you can let loose. Announce the blossoming relationship with Jongho without any care in the world.

---------------------------------------------------

"No."

One word. It only took him one word to stain your proposal and plant a seed of doubt in your brain.

"What?" you scoffed, crossing your arms in disbelief, "What do you mean no? Are you ashamed of me?" you accused, hurt at his blatant rejection at the idea of becoming official after his contract in your university.

"No, of course not baby, listen to me," he cupped your face gently, "I'm sorry, we'll talk about this tomorrow, alright? I'm kind of stressed right now because of all the work." he smiles, giving the crown of your head a peck.

You sighed and held his hands that are still on your face, rubbing your thumb on his skin, "Okay." you resigned, trusting him with all your heart.

Come next day and everything shattered. Your trust, your heart, your world.. cluttered on his palms.

You were casually humming a tune you've heard on spotify, a pep in your steps as you walked leisurely to Jongho's office, ready to continue the conversation with him from yesterday.

Then you were frozen in your position as you heard the topic from the principal's office by accident. You weren't a nosy person, but hearing his name sparked a troubling curiosity within you.

"Mr. Choi, we really appreciate you. I was even thinking of making you a regular here." your principal speaks, but his next words brought a ringing sound in your ears, messing with you, mentally and emotionally.

"Too bad, you're about to be married soon, and abroad too!"

You heard Jongho chuckle, but that's not all, a honeyed voice laughed as well. A woman's voice.

You couldn't help but take a peek inside, and there he was, the man that you have feelings for, with a girl beside him.

A prettier, sexier, older girl. Someone who looks like she got her shit together.

Someone who is better than you in all aspects.

"Actually, me and my fiancé thought of getting married here," the lady placed her hand on Jongho's chest, leaning her head on his left shoulder, "but he insisted on getting married in Paris! Isn't he a romantic one?"

She giggled like a goddamned witch (that's all in your head because right now, you're full of hatred), and then, at that moment, the puzzle pieces fell into place.

Why he wanted to keep your relationship a secret.

Why wasn't he keen on taking the title as your boyfriend.

Because you are not the main, not the original, you are the other girl.

The other girl that everyone despised. The one that you read on tiktok and stories, the home wrecker.

On this occasion, you kind of also loathed yourself. Only there to make him satisfied, to keep him company. You're convenient, but right now, you're thrown out of the picture because his one and only is here.

You've had enough of this bullshit.

You were about to turn around, ready to drown yourself in sadness and self-pity, but then you made eye contact with him. His eyes widened, dread obvious in his features. Despite the tears making your eyes glassy, you willed yourself to stand up against his betrayal, giving him a hard glare as if telling him, 'I hope you're happy, you traitor, don't show yourself in front of me ever again.'

Then you walked away, your back straightened and with your chin up. Certainly, you are not about to ruin yourself, not like this.

On the other hand, Jongho was quick to excuse himself from the meeting, giving some lame excuse and running after you, seeing you walking down an empty hallway.

'Perfect.' he thought, speeding towards your direction, catching you by your wrist and turning you around so suddenly that it gave you a whiplash. Upon meeting his worried face, you immediately pushed him away, the anger in your face that once held love for him squeezed at his heart.

"Y/N, let me explain. I-"

"Shut the fuck up." you rudely cut him off, balling your fist on your sides to prevent yourself from doing something that you'll regret.

"Please, give me a chance to explain." he pleads, but the more you hear his voice, the more it makes you feel worse.

Honestly, you just want to go home and cry. Pathetic, definitely, but you couldn't care less, you had to get these negative feelings out of your system.

"Didn't you hear me?" your voice shakes, but you continue regardless, you are about to give him a piece of your mind.

"I said shut up. It's not worth it, you're not worth it."

A look of hurt flashed on his visage and it somehow sparked something in your pride because that's good, you want your words to pierce through him like a knife. You want to give him pain as well.

"Don't say that, Y/N, I-" he starts bargaining again, to which you blocked again with a sarcastic laugh.

"Oh, I'll say what I want to say. Don't tell me what to do, Sir Jongho." you specifically emphasized the petname that you would usually use inside the bedroom to give him  a sense of what he had done.

"Will you please just let me say something?!" he whisper yelled, frustrated at your attitude.

You raised an eyebrow, the audacity of this man to act like a hotshot when he's the one in the wrong here.

"The floor's all yours then. Talk." you challenged him, only for him to turn silent, gaping like a fish in front of you because really, he went here without any prior thoughts.

"What are you waiting for?!" you yelled, raising your hands in defeat, worn out from this dumb confrontation.

What is he even gonna say though?

That he's sorry you caught him? He's sorry for hurting you and all that shit.

He knew what he was doing, he's not a kid, but he went through it all for the sake of adventure. You are a territory he trespassed, and he's about to pay the consequences.

"I really did like you. This," he pointed between you and him, "it's real."

He hung his head low, not having it in him to face you.

Real your ass.

"You like me?" you asked, hating the way he earnestly nodded his head, "If you really did like me, then you wouldn't make me do this." you stepped towards his figure, the eerily calm tone you're using doesn't sit well with him.

"If you like me, then you would've been honest with me." you jarringly shoved him.

"If you like me, then you should have not given me any hope that I have a chance with you."

Another shove.

"If you like me, then why the fuck do you have to put me in this position?!" you sobbed, giving him a last miserable shove. He accepted all of it, unmoving on his spot on the floor, watching you break down.

"You like me... but you love her. Right?"

"I do."

Well, that was a slap on your face. Of course he loves her, enough to break your heart. Enough to not choose you.

"Y/N, I'm truly sorry."

"No, you're not." you looked at him one last time, "Being guilty doesn't mean that you're sorry."

Then you're gone, leaving him in the hallway while he's having an internal battle with himself.

---------------------------------------------------

"Dude , what the fuck?" Beomgyu scrunches his nose, watching you mope around for the past few weeks. He picked up a used shirt from your floor, grimacing when something sticky adhered on his fingers.

"Go away." your muffled voice sounded from under your sheets, making him sigh in defeat and sitting down on your bed. He sets his hand on your foot that was sticking out of your blanket, giving it a tender massage.

"You know, you need to help yourself in order to move on." his soothing tone smoothens the scowl on your features, lifting your blanket from your body and facing your bestfriend.

"I know that." you mumbled sadly, "I know that.. but it's easier said than done."

After your 'break-up' with Jongho, you two went your separate ways.

You did all that you can to avoid him, the PE classes were hell and most of the time, you pretended to be sick so you won't have to attend the lessons and see his face. His presence alone made you want to throw up.

When he's gone for good, there was a moment of desperation within you, wishing that he'll call you. Hoping that maybe, he'll realize that you're the one for him. Praying that he'll choose you instead, that he'll come back to you, begging for one more chance.

All of those went down the drain when you stalked his social media, photos and videos of his extravagant wedding all over the feed, and you couldn't help but cry.

That girl in the gorgeous, white dress could've been you. It should've been you, the one he's saying his vows to, promising to protect with all his might. It would've been you, the one he will love until he's grey and old.

Although you know, right from the start, it was never you.

The denial stage was better than the acceptance stage, this shit is by far the worst you have ever gone through.

Like they all say, facts do really hurt.

You're trying your best to heal, but the insecurities are gnawing at you. Unanswered questions kept you up all night, the dark bags under your eyes are the tell tale sign of it.

You blinked when Beomgyu sighs again, bringing you out of your stupor.

"Come on up." he says, pulling you up suddenly, throwing a hoodie on your face, "Let's go somewhere."

You groaned, "No." you muttered under your breath, proceeding to lie back on the comfort of your bed to no avail, since Beomgyu, being the stronger one, dragged you down with him until you were out of the house.

"My god!" you protested, pulling away from him with a half-hearted angry glare, "You can't just drag me like that!"

"I can and I will!" he yelled back, glaring at you with the same amount of heat that you're radiating.

"And why is that?" you raised your eyebrows, putting your arms on your hips like a mom demanding an explanation.

“Because I care.” he whispers, and you completely hear it. You did think that your ears are playing some kind of game, but then Beomgyu repeated the sentence with more conviction. 

“Beomgyu.. I, what do you mean by that?” 

“You don’t need to think too much about it.” he started to voice out his thoughts, which was a bombshell since your friend, in spite of his stubbornness and motor mouth, rarely displays what he really feels, “I’m just tired of seeing you like this, you know?” he looks into your eyes, waiting if you’ll retort or something, but when he sees that you’re waiting for him to finish, he goes ahead and takes the opportunity to speak.

“It’s not like you to mope around because of some guy who can’t treat you right. I know, it’s difficult but I can’t stand seeing you so hopeless.. I, this is not the Y/N that I know and love.” 

Your breathing hitched, ‘Is he?’ 

Beomgyu took your hand in his, the familiar coziness of his skin against yours somehow gave you a sense of solace, a feeling that he always brought with him whenever he’s with you.

“You’re not alone, alright? So let’s go get some ice cream, my treat.” he smiled at you, and you couldn’t help but beam back, pouncing at him so suddenly that he almost stumbled back. Thankfully, his balance and core are great, so no one was hurt at the collision.

“Thank you.” you mumbled, giving some space and intertwining your fingers with his, “I appreciate this so much.”

His eyes softened, the bright yet soft orange hue of the sunset cascades on his side profile, further highlighting his charms (how on earth are you only noticing this now is another mystery for you to solve.) 

“I appreciate you too,” his eyes crinkled, a mischievous glint on his brown orbs as he disconnected your hands and ran away from you, “only after you shower though.” he shouts, laughing like a maniac.

You were left dumbfounded, of course he’ll find a way to ruin such a sweet moment. 

Still, it wouldn’t be as fun as he didn’t. So you chased after him, ready to punch him in the gut for the playful remark he threw at you. 

“Beomgyu you dick! Come back here!”

---------------------------------------------------

taglist:

@hyuckilstan @gwenchwana @minkiflwr @bloomingsann @btsreader12 @hwadump @songmingisthighs @isaluvvs @minkysmilk @jngwyz @fairygirl18 @jcngh0-hq @justyoonsworld @v-lvs-yungi

a/n: last one down! tysm for all the people who read and supported this set of fics (even if i slowed down in the middle) i really, really appreciate you all!! thank you for all the feedbacks and comments!! 💜💜

NEXT UP! ATEEZ MINISODE SERIES!

[imagining-in-the-margins]

Father Figure (S.R.)

Summary: Spencer discusses daddy issues. His boss, who is also his girlfriend’s father, has a question. Request: Reader is hotch's daughter and after hotch learns that they are dating their interactions are kind of weird in a funny way Couple: Spencer Reid/Fem!Reader Category: Fluff Content Warning: Mild awkwardness Word Count: 900

MASTERLIST

The jet ride to a crime scene is rarely a pleasant experience. Each team member holds their folders filled with horrors, and they display an abject apathy. After all, they are quite familiar with the worst side of humanity. Some days, though, when the worst crimes are still hypothetical and the victims are alive, the team can maintain some semblance of their usual personality.

Spencer is usually the first one to share something interesting about the theoretical or identified unsub. This is because he has a broad knowledge on, well, most things, and he also manages to read through the stack of papers much quicker and with a greater detail than the others.

This day, however, Spencer is silent. And everyone knows why.

Because just one measly week ago, Unit Chief Aaron Hotchner found out that Spencer Reid was dating his daughter.

Beyond the initial, incredibly uncomfortable conversation, Hotch had barely spoken a word about it. A fool might think that meant he has no qualms with it, but Spencer knows him better than that.

No, it is infinitely more likely that Hotch is stewing in his rage about his daughter’s Freudian taste in men. Hotch is just too smart to strike without the possibility of maximal damage.

So, Spencer knows to keep his guard up.

But he never could keep a thought to himself, could he?

Derek lets out a deep breath with a soft whistle before he tosses his folder onto the desk beside him. As the others peek up at him, he shakes his head with an enthused but horrified expression.

“Talk about ‘daddy issues,’” Derek mutters.

The others smirk in response, but they say nothing else.

Until, inevitably, Spencer does.

“The correct term would be ‘father complex,’” he says with an attempt to sound disinterested in one of his favorite philosophers, “It was a shared theory between Freud and Jung, and it’s actually very interesting.”

No one says a word. Spencer does not notice the warnings flashing in their eyes because he is too afraid to accidentally look at Hotch.

They all know what’s coming.

He continues, anyway.

“While Freud was more interested in how men might become distrusting or intimidated by older male authorities, Jung extended his analysis to women with emotionally or physically absent fathers.”

Despite the roaring engines and the full cabin, the jet is silent. If Spencer had looked up then, he would have seen how everyone immediately glances over at Hotch.

Hotch, however, maintains his stoic stare. He is looking directly at Spencer, who is still staring at the document in the folder he has already read several times over.

“There’s a more contemporary term for the phenomenon that would probably be more fitting,” Spencer announces.

“Really?” Emily asks. The rhetorical question is dripping with sarcasm in a final attempt to stop him. 

Spencer is so lost in thought at this point that he does not even notice. Instead, he marches on to his downfall.

“It’s called ‘Father hunger,’” he explains coolly, “and it explains the over-trust in authority figures and the search for an older man that reminds them of the father they never had.”

“Are you talking about yourself or my daughter?”

Every muscle in Spencer’s body seizes at the question. Quickly, he raises his head to find himself trapped in the paralyzing, disapproving stare of Aaron Hotchner.

“What?” he squeaks.

The man does not answer.

“N-No! No, I was just explaining the origins of the term,” he insists.

He tries—but fails—not to think about you. Just one remark, one casual reminder of your existence makes his skin ripple with goosebumps. Overcome with guilt—but never regret—his mind tugs forward every memory shared between the two of you.

The smell of your perfume, the softness of your lips, the comfort he finds in your arms.

His life is flashing before his eyes and every part of it looks like you.

He raises his hands in surrender before he sputters, “I would never—!”

“Reid,” your father commands.

Your boyfriend flinches.

“It’s a joke,” Hotch says just before he smiles.

Immediately, Spencer is surrounded by familiar smiles. He feels the visceral pain of a joke made at his expense while at the same time, he is cloaked with relief.

“Funny joke,” he says under his breath.

Hotch detects the sarcasm but decides to let it go.

He had won the exchange, after all.

Spencer also tries to let it go. Because if this was the height of Hotch’s rage over the ultimate violation of his home life, he’d basically gotten away with murder.

Still, he can’t shake the burning red blush. That and the trembling from the adrenaline felt almost permanent.

Just as the thought occurs to him, Derek takes a seat beside him.

He leans closer even as Spencer leans away.

Then, in the quietest whisper, he asks, “Which one of you does she call daddy?”

Yes, Spencer realizes. The blush is going to be permanent.

“Stop talking,” he orders with a startlingly amount of finality.

From across the table, Emily provides Derek with the audience he wanted. Her giggles alone assuage his desire to make Spencer’s day just a little bit more chaotic.

The two relent. Spencer is alone with his thoughts again, and he wonders whether he will ever feel at home in his new position.

But then he thinks of you, and he knows that he is exactly where he is meant to be.

(Tell me what you thought about this fic here!)

If you're looking for more to read, check out my full-length smut story "My Boss's Daughter," where Reader is Hotch's daughter that is in love with Spencer!

Thanks for reading!

[somekindofpoet]

Missed Connection 4

Summary: A flight delay causes a chance meeting between R and Jenna Ortega

Word Count: 4.2K

A/N: Did I write this as several needles deposit ink into my skin? Maybe. When the muse strikes, she strikes.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3

Finding work for the Met Gala is shockingly easy. After your shoot with Dior, the fashion houses are practically banging on your door for more. 

Sid had the right connections and got you front and center for the “not red” red carpet.  You’d be snapping photos of celebrities and fashion icons all night, but most importantly, you’d be in the same vicinity as Jenna. 

Her text back to you after you’d informed her you were going was incomprehensible. Mostly emojis and capital letters that didn’t make any kind of sense. It was safe to say she was excited. 

You only had a few days to prepare for the trip, so you don’t see her at all. You text a lot, with a brief phone call here and there when you’re both between work. You know you can’t play dumb anymore. This is clearly more than friendship. 

The thought of that sends conflicting emotions through you, twisting in your gut and making your heart race. Jenna’s world is one of many flashing lights, screaming people, flights, and mind-crushing work. It’s the opposite of what you thought you wanted for yourself. Your peaceful nature blinds, silent aside from the calls of birds and rustling of snow or grass. The images are so contrasting that it makes your head hurt.

But Jenna. She’s impossible to ignore. She’s beautiful; of course, she is. But there’s more to her there that people gloss over. Pieces of her you want to dig up and hold close to your heart like buried treasures. Sometimes it seems she wants to shy away from the limelight just as much as you do, but her work doesn’t afford her the reprieve. Other times, she appears so natural, so alluring in front of the camera you think she couldn’t be hidden away from the world. 

Regardless of your hesitance, you find yourself smiling every time her name comes up on your phone. And the thought of seeing her at the Met just nails your coffin closed. You’re actively choosing to be at one of the most prestigious fashion events in the world, for her. 

You were in denial about this fact until Dani was kind enough to slap you into some common sense. Her words were something along the lines of “You’re so delusional if you think you’re not taking your ass all the way across the country to photograph people you don’t give two shits about just because she asked you to.”

She’s right. You know she is. The fact grows in your chest with every article of clothing you fold up and place in your suitcase. It’s there lingering in the back of your mind when you pick out what you’re going to wear while you’re at the Met. It’s there when Jenna texts you before her flight takes off, and when she gives you her hotel and her room number. 

You’re screwed, buddy.

You’re a ball of anxiety on the flight from LA to New York. Usually, you sleep like the dead as soon as the plane engines roar to life, but this time you just can’t still your mind. The movies on the plane are not distracting enough, your book seems dry suddenly, and all you can think about is Jenna Ortega. 

What will she wear? What will she think of what you’re wearing? Does it matter? Will she talk to you at the event? Why did she give you her hotel room number? Should you go there? Is that even allowed? 

You sigh, blowing your hair away from your face. The woman sitting next to you side-eyes you, probably tired of your fidgeting. In an effort to distract yourself, you bite the bullet and pay the (frankly insane) price for the in-air wifi and open your texts.

Dani has sent several messages, both encouraging and slightly threatening. Her version of consolation comes with aggressive pep talks. You don’t think you can handle her right now. You turn to the only person on your mind, figuring if she’s going to occupy your thoughts all day, she may as well soothe your anxiety too. She already texted you as of an hour ago.

Jenna

Can’t wait till you’re here! 

Y/N

Only an hour out! You ready for tonight?

The blue bubbles appear at the bottom of your screen almost immediately, as if she’s been waiting for your message.

Jenna

Sitting in hair and make up now. I might die in this chair

You grin, picturing her bored out of her mind while Enrique fusses at the other stylists, perfecting his vision for her look.

Y/N

Already?! 

Jenna

As Enrique loves to say, beauty takes patience…kill me 

Y/N

Is that what’s wrong with my style? 

Jenna

Please you look good in everything. Just don’t ever hire a stylist. Theyre supposed to make your lives easier……

Jenna

Took a brush to the skull for that joke. Hope you appreciate it

You chuckle to yourself, earning another glance from the woman next to you. You shrug at her and look back down at your phone.

Y/N

The woman in the seat next to me did not appreciate it, but I did

Y/N

I think she hates me actually

Jenna

I can have her killed. If youre interested.

Y/N

Have me killed instead, put me out of my misery

Jenna

About tonight…

Y/N

?

Jenna

I was hoping you’d come to the afterparty with me

You grimace, sucking air between your teeth. As much as you want to spend time with her, the Met Gala afterparty may as well be your worst nightmare. Luckily, you’re saved by the party’s policy against cameras.

Y/N

I cant, no press allowed. Technically I’m press.

Jenna

Damn. Thats right

Y/N

I’ll make it up to you

Jenna

I’ll hold you to that

—---

It feels strange, being back in the airport where you first met Jenna. The memory of you crashing into her and your conversation after has you grinning as you hustle through the crowds. It's almost enough to make you forget how badly you want out of the airport. 

The city is in chaos, as it always is. But it’s more than usual, people coming in for the Gala, to attend or to stalk outside of the hotels. Vogue has put you up in a hotel near Jenna’s, as close to the Met as possible. There are already masses of people gathered outside, craning their necks as you enter to see if they know you. A quiet rumbling passes like a wave through the throng of bodies, whispers as jostling as they watch you push your way to the door.

“Is that the girl that was with Jenna last week?”

“No way, what are the odds?”

“Check your Twitter dude, it’s totally her!”

“The pictures are too dark, it’s hard to tell.”

Heat rises up your neck as you listen to the murmurs. In all the excitement, you’d forgotten that people probably did see you two at the observatory. You hadn’t even thought to look on social media. You tried to avoid that hellscape as often as possible. Dani would have mentioned it if she saw something, Jenna too…right?

You pull your phone from your pocket when you finally make it inside the sanctuary of the hotel. No more notifications than usual, everything seems normal. You call Dani when you're in the elevator, just to have her sanity check you.

“About time you call me back!”

“I’ve been in the city for an hour tops, woman. Why is it so quiet? Are you not driving today?”

“No way! I’m not missing the Met Gala are you kidding me?”

You laugh into the phone, your eyes on the growing numbers over the elevator door.

“We’re not even live for another three hours, Dani.”

“Anyway. How’s Jenna?”

“I haven’t seen her yet. And that's not why I called. Some girls outside my hotel were talking about pictures.”

“Yeah, girls do that.”

“No, pictures of me and Jenna.”

“Oh yeah, so cute. Wait, you haven’t seen them?”

“I don't have Twitter, you know this.”

“I can hear the panic in your voice, and you should know the pictures are very dark. Don’t freak out.”

“I’m kind of freaking out.”

“You’re totally fine dude. It's like, your shadow at best. Totally fine.”

Something in her tone tells you she’s lying. “Dani, seriously.”

“I’ll send you the pictures. But you’ve really got to get over this whole fame aversion thing babe. You’re dating one of the most famous actresses of our time.”

“We’re not dating.”

“Not yeeeetttt!”

“Okay, I need to change. Send me the pictures please!”

“Can’t wait to see you two on the carpet! Byee!”

The line goes dead as the elevator doors open. You drag your suitcase down the hall and slide your keycard into your door. The room is ridiculous. It's lavish and massive, and it takes you a moment to wrap your head around it. Why would they put a photographer in such a nice room?

You toss your phone on the bed and unzip your suitcase, pulling out your clothes for the night. You hang the slacks in the bathroom to steam them when you get in the shower. You keep the water scalding hot, washing off the anxiety of the plane and the journey from the airport to the hotel. You set your mind to the task at hand for the night. This is work. It’s all it is right now—just work.

You never get the chance to open the photo Dani sent you.

—----

The Met is beautiful, as always. But even more so with all the decorations and the carpet and the lights. Vogue has you positioned near the top of the stairs where you can catch both candid moments of the attendees and posed pictures. You make small talk with the other photographers and the interviewers and catch some long glances from others. People are treating you with more curiosity than usual, but you brush it off as pre-gala nerves.

As the sun starts to set over the city, the guests begin to roll in. You find yourself swept up in your work, enjoying the atmosphere and the mix of joy and nervousness. Everyone wants to impress everyone, especially the cameras. It makes your job more entertaining, watching these beautiful people quell their nerves. Because they seem more human, just people.

An hour goes by, and you still haven’t seen Jenna. You try your best not to look for her, and focus on your camera. You snag a stray shot of the things left behind on the carpet, a pearl here, a feather there. It’s just as interesting as the outfits that come strolling through. A long line of celebrities clad in clothing that costs more than your house passes you by in a haze.

And then you see her.

No one notices your jaw drop because theirs are all hanging open as well. Someone murmurs next to you, “Wow. She’s really leaning into the whole Wednesday thing, huh?”

“Uh huh,” is all you can say, unable to take your eyes off her.

You watch as she makes her way up the carpet, missing a few guests as they pass you by, but you don’t care. She’s well-versed and poses like it's what she was born to do. You think she looks happy, excited to be there, but then she sees you.

Her eyes light up, and her smile reaches so far across her face her dimple is on full display. She casually strolls up to you at the top of the stairs, ignoring the interviewers and leaning over the rail toward you.

“Well, hello, y/n,” she says, pretending to be surprised to see you there.

“You look…” your mouth closes and opens, waiting for further instructions, “you look….”

She giggles and reaches across the barrier, her hand resting on your forearm, “You don’t look half bad yourself. You clean up nice.”

“I…uh..thank you. You look incredible.”

Cameras are flashing around you, people are yelling, but you can't see them anymore. Someone comes to Jenna’s elbow, trying to guide her along. She pulls away and shakes her head, gesturing toward you.

“My PR team says I need to go inside. Take pictures of me so they leave me alone for five seconds of my life,” Jenna grumbles.

You grin and lift your camera, snapping candid photos of her before she poses. Those won’t go to Vogue; those are for you. She takes a step back and smolders you so well you think your camera may well melt between your fingers.

You wave your hand at her, “Take a step back. Let’s get the full body shot.”

“Oh,” she says, lifting her hand and turning her body to give you a better shot.

The woman behind her is trying to move her along again, and Jenna briefly shows mild irritation.

“Enough,” she says, cutting her hands out to the side, “I’ll be up in a minute.”

The woman in the suit looks like she’s chewed every nail off her fingers, drank a half liter of vodka, and it still wasn’t enough. You half feel bad for the woman. Being on Jenna’s PR team could not be an easy job.

Jenna comes back to you with a stubborn set in her jaw, “If you’re not going to the after party, where will you be?”

You shrug, trying (and failing) to manage your expression, “In the city, I guess. Text me when you’re out!”

Her arm is being taken by her now completely worn-out PR agent, and she laughs as she’s pulled backward, waving at you. You watch her take photos with Elle Fanning, listen to her joke about being the groom to her bride. It’s refreshing, to see her like this. Having fun, but still working.

When she’s finally pulled inside, you go back to work. You figure a missed guest or two…or three is excusable. The line trickles down, and the ruckus begins to fade, the real party being held inside the doors. You excuse yourself when everything is wrapped up, and make your way back to your hotel room.

In the lobby, the desk attendant calls out to you, jogging over to walk with you toward the elevators.

“We upgraded your room for the weekend. Is it to your liking?” she asks, nearly out of breath and stumbling to keep up.

You slow your pace, a confused frown furrowing your brow, “Uh, yeah. It’s great. Why?”

“Oh, management wanted to make sure you liked the room.”

“No, why did you upgrade me?”

She frowns at you, clearly as confused as you were, “Management has a celebrity policy. The lower floors have less security.”

“I’m not a celebrity?” You ask, more than tell her.

She shrugs, “Someone thinks you are.” And just like that, she’s off, scurrying back to her desk to welcome another guest.

You scratch your head as you wait for the elevator, unsure of what or who rather, just happened. You brush it off and don’t think twice about it. Who are you to look a gift horse in the mouth?

You don’t stay in your room long. Just enough to lock up your camera and change into jeans and a T-shirt. As soon as you’re able, you’re back on the street, blending in with the tourists and the bustling nightlife of New York City. You stop in a small bar and have a few drinks, content to have some time alone. After a bit, you pay your tab and wander off again until a smell overwhelms you. You feel like a cartoon character following a scent wisp, crossing the street, and turning a corner.

A little pizza shop is tucked away there, with a mass of people spilling out of its doors. Normally, crowds are a no-go for you. Unless there's food. Or Jenna. But mostly food. You maneuver your way through the crowd and stand in line, your buzz and the city making you feel like you’re in a dream.

Your phone vibrates in your pocket, and you pull it out, your heart jolting at Jenna’s name on your screen.

“Done with the afterparty already?”

A heavy sigh comes from the other end of the phone, “Just got back to my room.”

“Well, how was it?”

She laughs, “Technically, I’m not allowed to tell you. Press and all.”

“Okay, okay, that's fair.”

A group of loud teenagers pushes behind you, laughing and yelling, pizza slices dripping grease on their hands.

“Where are you?” Jenna asks around a yawn.

“A pizza shop, somewhere.”

She whines, “Lucky! I wish I could be out there.”

“I mean, you sort of can be?”

You can hear her shuffling around on the other end before she grunts, apparently flopping onto her bed. “I can’t, though, not really. It’s the sad price to pay.”

You hum, “Didn’t think about that. I’m sorry.”

She hums but stays quiet.

“Hey, I can bring you some pizza, if you want?”

“Wait, actually yes! Oh my god, you’re a saint, I’ll owe you.”

And that's how you find yourself, with a pizza box greasing over your palm, knocking at Jenna’s door at 1 AM.

When she answers, you feel even less prepared than you had been for her Gala look. At some point, you’ll get your feet under you, and just the sight of her won’t make you breathless. Right? Right? 

Odds are not in your favor.

Her face is bare, the make-up from earlier washed away. Her hair is in a messy bun on the top of her head, and she's in an oversized shirt that's so big you can't see her shorts. You stand like an idiot in her doorway, pizza in one hand, a bottle of champagne in the other.

“Well?” She says, coy smile on her lips, “Are you going to come in?”

“I..uh..yeah, of course.” You’re not winning any points in the smooth factor, but for some reason, she still smiles at you like you’re suave.

As soon as the door closes, she snatches the pizza box out of your hand and leaps onto the bed, sitting cross-legged and gesturing you over. You kick off your shoes and sit at the end, trying with all your might not to be awkward.

Jenna slaps your shoulder, “Take the cork out of that and get comfortable. Let's watch a movie.”

You nod dumbly and stand to uncork the champagne. She crawls up the bed to rest her back against the headboard. You climb in beside her.

“What are we watching?” You ask, taking a sip from the bottle.

“Beetlejuice,” she says without hesitation.

She extends her hand for the bottle, and you pass it over, taking your own slice of pizza from the box. The movie begins, and your shoulder to shoulder, your entire body feeling like it's vibrating. Eventually, the bottle is abandoned on the nightstand, and the pizza box is kicked onto the floor. Jenna rests her head on your shoulder and her hand on your leg, and you can no longer focus on the tv. You want to kiss her so badly, it’s become the sole driving force in your mind.

“Jenna?” You say, turning your head to look down at her.

Her body is relaxed, her breathing even. She’s fallen asleep, wrapped around you. A piece of you is disappointed, but another part is relieved. She needs to rest. You can see it in the set of her shoulders and the bags under her eyes. You gently slide her down the bed, turn off the tv as you go, and slip out of her room.

—----

You’re back at her door the next morning at 7 AM. A small bag rests on your shoulders, and an excited smile overtakes your face.

She answers the door with messy hair and sleepy eyes. Her voice is scratchy when she asks, “Y/N? What’re you doing?”

“I have a surprise for you,” you say, pulling the bag off your back. You hand it to her and brush past her into her room to sit on an armchair.

She opens the bag and looks over at you, blinking slowly, “You brought me a hoody?”

You nod excitedly, “And jeans. You might need a belt for them, though. Also, did you bring shoes to walk in?”

She chuckles, “I have my own jeans, and yeah. I have my Addidas.”

“Great! Put them on. We’re gonna be late.”

“For what?” She says, scratching her cheek.

“It’s a surprise.”

—-

“My PR team is going to murder you,” Jenna says, the hood of your sweater pulled low over her face. Her sunglasses hide most of her, which is in your favor.

“I’m pretty sure they already hate me. But it’ll be okay. We just need to get there.”

The car pulls into the Pier parking lot, and your leg won't stop shaking. Jenna pats your knee reassuringly.

“I have no idea what you’re doing, but don’t be nervous,” she says, her head on your shoulder again.

The car parks in front of a boat, its Captain standing at the bottom of the deck shooing away pigeons and tourists. You drag Jenna out of the car and wave at him.

“He owes me a favor. We worked together in the Antarctic,” you tell her when she gives you a quizzical look.

“Y/N!” The Captain yells out, embracing you when you approach.

“Oscar,” you say as you hug him, trying not to grunt from his heavy hand patting your back.

“And who’s this?” Oscar says, releasing you and peering around your shoulder.

“Oscar, this is Jenna. She’s the cargo I was telling you about.”

“Cargo?” Jenna whispers, almost to herself.

“Just go with it,” you say, your hand on her lower back.

Oscar ushers you onto the boat, pulling up the plank behind you, “Good conditions today, ladies! We’ve got a fair shot!”

You smile and nod your head at him, leading Jenna onto the front deck. She shivers and wraps her arms around your waist, making your stomach flip.

“You’re going to explain all of this later, right?” She says, looking up at you.

You nod, “I just figured we’ve been in your world so far. Let me show you mine.”

She tilts her head but nods, slowly. The boat leaves the harbor and heads out for the open Atlantic sea, the water spraying you in salty mist, the cool wind whipping your hair. You pull Jenna’s hood off and grin.

“You won’t need this anymore,” you tell her, absently brushing her hair behind her ear.

She smiles up at you and pushes her sunglasses into her hair, her eyes wide and soft. She reaches up on her toes, wraps her arms around the back of your neck. Your eyes begin to shut as the distance between you closes.

“Yo! Sighting on the port side!!” Oscar’s bellowing voice makes you jump apart.

Jenna laughs and runs to the port side, the railing hitting her ribs. You smile and shake your head, following close behind her.

“What are we sighting?” She asks, her voice excited.

“Just wait. You’ll see.” You tell her, your hands on the railing.

A few minutes pass, and all that there is to see is rolling ocean and seagulls. Then, suddenly, a whale breaches the surface. It sprays water from its blowhole, it’s back coming into view.

Jenna gasps, “Holy shit!”

Your smile is miles wide now, and you wrap your arm around her shoulders. Half to make contact with her, and half to make sure she doesn’t jump into the ocean in her excitement. You’ve seen people do stranger things.

An entire pod of whales surfaces, sending Jenna into unbridled joy. She laughs, jumps, squeals at the babies. The whole scene is as perfect as you’d imagined it. Her hair is wild in the ocean wind, her skin dotted with ocean mist. You mentally pat yourself on the back for this and decide you need to take her into your world more often. She clearly loves it.

On the way back into port, Jenna is wrapped around you as you lean back on the railing, enjoying the view of the approaching city. She turns her head to look up at you and smiles.

“Thank you. For this.”

“Of course. Nature is kind of my thi-”

The rest of your words are stolen by her lips on yours. The kiss is soft, exploring, and sweet. Her hands on the back of your neck pull you down to her, wrapping you up in her. Tiny fireworks explode in your chest, and your head feels like it's spinning.

She pulls back, smiles at you, and kisses you again just as the boat pulls into port.

—--

You hate to leave the city before Jenna does, but she has more work to do, and you have a cat you need to get home to. Before you get on the plane, a text from Dani comes in.

Dani

HO-LY SHIT

Dani

You fucking legend!

Y/N

I’ve missed some vital information in this conversation here

Instead of explaining herself, she sends you a link. It opens to a page with a headline that reads:

JENNA ORTEGA AND MYSTERY PHOTOGRAPHER

Ortega makes waves at the Met Gala in her Thom Brown custom, and did we spot a beau? Read more for their heart eyes at the Gala and the steamy boat ride photographs!

Well, shit.