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gubsbuubs · 4 months

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Trophy wife

Pt. 2 is out - It´s Mutual

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Female!Reader

Word Count: ~ 4.5K

Warnings: Typical case descriptions, kissing and petting, enemies to lovers, a set up for a smut. Summary: When an unsub targets trophy wives, (Y/N) is asked to go undercover with her nemesis, Spencer Reid, posing as a couple to lure the killer. As they navigate a high-stakes operation, tensions escalate, blurring the lines between their professional and personal animosity.

Preview: "All this animosity, the bickering... we don't actually hate each other; we want each other.” He stared into my eyes before continuing, “And I don't think I can go another day without tasting you."

A/N: Hi everyone, this is my first-ever fanfiction. I initially wanted to write smut, but to add depth, I decided to craft this background story. English is not my first language. I hope you all enjoy it, and any and all comments are appreciated 🍒

“Are those poker chips?” Derek asked as the images from the most recent crime scene appeared on the screen behind Garcia.

"Bingo, my lucky charm! Those are poker chips, and you've hit the jackpot," Garcia continued. “This is the second woman to be found in a motel room stabbed and extremely beaten in the last two weeks.”

“The Vegas police have requested our help,” Hotch informed as he analyzed the pictures.

Ross quirked up his eyebrows as an amused smile played on his lips. "Well, either he really likes poker, or he's on a mission to prove that crime can be a high-stakes game…"

"Well, he's certainly raising the stakes in our investigation," I added, my remark eliciting another round of chuckles.

"Children, behave, please," JJ attempted to redirect the team's focus to the situation at hand.

As I scanned the pictures, my index finger reached above the image on the table. "The persistent appearance of poker chips as a signature strongly suggests a connection to the unsub’s personal experiences, perhaps indicating a deep involvement with poker, possibly even as a player. Maybe…”

“While symbolism is intriguing, we should prioritize empirical evidence. Jumping to conclusions based on perceived patterns might lead us astray." My brows furrowed in annoyance as I turned my head, hearing him cut off my train of thought. His tone carried a subtle bitterness, as if questioning the validity of my analysis.

And there he fucking was again, Dr. Spencer Reid, incessantly questioning my every move, as if my mere presence irked him to no end.

Our "relationship," if you could really call it that, was basically just a constant back-and-forth of arguing, interruptions, and tension you could practically cut with a knife. We tried to keep it professional for the team's sake, but it was obvious we weren't exactly best buds.

And what kept his skepticism going wasn't just about work competition; it was personal. He had this lingering grudge because I had stepped in after his buddy, Alex Blake, bailed on the BAU, leaving him behind.

To be honest, his animosity seemed mostly one-sided. At first, I admired Spencer's intellect and respected his dedication to the job. Plus, let's be real, I wasn't blind—I definitely noticed he was a good-looking guy. But his hostility kind of pushed me to throw up walls and respond with a guarded attitude. And then, well, naturally, I found some twisted enjoyment in getting under his skin and making him lose his cool.

"How can you have an IQ of 182 and yet be so clueless?" I scoffed, laughing. "Sure, you're intelligent, but common sense seems to elude you at times."

Reid stared for a moment, a mix of shock and rage flickering across his otherwise monotone, expressionless face. His eyes narrowed, and he responded curtly, "It's 187, and (Y/N), I would advise you to mind your manners when addressing me. My intelligence surpasses yours by far more than a number could explain." As he stood there, staring into my eyes, arms crossed by the presentation board, a surge of irritation pulsed through me. I was poised to respond, the words itching at the tip of my tongue, but before I could unleash them, Derek intervened. With a subtle shift in his posture, he leaned in towards the table, effectively redirecting our focus. A deliberate clearing of his throat signaled the shift in conversation. "The sheer brutality of these killings unmistakably points to an unsub fueled by intense rage. The way the victims were forcefully and repeatedly stabbed suggests a perpetrator with considerable physical strength and stamina.”

"The messy and disorganized scene adds another layer to the unsub's profile. Women just tend to be cleaner, so we are definitely dealing with a man,” JJ added.

“They are waiting for us, we can discuss the rest of the preliminary profile on the jet, wheels up in thirty,” Hotch said as he stood up, the team following right after.

--x--

As I focused on the files spread out in front of me, the sound of the door swinging open abruptly pulled my attention away. "We've got another body," Hotch announced, his voice cutting through the silence that lingered in the small meeting room lent to us by the Las Vegas police.

By now, we had successfully linked the unsub to the world of poker. Our victims, all married, had been last seen with their partners at casinos during poker nights, forming a clear pattern. Despite our breakthroughs, the mystery surrounding his identity and motive remained unsolved.

"Rebecca Miller, 29 years old, was last seen with her husband at Riverside Casino," Hotch added, his tone steady as he placed the picture of the victim on the board. "Witnesses report they were very affectionate. Her husband mentioned she went to get them drinks before she disappeared," he continued, his gaze scanning the room, inviting any additional insights or comments from the team.

"She definitely fits the victimology—young, beautiful, and married to an avid poker player," JJ remarked casually as she got up to take a closer look at the picture.

Rossi gazed into the distance, lost in thought. "They must be raking in serious cash playing poker. Why else would these stunners be tying the knot with someone clearly out of their league?" he mused aloud.

As I scanned the pictures of the victims, a realization began to form in my mind. Each photograph depicted a strikingly beautiful woman, always beside her husband, who often appeared much older or less attractive in comparison. "They're trophy wives," I exclaimed, the pieces of the puzzle falling into place.

I glanced to my left, where Reid stood, scoffing and shaking his head. "Trophy wives?" he immediately questioned, his focus remaining fixed on the board as he continued drawing lines for the geographical profile.

"Well, think about it," I elaborated, gesturing toward the pictures of the women. "These women, young and beautiful, carefully curated for a certain image, accompanying their husbands to the poker games, spending the entire night all over them. How had we not seen this glaring pattern before?"

"That's a rather simplistic and uninformed view, (Y/LN)," he countered. "These women had successful careers. Assuming they're merely trophy wives diminishes their individuality."

"Just because they have successful careers doesn't negate the potential of being used as accessories," I countered, locking eyes with Reid as he turned to face me. "It's not about undermining their achievements but acknowledging the potential for a specific dynamic in their relationships. We need to explore all possibilities, not just those that fit neatly into your rational worldview."

"Acknowledging possibilities is one thing, but chasing baseless theories is another," Reid retorted, his tone measured. "We can't afford to indulge in wild conjectures without solid evidence."

"Sometimes you're so buried in your 'facts' that you miss the human element of the cases," I remarked, chuckling dismissively as I shook my head to the side.

"It's called objectivity, (Y/LN)," he asserted, stepping closer until he stood before me, his hands slipping into his pockets in a gesture of dominance. "Something you might want to consider before letting personal biases cloud your judgment."

"I'm the one who lets personal biases cloud my judgment?!" I retorted, my voice rising as frustration bubbled up within me.

He remained silent for a moment, his expression unreadable.

"You've got to be kidding me," I continued, my tone escalating gradually. "You're the one who's been acting like a little bitch to me since I joined the team, so don't lecture me about taking things personally here."

Still, he said nothing, his hands now clenched into fists at his sides.

"You've had a problem with me from day one," I pressed on, "and it's about damn time you admit it instead of acting like such a child about it."

"This is about doing our job objectively," Reid retorted, a hint of defensiveness creeping into his voice. "Your presence doesn't change the standards we uphold in the BAU, but clearly you don’t meet them."

"That's enough!" Hotch's voice boomed, commanding attention as he intervened. His gaze shifted from Reid to me, a subtle warning in his eyes. "I think we should explore that possibility," he acknowledged, nodding towards my earlier suggestion. "It seems reasonable. Apart from that, are there any more leads we need to consider?"

Spencer turned on his feet, his movements purposeful as he approached the board. "Actually, I've been working on the geographical profile," he began "And it seems that, looking at the last victim’s place of abduction, he is moving in a straight line." With a marker in hand, he started drawing on the board, "Look at this: the first victim was last seen at the Lotus Casino Central, the second victim at the Charlaton, and now Rebecca at the Riverside. It's a straight line, which means..."

"He's heading for the Bellagio next," JJ chimed in, seamlessly connecting the dots of Spencer's thoughts. Spencer nodded in confirmation, acknowledging her insight.

Rossi rose from his seat and joined Spencer by the board. "Now that we know where he's likely to strike next, perhaps we can set up an operation to catch him; he’s been striking on poker nights."

Hotch leaned forward, his brow furrowed in concentration as he considered the strategy. After a moment of contemplation, he straightened up and cleared his throat, drawing the attention of the team. "Yes, an undercover op might be our next chance." His gaze fell on me, lingering for a moment as he addressed me directly. "Y/n," he began,"You have experience as an undercover agent, and you actually resemble the victims," he observed, "Would you mind going in?" The room fell silent as the weight of the proposition settled among us.

"Yeah… sure," I responded quietly, my voice barely above a whisper.

Derek immediately sensed my apprehension and offered reassurance with a comforting hand on my shoulder. "Hey, it's okay," he said softly. "You're not going in alone. It has to be a couple, so you'll have someone to have your back."

"Can you come with me?" I asked, my voice tinged with a mix of vulnerability and hope.

"Actually," Hotch interrupted, straightening in his chair, "I want Reid to go with you." My head fell into my hands as I sighed, dreading the complications that might arise. The weight of Hotch's decision settled heavily on my shoulders, and I couldn't help but feel a sense of unease at the thought of partnering with Reid for this undercover operation.

"Sir, with due respect," Spencer began, but Hotch raised his hand to stop him from continuing.

"(Y/N) needs a poker player husband; you’re the only one who could actually pass as an avid poker player," Hotch explained simply, as if it were that straightforward. "I trust you can both behave professionally and put your differences aside?" His tone sounded more like an order than a question.

"Let's get to work then," Rossi said, his tone decisive, as I let my head rest on the table. It dawned on me that this was the only option to ever catch this guy.

--x--

JJ pulled out all the strings, ensuring we had everything necessary to play our roles seamlessly. With meticulous attention to detail, she provided a stunning black dress that hugged my curves perfectly, matching pumps that elongated my legs, and exquisite jewelry that added a touch of elegance to the ensemble. Among the glittering gems, she placed an engagement ring and wedding band, enhancing the authenticity of our charade.

As I admired my reflection in the mirror, a wave of mixed emotions washed over me. The thought of spending the upcoming night with Spencer made my heart race, a strange feeling stirring within me.

My mind constantly drifted towards the way we were supposed to behave, thoughts swirling with anticipation. I imagined his touch, knowing that as a couple, he would have to be close, his hands possibly lingering on my body. How would it feel? Would I be able to maintain eye contact as he stared me down during our conversations?

I sighed heavily, the weight of the situation pressing down on me. Despite this being an undercover mission, it felt strangely intimate, as if I was gearing up for a date with him. The prospect of going out and spending time with Spencer was something I'd never experienced before, and it left me feeling nervous, even though I couldn't quite admit it to myself.

Maybe if things hadn't unfolded as they did, Spencer and I could've found common ground. Perhaps we could've forged a genuine connection, evolving into friends, or even something more meaningful. But fate had a different plan for us.

From the moment we crossed paths, our destinies seemed entwined in conflict rather than harmony, and I remember the day I met him all too well. We had just finished the tour, and Derek was now showing me to my desk.The ding of the elevator caught my attention, and there he stood. I've heard of Dr. Reid, everyone talked about him – his genius IQ of 187, his remarkable accomplishments at such a young age. But amidst all the praise for his intellect, no one ever mentioned how good-looking he actually was.

"Pretty boy," Derek exclaimed with a grin as he welcomed him. I couldn't help but agree silently. It was indeed a fitting nickname, Spencer was undeniably attractive. "Come meet our new member, Y/n Y/Ln."

With a smile I reached out my hand instinctively, ready to greet him, but to my surprise, he took a light step back. "Sorry, I don't shake hands," he said dismissively, his tone somewhat curt. "Did you know that the average person carries about 4,000 bacteria on their hands? It's a breeding ground for germs. It's actually safer to touch a toilet seat."

I stood there, utterly dumbfounded. Did he genuinely suggest that touching a toilet seat is cleaner than shaking my hand? "You really know how to make a girl feel special, Agent Reid," I retorted, rolling my eyes as Derek chuckled at the situation.

"It's Doctor, not Agent," he corrected, his tone matter-of-fact as he swiftly made his way to his desk. My mind raced, attempting to conjure a response, but he had already moved on, leaving me standing there, still processing what had just happend.

"Are you ready, or should I tell the unsub to wait because you need to keep fixing your lipstick?" a voice spoke from the darkness of my room.

“Jesus fucking Christ Reid, what the fuck is wrong with you?" I jumped from my place, surprised to see him standing there, leaning on the frame of my bathroom door. "No one ever taught you how to knock on a door?" I muttered under my breath.

"First of all, your door was unlocked, and second of all," he shook his head disapprovingly. "That's a very foul mouth you have, you should really watch your tongue," he chided. I felt his gaze lingering appreciatively on how the dress hugged my curves and accentuated my breasts.

From the corner of my eye, I lightly took in his appearance. The tailored suit fit him like a glove, different from what he wore every day. He looked more relaxed, better, hotter.

I was taken aback when I saw him move and enter the bathroom. My heart started racing as he stood by my side, exchanging a glance with me in the mirror.

"Honestly?I don't think he'd mind waiting for me” I straightened up, finally satisfied with my lipstick.

"Too bad he won't get to see it," he said, chuckling. His left hand met my hip, swiftly turning me around, and I gasped as the small of my back hit the bathroom counter. His own body caged me in, his intense gaze never leaving mine as I looked at him, confused yet strangely drawn to him. His right hand reached for a wipe, and he gently cleared any remnants of the red lipstick. I felt the cold, wet cloth on my lips, erasing any traces of the vivid stain. "If we're going to act like a couple, I don't want your lipstick all over me," Spencer remarked dryly, his expression unamused. "It's not my fault you don't know how to kiss a girl with lipstick, Doctor," I retorted, my annoyance evident in my tone.

"You look good enough," Spencer remarked with a smirk. "I'll be waiting for you in the car." With that, he turned and headed out, leaving me to gather my thoughts before joining him. "Well, this is going to be a long night," I sighed.

--x--

As Spencer drove us to the casino, we found ourselves going over the details of the plan. It was simple; our initial objective was to seamlessly integrate into the casino's scene, mirroring the couples we were emulating.

The plan dictated that Spencer and I had to project the image of a couple deeply in love, sharing glances, engaging in affectionate gestures, and creating an atmosphere that would draw the unsub's attention. Spencer would transition to the poker tables, just as the husbands of the previous victims had, all while showcasing his "trophy wife."

As the night progressed, I would strategically separate from Spencer to lure the unsub into action.

Inside the casino, Rossi and Morgan were playing their part as players, keeping an eye out. The rest of the team was in a van, ready to jump in if things went south.

The objective was clear – act like a couple. How hard could that be?

The tension in the car was palpable, and we exchanged glances, silently acknowledging the complexity of our roles. The success of the operation hinged on our ability to draw the unsub's attention, making him believe we were just another couple enjoying a night out.

The atmosphere in the casino buzzed with energy as Spencer and I entered. The dim lights, the soft murmur of conversations, and the distant chiming of slot machines created a captivating ambiance.

As we made our way to the bar, I reached for Spencer's hand and intertwined my fingers with his.

His eyebrows immediately shot up, a silent question evident in his expression as he glanced at me, perhaps surprised by the sudden display of affection.

"The more convincing we are, the more it'll attract the unsub's attention," I replied, my voice hushed but determined.

His gaze flickerd between our intertwined hands and my face. "Yeah," a small grin playing on his lips. "Just make sure you don't take it too far and end up falling for me."

"That's a good one, Dr. Reid," I chuckled softly, a hint of sarcasm lacing my words. "I'll try to contain myself."

We approached the bar, and Spencer took a seat on a stool. As I moved to stand by his side, he surprised me by pulling me closer, guiding me between his legs. His arm wrapped around my waist, pulling me snug against him. I was taken aback, but I didn't say a word. Acting like a couple—that was the plan. It was just all part of the plan.

"So what should I call you?" Spencer cut through our silence, his gaze focused on mine. "What should you call me?" I echoed, my voice filled with confusion as I furrowed my brows.

"I'm not going to address you by your real name," Spencer said matter-of-factly, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. "We need undercover names. So, what's it going to be?"

His eyes scanned my features, awaiting my response, while I took a moment to ponder. "How about pretty girl?" he proposed with a smirk, his gaze lingering on me. My expression must have betrayed my surprise, but before I could respond, he continued, "Or how about Angel?" The endearing term rolled off his tongue, and I felt a flutter in my chest at the sound.

"Angel seems to resonate with you," he teased, a chuckle escaping his lips, his eyes twinkling with mischief as he awaited my reaction. I felt the heat rising to my cheeks, rendering me momentarily speechless.

I closed my eyes, disbelief washing over me. Was this real? Was Spencer really saying these things to me? And during a mission, no less?

"You seem awfully quiet for someone who doesn't know how to shut the fuck up," he said, his lips brushing against the side of my neck. "If I'd known all I had to do was call you angel, I would've done it sooner."

"Sweet names will only get you so far," I said softly, my voice barely above a whisper. Despite the warmth spreading through me at his words, I couldn't shake off the sense of disbelief at the way he was acting. "Oh yeah?" Spencer asked, his tone amused, as I felt his breath tickling my neck before his lips brushed against my skin, leaving a small kiss on my pulse point. My breath caught in my throat, and my heart pounded in my chest as he slowly moved his hands along my waist and lower back. I couldn't focus on anything but the warmth of his body pressed against mine, sending shivers down my spine.

"Doctor Reid, this is highly inappropriate," I managed to utter.

“On the contrary, my sweet Angel," he spoke softly as his small kisses traveled up my neck. "See, this mission requires us to act like a couple, so I'm simply enjoying my time with my wife,” he lightly chuckled as he reached my jawline. “As you said, the more convincing we are, the more it'll attract the unsub's attention”

Suddenly, Hotch's voice disrupted the moment as he barked over the wire in my ear, "Guys, great job. We've got a male in his late 30s to early 40s staring at you; he's moved closer since you arrived. He could be our unsub."

I heard Hotch's words, but my brain struggled to process them as I was too focused on Spencer's eyes, his gaze fixed on mine while his hands lightly pressed me closer.

"Come on, Angel, let's give him a show," Spencer pleaded, his voice laced with a confidence that both shocked and intrigued me. It was unexpected to witness this side of him, but there was something undeniably exciting about it. Perhaps it was his confidence and assertiveness, or maybe it was the way he was taking control and leading the interaction. "Yeah.... let´s.... let´s do it" I lightly nodded my head, I swear he could feel the pounding of my heart against my chest from how close he stood to me.

His right hand reached my face, his touch gentle against my skin. "Angel," he spoke quietly against my lips, his voice barely a whisper. "I'll only keep going if you give me permission."

His eyes were dark, his lips plump, inviting, calling for my attention. I couldn't even form a "yes," but he knew what I wanted. I pulled him closer by his tie, and our lips collided in a hot, messy kiss. I was taken aback by his skill and technique, completely unable to resist him as the heat between us intensified.

Spencer pulled away and wrapped his arms around my body, embracing me in a hug. His warmth was comforting, and I felt a sense of security in his embrace. "He's standing right behind you, gray suit, red tie, black hair," he whispered in my ear, his voice low enough not to be noticed by anyone standing nearby. Suddenly, I was snapped back to reality. The mission. The unsub. He was standing right behind me

"Should we join them?" I asked softly, glancing over toward the tables of poker and motioning for Spencer to start playing, continuing with the plan. He was supposed to hit the games, and I needed to find a way to get myself alone.

"Absolutely, my love," Spencer said with a smile as he rose from his seat.

Still a little dazed from that kiss, my mind was on fire, and my panties were ruined. How was I supposed to continue my life after knowing the effect Spencer had on me? My racing thoughts were only interrupted by the sight of the suspect following us to the tables. Instinctively, my body reacted, and I found myself clinging to Spencer's arm, seeking comfort and reassurance in his presence.

As planned, Spencer sat down at the closest table and began playing, our actions subtly conveying intimacy to onlookers. I wrapped my arms around his neck, planting kisses occasionally, making it clear to everyone that I was his prize, and he was proudly showing me off as his trophy wife.

As he played, I showered him with praise and encouragement. "You're doing so well, baby," I whispered, my words laced with admiration. It was evident that he was enjoying the attention, his gameplay slightly faltering under the distraction of my praise. Despite being a skilled and experienced player, known for his prowess and banned from multiple casinos, he seemed momentarily thrown off his rhythm by my words of encouragement. It was a small victory, a slight advantage gained in my favour.

Feeling the need to draw the unsub away, I leaned in close to Spencer and murmured, "I'm going to step out for some fresh air on the balcony, honey. I'll be back soon."

Spencer nodded, his attention still on the cards. "Okay, sweetheart," he replied with a smile, not once lifting his gaze.

Before I turned to leave, I couldn't resist the urge to plant a quick kiss on his lips, just as part of the plan, playing my role as the devoted wife. After all, that's what a wife would do, right?

The fresh air hit my face, sending shivers down my arms. I didn't need to turn to know he had followed me outside; I could feel his presence on my right side. When I glanced over, he gestured to a drink in his hand, offering it to me. "You look like you could use a drink," he said.

My heart raced, and my breathing quickened as he got closer, but I kept a cool, confident attitude, determined not to let him see my nerves.

"(Y/N), don't drink that. It's laced," Morgan's urgent voice snapped through the wire, jolting me into alertness. "Just keep him talking so Garcia can check him."

My blood ran cold as I registered Morgan's warning. Without missing a beat, I forced a smile and nodded, "Thank you, handsome, but I've had enough tonight," I replied smoothly, declining the drink with a casual wave of my hand.

"That's a big rock on your finger," he pointed out, glancing at my, unknowingly, fake engagement ring. "Why are you here all alone? Where's your husband?" he continued, raising an eyebrow and asking the question directly, as if he didn't already know the answer.

"Well…" I laughed, injecting a flirtatious edge into my voice. "I could ask the same thing," I continued, "Where is Mrs…?"

"Mrs. Desmond? She stayed at home; she doesn't really like poker," he replied nonchalantly. "I'm Steve, by the way," he added, reaching out to shake my hand.

I shook his hand, my heart quickening as I heard Garcia speak from my wire: "Steve Desmond, a 39-year-old banker, is divorced; according to court files, his wife left him after he lost all of their money on poker.” The sound of clicking keyboards could be heard in the background. "The divorce dates coincide with the killings,” Garcia added.

“That sounds like a trigger,” Hotch's voice chimed in.

"Holy moly, he also assaulted a prostitute a couple of years ago, but the charges were dropped and he was never convicted," Garcia spoke nervously.

"That's our guy, (Y/N). Keep him talking; we're on our way,” Hotch said, his voice steady and authoritative.

"Is everything okay?" Steve spoke, his tone taking on a hint of aggression as he grabbed my attention. "Maybe you should take that drink."

“I'm not thirsty, thanks,” I replied firmly, stepping back in an attempt to keep my distance. However, he refused, reaching out and gripping my arm to keep me from moving.

"I'm telling you," he said angrily, his grip tightening. "You're clearly nervous. Just a tiny sip won't hurt." I tried to break free of his grasp, but he was stronger than me and refused to let go

"FBI!" Suddenly, I saw Spencer coming up behind him, his fist connecting with the guy's face with a solid punch, knocking him back into the wall. He was strong and quick; the unsub didn't stand a chance against him. Spencer swiftly pulled out his handcuffs, cuffing him without even breaking a sweat.

"Steve Desmond, you're under arrest for the killings of Amanda Crane, Juliet Sand, and Rebecca Miller,” Spencer announced, his voice firm and authoritative.

Morgan and Rossi soon appeared, Morgan helping the unsub up from the ground and carrying him out as he spoke, "Steve Desmond, you have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to talk to an attorney for advice before we ask you any questions. You have the right to have an attorney present during questioning. If you cannot afford it…” His voice faded as they left, escorting the suspect away from the scene.

Once they were out of sight, Spencer came up to me and reached for my arm, his expression filled with concern. I winced as he touched the red marks left behind by the unsub's grip.

"Are you okay?" he asked, his voice full of concern and care, his eyes searching mine for any sign of distress.

"Um, yeah…" I replied softly, my voice shaky. "I just need a moment to process this." My heart was still racing from the encounter, and I needed a moment to collect myself. Why did he step in like that? I thought to myself, a mixture of gratitude and confusion washed over me. I could've handled the situation on my own—I was trained for this, after all. Yet, there he was, interfering in my work.

After the quiet ride back to the motel, Spencer led me to the door of my room. As we stood there, I realized I could no longer contain the annoyance for how he had handled the situation. The tension of the evening had been building inside me, and I needed to let it out. "Spencer," I began, my voice tinged with frustration. "I appreciate that you were trying to help, but I had it under control. I didn't need you to intervene so quickly," the frustration bubbled inside me, I couldn't help but wonder why Spencer felt the need to intervene. I felt like I had done a great job handling the situation, and his actions made me feel as though he had robbed me of an opportunity to take down the unsub myself.

Spencer's eyes widened in shock as he opened his mouth to speak. "Oh, really?" he said incredulously. "I didn't realize you had everything under control. I just figured that the guy having his hands all over you and aggressively grabbing your arm was cause for concern. But clearly, you didn't need any help."

"Oh, right, because clearly, I was in so much danger," I snapped sarcastically.

"I'm not going to sit around and watch some creepy-as-hell psychopath put his hands all over you," Spencer said firmly, shaking his head in disbelief. His brows furrowed in concern, his eyes reflecting a mix of frustration and genuine worry. "I won't let him put you at risk of being hurt … or worse." His tone was sharp "Get it through your head; I'm not going to let that happen."

"Oh, right, I wasn't aware this situation called for a 'white knight' to swoop in and save me from myself," I retorted, my tone laced with bitterness. Crossing my arms defensively, I met his gaze head-on. "Since when did my safety become your problem?"

"Since the moment we met, you stubborn brat," Spencer snapped back, his frustration evident in his tone.

"Since the moment we met? That's so much bullshit," I shot back, my voice rising with indignation. "Since when did you care about my safety so much?" I challenged him, my eyes narrowing in disbelief. "You've never shown me any compassion before, so why now? Hun?"

And then, suddenly, his lips crashed against mine, his body pressing mine firmly against the door with a resounding thud. I felt the heat of his body press on mine, the tension that had been building between us explode in an instant.

His kiss was messy and sloppy, but damn, it was hot. There was an urgency in the way our lips crashed together, fueled by a raw desire that couldn't be tamed. As the kiss deepened, the air grew thin, and I felt myself getting breathless. With a gasp, I had to pull away,

“What the fuck was that about?” I whispered, not being able to back away from his hold.

"When I kissed you at the casino, I finally understood," he muttered, his forehead resting against mine. "All this animosity, the bickering... we don't actually hate each other; we want each other.” He stared into my eyes before continuing, “I don't think I can go another day without tasting you."

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volensnolenss · 4 months

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“𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄 𝐌𝐄, 𝐑𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓?”

𝓢𝓾𝓶𝓶𝓪𝓻𝔂: he has no other choice when you’re silent and look so pretty;

𝓒𝓸𝓷𝓽𝓮𝓷𝓽: nsfw!mdni, reader is 18 and Gojo is 30, unprotected sex, creampie, aftercare, teasing, praise, he calls you ‘baby, sweetheart, little girl’ and etc;

“Who is she?” You walked down the steps and watched the woman leave the house. You stared at Gojo, who was reluctantly sorting through the papers.

“What’s that? Is my little girl jealous?” You unwillingly approached him, and he laughed at you and at the same time pacified your suspicion by stroking your back.

You were wearing a damn short milk dress with a satin bow on the chest. The fabric of your outfit was thin enough for him to feel your soft and delicate skin that hides underneath.

“Yes, I'm jealous. And you still haven't answered my question.” You gave in to his power and sat comfortably on his lap, lifting the fabric even higher, giving him a view of your hips.

Your appearance is the epitome of youth and charm. Gojo can't help but look at you, his eyes fall limply down, looking at you and you know it perfectly well. He is so lucky to see such a sweet girl like you every day and wake up in the morning in your arms.

“She was in the same class with me.” You ignored his words and looked at him sullenly anyway. Gojo's hand gently rested on your thigh, stroking under your dress, “Baby, you love me, right?” he squeezed your thigh with one hand and played with the satin ribbon on your chest with the other.

You were silent because of your stubborn nature, although you love him with all your heart, especially his caresses and the way he treats you.

“You can stay quiet all you want” He lifted you up in his arms, “But silence doesn't last forever.” You got your way by pulling his trigger, smiling slightly at his phrase.

And he likes to be fooled by your words. You're so sly and so charming at the same time that Gojo can't do anything about it.

“Satoru, it’s too big!” He plunges only his tip into your wet cunt, but already forces you to whimper under him, “Shh, sweetie, you’re not going to upset me?” He continued to slowly penetrate you, which made you sense every inch of his cock, “You are as always my good and little girl. Only you can make me feel great.” Gojo whispered in your ear how he’s going to fuck you so much that you would be pleased and you would beg him to do that several times, exchanging your principle for this pleasure.

He is blown away by the way his cock thrusts against your wet walls, you hug and take Satoru so pleasantly that he is ready to spend the whole night just on you.

“I-I can’t- mhm Satoru!” You whimpered at how deliciously he hits the very bottom of your pussy, and a pleasant tingling gradually builds up in the bottom of your stomach, “Sorry but you’re so pretty when you’re crying” With his thumb, Gojo carefully wipes the tears from your cheek, looking at your shiny long eyelashes and a look asking for as much as possible.

“And now it's your turn to answer the question.” His hand squeezed between your shaking thighs and his finger lazily drew circles on your clit. Gojo knows that he is ruining you with this, but to see you, completely carried away by your pleasure, start to smoke out what he wants to hear is something that will satisfy his inner demon even more.

“Yes, yes, yes love you so mu-uch” You meow under him, reaching your peak, squeezing his cock. How Gojo likes to turn you into a wet whining mess of a sweet and cold-blooded girl, seemingly indestructible at first glance.

“That’s it, sweetheart. I know that my dick makes your head dizzy.” You moan with bliss, arching your back like a cat, feeling like a vertebra and tightly wrapping your legs around his waist, pulling Gojo as close to you as possible.

“You make it so great-” He spreads your legs wider, “I know, it’s too much but have a little patient, angel. Fuck- I’m close.” his pace becomes terribly sharp and aggressive, he pushes into your poor tight pussy even deeper, making sure that your walls completely encircle his large cock, he cum, trying to completely fill you and so that not a single drop flows out in vain.

You moan softly when he pulls away from you, leaving you without a feeling of pleasant fullness.

He looked at you like a painting he created himself: You try your best to press your hips together so that his cum doesn't leak out of your aching pussy, but he grins at you “Nah, you're doing wrong” and Gojo spreads your leg again and with his long fingers fuck it back, “Satoru…”

He grins and slowly removes his fingers from your core. “Baby, you did so well.” He calmed your trembling legs, leaving kisses on the places where he held you tightly. “Have I exhausted you that much?”He cooed to you, getting close to your face, brushing the wet hair off your forehead.

“It's a pleasant tiredness.” He laughed, but you were so lazy to argue when Gojo caressed your emaciated body so gently that you just didn't say anything.

He lay comfortably on his side next to you, stroking you, tracing the curves of your body Satoru's lips clung to your temple “I can conclude that only my cock can get you to talk.”

#jjk x reader #jjk headcanons #jjk x y/n #jjk x you #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen x you #jujutsu kaisen x reader #gojo x you #gojo satoru x you #gojo x reader #jjk smut #gojo smut #gojo headcanons #gojo satoru x y/n #gojo satoru smut

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demonpiratehuntress · 5 months

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stupid

Portgas D. Ace x F!Reader

Summary - your cluelessness could rival Luffy's. not knowing Ace has the biggest crush on you, you think he keeps asking to stop at a particular island to see someone. and you're confused when he brings you your favourite flower each time.

Warnings - angst to comfort (been feeling a bit angsty lately)

"Hey, it's Ace's girlfriend's island!"

The comment was seemingly harmless, purely meant to tease the 2nd Division Commander for his constant - albeit mysterious - request to always stop at this island any time the ship passed it. But despite the good-natured intention of the crewmate who'd said it, you couldn't stop the way your heart sunk a little.

Your secret was well-kept if no one knew about your crush on the fiery commander, which you were kind of grateful for considering the circumstances you now found yourself facing.

"(Name), are you gonna come this time? Maybe we'll actually get to meet her!" One of your crew asked, again not meaning any harm.

But the thought had you losing your balance, and you stumbled a little before catching yourself. You shook your head with a small, forced smile, "No, I'm okay. Looks like I'm a bit tired." You laughed, but it didn't sound quite like it usually did.

Before they could question you, though, you were gone. It was well-known that you were Ace's best friend, and the two of you were practically inseparable. Or had been. Ever since you noticed the repeated stops at this island you'd started putting distance between you and him, little by little so he wouldn't notice.

It was hard. Incredibly hard. You never stood a chance against Ace's charms and humour, and now you had to deal with the consequences of falling for a man every woman would want. You were just his best friend, and that's all you'd ever be. So you had to either learn to accept it and let him go, or else the burden of feeling so much for him would inevitably break you.

The odd thing about this whole scenario was that each time Ace would go out and spend the day with whoever he was seeing on the island, he would always come back with a (favourite flower) for you. And you had no idea why, but he just said it was because he knew you liked them and shrugged it off.

The moment you hit your bed, your emotions overwhelmed you and you broke down, crying into your pillow until you fell asleep.

This time, you weren't going to accept his stupid flower.

By the time you woke up, most of the day had passed. You were still docked at the island, indicating that Ace and whoever had gone with him had not returned yet. You tried not to care, dismissing their absence by immersing yourself in one of your books. Locking yourself up in your room so you wouldn't have to deal with anyone - or the crew relentlessly teasing Ace for having a girlfriend.

A knock at your door startled you, but you chose to ignore it and went back to reading. After a few minutes, you exhaled, thinking that the person had left, until a familiar voice made you jump.

"I know you're not sleeping! Come on, this is mean!" Ace complained, knocking again. "Let me in!"

You rolled your eyes but again ignored him, continuing on the adventure you were embarking on mentally. His knocking continued, and you cursed his stubbornness as you eventually threw your book aside and got up to angrily open the door.

"What?!" You hissed, harsher than you intended.

He faltered, his excitement visibly fading, "Is something wrong?"

"What do you want, Ace?" You asked, trying to be gentler but still speaking coldly. You couldn't help it, you were hurt.

He held out the flower, looking hopeful. He could see you were upset for some reason, and he wanted to know why, but first he wanted to give you the thing he searched the whole island for. Your favourite flower. It was a routine thing for him, the reason he requested to stop here. But he always forgot where the flowers were, or ended up falling asleep in the meadow, so he usually came back late. He never once thought you'd assume he was seeing someone else.

Because truth was, Ace was head-over-heels in love with you. And yes, he felt ridiculous for falling for his best friend, but he couldn't help it when you were the one person who understood him better than anyone else. The one person who made his life brighter and happier just by existing.

"No," you shook your head, "I don't want it this time."

His heart sank at your words. A frown fell on his lips, unusual for the typically cheerful man. He felt hurt by your response, and an awkwardness he'd never felt before fell over the two of you. He slowly dropped his hand, and even the flower seemed to droop like you'd broken its heart as well.

"Go give it to your girlfriend." Then you slammed the door shut.

Ace blinked.

Wait, what?

You thought he...oh no. He face-palmed, cursing at how stupid this situation suddenly became. You really thought he was out on the island meeting up with some girl? Is that how clueless you were to his affections, how naive you were to his advances? Did you really not get any of his hints?

He suddenly laughed out loud, feeling relieved. This was easily fixable. He thought you hated him, or at least just didn't feel about him the same way he felt about you.

You ripped the door open, "What's so funny?!"

"You," he chuckled. "You're an idiot."

You were used to his insults, but your eyes narrowed at this one, "And why is that, exactly?"

"Because you think I'd be out chasing some other girl when you're here," he answered honestly, genuinely. "You're so naive."

Your jaw dropped at his confession, then your expression hardened again and you crossed your arms, "Hey you're always on that island so long, what else do you expect me to think??"

He laughed even more, "Cute. The answer to that is simple. I'm stupid too." He held up the flower again. "I can never remember where that meadow is, and it takes me the whole day to find it again. And I remember you said it only grows here. I also...fall asleep in the grass sometimes." He laughed nervously, blushing.

You had no idea what to say. This whole time...he had been wanting to go to this island for your sake. To find a flower he knows you like. Your heartbeat sped up, a strong blush coming over your cheeks.

"Ace-"

"You know, you're quite mean," he pouted, "I thought you hated me. So my feelings are hurt."

You blushed in embarrassment, "I-I'm sorry! I just thought-"

"Kiss me and we'll call it even," he smirked, then his eyes widened, "Wait wait no, date me and we'll call it even."

You laughed and took the flower from him, "I can do both."

Cue the poor blushing, flustered boy bursting into flames.

#one piece #op #portgas d ace #ace x you #ace x reader #portgas d ace x reader #portgas d ace x you

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hurthermore · 13 days

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»»------► 𝙰𝚕𝚊𝚜𝚝𝚘𝚛 𝚡 𝚁𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛 𝙽𝚂𝙵𝚆 𝙰𝚕𝚙𝚑𝚊𝚋𝚎𝚝 (18+)

A/N: 𝚃𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝙽𝚂𝙵𝚆 𝚊𝚕𝚙𝚑𝚊𝚋𝚎𝚝 𝚒𝚜 𝚌𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚛𝚎𝚍 𝚊𝚛𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚍 𝚖𝚢 𝙰𝚄 𝚘𝚏 𝙰𝚕𝚊𝚜𝚝𝚘𝚛 𝚏𝚛𝚘𝚖 𝚖𝚢 𝚜𝚎𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚜 '𝙼𝚒𝚜𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚍𝚞𝚌𝚝' 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚒𝚜 𝚌𝚊𝚗𝚘𝚗 𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚙𝚕𝚒𝚊𝚗𝚝 𝚝𝚘 𝚖𝚢 𝚜𝚎𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚜, 𝚋𝚞𝚝 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚝𝚘 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚊𝚌𝚝𝚞𝚊𝚕 𝚜𝚑𝚘𝚠 𝙰𝚕𝚊𝚜𝚝𝚘𝚛 𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚎𝚜 𝚏𝚛𝚘𝚖 (𝙷𝚊𝚣𝚋𝚒𝚗 𝙷𝚘𝚝𝚎𝚕)

𝟷𝟾+ 𝚖𝚊𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚒𝚊𝚕, 𝚍𝚘𝚎𝚜 𝚒𝚗𝚟𝚘𝚕𝚟𝚎 𝚜𝚘𝚖𝚎 𝚍𝚎𝚝𝚊𝚒𝚕, 𝚜𝚘 𝙼𝙳𝙽𝙸

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

Extremely caring, Alastor will kiss every part of your body whilst trying to stay inside you as long as possible whilst he holds you like you mean the world to him; usually gets hard again if so. If it was a rougher session, he will run a bath for you and help you relax whilst he massages soap into your skin whilst whispering about how well you took him.

B = Body part (their favourite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

This man is a cannibal; so obviously he's a thigh and chest guy. Alastor loves the thickness of your thighs and wants to bite into them to see how they taste. He likes your chest purely because your heart remains there, and he loves to feel the rapid beating that thumps from your ribcage as he fucks you. I’m regards to his own body, he likes his face the most; he’s a cocky bastard and he knows he’s attractive, what can I say?

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

Alastor will never cum before you; purely because he can only derive his own pleasure from the pleasure you feel. His cum is almost acidic in taste. After he enters hell, it becomes yellow instead of white simply cause I said so.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

Wants to fuck you in the remains of everyone who dares to take you away from him; but it's not something Alastor would enact. Not unless you wanted him to.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

Literal virgin. Never touched another person or himself romantically or sexually before you, so Alastor wouldn't be the best at first; but his charming and dominate demeanour makes up for it. Would become a god at sex after a while, and would memorise exactly what makes you tick.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

Any position where he can look at every expression that envelops your face; Alastor gets off on seeing how much he's pleasing you, so although he will hit it from the back if you asked, he wouldn't enjoy it as much.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

Alastor can't help but make a bad dad pun if the time arises for it; but typically he likes to keep it serious and passionate.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

No one is going to convince me Alastor shaves down there; and once he dies, it definitely changes into tufts of fluff instead of pubes.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

He's a natural gentleman, so Alastor would be extremely romantic; groaning how well you're taking him, treating you like the most precious thing alive and dead as he defiles your body.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

Alastor wouldn't touch himself with a twelve foot pole like that, and doesn't like you jacking him off either; it doesn't feel good for him, he'd much rather pound his fingers into you as seeing you on the brink of an orgasm makes his cock twitch to the point of wanting its own release.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

Despite his want to please you, Alastor does have some rather fucked up things he'd like to do to you and for you to do to him. Definitely has a blood kink, choking kink, and pain kink, a sadomaso at heart.

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

In the privacy of a room, Alastor wants to keep your body and moans all to himself, but if you need reminding that you belong to him whilst you're in public, expect to have his hands touching you rather inappropriately.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

Honestly? If you're blinded by rage, covered in blood, or start acting a bit crazy, he gets hard immediately. Other than that, he can't really get hard unless you make it clear you want him like that; you'd have to initiate every time or drop heavy hints for him to initiate, but Alastor is more than happy to make love to you whenever you ask - even if he's busy.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

Would not partake in a three-way or more. You're all Alastor needs, all he wants, isn't he good enough for you? You'll break his heart asking this. Expect to be locked in his cellar if you have the stupidity to ask.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

Alastor will only enjoy you giving him head if you get off on it, if not, he can't enjoy it. In contrast, he loves going down on you; loves tasting the natural essences of your body. He's surprisingly good at eating you out even from the first time he does it. With his acquired taste for human flesh, he will always suggest you sit on his face whenever it's that time of the month.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

In a normal initiation of sex, Alastor is extremely passionate and slow, he makes love to you whilst going so deep you can see stars, if you ask him to go harder or faster though, he will. In the case of high emotions, maybe the two of you had a lovers spat, or he's just killed someone from pure jealousy, expect to be fucked into oblivion; his pace will be relentless and you're always unable to walk straight the following day.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

Prefers to savour you, take his time with you, and the only way you're going to get a quickie out of Alastor is if you start grinding against him before he, you, or both of you have to go somewhere. He also likes the thought of having his cum still inside you whilst you both go about your daily lives, and quickies defiantly help him live the reality of that fantasy.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

Yes and no? Alastor, being the murderer he is, knows the limits of the human body when it comes to anything that has the potential to kill, so he will never pass that limit with you; like choking you, for example. Because he knows these limits, its not necessarily a risk for him. In terms of potential voyeurism, he does like the thought of getting caught fucking his cock into you so whoever walked in on the two of you knows you belong to him - especially so if it happens to your first husband who walks in.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

At first, Alastor cannot last that long, so at the start of your intimacy, he spends a lot of his time with his face between your thighs, trying to bring as many orgasms as he can from you. After a while, his stamina will build, being able to last for a few hours and a few rounds. Will even fuck you if it hurts him, he just wants to please you that much; luckily for him, he's a masochist, and besides, you're too nice to let him be in pain... aren't you?

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

Despite sex toys being relevant to the time of both of your lives, Alastor never saw the point in sex toys, doesn't understand the need for them. He can only get off to you, and he is very capable of bringing you to orgasm, whether it be through his mouth, fingers, or cock. Will be a bit offended if you ask him to use one, maybe if you beg, he might be open to using some on you though.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

Will tease you in the sense of asking you what you want from him. He'll ask you where you want him to touch you, how bad you want him, will even make you beg for him if you've been bad. Also, Alastor loves to tell you how good and perfect you are whilst his cock is thrusting in and out of you.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

Let's out a lot of low groans and grunts like a wild animal if he's fucking you hard, if he's slow and sensual, Alastor will breathe heavily to the point it's all you can hear, even if you yourself are moaning.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

Has a husband/wife kink. Basically, he wants to be your husband; wants you to be his wife, and wants you to call him your husband whilst he fucks you. He craves for you to forget about your first marriage to the point where you believe Alastor is the only husband you've ever had. Also kinda likes to smell your sex...?

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

Alastors cock is very girthy, heavy and veiny, with a curve that hits you just right; he's got a very pretty cock, and in my mind, he's your desired size, but if I had to give him an approx length, i'd say he's sporting a good seven inches whilst he's alive. When he's dead however, and sporting his demon form, not only has he grown a full foot taller, but his cock has an ombre of red and has somehow gotten fatter, now with a couple more inches to it.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

Honestly, Alastor can live his entire existence without having sex; it's not something he's too bothered about, as long as you’re by his side he’s content, but his desire to please you and become one with you is something that has him drooling, so he's willing to do it whenever you wish.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

After some well done aftercare, Alastor will only fall asleep once you have drifted off, he doesn't like thinking of you being awake without him. When he dies, he doesn't sleep, so once you drift off, he will just watch you sleep instead.

I didn’t even need to see the outcome of the poll; y’all just bashed tf outta that yes button soakskos so here he is; are there any hints here for the story? Idk probably not ;)

#alastor x reader #alastor x you #alastor #hazbin alastor #hazbin hotel x reader #reader insert #hazbin hotel #x reader #alastor x reader smut #alastor smut #wrote this whilst getting ready for uni #smut #alastor x y/n

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undiscovered-horizon · 6 months

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[Sanji finds you crying and pretends to believe your excuses. Is anyone up for slow dancing in the rain?]

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When the time for supper came, Sanji knocked on your door to let you now. He was met with silence, so he naturally assumed you were sleeping. Not much of a problem - he'll set aside a portion for when you wake up hungry.

The problem is, that was around two hours ago.

Sanji knocked on your door again and when silence answered him this time also, he allowed himself to peek inside. Only to discover your bed is empty. He grew suspicious, if not worried, when no one could tell him where you went. It's the middle of the night and the rainstorm doesn't stop. Sanji also noticed how quiet and upset you've been most of the day, making him all the more tense that you are unaccounted for. The thought that you're obediently suffering in silence breaks him more each time he entertains it.

Sanji is scrubbing the cutting board with feverish vigour. The faster he finishes, the faster he can get to making sure you're fine. As though the fish scales knew his thoughts, they simply wouldn't get off the wooden surface.

The steel scrubber escapes his hands. It hits the sink with a quiet clank. He takes a deep breath to calm himself down and looks away from the pile of dishes. That's when he finally sees you through the smudged porthole. The rain outside obscures your silhouette. Nevertheless, Sanji is beyond convinced that it is, in fact, you. Despite the initial relief, he feels his chest tighten. You look like a marble statue, forever frozen still in grief.

Leaving the cutting board in the sink and grabbing his suit jacket, Sanji dashes out the door, making haste to you. What on Earth do you think you're doing out in this weather?

The cold rain hits him like a wall of ice. True, the cool water may feel refreshing after the hot and humid daytime hours but not at this rate of rainfall. Even if the nights in the open sea weren't so dark, it would still be impossible to see anything beyond the ship.

He has to come close to you to see the heartwrenching details of your silhouette. You're hunched over, staring at the turbulent waters below. The clothes you're wearing are absolutely drenched, no dry string in their material. Every now and then, your freezing body shivers violently.

"Love?" he calls out to you in an unsure voice.

But you don't react - at least not in the way he has been expecting you to. Instead of looking at him, you turn your face further away, quickly wiping it with your hands.

Sanji wastes no time. In long strides, he finds himself pressed up against your side and forcing his jacket around your shoulders. Considering the heavy rain it won't do much in the long run but maybe it can keep you warm until he convinces you to go back inside.

"Hey, look at me," he pleads in a soft voice.

Too tired and heartbroken, you let his warm fingers guide your face towards him. As if time suddenly slows down, you notice each wrinkle that appears and disappears when he studies your sorrowful expression. If he was a little less perceptive, Sanji would think your face is just wet from the heavy rainfall. The red veins of your bloodshot, puffy eyes are hardly visible in the darkness of the rainy night but not black enough to remain unseen by Sanji.

"What's wrong? Why are you crying? What happened?" he keeps asking. With each question, he feels the tension in his chest only rising.

"I'm not crying, I'm perfectly fine," you reassure him. Your forced scoff is followed by a pathetic sniffle. "It's just the rain. Saltwater irritated my eyes."

Of course, with your whole "I'm brave and strong and I can manage on my own" facade, you're not going to openly admit to weakness in front of anyone, even if it's painfully obvious. As much as Sanji considers your tough image charming, he wishes you would discard it once in a while - for your own sake.

"How can you be fine with saltwater in your eyes, princess?" Sanji goes along with your poorly constructed lie. His arms engulf you in a warm, albeit drenching wet, hug. "It must burn."

"Yeah, it does," you mumble against his soaking shirt. With a little more light, you would be able to see his bare skin from underneath the wet material. "But it's getting better."

One of Sanji's hands is keeping your head against his shoulder while the other drags up and down your back in a soothing gesture. The jacket he has put around your arms is already drenched, too. He feels your body shaking but can't be sure whether it's because of the "saltwater" or the cold weather. In any case, his heart breaks each time he feels those spasms. His mind panics in search of something that could possibly lift your mood.

The noise of the rainfall is disrupted by a soft, low hum. A melody you vaguely know rumbles inside Sanji's chest. Dean Martin...? Strong arms hold you tightly against his torso as he ever-so-gently sways you to the rhythm of the song.

A quiet giggle escapes your lips as you let yourself sink into the comfort of him. Up until this moment, the cosiness of a loved one's arms confronted with the coldness of a rainstorm, you've thought that scenes like these exist only in sappy novels written for naive young women.

"Slow dancing in the rain," you finally speak up. If it wasn't for the rather unpleasant rain drenching you to every last string of your clothing, yous wear you could fall asleep like this. "Aren't you a hopeless romantic, Sanji?"

"I'm just getting started, love," he murmurs against your hair, still slowly swaying your bodies despite having stopped the humming. You're inclined to believe that his chivalry ventures far beyond dancing in the rain.

"Oh, yes, please."

A low chuckle rumbles inside his chest. It merges into a symphony with the soft thrumming of his steady heartbeat.

"Feeling any better?" he asks in a serious tone.

To Sanji's dissatisfaction, you lean away from him to look at his face. Your eyes are still red but the curious glint he's learned to associate with you has found its way back into them. It seems like your grit, honesty or facade, has returned.

"What will you do if I say no?" you ask back.

As relief washes over him, Sanji smiles down at you. His hand slicks your drenched hair out of your puffy face.

"I should figure something out just for my baby," he answers without missing a beat. His fingers brush along your jaw and chin.

Before you have a chance to inquire, Sanji leans down and lifts you. A yelp of surprise is pulled out of your chest. Without much problem and clearly with a lot of enjoyment, he carries you back inside the lower deck of the ship.

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yanfeisty · 1 month

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⠀⠀⠀꒰͡ ⠀ ִ ♡ kisses headcanons. ׅ ׄ ⠀ ͡꒱

Their way of kissing are so special that it’s more than a simple romantic gesture from first glance, and you should know it as their lover, especially when you are the reason of what makes them special in the first place. This includes Argenti, Blade, Childe and Alhaitham from Honkai Star Rail and Genshin. Content warnings: small mention of death in Blade's part.⠀⠀Have a great time with your husbandos!⠀⠀ ︵ ⠀⠀ ̼

⠀‣ Argenti

How often: Nearly every day, if he doesn’t then he is away. How can he resist the need to embrace you, when his heart beats at a fast pace and he's at a loss for words each time his eyes lay on you, the only way he can communicate is by locking your lips and moving them together. Moreover, since it is his duty as a knight of beauty to make every creature know their true beauty and value, what a better way to show it to you than a kiss, one that makes you feel like the most treasured creature in the cosmos.

Types of kisses: The one that is like a promise. It’s such a typical gesture of him to bow to you with a kneel on the ground and sometimes, a hand on his heart as a sign of his devotion to always be your knight. While his other hand envelopes yours, approaches it to his lips, and delicately brush the back of your hand with his thumb like it is made of glass, before leaving a small peck on it.

The lovey dovey one, where he reaches for your hand but this time he grabs it to pull you close to him, and leaves a trail of kisses from your wrist to your face in a quick pace, you don’t even have time to speak before he reaches your mouth and shush your words. It always catches you off guard because you can’t see his heart skipping a beat whenever he remembers why he loves you so much.

The gentle and most frequent one. His fingers find themselves under your chin, deviating your eyes from whatever you were focusing on to his sparkly light green ones, “May I have this kiss?” He will always ask first the permission like a gentleman, because he would hate to force his love upon you. It’s neither too light nor overly passionate, just enough to make you flustered by the delicacy of his lips.

Kissing in public: He has no problem to do it in public, it became a natural habit of his to kiss you, and there’s nothing that’s going to stop him from it, not even the eyes of other people watching you like they're watching a romantic movie, although you’re being hidden by his voluminous hair. It doesn’t help that he stands out of the crowd with his unique and charming look. However, he’ll understand your discomfort if you tell him. “Forgive me, my love. I do not see the crowd when I’m being mesmerized by your beauty.”

Extra: It’s also the way he holds you, one of his hand holding your face while the other envelopes your waist to get you closer, it feels neither oppressing nor dominating, but comforting like he'll always be with you. He also smells like roses, which adds to the experience, you’ll definitely have his scent on you after being this close to him.

⠀‣ Blade

How often: Rarely, Blade doesn't display much emotion nor does he feel a lot of them, so don't expect to get a lot of affection from him. Though sometimes, when the burden becomes too much to bear and a wave of agitation hits him, he finds some comfort in you. Despair and violence used to be his only solutions to deal with it, but you somehow make him feel a bit better, he is not sure why, but your lips do pacify his illness a little.

Types of kisses: The desperate one, where you can feel all his emotion he puts in it, maybe his lips will taste bitter because of the feeling of revenge or sloppy when he is distressed. It's not perfect but it's no less true. He shouldn't be able to rely on someone this badly and show his moments of weakness, and yet, he is unable remove his lips from yours until he can’t breathe anymore and forgets the pain.

The shut up one. You’re talking too much. This irritates him. He just wants to silence those unnecessary ramblings of yours before he goes crazy. So, he forcefully brings your mouth to his for it to stop moving. “Will you shut up now, or do I need to do it for you?”

Kissing in public: It would be showing his weaker self, you’re the only one allowed to see it. He doesn't like when you try to kiss him, because he would rather not be the subject of teasing from his colleagues, even if he knows it's already the case and he can't stop it. It's so weird for everyone, especially for those who know him to see this cold and scary heart letting someone this close to him, and having his cheeks showing a small hint of embarrassment because of them.

Extra: Kissing his scars, it somehow heals them, not that he feels any physical pain, but when he sees his body full of stitches it reminds him how he should be dead, but you deviate this thought from him to a more pleasant one. His body is like a walking corpse, pale and cold, and yet, by feeling your lips on his brings some... warmth. Feeling life surging through his veins doesn’t feel so bad for once. “Please... Don't stop.”

⠀‣ Childe

How often: Since he's often sent on missions, he makes the most of the time he spends with you. Plenty of kisses you'll receive a kiss as a reminder that his heart will always be with you, no matter the distance.

Types of kisses: The kissing ambush, you’re just so adorable sometimes, he can’t help but squish your face with his palms and peck it without stopping. You’re stucked between his hands who hold you dearly, and you aren’t able to say a word because he’ll cut it off with a kiss. “Haha… Don't look at me like that, love. You're the one being too cute here.”

The eskimo kiss. The freezing cold of Snezhnaya isn't merciful, especially for those who aren't used to it. Childe is always here to warm you up when you need it, and one of his greatest technique is to rub your nose together. The skin contact and his melodious laugh which lets out a hot breath brings heat to your face, and erases completely the cold from your skin.“Perhaps it worked a little too well, your cheeks are burning.”

Kissing in public: He isn't one to be ashamed to show that he loves and cares for his loved ones, and you're no exception. However, when it comes to more 'passionate' kisses compared to the light ones or if you feel shy, he'll always find a good place to hide in when you'll be left alone, and it would be lying to say he doesn't like the risk of getting caught by someone, to the point you can feel that his actions are too bold for the place you’re in.

Extra: When inflicted by minor or deadly injuries, he claims that the only way to heal them is with a kiss, and he won't take any medicine before he gets one. You might be irritated by his stubbornness and childish behavior when he is on the edge of dying, but for him who had plenty of injuries before that his body became indifferent to them, he can’t miss the opportunity to tease you when your face is painted with concern, which honestly melts his heart at the sight of it.

⠀‣ Alhaitham

How often: Alhaitham is more affection than someone might think, just not publicly. It's frequently that you'll share small affectionate moments together, he doesn’t kiss a lot though, he prefers other skin contact like having your body on his or him having a hand on you, it feels relaxing and honestly he can’t think of a better situation than have you close to him.

Types of kisses: The goodnight one. It's regularly that you're reading together, very close to each other. The most comfortable position is when you put your head on his torso, and you both hold each side of the book. And each time, the relaxing atmosphere plus the lullaby made by his heartbeat doesn’t fail to drive you slowly to sleep. When Alhaitham notices it that you fell asleep when you still haven’t turn page, he'll plant a small kiss on the top of your head before stroking it as a way to say goodnight. It’s a habit that he’ll never get tired of.

The one he uses to silence you. Alhaitham doesn't like meaningless noises, he may tolerate your voice more than he does with any person, but not when it says things that are straight up wrong or disturb his peace. Without any warning, he'll pin you against the closest wall. The action makes you stumble over whatever you were saying, it doesn't help that your breathing gets reduced as he approaches. You finally stop trying to when your lips are seal by his before, he leaves you stunned without any words.

The lazy one. Alhaitham likes a comfortable lifestyle, and you can feel it in his kisses. He doesn't do much effort, his hand is loosely holding the back of your head while his lips brush yours gently, and eventually lean into it. “It's not essential work anyway, you can stay here until you regain the energy needed for it”. Always the same excuse for him not move and still keep you in his arms, but it’s always working.

Kissing in public: He doesn't necessarily want to have your relationship become a subject of chatter that is mixed with opinions he didn’t ask for. Not that he cares about what people think, but it can create rumors or even problems that he'll be forced to resolve, and also make him become the center of attention, which isn’t something he desires. He prefers doing it at home because it’s a more comfortable place anyway.

Extra: It's such a weird coincidence that Alhaitham suddenly wants to kiss you each time Kaveh enters the room. Kaveh who's first flustered because he feels like an intruder, and quickly shuts the door. Then he becomes frustrated when he notices that Alhaitham does it purposefully to annoy him, he shouts things like “Oh my God, have some decency and get a room!”, now Alhaitham could riposte by telling him to get his own house first… but honestly he prefers to save his breath when he’s kissing you.

‘𝓣𝐇𝐄 𝓔𝐍𝐃 Please don’t copy/translate and don’t reblog with yand3r3 tags, also if you’re a yand3r3 blog/reblog account, or you’ll be blocked. Besides that, likes/reblogs/comments are appreciated.

Taglist:⠀@avensuersa <3

#honkai star rail x reader #argenti x reader #blade x reader #genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader #childe x reader #alhaitham x reader

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coralinnii · 1 month

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Can I please request Cater, Ace, Deuce and Epel helping you after a rough break up (with someone else, not them)?

‧₊˚✧ Let me love you until you love yourself ‧₊˚✧

↳ Helping you after a rough breakup

feat: Cater ❋ Ace ❋ Deuce ❋ Epel genre: hurt/comfort note: no pronouns were used with the reader, reader is implied to be Yuu!reader, depictions of toxic relationships, implications of violence,

Similar prompt: finding out you got brutally rejected

2.7K Followers Writing Event 2023

You see, Cater already had a suspicion that your boyfriend wasn’t the greatest pick. Years of listening to his older sisters talk about red flags to look out has honed his sixth sense about these kind of stuff.

But what was he supposed to tell you? He’s not going to just barge into your relationship and tell you that he feels some off vibes about your man. All he could do was be there for you when you needed an ear to hear you out.

But he started to notice that you were less like yourself as the relationship went on. Your Magicam account wasn’t as active and soon even your close friends weren’t sure when was the last time you hung out with them. Cater could only catch you in class or with your glaring boyfriend clinging to you.

Your relationship finally hit an ugly crescendo when your boyfriend publicly humiliated you and ended things in the open hallway. The reason Cater learned was because you wanted to go out with your friends again, even if he didn’t want to.

Night Raven College has a knack for choosing students with rather vindictive personalities and no matter how subtle it is, Cater is no different. The sociable redhead may not always be the type to step up to lead or start something, but he is more than willing to teach a tactless underclassman a lesson on respect.

It doesn’t matter which dorm your ex is from since the extrovert Cater has friends and contacts of all the Housewardens, vice Housewardens and other notable students with authority. Call it his privilege for his chatty nature and years on this large campus.

With a charming set of words and implications from the smooth-talking Cater, most of them picked up the hint that a certain jerk needed some well-deserved punishment. For disgracing the dorm’s dignity, they all claimed.

With the personified ick dealt with, all of Cater’s attention is on you. The versatile upperclassman can be anything you need in your time of healing. Cafe dates, unhinged frustration venting, screaming karaoke sessions with a chill support group (an exclusive privilege courtesy of the Pop Music Club), or a judgeless crying session as he held you together both metaphorically and literally.

The screaming karaoke and dessert binging was fun and all, but the feeling of Cater’s warm hands as he gently rubbed your back as you hiccuped through your tears was a healing moment that left you raw but appreciative.

Perhaps there was a little bit of guilt, or even something deeper within his heart for you, but as he wrapped his arms around you closer whilst you fell asleep in comfort, Cater thought to himself to protect you from something like this for as long as he can stay with you, for as long as he could do to stay with you.

“Hey now, no tears. Cay-Cay to the rescue!”

Oh he hated your ex from day 1. No, it wasn’t because of his personal feelings for you, it was just literally everything about that jerk. At every chance, Ace would snidely comment and jeer the as*hole. The only reason he would stop was if you personally asked him to get along with him.

“Tch. Fine, I guess”

So Ace is a liar, but at least he’s a good actor. He’s willing to smile and laugh but he never lets the suspicious feeling fade.

That suspicion quickly became rage when Grim told him that jerk of yours broke up with you over text.

Turns out your (ex) boyfriend was dating you in hopes to catch the attention of a crush from his hometown, sending pictures in hopes to stir up some jealousy. Questions became screaming matches in your room and soon you were left a broken mess alone in your bedroom.

When Ace knocked on your door sometime later, you saw him in a familiar heart-shaped collar which wasn’t a surprising image. Without saying much, all Ace offered as a vague explanation was that he got into a fight with some jerk student.

As Ace was getting comfortable on your sofa, Cater later texted you, giving full details of what happened. Turns out the “jerk student” was your ex who was running his mouth oh how you were crazy and unbearable out in the courtyard, where Ace was passing by.

“Riddle is pretty pissed right now. Ace just went crazy on him and wouldn’t let up until we pulled him away. But still, be kind to him, k? He had good intentions.”

Sitting together on the sofa, the two of you made quite an interesting image. Your eyes were red with wet tracks all over your face from crying while Ace had swollen patches of blue and black on his normally boyishly charming face.

You broke the tension. “You didn’t need to do that, you know.”

Ace brushed your words off. “What are you talking about? I did it for me. That dude always rubbed me the wrong way.”

Ace is a liar, but strangely you didn’t mind it when he did it.

“Just so we’re clear, I didn’t do it for you. Alright? Good, so don’t go thinking too deep into it…”

A model student would support all of his peers, Deuce convinced himself. It was why he kept himself from just straight-up wrecking this punk that you found yourself dating. But Deuce trusts you. Maybe Deuce’s misjudging him since he can’t imagine you falling for someone beneath you, and he assumed that despite how he feels about your partner, this dude wouldn’t be stupid enough to not treat you good.

But unbeknownst to Deuce, arguments were common in your relationship with your insecure partner. From complaining that you don’t spend time with him (um, because you were busy saving your friends from overblot?) to outright blaming you for emasculating him in his own relationship because of your popularity in school for your accomplishments.

The breakup itself was honestly anti-climatic, and everyone could see it from a while away so it came to the surprise of no one.

It was the aftermath of all of the arguments with your ex that truly hurt you. What was once a source of pride to you became reasons of your anxiety as you wondered if your ex held truth in his accusations.

“You think you’re perfect ‘cause you’re doing a little better than me? Get over your high horse, you pretentious b-“

“Are you ok?” Deuce’s voice snapped you out of your spiraling thoughts, bringing you back to the library where you were helping Deuce with a subject he was failing.

You tried smiling but Deuce noticed the tenseness of your features and try asking once more, which led you to ultimately voicing your worries.

“Maybe I was being too boastful, I shouldn’t just talk about me- Wait, Deuce?!”

You managed to catch Deuce by the hem of his sleeve before flinching at the sight of the glaring rage in Deuce’s fiery eyes.

“Where is that no-good coward! That punk’s getting what's coming to him!”

It took some time (and getting kicked out from the library) for Deuce to finally settle his rage. Still, he was muttering some choice words to describe your ex which made you chuckle just a little. You wanted the breakup to be civil and simply pass as an unpleasant memory but you admit that seeing someone get mad for your sake was…nice. Almost heart-warming, really.

Suddenly, Deuce turned to face you. Back straight and his strong fist firmly pressed to his chest, Deuce looked to you with pure honesty as he promised to protect you from your worthless ex with everything he’s got.

It took you quite some time to admit that when Deuce made that promise, you felt your heart skip a beat.

“If anyone gives you grief for that, just ignore 'em. Let me handle them, I’m pretty strong.”

Romance honestly flies over Epel’s head. Afterall, the relationships he’s seen are his town’s couples who've been married for decades with kids all grown up, and the ones he’s seen in films and books. All he knew was, if you like someone and you’re dating them, you should be counting yer lucky stars and make sure you treat them right.

So, imagine the genuine look of surprise on his face when his dormmates whispered rumors that you were caught in an ugly argument with your boyfriend, with accusations that your man was actually cheating with someone supposedly prettier than you.

Now, imagine his unbridled rage when Epel found that it was true. Your ex-boyfriend apparently held high expectations of himself and the partners he deemed to be worthy by his side. While he settled for you, he was looking around for another companion that “best suits his standards” as he said.

It took a strict scolding and promise of harsh reprimanding from Vil to calm the young freshman down as his hometown habits rushed back to him. How he wanted to give that no-good son of a backyard mutt a mighty beating for what he did to you.

Instead, Vil suggested that Epel rather hit him where it would really hurt for unsavory fellows like him, through his pride.

“If he thought he was better off with someone that “best suits his standards” as he put it, try proving to him he ended up with what he deserved. ”

After deciphering what Vil meant, Epel used his noggin to hurt your ex where it really hurts. No longer was he the runt of a small village, but a man with various connections and skills to get a leg over his enemies.

With his persistence, he convinced his Spelldrive captain, Leona to sit with you during lunch, and have the Vil Schoenheit spoil you with high-end gifts in public. With the attention of the most famous students showing you favor, everyone in NRC whispered and commented on who really won in the breakup.

“He cheated while dating someone like that? What a mistake.”

Behind his soft expression, Epel mentally smirked at the plummeting image of the man who prioritized fame over love. "You darn right a mistake it was, he thought.

In the entire time Epel treated you like the most important person on campus…in public at least.

In the privacy of your dormroom, you worked hard in holding in your laughter as Epel swore up a storm like a drunken sailor about the worthless ex of yours. Like Vil, it’ll be up to you to make sure he won’t go off picking a fight with your ex.

Still, there was something undeniably true to Epel’s character to defend your honor, however he does it.

“I ain’t too good at these sneaky schemes, but you gotta admit I got ‘im real good. Don’t cha think?”

#twisted wonderland #twst #disney twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland x reader #twst x reader #twst imagines #twst scenarios #twisted wonderland imagines #cater diamond #twst cater x reader #ace trappola #ace trappola x reader #deuce spade #twst deuce x reader #deuce x reader #epel felmier #epel x reader #2.7k followers event

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freak-accident419 · 4 months

Text

Good Tidings

Josh Futturman x GN!Reader

Summary: You and Josh barely have any time to yourselves due time traveling nonstop, trying to save the fate of humanity. However, being at the Futturman’s Christmas dinner party granted you two a fair amount of time.

Word Count: 2.9k

Content: 18+ Smut, MDNI, gender neutral reader (no genitals specified, it’s just vague penetration), cockwarming, lots of fluff, takes place during Future Man S1E6 “A Blowjob Before Dying”, too much shitty sex jokes n puns (im sorry) (not), giddy+silly+sweet love making, you think you are sooo fucking funny, more goofy than serious/lustful, you two are very much in love, more plot (high ass dialogue) than porn tbh

(A/n: Merry Christmas to those who celebrate!! Hope you enjoy this muahahaha and thank you all for your recent support! First smut written on this account, so be gentle with me please !)

You, Tiger, Wolf, and Josh were at the Futturman household, schedule disrupted due to the reluctance of Josh’s parents. They insisted that you all join them for their small Christmas dinner party. You were all sat down at the dining table, as well as the neighbors, Josh’s Uncle Barry, and Diane’s friend, Wanda (who was especially invited to perhaps keep Barry at bay).

While Tiger was mostly impatient and displeased with every mindless convo and laughter, talk revolved around several topics like DNA kits or Wolf’s strangely fascinating culinary.

You sat beside your boyfriend, Josh, slightly nervous about the time you were wasting. Ever since you’ve been dragged into the whole ‘Biotic Wars is real’ and ‘kill or be killed’ shit, you and Josh have been dealing with the worst, unimaginable shit ever. With the two of your adrenaline wearing off, you gradually processed everything that’s happened the past few days since you were never given a break. Hence the hand holding under the table as you two would seek comfort from one another.

But you attempted to distract yourself from the deaths you’ve witnessed and the near-death experiences you’ve had to your best ability by indulging in every conversation.

“Gabe, honey, tell them about—about the recent fishing trip we went on,” Josh’s mother, Diane encouraged to her husband with her sweet, achingly kind voice. You had so much respect for Josh’s parents, so it was pretty easy for you all to hit it off well. They loved you. In fact, they were heavily relieved that Josh had finally found someone, let alone someone as amazing as you.

Gabe let out a hearty chuckle as he prepared himself to tell the table his story.

“So, a couple of days ago, Diane and I went on a small fishing trip. And I remembered an old trick back in the day that attracted a lot of trout,” he explained as you picked up your glass of wine, sipping some generously. Diane smiled at him with a nod as he continued. “One of the very efficient ways to go about fish bait is blowing worms.”

You choke on your wine, holding in a laugh, coughing a bit instead as Josh looks at you with a knowing smile. “I’m sorry, what?” You asked, trying not to grin too widely. Did you hear that right?

“Blowing worms,” Gabe repeated, getting a confined chuckle out of you and Josh. “You inflate the worms with air, which makes them float instead of having your bait be at the very bottom. It’s perfect, especially near the winter time. Worked like a charm.”

“Ohh,” you gasp in wonder. You chuckle to yourself before you spontaneously say, “Yeah, actually, I think I did do that a few times. Blew a-a worm.”

You looked at Josh, thinking you were being hilarious, but he looked at you with surprised eyes and parted lips of shock that slowly transitioned into a smile.

“Really?” Josh’s father expressed with intrigue. “I didn’t even know you fish. You have someone teach you that method, or—”

“Oh, no, Mr. Futturman, I,” you speak as you occasionally switch from looking at him to Josh. “I think it’s a very popular method. It’s a pretty natural instinct, you know? Blowing worms, that is.”

“Wow, really? Always thought it was an old-fashioned sort of thing.”

“Nah, far from old-fashioned, it’s almost contemptuous!”

You did pretty well at suppressing your laughter, because you sounded really earnest. Josh covered his mouth, amused by your subtle humor.

“Joshy, we didn’t know that Y/n likes fishing. We could’ve taken them on our trip. In fact, we could’ve all went,” Diane suggests as she looked at Josh and then you.

It was like everyone at the table was blind to your immature, yet humorous implication. Except, of course, your boyfriend.

“Oh, no worries, Mrs. Futturman,” you insisted kindly. “I don’t usually fish. Plus, blowing worms can be very exhausting.”

“Y/n—” Josh reacted, but interrupted himself with a suppressed laugh.

“You think so?” Mr. Futturman raised an eyebrow. “I just stick a syringe in them, inflate it, and bam, it’s all thick and ready to g—”

You and Josh burst out laughing, holding onto the table and each other. You swore there were slight tears coming out of your eyes as both of your faces were red. You felt overjoyed to feel happiness and delight for the first time ever since your involvement in the mission. And you felt even more glad that it was your boyfriend that you fooled around with.

“Sorry, sorry,” Josh says after his laughter died down as the entire table was confused. “I just—We just thought about a, um, moment when—Um… Actually, Y/n and I did go fishing once. Isn’t that—isn’t that right?”

You nod and go along with it, detaining your giggles.

“Well, anyways, we actually did that method, and yeah, you’re right, it works like a charm!” He exclaimed with joy as his parents smile at him with approval and pride.

“Bet the worm was pretty small, huh?” Tiger jumped in wittily, however, in a coldly nonchalant manner.

“And pathetic!” Wolf blurted.

“Hey, even if that might’ve been true—might’ve—it-it probably had a personality, you know?” He reckoned with a shrug, making you laugh again.

***

“You are—are fucking terrible, you know that?” Josh quickly muttered under his breath as you two continued to kiss each other deeply on his bed. “Those were my parents.”

“C’mon, baby, admit it, it was comedy gold,” you giggle, pressing your lips to his once more by tugging his black, skinny necktie towards you as you remained sitting on his lap.

The dinner party was still going on downstairs. After a long time of looking at each other longingly at the table, you two decided to excuse yourselves in order to “prepare gifts for Josh’s coworkers that he forgotten to wrap” in his room.

When you guys rushed in his room, you couldn’t take your hands off each other, immediately making out once the door was locked. However, you then had to close all his blinds before you met him back on the bed. This wasn’t new to you, none of it was. The soft, warm orange that his room’s light emitted strangely comforted you, as well as being back on his soft, spacey mattress.

Was it a good idea to leave Tiger and Wolf alone with Josh’s family and company? Probably not. But you’ve taught them enough shit. They tolerate Josh’s parents, so why not a few other guests as well? And you’ll only be gone for no longer than five minutes, you’d hoped.

You bring your hands to his pants, attempting to unbuckle his belt. “Shit—What the—What the fuck is this?” You grumble, Josh laughing at you as you struggle.

“I think it’s—” He giggled, bringing his own hands to his belt, trying to remove it, pulling. “I think it’s stuck.”

“What the shit?” You wheeze. “Fuckin’—Fuckin’ cock block!” You continue to mess with the belt, trying your best to unbuckle it.

“Wait, you—you’re almost there, you—”

“Oh my god! Holy shit! I got it!” You let out a surprised gasp, quickly unbuttoning and unzipping his pants right after.

“Oh shit! Flawless victory!” He exclaimed, making you stop in your tracks, looking back up at him.

“You did not just quote Mortal Kombat because I successfully unbuckled your belt,” you raise an eyebrow, nevertheless amused by his dorkiness.

“Maybe,” he answered smugly.

“You’re lucky I am in love with you, otherwise, I probably wouldn’t have let that slide,” you chuckle.

“Oh, come on. You’d love my video game references either way,” he insisted.

“I’m serious, Josh, the amount of things I’ve let slide because I love you is kind of crazy. Let me just say, I am so glad I met you after the ‘apple juice’ incident that Ray told me about.”

“Ray told you about that?”

“He told me a lot of things. Mostly the embarrassing things. I think he wanted to freak me out, you know? Always thought I was too good for you.”

You pulled his pants off, throwing it carelessly down on the floor. Your lips attached once more as he snickered as you then cupped his face with your warm hands. You look at your lover, his big, brown, desperate eyes looking at you with utmost adoration. “Well, jokes on him, he was entirely wrong. You are so good to me, you know that?”

He smiles at you softly, and you could sense how flustered he felt to hear that (the blushing patently gave it away). “You’re the one who’s been on my side since forever. Even when you got involved in all this shit that you didn’t even have to be in. You-You could’ve called me crazy, and-and broken up with me, but you believed me and stayed by my side, even knowing that things were gonna get dirty. And they did, get really dirty.” Rest in peace Janis and Carl? Or, rather, die, you evil perf-cocks? Eh, doesn’t fucking matter. “You’re so good for me, sometimes I can’t believe you’re even real.”

You giggle sweetly as you give him another kiss, a quiet smack caused by your lips deftly leaving his own to speak. “Well, I’m here and I’m real, and I’ll always be there for you, baby,” you reassure. You were perfect for him. Indefinitely.

He smiled blissfully. “I love you so much.”

You two made out passionately until you were laying under him, the lower halves of your bodies bare as you discarded the necessary clothes.

“Do you think your parents and everyone else knew about the worm thing or are they just that… I don’t know… clueless?” You asked endearingly under your breath as your fingers entangle in his soft, brown hair.

“Hmm. Possibly,” he reckons, raising his eyebrows as he thought about it. “That was still kind of evil of you, though.”

“Me, personally, I thought it was hilarious.”

“Blowing worms?”

“C’mon, your father set himself up for that.”

“Tiger called it small,” he muttered lamentably. “And Wolf said it was pathetic.”

“Jeez, whatever happened to personality?” You chuckle softly.

He sighed. “They still sort of called me out.”

“Shut up. It’s average, to say the least. Doesn’t matter either way, you’re enough.”

“But—”

“Josh, if it bothers you this much, then just prove them wrong right now,” you reply with a laugh.

“As in—?”

“Josh, c’mon, we don’t have time anyways. They’re expecting us any minute because of that shitty made-up story excuse. I love foreplay, dude, but I’m pretty sure we didn’t acknowledge the time at all. Quickies are definitely not our cup of tea. Y—” Your breath hitched as you felt his tip prod at your sensitive entrance. He gave you a soft, comforting kiss on the nose. You looked into each other’s eyes deeply, then your lips crashed into each other’s as the two of you stifled your moans once Josh finally thrusted in.

“Y-You know you’re p-perfect just the—mm—way you are, right?” You ask gently, wrapping your arms around his neck.

He smiled at this, kissing your lips once more, beginning to move. Your heart fluttered each second you felt him thrust in and out, slightly and satisfyingly stretching you. His hips moved quite skillfully, but also slightly clumsily, which was nonetheless admirable.

Your usual soft moans and gasps would be replaced by stifled grunts and sighs, due to the company downstairs. As much as you wanted the whole world to know that Josh Futturman was yours and only yours, you also had dignity—plus, it was his goddamn parents downstairs.

You giggled as you felt his nose against yours each rough kiss. “Y-You know, however, I think the only complaint I have about you is the fact that you hate Super Mario Bros.” You point out with a chuckle.

“Y/n, in my—agh—defense, it literally makes no sense. Like, why would there be pipes that are—”

“Okay, why rely solely on logic and rationality, hm, Futturman? I thought video games were all about escape. It’s all just harmless fun.”

“Yeah, well, I’m much more into games with thought-out plots and challenges,” he remarked, making you roll your eyes playfully. “Anyways, it pretty much just got ruined for me even more when Tracy at the video game store talked about Luigi having a very hairy, Italian cock.”

You raise an eyebrow.

“Baby, I love you. However, your goddamn dick is currently inside of me. Please do not talk about Luigi’s theoretic hairy penis.”

“Noted,” he assents, going back to kissing you passionately, while moving slowly inside of you, yet deeper with each thrust. You let out a quiet, pleasured gasp as you felt him fill you perfectly, his hands lovingly gripping your waist to keep you still.

Your eyes closed as you indulged in the feeling of his gentle thrusts, him peppering kisses on your neck, softly chuckling under his breath. He guessed he was still in disbelief that he had someone as amazing as you.

“I… I still can’t believe someone as perfect as you would ever go out with a loser like me,” he scoffed, pressing more kisses against your neck and jaw.

“Hey, seriously?” You frown, holding his face in your hands once more, stroking his cheeks with your thumbs. “You are… a lot of things, Josh. But a loser isn’t one of them. Okay? You are so kind and funny and caring and thoughtful a-and—m-mm—amazing i-in general.”

“I—Fuck. I—I don’t deserve you,” he panted.

“J-Jesus Christ, sh-shut your fuckin’ rathole. Yes you do, baby. You deserve me as much as I deserve you.”

It was becoming harder to focus on your words as you continued to feel an increased sensation and pleasure as his thrusts quicken and falter. You let out a small gasp as you tense things up by wrapping your legs around his waist to bring him in even deeper. You two had been speaking and giggling to each other constantly that you didn’t even notice the lewd, wet, slapping against the skin that came from each heavy thrust. Josh grabbed one of your hands, interlocking your fingers tightly on the mattress beside your head.

“J-Josh, I—” You begin breathlessly.

“I know, me too,” he grunts as soft, inaudible whimpers and whines leave his lips while the movement of his hips stuttered. His rhythm was becoming unsteady, but it was also increasing in speed. “I—Y/n, f-fuck, I’m c—”

“Sh-shit, baby, I—” You pant as you felt closer and closer over the edge, every mere feeling increasing your stimulation. You bring your hand to cover your mouth and suppress any loud moans as you finally released, the knot in your stomach undoing itself as you sigh afterwards once your hand left your mouth. Josh came exactly right after you as his hips jolted for the final time, spilling his warm, white seed inside of you, burying his face in your neck to muffle a high-pitched grunt and acute whines.

You two were breathing heavily, kissing each other’s lips softly and lovingly after you both came down from your high. You two never moved from your position, still fragile and sore. Josh caressed the side of your waist under your shirt, his head resting in your neck as you moved your hand to play with his hair, holding him in your arms.

“This is probably the only time we’ll have together alone before we have to continue with the damn mission,” you figured, tangling his strands of hair in between your fingers.

“It’s bullshit,” he mumbles, his thumb continuing to rub your waist.

“Enjoy the moment while we can?” You suggested with a small chuckle.

“Yeah, I guess,” he sighed dejectedly.

A beat.

“Hm,” you hum thoughtfully.

“Yeah?”

“Nothing, I just… I like it whenever you’re inside of me,” you comment softly. This was probably the most affectionately vulnerable and honest you have been with him. Your tone lacked any intention for humor or lust; you were genuine.

He lifted his head up from your neck. “Seriously?”

“I don’t know. It just feels right. You know, as if you were, like, made for me exactly,” you whispered lovesickly, looking down at his sweet, plump lips to his profound, gorgeous brown eyes. “I wanna stay like this a little longer. You’re so perfect for me. I love you so much.”

“I love you too,” he replied with a smile, kissing your lips soothingly.

Then suddenly,

“Futturman! L/n! Get out of there, we gotta go now! Operation Cameronium!” Tiger called from the other side of the door. “Goddamnit. The fucking—tiny man—baby thing—is, just, really starting to piss me off. Let’s go!”

You and Josh looked at each other for a while in silence before bursting out into laughter.

“We-we better go before she considers murdering little baby Wallace,” you suggest with a soft smile.

“Yeah… Wait. Do you really think—”

“No…” You answer before he could finish his sentence. “I know she seems all stoic on the outside, but I feel like the past few days, she changed a bit. Empathy-wise. Slightly, at the very least.” Josh nods.

“I’m really gonna miss this,” he sighs.

“Me too. But don’t worry, once we fix everything, we have all the time in the world together,” you assert.

“Okay,” he smiles sweetly, kissing your lips before slowly pulling out of you, leaving you to feel empty and slightly bummed.

The two of you, with your clothes back on and hair quickly fixed, you waltzed downstairs with no problem. Your hands had been interlocked, faces a bit flushed as you smile to yourselves.

“You two sure look happy,” Diane expresses joyfully. “You really got into the Christmas spirit, wrapping all those gifts upstairs, huh?”

You giggled under your breath. “Oh, yeah, definitely, Mrs. Futturman. Uh, very much so. I really love Christmas, you know? The gift wrapping Joshy and I did upstairs and, you know, all the Christmas traditions. ‘Specially, ‘specially the yule log.” You look at Josh with a knowing grin as he just listened in, suspecting nothing at all. “Really makes you feel warm inside, am I right?”

624 notes · View notes

fredwkong · 3 months

Text

Himbo Maker: Misha

Misha was an Egirl: a European Guy In Real Life. He would do his makeup, put on fake eyelashes, a wig, and a pair of pink headphones with kitty cat ears, and stream video games online. He loved to troll new viewers by spending an hour or so doing a breathy, feminine voice, and then suddenly hit them with his natural Baltic baritone. The way the chat went crazy made it worth it every time.

The whole game was helped by how petit and curvy Misha had always been. Even in his twenties, he still had a soft, almost girlish body and stood at most of other guys’ sternums. Too bad he wasn’t a trans girl, or at least a gay boy, he sometimes thought, looking at his body in the mirror. Gay guys were supposed to go for little guys who looked like him.

One evening, Misha was just starting his stream when some user started acting really weird in chat. He had a username that almost seemed familiar to Misha, but the guy he was thinking of had always been polite and given insightful comments on Misha’s gaming. This guy’s messages were full of typos, and he couldn’t seem to stop talking about his muscles.

Misha was just about to ban the guy when an alert sounded: Misha’s charming, girly laugh, which indicated a user had just donated a hefty sum. Of course, it was this annoying brodude.

“Uh,” said Misha, almost forgetting to put on his femmy voice, “He says, “Bro, this guy liek wants to chat wiht u on stream.” And there’s a link in the donation.”

Clicking the link, Misha found himself looking at a chat website he’d never seen before. “Hold on, let me share my screen,” he simpered, sharing the chat window. Somehow, his usual screen name was already in the bar. It must have populated from his stream.

Mish-kittycat: Like, heyoooo! You okay with being on stream with me? (✿◠‿◠)

Himbo_mkr: No way, bruh! I love meeting new bros. Like, hi stream!

Misha was a bit offended that this chat partner would refer to him as a “bro.” But stream chat seemed interested, so he thought it could be worth a few minutes to humour the donater. It had been a fair amount of money.

Mish-kittycat: What do you want to talk about UwU

Himbo_mkr: Bro, you know that all I ever talk about are my sick gains and going out with guys, lmao

Okay, so this was a troll. They probably wanted to get Misha banned for lewdness or something. Still, at least it was original that the troll character was a gay guy. He rolled his eyes at the stream and said, out loud in his girl voice, “Looks like someone got mad enough to pay to speak with all this.” He gestured down his slim body in tonight’s outfit, a stereotypical Japanese maid costume.

Himbo_mkr: Huhuhu, bro, you clicked on the link. Didn’t force you to do it.

Misha froze. Of course the troll was watching the stream. “Heh, I don’t let meatheaded bullies boss me around,” he chirped, trying to save face.

Himbo_mkr: You sure? You sure like it when your chat bosses you around, bro.

Now this guy was just lying. Misha scowled, even though he knew the expression would make his foundation crack unattractively. “This is a really weird way to bully someone.” He looked at the stream chat, waiting for his subscribers to back him up.

But the character of the chat seemed to have changed. No, they had always been bossy, Misha suddenly remembered. They would tell Misha how to play his games all the time while he pretended to struggle. It was a key part of the dynamic of his channel that chat bossed him around, and right now they were telling him to go back to chatting with this guy. One guy even messaged, “No more talking, kitty. You’re only allowed to write in the chat.” Misha gave the camera a plaintive look, but listened. He always listened to his chat.

Mish-kittycat: So maybe you’re right about that one thing, but coming in here being rude is totally uncool (งᓀ‸ᓂ)ง

Himbo_mkr: Bro, I think we got off on the wrong foot. I was just tryna compliment you on your sick bis, dude.

Misha cocked his head, confused. He was the opposite of buff, that was why he was so good at dressing as a girl. But as he continued to think about it, he remembered all the hours he spent working on his arms. He kept a set of weights next to his bedroom door, and he did bicep curls to failure every time he went through the doorway. Yeah, his biceps were his pride and joy, and they were usually how he showed off his manliness when he revealed his deep voice and accent.

A tip came in. “Flex for us, kitty,” commanded the text-to-speech voice. With a smirk, Misha lifted up one of his arms, feeling it stretch the sleeve of his maid costume as the veins popped. Too bad the rest of his body hadn’t followed his arms and gotten bulky.

Himbo_mkr: We’re all waiting for you to drop your lifting routine, bro! You’ve been totally blowing up.

Misha blushed at the flattery. His physique wasn’t all that impressive. Sure, now that he thought about it, he had been really hitting the weights a lot and eating right. In fact, his room seemed to be full of lifting clothes and supplements as he looked around. But that was because some of his subscribers kept telling him to get to the gym and hit his macros. It had actually been really freeing to just let people pay to tell him what to do on his fitness journey. And it was paying off! Misha definitely couldn’t pass for a girl these days, which was why the channel had changed to be more about doing stuff in-game for the highest bidders.

The maid costume barely wrapped around Misha’s broad pecs, and the garters had torn when he’d tried to pull them up his thick thighs. Sure, it had been funny when the stream started and the chat had gotten Misha to show off his shoulder raises while dressed in a little maid skirt, but the polyester was really starting to chafe on his smooth muscles. It was a relief when a tip rolled in while Misha flexed and said “Kitty, wear comfy clothes.” The chat oooohed and aaaahed as Misha shucked the maid costume, showing off his bulky chest, and pulled on his favourite comfy shirt instead. Sure, it had some tears and stuff, but as a masculine guy, Misha wasn’t worried about dressing up fancy or anything.

The guy whose chat Misha was streaming had been quiet, so Misha hopped back over and sent another message.

Mish-kittyhunk: Thanks man! It’s all about trusting the process.

Himbo_mkr: I can tell that you trust people, bro! You’re like a puppy lmao.

Well, Misha thought, maybe he did like getting bossed around in chat, but it wasn’t like he trusted everyone blindly! Okay, well, maybe he did tend to stop to help people on the road and then lose his wallet a lot. They looked like they needed help! And maybe he did sometimes click on links that meant he needed to take his phone to the store for them to fix, but so did everyone else!

Looking at the chat, who were all laughing about Misha being a totally trusting puppy, Misha had to finally agree. That was why one of his subscribers had gotten him this headset with floppy dog ears on it, after all.

Mish-puphunk: Haha, you got me, dude! That’s why I clicked on this link, too XD

Himbo_mkr: It’s okay, bro. Lots of gay hunks are pretty dumb, it just adds to that himbo appeal.

This time this guy was definitely making stuff up. Misha was totally straight, he just didn’t do well with girls. Well, that and being a submissive hunk online mostly attracted a gay male fanbase. And, well, now that he thought about it, when was the last time Misha had really thought about a girl? Like, maybe if it was a domme? But no, even then, Misha would really prefer a guy to be involved at some point. This guy was probably right, Misha was gay.

It was super hard to think. There was a reason that Misha preferred to let chat do the thinking for him. Even before he realised how much he loved to listen when men told him what to do, Misha had never been much of a deep thinker. That was why most of the stuff in his room was gym gear, gaming stuff, or whatever his subscribers bought for him. Lately, they had been really loving when Misha wore even less clothes and showed off more of his growing body, and Misha was happy to oblige as long as they kept telling him what to do!

Mish-puphunk: Lol I guess you’re right! I just wanna give sirs what they want

Himbo_mkr: Bro, I totally get why you love pup play so much. You just love being obedient and dumb and empty lmao. You, like, pretty much live in your mask these days.

A pup mask…Misha was pretty sure one of his subscribers had sent him one of those once, but it had been really confusing to put on and he’d only worn it once. No, wait, that wasn’t right. Misha was such a ditz! He’d loved the experience of putting on the pup mask and letting himself be a dumb pup for his chat. And chat had loved sending in tips to give him commands like “sit,” “roll over,” and “stick a tail in your hole.”

It had been so popular that the subscribers had told Misha to make it a weekly thing, then a biweekly thing, and by now it had pretty much become what Misha did during his streams. While chatting with this guy had been fun, Misha really wanted to get on with the stream and mask up. He opened his mouth to tell the viewers that, but then remembered that he had been ordered not to talk. Too bad, chat would only hear his deep, resonant voice if they ordered him to bark after he put on his mask.

Mish-puphunk: Okay dude, I gotta go be a good dumb pup now.

Himbo_mkr: Got it, bruh! You got a bunch of hunky doms to please by being a good pup slut!

Chat cheered as Misha stopped streaming the chat window and winked at the camera. An especially hung dom who loved to tip had won the bid war last night to decide what Misha wore, so Misha fondled the straps of his leather harness as he got up to grab his mask. He wondered what his chat full of muscular, horny himbo doms would have him do today.

Misha slipped on the mask and let his mind go blank.

#male transformation #mental change #male tf #muscle tf #reality change #dumber tf #himbofication #himbo maker #pup tf #sub tf #all fwkong

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perlelune · 3 months

Text

no body, no crime | Coriolanus Snow | x.

Your childhood friend returns from his exile in district 12, but he's not the sweet, quiet boy you once knew anymore.

Warnings: NON-CON, Plinth!Reader, Gaslighting, Drugging, Murder, Forced Marriage, Forced Pregnancy, Loss of Virginity, Somnophilia

This is a dark story. Heed warnings before reading under the cut.

𝖘𝖊𝖗𝖎𝖊𝖘 𝖒𝖆𝖘𝖙𝖊𝖗𝖑𝖎𝖘𝖙

Disbelief shimmers in William’s green gaze.

“You’re joking…” He cradles your face, searching your eyes. They are steadily filling with tears. He releases you, retreating as his face distorts with shock. “You’re…not?” He runs his fingers through his brown locks. “God, I’m such an idiot.” He unleashes a humorless laugh. “It’s him, isn’t it?”

Your stomach sinks.

“This entire time. I waited for you. I trusted you. And you just…What? A-Are you with him now?” The betrayal quivering in his tone shatters your heart to pieces.

You lower your head and mumble, “It’s complicated…”

“No it’s not. It’s actually quite simple. Do you love him or do you love me? Do you want to marry me or do you want to marry him?”

William’s anger and frustration coat the air, his voice growing louder with every word. You tremble. Your fiancé’s never yelled at you like this before. You’ve argued, of course, like every couple does. But never like this. And never has he looked at you like that. Like you’re a stranger. You wish the earth would open up and swallow you.

“I…”

“Answer me!”

You jolt and step back, the heel of your shoe hitting the bottom of the stairs.

Your father appears in the corner of your vision. An exhale of surprise leaves you. He wedges himself between you and William.

“Do not dare raise your voice at my daughter, young man,” Strabo thunders. You gape at his back. It’s the first time you’ve heard your dad use such a furious tone of voice.

William lifts his hands defensively.

“I’m sorry. I’m just trying to understand-”

“I think it’s best if you go. Now,” your father urges, pointing at the door.

Your fiancé’s shoulders sag. He tosses you one last, heavy look, his jaw clenching.

“Yeah, maybe it’s for the best,” he belatedly grits out.

The second William slams the door shut, you’re in your father’s arms. The fat tears rolling down your cheeks drench his shirt.

“Dad…”

“It’s okay, sweetie. It’s okay.”

He rubs soothing circles on your back as you bury your head in his chest. You sniffle as a sob spills from your throat.

You doubt anything will ever be okay.

The rest of the day is spent in your room weeping underneath your blankets. It’s a wonder there’s any water left in your body, the ceaseless flow of tears soaking your pillows and sheets. Ma and Dad keep visiting your room, bringing you food and trying their best to lighten your spirits.

But nothing can keep you from drowning in your sorrows. William was the best thing that ever happened to you. You remember when you first met him at the University. The two of you were paired for a project and ended up hitting it off while working together. You didn’t even expect him to ask you out. It was no secret half the girls in your cohort harbored a crush on him. And with his boyish charm and outgoing personality, a contrast to your more withdrawn, lonely nature, you never imagined he’d seek your company past the project.

But he did, constantly finding lame excuses to talk to you like asking for your notes on a class or lying about needing a pen for a quizz. One thing led to another and, after a few months of courting, he got on one knee and asked for your hand.

Then Janus died. Your world collapsed. Colors dimmed around you. Everything stopped making sense. Still…William did. Whenever you were around him, you could pretend away your grief, laugh away your pain.

Your heart wasn’t so broken.

And now…you don’t think it’ll ever be put back together.

For days on end, you don’t leave your bed. The sun rises; it sets. Yet the same pains shackle you to your bedroom. Quicksands of guilt and sorrow suffocate you.

…Until you’re swept by a sickness one day.

It happens a little under a week after your return. You rush to your bathroom and pitch forward, dry heaving the near vacant contents of your stomach into the toilet bowl. You then huddle on the floor, hugging your stomach as pain pulses through your midriff. Your brows collide in confusion. Hardly a bite of anything has crossed past your lips these days, as you only chewed on a few glum bites of the meals Ma brought to your room. Yet you are nauseous, cramps twisting your insides.

You bolt upward, racing to the toilet bowl again as another surge of queasiness takes you. Following that, you crash into a heap on the floor. Shuddering, you wipe the back of your mouth.

You crawl onto the floor, all the way to your bed.

Every day after this one, you awake sick and cranky, the same ache and nausea plaguing you. You also begin to experience faint headaches. It becomes dire enough for your parents to summon a doctor. However many times, he checks you out, he finds nothing amiss or wrong with you. Throughout the checkup, concern is etched on your parents’ faces. You’re forced to promise them that you’re alright and that, to prove it, you’ll show up for family dinner as you did before. Your father pats your cheek, visibly relieved, but the concern on your mother’s face doesn’t relent. She keeps scrutinizing you with a strange look on her face, one you’re not sure what to make of.

Still, even as you hug Ma and Dad, dread creeps inside you. Something else could still be wrong with you. The kind of thing there isn’t a quick fix-it for. The kind of thing you’d have to deal with for the rest of your life.

But you don’t let your mind wander there. Not yet.

As you end the day with yet another bout of vomiting and stabbing cramps, your mother rushes upstairs. She sinks to her knees at your side and strokes your hair.

“Are you alright? I heard you.” She frowns as she takes in your shuddering frame. “Perhaps we should call the doctor again so he can do more tests…”

You bristle. More tests would mean exploring other possible causes for your affliction. You can’t risk that. Not with Ma and Dad involved.

“It’s nothing, Ma,” you dismiss with haste. You put a hand on her arm. “Could we go to the apothecary this evening?” Her puzzled look draws a nervous chuckle from you. Twisting your hands, you chime falsely, “I bet it’s just a nasty stomach bug.”

Her frown deepens. “A bug? But you haven’t eaten very much lately.”

You shrug.

“It can still happen.” You slip on a mask of cheerfulness. “I’m sure I’ll be right as rain again with some ginger and camomile, Ma.”

“If you say so,” she says, returning your smile.

You’re a bit unsettled as you find yourself outside. The brightness of the sun sears your eyelids. You squint at the blue sky. You wobble down the stairs as your mother holds your arm. You’ve grown so accustomed to keeping yourself cloistered inside, either by your own will or the will of…others. Strolling along the cobblestoned path while the winter breeze caresses your face has a strange tickle running through you.

An awkward silence hangs between you and your mother once you’re in the back of a taxi.

Your fingers twiddle in your lap as you keep your eyes low. Who knows what Ma could discern in your gaze. You never managed to conceal much from her ever since you were a little girl. She was always freakishly aware of every blunder, bad grade and secret.

Her motherly instinct is infallible.

“Dad and I haven’t seen much of you these days,” she suddenly notes, causing your head to whip up. “I know you’re sad about William but…” She hesitates, gauging you before stating, “I think it’s a good thing.”

“Ma…”

“He was never right for you,” she insists, her inflection stern. “You’re a Plinth. You should aim higher.”

“Mother!” you hiss.

She shakes her head. “I’m sorry, sweetie, but it needed to be said.” She reaches out to drape her hand over yours. “You’re hurting right now but it’ll all be for the best in the end. You have a bright future ahead of you. That young man, nice as he is, was just holding you back.”

Mouth agape, you stare at your mother. While you know that she and Dad have never cradled William near their heart and weren’t too thrilled with your decision to marry him, you never expected her to be so callous about your engagement ending. In her mouth, it nearly sounds like a business deal gone wrong. But she knew William, talked to him many times, saw you with him. She has to understand how much losing him means to you. How can she be so cold and dismissive about it? You quell the budding sobs in your throat.

The quickness of the drive to the shop is a small mercy you bask in. After your mother spoke, the air in the car grew heavier, every lungful becoming torturous.

You hastily climb outside the car once it comes to a stop in front of the apothecary.

Windchimes sing above the door as you enter, your mother at your heel.

You linger by every shelf, pretending to be lost between all the labels.

“We could call the clerk to help…”

“No, it’s okay,” you cut her off. You giggle and shrug. “I like taking my time. Actually, you know what?” You grab a vial and shake it, pretending to study the label. You wave your hand at your mother. “I’m gonna stay behind and gather some more herbs. You should go. I’ll be fine on my own.”

Befuddlement knits her brow. “I could stay…”

“I won’t be long,” you snap, your lips curving in a wide, painful grin. You squeeze her arm, your tone softening. “I promise. Just wait for me in the car, Ma. Then we could stop by a café and have a bite. How does that sound?”

She yields with a nod. “That sounds lovely.”

Relief fills you when she walks away.

The second she’s out the door, you’re racing to the front desk.

“I need a pregnancy test, please,” you blurt out, your voice barely above a breath as you keep stealing wary glances behind you.

The mere utterance of the request has your insides coiling in horror. For a while, you were in staunch denial of that being a possibility. But you mulled it over, long and hard. It made you realize that, besides the sickness you’ve experienced lately, you also can’t remember the last time you had your monthly bleeding. You’ve never been late before. Not even once. And while things are a little fuzzy in your head…you’re pretty sure over two months isn’t a good sign.

The clerk blinks at you, seemingly taken aback. Still, she silently moves her head in agreement and dives through a door leading to what you assume to be the back of the shop.

The wait is agony. You count every second, praying your mother won’t show up out of the blue and start questioning what you’re up to.

When the clerk returns, you free a deep breath.

She places a small, clear vial inside your palm. You give her an inquiring look.

“You must…relieve yourself and transfer it in this vial,” she explains. “If it turns blue, well congratulations are in order.” Her smile dies as she notices your tight expression. “Or perhaps…not?”

“Thank you very much,” you say, carefully squeezing the vial and shoving it at the very bottom of your bag.

For good form, you ask for some medicinal herbs, some for stomach pains and others for sleeplessness. Just in case your mother inquires about your purchases. One can never be too careful.

When you’re back inside the car, your mother beams at you.

“Did you find what you were looking for, sweetie?”

“Y-Yes, I did, mother,” you stammer, clearing your throat and letting your gaze roam outside the window.

You’re thankful she cannot hear the cacophony of your pounding heart.

You spend the rest of the evening with your mother, drinking tea and eating cake while she babbles about trivial topics. You try your best to listen, giving vague, half-hearted replies.

But your mind is already far away, a million thoughts bumping inside your head.

The entire evening, you’re restless, eager to go home and get answers to your questions.

It requires every morsel of self-control within you not to make a beeline upstairs once the two of you are back home. You give a swift apology and tell your mother the day’s exhausted you and you need a quick nap. She reminds you that dinner is in less than two hours and you need to dress up. You don’t argue, all too happy to finally be on your own.

Once the door to your bedroom is closed, you slump against it, all the tension in your body draining all at once. You take a minute to breathe, leaning your head against the wood.

You retrieve the vial inside your bag. Your hands quake. Your heart drums.

Hesitation slithers through you. What if you just tossed it out the window, forgot about all this?

No. This isn’t something you can cower or hide from. You have to face this.

Your entire life could change in an instant. And it might be about more than just your life.

Shaking from head to toe, you proceed inside the bathroom. You pee in a glass and pour a small amount in the vial.

Insides painfully tight, you chew on your lip as you wait.

Stay clear, stay clear, you pray in silence, as if the water could hear your plea and change the course of your fate by some fantastical twist.

After a few minutes, blue starts bleeding inside the water. It doesn’t stop until all of it has morphed into the horrifying color, bubbles rising to the surface.

The air in your lungs falters. The vial crashes to the floor, scattering into tiny shards as you collapse on the floor of your bathroom.

You gape at the blue puddle on the floor. Maybe it’s a mistake. Tests aren’t always foolproof. They’re wrong sometimes. Perhaps yours was defective.

For a while, you loiter in your denial, conjuring a plethora of reasons why this isn’t happening.

Then you slowly blink. You realize the puddle hasn’t moved. The shards are still on the floor. The blue isn’t gone.

An audible exhale bursts from your chest.

Despite your desire to pretend otherwise, you can’t escape the truth. The ghastly, awful truth. There are no more ifs and buts, no ‘perhaps’, no ‘maybe’…Just the reality that will make itself known to all much sooner than you’d like.

You’re going to be a mother. You’re carrying Coriolanus Snow’s child. The urge to puke, cry and scream all at once surges through you.

“Sweetie, dinner’s ready.”

Your mother’s abrupt call from downstairs has your heart miss a beat.

“I’m not hungry, mom,” you reply automatically, tamping down the quiver in your voice.

“You promised,” she yells.

Right. You did. Perhaps it was foolish of you. How can you carry on with dinner and smile at your parents as if everything’s normal? As if your whole life didn’t take a gigantic turn…the biggest one there could ever be.

You collect yourself. You rub your sweaty palms on your skirt and pick a random dress from your wardrobe. You’re a little shocked to find the closet half-empty, gut wrenching as you remember a good chunk of your clothes are still at the Snows’ apartment.

Emptying your thoughts, you get dressed, your fingers slipping as you fumble with the buttons of your dress.

Get it together.

You slap your cheeks and will yourself to act normal. You’ll figure out the next steps later. Right now, you need to make it through dinner.

The facsimile of a smile nudges your lips upward as you drag your feet downstairs.

However all shallow semblance of happiness evaporates from your face when you take in who’s standing at the bottom of the stairs by your parents.

His smooth lilt ripples through the room.

“Hey, princess.”

Your stomach drops to your feet. Victory sways in his cobalt orbs as he savors your reaction.

He looks the exact same as the last time you saw him, simply more put together in his crisp red suit and white shirt, his blonde locks slicked back from his face.

Every cell in your body is screeching at you to run from him. As far as you can. For as long as you can. And never look back.

Your fingers clutch the stairs’ handrail.

Your appalled gaze turns to your parents. They are entirely too calm for your liking. In fact, they appear more wary of you than him.

“What’s going on? W-Why is he here?”

Your father takes careful steps towards you.

“Sweetheart, maybe we should sit, have a discussion as a family…”

You scoff, shying away from his outstretched hand.

“But he’s not…He’s not part of our family. Or did you forget, Dad?”

Your father’s shoulders fall, a great weariness settling upon his features. In that moment, he looks every bit of his years, all the built-up grief and exhaustion displayed on his face.

“Yes, but, in the current circumstances-”

“What circumstances?” you interrupt.

“Stop it,” Ma snaps. She sighs, approaching you. You stiffen. “We’re not stupid.” She lifts her hand to cup your cheek, her voice mellowing. “You’re pregnant, aren’t you, sweetie?”

Your eyes bulge, shock striking you mute.

Coriolanus uses that moment to join your mother’s side. He places a soothing hand on her shoulder.

Your heart threatens to leap outside your chest when his eyes lock with yours.

“Your father’s right, princess. How about you come down so we can talk about this…” He flashes you a wicked smile. “As a family.”

#dark!coriolanus snow #coriolanus snow #coriolanus snow x reader #the ballad of songbirds and snakes #hunger games #tbosas fanfiction #dark!coriolanus snow x reader

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cupid-styles · 3 months

Text

drunk conversations (hockey!h x ballerina!yn)

another hockey!h x ballerina!yn blurb bc im a wh*re for them and they're so fun to write!!! kind of sort of builds on this blurb from monday if u missed it !

word count: 1.5k

content warnings: alcohol, harry being a bit possessive, brief unwanted touching (not sexual, not done by harry)

hockey!h masterlist

main masterlist | talk to me

patreon

. . .

Harry’s drunk, but he’s not drunk enough to ignore the fact that Y/N is uncomfortable.

He doesn’t mean to stare. He didn’t even notice that they were at the same bar until about an hour ago, when his eyes were scanning over the crowds of people and he accidentally zeroed in on her. At the time, she had been with her friends, chatting and laughing. In her natural state, she looked happy. Glowing. Pretty.

But the friends she came with have scattered since then, and now she’s pinned beneath the glare of some guy Harry’s seen a few times on campus. They’ve never spoken, but he sees him out every now and then, and he’s always doing the same thing — talking up girls, staring at them like they’re pieces of meat. It made him feel sick then, but it makes him feel insane knowing that he’s doing it to Y/N.

Gripping his drink in his hand, he can’t help but narrow his eyes at the man. Her body language is blatantly uncomfortable — she’s nearly carrowing underneath his intense gaze, smiling tightly as she nods her head when it seems appropriate. Every few minutes, she’ll glance away from him, as if she’s looking for a friend to rescue her.

Harry doesn’t believe in the whole prince charming, knight in shining armor thing. He’ll never come running unless a friend signals that they need him. But when he watches him grab her face and redirect it back towards him, making her eyes startle widely, he’s on his feet before he can even think about what he’s doing.

“Hey!” he shouts, ambling towards the duo. Y/N’s head snaps towards him, her lips parted slightly, and the man’s eyebrows furrow in confusion. “The fuck do you think you’re doing?”

“Harry—”

“What do you mean?” he sneers, standing from his bar stool.

“She’s clearly not interested,” Harry growls, standing beside Y/N protectively. “Fuck off, yeah? Don’t fucking touch her unless she asks you to.”

“How do you know she’s not interested?”

“Harry—”

He glances down at her, and his heart nearly shatters in his chest when he sees her watery eyes. She’s giving him a silent plea to stop so he presses his lips into a thin line, reality hitting him square in the face. He didn’t have a reason to do this. Y/N isn’t his, and she doesn’t need him to stand up for her.

Embarrassed, Harry stumbles away. He can hear his friends calling after him, but he needs air. When he makes his way out of the crowded bar and the chilly winter climate hits him, he slides down against the brick exterior of the bar, letting out a shaky breath.

What is he doing?

With his eyes shut tightly, he doesn’t even notice when Y/N sits down next to him. It takes him a few moments to bat his eyelashes open, swallowing as he takes in her bundled up form. She has a puffer jacket wrapped around her, her breath creating thick clouds every time she exhales.

“You alright?” she asks softly. Harry nods, leaning his head back.

“Sorry about that,” he mutters, “I don’t know what got into me.”

She shrugs her shoulders. “To be fair, I was uncomfortable, and I didn’t like that he touched me.”

That makes Harry feel a tad bit better, but he’s still overwhelmed with humiliation. He can’t stop playing the interaction in his head, replaying how ridiculous he must’ve looked.

“Are you okay, then?” Harry asks a few moments later.

She hums, picking at a loose thread from the hem of her sweater. “I’m drunk.” she admits with a soft peel of laughter.

“Me too.”

They both chuckle lightly. Y/N glances at Harry in her peripheral vision. Maybe it’s the wine goggles, or maybe it’s because she, admittedly so, is thankful he stepped in the way he did, but she thinks he looks cute. Drunk and flushed, a dimple popping out on his right cheek every time he smiles or laughs, Y/N wishes she could memorize the way he looks right now.

It would be easier to get along with him if he always acted this way.

“Why are we so mean to each other?” she blurts out. Harry leans his cheek on his knee, bunching his sweater up over his hands. With a wrinkle between his brows, he contemplates her question.

“You don’t like me,” he answers slowly. “I guess that’s not a reason, but… that’s how it happened, isn’t it?”

“I only started acting this way because you tease me all the time.”

Harry shrugs. “I don’t mean it.”

She scoffs, “You sure act like you do.”

His throat goes dry. He supposes she doesn’t have a reason to think otherwise, given the childish, mocking nature of most of their interactions. If he’s being truthful, though, he hates that.

“It’s just… it’s stupid, isn’t it?” he asks, not entirely sure if he’s being rhetorical. “That we’re so rude to one another for no reason.”

“Well, I don’t like the way you speak to me,” Y/N says with a straightened spine. Harry glances at her, his eyes dipping to the long sleeve black shirt she’s wearing. The back of it exposes her spine, all the way down to just above where her hips begin. He swallows, willing his drunk brain to pay attention.

“I’m sorry.” he rasps. He means it, or at least Drunk Harry does.

She hums, pulling her jacket tighter around her body.

“Do you have a cigarette I can bum?” he asks. He doesn’t actually want one and he only ever smokes them when he’s drinking — they’re bad for the lungs and all, and Coach would kill him for it anyway — but he’s willing to say anything to change the subject. When he looks at her, she’s nibbling on her bottom lip, lost in thought, but shakes her head.

“No, sorry. I don’t smoke,” she swallows. “How much do you think we’ll regret this conversation tomorrow?”

“What d’you mean?”

“I’m always embarrassed by the shit I say when I’m fucked,” Y/N admits. “Spend most of my hangover anxious about whatever came out of my mouth.”

Harry chuckles, swaying a bit as he stands up from his seat on the sidewalk. He looks down at her expectedly, reaching his hand out to help her up.

“C’mon then. Walk me home. We’re this far, we may as well really embarrass ourselves.”

Y/N laughs, crinkles forming in the creases of her eyes. She stands across from him, looking as if she’s actually contemplating it for a moment — but then she bites her lip, shaking her head.

“What, you don’t wanna come smoke out the window at Casa de Harry?”

That really makes her giggle and Harry can’t help but grin, his chest warming at the feeling of making her laugh.

“No, I should get back to my friends.” she says. She rolls her lips into her mouth and bounces on her feet, the cold clearly getting to her. “Are you really going home?”

He nods. “Change your mind?”

“No, I’ve never smoked a cigarette and I don’t plan on tonight being the night.”

“I’ll get you there eventually.”

She rolls her eyes, though the small smile on her lips tells him that he’s done something right tonight.

“If you’re heading back alone, can you just text me so I know you make it home safe?” she asks, twisting her body to face the entrance of the bar. She turns to see his surprised expression, but he nods, stuffing his hands in the pockets of his trousers.

“Sure,” he replies, “I can do that.”

“Okay. Thanks, Harry.”

“You’re welcome, Y/N.”

She blinks, standing there for a beat longer. She looks like she’s thinking about something again, but instead she flashes him a tight smile and walks back inside.

When Harry’s hustled home safely, he brings up their text thread. It’s a recent one in his history, since she sent him some stretches to do to help with his achy hips a few days ago. He nibbles on his bottom lip as he quickly writes out a message — the cold sobered him up a fair amount, but he’s still tipsy enough to not be embarrassed by this tonight. Tomorrow will be a different story.

At the bar, Y/N’s smiling to herself as she reads his text: Made it home. I hope we can start being nice to each other.

“Y/NNNNN,” a drunken peel of laughter from Lea drags her attention from her phone, “Who are you texting?!”

She laughs and stuffs her phone back in her pocket. “No one, nosy!”

“‘s Harry,” Rena slurs, eyes widening playfully as she lifts her drink to her lips, “You two just really need to hate fuck and get it out of your systems already!”

Y/N rolls her eyes, waving them off as they begin to chatter about something else — but her mind is elsewhere, her eyes mentally scanning over Harry’s biceps bulging beneath the tee-shirt he wore tonight, or his toned abs shaking just a bit in their yoga class earlier this week.

And the more she contemplates it, the more she wonders if an alcohol-fueled hate fuck is exactly what they need.

#writing #hockey h #harry styles #harry styles writing #harry styles fic #harry styles blurb #harry styles imagine #harry styles fanfic #harry styles fan fic #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fluff #harry styles one direction #harry styles x reader #harry styles smut #one direction #harry styles one shot #harry styles oneshot #harry styles angst #harry styles fic rec

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b1rds3ye · 10 months

Text

Victory Kiss

Turns out Graves gets very passionate when celebrating a successful mission. And when you’re nearby you end up facing the brunt of it.

Pairing: Phillip Graves x GN!Reader

Reader Aliases: Chief

Genre: Fluff, Comedy, Pre-MWII

Word Count: 1.5k

Warning: Graves kisses reader without prior consent (not malicious but please read at your own discretion)

A/N: Probably OOC Graves but imagining this was too entertaining to me 😋

You’ve gotten used to this.

You’ve gotten used to Graves’ infectious energy after a hard-earned win. He was a natural leader, cunning and brimming with charisma, but carefully restrained as to not be impulsive in high stakes situations. But when the stakes were low - such as times like now - Graves was free to be as expressive as he wished. And as second in command to Shadow Company, required to always stand by his side, you got front tickets to watch it unfold.

Shadow Company had offered unofficial air support in the depths of Kastovia. With every operation the stakes were getting higher and higher. After deploying all ammunition until resources were depleted, it seemed the entire aircraft waited with bated breath as you surveyed the ground through a heads up display. You sensed Graves beside you, his looming shadow gave more contrast to the monochromatic screen. Each pixel flickered from the daylight, the movement of trees and friendlies through the screen setting false flags in your mind.

You pulled back to look at Graves. His face was stern, the muscles in his face taut, eyebrows slightly furrowed as he tried to read your neutral expression. You shook your head.

“Confirmed hit, all hostiles eliminated.”

And there it was, like a switch flicked inside of him, you felt a little proud that you were the one who triggered it. Graves slammed his hands on the front console, pushing himself off to stand tall, brimming with energy. He was now adorning that familiar smile, a little wonky but charming all the same. With a heavy arm, he gave you a hefty slap on the back in congratulations, one that would’ve sent your head through the display if you weren’t prepared.

“That’s what I’m fucking talking about Shadows, this is how you get the job done!”

The entire atmosphere of the compartment lifted, you wouldn’t be surprised if the aircraft itself increased in elevation. There were sighs of relief, cheers of joy and hugs of a job well done. You never got sick of this sight, it reminded you what you were fighting for, to bring these boys home and secure victory.

It was a familiar sight, but it was comfortingly predictable. You watched with amusement as Graves paced around the room, praising each individual member in a voice so loud it damaged your ears once, then bounced off the walls to hurt your hearing for a second round. Each recruit responded with the signature ‘yup-yup’ and beaming smile. With each comment given, Graves was getting more and more drunk off the adrenaline which after months of observing him, came with some interesting habits of his.

It was fun hearing him swear like a sailor when he usually keeps his language so restrained he could be put on a children’s show.

“I saw your shots Erikson, that was the shit.”

“Vance you saved our fuckin’ asses with that extra fire.”

“Send this mission report to Shepherd and your dads will be back with the milk before you fucking know it!”

You’re pretty sure Graves has no idea what’s coming out of his mouth at this rate and to be fair neither do you nor the rest of the Shadows.

You stifled a snicker as you watched on. He continued with his questionable praise, not even stopping at the aircraft itself to which he gave an encouraging spank to the metal wall, only to recoil his arm when it unmistakably hurt his palm. Even on the other side of the aircraft, you caught snippets of what he said and you were sure the cheerful laughs of the Shadows were out of respect and not because they understood him. Although with an accent and voice like his, he could make a nonsensical string of sounds and you’d be nodding along.

Graves had gone full circle and made his way back to you.

“And to the soldier of the hour.”

He reared his head to you with such a leading force that the rest of his body had a hard time keeping up. His arms swayed from the momentum.

Just like every routine celebration, he planted his hands securely on your shoulders. His face is graced with the same charming smile he’s given you for months. Even under the red lighting of the aircraft he looked nothing short of a budding hero, the blue of his irises shone against the shadows cast over his face.

You expected the praise.

“Beautiful fuckin’ work, Chief.”

What you didn’t expect was the kiss that came straight afterwards.

You didn’t even have time to reply as Graves used his leverage on your shoulders to pull you in, lips crashing against yours. It was chaste, but the sheer strength he had made you sure your lips will bruise. Your mind blanked, adrenaline numbing any potential pains. The whirring of the aircraft’s turbo engines were drowned out, your vision dimming at the edges as all your senses honed in on Graves’ lips pressed into yours. It lasted no more than a single second until he separated from you, lips parting with an exaggerated but unintentional mwah.

“Dunno what I’d do without you,” he breathed out, only for you to hear. He watched you innocently, the skin around his eyes wrinkled in excitement, hands drifting down until they were on your biceps, rubbing your arms affectionately. However, you had to tear your gaze away from him and to the rest of the aircraft.

Graves just kissed you…

… in front of Shadow Company.

Your stomach dropped as you made eye contact with the entire team who now watched the two of you like teens tuning in to the hottest new flick. They were here for the drama, quiet as they waited for your response but smiles of anticipation creeping onto their faces.

“Eyes off, Shadows.”

Graves’ voice returned to its usual commanding tone, as though you were back in the mission. There was the grumble of ‘yup-yup’s’ as the rest of the team made the show of focusing on their stations (but you knew they were still sneaking glances whenever possible). Graves reoriented the two of you until you were against the wall, using himself to obscure the company’s view of you.

“Fuckin’ beautiful,” Graves muttered absentmindedly. He sounded more grounded, but he still needed to catch up on his breath, chest heaving in and out.

“It was a damn clean mission, Graves.”

“I ain’t talkin’ about the mission.”

Graves gives you his signature cocky smirk, waiting for a few moments for you to reply with your usual reassurance. But no thoughts were crossing your mind, instead it was aimlessly swimming in his attention. His arms that latched onto you were getting stronger, fingers tightening and burrowing into the narrow space between your tactical gear and shirt. His pupils were blown out, puppy-like as they searched you. But you couldn’t reply, not when you were drinking him in like he was to you. Your silence started to become overwhelming, crashing against Graves’ confidence and his smile fell, bravado collapsing with it.

“No good?” He faltered, letting his head hang low. He let out a quiet curse under his breath. “You put up with a lot of Shadow bullshit, both from them and me… I got lost in the moment.”

His attention turns to his hands that are on your arms. The pads of his thumbs rub your shirt fabric soothingly before dropping his hands to his sides. He gives you one final reassuring pat on the back, half-hearted and lacking its usual strength.

“I misread us,” he pursed his lips as he reflected, eventually shaking his head and tutting his lips disapprovingly at himself. “This is on me.”

“What?” You force yourself out of your stupor upon noticing Graves’ dejected form. You hurriedly try to pick him up, now you were the one putting your hands on his shoulders. “No, I just- I didn’t expect it. It was a surprise.”

“… you like surprises?” He looked up at you through his lashes, eyes brimming full of hope. You sometimes forget he’s your superior when he dials up his boyish charm.

“If they’re all like that then yes.”

“Then there’s plenty more where that came from, darlin'.”

His smug grin was back in full force, he only allowed himself a split second to memorise your shocked expression before turning away so you couldn’t respond. He rouses the rest of the Shadows up with an authoritative clear of the throat. He stands tall, back to the restrained commander role but not without a hand sneaking up to settle on the small of your back. Even as he assumed his professional role once again, the zeal in his voice was unmatched.

“Excellent work all ‘round boys. Let’s bring this aircraft back home.”

There were affirmative responses all round, but a curious Shadow couldn’t help but poke their head out of their station.

“So, uh, Graves. Are you and Chief a thing now?”

“Speak outta line like that again and you’re on cleanin’ duty for the next month, Sergeant.”

“… yup-yup.”

Call of Duty Masterlist

#cod x reader #cod x gn!reader #cod x you #call of duty x reader #cod fluff #phillip graves #phillip graves x you #phillip graves x reader #philip graves x reader #cod mw2 #cod fanfic #call of duty modern warfare #/*avery actually writes*/

1K notes · View notes

hischeapcigar · 10 months

Text

𝓈𝓉𝓇𝒶𝓌𝒷𝑒𝓇𝓇𝒾𝑒𝓈 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝒸𝒾𝑔𝒶𝓇𝑒𝓉𝓉𝑒𝓈

Pre-outbreak Joel Miller x reader

Part: 1 2 3 4

Summary: you're falling in love with the person your dad hates the most

Word count: 3.6k ish

Warning: none except your father is a bit deranged so maybe that's all

a/n: it was supposed to be cute little one shot but i think it's gonna be series lolol. reblogs and comments are appreciated. love you mwah

Your dad hated Joel. You never knew why but it had been like this as far as you could think. Your father played the major role in trying his best to keep you away from Joel.

BBQ party? Everyone's invited except Joel.

Your birthday? Everyone but Joel

He’s grumpy all day? Must've had an interaction with Joel

He even hit Joel, who obviously retaliated but the neighbors showed up to resolve the matter.

The whole neighborhood knew. How could they not? Your dad insulted him behind his back, which some entertained, but most of them grumbled and left the room. Because they knew Joel and they knew your dad too.

Even you felt pity for Joel, the few rare interactions told you he may look big and fierce, but he was a charmer. Sarah’s happy face was proof of his kind nature and your anxious state of mind was a reflection of your dad’s nature.

You once tried to defend Joel, but your father smashed the glass so hard, a sharp piece pierced the skin of your foot, leaving a scar.

Your parents always change the subject every time you try to bring it up,

“Its past, it doesn’t matter,” they’d say

But it mattered to you, a lot. Since the small get-together in the field the other night, when you first saw him. Sarah had lost track of his father, so you went looking for him with her, and that's when you first met him properly after like forever.

Eyes locked and you swore brown became your favorite color. Your breath hitched; mouth slightly agape. He mirrored your reaction but both of you let go just as quickly, minding Sarah’s presence. They left but he turned back to bless his eyes one more time, stealing one more glance at you. The smile he slipped, held your heart forever. You prayed to the heavens to let you both meet again.

Working in the cafe which Sarah and her friends called their “second home”, you had befriended all those little girls. It was fun to be around them, and they loved your company.

You never officially met any of their parents but one of them captured your mind since that night. You didn't know what you could do without offending Sarah.

But you didn't have to do anything, because Joel took the wheel as he showed up the next day in the cafe. Sunday meant Sarah and her friends were having breakfast together in their corner spot.

You came out from the kitchen, passing the tray of coffee to your coworker as you absentmindedly made your way to the counter, ruffling around with the drawer and all the papers.

“Hey” your head shot up to the sound of the voice and the unmistakable familiarity it carried.

“Hi” you replied breathlessly, hands frozen on the paper you just grabbed.

“Um, can I please get a pancake?” his thick Texan accent flowed like honey, his eyes warm and eager.

“Y-yeah, sure,” you could bet that you conjured him from your imaginations. Seeing him again in a person in less than a week was unbelievable

You quickly turned around to pass the order to the kitchen window but stopped just as quick, lightly smacking your forehead as you returned to him,

“Sorry, uh, which flavor would you like?” you cursed yourself for being so clumsy

He tilted his head to the side, contemplating, before he turned on his good old charm, “su’prise me, sweetheart,” he smirked seeing the look on your face.

Absolutely flustered at the nickname he just gave you, and how easily it rolled off his tongue.

You smiled, mumbling a little, “okay,” before you disappeared in the back

You took a moment, taking a deep breath steadying yourself. Hoping no one notices your flushed cheeks, and no one did.

In a few minutes, you prepared yourself to serve him. Running a hand on your outfit once smoothing it, you took the tray and made your way to Joel. You were glad he busied himself reading a magazine because if he looked at you, you would have forgotten how to walk.

“Hello again,” you announced, and he quickly abandoned whatever article he was reading,

“Hey” he smiled, looking curiously at the pancake plate you just put down, followed by a cup of coffee

“I didn’t order coffee-”

“It's on the house, since we believe it's your first time and because your daughter is our loyal customer,” you snickered

He chuckled, “I- thank you, so much, y’didn’t have to though”

“Also, i chose strawberry flavor because it’s my favorite so I'm hoping you’d like it too,” you shrugged lightly before taking a step back, leaving him with his breakfast,

Just as you turned to leave, you heard him call your name, and God that was the sweetest music to your ears. You had no idea how he knew your name, maybe sarah mentioned it, you figured

You cocked an eyebrow,

“You looked pretty that night”

Your heart warmed at the confession, “thank you Joel, you looked great too” you smiled before you left

You couldn't keep your eyes off of him. Every now and then your gaze found its way to Joel. Even after he caught you stealing glances, he just smirked. He knew what he was doing to you, you knew what you were doing to him. A game for two.

You had your back on the counter, conversing with your coworker, when she pointed behind you. You turned to see Joel standing there, ready to leave.

“Thank you once again, I loved the pancake, though I can’t tell if it's my favorite”

“You could come by every week to try all the flavors until you find your preference” you suggested. Any excuse to bring him back.

“Tryin’ all the flavors, huh? I had another reasons to come back anyway, might as well try all the other flavors” smile tugging at the corner of his smile

Oh.

You didn’t even get the chance to response when he added, “hey ya mind, if y’get the uh, the cup?” he nodded to his table

“Yeah, sure” you were confused, why would he tell you what to do?

You went anyway and now you know why as you looked at the tissue piece with his number scribbled in a messy handwriting

Such a flirt. You smiled so widely your jaw hurt.

“Is this Joel or some cute stranger left a wrong phone number on the table?”

You read it for the thousandth time, indecisive if you should send it or is it a bold way to start a conversation. But then it’s Joel, he wouldn’t mind, you thought and hit send.

Your heart was beating fast, wanting to throw your phone across the room. Checking every other second if he replied, then a few minutes later,

J- “Stranger? I thought we were befriendin' each other”

you giggled at the response, feeling like a young teenager having her crush moment

“Well, we’re getting there”

J- “That so? Hope you realize your dad isn’t really my fan”

“Yes, and I wonder why” curiosity creeping back up at you,

J- “We got into a fight back then during a job we did, since then we just couldn’t get along”

Now was that too hard to disclose? Your parents were just dramatic, you thought.

Before typing your response, he started typing again so you waited,

J- “Wish it doesn’t change our sweet journey of becoming friends”

you read his text, wide grin plastered on your face , though a little disappointed that he only wants friendship, but you felt giddy nevertheless

The next week was the beginning of your new, fragile relationship. Joel would stop by at your cafe any chance he got.

I missed my morning coffee (he missed it on purpose)

I’m tired and I thought coffee might help (he just wanted to see you)

Sarah and her friends wanted pancakes (he asked them, “you guys don’t have to go, I'll get you your order if you want” he’d say and gets “okay, Mr. Miller!” “that’s so kind, Mr. Miller”)

Weeks went by, and you grew to his presence at random hours. You started to look forward to him showing up randomly. Your coworkers were quick to welcome him, noticing how your face would light up every time he was around.

He made a three-day streak of visiting before he didn’t show up for 2 days. A part of you wanted to text him to find out if he was okay, but you wanted to give it one more day, and you were not even sure about the thing you both had going on.

You were preparing the order, Oliver standing next to you, working on his order and occasionally making you laugh with his corny jokes when Gina, another coworker, showed up at your side, pulling you away from your half-done coffee,

“I’ll take it from here, go and deal with your favorite customer” she nudged your side,

You couldn’t help but let the smile make its way to grace your lips, but you had to play dumb,

“What?”

Gina gave you the stare that said really?

You snickered as you left, your heartbeat quickening, exhaustion already leaving your body as you saw him sitting at his usual spot, the corner table that nobody likes, so it’s always available, your favorite spot since him.

You reached him and instead of staying seated as usual, he got up and walked closer to you. It has been 2 days and you didn't know how much you missed him now that he was standing in front of you, all you wanted was to hug him and never let him out of your sight.

He took one more step towards you, maintaining eye contact as he slowly raised his hand to your waist and pulled you into him in one swift motion. You stiffened at first, then you locked your arms at his nape melting into his big frame. You took a deep breath like this was something you were missing all your life.

“Hello to my favorite customer,” you smiled at him when you detached yourselves from each other

“Hello to you too, my sunshine,” he replied, matching your smile

You both returned to the table, and he slid a small bag towards you, you didn’t have to open to know what was inside, strawberries, as he started getting you those ever since you told him that strawberries were your favorite.

Whenever you got free from your morning shift, you two would sit in the reserved area of the cafe just to talk. That’s what you both did. Talk about everything and anything. You didn’t need to pretend, you were completely yourself around him, and he, with you.

He kept buying you strawberries because you loved them. And in turn you would treat him with extra cup of coffee on random days

Any little time you spent together felt like an escape from reality and everything it offered. There was no toxicity, just pure, innocent and effortless conversations along with different flavors of pancakes.

Sarah admired Joel showing interest in your company. She wasn’t young enough to see how happy you both looked, and she was genuinely glad about that. She would even make excuses for Joel to come to the cafe,

Hey dad, can you please bring my notebook, I forgot it on the table and we’re discussing something

And boy would he be beyond happy whenever he gets the opportunity to show up at the cafe.

But like waking up from a really good dream,

Joel had just entered the cafe, standing on the counter, chatting with you (not blocking the way of customers) while you received orders when your eyes went wide at the figure entering through the door,

“What is it?” Joel asked casually

You ducked your head, “its dad” you whispered and saw how Joel’s face fell. You both knew you weren’t allowed to hang out with Joel, let alone be around him.

Suddenly his demeanor changed as he cleared his throat, looking down at the menu card, feeling your dad approaching. You managed to keep a serious and bothered face as you saw your dad stopping deadly in his tracks as he saw Joel. oh boy

“There are other cafes in the town” your dad grunted, indirectly referring to Joel, who only rolled his eyes in response.

You bit a smile at his reaction, “hey dad! Didn’t know you were coming” you tried to alleviate the thick tension.

Your dad gave you a tight nod, “yeah, get me two blueberry pastries; your mom called”

Never the friendly face, annoyance etched on his face like it was there since he was born. Your father was exactly the kind of customers you hated. Acting like a boss, like you owe a million dollars.

You looked between two of them before you left to get the box. On your return, you didn’t spot Joel. You frowned, wondering if your dad had said something to him. Your thoughts were cut short by your dad;

“No need to serve him, tell him to go any other cafe, there are plenty of them,”

You were speechless, he was being absolutely ridiculous.

“Wha- dad? He’s just a customer, you can't bring your years’ old absurd beef in this-”

“Do as i tell you, and if you can’t, then leave the job, you can do better anyway” he threatened in low voice, pointing his finger at you, before leaving

You knew your dad was overreacting but you kept your mouth shut because you knew he wouldn’t care about the people and just shout on you if you disagreed with him

It was midnight, your mind was running a hundred thoughts a minute since your dad showed up today. You had no idea how to tell Joel to stop coming to the café, like how could you stop him when it made you the happiest?

“Hey, you awake?” you texted joel

He didn’t reply for 10 minutes, then your phone chimed, you quickly turned it on to see his text,

J- “Yeah, I'm up, why aren’t you asleep yet?” he replied

“Wondering what dad told you today at the cafe” there was no filtering when you were with Joel, sharing every piece of your mind and not regretting it

J- “Except telling me to not ‘roam around you’ he didn't really say anything”

You were embarrassed, why did your dad have to be like that? you felt bad for Joel

“I’m sorry” you sent before typing “I just wish he wouldn’t stop you from the cafe, your presence feels natural there”

J- “Don't be sorry, sweetheart, I didn't mind it at all. He’s only looking out for you; we'll figure it out. plus, I think I can sneak in when I get the chance ;)”

You scoffed at his text, looking out for me? More like suffocating me from things that I actually like. But you felt affection for him in the way he was willing to be with you.

It had been a week, he showed up two times. Two times. A day apart. Then he disappeared for the rest of the week.

After the 3rd long day of him not showing up, you started to worry. Two hours of constant contemplating later, you decided to text him,

“Hey, Joel”

It's Sunday afternoon, 2pm. Not that Joel would have something to do so you wait for his text. You toss and twist in bed, smoking cigarettes, reading old magazines, scrolling on your phone, an hour later, there was no reply.

4 hours; nothing.

8 hours; nothing.

Next day, beginning of next week. You passed by his house, praying to get at least a glimpse of him but there was nothing.

You didn’t even see him on the streets, not with Sarah, just nowhere. As if he didn't even exist.

Still your ears pricked up every time you heard the door to the café ring, desperately hoping it was Joel, but it was never him.

Sarah and her friends were seated at their accustomed table. It distressed you to see Sarah, not knowing how to go and ask her about her dad.

It upset you even more when Gina asked you about him every other day, and more hurt when you had to lie, like “oh he’s just busy,”

But Gina knew better when she saw you with pity in her eyes, that look that told you, I'm sorry he ghosted you.

You had to hold back your tears to keep her from knowing that she was right.

But you broke down the second you locked the room to your room, lighting a cigarette, you placed it between your puffy red lips as the tears streamed down your cheeks,

“Where the hell are you, Joel?” you hit send and threw your phone as you sat on the windowsill, watching the cars go buy,

You got out of the bathroom when you heard your phone ding, you all but ran to the bed, grabbing and swiping it on,

J- “Yeah, just around. How’s everything?”

You were taken aback by the carelessness. As if it wasn't bothering him, as much it was bothering you. As if he didn’t miss you at all like you did. As if it all didn’t matter. As if you didn't matter

“Really? You ghosted me for two weeks and now you're acting all chill?” you replied

Frustration getting the best of you, you wanted to cry again.

J- “Look, I think it’s best for the both of us”

“Fuck what you think, fuck you” you sent

You could feel the tears pricking at the corner of your eyes. You threw your phone on the table before falling on the bed, face first.

The next thing you know is you're sobbing, muffling the sounds with the pillow on your face. You didn't realize how much you were attached to him until now, you didn't know how much you wanted to be with him until now.

You got up to smoke a cigarette to release the stress, but you cried while exhaling puffs of smoke in the air

Fuck him. Fuck him. Fuck him

The next two days were a blur. You avoided spending extra time in the cafe, avoided conversations with your coworkers because they ended up asking about Joel. Your father picked a fight with a random guy just because he took longer to deliver some equipment that he ordered online; it was stupid really. You avoided Sarah too, because she painfully reminded you of Joel

I'm only giving it time, I'll get back to normal eventually, you’d tell yourself

The third day, you were brewing coffee when your phone vibrated, turning it on, your heart dropped to the stomach as you read Joel’s name on it

Quickly you swiped to view the message,

J- “Can we talk?” you felt anxiety rising up. A part of you was excited that he texted while the other part of you was furious, he can't just come and go as he pleases

You were lost in your thoughts when you received another message, J- “please?”

You decided to let things be, he ghosted me for a week, now he wants to talk, he can't expect me to go back running

Putting your phone down, you carried on with your work until it was night.

You closed the cafe as you stepped out, you saw a familiar truck parked beside your car.

Unmistakably Joel.

He stood there leaning against his truck, cigarette smoke around him like a halo. He pushed himself up as he spotted you and he made his way to you.

You stood there frozen. Resisting the strong urge to go and hug him and never let go. But you stood there and waited,

He came close but didn't stop until he was only a few inches away from you. Looking at your face, examining it, eyes running all over your features,

“Sarah said you looked horrible, but God you look worse,” he whispered. Scared if he talks loudly, this all would shatter,

“Like you care?” you retorted.

That's when you saw in his eyes. Regret. Remorse. Before he hung his head down,

Slowly he reached for your hands, hanging on your sides, silently interlacing your fingers. You didn't stop him. You couldn’t

“Please, can we talk?” his voice was small as he looked at you

You nodded

He released a breath, that even he didn’t know he was holding, as he nodded too

With your fingers still interlaced, he tugged you toward his truck. You both walked the distance, hand in hand as you felt droplets of water kissing your skin.

You went rigid making Joel turn and face you, watching you wipe away the water beads from your face. A few more drops on both of you before the rain lashes down.

Joel instinctively became your human shield, as you both ran towards his truck, even though that wouldn’t keep you from drenching, but the action was so Joel. Reaching there, he quickly opened the door for you before getting himself inside from the other side.

Both of your breaths were ragged as you sat in silence.

He ignited the engine bringing his truck to life,

“Where are we going?” you broke the silence

He sighed, “I- uh, had tis place in mind but,” he looked out the window, at the rain, “‘s rainin’ so we can stay in the truck, I guess,”

“What place?” you were confused,

“Y’gonna love it, trus’ me” a small smirk growing in the corner of his lips

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

Part: 1 2 3

Tags: @strawberri-blonde

#im never getting over #joel miller #or #the last of us #soft joel miller #joel miller fanfic #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller smut #joel miller fluff #joel miller angst #joel miller tlou #pedro pascal #pedro pascal x reader #the last of us

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skzdarlings · 1 year

Text

the heist team | the threesome series ; skz ; minho/reader/changbin

masterlist.

threesome series part 2/4.

pairing: lee minho/reader/seo changbin content info: sexual content. threesome. friends2lovers. very cheesy criminal heist shenanigans (very "we're in" style hacking and some laser grids lol). "fake" kissing, getting sexy as a distraction, giving sex directions, sexual tension that gets resolved. pussy eating, dick sucking, coming inside. purple haired minho bc meow <3

The camper van was the best idea you ever had. It is much easier to enact dastardly schemes while inconspicuously hiding in plain sight.

On the outside, the van looks like any civilian camper, but the inside is a veritable den of high-tech con-artistry. It has a place for Minho to hang the get-ups for his grifting gambits, a compartment for Changbin to store his weapons and down-time dumbbells, and it has the sexiest, sleekest, most mouth-watering computer apparatus that has ever existed. You love it more than anything in this world.

Every job, you sit in the midst of your beloved computer screens, directing the operation while your boys do the ground work. Despite knowing of your undying love for this system, your best friends and partners-in-crime are presently trying to separate you from your baby.

“Is she calling the computer her baby again?” Minho asks from where he is getting dressed behind a curtain.

“Yes,” Changbin says. He is sitting in your computer chair with his arms distractingly crossed, his biceps bulging in his tight black shirt. He is wearing a lot of lycra, having formerly anticipated he would be doing physical work tonight.

That all changed when you realized the nature of tonight’s job.

You only ever target the obscenely rich, the kind of wealth that is obtained through its own nature of theft and villainy. Tonight’s targets are a bunch of pompous elites celebrating themselves. Upstairs is a gala kicking off a week-long set of dinners, auctions, and celebrations. Downstairs is millions of dollars worth of art and antiquities, set to go up for auction the following day.

It looked like a typical job, the kind where Minho could sweet-talk some fools while Changbin punched some security guards and you hacked the vault from the van. The security system around the haul turned out to be far more advanced. Operating with a form of artificial intelligence, it essentially learns as it goes, meaning hacking it from the outside is incredibly difficult as it will understand and respond to invasion. It will be easier to outsmart from the inside, where you can reach your hand into its virtual heart and pluck its digital ventricles one by one.

The boys do not have that kind of computer knowledge. So now Changbin is in your chair, Minho is doing his make-up, and you are waving around an emergency cocktail dress.

“Who’s gonna watch my baby if I’m in there!”

“Yah! Rude woman! You remember who helped you build this thing?” Changbin pats one of the computer towers to make his point. “I can do the basic work in here, but I can’t do your complicated nerd things.”

“I’m not a nerd!” You definitely are. You stare at the cocktail dress morosely. “You’re forgetting something super important. That I am a total weirdo and I panic whenever someone looks at me! There’s a reason I don’t do the people side of things! That��s what you guys are good at!”

“Technically I just hit them,” Changbin says.

“You are plenty charming when you want to be and you know it,” you say.

Changbin folds his hands behind his head, flexing all his muscles while grinning.

“How charming?” he teases, cocky. “Describe it to me.”

“Shut up.” You hit him with the cocktail dress to hide the fact he got you genuinely flustered. “I can’t go in there. People will know I don’t belong the second I walk in the room. We won’t even get close enough to the computer bank for me to disarm it because they’ll get one look at me and throw me out the window.”

“That won’t happen,” Minho says. His changing area is behind you and you hear the metallic slide of the curtain opening. “Because you won’t be going in there alone.”

You don’t even have to turn around to know Minho looks devastatingly gorgeous; it is written all over Changbin’s shocked face. His arms lower from behind his head and his cocksure expression shifts, his lips parting as he stares past you.

Despite having the benefit of bracing yourself, you are still struck dumb when you turn and look at Minho. It was always in the plan that Minho would serve as a distraction at the gala. To stand out accordingly, he dyed his hair with temporary dye this morning. The vibrant purple was more amusing than sexy when his hair was messy, but now it is neatly styled back, slick and off his handsome face. He is dressed all in white, his asymmetrical suit partially slit at the side to show some skin. There is an extra sparkle from his jewelry, plus the lightest dab of glitter in the sharper contours of his face. He is practically glowing.

He knows he looks good. His mouth quirks in a little smirk at your expressions. You and Changbin are both gawping at him, and it goes on long enough that his eyebrows lift and his smirk puckers with a surprised laugh.

“What? Really?” he asks, still laughing at you.

Changbin does an unexpected sign of the cross. You hit him with the cocktail dress again.

“Fine,” you say, mostly to have an excuse to duck behind the curtain because you think you might explode from lust and embarrassment and anxiety all at once. “At least no one will be looking at me.”

You step behind the curtain and snap it closed, leaving the boys to their banter.

You like dressing up so this part is no problem. The problem with parties is other people. You wholeheartedly admit you are better with zeroes and ones than human beings.

You try to focus on the fun elements of tonight: the dress, the glamour, and beating a high-tech security system at its own game. It will be so fun to have a real challenge for once. You know you can beat it but it will definitely push you more than your usual digital adversaries.

Also, you get to look at Minho looking like that. Your view of the boys is usually through security cameras, nestled in your van surrounded by your operating system, so the proximity will be a treat.

You open the curtain, scowling. You do not enjoy socializing so you seldom have occasion to dress up, so you anticipate the boys will lovingly berate you. But when you step forward, Changbin looks at you with the same dumbfounded expression he had for Minho. Minho is sitting on the bench, knees apart and arm slung across the backrest. His expression gets very serious when he looks at you. He shimmies his hips, his knees parting further.

“Turn around,” he says.

The van feels so tense and quiet that you obey, more confused than anything else.

Changbin’s gaze drops to your ass immediately, his jaw visibly clenching. Minho tips his head like he is studying something.

“Thank you,” Minho says.

You face them again, hot in the face. You cross your arms angrily.

“What was the point of that?” you demand.

Minho lifts a single eyebrow. “I wanted to see your ass,” he says, like it should be obvious. “It’s a good one. You should be proud.”

You throw your sweatpants at his stupid smirk. He catches it smoothly.

“Can we just go already?” You punctuate this with a stomp of your foot then storm out of your precious van.

It is very strange being on this side of the operation. You always have Minho and Changbin nattering in your earpiece, but usually you are sitting at your desk wearing proper headphones. It is strange wandering around with a tiny bud in your ear, listening to Changbin report from your usual seat.

You already have control of the hotel security cameras as they work on a separate operating system to the storeroom AI. You replaced the live feed with a looping reel of empty rooms so the security team inside will not see you moving around. It also gives Changbin a bird’s eye view of the gala and the rest of the hotel. You feel anxious at not seeing it for yourself, but you are placated when Changbin whistles and teases, “You two are the best looking there. You would be second best looking if I was there, so you’re lucky I’m not.”

You and Minho both smile, your expressions fond.

Minho gets you in the door with little more than a wink at the doorman. You stay quiet, hiding your nerves as best you can. Minho is a competent con-man and Changbin is plenty reliable so you try to focus on your own tasks. First you need to get to the ground floor network base so you can get the AI to chase your red herring. Once you are in, the AI will start responding, but with your virus acting as a decoy source within the building, you should be able to buy yourselves time to move onto the next phase of breaking down the system.

“There’s a lot of muscle at this party,” Changbin says seriously, no doubt taking stock of all the burly security guards. It is only natural Changbin would be as twitchy as you, also out of his element for the night. “I don’t like not being there with you,” he says.

“Easy,” Minho says in a calm voice. You think it is directed at both you and Changbin. He puts a hand on your lower back and gives you a knowing look. “You’re doing fine,” he says.

You feel like terror is written all over your face. It doesn’t help that Minho draws eyes the second you step into the hotel ballroom, men and women looking at him with the usual desire he draws. They are equally curious to look at you, their eyes on where his hand rests intimately low on your spine.

“I’m gonna hurl,” you say.

“Not a bad idea,” he says. He smiles with so much effortless charm that no one would suspect he is whispering criminal tips. “The best con,” he says, his lips brushing your ear, “is one that is close to the truth.” You shiver as his fingertips brush up your spine. He rests his hand on your nape. “Look sick,” he says. “We’ll say we’re looking for a restroom if someone asks.”

You follow his lead, weaving your way through the party. Looking sick is the easiest instruction to follow because you feel genuinely ill, your anxiety a toxic twist in your gut.

Only when you are wandering the empty hotel corridor do you feel at ease. You feel even more at ease when you find the ground floor network hub. Your first obstacle is a regular alarm code, twelve digits in length. It is obviously too long to guess so you physically unscrew the alarm box and start some manual fiddling. There is no way to fully disarm it without also setting it off, but that’s where your own AI gadget comes into play. You plug in your cypher scrambler and let it do its thing. It flickers through numbers, seeking the correct pattern, learning from its errors. You designed it yourself and though it is always accurate, it takes a while to pull the numbers. You and Minho are forced to hover in the hallway while it gradually reveals each piece of the code.

You are up to number seven out of twelve when Changbin inhales sharply.

“There’s a waiter walking in your direction,” he says. “It looks like he’s taking a shortcut to somewhere else, but you have less than two minutes until he’s on you.”

“What!” You start to panic immediately. “My decipher machine could take longer than that, what do we—”

“Relax, relax!” Changbin says at the same time Minho steps behind you and grasps your shoulders. He makes little shushing noises while massaging you, not that it does much to help.

“We’re good,” Minho says. “It’s just a waiter, not security.”

“I’m gonna get us killed,” you say.

“By a waiter?” Minho asks. He gives your shoulders another squeeze. “Is he going to beat us with a baguette? Hey, hey, relax.”

You are a vibrating bundle of nerves. Minho is not usually the type to dive into a hug but he turns you around and pulls you into his arms. You wrap your arms around his middle and hug him back, hiding your face in his neck.

“Yeah, that will work,” Changbin says.

“Huh?” you say, lifting your head.

Minho is staring into a security camera as if having a mute exchange with Changbin. He nods in agreement, though you still don’t understand.

“What will work?” you ask.

“Distraction,” Minho says. You just look at him with confusion.

“Baby,” Changbin says in a soft tone, “listen to my voice.”

The sudden gentleness of his voice makes you shiver. Your fingers are shaking when Minho takes your hand and rests it over his heart. You look up into his dark eyes as he smiles at you with familiar fondness. You open your mouth to speak but he shakes his head, shushing you gently. His eyes drift to the side in anticipation of an intruder.

“Baby,” Changbin says, his honeyed tone softening your nerves, “Minho is going to kiss you. Just do what I say, okay?”

Your heart skips a beat, your eyes widening.

“You trust us?” Changbin asks.

You nod, answering Changbin, gazing at Minho.

It’s the truth. You might be scared but you have been scared before and your boys always come through. Even when the rest of the world left you behind, when you turned to crime to keep yourself alive, Minho and Changbin were there. They have never let you down. You trust them with anything and everything.

Minho slips his hand around your waist, pulling you close to him. You have been close before, sharing the van, sharing hotel rooms, but this feels different. He looks at you with intent, his handsome face so close, a strand of dark purple hair curled over his forehead. Your hand finds that patch of bare skin when you touch his side. He is familiar and foreign at once, your Minho, and also a character, one who clasps his hand behind your back and ducks down to gently kiss your lips.

“Take a breath, baby,” Changbin says with a little chuckle. “You look like you’re going to pass out.”

“Mmf,” is the noise you make, affirming that observation. It makes Minho laugh, a breath against your lips.

“Waiter is thirty seconds away. You just want to look like a dumb, horny couple that wandered away from the party,” Changbin says. “Listen to me, I’ll tell you what do.”

You nod, sucking in a breath when Minho kisses you again. This time his mouth is a little more insistent, his lips coaxing yours open.

“Close your eyes, baby,” Changbin says. “Let your shoulders drop. Minho has you, it’s okay.”

You didn’t even realize how tense your shoulders were. You listen to Changbin, letting yourself go lax. Minho holds you, as promised, his arms sturdy around your waist as he kisses you deeply.

“Let Minho move you,” Changbin says. “He’s going to lean you against the wall to hide the device, okay? Put your hands on his shoulders. Higher, baby, go around his neck. Just like that. Let him lead you.”

Minho walks you backwards, carefully pressing you against the wall, hiding the dangling cypher scrambler with your bodies.

“We wanna give our intruder a little jump scare, okay?” Changbin says. “Minho.”

That is all the direction he gives Minho, trusting the adept con-man to know exactly what to do. Minho does, his hands sliding down to your hips to pull them flush against his. It arches your back. Your hands are hooked behind his neck and you squeak, your fingers instinctively sinking into his hair.

“God,” Changbin says. The sudden dark colour to his voice sends a spark of heat shooting through you. It clearly surprises Minho too, his lips parting with a caught breath. “You both look hot. Fuck.”

Changbin takes a steadying breath. You and Minho look at each other. You get to see his smirk for a split second, then his mouth is on yours and it is no longer gentle and questioning. It is a demand, hot and wanting, your lips opening with his guidance, your heart skipping beats when he licks in your mouth.

“Do it back,” Changbin says. “You want him to fuck you, baby. Make him believe it.”

You think the him is question is the waiter. Isn’t it? You don’t even know where the waiter is anymore, if he’s around the corner or watching. In the haziness of your kiss, it hardly seems to matter. You kiss Minho back with the same urgency, pulling him closer, whimpering when he bites your bottom lip.

“Fuck,” is the gentle whisper that Minho can’t fight. His brow is crinkled, his eyes closed. He kisses you again, his hands jumping up to gather yours. He laces his fingers with yours and presses your hands into the wall on either side of your head.

“Wrap your leg around his waist,” Changbin says. “Like that, that’s it, you’re okay.”

You lift one leg, shaky and unsure. Minho catches you under the knee and pulls it more certainly around him. He holds you there, his other hand grasping your throat very gently as he kisses and kisses and kisses you. Your hands are still splayed open by your head, thoughtlessly awaiting direction. Your fingers curl into your palm and you moan for real when Minho presses against you.

Minho is a good actor, but the hard shape in his pants is very real. When he grinds against you, so open and soft with your leg around his waist, it draws all those guttural sounds right out of you. Minho makes one back, swivelling his hips in a maddening grind against you. It is all too easy to imagine him fucking you like this, the effortless back-and-forth of his hips, your sweet sighs as he takes you, imagining Changbin there, his breath also stuttering.

You do not forget he is watching all this, especially when he lets another low laugh and asks, “She feel good?”

“Yes,” Minho answers without hesitation, breathing the word against your lips.

“Hold his face, baby,” Changbin says. “Kiss him like you mean it. Ask him to fuck you with it.”

You know what he means by that: to kiss Minho with fervency and heat. You do obey, cupping his face with both hands and kissing him deeply, but the fuzziness of desire mixed with Changbin’s words makes your brain go screwy with want. Not only does your kiss convey that desire, but words rush past your mouth, crashing into Minho’s lips in a breathless flurry.

“Fuck me, fuck me, please,” you say, your voice pitching up into a little whine as you rock against him. “Want you to fuck me so bad, baby,” you say, thinking of both of them at the same. You kiss Minho’s surprised, open mouth, your eyes closed, your voice loud in this hazy space as you say, “I’ve been thinking about it all night. Need it so bad. Please. Want you inside me. Want my mouth on you. Come in me. Come on me. Take me, please. I’m so hot and wet, it’ll feel so good, don’t you want to feel how wet I am? Don’t you want to fuck me too?”

“Jesus fucking Christ,” Changbin says, followed by a rush of even more inventive curses.

Minho settles on another simple, surprised, “Fuck.”

Then someone is clearing their throat. Minho jumps, his hands clamping tighter around you, protective.

“Oh, right, this clown,” Changbin says. “I hate that he’s too far away too punch.”

You giggle in spite of yourself, which is good because you think you might simultaneously die of embarrassment. You drop your leg and Minho lets you go, pulling himself together faster than you.

You let him do his thing, sliding a hand through his hair and smirking at the waiter as he saunters over. He makes his little speech, something-something-something a moment alone with the missus, something-something sorry-sorry-sorry. He walks the waiter back around the corner, giving you a knowing glance over his shoulder.

Thank god your cypher scrambler has its act together, even if you are a mess. It takes you longer to right yourself than it does for the scrambler to finish its job. Your hands are shaking as you break into the hub, but muscle memory takes over when you have your mini-laptop open.

Minho joins you a minute later. Your entire body lights up like a firework when he steps close to you. Nothing in his expression conveys anything more than professionalism – his queries are about the job and the job alone – but there is an ache between your thighs that won’t subside. You know he feels the same way as you can see he is still hard despite how much he glares at the wall. He adjusts his pants several times while standing in that closet of a hub with you. You keep glancing at each other, your gazes heady, speaking volumes more than your polite conversation.

When you leave and he puts his hand on your lower back, you shiver. You think you might double over from the persistent thumping of your easily-distracted pussy.

Changbin lets out a long sigh and a nervous giggle. “Good work, team,” he says.

You have worked enough jobs that you manage to set aside your personal feelings for the time being. It is easy to lose yourself in your work, especially when you really have to fight the security system.

You get inside the storeroom. You know it is filled with more traps and alarms so you sit down beside the door and type away on your laptop. You nearly break a sweat with the intensity of your work.

“She’s hot when she’s doing her thing,” Changbin suddenly says.

You lift your head and catch Minho’s eye. He smiles at you. “I agree,” he says.

Your heart starts skipping beats again. You look down at your laptop, feeling uncharacteristically shy under his gaze.

“Don’t distract me,” you say, making both of them laugh a little. You glare at Minho but there is no real animosity behind it.

At least they both acquiesce, going silent while you work. You manage to disarm most of the storeroom. The best you can do for the remainder of traps is trigger their subsequent lighting rigs so you can see them all. A labyrinth of blue light brightens the dark entry room, revealing each laser trigger that blocks your path to the locked compartments.

You look up at Minho whose calculating gaze is already tracing each intricate beam.

“Got it?” Changbin asks.

Minho starts unbuttoning his suit. “Always,” he says, smirking.

Minho flips the blazer down his arms, revealing just a tight white crop top beneath it. His jacket, shoes, and jewelry form a pile beside you. Minho does a few quick stretches before confidently approaching the laser grid.

Before his criminal life, Minho was a dancer, and a good one. He draws the same graceful lines with his body now, making each manoeuvre look easy even though you know it is incredibly difficult.

“He’s hot when he’s doing his thing,” Changbin says.

“Yeah,” you say, biting your lip and watching Minho move. “Gotta agree.”

Minho slips over and under each laser, twisting and bending and sliding with ease. He pops up on the other side with a graceful twirl, throwing you a wink over his shoulder before flipping a switch on the control panel. It powers down the censors so you can scurry across the room to join him.

The compartment door unlocks with your final hacked access code, the door swinging open to reveal your loot. Changbin gives a successful holler into your earpiece, making you and Minho duck with his volume.

“I’ll bring the car around, baby,” Changbin says while you two roll your eyes but smile.

You pack your fold out bags with your selections. One key to success is never being overly greedy. You walk away with a substantial victory nonetheless.

You hurry out of the storeroom with your prize haul. Minho gets dressed again, though he doesn’t button up his jacket. He takes a second to catch his breath while you restore each alarm so nothing appears out of place. When you are ready to go, he takes your hand, smiling. You run hand-in-hand back down the corridor, making a few sharp turns until you find a staff exit. There is a small drop so Minho jumps down first then holds out his arms for you. Though you could make the jump easily, you still let yourself fall into his arms.

He holds you close as he puts you on your feet. You are riding the high of adrenaline and success, your heart soaring, which might be why you so easily surrender to desire. You kiss him, sudden and brief but tantalizing. He blinks back at you with surprise, his face scrunching with that astonished little laugh of his.

You smile at him. A line of sweat dots his hairline and you reach up, smoothing some messy strands of purple hair. The gentle caress changes the whole shape of his face, his eyes heavy-lidded, his breathing harder. You feel yourself change too, your heart pounding against his chest when he pulls you close.

You got greedy with that kiss and greediness has consequences. You are so distracted with each other that you don’t notice the security guards coming at you from the opposite direction.

“Hey!” one shouts. “What are you doing out here?”

You and Minho look over, then at each other. There is no time for conversation. You grab each other’s hands and start running, your bags of stolen goods bouncing on your shoulders.

“Hey!” the security guard shouts again. You can hear their heavy footsteps thundering after you, fast despite their muscle and bulk.

You turn the corner onto a backstreet just in time for the camper van to swing into view. The door slides open and Changbin jumps out. You pass each other, dropping hands so Changbin can dart between you.

Panting, you and Minho watch as Changbin effortlessly takes down the guards.

“He’s hot when he’s doing his thing,” you say, giggling.

Minho laughs, nodding. “I agree,” he says.

Minho takes the steering wheel so you can apologize to your baby for abandoning her. Changbin jumps back in the van and the three of you drive away with another successful haul.

Later, back at the penthouse, Minho takes the longest shower in an effort to scrub the purple out of his hair. You are in your bedroom when he finally emerges. You can hear him and Changbin talking in the living room. By the sounds of it, the purple is still threaded in his dark brown hair, likely to last a few more days. You smile to yourself, listening to their playful back-and-forth as Changbin teases him and Minho snarkily retaliates.

It is tradition after a successful job to have a few drinks and relax. Contacting your fence and taking care of business can wait until tomorrow.

You can hear the usual music playing through the speakers, can hear the clink of bottles and glasses, can hear Changbin and Minho laughing and talking.

You look at your reflection in the mirror. Though you seldom have occasion to wear pretty luxuries, you have enough money at your disposal to treat yourself. You have been changing in and out of different lingerie sets since you got home. You think this one might be just right: a silky black set worn under a lacy black dress that falls to your thighs. It is suggestive but arguably casual. You could just be wearing it as pyjamas, right? Sure. Sure. Totally normal pyjamas for a totally normal night.

The best con is one that is close to the truth, Minho had said. Then he stuck his tongue in your mouth and you begged him to fuck you with Changbin’s help. Even you, who is terrible at reading and understanding people, know what truth was in that charade.

You take a deep breath and march to your bedroom door with determination. You throw it open so hard that it smashes into the wall, startling the boys in the other room. You ignore the crash and scurry into sight, avoiding eye contact.

“Hello,” you say.

There is a moment of prolonged silence then Changbin says, “Hi.”

You look up. They are both staring at you, both wide-eyed, both in sweatpants and t-shirts with their hair undone and fluffy. They look very casual and very surprised. Minho is clutching a beer bottle and Changbin is holding a bowl of popcorn. Both of them are frozen.

You smile a very awkward smile.

“Hello,” you say again. “I am… I am… dressed. For bed. My bed. For being in my bed, like this, as I am dressed right now. I am going to that bed, now, like this. You can… join me. If you want. If you don’t want, then, okay. Hello. And. Goodbye. Bye.”

You run back to your bedroom and slam the door closed.

Other than the soft music still swirling in the air, the penthouse is quiet. You cannot hear the boys, not a comment, not a sound, not a breath.

Then you hear the popcorn bowl hit the ground and a bottle smash. They shove and yell at each other as they stumble on the way to your bedroom. You are standing awkwardly in the middle of your room, hands folded in front of you, waiting as they crash into your bedroom door and curse at each other.

Changbin then very casually opens the door and they calmly walk inside.

“Hello,” you say.

“Hi,” Changbin replies.

You wish thoughts could be hacked like a computer. You cannot think of what to say or do next. You just stare at them and they stare back, although their gazes are considerably less nervous. Their stares are thirsty, drinking you in, looking from top to bottom and back again.

“Turn around,” Minho says, his gaze low.

You meet Changbin’s eye before obliging, slowly turning.

“Okay,” Minho says after a long moment, giving your heart plenty of time to go crazy in your chest. “Thank you.”

You turn back around, just as embarrassed as earlier but not angry at all. You cross your arms over your chest, flicking your gaze between them.

Minho reaches out and lightly punches Changbin on the arm. Changbin looks at him and Minho gives him a look, one you cannot decipher. You continue to stare at them.

Changbin nods at Minho then looks at you. He holds out his hand.

“Breathe, baby,” he says. “You look like you’re gonna pass out.”

You laugh but nod, taking his hand. He wastes no time pulling you close, guiding your hand to his heart as Minho did earlier. He holds your hand there and waits until you make eye contact so he can wink at you.

“I know I am the best looking man you have ever seen in your life,” he says, making you laugh again, “but I’m me. You trust us?”

You look at him then at Minho. His dark hair is still tinted purple, his bare face open and soft as he meets your eye. You smile and look back at Changbin, nodding.

“Always,” you say.

“Good,” Changbin says.

He cups your face and you lean towards him, anticipating a kiss, but he gently turns your face aside. You don’t even have time to be confused before Minho is kissing you. He swiftly draws all those sweet sounds out of you, pulling you towards him. Changbin steps behind you, holding your hips and kissing his way up your neck to your ear.

“Baby,” Changbin says while Minho slows his kiss to something gentle but heated, his tongue swiping at yours. “Listen to my voice, okay?”

You nod, light-headed but eager.

“Good,” Changbin says. “Come sit in my lap. Over here.”

Changbin is strong enough to haul you around. You barely have to move, letting yourself go soft in his arms. He sits on the edge of the bed and puts you in his lap, spreading your legs over his thighs. You stare up at Minho, out of breath, your thighs twitching to close for pressure. Changbin slides a hand down, stroking your inner thigh and making you jump, his other hand tugging down your dress and immediately going for your breast.

Minho sweeps a hand through his hair, taking a breath before stepping up to you.

“Still want your mouth on him, baby?” Changbin asks, reminding you of all the things you whispered in that heated moment.

You nod, whimpering when Changbin slides his hands into your panties and touches you directly. He circles and circles the most sensitive cluster of nerves, grunting and pressing his lips to your neck.

“She’s so fucking wet,” Changbin says. He slips his hand out of your panties and abruptly grabs Minho by the hand, tugging him closer. Minho brings that hand to his mouth, licking your wetness off Changbin’s fingertips. “Touch him baby,” Changbin says. “You see how hard he is for you?”

You can see. You can feel Changbin too, hard under you. Their sweatpants do little to disguise it.

You do not hesitate obeying, tugging on the waistband of Minho’s sweats. Everything feels so dreamy and good, surrounded by touch. It all seems to happen quickly; suddenly Changbin’s hand is in your panties, Minho’s dick is in your mouth, and Minho’s hands are tugging the straps of your dress down. This ends with you drooling messily all over the end of his dick, sucking on the head and murmuring nonsense while Changbin makes you come on his fingers. Then Minho kneels in front of you both, your legs end up over his shoulders, and you find yourself hurtling towards another orgasm on his mouth.

You dress ends up somewhere, the panties too. The bra is barely on, the straps hanging down your arms. Changbin finally kisses you when you are on your back in the middle of the bed. He lays between your open legs, his fingers filling you up as you continue to gush all over his hand. You grab him, squeezing his biceps as he effortlessly moves that strong hand between your legs. Minho climbs up too, his shirt somewhere across the room. He grabs your hands and pulls them over your head, pinning them into the pillows before ducking down to kiss you. You come for a third time before either of them even fucks you.

Then they do. Minho first, with you under him, listening to every direction Changbin murmurs in your ear. You lift your legs around his waist when Changbin says, then touch yourself when Changbin asks, and shudder when Minho comes inside you like you earlier begged.

Then Minho is behind you, holding you, touching you, protective and familiar while Changbin fucks you. Changbin has a surprisingly filthy mouth, continuing to tell you how good you feel and how good you look. Minho is quiet but fully entranced by you, his hands constantly wandering. He slides one hand down and rubs you off while Changbin fucks you. Then he leans over your shoulder and kisses Changbin on the mouth, making Changbin finish too.

The music is still playing in the next room. The three of you lay there in various states of undress, you in the middle, sweaty and messy, the boys panting and gently stroking your arms and thighs.

“I love you guys,” you say. It is incredibly cliché to make a love confession after several mind-blowing orgasms, but you don’t care. You don’t need to play games or tell lies or be good at socializing, not with your boys. You can just be your nerdy self, confessing your feelings even while drifting into sleep.

You smile when you feel Minho kissing your cheek, Changbin giggling on your other side.

“It will have to be big,” Changbin says. “The biggest.”

“Hmm?” you ask, looking at him strangely.

“The diamond we steal to put on your finger,” Changbin says, holding up your hand and circling your ring finger. You laugh and try to pull your hand back but Minho catches it, nodding in accord.

“I agree,” Minho says. He kisses your temple. “I know how criminals work,” he adds. “You’re not getting stolen away from us.”

He and Changbin exchange an affectionate glance over you, nodding at each other, then they are each kissing a side of your face as you squirm and laugh. You swipe at Minho’s purple hair and kiss Changbin’s cheek, then nestle into their arms as they wrap around you, protective as always.

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