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sundrop-writes · 3 months

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Meddle About

Sub!Spencer Reid x Dom!Fem!Reader

‘Cause it's not just a figure of speech - you got me down on my knees.

It's gettin' harder to b r e a t h e .

Summary:

You hate it when Morgan teases Reid. So when Morgan says that you are Reid's 'Mommy' - you verbally fire back without even thinking about it.

Reid vastly overthinks it.

So much so that he ends up calling you Mommy by mistake. And you definitely don't hate the sound of that word coming off his lips.

Sub!Spencer Reid x Dom!Fem!Reader. Co-Workers to Lovers. Smut. Set during Season One.

Word Count: 6,300

Criminal Minds Masterlist | AO3 Link

Detailed warnings and author's notes below the cut.

Warnings: general smut fic - porn with some plot; dom/sub dynamics (but this isn't a pre-discussed dom/sub relationship, the characters just fall into these roles naturally), Spencer is submissive and the reader is dominant; the main theme is Mommy kink - Spencer discovers that he has a Mommy kink after a joke that Morgan makes, referring to the reader character as Spencer's Mommy; Spencer calls the reader 'Mommy' and the reader also refers to herself with that title; the reader uses she/her pronouns and has a vagina (and breasts); it could be interpreted that the reader has larger breasts/is plus sized (but I think anyone of any size could enjoy this fic); the reader is part of the BAU; this is meant to take place during season one (baby Spence my beloved) but there are no other major canon events mentioned and the case being discussed is one that I have made up; some very background typical elements of Criminal Minds - murder, killing, systemic vicimization of women/violence from men towards women (passing mention of bodies being consumed by wild animals); the reader and Spencer fuck while on a case (but they aren't endangering anyone's lives from lack of their attention, so it's fine); mentions of potential injuries from a car accident (theoretical - doesn't actually happen during the fic); very slight threads of Morgan x Reader (mentions of Morgan being attracted to the reader - it could be one-sided); very passing mention of Reid having breeding kink (doesn't take place during the fic, just one of his thoughts); for the actual smut section: this could be interpreted as virgin!Spencer but that's not explicitly stated here (at most, this is just inexperienced!Spencer) (the reader is definitely way more sexually experienced than him); praise kink (we all known Spencer is so eager to be praised); mentions of breastfeeding - Morgan makes a joke about the reader breastfeeding Reid, which later turns into faux breastfeeding kink (the reader doesn't actually lactate, but she lets Spencer suck on her tits and calls it breastfeeding); the reader calls Spencer: 'baby', 'good boy',; descriptions of subspace - but it's not specifically called 'subspace' in the text; thigh humping - Spencer humps the reader's thigh; cumming in pants (Spencer); multiple orgasms/overstimulation (Spencer receiving); handjob - the reader jacks Spencer off while he is sensitive after his first orgasm; using lube as cum; dumbification kink - the reader calls Spencer 'dumb baby' and generally enjoys seeing his intellect drop the more turned on he becomes (Spencer also likes being called this); technically the reader doesn't get to cum, but she gets turned on from treating Spencer like the good boy that he is (and this is more about him). I think that's everything.

A/N: This was directly inspired by the scene from Reid's birthday party, where Morgan says 'Mommy to the rescue!' (talking about JJ) and then Spencer says '...Mommy?' and it seems like he is discovering his Mommy kink in real time. Especially because he is then trapped between Elle and JJ and he makes direct eye contact with their boobs, and he just has such a look of scared kink realization in his eyes. I considered copying that moment exactly and just replacing JJ with the reader character, but this seemed like more fun lmao. I had so much fun writing this and I think this is one of my best fics in a while. I hope you guys enjoy it!!

...

Generally, you hated being stuck with grunt work.

You knew that it was all part of the job - an important part of it. Paperwork, side interviews, background checks. Sifting through someone’s apartment looking for aspects of what kind of person they were based on their everyday life.

But you thrived more on being right in the middle of things. You preferred interacting with suspects, chasing people down, harsh confrontation.

Gideon said that you were overly controlling, impatient, brutally honest - that you had an ‘abrasive personality’ that put most men off. But that was why he often brought you into interrogations with male suspects. Many of the people you caught - men with superiority complexes who targeted the weak to make themselves feel powerful - they hated that you weren’t intimidated by them. That aspect of abrasion between you and the suspects often brought out a lot of information - things they spewed out trying to intimidate you.

But you weren’t needed on that front today.

No - instead, you were doing grunt work. The kind of work that made you impatient and generally aggravated.

The only upside was that you got to do it with Spencer.

He was one of the only men that voluntarily worked so closely with you so often, because he wasn’t intimidated by you. He took orders from you very well and naturally fell under your authority, bringing a natural chemistry to your partnership when you worked with him. Plus - his seemingly endless stream of ‘fun facts’ was like listening to the radio, which did help to soothe your boredom during these kinds of mindless tasks.

You were on a case in Texas. Five women raped and tortured before having their bodies hung from a tree and consumed by cotoyes that the UnSub knew lived in the area. Since police had closed in on him, he had gone on the run. He had killed three more women since fleeing, while leaving no clues as to what his ultimate endgame would be or where he would be going next.

Hotch sent you and Reid to find that out while the rest of the team worked victimology and profiled the scenes of the most recent murders, following the trail he was leaving.

After spending hours sifting through the suspect’s house, looking for any small clue about where he might be going - you came up empty. When you touched base with Hotch, he told you that you and Reid would be going to visit the suspect’s ex-wife - who lived four hours away. You needed to interview her to see if she could give you any further insight to the man, and perhaps - beat him to the house if she was the ultimate target.

(A lot of the victims looked like her, and it couldn’t really be a coincidence.)

You knew that lives were at risk, and it was juvenile of you, but all you heard was: long, boring drive. Boring day. You hoped that Reid would be good company through it.

Now, you were waiting outside of the police station in the bureau-issued SUV, waiting for Morgan to come and give you the file with the ex-wife’s address and contact information.

“Did you know that over forty-six percent of Texans own a gun? Texas is second only to Montana in registered gun ownership, where over sixty-six percent of citizens proudly tote their right to bear arms.” Reid told you, continuing to look over the case files that were sitting in his lap.

When you looked over toward him to reply to this odd factoid, your mind got caught up on something else.

“Reid, come on, take your feet off the dashboard!” You told him, reaching over to gently smack his knee, trying to encourage his legs down from the awkward position.

It bothered you for several reasons - the idea that he would leave shoe prints on the dashboard, which was minor and cosmetic, but still annoying. And the fact that if the car did happen to get hit head-on, the air-bag would explode out and push his knees into his chest, causing his shattered leg bones to pierce his organs and possibly kill him. (At the very least, he would never walk again.)

Speaking of which:

“And put your seatbelt on!” You barked, now noticing that he wasn’t wearing it past all of the files he had piled into his lap. “You of all people should know how many deaths are caused by not wearing a seatbelt.”

Spencer opened his mouth to spout out this exact statistic, but before he could get the words out, another voice entered the conversation.

“Aw, Reid, listen to your Mommy.”

You were almost startled by Morgan’s voice coming from the open driver’s side window so suddenly. His appearance there as if out of nowhere was so jarring that you couldn’t get caught up on the way he had called you Reid’s Mommy. Your head whipped toward Morgan so quickly that you didn’t notice the flash across Spencer’s features - worry, dawning. You didn’t take note of the way he rushed to comply with putting on his seatbelt. As if he was rushing to please you, even unconsciously.

“I bet if you’re a good boy, she might even breastfeed you when you get there.”

Morgan then pursed his lips and made loudly suckling noises, clearly imitating breastfeeding in what he thought was a comedic way.

Again - glaring at the muscled man through the open window, you didn’t see Spencer’s reaction. You didn’t see the way his large, glassy eyes flickered to your breasts (only emphasized by your own seatbelt crossed over the center of your chest) before he forced himself to focus on the files in front of him so that he wouldn’t feel so caught.

“Shut up.” You told Morgan, your voice so commanding and firm that his simple order was enough to get him to stop his antics.

“And give me the address already.” You held out your hand expectantly, and Morgan handed you the file, which you placed onto the center console.

Then, you turned back to him for one last point, determined to have the final word in the conversation.

“Besides, we both know that you’re the one who’s got an obsession with my breasts, anyway. Just because you stare while wearing sunglasses, doesn’t mean I don’t notice. My eyes are up here, pal.” You told him sharply.

He let out a scoff at this, and rolled his eyes behind his dark frames - but he made no clever comeback.

You had successfully bested him. And with that knowledge, you rolled up the window and left him standing dumbly in the parking lot as you sped off.

…

You pulled over later to put the address into the GPS system, and you let out a long-winded groan when you found that it was more than four hours away. Four hours and twenty five minutes.

So you pulled over again to get gas and stocked up on snacks, and you were surprised that Reid wasn’t giving you some lesson about the colloquial use of ‘soda’ and ‘pop’ (thinking that you hadn’t listened the other ten times when he had gone on the same rambling point about linguistics and how language evolves).

He was being far too quiet for your liking.

But he was keeping his eyes glued to the files, and you guessed that he was churning over something in that big brain of his, like he usually was.

You were entirely surprised when the next time he spoke - it wasn’t about the case at all.

“How - how do you know that Morgan likes your breasts?” He asked, his voice low and mousy, looking straight ahead as he fidgeted with his hands in his lap.

“What?” You gaped, the word flying out of your mouth as your brain was utterly slow to process what he had just said.

Hearing Spencer use the word ‘breasts’ was jarring, but somehow utterly adorable. You found it stirring a slight heat within you. Especially because he was still so shy. The whole thing made you want to pin him down and force the shyness out of him.

Spencer felt the need to further explain himself.

“When - when you were talking to him, you said: ‘we both know that you’re the one who’s got an obsession with my breasts.’” He said, repeating back what you had said, word for word, using that perfect memory of his.

You wondered if that’s what he had been doing, sitting there in his seat so silently for the past hour of the car ride - going over the conversation again and again in his head, trying to make sense of it. And because he couldn’t make any sense of it by himself, now he was consulting you.

Again, you found it so utterly adorable.

“Morgan didn’t deny it. So - was it a hypothesis based on something, or did you just call him out hoping that you weren’t wrong?” Reid continued, sparing only a singular glance in your direction, a look that you caught out of the corner of your eye with your gaze still mostly focused ahead on the road.

You found it intensely cute that he was using the word ‘hypothesis’ in this situation. You wondered if he ever turned it off - the textbook big words and the intellect that he always carried himself with. You wondered if you could make him turn it off. You wondered if there was any situation where Spencer Reid could be as stupid as any other man - chasing a bone, desperate to get his nut off.

For the first time ever - you imagined Spencer Reid underneath you, blabbering nonsense, begging for release with your hand around his cock as you pumped him, red and aching, so slick in your palm. Desperate, empty-headed, beautifully stupid.

(See, this was what happened when you were forced to do grunt work. You got bored. And when you got bored - you had to entertain yourself somehow.)

“It was a pretty well-informed hypothesis.” You replied. Now that Spencer had brought the topic up, you certainly weren’t going to shy away from the discussion. “Morgan often brings up my sex life, and wants to engage in detailed discussions about my sexual encounters with me. So I assume that he spends a fair amount of time thinking about me in a sexual way.”

Reid let out a choked-off noise at this.

You continued.

“Plus, he’s always staring down my top. He’s not exactly subtle.”

“You - you actually notice that kind of thing?” He chirped, his voice becoming a few octaves higher as worry flooded him.

You bit your lip, suppressing a grin.

Of course, you had noticed the times that Spencer stared at your breasts as well. He was even less subtle about it than Morgan was. You didn’t mind it when he did it, because you knew that Spencer wasn’t exactly casanova. He didn’t have a different girl every other week like Morgan did, so taking a glance down your shirt when he passed you a morning coffee was probably about as much action as he got.

Secretly, letting him get away with it was your gift to him.

“Don’t worry about it, baby.” You told him, the pet name slipping out mindlessly as you reached over and gently patted his knee as a form of reassurance.

This movement unintentionally drew his eyes toward your chest, especially in his desperation to look anywhere but your face, not wanting to make eye contact with you. But he found his eyes glued to the swell of your breasts once again - hating how perfect they looked, even through the simple cotton shirt and plain bra that you wore.

“Sorry, Mommy.” The word slipped out before he could even consciously process it. “Sorry!”

Spencer raised a hand to smack his own face at lightning speed, and slumped down into his seat in embarrassment.

You bit your lip to suppress a grin. It stirred a filthy heat in your belly. But you knew that Spencer likely needed a while to sit with this and wouldn’t want to talk about it - not yet. So you reached over and turned on the radio, letting the music fill the space so that the silence wasn’t so awkward and gutting.

…

Spencer didn’t talk for the entirety of the rest of the car ride, which didn’t surprise you.

When you finally arrived at the ex-wife’s house, his hands were shaking with nerves as he tried to unlatch his seatbelt. You probably should have just left him alone to struggle, but an evil spark, likely fueled by the boredom of the day, flared up inside of you. You couldn’t resist the urge to lean over the console, very purposefully showing off your breasts as you gently pushed his hands away and undid the belt for him.

“Here, let Mommy get that for you.” You said, distinct teasing on your breath as you mumbled the words into his ear.

Spencer huffed out a deep sigh and collapsed back into his seat, and pushed his hair out of his face in frustration. But he didn’t say anything more as you gathered the files in preparation for the interview.

He only spoke when you moved to get out of the car.

“Look, I-” He began a half assed explanation, and you easily cut him off.

“You let Morgan get in your head too much.” You told him with a chuckle, opening your door and getting out.

But as he forced himself to follow you with numb limbs - he knew that this definitely wasn’t all Morgan’s fault.

…

The ex-wife didn’t know much.

She described the marriage as hell - the suspect exhibited all the typical behaviors as a husband that they would have expected. He hated women, and he wanted full control over his wife at the time, which eventually led down the path of divorce. They had to sell the house they had bought together, but neither of them had moved out of Texas since. But he hadn’t contacted her in years.

She had two young kids from a new relationship, and when the woman stepped out to take a call, you picked one of them up to soothe his cries, hushing him gently while you rubbed his back.

Because of this, Spencer found himself even more dizzy and confused.

He knew that it was Frueadian - some deep, misguided part of his psychology - something broken and missing inside of him because of his own fractured childhood.

But seeing you being so sweet with a kid, especially after the day he’d had - he wasn’t sure if he wanted to be your baby, or if he wanted to shoot his cum so deep inside you that it would ensure he could give you one.

(Ultimately, he knew that it was likely both - and that didn’t answer any questions for him. It just gave him far more questions.)

…

Even though the ex-wife couldn’t give you guys much more than you already knew, Hotch wanted you and Spencer to stay close by in case the suspect decided to make his ex-wife the end game. The two of you would be able to make it to her first if she called for help.

So you and Spencer had dinner at a random local barbeque place off the highway and Spencer still didn’t talk much through it, other than posing some theories about the case. Even though he was a bit more talkative, he still refused to look at you - he stared down at his plate the whole time. Though whenever he did look up, you noticed that his eyes lingered on your chest - and he still wouldn’t look you in the eye.

By the time the bill came around and the two of you were ready to leave, you knew exactly what you had to do.

…

Spencer waited by the car with his bag while you checked in and got a motel room (needing to stay in town, you got a room for the night). When you came back, you handed him the room key and then moved to get your bag out of the car.

“Do… you already have yours?” He asked quietly.

“Hmm?” You hummed in reply, slinging the strap of your go-bag over your shoulder before you closed the back door and used the remote to lock up the car.

“Your room key?”

You suppressed another grin.

“I only got one room.” You told him. “You don’t mind sharing with me, right?”

You gave him a purposeful look - looked at him through your lashes, bit your lip slightly, and subtly squeezed your breasts together with your upper arms, emphasizing them. You knew exactly what you were doing to him, but hopefully it seemed subtle.

“I - uh - no.” Spencer stuttered. “It’s fine. We can share.” He gave a grin, not wanting to appear upset, even though his entire body was racked with nerves.

Spencer followed you to the room and he fumbled with the key with shaking hands for a moment before he sighed and then handed it to you.

His insides quaked when he saw that there was only one bed.

He wasn’t sure if he should say anything about it. The two of you had slept in the same room before, but you had never shared a bed before. Sure, you had slept near each other before. He had accidentally fallen asleep on your shoulder on the plane or vice versa. But you had never crawled into bed together with the intention of sleeping together.

And yes, just the entendre behind it made Reid’s head spin.

He had a heavy knot in his gut, and hatefully - a distinct stirring in his crotch. He could only imagine how embarrassing it would be for you to wake up and see him compromised in some way. Or god forbid, if you caught him moaning in his sleep because of unconscious dreams that he couldn’t stop - for you to think that he was some kind of dirty sex pervert because of it.

He felt an overwhelming need to clear the air overtake him. He had no clue how to broach the subject, but he knew that he wouldn’t be able to spend the night like this. He wouldn’t be able to sleep with this anxiety hanging over his head.

He studied you carefully as you sat down on the edge of the bed, ditching your bag off to the side and heaving out a tired sigh as you began taking off your shoes.

Spencer put down his own bag and then stood there, fidgeting nervously as he searched for words.

“I - uh - I am sorry about earlier.” He mumbled out the beginnings of an apology. “What Morgan said was stupid, and I-”

“I don’t think it was stupid.”

You let out a chuckle, and reached up the back of your shirt. Spencer found himself frozen, his eyes tracing your every moment as you unhooked your bra underneath your shirt and then moved to maneuver the straps out from your short sleeves while you kept talking.

“I think he had a point.” You added on. “Good boys should get a reward. And I think you were fairly good today. You didn’t eat all your veggies at dinner, but you kept your feet off the dashboard and you were quiet during the car ride. You definitely get points for being patient during such a long trip, baby.”

Your voice smoothed into a soothing tone, that word - baby - melting like butter over your tongue in a way that made Spencer’s knees wobble. He hadn’t known it until right now, but you calling him a ‘good boy’ and listing off such mundane things he had done that made him worthy of a reward fired off sparks inside of his brain.

A breath choked off inside of his throat as you stood up off the bed and peeled your bra completely out from under your shirt. Somehow it was one of the sexiest things he had ever seen, revealing the hard peaks of your nipples and the beautiful natural teardrop shape of your breasts to him through the cotton fabric.

Spencer wanted to speak, but his tongue felt so heavy and dry inside of his mouth. He knew that he was staring at your chest so blatantly now, but he couldn’t peel his eyes away. He couldn’t even feel ashamed anymore.

That dull tingle in his crotch had turned into a full on stinging interest, and he unconsciously pulled at the fabric of his pants, trying to loosen some of the tension that was growing, not even considering how it might look to you - him dumbly reaching for his crotch to make it look looser when his hardening bulge was becoming more obvious by the second.

It was one of the most ‘caveman’ things he had ever done in front of you - standing there with his mouth hanging slightly agape, pulling at his crotch without caring how it looked. You definitely wanted more, wanted to see how dumb he could get. How far you could make him devolve.

“So what do you say, baby boy?” You hummed, stepping close into his personal space now, causing him to get a whiff of your perfume - something that was only a dull trace after such a long day, but still smelled so good. “Do you want Mommy to breastfeed you? Do you wanna suck on my tits as your reward?”

You gently ran a thumb across his cheek, and paired with the words, Spencer’s brain short-circuited.

He knew realistically that you weren’t actually offering to breastfeed him. There was no evidence in your life to say that your body could actually support the production of milk currently - but you were offering to let him play pretend. To suck on your tits with a very sexual air, to call you Mommy without the teasing humiliation behind it that Morgan had hinted at (or maybe Spencer liked that humiliation, he wasn’t even sure). (He hadn’t even known before this morning that he liked the idea of calling you Mommy, but here he was).

All he could conjure in response was the dumbest, non-human sound.

“Nngh.”

It was a grunt from the back of his throat - too much blood swelling to his cock all at once and too much direct attention from you making him dizzy.

You giggled quietly.

“Come on, baby. Just say the word. And Mommy will give you everything you need.”

Spencer inhaled sharply. At this point, he was desperate to get some oxygen to his brain.

His mind was racing, chanting out:

‘Yes! God, yes! I want it so badly, Mommy! I want anything you’ll give me. I need you. I need you so badly.’

But all his lips could form in the wake of such dizzying lust was:

“Please.”

“Good boy.” You sighed.

You used a hand on his chin to tilt his face up to meet yours, and you consumed him in a kiss - he was hungry and eager to meet your touch, moaning loudly into your mouth, his hands racing to touch you now, rushing up to grip on your hips in the most utterly needy way. He balled the fabric of your shirt in his fists, like he couldn’t get enough of you - like he was afraid you would dissolve away if he let go of you for even a second.

It was cute, to say the least.

You only let the kiss last for a moment, though. You pulled away to a disappointed whine from Spencer, which you quietly hushed.

“Hey, it’s okay baby.” You soothed him. “Come here. Mommy’s gonna take good care of you.”

You lead him toward the bed, getting rid of his tie in the process, and Spencer stepped out of his shoes along the way. You slid onto the bed and laid up on the pillows on your back, Spencer clumsily following you, crawling on all fours. The two of you had barely started, but he was full-on panting now, racing to catch his breath while his blood hammered through his veins.

He watched on with eager curiosity while you got comfortable, fluffing the pillow under your head before you then reached down and pulled up your shirt. You pulled the fabric to sit up under your chin, finally revealing your gorgeous breasts to him.

If he was lost for words before, then he had receded back to a total neanderthal now.

His mouth fell open and his salivary glands started working overtime as his eyes raked hungrily over your chest - enjoying the pure beauty of the fatty mounds, striped with zig-zagging stretch marks and completed by your hard peaked nipples.

“Here, come on, baby.”

You had to remind Spencer what the goal was, guiding him into place with a hand on the back of his head. You helped ease his body to lay on top of yours as he relaxed into you - and his mouth finally found its rightful place on your breast. He became greedy, suctioning hard on your nipple as though he might actually get something out of it.

Truthfully, he did get something out of this.

It definitely wasn’t any form of nutrition, but it was something that drove him lustfully insane and made his head fuzzy and warm in the best way. This was the only time in his entire life that he didn’t have ten thousand thoughts running through his mind like the news blasting on television in the background. This was the only time since his first conscious memory that he had actually known his mind to be quiet.

He felt intensely thankful for it. Intensely thankful toward you for giving him this feeling.

In that moment, without all the noise, all he knew was the comforting feeling of your fat tit under his mouth, the heat of your body under his own as you cradled him. The soothing firmness of your hands through his hair and down his back - and the distant, sweet purring of your voice in his ears.

“Good boy.” You hummed, loving the feeling of him moaning around your nipple - so constant and so greedy now that you were sure he didn’t even know that he was doing it. “Such a good boy for me. Such a good boy for Mommy.”

Your cunt was humming between your thighs, aching so hard at seeing Spencer like this. The usually composed, intelligent, practically robotic Doctor Reid reduced down to a blubbering, moaning, needy mess just because he wanted to suck on your tits.

Just because you had called yourself Mommy a few times in his presence.

It was so utterly beautiful, and you wanted more.

(You didn’t think that you could ever let him go after this. You probably wouldn’t be able to stand the idea of another woman touching him after this. But you would have to think on that more later.)

You noticed Spencer canting his hips, unconsciously seeking friction against his hard cock while he continued to suck on your breast. With his eyes closed blissfully, drool gathering around his lips where they met your skin in the most utterly adorable way. You couldn’t help yourself - you scooted your knee between his thighs. You then used a hand to help his hips into place, adjusting him so that he was getting good friction against your denim-clad thigh.

“There you go. There you go, sweet boy.” You hummed, feeling another jolt through your body when he let out a sharper moan against your tit, and began humping your leg in earnest.

You were quick to encourage him, putting both hands on his hips and helping him along while he greedily hung onto you. He had on your hip, the other hand slipping up to cup fingers around the bottom of your breast, making sure you didn’t escape him while he moved his body against you so frantically.

“That’s just what you needed, isn’t it, baby?” You moaned out, your voice wavering slightly as the pleasure of it all thrummed through you. “Just a dumb little baby who needed Mommy’s tit.”

The term ‘dumb little baby’ came flying out of your mouth before you could stop it. Though you knew exactly why it happened. Seeing such a brilliant genius reduced down to this truly did something to your ego. And apparently hearing those words from you did something to him, too.

He whined sharply against your skin and his hips stuttered abruptly. You knew it wouldn’t be long before he came in his pants, his cock throbbing against the friction of your thigh. And this thought alone caused your mouth to run off without restraint.

“Such a needy little thing.” You sighed. “You love being Mommy’s dumb baby, don’t you? Not a single fucking thought between your ears, just sucking on Mommy’s tit without a care in the world.”

Spencer moaned and it sent another jolt through your body - another harsh pang through your cunt. You loved how much he needed you. You loved how much he was clearly eating this up.

You didn’t even care if you got to cum tonight; you just wanted to exhaust him for all he was worth. Because he was so fucking pretty like this.

“You gonna cum for me, baby boy? You gonna cum for Mommy? Come on, baby. Cum for me.”

These words were what ultimately sent him over the edge. Well that along with your strong hands on his hips, encouraging him along while he was mindless and busy mouthing on your breast.

His jaw dropped open, finally loosening that desperate suction on your now slightly sore nipple as he began to pant frantically over your now spit-soaked skin. He moaned hotly while he humped you in an entirely adorable, almost distraught manner - absolutely desperate to have the most friction on his cock while his orgasm overtook him.

You could feel his needy cock throbbing against you, trapped inside of his pants, shooting off hot ropes of cum that quickly soaked into his underwear and even then, seeped into the fabric of his slacks. You grinned and bit your lip as you felt that wetness even beginning to soak into your jeans, knowing he must have set off quite a big load.

Spencer soon collapsed on top of you, gulping in air as he tried to catch his breath.

Any normal person would have taken pity on him (seeing as he was clearly nervous and inexperienced) and wound things down to end the night here. Anyone else would have likely let him rest.

But again, you felt devilish temptation overtake you. (It was a feeling that seemed to be much more ripe around Spencer Reid.)

You just felt thankful that your temptation and inclination toward chaos came in the form of lust, rather than something more violent, like the people you studied every single day. Everyone around you should be thankful for that.

You used your leverage (and the fact that you weren’t nearly as exhausted from the experience) to flip him over onto his back. He let out a surprised sound as his back made contact with the mattress - blinking up at you with shocked, glassy eyes as you moved down his body slightly.

“Wha-?” He mumbled out the question, only getting out part of the word before you reached for the zipper on the front of his now wet pants.

“Hey, shh, baby. I just wanna see you.” You told him quietly, causing him to stare down the length of his own body at your hands as you worked.

You got the button and zipper undone quickly and you let out a quiet ‘fuck’ as you peeled back the wet fabric of his grey slacks to reveal the sight of his simplistic (very Reid) white cotton underwear slightly transparent and stuck tight to his cock, coated in wet, sticky cum.

“So pretty baby.”

He only whined in response.

You couldn’t help yourself - you reached up and pulled down the waistband of his underwear, feeling more lust pricking through you as he was truly revealed to your eyes. He was perfect. Glossy and wet with his own release, his cock pinky red from the exertion and friction, still half hard. You pulled the clothes down over his hips and he lifted his body to help you, clearly glad to be rid of the mess, and the second you untangled the fabric from his ankles and ditched everything aside, you were back on him.

You skimmed the tips of your fingers oh-so-lightly up his shaft where it was sprawled across his pelvis, and his hips jolted. He let out a bitter gasp - as though cold water had been splashed across him.

“You said-” He choked on the words as you ran your thumb right underneath the crown, gently pressing into the head, causing him to choke on a moan while his knees quaked.

You sat on his knees to keep him still and his head became so fuzzy once again.

‘You said that you only wanted to look.’

The sentence died off in his lungs somewhere, and truthfully - he didn’t want to protest. He didn’t want you to stop.

“Sens-sensitive.” He whined. “Too much.”

“But you’re so pretty, baby.” You replied, your voice turning smooth and warm like butter again, melting over his whole body, causing all of his muscles to go soft and pliant for you. “Your cock is so pretty. I need to touch you.”

He let out another strangled noise when you cupped your hand and took him fully in your grip this time, giving one good tug across his cock from root to tip. When you did this again, faster this time, his lungs seized inside his chest - trying to take in oxygen so quickly, as though he were drowning on dry land.

“You gonna be good for me, baby?”

“Yes.” He gargled back in response. “Yes, Mommy.”

He was already so wet from cumming in his pants, and he let out a pathetic dribble of precum as you continued to move your hand - so it was an easy, slick slide. One that sent harsh shockwaves through him from overstimulation. Against his own will, he soon ballooned back to full hardness - becoming painfully swollen in your hand while you sped up your touch and closed your fist tighter around him. It caused the most wonderful hurt between his legs, and made a downright filthy wet sound as you pumped your grip faster along his needy cock.

Spencer heard wailing and felt the soreness against his throat before he realized that he was the one making those desperate sounds. He distantly wondered what it might sound like to someone else, if the rooms on either side were occupied, if the motel would receive a noise complaint about some frail woman getting fucked to death by her husband next door - because that’s what he sounded like in his own ears.

But any of those half-thoughts were chased out of his brain the second you flicked your thumb up over the head of his cock and your dirty mouth filled his ears once again.

“Gonna milk this pretty cock, baby.” You told him, your voice firm. “You gonna show Mommy how much you can cum for me? Gonna show me what a good boy you are?”

Spencer let out another pathetic sound, his body singing with pleasure at his pure need to prove to you that - yes, he was a good boy.

He felt tears wet on the side of his face before he realized that he was crying, but it was all too good to ask you to stop.

You used your other hand to cradle his balls and you swooped down to capture his gasping mouth in another kiss (a very messy, open mouthed kiss that Spencer could barely pay attention to). Spencer screamed into your mouth while he painted his stomach with cum once again.

You only stopped jerking his cock once you had truly milked every last drop from him, his hips seizing up off the bed and your hand almost slipping off him completely from how sloppily wet it was with more of his cum added to the mix.

He was purely exhausted then. His eyes blinked heavily, struggling to stay open. He vaguely remembered you cleaning him off and tucking him into bed - but he definitely enjoyed falling asleep curled up next to your warmth.

…

The next morning, Spencer felt hungover.

He wondered if that’s what good sex always felt like - the combination of endorphins rushing through your body and physical exertion tackling you over. His legs were sore, as though he had run several miles. (Which wasn’t even something he could make a bold comparison to anyway, because he didn’t exercise nearly as much as he should for someone with this job). He woke up starving, grateful when you drove to a diner down the road after checking out of the motel and planted him in one of the booths before going outside to call Hotch in order to touch base with the rest of the team.

You came back with a small grin on your face.

“Turns out that tip the ex-wife gave us about their first house in Arlington was pretty solid.” You told Reid. “They caught the guy on his way there. He had another girl in the trunk. They got her back mostly unarmed, and took him into custody.”

Spencer nodded. “That’s good.”

When he moved to grab another sugar packet out of the caddy on the side of the table, three of them already open and empty beside his cup of coffee, you grabbed him by the wrist.

“That’s enough, baby.” You told him.

His stomach curled, that distinct feeling running through him again. And against his will, that word slipped out - again.

“Yes, Mommy.”

...

A/N: This is a standalone oneshot. There won't be a sequel or a continuation, so please do not ask for one. If you liked the fic, please comment about the body of work that has been written, or consider reblogging to show your appreciation. If you want to see more Spencer Reid fics that I have written, you can check out my Criminal Minds Masterlist, or you can check out my Masterlists for other fandoms to see if anything catches your eye. Thank you for reading!

#sundrop writes #criminal minds fanfiction #spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid imagine #sub!spencer #sub!spencer reid #spencer reid smut #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x you #criminal minds #criminal minds x you #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds fic

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nouearth · 4 months

Text

my favorite scent is you.

bruce wayne x male reader.

summary: bruce needs to be taken care of too (in which reader believes it's through the form of sex).

wc: 3.5k. genre: smut, angst (kinda?). warnings: top!bruce, consensual!somnophilia, blowjobs, slow mouth-fucking, fondling, reader is asleep, bruce and reader are the same age, reader also grew up with bruce, mentions of parental death, trauma-bonding.

notes: it's been a while since i've done a brucey smut (and also fulfilled a request), so here ya go! actually my first time writing about somnophilia, so be easy on me, lmao. it was harder than i thought! also i'm trying a new layout,,, kinda, don't mind me.

“Do you remember that night? When my parents… you know.”

It had been a little less than a decade, but the uneasiness you felt when mentioning your parents’ death was akin to hovering your palm above an open flame. The flicker of the heat frightened you. Though, you couldn’t help but feel magnetic towards it—closer and closer—until you felt a strike to your calloused hand.

Just a little more, and you’ll break free.

It was striking how your wounds maintained their novelty. Years of skin hardening, scabbing and layering over the memory of Bruce breaking the news to you on that night, and the slightest mention of your parents tore it open with little defiance.

“Yeah…” Bruce whispered, and a sudden impulse to hold you prevailed over him. He turned over on his side, slipping his arms over and under your frame, and pulled your back flushed to his chest. You eased with a melting squirm, a physical gratitude, and then another when you pressed a kiss to his forearm. “It was supposed to be Alfred telling you, but I insisted.”

“Really?” Your curiosity was piqued and you felt Bruce nod into the crown of your head, breathing you in deep like his favourite cologne. A scent he’d never wear himself because it matched you perfectly. “How come?”

“Well, I had no one other than Alfred when my parents died. He tried his best, but we barely had time to grieve. A bunch of responsibilities were bestowed upon him overnight; my parents’ estate, numerous paperworks, the press and media, not to mention the funeral service. It was… a lot for him.”

Bruce sighed, squeezing you tighter for support as he continued. “I remember reading—signing off things that I knew nothing about the very next day.” He then laughed, a bitterness surfing for air in the bass of his voice. “I didn’t even have a signature yet.”

“I’m sorry…” A heaviness sank you and Bruce deeper into the mattress. You latched onto Bruce’s arm for support, held him gently, and found levity through the brush of his lips, as if he was saying—consoling you through the black void: I’m here, I’m here.

“Is that why you guys hired my parents?”

“Mm-hm, we needed help around the manor while Alfred had bigger duties to tend to. And I’m glad he suggested the idea as much as I was apprehensive about it. Otherwise, I wouldn’t have met such an incredible family. A year became two, then another two, then another, and…” Bruce recalled the sounds, the visions of red and blue flashing—blaring into the sky. “Which was why I thought it would be best if it came from me. So I could be that someone that I desperately needed during my grieving.”

“You shouldn’t have been thinking about that though… I mean, what—we were only fifteen? Coming from your background, you should’ve been… cocky, annoying, emo, selfish, like every other teenager.

“I guess your personality kind of compensated for that—” He amused himself with some levity.

“Hey!” You choked out a laugh, then lightly elbowed his stomach behind you. “Ass.”

“Ow,” Bruce pressed a smile to the back of your head, inhaling your scent again. “I did have that emo phase though.”

“Oh yeah—” Within his hold, you turned your body to meet Bruce face-to-face as a flood of memories came rushing in. You greeted him with a smile that he was able to single out from within the dark. Then, he made sure your presence was acknowledged with a chaste kiss.

“Your hair came down to your nose and stuff—oh! And you kept wearing the same hoodie too.”

“Yeah, okay—we get it. Not my best look.” He groaned, tearing himself away from you as your descriptions of Bruce suddenly developed into powerfully cringe-inducing memories. As embarrassing as the past was, he was glad it brought you some kind of merriment. He’d been scolded multiple times by numerous people, though namely Alfred, to treat you better.

You and Bruce weren’t always close. In all honesty, it took your parents’ death that empowered you two to stick together more than ever. Where darkness used to storm over the roof of the manor, you and Bruce managed to conjure a light that illuminated a path to find sanctuary within each other.

“Thank you for all you’ve done for me.” The moonlight reflecting through the bedroom window casted shadows across Bruce’s profile. Wrinkles you’ve never noticed before were accentuated; eye-bags that you’ve been nagging at him to take care of deepened; glimpses of a boy who was forced to grow up.

He turned when you reached over to trace over the spotlighted features. A single digit caressed the bumpy bridge of his nose; the stubble that tickled you whenever you kissed; the cut over his broad chin that was your favorite spot to kiss,; the scar over his left cheek that had been healing for months, only to restart the process again after Bruce’s late night endeavors.

“Let me take care of you now.”

You weren’t sure how Bruce took your proposal. Recalling the moment had you adding unnecessary details that all-the-more exploded the situation into a narrative you couldn’t exactly trust.

Wait… he made a weird face when I told him. I remember a face! No, idiot—he just had an itch on his cheek. Oh.

I don’t remember his phone ringing… You think he was trying to get out of the conversation? Maybe? He usually has his phone set on the loudest volume possible…

Oh god, he probably thinks I’m some kind of sex-crazed addict. Well, aren’t you— No?! I just—wanted to take care of him… We rarely see each other these days and I doubt the lunches I’d make for him add much to that narrative. I needed something more. Wow, I’ve been talking to myself for this long?

You probably look crazed, especially if someone were to walk in the bedroom at this moment, but you’d be too deep into your thoughts to hardly notice. If you did notice, you’d probably go on a tangent about how Bruce was probably disgusted by how you could even suggest a thing like that.

Your toes and fingers curled at the recollection you were certain happened.

“So… I know you’ve been out late at night—” “(M/N), it’s not what you—” “Shh, I’m too good of a catch for you to cheat on me.” “I mean, keep that cockiness up and maybe—” “Excuse me?!” “I’m joking.” “Uh-huh, well, keep joking and I might have to rescind my offer.” “Your offer?” “Look, I haven’t seen you much lately. It’s not your fault. You’re busy.” “I know—I just need to deal with this…” “Bruce, you look—you are tired. You’re overworked and whenever we do spend time together, you’re asleep!” “I’m trying my b—” “You’re trying your best, I know! And I don’t know what you do at night, not sure if I do want to know, but… two-three hours of sleep is not enough. You’re killing your body.” “Hm…” “And one day, you’re going to crack and I just…” “Just..?” “I’m not sure how to… put it.” “What is it?” “If you want to… and it’s entirely up to you, but…” “Jesus, spit it out—” “I— if I’m still asleep, and you want to somehow… relieve your stress..?” “Oh—” “I’m all yours.”

The second hand on the clock cycled slower, almost as if it was mocking you for being so desperate, impatient, and doubting. Yet, at the same time—if clocks could have a personality—there was a dormant kindness in the rhythm of the minute hand striking every corner of the wheel. Gentle and soothing, the lids of your eyes grew heavier with every passing second as the sound of the clock counted sheeps for you.

Forty, forty-one… fourty-two… Forty… three…

The floor creaked despite Bruce’s best efforts to remain light on his feet. You’ve always been a light sleeper, even at the sound of wind whistling you’d jolt up to, but surprisingly—nothing.

As he approached his side of the bed, his eyes settled on you like always. To Bruce, it was a sweet sigh of relief to come back home to you again. Sometimes, a miracle depending on the crimes of that night. Nightly patrols have taken a toll on him; on his body, on his mentality; but being in your presence always—no matter what—brought him back to the solitude his life was at before being laboured by vengeance.

Coldly, he sat on the edge, careful to not wake you, as he dried off the damp strands of his washed hair with a towel. Then, he chased after the tremors off his bare body with several rubs of the coarse towel, gathering water molecules into the material until he was somewhat dry. It was the typical nightly routine of Bruce Wayne, in which he was guilty of vacating you of.

Bruce witnessed—took part in—how you ended your night. A late night snack, a book, a tv show—and he’d stroke your hair to the sound of his heartbeat until you were out like a light. He’d never forget to kiss your forehead as if it was an enchantment that would guard him for the rest of the night. Naively, Bruce was apprehensive of the subtle chance of reducing his survival rate if he were to miss a night of seeing you—touching you. Even if you had the biggest argument with him, even if you were in the wrong, he’d make sure to see you one last time before escaping into the shadows, saving the city—saving you.

After dressing himself in a fresh set of briefs, the soft cushions of his bed and pillows enticed him back into sanctuary. He crawled back into bed and instinctively found his arms around your body, warm and full against the recovering bruises against his own flesh. Skipping dinner was a norm, but he felt satiated when he could hear you breathe, feel your pulse, and watch you writhe within his doting affection.

“Goodnight.” Bruce muttered as he nestled his nose into your hair, another deep inhale of your scent to ground him that you were still present in his life. And then another as his head turned towards your neck, a familiar smell that taunted him to lean closer until his nose pressed softly into the crook of your skin.

White musk.

The top note of his favourite cologne on you. It lingered delightfully in Bruce’s nostrils, and there was a reason why he always urged you to spray it on date nights. It was intoxicating.

Come to think of it, Bruce’s night routine hadn’t completely checked off all of his tasks for the night. After he would come home, it was a no-brainer to shower off the sweat, dirt, and sometimes blood, from his patrols. He would scrape his hair clean with the shampoo suds, mint and cooling on his scalp. Then he’d move onto his body. The suds would trickle down his torso, gather in his muscles, and he’d add onto the bubbles with his body wash, lathering himself from head to toe. And almost always, the slightest brush of his length would break the restraints the night had locked his sanity behind. It was always you that managed to free him. As he would squeeze himself, fondle his sack while the suds dribbled down his leg and feet, he’d think of you—miss you in ways he wouldn’t dare to ignore, ways in which he was ashamed to desert you of.

“I’m all yours.” Your proclamation echoed, ran marathons in Bruce’s mind as the white musk led him astray. The simple thought of him taking advantage of you guilted him, churned his stomach until it was bundled into thick knots, but it made his heart race.

“(M/N)?” He whispered. The bed creaked when Bruce peered over you, and he was met by silence. A few soft snores joined the ticking of the clock, but for the most part, silence.

I shouldn’t… Bruce convinced himself. It was… shameful to even think of taking advantage of you like that—in your unconscious state, in your vulnerability. You looked peaceful in your slumber and knowing how hard you worked, he wouldn’t dare to ruin it because of his own selfish desires.

He sighed, rolling flat onto his back again, hoping the uncomfortable ache in his briefs would settle down in a minute or so. When it didn’t, Bruce tended to it with a brief re-adjustment of the way his length stood. Then again as he twitched in defiance.

Again, as he throbbed.

And again, when his briefs couldn’t support his throbbing erection anymore.

Bruce turned his head to the side, scanning your unconscious state. His eyes traced the languid form of your body as it sank deep into the mattress, hugging the air to your body while he slowly pulled the blanket off of you.

The bed creaked as inch by inch, Bruce scooted closer to you, turning back to lie on his side and nearly spooning you again. His movements were sluggish, apprehensive to wake you, but at the same time, there was an adrenaline rush surging through him knowing he could be caught any second (despite your permission).

His hand felt it as it caressed your arm in singular, docile strokes. Then his breath, as he leaned closer, pressing himself against you again, and slipped a hand under your shirt. Your bare stomach rested warmly against his calloused palm, and he felt your breath hitch, your stomach tensed, every evidence of your presence, as Bruce ran a palm upwards to touch your chest once, then back down to bravely slither under the waistband of your boxers.

“Fuck…” Bruce’s breath unevened, struggling to keep a steady rhythm, when his palm gently groped a handful of your flaccid cock, a complete opposite of the shameful erection he was prodding near your bottom. You writhed once, and he quickly paused with a shudder as you suddenly turned to lie on your back, smacking the dryness in your throat away as you drove yourself into deeper slumber.

He found it unusual how you haven’t awakened by now, but the cynical part of him pleaded for you to remain asleep—until he had his way with you.

Gently, Bruce lifted your hips to pull down the remainder of your boxers off until you were bare in all of your glory before him. Your balls lay briefly in between your legs before they were back to being fondled in his warm palms. “Fuck, you’re gorgeous like this…”

Droplets of sweat formed over Bruce’s hairline as he sluggishly maneuvered himself to kneel over your unconscious state. His thighs hardened, flexed as he maintained his balance over you. He stroked his cock with his free-hand; to the gentle snores you poured out, to your slightly parted lips that he could easily spread open with his girth, and to his surprise, to the stiffness of your cock as it stirred awake from his constant fondling.

What are you dreaming about? Are you dreaming of me? Are you dreaming of being fucked by me? Bruce groaned as he witnessed the once softened features of your face stiffened into diffident lust. Your breath unknowingly quickened when Bruce began stroking your cock together with his in one grasp. Your body writhed with uncomfortable pleasure as if you wanted whatever was happening to you to stop, yet the throbbing veins of your cock begged Bruce for more—to hold you for longer, to keep doing as he pleased.

Bruce forgot what it was like to have you like this; to have you squirming beautifully beneath him, dripping in heavy pre-cum while simultaneously having your cock lathered in his own fluid. He was enticed by your every movement, squirming and writhing confined by the state of slumber as you couldn’t stop him. You couldn’t stop the uncomfortable pleasure that was happening to you because you were dreaming a dream that refrained you from resisting your boyfriend.

I know you want it. Fuck… I know you want my cum, (M/N). He paused briefly to press his forehead into yours, sweat dripping off his face and onto your body in his maneuver, and breathed languidly against your lips to find the parting in order to breathe his lewd thoughts into you. Bruce was careless, dangerously brave as he slipped a tongue inside of you to spread your mouth open further. You made a sound, but he muted it with a swallow as he ravished you like honey on a spoon. Remnants of mint lingered on his tongue, and as much as he wanted to continue tasting you, he needed to relieve himself.

He was close.

Carefully, he dragged himself over your chest and kneeled over your chest. Bruce’s cock hung heavy above your slumber, dripping in thick strings of pre-cum from the plump tip—a shameful exhibit of how much this had turned him on, how much he had been deprived of this act for so long.

Open wide. It was morbid. Bruce never thought himself of ever once doing this obscene act, but the guilt that had been the cause of his apprehension was only fleeting the moment he pushed his cock into your sleeping mouth.

“Oh, fuck…” He was careful with you. Careful enough to not stir you awake, but courageous enough to fulfill his sense of greed. Bruce pushed deeper, and deeper until he couldn’t anymore. His thick cock steadied your breathing and in favor, your saliva warmed him with complete gratitude.

Come on, I know you can take it… His eyes darkened at your inability to take his girth. As much as it sounded like a threat, it drove him delirious knowing you couldn’t. Even in your waking moments, it fueled a sense of pride when you gagged on his cock, covered him in bubbly thick spittle, and looked like an absolute mess while attempting to swallow him again.

Fuck, (M/N)... You’d pull him out when you had enough of gagging on his cock and jerk him off instead, catching your breath in the midst of it all. He never told you, but it was Bruce’s favourite part whenever you two did this together. The pure lust in your eyes, craving for a fill that you and him both know that he would deliver upon greatly. And somehow, as lewd as the act was, you both knew it was more than sex. You and Bruce were making love, fucking with a craving that you only have for each other because it was only you two that could bring this type of pleasure to one another.

“Fuck—” Bruce paced himself, biting back an adamant moan, thrusting slow yet filling into your mouth as he held onto the headboard. The scrape of your teeth made him hiss, but the pleasure of your warm mouth was so fulfilling that it overwhelmed any painful feeling you’ve prescribed him to.

I’m close, (M/N)... Fuck, let me cum on you… On your body, on your face, I want it everywhere on you.

He released his cock from your mouth and took the heavy girth into his own palm, pumping the muscle with a sudden vigor that had been motivated to see you covered in his fluids. Bruce’s eyes rolled back into his lids, panting heavy and harder because he was so close—so fucking close. He could see you sticking your tongue out for him, on your knees, playing with your cum-covered cock as you would wait patiently for his reward. You would begin begging for it—his cum, his cock, him. You’d worship his body, mouthing at his toned thighs, then his abdominal muscles, licking the sweat off the gutters to briefly satiate your appetite for Bruce.

Until you were gifted with his indulgent desire for you and only you in the form of thick and creamy white ropes. “I’m comin—” Bruce’s stomach sucked in hard, his abs contracting while his thighs vibrated with tremors, then with a guttural push, he released himself with a strong grunt. His grasp directed his thick and heavy loads towards your chest and stomach, stroking his throbbing cock through the glorious sprays. He sucked in his teeth to control the sounds that were threatening to burst out of his throat and whimpered with a shudder when it was unmanageable, continuing to empty his balls until he could smell the heavy sex and musk off your body.

Scanning you from head to toe, Bruce was breathless. Despite his delirious stint, it was impressive to see you drifting off to sleep like nothing had happened. Or rather, it was impressive that he had a certain amount of control to not completely make love to you like a wild mammal, rousing you from sleep.

Nonetheless, he powered through the overwhelming need to sleep to clean you up, even if you hadn’t mind the mess. And like always, he never forgot to end his night with a kiss, pressing a chaste yet breathless pant to your lips.

“Think your way of ‘taking care of me’ needs more time in the workshop , but we’ll talk about it later.”

nouearth. please do not repost, plagiarize, or translate my works. andif you like this story, please reblog and leave a like!

1K notes · View notes

angelltheninth · 5 months

Text

Lesson Learned

Pairing: Professor!Viktor x Fem!Reader

Tags: nsfw, smut, classroom sex, orgasm control, desk sex, almost getting caught, dirty talk, secret relationship, co-workers, teasing, fingering, sexy lingerie

Word count: 1.6k

A/N: Part of my 15k follower event! The prompt for this one was 'Viktor + Professor AU', which had my brain going ever since I saw it. It makes sense in canon too, I think he would have made a great professor. I don't know how this got lost in my drafts for so long cause it's been done for a loooong time lmao, my bad everyone!

Many people argued that Viktor worked too much, he would argue that he didn't work hard enough. He's seen many brilliant minds get let down by the Academy, his friend Jayce once among them. Which is why he decided to become a professor, to nurture and encourage new people of any background not to give up. He very well loved amongst his students because of this.

"You're certainly popular." You looked over all the letters and flowers on his desk. "I think you got more of this than any professor today."

"Sounds like someone's jealous of me." Viktor moved the papers off his desk after looking over dozens maybe over a hundred letters today. "Is it me or the students you're jealous of?" He smirked when he saw how you were looking at the flowers.

You plucked one from the bouquet and threw it in his general direction. He heaved forward and caught it just before it hit the ground. You thought he was gonna put it back but instead he offered it forward.

"For you." You rolled your eyes at his gesture but you did accept it. He was sweet even when he was tired. "Am I the last one here?"

"No there's a few more professors tonight. Since it's exam season everyone's been working double time. Or I guess normal time for you." It was written all over his face, the tired smiles, the way too many cups of coffee he drank, the half-eaten lunches that he would only finish when the work day was over. "Do you still have papers to grade? I'll help you out."

"There's only a few more. Shouldn't take more than an hour so I can finish that tomorrow." Viktor walked over to the classroom door and shut the blinds before turning the lock. The clock sent a shiver down your spine and a pleasant throbbing in your lower belly. "I've been meaning to ask you, what's the real reason you came here tonight?"

"What do you mean? To see you." Viktor didn't buy that excuse. He walked behind you, his cane thumping a little harder on the floor then moments before.

He placed the flowers and his suitcase with the letters and the exams beside the desk and patted his hand on the now empty surface. You started to turn around so you could take a seat but he tapped the desk with his cane in warning, a series of quick taps that made your body respond and your cheeks flush. "How?" You asked with a shaky breath.

"Bend over first. I want to see what you have on for me." Oh. Well then he's not gonna be disappointed at all. You felt his slim fingers rubbing your thigh up and down, pulling your dress up over your hips and then tracing the dark red edge of your panties. "This all for stress release? You really do go above and beyond for me. And you had this on all day?"

"Not all day. I changed when my classes ended." You're bold but not bold enough to wear crochless underwear all day.

"You wanted me to have ease of access, how nice of you." His fingers plunged into your pussy, "No resistance? Darling, you were horny long before you stepped foot in here weren't you?"

You clenched your cunt around his fingers when you felt them all the way inside you. Viktor moved them quickly, way quicker then he could move his hips, way harder too, giving you the hard fucking he knew you craved with your whole being. Otherwise you wouldn't have worn this sexy little thing. "I was just thinking about you. This is how wet you make me. It's a real problem don't you think?" Viktor hummed in agreement and curled his fingers upwards, "And when you have a problem you talk to one of the best professors in the Academy. Simple as that. I'm surprised you couldn't figure that out."

Viktor stepped forward, pressing his bulge against your wetness, his hands on desk as he let his cane lean against the corner of the said desk. "It is a real problem. One can't have his girlfriend walking around, dripping wet like payed for whore. Just because no one knows that we're fucking doesn't mean you can get away with behaving like this." Moments after he stepped away from you there was a very familiar sign of a zipper followed by the even more familiar push of his cockhead against your throbbing pussy.

He kept you tightly pressed against the desk and himself, teasing you without entering. This stillness seemed to go on for a while. When you tried to push further against him to take more of his cock he pushed you harder against the desk.

"Come like this. With just my tip inside." You knew he could feel your walls flutter against him, could feel you drip down his cock and onto the floor. "What's the matter? I thought you wanted me to fix your problem."

"If this is how you fix problems I'm questioning your credentials." One of his hands pushed against your shoulder, all the way down onto the desk so when you turned your head you looked at his name tag on the desk, reminding you that you were in his classroom, you had to follow his rules. When he was in your classroom did the same, moaning and holding off on finishing through all your teasing and pussyjobs.

The hand that pushed you down was now back on your hip, making sure you don't go anywhere. He still didn't move or show any intent of sinking in deeper, no matter how tempting your warm, wet cunt was. You wanted all of him not just the tip, his whole cock, fucking you like you wanted, how you craved it. But for that to happen you knew what your task was, you knew you had to come.

So you let your imagination run wild, think back to another time when you were in here, but then he was back down on the floor and you on top of him, he had his hands on your tits, pinching your nipples as he held your legs open with his and wildly thrust his cock in and out of your pussy. He got in so deep then, very different from now, he had no self control over his pace despite how his leg protested, all he cared about was your moans above him and the sloshing wet sounds your sloppy cunt made for him.

"Must be good. Whatever you're thinking of. Your cunt is getting so tight." He finally pushed back a little more but just as fast as he did he pulled back to just the tip.

"The last time we were in here." You felt his cock twitch. Almost there, you were so close to getting what you wanted.

"An interesting choice. Did you like me underneath you then? Did you like me being that deep inside you? I believe your exact words were 'balls deep' weren't they?" They were and you wanted it again. You wanted it so bad, you could almost feel it, you could come just from that memory.

As your pussy started to clench around you and your orgasm flow through your body Viktor pushed in the whole way, catching the very start of your orgasm, filling your begging cunt with his cock. You moaned at the feeling of his cock twitching inside you as you came, encouraging Viktor to finally start thrusting back and forth fucking your orgasm out of you.

It wasn't as fast as with his fingers earlier but it didn't have to be. "Shut up." You whimpered, unable to fulfil his command this time, "No seriously darling, shut up."

Your eyes finally focused enough to see a shadow approaching the door. Since you couldn't stop making sounds you placed both hands over your mouth and Viktor leaned forward over your body, his hands digging into the desk.

"Professor Viktor? Are you still working sir?" Asked the person behind the door.

"Yes, very late night, lots to do. But don't worry, something tells me I'm about to finish fast." You heard him laugh behind you then hum when he sunk in all the way, "Really soon."

"Well... alright then, just remember to lock up when you're done. See you tomorrow Professor." With every further step Viktor got rougher, his breath coming out short against your moans. You're not sure your orgasm ever stopped through all of this.

"So naughty. Coming around my cock while I'm talking to a colleague of ours. At least I had the decency to wait until they left." The heavy Academy door shut close in the distance and your moan finally echoed around the classroom again, mixing with Viktor's, jets of his sticky cum painting the inside of your pussy. It was a good thing he wasn't too heavy, you didn't mind him laying over you to catch his breath, you needed it too. "Did that solve your problem, Professor?"

You nodded. "For now. But I might need it again when we get back home. And speaking of problems I think you may have made another one for me." You could almost hear the gears in his head turning, trying to figure it out, "I need you to go get my underwear. I can't walk home... dripping everywhere."

"Oh! Of course I will. Right away." He debated on that statement when he heard the way you moaned as he pulled out. Viktor stumbled a little as he put his pants back on and picked his cane back up and kissed your cheek before starting to walk out the door.

As you stretched your body you caught glimpse of the flower he gave you earlier. "Okay, maybe I was a little jealous."

#arcane #arcane x reader #viktor #viktor x reader #viktor x you #arcane viktor x reader #arcane imagine #arcane fanfic #arcane smut #viktor arcane x reader #league of leguends #league of legends x reader #league of legends smut #league of legends imagine #league of legends fanfiction #15k event

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generalllimaginesss · 3 months

Text

Here’s a little piece based on Megan Moroney’s song Reasons to Stay.

Warnings: angsty bf! Jack, toxic relationship (you can usually tell if I’m depressed or not based on what I post lmao), but like this is really really toxic so don’t read if that’s a trigger for you. I think I made myself go crazy while rereading it.

Reasons to Stay

I asked Jesus for a sign

And today I haven’t cried

It’s only 2 p.m. but that beats yesterday

So I guess that’s a reason to stay

The status of having an NHL boyfriend was alluring to a lot of girls. The fame was something that always felt new, thousands of people, strangers, screaming the name that you hold near and dear to your heart. The money eased the fear of bills and gave a freedom the average person would never experience in their lifetime. The influence that you hold as a WAG always playing in the back of your mind anytime your finger hovered over a button to post a picture, wondering if the caption was classy enough to hold your status.

The truth is that looks can be deceiving. The girls that threw themselves at Jack made for a constant state of insecurities to pool in your brain, sloshing around anytime Jack was home late or turned his location off. The money bought things that made you smile, a Louis Vuitton here, a Mercedes there, but the feeling of being in debt to the man that let hate spew from his mouth anytime you accidentally stepped out of line pulled at your being, anxiety grasping at the freedom, one not capable of being present without the other.

Was it really freedom?

Was it the price of freedom?

Maybe.

Maybe the price was the amount of tears that flowed when he rejected an outfit for you to wear.

“You’re not leaving in that. I don’t date sluts and that makes you look like one,” his reasoning rang, slicing through your ears and bouncing around anytime you bought clothes.

Today was a good day, though.

He had kissed you goodbye, asking if you would be making dinner tonight.

He’d be home tonight, you thought, willing yourself to think positive and fighting against the urge to dwell on the fact that he had come home with a hickey the night prior. He insisted it was a hickey, but you weren’t too sure about that.

But he’s yours tonight, that’s all that matters. That keeps you going; the possibility that tomorrow he will be yours is your driving thought. So you went about your day as if the life you were living were a dream and that you were living the life as the girlfriend of a famous hockey player who made millions.

Maybe it’s normal to have to be small. Maybe you just have to compensate for the huge platform that he had. He had earned it after all.

Seriously, what did you do other than keep the house tidy and go to his games? That’s normal….right?

You just had to tell yourself that it would be ok. It would be harder and messier to leave than try to push through.

And when you’re drunk at 3 a.m.

You don’t call your ex-girlfriend

It’s been a couple months since you

Brought up her name.

So I guess that’s a reason to stay.

The guys had gone out after a win, guys only. No girlfriends or wives. That’s what Jack said, at least. They were celebrating the guys achievements, some records broken, and it was just for them.

That was fine with you. He had an amazing game: his second hatty of his career. He needed a night to let off some steam and just be a boy.

The picture of him and Nico with Jack’s ex looming in the background was just a coincidence, yeah? Jack said she was a puck bunny, so she’s probably just going from guy to guy.

As soon as he walked through the door, the smell of bourbon wafted through the air, attaching itself to every air molecule in the apartment and meeting you like a familiar friend. This wasn’t the first time he had come home in this state. It wasn’t even the 5th or 6th.

“You’re up,” Jack’s words were slower than normal, the effort to produce the words coherently proving to be more tasking than normal. He took in the view of you curled up in an Ugg blanket on the plush cushions of the couch, noticing the lines that the tears had been drawing for the past hour. He took note, but not responsibility. He told you where he was and what he was doing, no harm no foul.

“Just couldn’t go to sleep,” Your voice was weakened, something you despised about yourself. You used to view yourself as strong and independent. Sticking up for what was right was was something you took pride in, but being in a relationship with Jack had slowly chipped away at that, so nonchalantly that you were the skeleton of who you once were before you could do anything about it.

Jack’s balance teetered from the left to the right, making a ship at sea during a storm look like a walk through the park. He stumbled as he tried to take his shoes off, a cue that you learned meant you needed to help him.

He did so much for you, so would it really be awful to just help him out?

As you slipped one AirForce off, you took notice of the bruises that feathered his legs, probably from the intense game tonight.

You could feel courage bubble, coming to a boil before you made your next statement, “I noticed your ex in a picture that Nico posted…what’s that about?”

“Baby,” He slurred, attempting to tuck a strand of your hair behind your ear but pulling it instead, kissing your forehead after you winced at the tension. “You’re the only one that matters,” And with that he sucked you right back into his intoxicating blue eyes. They held a secret confession of his love for you. One that only you could see and he could feel.

But you don’t try like you used to

You don’t look at me the same

You used to say you’re sorry, now

Whiskey’s what you blame

How much can a heart take

‘Til it’s really your last chance

I’m a giver, but I’ve given all I can

We both know that I ain’t one to walk away

But I’m runnin’ out of reasons to stay

Things hadn’t always been like this.

Jack hadn’t always been like this.

He used to surprise you at work with two dozen roses, or wrote sweet love notes on sticky notes and stuck them to your vanity. He used to put in effort.

He used to want you.

What were you thinking, of course he still wanted you. He wouldn’t be in a relationship with you for the whole world to see if he didn’t want you, right?

He hadn’t bought flowers in a long time, though, and the sticky notes had slowly made their way to a drawer for safekeeping, none there to replace them. The vanity was bare, loneliness radiating from it every time you passed it, the feeling resonating in your soul.

It was as lonely as you.

Jack had come home drunk again last night, the smell of the liquor laced the words he shot at you with a poison that made them burn when they hit you. Everything that came out of his mouth felt like lashes against your skin.

“You’re so fucking boring, Y/N! You think you’re so perfect and you’re not! You think you’re better than everybody around you, but you’re not! You’re a fucking bitch, you cunt!”

He went on like that for at least an hour, going on and on about how he deserved better, how he could have anybody he wanted but settled for you.

It hurt even worse because it was so untrue. You battled with yourself for years because you compared yourself to those around you constantly. Jack knew this. He had been there for your breakdowns when your family had made you feel like a disappointment, or when you never thought you would be as pretty or talented as the other girls in the hockey scene.

Did he just forget this?

How were you going to smooth this over with him?

It felt like all you did was make excuses for him just to be able to live with him.

Why?

How did he completely change you? Wreck you? He had gutted out who you once were and left the bare beams that held you up. He had conditioned you to allow him chance after chance, no matter how bad he had fucked up.

And you just let him.

As the sun played a game of peekaboo through the curtains, you had made up your mind that you couldn’t justify the way he was treating you anymore. It was wrong.

The smell of bacon and eggs lured you into the kitchen to see him shirtless, standing over the stove as he busied himself with making breakfast. His back muscles flexed as he maneuvered about the stove. He looked perfect, as if he hadn’t verbally assaulted you and your character last night.

Before you could say anything, he had sensed that he was being watched, catching a glimpse of you as he turned his head slightly to the left.

“Morning. Didn’t wake you up, did I?” His voice was raspy, probably from partying for most of the night, but it sounded like he cared. It was refreshing.

“N-no. Um, I just felt like I should get up,” Reassuring him felt like an attempt to just keep the peace. Don’t say anything to set him off, don’t be combative. He’s cooking breakfast for you, so everything’s ok.

“Good. Hey, about last night…I’ll be honest I don’t remember what I said, but if it was bad it was just from me drinking too much. The boys may have gotten me to drink more than I normally do…” he trailed off as he plated the breakfast he had made for you, placing it on a placemat at the bar and pouring a cup of coffee for you, 3 creams and 2 sugars.

He remembered.

“Yeah, don’t worry about it,” You walked to the bar taking a seat.

The morning consisted of the two of you genuinely enjoying the presence of the other, catching up on what’s going on in each other’s lives and promising to not let it get this way anymore.

Before Jack left for practice, he had placed a kiss to your lips ever so gently, “I love you,” he whispered, his voice soft and sweet.

How was this the same Jack from last night?

You were sure that you had to be going crazy.

If I go find somebody new

I’d lose your mom and sister too

You know me and how much I hate change

So I guess that’s a reason to stay

And I ain’t perfect either, we all make mistakes

But that don’t change

The Michigan sunset was absolutely breathtaking. The orange and purple hues painting a picture so perfect that it could never be replicated on a canvas. The distant sounds of the guys on the lake could be heard in the distance, the chill of the wind carrying the hoots and hollers from the water to you and Ellen, sitting on the deck attached to the back of the house.

The smell of the deck and the sound of the hundreds of frogs from the water felt like a dream, one that you never wanted to wake up from.

“Jack would probably kill me if he heard me say this, but I really hope you two get married soon. I’d love to have you as my daughter, you know? These boys are a lot sometimes…” Ellen chuckled as she nodded to the boys in the distance.

The comment caught you off guard, a response in favor felt forced, but how were you supposed to tell her that her son was making your life a living hell?

“You’d have to take that up with him,” You smiled at her, not revealing the relationship that was slowly eating away at you.

“I promised to never pressure them to do something that they weren’t ready for, so I’ll let him choose the right time. I just know we all love you. Anytime the other two call home they always ask how you’re doing. I know they talk to Jack about you, too. We didn’t think he’d ever be ready to settle down with a girlfriend, much less one as amazing as you,” She went on, pulling her jacket tighter around her as the absence of the sun left goosebumps on her skin.

“It’s getting cold out here, let’s head inside and you can help me make dinner. I believe we have some wine if you’d like some,” She stood up and headed to the kitchen, waiting for you to follow suite, you smiled.

It was almost a sad smile, grateful that even though Jack wasn’t the man he should’ve been for you, his family loved you. They made you feel safe and loved. They were a safe haven from the toxic tendencies that Jack had taken up when the two of you were in New Jersey.

“I’d love that, Ellen.”

The sound of bare feet padding rapidly against the blades of grass that ran from the dock to the deck made you and Ellen turn your heads towards the window, watching on as Quinn, Luke, and Jack were racing towards the house.

Luke won, his long legs giving him an unfair advantage against his shorter counterparts. Quinn came in second as Jack has tripped over himself.

“What’s for dinner?” Luke panted, reaching for a water bottle out of the fridge and attempting to sit on the couch.

“You’ll find out after you change out of your wet swim trunks,” Ellen gave him a stern look, him raising his arms in defense as he left to go to his room for dry clothes.

You felt an arm snake around your waist, the smell of lake water and sunscreen following behind it. At first you jumped, worried that you had done something wrong.

He chuckled at the sudden movement, not realizing that he was the problem.

“Jumpy, are we?”

You smiled, trying to not cause an issue with him.

“Sorry. Wasn’t expecting you to be so cold,” You felt nasty as you lied through your teeth.

After a few minutes, he finally decided to retreat to the shower to wash the day off of him. You took in your surroundings while he was away.

Quinn and Luke played the Xbox while Ellen prepared the vegetables for dinner and Jim smoked the meat outside. You had been loving this family for years now. You and Ellen had become so close, easily somebody you loved as if she were your own mother.

Jack wouldn’t be the only person that you would have to let go of if you were to leave. As much as you loved his family, it was only natural for them to take his side, something that you understood and admired. You could only wish somebody would take up for you no matter what, and he had 4 people willing to do that for him.

You couldn’t imagine the thought of having to start over with somebody new, having to meet their parents for the first time and being disappointed that they weren’t Ellen and Jim. Being disappointed that their siblings wouldn’t pay the extra money when they accidentally forgot to keep your Snapchat streak going since it was almost 4 years long. Quinn and Luke texted you almost as often as they texted Jack. You were like their sister.

The thought of starting over was enough to have tears stinging at the corner of your eyes. Whatever Jack had done, you couldn’t expect him to be perfect. He’s human, after all. You’d stay if it meant you could keep the Hughes in your life.

I'm runnin' out of patience

Damn, I hate to say it

I'm runnin' out of patience and grace and at the end of the day

Findin' last resort reasons we're okay

Ain't a good reason to stay

“Jack you have purple bruises all on your fucking neck! How stupid do you think I am?!” You barked at him as he sat on the couch facing you.

“Stupid enough to think this is the first time this has happened,” His smug smirk and body language made you want to hurt him. You wanted to hurt him as bad as he’s hurt you for so long now.

“I hate you. I fucking hate you, Jack Hughes. You are the most disgusting person I have ever met and I hope your life becomes a living hell that you can never get out of,” The words came out calmly despite their harsh meaning. It was eerie, making the hairs on Jack’s neck stand up.

“Where do you think you’re going,” He watched as you made your way to the shared bedroom, hearing the sound of a suitcase zipper open.

He jumped up, heading straight for you, but froze as he watched you throw clothes into the suitcase. When that one became full you found another one to shove your clothes into, until the only things left were things you didn’t normally wear.

“What are you doing?” He spat, realizing that the grip he had on you was being relinquished.

“What does it fucking look like? I’m done. I’ve gone crazy trying to love you and I want out. I can’t do this anymore!” You tried to yell, but your throat constricted as it tried its best to sob. You refused to give him the satisfaction of seeing you like that, though. He had put you in this state of survival long enough.

“You’re going to regret this…” He trailed off, following you as you threw everything into your car.

“Maybe so, Jack. But I will never regret it as much as I regret falling in love with you. You are an awful person, and I hope everybody will see that one day,” You slammed the door shut and put the car in reverse.

As you made your way down the driveway and street, Jack’s figure became smaller and smaller. Nobody would ever make you feel this way ever again, and you felt sorry for whoever fell into the trap that is Jack Hughes after you.

HAHA IM SO SORRY!! Also this in no way reflects who Jack is in real life because I, obviously, don’t know him personally. This was so bad though, so I’m actually really sorry.

#nhl imagine #nhl fic #jack hughes #nhl fanfiction #quinn hughes #trevor zegras #alex turcotte #cole caufield #jack hughes imagines #nico hischier #jh86 #toxic relationship #jack hughes blurb #jack hughes x reader #jack hughes imagine #megan moroney

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junpei-iori-ace-defective · 9 days

Text

Thoughts about Hades 2 as a tech test player

Everything is under a read more bc. 1. Long post. 2. Spoilers for Hades 2.

1. The game is fucking s m o o t h. Loads quicker and everything feels more stream lined.

2. It’s somewhat harder than Hades 1. Idk if it’s bc of not having a super buffed character but I am definitely finding it a little more challenging. Not a bad thing though!

3. Melinoë plays a little different from Zag which is to be expected! We now have a sprint, spells, and new weapons. Already loving how regular casts and specials don’t have a cast limit. Also love the twin blades. Fast weapon go brrrrrrr.

4. I’m definitely interested in seeing what they do with gathering, farming, ect. Great way to add more stuff to do in and after runs.

5. This ties into 4 but, I love how there’s a bunch of stuff to do in Crossroads! In Hades 1, I never spent too much time in the house. I was always dashing through to do another run when not stopping to talk to people. The Crossroads is definitely a nice cool down area for after runs!

6. THE ART. Man everyone looks so good!!!! I can tell some of the sprites are still being worked on but everything still looks so damn clean. I love how everyone has backgrounds in their portraits!

7. APOLLO, HEPHAESTUS, HESTIA, SELENE. All of them look and sound so cool. Really looking forward to seeing their full boon lists and how they play with different weapons ect.

8. I’m really happy to see some of the OG gods returning. All of them look so sick and every time I see a boon from the first game I go “YOOOOOO”. Also Artemis physically appearing is sick as hell.

9. Really excited to get to know the new crew better! They’re all really compelling already!

10. The areas seem to be shorter. Like, I’m going through less rooms to hit the boss room. Idk if it’s bc it’s a tech test or if it’s intentional.

Speculation and questions

1. WHAT DID CHRONOS DO. ARE THEY DEAD? WHERE ARE THEY? Istg if Zag is dead I am going to c r y.

2. WHERE IS THAN, MEG, ACHILLES, NYX, EVERYONE FROM THE FIRST GAME? WHERE ARE THEY?

3. Hecate said something about Hermes trying to find a way to get from the underworld to Olympus. There was also some stairs going blocked by a ward in the weapon/training room. I wonder if there’s gonna be more areas to go through. Like. Erebus, Elysium, Asphodel, Tartarus, House, then Olympus? Maybe Olympus is gonna have its own areas completely. This would make sense for why the areas are shorter. Really interested to see what they do.

4. If the game looks like this already in its tech test stage….. this might be my game of the year if it gets a full release this year. (I love you P3RE but holy shit Hades 2).

There’s a lot more I could talk about, but I am tired and this is a long post lmao.

#l.txt #hades 2 #hades 2 spoilers #hades #hades 2 technical test #idk how I even managed to get accepted into the tech test but I’m really glad I did!#its super fun!#long post

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kiyoumie · 1 year

Text

featuring: kuroo tetsurou.

note: why is this so specific help (sorry if its bad lmao)

fiancé!kuroo proposed to you romantically. he opened the red velvetly box while kneeling on the gritty sand with the waves resonates in the background. it was night time as well, he set up some candles to make it romantic. he took you to the beach you both always go to when summer came.

fiancé!kuroo bought a new house for the two of you early. you were baffled when kuroo told you to choose a design for the new house. it was so fast, literally two days after the proposal. you guys discussed how the house will be arranged while giggling about scenarios that would happen to the both of you in the new place. hell, the house was made in less than 6 months

fiancé!kuroo took you to a special date a week after the proposal. he said that the date is to celebrate of you saying "yes" to his proposal. you shook your head at his idea, but accepted anyways. who doesn't want to spend with their love of their life whilst eating free food?

fiancé!kuroo peppered you with kisses as you explained on what you guys should do about the venue. god, he said yes to everything you said. down bad i must say.

fiancé!kuroo is so polite. he went to your parents' house and his voice turned soft. he made dinner with the help of your mom, helping the single details. hell, your parents are swooned by your man.

fiancé!kuroo was nervous when he saw the whole altar being built. he thought whether he'll say the vows correctly, will he stumble? he gulped, but then he took a glance of you, maybe he'll do just fine.

fiancé!kuroo cried in the dressing room just before his wedding. you could see drops of tears on his attire. yaku had to stop him from crying even worse saying that he's making the stylist's life harder. the said woman just chuckled.

fiancé!kuroo almost teared up when he saw you in the long, flowy, white dress. fuck, you were so pretty right there.

fiancé!kuroo is definitely glad that he married you. it's the same for you, you're very thankful that he chose you.

fiancé!kuroo is the happiest. he has a pet cat, live in this big modern house he bought, and what's he's most content about is that he gets to experience his happy ever after with you.

#haikyuu fluff #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu headcanons #kuroo fluff #kuroo headcanons #kuroo imagine #kuroo x reader #kiyoumie writes 🧸#the one-shot is soon i promise

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aris-ink · 1 year

Note

sub yn dry humps her step daddy joon while watching a movie trying to keep quiet

I have nothing to say except once again: I am sorry lmao

pairing: namjoon x reader

genre: forbidden romance, step!father au

warnings: cheating, manipulation, pseudo incest, corruption kink, dry humping, slight age gap, daddy kink, dirty talk

He always said angels like you didn't belong in heaven; they belonged in daddy's lap. His wedding ring was nothing but proof of his conquest, the sacrifices he had to make in order to get to you. It took more patience than he thought he was capable of devoting to a cause, but every single second was worth seeing you fall - straight into his open arms.

"Quiet, baby," he whispered, tucking a lock of your hair behind your ear. "You don't want your mother to wake up, do you?"

He could feel you quiver against him at the question, shame making your breath hitch. And yet there was not enough of it to stop the grinding of your hips, and Namjoon didn't think he's ever been harder. So many nights he dreamed of having you just like this, bouncing you up and down in his lap and making you call him daddy.

It turned out he didn't have to make you do anything.

"Yeah," he groaned quietly. "Just like that."

You rubbed up against his cock like a good girl, your cunt so deliciously wet his trousers were stained.

"Keep going for daddy."

You tightened your arms around his neck, moaning into his ear. The sound shot straight to his dick, precum already leaking from the swollen tip. He wanted nothing more than to put it inside you and fuck you stupid, destroying the rest of your inhibitions and halo in the process.

Angels like you didn't need halos; they needed fetters. And like any good man, Namjoon had his rosary blessed before luring you in and making it into a leash for you. He knew exactly what to do and what to say to tear down your morals. He had years of experience ahead of you, and he didnt care about the consequences as long as you kept rubbing up against his cock like that.

The movie you've been watching became nothing more than background noise, assissting you in hiding some of the depravity that was going on under the blanket. His wife was all the way upstairs, blissfully unaware of it all. Still, better safe than sorry; he had yet to feel all of you. He had yet to bury himself inside you. And this game could last so much longer with no interruptions in the way. He didn't think he could be responsible for his actions if you got caught and tried to cut him out of your life because of some semblance of guilt stirring in your soul.

Namjoon knew better than to celebrate catching an angel before clipping their wings. You still needed a little time.

He groaned into your neck, his hand gripping and kneading the soft flesh of your ass. It was not enough to feel like you this. All the fabric in the way was robbing him off too many sensations he craved, and he craved endlessly when it came to you.

He lifted his head and searched your eyes, placing both of his hands on your hips, calculating his next move.

His tongue parted your lips before he could really decide, his kiss deep and slow and nasty. These were the kind of kisses that daddy only saved for you, he said, for his good girl whom he loved with every inch of his being.

And every inch of his being throbbed with lust as you kissed him back.

He pulled away to peek in between your bodies, then back into your eyes again, shining and so beautifully hazy with the need that reflected his. If eyes were the windows to the soul, his image was forever imprinted on yours.

"Baby," he breathed quietly, his fingers already working on unzipping his pants. "Let me feel you."

Your thighs clenched around him, but your head snapped up to the dark corridor on the side in alarm.

"But what if-"

He pulled your head down to his and kissed you again, not interested in hearing the rest of the sentence. If anything, he was quite offended you could still think straight, but Namjoon was a lenient father, and a forgiving one at that.

With one hand he reached inside his briefs and took his cock out, aching and stiff all for you. A sigh fled his lips, relief mingling with greed.

"Up, baby," he mumbled. "Come on. Up."

With a little hesitation, you lifted your hips, your grip on his shoulders hard. His fingers reached for your panties, his cock twitching when he felt the soaked cotton. He carefully pulled them aside, resisting the urge to touch you, his stomach twisted too tightly to handle any teasing.

"Now be a good girl and take a seat, baby."

He held his cock down for you, hypnotized by the way you began to lower yourself onto it, every second stretching into eternity. His back arched when he felt the heat of your cunt finally slide along its length, coating it with your wetness.

That was all it took to get you back into your rhythm, grinding back and forth against him and moaning into his ear. It felt too good; you felt too good to be true.

"Mm, shit, isn't this much- ah- much fucking better, angel?"

You whined in response, and his eyes almost rolled back, the heat tingling on his skin becoming too much. He wanted to rip that damn blanket off you and throw it to the ground, watch your pussy grind against his dick and come. But if it gave you a sense of security and pushed you to hump him faster, who was he to take that away?

"F-fuck, you're dripping all over me," he groaned. His hand found its way to your chest, thumb rubbing your nipple through your shirt. "Who made you this wet, huh?"

You knew better than not to answer him by now, though your reply still came out in an adorable stutter.

"Y-you, d-daddy, oh-"

Namjoon groaned again, low and guttural. He was so close. The thought of his cum making your little cunt even messier and wetter than it already was made his jaw and his balls clench.

"That's right, angel," he nodded, getting more desperate, reaching to squeeze and touch whatever parts of you he could access. "So be a good girl and come all over daddy's cock, yeah?"

He pushed your ass into his lap harder, your moans growing too loud in the stillness of the house.

"Quiet, be fucking quiet," he gritted. "Oh, fuck-"

Instinctively, his hand shot up to your mouth, two fingers forcing their way inside. You accepted them eagerly, without much thought, sucking and twirling your tongue. It was enough to muffle the sound of you moaning; but the feeling of that tight, wet heat, and the sight of your pretty lips stuffed full had him coming on the spot. His cock twitched under your cunt, releasing hot ropes of cum, his back arching against the couch. He could feel a gush of your own release flood him as you whimpered, digging your nails into his shoulders.

"Oh fuck," he cursed, voice breathy and strained. "Yeaaah. Fuck."

He didn't realize his eyes fell shut until he opened them, greeted by a sight that made his stomach jump. You looked so pretty and fucked out, drool leaking from your still stuffed mouth.

Gently, Namjoon slipped his fingers out of it, allowing you to collapse into his embrace. He wrapped an arm around you, his eyes stuck on the spit shining on his digits, sticking to his wedding ring.

You were fucking perfect. So worth this ridiculous show he had to put on every day of his life.

Although he would be lying if he said that he wasn't beginning to fucking resent having to go back to your mother's bed at the end of every goddamn day.

"Gimmie a goodnight kiss," he murmured.

He would have liked to reward you for what has undeniably been the best orgasm of his life, but he was so tired; and there was still so much time to try new things tomorrow. The very thought made his cock stir.

It looked like you were exhausted as well, barely lifting your head to give him a small peck on the cheek.

Namjoon chuckled.

You were fucking perfect. Just a little longer and he could spoil you with love and gifts and all the attention that he had to offer.

Until then, his wedding ring stayed on.

#back at it again with the religious allegories #adjhffshsjdhsfhd #namjoon x reader #yandere bts #bts x reader #bts smut #bts scenarios #bts imagines #bts reactions

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written-in-flowers · 1 year

Note

Can you write about sister-wife giving birth to her and Aegon’s first child and it’s not an easy birth?

A/N: since I love them so much, I made this part of the dad!aegon universe with his sister-wife and their gaggle of children. I'd already written her giving birth to their newest child from the beginning of the series, and well....you read my mind lmao

****

Two for the Effort of One

Agony. Absolute agony. Your screams ripped through the room, drowning you from sight and sense in every push. Sweat matted your hair to your forehead and stuck your linen gown to your skin. The tightness in your abdomen nearly made you ill; you thought you might die from the long periods you went without breathing to push. At times, you nearly gave up and surrendered to the pain before a new round of torture began. Your body became numb to everything except the pain: you couldn’t feel your mother’s hand tightly clasping yours, or the light cooling towel Helaena dabbed on your forehead. Their encouraging, soothing words died in the wake of your screams. You’re positive the entire keep could hear you. You hoped Aegon did.

“Where is Aegon?!” you cried, tears falling down your cheeks as another ripple went through you. “Where is he?!”

“I’m here, my love.”

A new hand took your other free hand, not bothered by how tightly you gripped it and kissed your knuckles softly. Through the blurry vision, you saw the mop of silver waves and the pale face of the man you loved.

You slapped him.

“This is all your fault!” you shouted, biting through the labor pains. “If you knew how to pull out properly, I wouldn’t be here right now!”

“Maybe if you kept your legs shut for more than ten minutes, I wouldn’t have put it in in the first place!”

This rude insult caused you to make the big final push. It was like trying to push a boulder through a crack in the wall. The baby simply did not budge. No matter how hard you tried, it did not happen. The maester felt around your belly, and looked to your mother.

“The baby is breeching,” he told her concernedly.

“What?”

“We must turn it now.”

Fear started filling your chest, making it tighter and harder for you to breathe. You heard what happened to women whose babies breech. Tears freely flowed from the corners of your eyes and down your cheeks. Your hands grasped your mother’s and husband’s hands while you tried another feeble push. You felt suffocated by the heat around you. The room felt stuffy and hot. The people hovering over you made it worse.

“Mo-Mother,” you cried, clinging to her arm, “I don’t want to die! Mother, I don’t want to die!”

“You won’t die, my love,” she comforted you, taking the cloth from Helaena to dab on your cheeks. “You will live. They’re only going to turn the babe around.”

“How are they going to-”

You cut your sentence with a howling shriek. With the help of Aegon and your mother, you got to your feet. She and the maester helped you rock backwards and forwards despite the burning pain all over your body. You did not know how this helped, but you’d do anything to make it stop. After a few minutes, a sudden brush of relief came only to immediately be replaced with pain once more.

The world came back to you fully in a baby’s cries. The maester caught the baby as it slipped out of you, and Aegon helped you back onto the bed. You slumped back into the pillows behind you, taking deep breaths as your head felt light. Struggling to catch your breath, you reached out for Aegon again. Not to hurt him, but to grab his attention. Your chest felt tight, and you thought you might faint. Aegon called to the maester, who immediately called for air. Aegon and another maid opened the remaining windows, allowing a soft breeze into the room. Helaena fanned your face with cool air, and encouraged you to breathe slowly. In the background, you hear your child continue to cry. Your half-opened eyes stared down to see the maester swaddling a bloody mass in a cloth and bringing over to you.

“A girl, Your Grace,” he said, handing your newborn daughter to you.

With weak arms and supervision, you held her in your arms. Wiping her head with the cloth, you saw strands of white against her pink scalp. Deep pink, tiny hands reached out and the red face squinted into more crying. Your body felt weak, but the urge to see your newborn girl kept you awake.

“She’s beautiful,” Aegon sat beside you, rubbing her head gently and looking down at her. “What shall we call her?”

“Daenys” you breathed. “Like Daenys the Dreamer…”

“Very fitting,” he agreed, kissing your forehead. “Please rest, my love. We don’t want-”

“-Oh Seven Hells!”

Another sudden pain shot through you, and your screams overshadowed Daenys. Holding her steady in your arms, you hunched over as you felt your body splitting open once more.

“Maester, what’s happening?!” Aegon looked at him for an answer.

A midwife gently took Daenys from you, and you gripped the bed sheets tightly. This time, the pain came hot and fast. Your weakened body could barely push through it, and you tried taking breaths in between but it became more and more difficult. The maester looked between your thighs, and gaped.

“It’s another baby, Your Grace,” he informed Aegon. “It’s coming quickly.”

“Twins?!”

As the maester said, your second child came out in one hard push. You fell back onto the bed, your sister once again fanning you and your mother wiping your brow gently. Aegon held Daenys while watching the midwife clean up and swaddle the second child. He glanced over at you and then back to the people surrounding your baby. You watched the green and ginger of your mother overshadow them both, and her talking low with the maester. You noticed your son’s silence. The worst came to mind.

“What’s…What’s happening…” you breathed, “What’s wrong with my baby? Aegon, what’s wrong?” You tried to sit up, but Helaena urged you to stay down. “The baby, what’s wrong? Aegon, please. What is it?”

You started sobbing. The lingering pain dull in your body, the tightness in your chest and now the fear of the worst possible thing came all together at once. You begged them to say something. You didn’t hear the babe’s squalling like their sister. Finally, as if the Gods answered you, the second baby started matching your cries. You breathed relief through your tears, laying back down and holding out your arms. Aegon’s teary violet eyes looked over at you, and he smiled.

“It’s a boy,” your mother came to you, holding your son and putting him in your arms.

Another Targaryen with the white hair and violet eyes. He had the exact same face as his sister, which resembled Aegon’s. He cried in unison with his sister. “His name, my love?” you asked Aegon, keeping to your agreement in naming the children.

“Daenor,” he finally said after a pause. “Daenys and Daenor Targaryen,” he sighed, looking down at Daenys, who’d stopped crying in her father’s arms. “Gods, Y/N, must you give me twins?”

“I thought it’d bring some peace to our household,” you jested, giving a weak laugh as your exhausted bones began to win you over.

The days leading to this moment were filled with your children arguing over whether the babe in your belly was a boy or girl. The boys wanted a little brother. The girls wanted a little sister. You only wanted a health baby. The last pregnancy did not end as successfully, and you worried this would be the same. You looked at Daenor in your arms, his little hand making a slow grabbing motion. Putting your finger to his small hand, he gripped it lightly and held it. He’d grow to be a great man one day. Your mother soon took Daenor from your arms, cradling and cooing at him.

“You must rest, my dear,” she told you gently, kissing your forehead. “Your labors worried me greatly, and you must recover.”

“Where are the children?”

“In the nursery,” Aegon answered, still admiring Daenys. “You will see them soon enough, dearest.” He looked back at you, and kissed your lips softly, “You did well, my lady wife. You did so well…even if you did hit me.”

You laughed softly, “I hope it did not hurt too badly.”

“Eh, I’ve been hit harder,” he admitted.

You both chuckled and kissed again. You held Daenor for a short time longer, pecking her head and giving him to your mother; you kissed the top of Daenys’s head, her smooth hairs on your lips, then he took her from you. Your body remained stiff and sore as the maids washed you with cool sponges and removed your bloody, sweaty gown. Soon, sleep fell over you and rest came.

****

Aegon could not believe it. Twins. Two babies for the time of one. If someone came to him years ago and told him he’d have six children, he’d laugh in their face and offer them another drink. Walking with his mother, carefully holding Daenys while she held Daenor, he felt nothing but pride and love. He could not believe he’d helped make such a delicate, lovely, beautiful being once again. The child in his arms and those in the nursery are the only reason he takes his position as a prince seriously now. Making a better world for them to live in when he’s gone meant so much to him. He’d begun helping Lord Beesbury fill the royal coppers after their continued battles in the Stepstones started emptying them. If Aegon knew anything, it was how to weasel money and precious items from people.

“Children,” he called into the nursery, “Children, where are you?”

“Is that the baby?!”

“The baby’s here!”

“But there’s two of them! Why are there two?”

“It’s twins, you fool.”

“Who are you calling a fool, fool?!”

“Boys, boys,” he cut right between his two sons before Vaelen could answer. “Not right now. Your sister and brother are here.”

Aegon put Daenys into the large cradle, and his mother put Daenor beside her. He awed over them both. They are near replicas of one another. How on earth can anyone tell them apart other than looking downwards? He supposed when they grew up the similarities would fade away. Baelon and Vaelen came to his side, and Daella and Saera stood with their grandmother. He put his arms around his sons, who stared mesmerized by the babies.

“Children, may I present your brother and sister, Princess Daenys and Prince Daenor.”

“Daenys!” Saera smiled, “Like Daenys the Dreamer from the stories!”

“The same.”

“Maybe she’ll be a dreamer too like Aunt Helaena,” she said softly, petting her sleeping sister’s head. “She’d have dreams that tell her the future and she can tell us about them. I wish I was a dreamer.”

“Dreamers aren’t real,” Vaelen rolled his eyes. “They’re just charlatans who tell people lies to make money.”

“You’re thinking of mystics, my love,” Queen Alicent smiled. “Dreamers only see their prophecies in dreams.”

“It’s in the name,” Saera scolded, sticking her tongue out at him, and he returned the gesture.

“We picked out only one egg,” Baelon suddenly frowned. He pointed to the pot on the low table nearby. Even from a distance, he saw the heat coming off the dark metal. “Who gets the egg?”

“We’ll pick another when we go to the dragonpit, son,” Aegon comforted him. “It’ll stay in the pot for now.”

“Is Mother alright?” Daella, his eldest, asked. She looked more and more like you every day. She’d worn her hair in a braid today, and seeing her wearing her leather gloves, she’d been at the archery range a while ago. “I could hear her from outside in the training yard. I hope she is alright.”

“Your mother’s labors were difficult,” he answered, “But, she’s resting now, sweetling.” He comforted her with a reassuring grin, which she returned.

“Are we going to have a feast to celebrate the babies?” Saera asked him as he shepherded them from the cradles.

“I’m not sure,” Aegon answered, then telling the attending maid to bring wine. He could use a cup or two. “I don’t think The Crown can spare the expenses at the moment.”

“You have been keeping watch of the Crown’s gold, my son?” his mother asked in surprise.

“I told you I was,” he said, taking a seat between Saera and Baelon.

Saera, the prettiest ten-year-old anyone ever saw, had your hair which she’d managed to comb today. She leaned against him, and started playing with her newest doll, a princess figure with yellow hair and button eyes. On his other side, Baelon slumped back in his seat, the faint stink of dragons came off his hair and skin. He’d changed when he came back from riding, but did not wash up. Aegon expected as much. Distractedly, he checked the faint burn scars on Baelon’s neck and collarbone, and was glad to see they’d almost completely cleared up.

“With Lord Beesbury’s supervision and council,” he continued, “We managed to reinstate King Jaehaerys’s old taxes and revise them to fit the current economy. We both agree the battles in the Stepstones are becoming quite costly.” He spotted Vaelen coming back to the couches with a bag of what sounded like fragile items. “Vaelen, is that what I think it is?”

“No,” Vaelen said, pushing the sack behind him. “It’s…a gift….for the babies.”

“A gift for the babies?” he looked at his mother, who smiled with amusement. “May I see this gift you have for your brother and sister?”

“No,” when Aegon raised his eyebrows at the sharp answer, he coughed and said, “I mean, um, no. It’s not ready yet.”

“It’s the pots he’s been throwing off the tower,” Daella ratted him out, looking at him over her shoulder, “He read about that old man with the funny beard who discovered gravity, and he’s been testing which item hits the ground the fastest.”

“Vaelen, I’ve told you a hundred times, we do not throw things from windows.”

“I didn’t hurt anyone…that much…”

“Give me the sack.”

“Father!”

“Give me the sack, now.”

Vaelen frowned, slouching as he handed Aegon the sack, then took a seat beside his grandmother, who hugged him. “As I was saying, the battles in the Stepstones are costing The Crown thousands, and soon the people of Westeros will start to see the effects. I don’t know how much longer we can keep funding them.”

“It’s a point to bring up with the small council tomorrow,” she told him.

“Is Uncle Aemond still in The Stepstones, Grandmother?” Daella asked her. “Mother and Aunt Helaena have not received any ravens from him.”

“He is still there, dove,” she said, petting her braid, “His last report says the Triarchy are being beaten back. He thinks with Vhagar now there, they’ll be able to end it soon. Then, he’ll come home to us and his new niece and nephew.”

Aegon had no doubt Aemond would reclaim The Stepstones in a day, and would be home. He supposed they can arrange something for the twins and Aemond’s return. He’d need to speak with the small council. His grandfather would no doubt support it, always happy to celebrate a new great-grandchild. He started talking to his mother about the smaller issues in the kingdom while the children played and sometimes joined in. His mind drifted to you and your difficult labor. He made a note to check on you later on, safe in the thought of a master and midwife watching over you. You always required lots of rest following a birth, and he knew bringing any serious matters would upset you. But, he couldn’t help feeling immense pride at you being his wife, and being the mother of his four- now six- children.

In the meantime, he was content to spend the joyous day with his family.

#aegon ii targaryen #aegon ii fanfic #aegon ii x yn #aegon ii x you #house of the dragon #hotd drabbles #hotd imagines #hotd fanfiction #tom glynn carney

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infamous-if · 1 year

Note

Hey Amy! Thanks so much for this story, you've created a world so immersive and colorful, and I am on the edge of my seat for what comes next!

I just wanted to ask if we will we learn what happened in the days between the vote and fight night?

Did MC and Seven not talk and clear things up with each other after the votation? I don't understand why Seven would have an outburst like that if they and MC managed to discuss the issue of Seven being taken off lead vocals. I thought the two were bestfriends and/or partners? How do two people so "attached" to each other not talk about such a huge decision? Did Seven or MC just go poof after the vote, only to return the night of the party?

I understand that it may be spoiler-y for you to answer, but I just wanted to clear things up and develop a timeline. I think knowing what happened between the vote and the party will help me (and perhaps other players) understand if Seven's actions were warranted.

Thanks again for taking the time to read this ask and for infamous!

I mentioned this in passing but Seven sort of kept their feelings down for the sake of the band until they couldn’t take it anymore. So outwardly Seven was trying their best to be okay with it even if they weren’t. They didn’t go “poof” they were still around and tried to do the background vocals thing and realized they’re useless in the band, which sort of made how they felt about it even worse. Seven did try. They hated it, but they tried. And no matter how attached two people are, there will always be some things harder to talk about than others.

I mean…Seven can sort of say the same too? “How can someone who claims to be attached to me be okay with this when they know all I wanted was to be a lead singer?”

Seven didn’t want to ruin anything but they also couldn’t keep their feelings down for too long. Of course they talked about it but it was more that they didn’t go deeper than what it was.

Basically, if they talked about how sev felt about it, it would’ve been:

Mc: “are u okay with this?”

7: “yeah whatever”

So two problems here: 1) MC didn’t inquire further and 2) 7 didn’t share how they really felt. 7 was obviously bothered but if they said they’re alright… there’s not much MC can do if 7 insists they’re fine even when it’s obvious they’re not

Then having an outburst in that way was more from the alcohol lmao instead of sharing their feelings calmly, it was more of a dam that broke.

Like I said, it’s a lot of nuances and just,,,,very messy haha

Also thank you so much!! Glad you like it!!!

#inbox #seven lawless #the fight #since I know there will be a lot of MC defenders I will be the resident lawyer for our favorite numerical RO #don’t worry seven I got u #🫡#)I’m kidding btw I know seven is probably wrong in many ways haha #but still 🫡

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typh0nas · 1 month

Text

Your Safety is My Priority

_______________

Content Warnings: angst to fluff, mentions of blood, violence lol(ie. slight torture sequence ig???), sexual innuendo when Hex shows up LMAO

Character(s): GN!Reader(no pronouns mentioned), Ver Vermillion, Kotoka Torahime, Doppio Dropscythe, Hex Haywire

Authors Notes: holy shit ive been gone for a bit im so sorry guys. Anyways this is somewhat based on that one ASMR that kaichou posted where we're tied up with him hehe, but this time you're the only one that was kidnapped LOL

_______________

Your Safety is My Priority

Darkness envelops your senses. You're vaguely aware of the steady drip of water behind you, and of the chilling cold that sinks into your bones. You groan softly, the wooden chair pressing against your back and the ropes binding your hands rubbing against your skin, most likely leaving marks for you to wince at in the coming days. If that's even possible to say the least. You're not sure where you are, or how much time has passed. Your memory is hazy, bleary images flashing through your mind as you attempt to recall what even led up to your current predicament.

Right, you were in the council room waiting for Ver to arrive. He had asked you to meet him there, letting you know that he had something important to tell you. Even though you and Ver aren't together, there was no denying the lingering touches and the stares that lasted longer than they should have when it came to the two of you. Your brow furrows, as what happened next is a hazy blur.

A rough jerk of your head startles you out of your thoughts and you wince at the blinding lights. "Owwwww..." you hiss, squinting up at your captor, arms folded in front of them. "Really, is that any way to treat your guests? Rather rude to manhandle them," you laugh softly, attempting to make light of your situation whilst observing the surrounding room. The room is dark, save for the singular lightbulb practically blinding you, making it even harder to make out your surroundings. You can sense someone in front of you but their features are unclear to you, the shadows practically enveloping them.

"You shut your mouth," A gruff voice growls out, pain erupting in your jaw. You cough, the metallic tang of blood filling your mouth, and you're pretty sure that's gonna leave a nasty bruise behind.

"Oooooo, the boss isn't gonna like that," another voice cuts in. Although you can't see them clearly, you can practically hear the smirk in their voice. "But then again..." their face comes into focus and you practically grimace from how close they are. They grab your jaw and you let out a small yelp of pain, gritting your teeth, "Why should I care?" Steeling yourself you bite down, hard. Teeth meet flesh and again, the taste of blood floods your senses. You're pretty sure you've cut deep into their hand, which gives you a sense of satisfaction. The individual let out a yell of pain, their expression hardening, any instance of mock sympathy gone from their gaze. They scoff, cradling their injured hand, blood streaming down from the punctures in their hand.

The wind is knocked out of you, and pain erupts in your lower abdomen. Their leg makes contact with your stomach, kicking you so hard it sends you and the chair you're tied to crashing to the floor. You cough again, wheezing as you try to catch your breath, completely disoriented. After a moment, your chair is uprighted once more, your head lolling down.

"You should have just left them there," the second voice comments, meanwhile the first person says nothing, roughly putting you back in place. Your head spinning, you can practically sense yourself slipping in and out of consciousness, struggling to keep your head up. "Whatever, let's just leave them here for now. We can deal with them later." Their footsteps recede into the background and you finally succumb to unconsciousness.

-----

Ver's POV

His leg bounces anxiously, fingers fidgeting as he checks the time. It's been an hour and still no sign of you showing up. He sighs, wondering if his impromptu request was too jarring.

He perks up, hearing the sound of hurried footsteps outside the council room door. With a smile on his face, Ver is able to envision the flustered state you would be in, while profusely apologizing for being late.

A knock at the door alerts him of someone outside. Clearing his throat, Ver gets up from his chair, leaning against the desk. "Come in," his voice is light. However, instead of you, he's instead greeted by Kotoka. Ver frowns, "Koto? Did something happen?" Kotoka pauses, her brow furrowed. "In a way," she sighs softly, "It has to do with Y/N."

Ver can feel his blood run cold, eyes widening slowly. "What do you mean, 'it has to do with Y/N?' Did something happen?" His expression hardens, his hands balling into fists. Ver's thoughts are racing, worry overtaking him. What if something happened to you? Is this why you were so late? Where were you now? Ver knew you were capable of taking care of yourself, but the worry gnawed at him.

Kotoka places a gentle hand on his shoulder, startling Ver out of his spiraling thoughts. Pulling out her phone, she opens up a tracker app, showing Ver. "This was the last known location of their phone." Wordlessly, Ver takes the device from her hands, realization slowly dawning on him. "I should have known..." he murmurs, taking a deep breath, "It seems I didn't clear up all the loose ends from my previous mission....and now I'm paying the price for it."

"Should I have Doppi handle this?" Kotoka gazes up at Ver, concern etched on her face. Ver pauses, before handing back Kotoka's phone to her. "No, there's no need. I will deal with this personally." Slipping on his coat and heading towards the door, he stops for a moment, turning back to Kotoka. "Let the others know I'm going out, but I'll be back soon."

-----

You don't know how long you had been stuck there, but at this point, your hands had gone numb, you were shivering from the incessant draft wafting into the dank, dark basement, and you're pretty sure you had a few broken ribs, based on the way it hurt to breathe. To put things simply, you were quite miserable and in a terrible state. Your captors had long since vacated the basement area, leaving you alone to your thoughts.

---

"Ver," you scold him gently, "You've been working for 4 hours straight, I think you should take a break." Despite the way your arms are crossed over your chest, a smile threatens to break out on your face. Ver sighs softly, rubbing his neck sheepishly, breaking eye contact from the mountain of paperwork on his desk. "I promise I will after I finish this. It's important that I finish and submit this proposal before the due date-"

"Nope!" You pull the pen out of his grasp, pushing the paperwork away from him. Ver lets out a noise of protest, his expression resembling that of a kicked dog. Taking his hands in yours, you pull him up and out of his chair. Getting behind him, you push him towards the door. "Come on 아저씨, you've been working for so long now, I think you deserve some time to yourself. Besides your stuff isn't due until two weeks from now, so I think you can take some time for yourself. Also, you've been sitting at that desk for so long I can practically hear your joints popping and cracking," You teased him, a bright smile on your face. Ver relents, holding his hands up in mock surrender. "Alright, alright I'll take a break. Only because you asked so nicely," he laughs softly, his hand wrapping around yours, fingers intertwining with yours. You feel your face grow warm, not expecting him to be so forward.

Ver tilts his head curiously to the side, before realizing what he had done, his face also flushing. "Oh whoops, I didn't mean to do that, it was instinctual I swear!" He's clearly flustered and you panic a little, feeling him start to let go, tightening your grip on his hand. Ver stares at you, eyes wide from surprise, almost as if he didn't expect you to continue holding onto him. The two of you stand there in between the council room doorway and the hallway, both of you speechless and unsure of how to proceed.

"Oh? Do my eyes deceive me? What do we have here?" Doppio's head peaks around the corner, a mischievous grin on his face. "Looks like you finally made a move, good on you Ver." His grin widens, shooting Ver a thumbs up. You and Ver both flush various shades of red, letting go of each other's hands. "We're not dating Doppi, it's not what it looks like!" You exclaim, trying to explain why you and Ver were holding hands. Another person peeks around the corner, a skeptical look on his face. "Yeesh, you guys really need to get a room, why don't you go back into the council room so you guys can continue eye-fucking each other in privacy."

"Hex shut up."

---

Yelling from above you is the first thing you can hear in your dazed state. A headache rages in your skull, and you lean against the wall. The cool concrete provides some solace, quelling the pounding in your head. The door crashes open, and a pair of frantic footsteps make their way towards you. You open your eyes slightly, immediately recognizing the person before you.

"Y/N!" You can hear the worry seeping into Ver's voice, his hands reaching to cup your face. You unintentionally flinch against him, your head jerking back from the pain in your jaw. Ver's gaze widens, his eyes trailing down to the bruise on your cheek, understanding dawning on him. He presses a gentle hand against your shoulder, conflicting emotions crossing his face.

"Ver-" your voice croaks out. Ver moves to your side, his hands make their way down to the ropes binding yours, a slight grimace on his face. "I'm so, so sorry. I was careless, and because of that you got dragged into my mess," his bangs hang over his eyes, hiding his expression from you. You open your mouth to speak, but you keel over, slight movement from your end turning a dull ache into sharp pain. Ver catches you, supporting you as his hands work his way around the rope. After a moment you clear your throat, looking him in the eyes.

"It's not your fault, trust me. You can't blame yourself for the actions of other people," your voice is scratchy and hoarse, most likely from disuse. He shakes his head, sighing softly, "But I'm the reason you're here now...aren't I?" He pauses, eyes trailing over your figure, seemingly taking in your injured state. "You got hurt because of my carelessness. I have no one to blame but myself."

Finally, after some frustration, he relents, pulling out a small knife, making quick work of the rope. It falls to the ground and you pull your wrists up, rotating them to get the blood flowing again. Your hands feel clammy and numb, and you can see the indents in your wrists, your skin rubbed raw. Ver moves down in front of you, kneeling as he works on cutting away the rope tying your ankles to the chair. Swiftly the rope falls away and your legs are free. You shakily push yourself up off the chair but you stumble, knees weak.

An arm reaches around you to support you. Ver hoists you up as delicately as possible, guilt etched on his face. "Ver-" you whisper, and his head tilts in your direction, indicating that he's listening to you. "I already said this earlier, but this was not your fault alright? I know you're bound to have many enemies, but I know that you'll always be there for me, no matter what happens. These things happen, especially in your line of work," you wheeze out, limping towards the stairs leading upstairs with Ver's help.

Ver gasps softly, a faint flush on his face, "I'm sorry," he murmurs, and you jolt a little, hearing how close his voice is to your ear. "I still can't help but feel guilty because I wasn't able to protect you fully...and I care a lot about you. You mean a lot to me, I'm being serious."

You blink, slightly surprised. You were expecting Ver to be worried about you, but his sudden confession catches you off guard. "...Thank you," you mumble quietly, "For coming to get me, kaichou." He pauses, his stare lingering on you, a quiet laugh emerging from him, "Of course, I will always come save you if you're in danger, no matter what the stakes are."

The two of you stop in front of the imposing staircase, and you wince a little, trying to figure out how you would hobble upstairs. Without warning, you feel your feet lift off of the floor and you let out a yelp, finding yourself in a bridal carry. Ver seemingly lifts you with ease, and you blush feeling his body pressed up against yours. Warmth emanates from him, and as embarrassed as you are, you can't help but lean into him.

You both reach the top of the stairs, emerging into a large warehouse. You peek out a bit, eyes widening at the sight of all the unconscious bodies strewn across the floor. Ver strides towards the open door off to the side, the slight breeze causing you to shiver. Ver takes notice of this, gently setting you down against the wall so you could lean against it for support. You protest a little, already missing his warmth, before a familiar coat is draped over you.

Ver kneels down, smiling softly, tucking his coat around you to keep the warmth in. "It's chilly out, so you can have my coat. I'll call the others to come pick us up okay, I'm sure it won't take them too long." His gaze lingers on you for a moment too long, before he reaches into his pocket to grab his phone. He takes a step back, getting up to make the call. Ver's coat provides a comforting weight, and you can't help but snuggle into it a bit, inhaling his scent that lingers in it. You're reminded of how gentle and tender Ver has always been with you.

---

It doesn't take long for Ver to finish up his call and he turns back to where you are, only to discover that you've dozed off. He chuckles softly, leaning over you to examine your features. "Ver reaches out to brush a stray hair out of your face but pauses, his hand hovering in the air. "Y/N?" he whispers softly, reaching out to brush a stray hair out of your face but hesitating. His hand hovers in the air, but after some more hesitation, he relents, fingers gently grazing your face. You barely stir, chest rising and falling with each breath that you take. "Heh, you look pretty good with my jacket on you," he mutters, his face becoming flushed. Against his better judgement, he leans over, tucking your hair behind your ear, his lips grazing your forehead ever so slightly.

"Sweet dreams, no harm will befall you as long as I'm here."

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#ashers writing #not a request #nijisanji #nijisanji en #2434 #nijisanji en x reader #nijisanji x reader #2434 x reader #xsoleil #xsoleil x reader #ver vermillion #ver vermillion x reader #if ver somehow sees this i will simply pass away LOL

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