#don't ask how long this took it took so much coffee

[otdiaftg]

WHAT'S NEXT:

The out pouring of love for this blog has swept me off my feet. I knew the logic behind the follower count, but this weekend proved to me without a shadow of a doubt just how much this fandom cherishes these characters and this story.

I am overwhelmed with adoration towards every. single. one. of you.

I took the weekend to finally recoup after the whirlwind of this past year but wanted to take a moment now to answer some of the questions I've seen pop up and to inform you all of what my plans are for what's next.

FREQUENTLY ASKED QUESTIONS:

WILL YOU CONTINUE THE ACCOUNT THIS YEAR?

This took me a long time to ponder and I wanted to make sure I was in the correct headspace to answer it. Short answer: No.

Long answer: All For The Game is near and dear to my heart. And the reason I began this account was because the dates for 2023 matched that of the dates they were meant to be in 2006. To continue it in the year 2024 would mean the dates would be completely wrong and a lot more logistics would have to occur beforehand.

But also-- I'm not the best when it comes to technology, especially when it comes to BOTS so every post that was published was typed out, formatted and scheduled by hand by me. I did not have help. I did not have proofreaders, or editors, or managers. I contacted all the artists myself, sorted through every single page of the artists to find matches to the story, read and re-read the books for exact or guesstimation of dates/times, and made a hell of a lot of typos on the way through all that.

There was probably an easier way that I could have done all this. But I didn't/don't know it. So that all boils down to: It’s a long and tiring process.

Don't get me wrong, it was worth all the hours. And all the sleepless nights I had getting everything done and out. I already thanked my support network, but without my wife and my best friend being there to make me another cup of coffee, walk our dog, do the chores and generally make sure I didn't crumble from the pressure -- none of this would have happened.

So, putting myself through that again, after everything that has happened this year alone-- felt like it would cheapen the experience I had when the dates won't even match.

That being said.... 2034 isn't that far away. >__>

WILL YOU BE DOING AN OTDITSC?

Short answer: No.... sorry.

Long answer: As stated, it is VERY hard to organize what and how I did. HOURS spent researching, organizing, scheduling, etc. Time spent away from my family and other hobbies. NOT time I regret (need to keep prefacing that) but time I want back now. At least for a little bit.

It also doesn't sit right for me to start an OTDITSC when I know some people are still waiting for their copies. There are so many of us out here (as I've come to find out) and I don't want to exclude people's enjoyment and connection that this account gives. I also feel like the more posts about TSC out there, the harder it is for those who are (lets say) waiting for the physical copies to block/mute spoilers. We can say a tag is enough, but this is the internet. And that's not always true.

And lastly, personally, TSC is still SO VERY NEW. It's not even complete yet and we don't 100% know when the next one will be published. I don't want to start something, get to the end of the timeline, and than have a huge gap between posts that will potentially be moments in the second book. It doesn't feel fair to their story, to myself, or to the followers of this account to have incorrect information for something I love so dearly. If I'm doing it. I want to do it right.

SO, WHAT'S NEXT?

Well. A lot. For me personally, as well as this account. I don't want to leave everyone in such a finite way. I love this fandom. I love its art and writings and the abundance of talent and joy that it exudes.

So first, for myself, as well as those artists who agreed to help with this account, I want to post, for the next 40 days Artist Highlights (that means this account will still be active until Friday, May 24th).

Every day, I will post about an Artist and the work that I wanted to post but couldn't fit in. I've said it before, and I'll say it again, these artists are the reason this account thrives. Art, in a multitude of forms, speaks in a way words can not. And these artists prove that.

I'm excited to show them off for a couple more weeks at least. They are all wonderful people.

AND, FINALLY:

To also tie us over, I am opening both my personal account as well as this account to questions.

Questions regarding the process, the story, the best movie out in theaters, whatever. I will be answering your questions (as fast as I can) until that last Artists Highlight day (Friday, May 24th). After this day, I will leave the questions answered up for a week, and then remove/delete them from this account. I want to make this more of an archive of sorts and will be updating the Timeline Page as this progresses as well, so you can move freely within the timeline.

Keep in mind that I am only one person, have a family and a full-time job-- so answers may be sporadic, but I will answer them.

This has truly been such a pleasure. And whether I get questions or not, I see you and I appreciate you. I hope your life is filled with everything you ever want, everything you need, and that you never let it go.

🦊 🧡- Kelysium

#aftg #all for the game #neil josten #tkm #the kings men #the foxhole court #andrew minyard #palmetto state university #psu foxes #andreil #on this day in aftg #otdiaftg #palmetto state foxes #otdi all for the game #nora sakavic #the foxes #on this day in all for the game

[allllium]

Heyaaa, I have a request! If it's not too much trouble, have you listened to too sweet by Hozier.. that song with the tf 141 boys (if it could be Ghost, it would be great!!)

Thanks in advance!!! And it's perfectly fine if you don't wanna!

~ I'm really sorry this took so long, I have not been feeling great but here it is. I hope you like this because honestly I am terrible at comprehending songs but I think this fits pretty well :)

~ If you're not happy with this for any reason please let me know and I will happily redo it with your advice <3

~ Fluff, WC: 1,189

You have a crush on Simon Riley. You know this, and so does everyone else, including him. Despite the very obvious adoration on your part he's never said anything about it.

You honestly have no idea how he feels about you and you're not sure you want to know. You do tons of little things for him and he does things for you, but that's all your relationship entails.

You are both so different it's not like you could ever fit together so perfectly, right?

I take my whiskey neat

“Here you are Lt.” You slide him a drink across the table. He makes a face behind his mask that you now recognize as his scowl. “Don't make that face at me.”

“You can't even see my face,” he replies, in his signature thick accent. “And I don't need you buying me drinks.”

“Well that's too bad 'cause’ I did. Don't tell me you're gonna let good whiskey go to waste.”

His deep brown eyes stare at you for a heavy moment before picking up the drink, lifting his mask just enough to show his cut jaw and full lips.

“Usually this is where I get a thank you.” You taunt him, trying not to let your gaze linger on what you can see of his perfect but slightly messed up face.

“Don't push your luck, Sargent.”

My coffee black…

“Oh dark like your soul, ain't that right Lt.” You gesture towards his black mug of black coffee.

Simon takes a deep breath as he takes in your words, his chest rising and falling in annoyance. He shakes his head silently, apparently not wanting to pleasure you with a response.

“Seriously, how do you drink that?” You put your hand on his perfect arm to push him out of the way of the coffee pot.

“Oh let me guess you take your coffee with a pound of sugar.” He rolls his eyes at you, in more of an attitude than you appreciate.

“Incorrect. I'm sweet enough as it is.” You smile at him while you turn around to stir your drink.

“Maybe a little too sweet don't you think?”

“Only to you.” You mutter under your breath.

…And my bed at three

“Oi Lt, what are you doing up at this hour?” You take amusement at the way this giant of a man jumps slightly at your voice.

“Did you just say oi?” He asks as if he didn't just hear you say it.

“Yes I did, do we need to get your hearing checked?” You make fun of him for the hundredth time that day.

“Why?” His gruff voice cuts through the air.

“I want it on record that I don't appreciate this attitude of yours. And I said "oi” because I'm becoming more like you.”

“I don't say oi.”

“I don't believe you. You sound like you say it.” You shrug and take a seat on the couch next to you.

“What does that mean?” He sits down next to you but he seems like he doesn't want a real answer.

“Your voice.”

“What's wrong with my voice?” This time it seems like he actually wants to know what you think.

“Oh nothing. It's a nice voice but it just gives me oi vibes.” He stares at you like you're crazy.

“I have a nice voice do I?”

“Don't let it get to your head.” You lay your head.on his shoulder.

No one speaks for a while but eventually Simon sits up. “It's three in the morning, we should get to bed.”

“Yeah that's probably smart.” You give him a big smile when you stand up. “Goodnight Lt.”

You're too sweet for me

“And here you are.” You take a dramatic bow as you hand Simon his gift, acting as if you just delivered the most important thing in the world.

“What is this?” He asks with a tone of impatientence.

“A gift.”

“It's not a holiday-” You quickly cut him off.

“Or your birthday I know, but I remember you saying something about it and got it for you”

“How do you know it's not my birthday, I've never told you that.” He pauses for a split second before continuing, “Did you look at my files?”

“That's not important, open your gift.” He shakes his head but opens the bag you've given him.

Quickly, he pulls out a mask just like the one he's currently wearing. A mask you've handmade just for him.

“What is this?” He instantly demands.

“That is what we call a mask sir. I remember you told me about that one having an annoying hole so I thought I'd help you out. Originally I was just gonna patch the hole but then I figured that mask has been through a lot so you deserved a new one.”

He loudly clears his throat. “I hope you know there won't be a gift in return.”

“I don't expect one, simply doing a nice thing.”

“Well thank you Sargent.” You smile at his thanks, feeling how much he means it.

“Anytime.” Is the only word you get in before he runs off.

You're too sweet for me

“You know this is basically our third date.” You randomly blurt out. You're sitting with Simon in a coffee shop off base. You don't know what you were expecting with Simon off base but one thing you never thought about when inviting him out is his absence of the mask.

Obviously wearing it would draw more attention than usual but now you're sitting straight across from the face of the man you're practically fawning over.

“This is not a date.” He defends roughly.

“Yes it is, our first was dinner and second was the bar so that makes this the third.”

“Those weren't dates, just outings between friends.” He runs his eyes everywhere but your face.

“Aww so you admit we're friends.” You can't help but tease. “But I'm being serious Simon. You can't deny it forever.”

“Yes I can.” He fiddles with his drink as you continue your mini interrogation.

“No you can't. I know you like me, Lt. Why won't you say it.”

“You're different.” He begins.

“If you start to say I'm dumb you're getting punched.”

“No! Of course not. You're different from me and I don't know if we would work.”

“Bullshit. Spill it.”

“Fine, you're too sweet.” He spits out as if it was fire coming out.

You can't help the bubbling laugh that spills out your mouth. “Too sweet? What does that even mean?” You ask him, still laughing.

“I don't know. You're too sweet to me, you give me things and you say all the right things and I don't think I could give all that back to you.”

‘I don't want you to give me anything back. I want you to give me you, you're too sweet for me too Lt. Even if it is in a different looking way.” You slide your hand across the table to lay on his. He returns your hold and gives you a smile that is uniquely his. This is all you need.

#simon ghost riley x reader #call of duty simon riley #call of duty simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley #simon riley #ghost x reader #ghost cod #domestic ghost #ghost simon riley x reader #simon 'ghost' riley x reader #simon ghost riley x f!reader #simon ghost riley x gn!reader #simon ghost riley x you #simon riley fanfic

[ozarkthedog]

Hi Ozzie!! Congrats on 11k ❤️

Can I request 📝 & public no. 6 (a quickie in a diner restroom before getting back on the road), with Dieter?? 🥰

thank you so much, Gideon! idk what happened but i took this and ran. hope you love this, my dude!

18+ mdni. dieter bravo x f!reader. sex in a public bathroom. w.c. 783

Ozzie’s 11k birthday sleepover

It was supposed to be a quick stop: fuel up, grab a bite, and get back on the road. However, you knew to expect a blip in your plans when Dieter was your co-pilot. 

Today, though, the blip turned into 35 minutes behind schedule because someone wanted to play an old arcade game the owners had set up in the back of the small diner. 

You let Dieter have his fun while you drank your coffee and went over your route once more. He looked so cute playing the arcade game in his long, green robe. You never could part that man from his robe. "I like to be comfy at all times," you recall him saying when he sunk into the passenger seat at the beginning of your trip. 

When you couldn't waste any more time, you gave him a '5 more minutes' signal as you made your way to the bathroom.

The bathroom was what you expect in a local diner. Small but relatively clean, thankfully. As you finish washing your hands, Dieter frantically knocks on the door.

"Let me in," he whines.

He's already turning the knob as you unlock it. He shuts the door quickly and slithers into the tiny space. Your ass bumps into the sink as you make room for the broad man.

"What's wrong?" you ask, worry framing your words.

"Nothing. Just missed you." he smiles, pinching your chin between his thumb and forefinger.

"Dieter! You can't worry me like that." you chastised, poking his chest.

He plasters his thick body against your own, pushing you further into the porcelain sink. "Sorry, love. I just thought we could have a quick fuck before we got back in the car." he muses, a grin tugging at the corners of his lips.

You roll your eyes, but they stop mid-way when he rubs his large bulge over your belly. "Shit, D." you look at the door and then back to those wild, wanting eyes. 

He wraps his arms around your waist and tips his head, looking at you under his lashes. "You know how quick I can be."

You huff with a laugh. "Okay, Mr. Quickie. Let's go," you happily prompt.

"Oh, that means you're Mrs. Quickie! " he muses, laughing until his cheer is struck down. His eyes zero in on your lower half as you hike up your skirt and tug your panties to the side.

"Well, what are you waiting for." you dare, propping your leg on the window sill and wrapping your hands around his neck for support.

Dieter goes a bit dumb when you and sex are involved. He usually relies on you to tell him what to do. The second you snap your command, he shoves his sleep pants down to his knees and takes his cock in his hand. 

He teases your already slick opening with his throbbing crown before slowly pushing into your searing core. He doesn't stop until he's buried to the hilt, and his girthy base nudges your clit. He bites the side of his cheek, wantonly moaning into the small space as your walls stretch around him. 

Your "magic pussy" as he likes to call it, is already working, teasing and tempting him to fill you up.

"Best be quiet, D. We don't need anyone interrupting us," you say, combing your fingers through his hair and slightly tugging.

A whimper bubbles up from his throat. You press a single finger to his pouted lips before branding him with a kiss. He sets a steady pace, angling his hips just right and grazing all those sensitive spots he knows that get you off the fastest.

His bulbous crown notches something profound and devastating, forcing your arousal to rise steadily until you're drowning in the salacious rapture. His brow pinches tight, furrowing with a heavy need to stave off his own pleasure until he feels you come on his cock.  

His bottom lip trembles. With a silent command, you thumb at the plush cushion and plummet off the edge together, holding one another's gaze. Hushed whimpers and labored breathing fill the room as you melt into one. 

You exit the bathroom first, praying that no one will notice Dieter leaving the tiny bathroom a few moments after you. You keep your eyes locked on the floor as you make a beeline for the main entry, casually looking over your shoulder to ensure Dieter is tailing you. 

He curls a weighty arm around your shoulder, tugging you into his side as you push through the glass doors and walk out to your car together. 

"You know we're gonna have to make this a road trip ritual now, right?" he grins.

Ozzie’s 11k birthday sleepover

#ozzie 11k birthday #dieter bravo #dieter bravo x reader #dieter bravo x you #pedro pascal

[blasphemous-lies-and-deceit]

doing each other's hair

"Good morning, sunshine!" Gerry chirped as Michael stumbled into their kitchen.

"Don't call me that," Michael grumbled back, too achingly tired to accept a new pet name. He did, however, accept a kiss and an extra-large mug of coffee from Gerry. "How are you so fucking perky?"

"I've been up for a while," he explained, which also explained the mess of dishes and flour across the counters and a warm smell wafting from the oven. Gerry himself had a streak of flour across his cheeks, and a very eager look in his eye. "Couldn't go back to sleep, so I just got up." He paused, a grin breaking like the sunrise on his face. "Your hair...it's very uplifted today, isn't it?"

"You don't have to tell me," Michael agreed with a long sigh, sinking down in a slump at the table. He could feel his curls disorderly half-piled on his head, a horribly tangled mass he couldn't bear the face yet. He took a long sip of his syrupy-sweet warm coffee and groaned heavily. "You've missed your calling as a barista."

Gerry snorted, coming around the counter to stand behind his chair. "I would make a terrible barista," he said, sinking his fingers into Michael's curls and beginning to card through them. "Someone would get mad at me and ask for my manager, and I'd just tell them to go fuck themselves."

"Guess I'll keep you and your skills all to myself," Michael gloated, eyes falling shut and leaning back into Gerry's touch. His bad morning mood was melting away, thanks to the coffee and his incredibly sweet boyfriend. Gerry was much kinder to his hair than he was, gently detangling the curls, separating sections and finger-combing through them while humming to himself. Michael knew he'd learned these techniques from watching him, and found himself hopelessly touched. Gerry really was the sweetest.

By the time he'd finished his drink Gerry had loosely braided his hair back, and was rubbing his hands along his back soothingly. "Thank you, my love," Michael murmured, eyes still closed. "I'm sorry I'm so grumpy in the morning."

"You don't have to apologize," Gerry assured him, looping his arms around his shoulders and hugging him from behind. "I don't expect you to be sunshine all the time. That's too much for anyone, even you." He pulled back to press a kiss just above his ear. "I still love you, no matter how you are."

"I love you too," Michael sighed, his bad mood melting away like fog on a warm summer morning. It was nice to have Gerry's words and affection even when he was in a mood. Even better when his mood could be lifted by said words and affection.

The oven timer went off, and Gerry pulled away with one last kiss, drifting into the kitchen to remove the deliciously fragrant scones. "Do you want another coffee?" he asked over his shoulder.

"Yes, please."

#gerrymichael #doorkeay #gerry keay #michael shelley #the magnus archives #rebelwriting

[vivwritesfics]

Shine A Light Into The Wreckage

Chapter Five - The Hard Deck

Bob Floyd was many things. He was an instructor at Top Gun, a lover of Tolkien books and a huge fan of coffee. But Bob was also clumsy. That was how he bumped into the table, knocking her drink onto her notebook. He felt bad about it. Bad enough to come back time and time again, in the hopes that she would be there. And, every time, she is. Each time looking a little worse for wear. It doesn't take Bob long to realise he has to save her.

2.6K

Warnings: Abusive relationship! Abusive hair pulling! Abusive choking! Forceful sex! Domestic abuse! Seriously don't read if you're affect by stuff like this! Talks of stalking (but in a non serious manner), talks of non consensual groping

Series Masterlist

"Are you guys going to The Hard Deck tonight?"

Bob turned at the voice behind him. He'd scanned the room for her when he first walked into the café, but she wasn't there. 

He couldn't hide the surprise on his face as he turned around. There she was, in a black pencil skirt and a navy blue blouse. She wasn't in her usual sweater and Bob couldn't help but miss it. "You wanna come with?" He offered. 

Her smile was tight, barely a smile at all as she looked at him. She wasn't going to ask this soon, was gonna wait until she needed an escape. 

But the need for an escape came sooner than she expected. "I'd like that," she said, adjusting her grip on her bag. "What time should I meet you there?"

"Seven, at the earliest," Bob answered as he payed for his coffee and took it from Mariana. 

Her smile grew. "I'll be there at seven thirty." She ordered her drink, silently waiting for it. As desperate as Bob was for conversation, she didn't initiate it, staying quiet as Mariana passed her the hazelnut oat latte and rushing off. 

Not staying for her work break, like Bob was used to seeing. He followed her out of the café and climbed into the truck, watching from his mirrors as she walked down the street. 

He headed back to Top Gun, three coffees on the seat beside him and reader to force Natasha and Jake out to the Hard Deck. 

But he couldn't help but wonder, why not stay in the café for lunch? Why break her usual pattern of behaviour? Bob had been on the coffee runs for the two previous days, and each time she was there for her lunch break, sitting as she wrote. Each time Bob spent at least five minutes with her before he had to get back to Top Gun. 

Bob didn't know that she didn't get a lunch break that day, not when she had been over half an hour late for work. She didn't mean to be over half an hour late, but Ken had woken up in a mood and using makeup to cover up bruises took time. 

There was only so much her long sleeves could hide, and she couldn't wear a scarf all day. 

It was the first time Ken had utterly lost control like that, the first time she was forced to use makeup to cover a bruise. She had do doubt that she hadn’t done a good job this first time around, that some of the bruising around her neck was still visible. Just as long as it didn't raise suspicion. 

It was the slowest work day of her life. Yet, the end of the work day came much sooner than she would have liked. She packed up everything slowly and was the last one out of the office. Her walk down the street to her apartment was slow, her feet refusing to take her any faster. 

She pushed her way into the apartment. The moment she opened the door to the apartment, the smell hit her. Cheap beer, cigarette smoke and piss. Fuck, it was poker night. 

Several voices filled the room at once. "Hey Barbie," said several of Ken's friends. She looked towards the table full of Ken's friends and offered a weak smile. A shiver ran through her body when one of them whistled. 

She walked past the poker game, walking straight into the bedroom. Ken had left the door open, and the smell of smoke had ruined her sheets. She let out a breath as she shut the door and dropped her bag onto her bed. 

It wasn't the first time that Ken had hosted poker night and not warned her. Actually, it was a regular occurrence. She sat on her bed and pulled off her shoes. Even with the door shut, she could hear their shouts and their laughter. It only served as further motivation to get to The Hard Deck. 

As she unzipped her skirt, her bedroom door flew open. She let out a small gasp, keeping her skirt tightly held to her body. "Ken, what the hell?" She cried as he stared at her. The way he was staring at her, like he was a starving wolf. 

"You should come and say hello to everyone, Barbie," he said as he pushed the door shut. He strode over to her drawers and dug through them, pulling out a too short, baby blue and white skirt. He threw it onto the bed and pulled out a tank top. 

'Come and say hello' wasn’t literal when it came to Ken's friends. It was an excuse for them to cop a feel and eye her up. "I'm not doing this," she said and threw the skirt towards him. 

"Barbie-" 

"No!" She insisted as she grabbed her favourite pair of jeans. "I'll go and get you some more beer but I don't want the guys touching me, okay?"

Ken let out something of a laugh. She'd put her foot down with him only once before and he had pushed her against the counter top and threatened worse. She hadn't dared since. But, if he was getting beer out of it, he'd let her get away with it. "C'mere," he said as he strode over to the door. 

She tried not to come across as reluctant as she walked over to him. His touch was gentle as he stroked her cheek and pressed his lips against her own, his tongue down her throat. 

He left her to it and she quickly got dressed. She pulled on her jeans and the tank top that Ken had thrown her (Ken was an asshole, sure, but the tank top was cute). She pulled on her jacket, grabbed her keys and headed out. 

She couldn't stop herself from shivering as she walked to The Hard Deck. The sun was setting as she made her way. This was a bad idea. This was a bad idea. This was a bad idea. But, as The Hard Deck came into view, she realised it was too late to turn back.

She sucked in a breath, steadying her nerves, and walked in. 

***

"Come on, Bob," Jake Seresin muttered as he chalked yo the pool cue. "When if your little friend getting here?"

Bob surveyed the faces of everyone that walked into The Hard Deck. His eyes moved across everyone, but none of them were her. "She'll be here," he said as Natasha went to get another beer. "I know it."

Maybe five minutes later she walked into The Hard Deck. For a moment she stood by the door, trying to look for Bob. Sweet Bob. Bob who would never ask for her to let his friends have a grope fest. She pulled her jacket tighter and walked further in. 

Bob spotted her before she spotted him. "Hey!" He called as he walked around people trying desperately to get to her. Hey eyes lit up when she saw him, and Bob moved somebody he recognised from the class he caught at Top Gun out of his way. "You made it."

"I made it," she responded, releasing a breath. Her eyes moved to the Styrofoam cup in his hands. "What're you drinking?"

"Just water," he replied and finished what was in his cup. "Let's get you a drink."

Bob didn't expect her to grab his hand. But she did. As he led her over to the bar she kept a hold of her hand. "Penny!" He called over the noise. As soon as she recognised him, the woman behind the bar brought over another cup full of water. "What would you like?"

She told Bob her order and he put it on his tab. With their drinks in the hands, Bob led her over to the pool table, over to the pool table. There were eyes on her as Bob brought her to two of his fellow aviators. Well, everybody in this bar looked like an aviator. 

"These are my friends," Bob said as he gestured to the two playing pool. "Natasha and Jake." 

She gave them a wave and introduced herself as she sat in the stool that Bob had been occupying. Not that she knew. Bob didn't say anything, either. He just wore a blushy smile as he watched her shake Natasha's hand. 

But then it was Jakes turn. He held the pool cue as he sauntered up to her, that usual flirty smile on his face. "Hey there," he said, grin almost sly. "I'm Jake."

She took a moment to sip a drink, took a moment to answer him. But the she placed her drink on the table behind her (Bob was sure to keep an eye on it) and turned her attention to Jake. 

"We've met," she said , trying to paint a flirty smile that matched Jakes onto her face. "Good to see you again, Hangman." She held her hand towards him. "Try not to get me kicked out this time."

Jake laughed as he shook her hand. "Very sorry about that, miss. But you're here with Baby On Board, now. You're not going to get kicked out."

Bob's smile dropped from his face at that. His fists were clenched at his sides as Jake laughed. She turned to him, her eyebrows furrowed. "Baby On Board?" She asked and picked up her drink. 

"It's not Baby On Board," he muttered beneath his breath. 

The way Jake was looking at him, it was like they were back in Top Gun together. "What is it then, Baby On Board?" He challenged as he stepped towards him. 

Bob wasn't a fighter. Natasha knew it, Jake knew it, and she knew it. He picked up his water from beside her own drink and finished it one. Bob wasn't going to challenge, but he wasn't going to let his head fall in defeat. 

Suddenly she was on her feet, getting between herself and Jake. "If he says it's not Baby On Board, then it's not Baby On Board," she said, levelling him with a glare. 

Holding his hands up, Jake backed off. Things fell normal for a little while. She spoke to Natasha and Jake as she drank (Bob happily got her another drink when she ran out), the three of them learning about each other. 

When Natasha beat Jake, she gave her pool cue to Bob while Jake offered his to hers. But she shook her head and Jake went to play again (but Natasha took it off of him to play against Bob instead). 

"So," Jake began as she began her third drink. "Baby Bob tells us you've got a boyfriend."

"Don't call him that, dude," she said as she held her beer between her fingers. 

Jake raised his eyebrows at her. "Don't call him your boyfriend or don't call him Baby Bob?"

She glared. 

"Anyway, Bob said you've got a boyfriend."

By the time she replied to him, she had nearly finished her drink. "So what?"  She spat. She was trying to be nice, but any mention of Ken immediately changed her mood. 

"So, if you've got a boyfriend, What're you doing here with him?" 

Jake was an asshole. That much was clear to her. "Excuse me," she said and hopped off of the stool. 

Bob watched, completely missing his turn as she walked out of The Hard Deck. He thrust the pool cue into Jakes arms and ran after her. "Wait!" He called, moving around people to get to her. "Wait!" 

When Bob made it outside, he found her sitting on the sand. In the doorway, Bob watched her for only a moment. There was a slight breeze, but she had left her jacket inside. But she stayed sitting there, keeping her arms wrapped around herself. 

Slowly, Bob approached. 

"Hey," he called and she ever so slightly turned her head towards him. Bob sat on the sand beside her, his long legs stretched out in front of him. "Are you okay?”

She sniffed and nodded her head. "You told Hangman about my boyfriend."

He breathed in and nodded. There were several excuses he could have come up with, but he didn’t want to. He didn't want to lie to her. 

And he didn't have to. 

"I asked you to come here tonight because I needed to get away." Her fingers dug into the sand. "When we started dating, everything was perfect. For the first few years, everything was perfect. And then we moved here together and everything changed."

She never would have admitted this sober, but she kept going. "We've lived her for a year. It's been a year of him..." she couldn't finish the sentence. 

Bob could guess. When she pulled her hair back, revealing her neck, he noticed. The lights from The Hard Deck that illuminated the beach were so bright, it was impossible to miss. Slowly, Bob lifted his hand, gently touching the skin on her neck. "Did... did he do that?" 

She didn't answer, couldn't answer. Her hands frantically patted her pockets. "I left my phone inside," she mumbled and stood up.

Bob stood with her. His gentle touch stopped her from running back into The Hard Deck. "Please," he whispered. "Talk to me."

She shook her head and wrapped her arms around him, burying her face against his shoulder. "Another time, Bobby. Maybe."

She pulled away, but she didn't move away. She couldn't, not with the way he was staring down at her. Bob was still as her hands travelled to his shoulders. She didn't placed them on his neck, didn't play with his hair, it would have been too intimate. 

She pressed her lips to his, kissed him. Why the fuck did she kiss him? But, even as the doubt went through her mind, she didn't pull away. And Bob didn't push her away.

He didn't want to. 

But he didn't move. As much as he wanted to hold her waist, he couldn't. She still had a boyfriend, even if she was the one kissing him. 

She pulled away and released a breath. "I'm sorry," she said, forehead pressed against his chest. "I just..."

She moved away from Bob, practically running back to The Hard Deck. She pushed her way inside and ran around the other patrons, getting back to Phoenix and Hangman. 

"Hey," Natasha said as she moved last them. "Everything okay?" 

She swiped her phone from the table and shoved it into her pockets. 

As she turned to leave, as she moved away from the pool table, she smacked straight into someone. "Fuck," she said as familiar arms wrapped around her. 

She looked up at the person holding her. Her heart sank. "Sneaking off?" 

"Ken." 

She could feel Natasha and Hangman watching as he squeezed her. The smile on his face was supposed to be sweet, not sinister. But it really was sinister. Ken kept wearing that smile as he leaned down to whisper in her ear. "Get your ass outside. Now."

She couldn't even turn around to say goodbye to Natasha and Jake as Ken moved her along. Embarrassment filled her as she walked past the other pilots, as Ken walked her outside, feeling like a prisoner and their prison guard. Because, really, what else was she?

The moment she stepped outside, her eyes met blue ones. The way Bob was looking at her, she couldn't stand to keep looking at him. But he kept watching, watching as Ken marched her towards the parking lot with his hand on her shoulder, grip bruising. 

It fucking terrified Bob. 

Scared him to the point where he had to follow. He couldn't leave her at this man's mercy, not with what he had seen.

lmao none of my tags are working ffs

Taglist: @biancathecool

@nurse-sainz

@not-nyasa

@burningwitchprincess

@darksparklesficrecs

@primroseluna

@littlemsbumblebee

@wretchedmo

@imaginecrushes

@calpalsbestie

@hiireadstuff

@lyn-js

#bob floyd #bob floyd imagine #bob floyd x reader #bob floyd fluff #bob floyd x you #bob floyd fic #robert floyd #robert floyd imagine #robert floyd x reader #robert floyd fluff #robert floyd x you #robert bob floyd #lewis pullman imagine #lewis pullman #top gun #top gun imagine #top gun maverick #tgm #top gun bob #top gun fanfiction

[venturelovebot]

A/N: This took me longer than I wanted it to but it's finally done! That means there's only one fic left to finish before I open up requests again. :•) Enjoy!

Premise: Depressed!GN!Reader finds out they're not as worthless as they think they are.

Warnings: None! Pure fluff.

You scribbled on the corner of the page to test your ink pen.

I have to vacuum the floor again soon. Dishes need to be done again today. I don't know what I want to make for dinner. More chores need to be done tomorrow. Is it even worth it anymore?

You pause. Every entry from the start of this week looked exactly the same. Flipping through the pages you notice that the beginning entries aren't much different either. Seems like every day has turned monotonous and bleak for you for a long time now. When you really think about it, when was the last time you were truly happy to wake up in the morning? Nothing came to mind.

The amount of hopelessness that filled your mind, body and soul was immense.

"Good morning!" Sloan sets down a coffee mug with a cat meme on it for you. Their smile had genuine happiness behind it– not something you could relate to.

"Good morning." You mimic their smile and watch as they take a seat next to you.

You're not sure how they could be so happy to wake up to the same burden every day of their life. Surely they must of thought you were baggage at this point. You were just waiting for the day they got tired of your presence and finally packed up and left. Everyone did. It was only a matter of time for them, too.

You bookmark the current page of your journal and close its cover.

"Don't forget your medicine!" They set your pill case next to your cat meme mug.

"Thanks."

They give you a kiss on the cheek.

You want to cry. Instead, you just watch as they take a seat next to you at the dining table for breakfast.

"Not hungry?" They ask.

They fork small bites of waffle into their mouth.

"I already ate." You lied.

"Oh? What did you have? I didn't hear you making anything."

You knew they were worried about you, but your brain didn't accept this.

"Just toast."

They're quiet for a moment. "Just toast?" They repeat.

"With jam. I'm not completely tasteless." You halfheartedly joke.

In order to dodge more conversation you open your pill case and down everything on an empty stomach.

"You have therapy today, right?" It feels they're playing a game of Twenty Questions.

"Yeah. I can make it there on my own, though."

"Well, I don't have anything to do right now. Why not let me take you?"

Right. You forgot. You were used to them being gone for weeks on end because of field work, studying or traveling. They took a couple weeks off to spend time with you. It seemed to be happening increasingly often as of late.

"It's alright, really. I don't want to bother you with it." You insist.

"It's not a bother! I promise!"

They're smiling again. It's hard to say no to that face.

"Alright."

...

Your therapist gives you back your journal after reading the last few entries. Nearly fifty minutes had already gone by and you don't feel like you've gotten everything off your chest yet.

"So, you feel like nothings gotten any better then?" They inquire.

"How are things supposed to get better at this rate?"

You collapse into the sofa and stare at the wall behind your doctor.

"I'm a burden. I can't do anything right. Everyone else already has everything figured out. What am I supposed to do? I'll never be good enough at anything."

Your therapist jots down everything you're saying before looking back up at you.

"If it's okay to ask... what do you want to be good at, exactly?"

You think about it. "Anything."

"Do you really think that's true, that you're not good at anything?"

You nod.

"You woke up this morning. You're breathing. You're very good at doing those two things. You're taking up space and existing. You're listening. You're feeling. You do these things without even thinking about them. Is that not a sign of skill?"

"That doesn't make me a worthwhile person, though." Tears start forming in your eyes and your therapist hands you the tissue box.

"You don't have to do anything well to be a worthwhile person. You exist, and that enough makes life worth living. If you want to learn more then you can, but knowing everything won't increase your value. You're valuable just by being here. Your worth as a human being is not determined by what you can or cannot do, or what you do or don't know."

Your therapist stays quiet as you sob into multiple tissues. It takes several minutes for you to calm down enough to continue your session.

"I still can't help but feel like a burden to everyone though." You still find it hard to speak after crying so much.

"Those who see you as a burden will never be worth your time. People who want to be around you will stay around you, even if they can't be present in your life at all times."

Rain begins gently tapping at the office window.

"... wouldn't it just be easier to shut everyone out, then?" You point out.

"Well, sure... but then you would never find out who truly loved you, or find others who are going to love you despite it all."

Another moment of silence passes between the two of you before the clock chimes in the distance.

"Same time next week I presume?" Your therapist fills out an appointment card for you.

"That sounds good."

...

You forgot your umbrella. The rain has already begun to pour.

Y/N: Alright. I'm ready.

💛lil meow meow💛: ᕕ( ՞ ᗜ ՞ )ᕗ

💛lil meow meow💛: ON MY WAY!!!

A car speeds by while you're waiting and splashes you from head to toe in puddle water. You're lucky enough that your phone case is water proof and that your journal is in your bag, otherwise everything would've been ruined.

Weird. You haven't thought about the positives in a long time.

You carefully wipe the droplets from your phone before another text message pops up.

💛lil meow meow💛: [Uploaded a photo at 3:56 PM].

It was a photo of you from behind.

💛lil meow meow💛: Omg? There's just a cutie pie standing outside? Do you think they're single?

You turn to look in the direction the photo was taken, then Sloan snaps another photo of you.

💛lil meow meow💛: OMG they noticed me!!!

💛lil meow meow💛: They're walking towards me!!!

You open the car door and the warmth hits your damp face.

"Wow. Now there's a cute person in my car! No way!" They grin and gesture over to you.

You can't help but smile.

"Sorry I wasn't fast enough to pick you up before the rain started..." They add.

They reach over to hold your hand and give it a comforting squeeze.

"It's okay. I can shower later." You reply.

You look out the passenger side window at the world covered in gray. The sooner you could get home, the better.

"So, how did it go?" They ask.

For a moment you replay the conversation with your therapist in your mind. You're not sure if you want to bring it up.

"Well..." You start to say, but you choke back the rest of the words.

Tears form in your eyes and you turn farther way from your beloved to hide them. You attempt to focus on the street lights passing you by instead.

"It was okay."

A brief silence passes between the two of you.

"You can be honest with me." There was a genuine concern for you in their voice that you were all too familiar with.

You bite your lip and think about your therapist again.

"Do you think I'm a burden?"

The question seems to come from no where for Sloan– but for you, it's all you've been wondering for a very long time.

"No! Of course not! Why would I ever think that about you?" They answer almost a little too defensively.

"Because you're smart, and you already have your life figured out– and I'm just a nobody, really..."

"No, you're not. Not to me."

You wipe the oncoming tears with your sleeves. The weight of the world comes baring down on your shoulders once again. Hot breaths escape between choking sighs and you can't stop yourself from sobbing all over again.

"I'm sorry–" That's all you could repeat, over and over again, like a broken record.

"[Y/N]..."

You can hardly hear them over the sound of your downfall.

The crisis seemed like it lasted forever to you. Everything you've been keeping bottled up for so long comes pouring out all at once without any warning. Even though your heart still hurts, you can feel it becoming lighter with every passing minute.

You can't form words. All you can do now is cry, cry, cry.

So cry, you did.

For minutes on end, tears flood out from underneath your swollen, bloodshot eyes. Your face was pink and pain pounded in your head from all the upset. It felt like forever until you were calm enough to form coherent sentences again.

"I'm sorry you had to see that." Once again you find yourself apologizing for things beyond your control.

"There's no need to say you're sorry. Let's just get inside so you can get out of those wet clothes."

You didn't even realize you had made it home already.

...

One mental breakdown, shower and ibuprofen later you felt like a brand new person.

In the same cat meme mug from this morning your beloved sets down some hot chocolate for you to help you cheer up.

"Do you want to talk about it?" They ask.

You can feel them wrap a blanket around you before sitting down and scooping you up into the warmest hug you've ever received. You close your eyes and melt into their affection while placing your head on their chest to listen to their heartbeat.

"I guess I just feel worthless most of the time." You admit.

"But why? You're not worthless to me. Not one bit." They comfort you the best they can.

You can feel Sloan place their hand on the back of your head and gently stroke your hair.

"I feel bad for taking time away from you. You have everything in your life figured out. I can't imagine why you still come around to visit me."

"Because I love you." There's a softness to their reply that makes your heart feel safe and secure. "I love spending time with you, so I take time off to visit you. If I didn't want anything to do with you I'd be gone already."

You think about their words for a minute and wish you had something equally as nice to reply with, but instead drowsiness begins to fog your mind.

You open your mouth to speak but a yawn escapes first.

"Rest, mi vida. Don't let those thoughts bother you anymore. I love you so much–" They place a kiss to your head. "– and I'll love you even more when you wake up."

They let you lay down and listen to their heartbeat for a little while longer.

"You mean the world to me. I don't care about anything else right now– just you. I'm here for you. Everything else can wait."

"Promise?" You nuzzle into their chest, ready to fall asleep at any moment.

"I promise. I'll write it on my tombstone." They reply.

"I'll hold you to that."

"You'll have to wait and see. I plan on spending the rest of my life with you, first."

For the first time in a long time you felt yourself genuinely smile.

#this took me rewatching my entire comfort game to finish oof #overwatch #overwatch 2 #venture x reader #venture x you #overwatch fanfiction #overwatch x reader #overwatch x you #sloane cameron #sloan cameron

[wewillryesagain]

Happy 5th Anniversary to Far Cry 5! Here’s a big piece I’ve been working on to celebrate! I can’t believe it’s been 5 years already, this game has influenced me so so much artistically and inspired me down a career path as a game artist as well as helped me meet so many wonderful people I couldn’t imagine my life without. Here’s to many more anniversaries to come! 

#farcry 5 #farcry anniversary #jess black #grace armstrong #cheeseburger #sharky boshaw #hurk drubman jr #boomer #peaches #adelaide drubman #nick rye #oc: deputy sam aileron-rye #my art #ryes art #don't ask how long this took it took so much coffee

[cryptidghostgirl]

The Love (Alastor x Reader)

Pairing: Alastor x Reader

Description: Alastor is drunk and Charlie asks him if he has ever been in love.

Warnings: I don't think there are any but correct me if I'm wrong.

Word Count: 1,323

Master Lists:

Master Lists 

Hazbin Hotel Master List

A/N Y'all, I'm lowkey dying from the requests. I'm sorry for the last five or so taking so long, I just need a little break and mix in some of my own ideas if that is okay.

Alastor was drinking at the bar with Husk, Charlie, and Angel. The day had been a lot, seeing Mimzy was always a lot. Yes she was trouble, but Alastor loved her. He loved her for the same reason he was trying to drink himself stupid at the bar. He loved her because she reminded him of Y/n. Mimzy had been her friend first, after all.

He sat off to the side in his own little world while Angel and Charlie chatted and Husk obediently poured the drinks. Normally, Husk would have joined the pair in the mindless, mundane chatter but after the events of the day, Alastor's presence kept him silent.

"No way!" Charlie exclaimed.

She and Angel were talking about some TV show they both watched or another. A mind numbingly boring background noise but, Alastor wasn't complaining.

"Yes! They are one hundred percent perfect for each other." Angel replied animatedly.

"Literally how. Name one thing that shows they have good chemistry."

"Uh, they’re constantly at each other's throats? If that's not love, I don't know what is."

"Angel?"

"Yeah?"

"You don't know what love is."

Husk let out a short, sharp laugh as he topped off Angel's drink.

"Oh yeah? Well then, Princess, what do you think love is."

Charlie sighed, leaning her elbow on the counter as a dreamy look spread across her face.

"Love is... love is when you would do anything for the person. It's when they're your guiding star, your... your prayers answered."

"Uh, no? Love is when you want to literally kill the person but like, in a good way."

"Angel, what does that even mean." Charlie laughed.

"It means... it means there is passion. That spark everyone always talks about? It's violence."

"Hey Al!" Charlie suddenly called, leaning back in her seat to peer at Alastor behind Angel's back, "Who's right, me or Angel?"

Alastor looked up from his glass.

"I hate to say it, but neither of you are correct." he sighed in irritation at having been disturbed, "Love is neither a constant fight nor a blind devotion, though it contains aspects of both."

"Like you know anything about love, mister fancy talk creepy voice." Angel scoffed, turning to face Alastor as well now.

"Actually, I do."

Charlie's face lit up. She practically vibrated with anticipation.

"Alastor! You've been in love!?"

Normally, on a night like this, he'd be alone. He'd be careful to be alone, or at least have Husk as his only company. When he told Husk to shut up and pour, he listened. Other people, not so much.

"Yes."

Charlie had stars in her eyes. She inched closer to him.

"Are you gonna spill?" Angel asked after a moment.

"It was a long time ago."

Alastor took a long sip from his glass.

"Do you... do you not remember it?" Charlie asked, her excited smile slipping slightly at the notion

Maybe it was the drink. Maybe it was the long day, Lucifer, Mimzy, Husk. Those shark demons. Maybe it was just that secretly all along, he had wanted someone to talk to. He watched the liquor in his glass as he swirled it gently.

"It was a long time ago, but I still remember it." his smile softened as he spoke, "It's strange. I remember her laughter, her little quixotic tendencies. I remember the way her eyes would light up when she smiled and the way her perfume smelled. I know her favorite author, the way she took her coffee, the way she folded her clothes but, I can't seem to ever see her face anymore. I..."

He trailed off, taking a breath.

"You don't have to talk about it if you don't want to." Charlie quickly said, not wanting to make Alastor uncomfortable.

Alastor shook his head.

"I've spent years not talking about her. Maybe... maybe something else would be nice."

"So, how'd you guys meet?" Charlie immediately asked.

Alastor looked up at her and let out a light chuckle. He felt like he was human again for a moment. It was odd.

"I don't know if you know this about me, but I was a radio broadcaster back when I was alive. A rather famous one at that, in New Orleans at any rate. Her family ran a restaurant near the studio that I went to get lunch at from time to time. She worked there as a server."

"And she loved you?" Angel asked, "Like, you weren't just delusional?"

"I was quite the lady's man back in my day."

"Uh-huh." Angel doubtfully replied, "Sure."

"Oh hush, Angel." Charlie shoved the spider demon slightly, "Tell us more! What was she like? Did you ever get together or were you just friends? Gah! I wanna know everything!"

"She was..." Alastor's gaze fell back to his glass, "you remind me of her in a way. She was so idealistic, so driven. So... bubbly. She worked hard and she cared deeply. I don't know how I swung her, despite my charms. We were friends for about a year. The whole time, I was trying to work up the courage to ask her out but she ended up being the one to ask me. We got married when we were in our mid twenties. I only had a few years with her as my wife before I died."

Unbidden ideas darkened the edges of his mind. Y/n had always been so good, so sweet. Alastor had no idea if she had ever learned of his... escapades. He figured she must know, considering the manner in which he died but it was a horrifying thought. He was grateful when Charlie spoke again, pulling his mind back to the present.

"Thats so cute!" Charlie exclaimed, clapping her hands as she looked between Alastor and Angel, searching for similar excitement.

"Can we meet this alleged doll of yours?" Angel asked, "Cause I am really not believing any of this bullshit your spouting."

Charlie gasped, suddenly struck by inspiration.

"Do you think she would want to be redeemed?"

"Oh dear," Alastor shook his head, meeting Charlie's eyes, "she's not here."

"Then wh-"

"She's in heaven?" Angel exclaimed, "You married someone who ended up in heaven?"

"Either that or she's over a hundred years old and still on earth." Alastor weakly joked.

"I'm sorry."

Alastor shrugged, downing the rest of his drink.

"No!" Charlie insisted, "You'll... you'll never get to see her again! That's so sad!"

"And here I thought you were trying to get us redeemed." Angel scoffed.

Charlie turned to him.

"I'm trying to get you redeemed cause you're a guest. Alastor isn't a guest."

"Right you are, my dear."

"But you could do that." Charlie said turning back to Alastor, "Angel's right, if you were a guest you could be redeemed. You could see her again!"

Alastor smiled kindly at the excited demon. He patted her back.

"I'm afraid I don't think that's an option."

"But why not!" Charlie insisted, "Anyone can be redeemed, Alastor."

"That's not the issue, my dear." he sighed, "I did some things on earth that she would most certainly view as... unfavorable shall we say? Things she most certainly learned of after my death."

"You're not even gonna give it a shot?" Angel asked.

"Yeah, come on Alastor. Let us help you. You never know how it could turn out!"

"It's alright. I have the time we spent together, the memories. I don't want to taint that." he slowly, unconsciously, raised a hand to his chest, his palm over his heart, "The love is still there, thats what matters."

The quartet fell silent as Husk poured Alastor another drink. Alastor sighed, grabbing the glass and examining it carefully, but not taking a sip.

"What was her name?" Charlie asked, her voice small and her smile long gone.

"Y/n."

It had been years since he'd said it out loud. His tongue relished every syllable.

"Her name was Y/n."

#x reader #hazbin hotel #alastor #hazbin alastor #fic writer #x reader fics #alastor the radio demon #hazbin hotel alastor #alastor hazbin hotel #fanfic #x reader oneshot #x reader one shot #one shot #oneshot #angst #x reader angst #alastor angst #alastor x reader #alastor fanfiction #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin #hazbin hotel x reader smut #hazbin hotel oneshots #alastor oneshot #x reader fanfiction #x reader fanfic

[nereidprinc3ss]

do you believe me now? | 3

in which spencer reid spends a rainy day teaching inexperienced fem!reader how to touch him. of course, her efforts don't go unrecognized, much less unrewarded

part one | part two

18+ (smut) warnings: inexperienced reader, softdom!spencer, sub reader, oral m receiving, reader swallows lol, a truly sickening amount of praise, like really, you JOKINGLY refer to each other as dirty sluts, r has longish hair, spit mentioned once, thigh riding (moans loudly), its filthy idk what to tell you, i feel like i've crossed the desert on foot i don't even know what else is in here, your honor they're in love, i take you to dinner first, this part is stupidly long a/n: had a fucking field day the three separate times i had to rewrite this el oh el... but think i like how it turned out?! anyway, if u like this PLS lmk bc writing it took a small piece of my soul, and yes there will be a part four!! take care of yourselves!! i love you!!!

You give Spencer half a minute or so before knocking on his door for a second time. 

It’s miserable outside, and though the hallway you’re standing in now isn’t terribly cold, you’d much prefer to be in Spencer’s apartment, where it will be the same toasty 68.5 degrees as always. Not that the heating will magically dry you. And not that you’ll be there for long, if the date you’d scheduled last week goes on as planned. 

You’re getting worried, about to knock for a third time when the locks finally click and the door opens to reveal a disheveled Spencer Reid—not at all looking ready for a date. You take in his ensemble; blue checked pajama pants, FBI Academy crewneck, the usual questionably paired socks. He’s rubbing his droopy eyes, which slowly widen as he notices your attire. 

“Shit, I’m sorry, our date! I mean—you look really nice. I look… like this. Why don’t you come in while I get ready to go?”

He holds the door open a little wider and you step through, relishing in the familiar warmth as you pull your hood down and excess water droplets spatter on the ground. 

“When did you get in?” you ask, hanging your raincoat up on a hook. You know he’d wrapped up a case yesterday evening, but you’d gone to sleep before the team left Cincinnati. 

Spencer pauses in the middle of the room, staring at the antique flooring like he forgot what he was doing. 

“Uh… four hours ago.”

“Wh—four hours? Spencer, you must be exhausted.”

He laughs awkwardly, running a tired hand over his face. 

“I mean… I’ve definitely felt better.”

You kick your soaked shoes off and cross the room until you’re toe to toe with him. Immediately his hands settle on your waist and yours find his arms. His eyes are kind, and he’s clearly pleased by your presence despite his lack of energy. 

“The weather’s terrible, anyway. Let’s just go out another day.”

His features have softened and you can see how tired he truly is—not just in his bleary eyes, but the way his fingers grasp weakly to you, the way his head bows slightly. It seems bone-deep. 

“But I haven’t seen you in a week. I don’t want you to go home.”

Your lips twist. A clap of thunder rolls in the distance and the rain starts coming down even harder against the windowpanes. 

“We could hang out here. We can take a nap!”

Spencer sighs—half resignation, half disappointment. 

“But we made such good plans,” he laments. 

You kiss his cheek. 

“Plans that can be rescheduled. The bookstore will still be there next weekend.”

It takes him a moment to settle into the idea, but you watch the exhaustion win. 

“Okay. But no nap. I want to be awake for you. Coffee?”

You nod enthusiastically, beaming at the prospect of getting to spend the day doing nothing with him. Spencer mirrors your grin, before pressing a kiss to your head.

“You’re so cute.” Heat creeps into your cheeks and you can’t think of a satisfactory reply, but in the end you don’t need to, as he tugs gently on your hands. “C’mon. Tell me what mug you want.”

The kitchen counter bites into your palms as you lean with your back to it, watching Spencer putter all around the kitchen as he works on the coffee. It makes you tired just to watch. 

“Are you sure you don’t want to take a nap? Caffeine isn’t a substitute for sleep, you know.”

“I do know,” he agrees, measuring coffee grounds. “But other than last night, I actually slept fairly well this week.”

“You seem exhausted.”

“I… am tired in lots of ways. Not all of which can be resolved with more sleep.” he admits.

Your heart drops ever so slightly at the way his voice weakens as he looks through the fridge. Sometimes you remember there are still things you don’t know about him—sides you haven’t met. His work side is one of them, and it more than a little intimidates you.

“Bad case?” you ask, voice quiet and crackling with nervous energy. 

Spencer nods, approaching and setting a carton of milk on the counter behind you—caging you in with his arms in the process. It’s hard to find the words when he’s this close, but you manage to stumble through them. 

“Do… do you wanna talk about it?”

Spencer hums, tilting his head before gently saying, “not right now. But thank you for offering, lovely.”

“Okay, well—if you change your mind… if there’s anything I can do to make you feel better…”

Finally he stops with the teasing—the unabashed staring at your lips, the faux-attentive nods—and drops his head to your level to kiss you properly. It’s obviously an attempt to get you to shut up, you’re not dumb enough so as to miss that—but you don’t really care why he’s doing it so long as he does it at all. 

“I feel pretty great right now, actually,” he murmurs against your lips, a hint of a smile coloring his words. “Do you want sugar in yours?”

“Um…”

Your eyes dart helplessly between his as he pulls away and you struggle to un-fluster yourself enough to answer his simple question. Spencer seems to delight in this. The longer it takes you, the bigger his perfect smile gets. 

“You took too long. You’re getting sugar.”

“Are you sure there’s nothing I can do?” you plead later on the couch, for the third or fourth time, setting your mostly-empty mug on the coffee table. 

His eyebrows raise. 

“I’m sure, honey.”

“But I want to help,” you pout, pulling your knees into your chest. Spencer regards you for a moment from the other end of the couch, before beckoning you closer wordlessly. 

“You are helping,” he assures you, gently grabbing your wrist as you crawl into his lap. He rubs soothing circles into the delicate skin with his thumb. “You being here and being you is plenty.”

It’s the closest you’ve been to him since before he left, and while you’ve all but given up on asking him to sleep with you, it doesn’t mean you don’t think about it multiple times per day. It’s especially difficult to keep your thoughts PG when you haven’t seen him in a week, and his hair is all messy, and he’s got his pajamas on, and you’re in his lap, and he’s looking at you like that. 

“What are you thinking about?” Spencer murmurs, likely concerned by your lack of response and the glazed-over look in your eyes. You reanimate, averting your gaze to the spot on your thigh he’s now rubbing absentmindedly. 

“Nothing. I just missed you.”

“I missed you a lot, too.” You don’t even have to look up to know that his brows have twisted into a pleasant sort of bemusement, like you are a particularly complex puzzle—you can hear it as he continues speaking. “I’m still not used to having something external take up so much of my attention while I’m trying to do my job. I’ve never had that before. Not something good, anyway. It’s like every time I leave, I’m thinking about you more than the time before. And I was already thinking about you a lot.”

The corner of your mouth twitches as he rambles. 

“Really?”

“Yeah, really,” he chuckles. “You prove to be incredibly distracting even when you’re hundreds of miles away. Do you know how many nights I almost called you before realizing it was one in the morning?”

A slow smile spreads over your face. 

“Oh? Whatever could you have been calling about at one in the morning?”

You’re teasing him, and it works. He blushes adorably. 

“Um… probably exactly what you’d expect. In hindsight I think it’s best that I refrained.”

“What?” You grin, incredulous, forgetting your shyness and leaning closer. “You totally should’ve. I’ve never had phone sex before. I would’ve done it.”

“No, you wouldn’t!” Spencer laughs. “It would have just been me talking to myself with you on the other line. I don’t think phone sex is really up your alley.”

“Shut up,” you laugh as your lips meet. He smiles into the kiss. Before you get too lost in it, you pull away, leaning back when he tries to follow you. “I think you’re over-complicating it. It’s just dirty talk, right? I can totally do that. It’s just, like… blah blah blah, dirty slut, something something…”

You trail off as he gives you a look. Poker faced—aside from the slightly narrowed eyes sparkling with humor. 

“You want me to refer to you as a dirty slut?”

Maintaining eye contact is an uphill battle—you crack in a matter of seconds, resting your forehead against his and closing your eyes stubbornly. 

“No. For all you know I want to call you a dirty slut.”

It’s a ridiculous, but he recognizes the bravado for what it is, still smiling slightly as he rubs your hips. 

“Right. I apologize for assuming. But just for future reference, I don’t want to be called that, and I don’t think I’d be comfortable calling you that, either.”

“But you can call me other stuff,” you remind your boyfriend, pulling back and still not looking at him. 

“Yeah? Like what?”

And just like that, you’re shy again. 

“I don’t know… nice things. I like when you’re nice.”

“I like being nice to you.” It’s so sincere-sounding that you meet his gaze, examining his face. His eyes are clear and soft on you, the only source of warm light on such a grey day, as his hands keep running slow lines over your sides. “Kiss?”

And how could you ever deny him anything? 

As has happened before, the kiss starts out innocent enough. And it’s not that it gets particularly heated, or anything—it’s just that it doesn’t end, and after a few moments your mouth slips open and so does his and that’swhat gets both of you worked up over a period of minutes. Pressure and heat that you’re becoming accustomed to build between your legs, and you don’t even notice that you’ve begun rocking back and forth in his lap until Spencer is attempting to still your hips with patient but assertive hands. 

“Honey, that’s—slow down, sweetheart.”

Finally he gets a grip on you and you realize as soon as you stop moving that there had been friction occurring—and you’re pretty damn sure you know what you were grinding against. 

Your whole body feels hot with arousal and embarrassment. 

“Oh my god—I’m sorry,” you mumble, moving your hands from his shoulders to cover your face. “That was an accident, I—”

“It’s fine,” Spencer assures you, squeezing your waist gently. “I just wanted to make sure you knew what you were doing because I know we haven’t… gotten there, yet.”

A moment passes—your hands fall to the FBI stitching across his chest, studying the letters without really seeing them. You haven’t gotten there yet… but why not? Why haven’t you touched him, or even seen him? You think back to the few times he’s touched you and realize that you had been too busy with either your own insecurities or pleasure to genuinely consider how it might be affecting him. He says your name gently, drawing your attention. 

“You okay?”

You nod haltingly, brow furrowed as you think. 

“I—yeah. I was just realizing that I haven’t, like… touched you, yet.”

It’s silent for another long second, and you glance up, to where he’s studying you with a dissonant kind of relaxed scrutiny—a knowing confidence that probably comes with a lot more experience than you have. 

“Do you want to?”

Woah. 

Usually you have to beg on hands and knees and prepare a slideshow presentation before he agrees to doing anything sexual in nature. He’s never so overtly invited or initiated it before. Not that you’re complaining by any stretch of the imagination.  

You nod shyly, still fiddling with the fabric of his shirt. 

“If you want to, I can show you how. But it’s also absolutely okay if you don’t.”

Show you how? 

Your brain is melting into sludge at the idea. 

“I do,” you admit, meeting his gaze again. It’s kind, and you know he really wouldn’t be upset if you said no—but now that you’ve thought about it, you feel deeply compelled to try. 

“Okay. Come here, first.” You lean forward expectantly, eyes fluttering shut as his hand finds the back of your neck and he pulls you into another soft kiss. By the time your lips separate again, your head is spinning. “We’re just trying something, okay? You’re allowed to stop whenever you feel like it. Really low stakes. Got it?”

You nod, still close enough that your noses brush as you do. 

“Got it.”

He presses one more chaste kiss to your lips before pulling away and leaning back into the couch. 

“Scoot back a little, angel.”

Wordlessly you do so, heart pounding with nervous excitement as he lifts his hips and slides his pajama pants down just enough to where he can comfortably pull himself out, and—

Your breath catches. 

Now, you may be about as virginal as they come, but you weren’t born yesterday. You’ve seen porn, you’ve received unsolicited nudes—it is the 21st century. Yet never before have you thought to yourself; wow, that dick is the pinnacle of beauty. Perfect. Breathtaking. But there’s just no other way to describe him. 

So that’s what hits you first—how unexpectedly pretty it is. 

The size sinks in a quick second later. 

You can’t tell with perfect accuracy how many inches he is, but you’re pretty damn sure he’s big. That’s meant to fit inside of you?

No, no—that’s a consideration for another day. Right now you need to stop staring like an idiot. You glance up at his face, and he’s sporting a cocky little half-smile which lets you know you’ve been caught. Motherfucker he’s so hot. It’s unnerving. 

“Do you have something you’d like to say?” he asks politely, quite obviously containing his amusement. But you can’t summon a sufficiently sarcastic response. 

Your voice comes so soft when you reply, “you’re pretty.”

Spencer melts, eyes impossibly softening. 

“Pretty?” His smile is earnest now. He strokes your cheek and you can’t not lean into his touch. 

“Mhm. I want to, um…” your lips twist to the side as you look back down, finding he’s not gotten less intimidating since you last checked. “But what if I’m bad at it?” you whisper. He chuckles, brushing hair over your shoulder.  

“It’s kind of a hard thing to be bad at. And I’m gonna help you, okay?”

It’s the honesty with which he speaks to you that makes you feel so safe. There are no hidden intentions or words that seem to mean one thing but really mean another. Spencer wants you as a person more than he wants you as a body and that’s been clear since the first time he touched you. You take a deep breath. 

“Okay. What do I do?”

“First, you’re gonna spit in your hand.”

You look up, alarmed. 

“You want me to intentionally get my spit on you? Is that not your worst nightmare?”

“Believe it or not, I’m not super worried about yours,” he teases. “But if you’d prefer, I can spit in your hand.”

“Actually, mine is fine,” you laugh nervously. 

Hesitantly, you do as instructed, even though it seems frankly bizarre. 

“Good. Now just wrap your hand around it, like this.” His voice is quiet, focused as he guides your hand downward. Your heart rate ticks up again as he encourages you to wrap your hand around the base of his cock. He feels much warmer than you’d expected—his skin is silken beneath your touch but he’s undeniably hard and that sort of eliminates any sense of him being fragile from the equation. 

“It’s gonna be less sensitive down here—and then, up here—” he slides your hand back up, covering your thumb with his own and swiping it just below the head of his cock on the underside. He hisses and you look up in fascination. “That’s the most sensitive part.”

Without further instruction, you do it again, keeping your touch light and watching his face for a reaction. His drawn brows twitch, furrowing deeper for a second, and his lips part. A heavy exhalation passes between them and quickly builds into a breathy laugh. 

“What?” you murmur, over-eager to please and very nervous to do something wrong. 

“Nothing. Just feels good, that’s all.”

“Don’t laugh,” you pout. Of course that makes him laugh again, and he leans forward to kiss your head. 

“I’m laughing at myself, angel. I’m a grown man fighting for my life from a handjob that you’ve barely started. I knew it would be different with you but I didn’t realize it would be this different.”

Heat rises in your cheeks and you look away. 

“You don’t have to lie to make me feel better.”

“I’m not lying,” he urges, grabbing your free hand and encouraging you to uncurl your fingers. His thumb traces circles in your open palm, before capturing your entire hand in his. “Do you feel how much softer your hand is than mine?”

You frown, attempting to feel whatever it is that he’s pointing out. Despite the fact that you think he has very nice hands, you realize he’s right. By no means would you say that they’re rough, but you can tell where his gun normally sits in his hands, where his fountain pen rubs against his fingers. “Yeah.”

“Yeah. Anything you do is going to be perfect because it’s you.”

Spencer drops his hand to your leg, rubbing it soothingly. The other moves to cover yours—the one wrapped around him. 

“You’re gonna help me, right?” you ask quietly. Some adventurous part of you is very excited about this as an experiment—fascinated by the reactions you’ve already gotten from him and eager to push it. 

“I am. Little bit tighter, honey. I’ll tell you if it’s too much.”

You do as you’re told, and he’s murmuring more praise—slowly encouraging you to begin moving your hand with his own. A shaky exhale catches your attention, drawing your gaze to his face. His eyes are, of course, cast downward, but his expression is hypnotizing. Those lips remain slightly parted, and suddenly you wonder if he makes noises like you do. In that moment it becomes your life’s mission to find out. 

For a while you continue letting his hand guide your movements, but he keeps things so slow for your sake that you’re getting impatient. You forgo his direction, picking up the pace but trying to keep the rhythm he’d instilled in the motion. His hand slackens around yours. 

“Fuck,” he hisses to himself. The hand on your thigh rubs achingly deeper into the flesh. “Angel, what are you doing?”

“I want it to feel good.” Suddenly shy again, you slow down. His hips stutter, which you think may be a sign that it was working. “Am I—was that bad?” Spencer looses a breath, looking almost… frustrated?

“No, I’m just—I’m weirdly close to coming.”

“That’s a good thing, right?”

“Well,” he mutters, “not usually. Mostly it’s embarrassing.”

You giggle, a release of some tension, and begin pumping your hand again. His breath hitches and he finally looks up at you, meeting your eyes with his own lust-glazed ones. Heat pools deep between your legs. 

“I want you to come,” you admit quietly as you twist your wrist, brushing that spot underneath the head of his cock again. His jaw literally drops, and a look that is part confusion, part pleasure, twists his features. You see the surprise sparkling in his eyes and it only spurs you to keep talking. “I’ve never seen how you look when you do, but I’ve imagined it. I bet you look so pretty when you come, Spencer. ‘Nd then I would know that I can make you feel good, too.”

“You… you are making me feel good,” he assures you. The way his brow furrows and his  lips are parted give you a feeling that’s entirely new. Normally, you’re the one falling apart under his touch—but when it’s the other way around there’s a whole new kind of pleasure in it for you. You feel kind of powerful. Maybe even close to confident. 

“Really? I’m not this quiet when you touch me.”

“I’ve ha—ah—had more practice not making noise.”

“But why?” you implore, ignoring the fact that he’s slept with other women and enjoyed the sounds they made, and opting to brush your thumb across that extra sensitive part he definitely shouldn’t have told you about. His hips buck up and he hisses, which is immensely gratifying to you. 

“Because I like to listen.”

“What if I do, too?”

In a moment of divine inspiration , you cover the tip of his cock with your hand, swirling beads of pre-come over your palm. Spencer moans and his hips jut up into your grip. It’s a beautiful sound, just as you’d hoped. 

“Jesus, fuck.”

You understand why he seems to enjoy touching you so much. It’s so rewarding to watch as his breathing picks up and pleasure contorts his face—to watch him get messier and messier and lose his composure a bit more with each stroke of your hand. It’s so simple but Spencer looks at you like you’re exercising some arcane deviant power over him and he’s not sure he should be enjoying it as much as he is. 

Distantly you think about how it felt when he had his hands on you—and then, in clearer focus, how it felt when he went down on you. Both were perfect, but something about his lips so gentle on the most intimate, vulnerable part of you had felt like ascension. Maybe it was the emotional component, or maybe it just felt fucking good. Regardless, it seems an irresistible thought. 

You keep stroking him until his head is lolling on the back of the couch as he groans.

“Spencer?”

“Yeah, baby?”

He sounds so destroyed it makes you clench around nothing. Without any indication that you’re going to do so, you stop touching him, and the speed with which he lifts his head again is almost comical. Immediately, while he’s utterly defenseless and desperate, you ask, “can I use my mouth?” 

His eyes widen, and then shut, as he processes your request with a tiny shake of his head—probably trying to clear the haze of pleasure from his mind before he answers. 

“Honey,” he rasps eventually, opening his eyes and smoothing a hand over your hair, “you don’t have to do that just because I do. That’s not why I do it.”

“But I want to,” you murmur, shy and mildly embarrassed by what feels almost like a soft rejection. “I don’t think I could do anything, like, mind-blowing, but… I want to try.”

Your face is hot by the end of the sentence, and you can’t meet Spencer’s eyes as his fingers twitch over your hip. A quiet moment passes—but it’s short-lived.

“Okay. Go ahead, baby.”

Wide eyes dart up to his. 

“Really?”

Spencer smiles fondly, brushing an invisible speck from your cheek. 

“I don’t think I’m capable of turning that offer down. Not when it’s you.”

“Okay—um, should I just—” Spencer watches on, finding your sudden enthusiasm completely adorable as you scoot off of his lap and gingerly kneel in front of him. Your eyes are big and glassy as you look up at him, hands set politely on his knees. You squint suspiciously, eyes darting between his face and his cock, now about as hard as it’s ever been due to your toying. He knows it’s probably intimidating for a girl who has never seen one in real life, and he feels kind of bad about it. You do terrible, wonderful things to him that he doesn’t understand. “Wow. So... it looks bigger from down here.”

“Please don’t try to choke yourself,” he instructs hurriedly, leaning forward slightly. “I really don’t need you to do that. It’s fine if you can’t fit it all, I just—” he exhales shakily. Spencer is most definitely strong-willed but he can’t pretend like the sight of you on your knees for him, inches from his aching cock for the first time isn’t impacting his cognition. Most importantly he doesn’t want to make you feel pressured. He’s trying to not let how badly he wants this show in case you change your mind. 

Spencer watches as you psych yourself out—wilting like a thirsty flower. 

“But what if I’m bad at this?” you mumble, hands curling into loose fists atop his legs. Spencer pushes your hair back, tucking it behind your ears. 

“What’s your worst case scenario?” he asks. Your answer is immediate. 

“That I’m so bad you make me stop halfway through.”

Spencer can’t help but laugh again. 

“I’m sorry—I just… honey, you are really underestimating how profound your effect is on me. I just almost came from a minute long handjob. I can assure you that I won’t make you stop halfway through because I’d rather not have your mouth on me. That is… that’s just not going to happen.”

You lean your cheek against his thigh. He might actually pass away. 

“Will you tell me if I’m doing something wrong?”

“Honestly, as long as you don’t bite, you’re in the clear.”

Your eyes squeeze shut and your lips pull into an embarrassed little smile. 

“Great. Thank you for that invaluable advice.”

“Of course,” he smiles. It fades slowly as you take a deep breath and look up at him, obviously steeling yourself, before leaning forward and taking him in your hand again. He watches with bated breath, repeating no sudden movements to himself over and over as your hand moves up and down a few more times and your head lowers. 

You delicately, so lightly trace your tongue from the base of his swollen cock to just underneath the leaking tip, mapping a vein, and his hips buck as you take him into your mouth experimentally. Only the first few inches fit but the sight of your lips wrapped around him, the way you’re looking at him is so unbelievably erotic Spencer knows he won’t last very long.

From a purely technical perspective—he knows he’s gotten objectively better head. Still, something about the way you’re so delicate with him, so soft and timid in the way you lick and kiss and take him into your mouth has him fighting not to come already. Maybe it’s wrong, but knowing that he’s watching you do this for the first time in your life is obscenely arousing. The idea that you’ve never trusted another person this much; that you’re letting him be the one to help you navigate something as new and as important as sexuality. The more he thinks about it, though, the more he realizes: it’s not your inexperience that turns him on. It’s just you. Everything you do is so undeniably you—he recognizes your mannerisms in every tiny motion, in every glance, and it’s killing him. You’re like a dream as you look up at him with big nervous eyes, (no, really, he has had this dream) and he remembers he wants to be reassuring you—not pondering life and human connection. 

“Look at you,” he murmurs, groaning and hips twitching as your cheeks hollow, wrapping his achingly hard cock in soft gentle warmth so sweetly it feels taboo. “So good, baby. So gorgeous like this.”

You whine around him, receptive as always to his obsequious praise, and he notices the way your hips wiggle as you seek friction. God, you must like this a lot. Spencer gathers your hair into a makeshift ponytail, resting his hand on your head as you begin to bob it. That, he wasn’t prepared for. He’d have been satisfied with just kitten-licks and suckling but he won’t complain about this. It’s slow, and so intentional as you keep watching him for feedback cues. Ever his observant girl, you’re constantly paying attention. Aware of his reactions. He needs to keep telling you you’re good or else you’ll assume you’re terrible. 

“Over-achiever,” he whispers through a little smile as you down even more of him. 

Spencer is for the most part a kind and gentle person. For better or worse he is also a man, and he can’t help but fantasize about getting you all teary and drooly as he holds your mouth open and sees how much of his cock he can push down your throat. But again—kind. Gentle. So when you get a little over-zealous, attempting to sacrifice your comfort for his pleasure, he pulls your head back slightly. “That’s far enough, angel. That’s—fuck. God, you’re good at this.” The words are thoughtless, muttered to himself more than you as he watches through a haze while you look up at him with glassy, half-lidded eyes, slipping him in and out of your warm mouth, a little faster now as you gain confidence. 

You whine desperately around him, like you’re the one nearing orgasm and not him. The sound of your pleasure as you suck his cock makes him dizzy. His hips buck, pressing him a little deeper into your mouth. “Jesus fucking Christ,” he exhales. “Slow down, baby. I’m—” a louder moan from him like you’ve never heard as he thrusts shallowly turns you on profoundly. He’s so much more vocal than you’d have imagined—sonically and verbally. He breathes out a quick, “fuck, fuck, fuck,” pulling your hair slightly, and you’ve never wanted to touch yourself more but you know you can’t focus on both. Instead you work on making him come—you can worry about you later. He says your name, with an authoritative edge to his tone that makes you throb. “Honey, if you don’t stop, I’m gonna come—”

You swirl your tongue around the top of him like candy and he’s done for. Spencer tries to pull out, which only results in cum both in your mouth and on your face. The orgasm is his strongest in recent memory, and he grunts, watching your lips part and a little squeak escape as he comes all over your face—but you keep stroking him all the while. Once he’s 90% sure it’s over, he falls against the back of the couch, breathing heavily and looking down at you through hazy eyes. Oh, he’s going to feel terrible about this in a few seconds—but right now you look fucking perfect. Your eyes are wide, nervous as his essence drips over your face and down your neck—he groans when you swallow cautiously, averting his eyes to the ceiling lest he do another thing he regrets. 

“Baby, I am so sorry,” he mutters, forcibly clearing the haze of orgasm from his mind and sitting up, fixing his pants and looking around before locating the box of tissues on the side table. “I’m so, so sorry. I shouldn’t have done that.” You look up at him attentively as he wipes himself from your face as gently as he can. 

“Why not?”

“Because I didn’t ask you first. I wasn’t thinking clearly.”

Spencer guides your head around by your chin, wiping your jaw and lips. 

“It’s okay, Spence, I—”

“No, it’s not,” he cuts you off, trying to at least turn his guilt into a learning experience for you. He’s not deluded enough to think someone like you will stay with someone like him forever, because sometimes he does things like that, and he’s reminded that there are certainly people out there more deserving of you. At the very least he can clarify that nobody should ever do what he just did to you. “It’s really not nice to do that to someone.”

“Do you care what I think at all?”

Spencer freezes, finally forcing himself to look you in the eye. Despite the fact that he’s mad at himself, he’s sure it’s coming across as being directed at you. And he knows you’re sensitive, especially about this kind of thing. 

“Of course, I do, baby. I’m sorry. Do you want to come back up here with me and tell me what you’re thinking?” he murmurs, cupping your jaw. Hesitantly you nod. The tissues end up on the table—which he will be thoroughlywiping down later—before you crawl back into his lap from the floor. Spencer helps you settle against him, hoping he hasn’t messed this up irreversibly. He keeps his voice quiet as he rubs your leg. “What were you going to say?”

“I was going to say,” you begin, “that it’s fine, because you’ll remember to ask next time. And because… I kind of liked it. I like when—when you do stuff like that.”

It’s a miracle he can hear you with the way your voice drops into an almost-whisper and you’re hiding against his shirt. 

“Like what?” he murmurs. Although he’s not sure he’ll be able to handle the answer. 

“Like… I don’t know. Like you can do whatever you want to me. Like I’m literally yours.” Each word makes you cringe further, but Spencer has to try hard to maintain a cool facade as he processes this. If he’s going to try and be chivalrous, you’ll have to move away from this topic—this revelation—immediately. Thankfully, you seem eager to move on. “So… how did I do?”

He almost laughs. It seems exceedingly obvious how you did, but as per usual, you require verbal reassurance. 

“That was really good, baby. You did well.”

You blossom. 

“Really?”

“I wouldn’t lie.”

“Was I the best girl out of all of the other girls?” 

I wasn’t in love with any of the other girls. 

Just barely, he manages to stop himself from saying it, pinwheeling his arms on the edge of a very steep verbal cliff. The realization that he’s been in love with you for a while hits him like a truck. But he can’t tell you that right now. He should wait until you’re less vulnerable.

Fuck. 

He really wants to tell you right now. 

“Actually—don’t answer that,” you decide, while all of this happens in his head in less than a few seconds. “I want to go back to pretending I’m the only girl you’ve ever seen in your life.”

“You’re the only one that matters,” he offers, relieved to express at least some portion of the much bigger truth. Then he frowns. “Not that the other women I’ve met don’t lead important lives. I actually know a lot of incredibly influential and intelligent people who are women. I have deep respect for all of them. Am I helping or making it worse?” he rambles. You giggle. He has his answer. “What about you? How do you feel?” he asks after a moment, tenderly, lowly, stroking your hair as you lean against his chest. 

It takes you a moment to deliberate, fiddling with the fabric of his shirt. 

“I feel good. I, um… liked it a lot more than I would have thought.”

“Well, that’s good. Much better than if you had hated every second of it.”

You hum in agreement, and he waits for you to say whatever you’re holding back. It comes sooner than he’d have anticipated. 

“I feel bad about the times before. How did you just… go to sleep after? Were you not, like—insanely turned on? Not that I’m, like, irresistibly sexy, or whatever—you know what I mean.”

Spencer smiles because he knows you can’t see him. 

“I wasn’t doing it to pressure you into feeling obligated to reciprocate, I guess. My line of reasoning was that it would be less intimidating if I didn’t even present it as an option until you wanted to try.”

“Oh.”

Spencer thinks he sees where this is going. 

“Why?” he asks, leaning back and encouraging you to look at him. “Are you insanely turned on?”

“Wh—that’s—I didn’t say that!”

Spencer can feel how warm your cheeks are as he presses his lips to the side of your face. 

“You can tell me if you are,” he murmurs, all smiley as he moves to kiss your lips. “If you want something, you need to ask for it. I’m not a mind reader.”

“Yes you are,” you grumble. “That’s literally what behavioral analysis is.”

Not quite true, but surprisingly, he doesn’t feel the need to explain to you the semantics of what he does for work right now. 

“What got you all excited?”

“You know what,” you mumble, trying to look away again. Spencer doesn’t allow it this time, gently grabbing your jaw. 

“Yes, I do. But I want you to tell me. If you want me to make you feel good, this is how you’re going to convince me that you deserve it.”

You whine wordlessly, looking at him with those big, lust-glazed eyes.

“You wanted me to teach you how to use your words, right? This is it. I’m giving you an opportunity. If you don’t want to, that’s okay. Maybe we can take a nap, like you said earlier.”

“No! I liked—um, I liked all of it. I didn’t know if I would, because I was really nervous. But when I first—you know—and you got all quiet… it was like you couldn’t even talk for a minute. I was kind of proud of that. Because normally nobody can ever get you to stop talking.” Spencer narrows his eyes incredulously, a small smile tugging at his lips. But he doesn’t interrupt—not when it seems you’re finally starting to get more confident in your words. “And I really liked the noises you made. I think that was my favorite part. I liked when you pulled my hair back, and how you spoke to me. And when… when you got me messy and I had to swallow it. I really liked how it felt because I couldn’t think of anything else, just making you feel good. I really wanted to… make you proud, I guess. Is that weird?”

Spencer shakes his head no, a fond smile on his face when your eyes meet his again. 

“No. It’s a pretty normal thing to feel when you’re nervous and wanting to impress someone you care about. And I would have been proud no matter what, for the record. You were being very brave.”

You pull your bottom lip between your teeth, watching him expectantly. Spencer should have known you’re too needy to truly absorb anything he says to you right now. Which is actually pretty cute. Everything you do is endearing to him. 

“Stand up.”

You frown. 

“But—”

“Just stand up,” he demands calmly, preferring to think of himself as firm and not bossy. 

You do, looking rather annoyed and confused as you plant yourself in front of him. 

“Why?”

“You are so full of questions.” His hands slip up the side of your legs, under your skirt, and hook in the waistband of your underwear. Spencer looks up at you meaningfully and you nod, swallowing. 

As he pulls down, Spencer can literally feel the resistance of the fabric clinging to your soaked core. Under his touch the skin of your thighs is warm and soft. He wants to feel it on either side of his face, he wants to hear you whine as his stubble rubs against it, he wants to feel it clamp around his wrist, he wants it between his teeth and he definitely wants it pressing against his hips as he—

But no. 

There will be time for all of those things—especially the last one—later. For now, he’ll reach between your legs just to see—

“Oh, my god,” Spencer half-chuckles, half-groans, upon feeling how wet you truly are for him. He drags his knuckles from your dripping entrance up over your clit, pinching very lightly and earning a squeak from you which he ignores. “You really did like having your mouth full of me, huh?”

“I told you,” you breathe, visibly relaxing some as he continues to play with you for a moment. Then he pulls his hand away again, patting his thigh. 

“Sit.”

“You want me to…”

“Yes,” he says, simply. 

“But is it not going to… am I not going to mess up your pants?”

“You are even more neurotic about messiness than I am. I can wash them, honey. Come here.”

Spencer guides your hips over his thigh, watching your pretty face twist with uncertainty as you fully settle on him. Fuck, he can feel your warmth through the fabric instantly. Already he’s getting hard again. 

“What am I supposed to do?” you whisper, bunching his shirt in your fists. Spencer slides your skirt up higher, revealing the way you’re nestled against his thigh. He spreads you a little further apart, exposing more of your clit to the material underneath you. Immediately you press against him—he watches the delicate flesh rubbing gingerly against him and  his grip tightens ever so slightly. 

“All you have to do is rock back and forth. It’s easy.”

Already you’re starting to do it—but he guesses it’s like earlier where you don’t even realize it’s happening. 

“But… I wanted your mouth,” you admit, quietly, slinging your arms around his neck and burying your face there. 

“Do this for me first. Just get yourself off like this one time and then you can have my mouth. You said you wanted to help me feel better because I’m tired today, right?

“Yes,” you mumble, squirming over him. 

“Well, there are a lot of days when I get back home and I’m tired. I’m gonna need you to be able to get on top of me, just like this, and make me feel better. And I know you don’t know what it feels like to have something that deep inside of you yet, but it’s gonna be a lot. Even once you know how it feels to have me inside when you’re underneath me. I need you to practice for me right now so you’ll be ready, okay?”

You could come from the words alone. You nod, dazed with need as you roll your hips in a circle, pressing his thigh against your clit. 

“Back and forth, baby,” he murmurs, guiding your hips forward with his hands locked around them. “Back and forth, just like this…”

You moan quietly, shamelessly, eyes fluttering as you look down and watch your clit dragging over the darkening fabric. It’s easier if you isolate your hips, grinding down without moving your legs or upper body at all. 

“It feels really good,” you whisper under your quickening breath. 

“Yeah? Does it?”

“Mhm.”

“Good, angel. You look like you know what you’re doing.”

It’s audible now, quiet and wet and dirty. 

“I don’t,” you breathe. He sucks in a breath of his own, stilling your hips with fingers pressed deep into your flesh. 

“Sit up, baby.” You really wish he would stop making you stop, but you don’t want to keep going in case he needs you to quit—so you rise slowly, thighs trembling as you kneel. Spencer groans at the strings of your arousal momentarily connecting your core to his pants before they snap, getting your inner thighs wet. There’s a dark, very wet patch over his thigh, shining like glass. He thumbs over your slick clit absentmindedly as he looks up at you like you’re a miracle. “You’re fucking soaked. I’ve never seen you like this. Is this all from making me come?”

You nod feverishly, hips grinding against nothing in search of friction. He sits you back down on his leg, allowing you to sloppily find your rhythm again. Spencer bounces his leg lightly and you cry out softly, buckling forward. His arms wrap around you, still pressing you down against his thigh as you rut against it. 

“You’re sweet. Maybe I should have known how much you’d like it when I came all over your pretty face. You really like hearing that you did a good job, huh? I bet you like it even more when I prove it to you.”

You moan a “yeah,” barely processing his words. 

“My good girl even swallowed on her first try. Took it so well. And now look at how you’re taking this. You’re gonna love riding, baby. Just going to be another thing you’re good at as soon as you try it.”

“Spencer,” you gasp, overwhelmed by the praise. He’s bouncing his leg at regular intervals and everything is so sensitive.

“I know it’s harder to finish this way, but just one time, remember? And then you can have my tongue for as long as you want. You are my only plan for the day. Just give me one like this.”

But it’s not really harder to finish this way. Then again, you’re so turned on you could probably finish if a breeze hit you just right. Regardless, the thought of him going down on you again pushes you even closer to the edge.

You don’t know how much time goes by like that, you rubbing against him like it’s the last thing you’ll ever do, him pressing up into you until the pressure is so taut it snaps. There’s no time to warn him, but you suppose you don’t really need to. You writhe against him, caught between wanting to keep going and not being able to take more stimulation. He lifts you up just slightly, trying to separate you from his leg. You exhale deeply as your body relaxes, already close to dozing off against his chest.

“We can’t have you tapping out just yet. I still have to fulfill my end of the deal.”

In the end, he fulfills it three times over, and you end up showing your appreciation in kind one more time—much slower and more comfortably in his bed. He gives you plenty of time to learn what he likes, taking your teasing and coquettish explorations like a champ and never so much as tightening his grip in your hair. Turns out, you don't exactly spend the day doing nothing.

And you do end up taking that nap after all. Just... much, much later. And with less clothing on.

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid smut #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fic #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid x self insert #spencer reid x #spencer reid angst #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #criminal minds smut #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds imagine

[imsilay]

SMARTY

NSFW! mdni +18, cw: toxic!König, jealous!König, pussy slapping, König punishing the reader and he isn’t gentle… possessive behavior, manipulating?

word count: 1.8k

summary: König wants you all for himself so he made sure you only want him.

art cr: temir03_bek

The coffee shop had perfect coffee and a wonderful view. Your friends surrounded you and some of them were close. So close that he had to clench his fist to not break that arm around your shoulder. He didn’t like when someone else touched his belongings. The urge to lock you in and hide from the whole word was wandering in his mind. He warned you. He warned you so many times before. He didn't like your stupid friends. Why would you need them anyway? You had him and he was enough. How could you be so carefree, letting them touch you while knowing it drove him insane? Why couldn't you understand that you're his and his only? Was that how you welcomed him after his long mission: Ignoring him and chatting with your friends instead? It was supposed to be just the two of you, not your stupid friends constantly stealing your attention from him. He squeezed his eyes shut and took a deep breath to soothe his violent thoughts about the arm around your shoulder. Once he was feeling calmer, he approached you. When your eyes met his you knew something was wrong. You shrugged off the arm around your shoulder as you swallowed thickly. He leaned in and whispered to your ear. “I’m tired.” a wave of relief washed over you when he talked you with a sweet tone, you still couldn't shake off the feeling that something was off. Despite the feeling, you smiled and waved goodbye to your friends.

The moment you walked through the front door, he immediately locked up and hid the keys. Your brows furrowed in confusion and anxiety as you watched him closely. "König, what are you doing?" you asked, nervous as your gaze locked onto him. "I don't like them." When he crossed his arms and leaned against the wall, his huge arms and veins made your heart skip a beat. "Who are you talking about?" you mumbled, feeling even more nervous as you grasped at the sides of your shirt. His gaze lowered to your hands and then back up to your eyes. He sensed your anxiety and was annoyed that you were standing away from him. If you ask him the best way to calm down was letting him take the control of everything. “You know who.” his tone was calm but cold and distant. It made you even more nervous. You felt like you did something wrong. You felt guilty but you didn’t stepped back. “Care to explain why you don’t like them?” you crossed your arms, imitating him. One of his brows raised and he looked you up and down. The sudden attitude taking him by surprise. “Because…” he sighed and sat on the couch. “They stole your attention from me. I want you all for myself.” he said casually. Before you could say anything, he grabbed your hand and pulled you into his lap, making you straddle him as your legs wrapped around his waist. You tried to get up but it was useless against his strength. "I can't just ditch them and focus on you." you said, rolling your eyes. His attempt to stay calm and patient was failing miserably as you got on his nerves. "Mine." he growled into your ear, squeezing your thighs tightly, his frustrations growing. “Let go of me.” you scowled when he grabbed your thighs harder. “Du gehst nirgendwohin.” (You’re not going anywhere.) he growled. He was risking everything to just to be with you. And yet you’re here arguing with him like the brat you were. You continued to squirm, testing his limits. He took a sharp breath with irritation. A hard slap landed on your face, making your ear ring. It was the last thing you’d expect. His large, calloused hand caused too much pain that your lips quivered and eyes filled with tears. when you surrender König kissed your cheek softly. “Do you understand now, Maus? I don’t want you to be close with them. You’re only mine.” he whispered. You nodded. He leaned in and kissed the mark he left on your cheek. “Du bist mein.” He mumbled rapidly and kissed it once, twice, three more times, as if to apologize for hurting you. “Such a good girl.” he purred in delight when you submit him. His hands caressed your back as he kissed wherever he could reach on your face and neck. Showering you with kisses before he ruin you.

You wanted to run away but you couldn’t bring yourself to leave him. He was your everything. The thought of living without him made your heart ache. Even if he hit you, you knew he loved you and cared about you deeply. He just wanted to keep you safe, right? You hesitated to understand his morals after what happened today. Your body trembled ever so slightly and he noticed it. He noticed everything about you. Any subtle movement would catch his eye. He adjusted your position on his lap. Now you were leaning back against his chest and your legs were draped over his. "Are you afraid of me, Maus?" He whispered into your ear. "I'm not." you murmur with a pathetic attempt to sound tough, but your voice is almost above a whisper. “You should be." he responded, wrapping his big arms around your waist and pressing your back against his chest tight. Your breath hitched. You felt so small as his body covered yours, like a warm blanket. The sting of his slap still lingered on your cheek even after all those kisses. He doesn't regret it. In fact, both of you know you deserved it. You should’ve known better than making him jealous.

He kept holding you in his arms with iron grip, as if he was afraid that you'd leave. He was indeed afraid of someone stealing you from him. “Do you love me, Maus?” his whispered. Your body tensed when his hand slide down your body. His face was buried into your neck, his lips pressed to your pulse. You knew where this was going. König had a strange way to punish you, very strange. But tonight was different. His hands weren't gentle as they were before. It took you long to respond. He didn’t liked it. The room was quiet but your heart was beating loudly in your ear. “I love you.” you finally breathed out. His grip loosened ever so slightly. He smiled against your neck. “Ich liebe dich auch, Maus.” he whispered and kissed your pulse. He always loved the feeling of your pulse under his lips. You trusted him enough to be vulnerable with him even when you knew he could break a man’s spine without effort. It gave him a feeling of control over you.

Eventually his hands arrived at destination. Your back arched against his chest but he pulled you still with one of his arms around your waist. “But i still need to teach you a lesson, Maus.” He tugged your pants down revealing your cute little cunt and panties. His middle and index finger rubbed at your clit through the thin fabric of your panties making you squeeze your thighs together. “Nein, Maus. Open them wide f’me.” he whispered in a threatening tone. You did as he said. Who you were to deny him? He kissed your pulse again. The room was now filled with your little whimpers. His eyes never leaving your pretty cunt to watch how wet it got when he played with you. “Always so sensitive.” he purred. How do you think he would let anyone touch you when you were this responsive? What if they -even accidentally- made you feel like he did? The thought of another man or woman touching you made him see red. He ripped your panties and shoved his fingers into your tight hole. Like he was in a hurry to prove you he was the best. His fingers curled inside your walls and hit all the spots he knew by heart. Your back arched and hands grabbed his forearm but he bit your shoulder making you let go immediately. “Braves Mädchen, let König take care of your needy cunt.” he mumbled as he fingered your dripping hole in a brutal pace and rubbed your clit with his thumb. The pleasure was too much to bare. You tipped your head back on his shoulder. His gaze turned to your face and he watched how your face twisted in please. “So suß.” he cooed and kissed your chin. “Your friends are useless, Maus. They’re nothing compared to me.” he mumbled as he frantically fingered you. His lengthy and thick fingers easily making you squirm. “They’re not useless. I love them.” you managed to process his words and mumble an answer. Your walls clenched around his fingers signaling that you’re close. “Ja, really? More than me?” he stopped his fingers but still kept them inside you. You whined and tried to rock your hips but his arm around your waist pinned you to his chest. “Answer me, Maus.” he pumped his fingers into you once drawing a whiny moan. “N-no.” you whimpered and dug your fingers into his thighs. “Please don’t stop.” you pleaded as your hips moved by its own chasing that sweet release. He wouldn’t let you have it now. You have to squirm more and beg for it. “Benimm dich, Maus.” (Behave.)

his fingers slowly moved in and out as his arm kept you still. It was almost painful that how slow he was. “Promise me you will never see them again.” he mumbled with a dark voice. You shook your head in protest. You didn’t wanted to lose your friends just because he said so. A hard slap landed on your dripping cunt making you jolt with pain and taking you by surprise. A gasp escaped from you. His big hand covering your pussy when he hit you again. His palm now covered with your slick. “Use your words. Tell me you don’t love them, you don’t need them.” he growled and hit your clit. Your eyes went wide and hips twitched. But his strong arm kept you in place. Not leting you move away from the punishment. He hissed when he saw how red your puffy lips become with just a few slap. “Do you want me to bruise your little cunt?” he hissed then another hard slap landed on your cunt. You shook your head desperately. “I’m so sorry. I-i hate them.” You did your best to not cry but the teasing was too much. You felt like you could cum with just his big, calloused hands slapping your wet cunt. “König please.” you whimpered and buried your head into his neck. “I only love you. I promise.” you cried. He kissed your exposed neck and his fingers caressed your abused pussy. “Braves Mädchen.” he purred. It was enough for him. The way you begged and claimed you only loved him made his cock throb in his pants. He pushed his fingers into your tight hole and picked up the pace. “Let go Maus. I know you’re close.” he mumbled as he watched how you dripped from his fingers to couch. All the slapping and teasing made you weak. So you cum, hard. You didn’t knew if it was because the way he kissed your neck or his skilled fingers.

a/n: please support me by reblogging, if you liked the content ofc <3 your comments also makes my day :*

i have no idea what i just wrote- confession: i’m too lazy to write aftercare :’)

tags

@sanzuandmikey @leeeenistop @0151imagayone @0mint-chocolate0 @wybwtjmiadz

also i post everyday -sometimes 2 posts in a day- so if you follow me i won’t disappoint ;)

#idk how to tag this #konig x you #könig smut #könig fanfiction #könig x reader #könig x y/n #konig cod #konig smut #konig x reader #konig x y/n #könig #konig call of duty #konig headcanons #konig mw2 #konig #konig modern warfare #könig mw2 #könig cod #könig x you #könig modern warfare #könig call of duty #könig x fem reader #könig fanart #obsessed könig #silay #i know it’s könig #konig imagine #konig x female reader

[ddejavvu]

Hii hope you’re doing well, I was wondering if I could request a criminal minds blurb where reader is Penelope’s best friend and they’ve met for lunch in a cafe near Quantico, and reader is telling Penny about this new guy she hooked up with a few nights ago, reader tells Penny how big the guy was and then a few minutes later Spencer walks in and reader is like “P omg that’s the guy!!” And gestures towards Spencer who’s the only person ordering at the counter? I just feel like Penny would be equal parts both shocked and horrified that her sweet innocent boy Spence has a sex life but also that he’s HUNG?? I literally love you and all your Spencer works and I feel like you’d write this perfectly 🫶🫶

this post is 18+, minors dni.

Penelope is absolutely enraptured by the play-by-play you're murmuring to her over the low din of the cafe's patronage. The whirring and grinding of the machines behind the counter only further aid in your attempt to keep your conversation private, and you can smell sweet strawberries on the bubbly blonde when you lean in to give her details.

"And he reached for his fly- ooh, Penny, the way his arms looked," You gush, remembering the thick veins that had corded his bone while he'd wrestled with his belt, "He whipped his belt out of the way, and- stop!" You urge her when she wriggles her brows at you, "He took his pants off, Penny, and I swear to god I've seen thighs thinner than that dick."

Her resulting squeal is much less hushed than you'd managed to keep the rest of your conversation, and you swat at the arm that's not holding her coffee. She gets the message but resorts to stamping her feet beneath the table instead, a repeated clicking that blends in much better with the mechanical whirring of the baristas' handiwork.

"He was so thick, and Jesus- Penny, he was long, too, just big all around," You recall, insides throbbing with a phantom ache at the memory of what you'd taken last night, "I swear he had me seeing stars," You sigh, glancing down at the pale pink ring of lip gloss around the mouth of your cup, "I'd beg him to come over again tonight, but I think I need a week to recover."

"A week," She breathes dreamily, "I could barely feel the last guy I had."

"Oh, I could feel him," You laugh, "It's like I still can, I'm pretty sure he bruised- oh fuck!"

"What?" Penelope's brow dips instantly, concern etched into her pretty features, "What's wrong?"

"It's him," You grip her hand, nails digging into her skin, "It's the guy from last night!"

"Big dick dude?" She asks, and your frantic nod confirms her theory.

She tries to be subtle, bless her, when she turns to see him, but when the only person that she sees standing in line for a drink is her coworker, her brain chugs along slower than normal.

Where's big dick dude?

Oh, Spencer's here!

I don't see big dick dude.

Spencer is-

You're not sure even the most talented actor could ever recreate the sheer horror swimming in her gaze when she turns to face you again. Her eyes are blown wide and her mouth, lined in a pretty fuchsia paste, is downturned in a grimace.

"Please tell me you're not talking about the skinny mess in the sweater vest."

"That's exactly who I'm talking about!" You gush, trying to avoid his gaze lest he thinks you're trying to follow him around, "Penny, isn't he dreamy?"

"That's- oh my god," She recalls your descriptions, thicker than thighs, longer than you've ever seen, "I have to resign."

#🌚 anon #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid scenario #spencer reid oneshot #spencer reid one-shot #spencer reid one shot #spencer reid headcanons #spencer reid headcanon #spencer reid hc #spencer reid hcs #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fic #spencer reid blurb #spencer reid drabble #spencer reid dialogue #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid x reader fanfiction #spencer reid smut

[cupid-styles]

Oh fuck tattoorry piercing his girl’s nipples would be so hot specially with how much she loves humiliation that entire interaction would be so sexually charged

this took me FOREVER but I hope you enjoy!!!!

part of the tattoorry/plugrry world

word count: 3k

content warnings: piercings (mentions of needles), spicy but no smut

masterlist | talk to me

. . .

"Wait, you're being serious?"

Harry huffs out a laugh, sticking his chopsticks in the to-go container of veggie lo mein. "Of course I'm being serious. Why would I lie about that, dovie?"

His response, though not meant to make her feel bad, makes her shrug, a warm blush blooming over the expanse of her cheeks. She stuffs another bite of dumpling in her mouth, chewing it thoughtfully to save her from further embarrassment in front of her boyfriend. 

"Don't feel bad," he murmurs, his large palm finding the space between her shoulders, rubbing her sweatshirt-clad skin comfortingly. Her eyes stay glued to the television in front of them, where they're watching the newest episode of Ru-Paul's Drag Race per Y/N's request. (She's never watched it before and Jo, the receptionist at St. Mark's Social, told her she had to. Y/N's been steadily binging it for weeks. Harry pretends like he doesn't love it, but he's secretly just as invested.)

"Dove, look at me," he sighs, placing his food on the coffee table. She does, positioning herself to face him and flittering her eyes up to his face. He looks tired, but they both are. It's been a long week of work and school — however, Y/N was able to get an interview for the bookstore on campus, which ended up causing her a lot of stress and anxiety. It ultimately went well and they said they'd be getting back to her soon. Even if it wasn't the bookstore she wanted to work at, it was still a source of income that would hopefully replenish some of her savings and help her pay rent and bills. 

"I shouldn't have laughed, I'm sorry I did that," he says softly, "It's just a given to me, because of my work. Nipple piercings aren't otherworldly, like they probably are for you."

She shouldn't be nitpicking, but somehow that hurts just as badly. Sometimes, she feels like a child around Harry. It's as if he's lived a thousand lives in the adult world and she's just recently gotten to have a smidgen of those experiences. 

"It's not otherworldly," she says the word like it's an insult, and Harry has to press his lips into a line so he doesn't laugh, "I just didn't know people got them."

Clearing his throat, he forces himself to put on his professional piercer-and-tattooer face, "Yeah. It's something that anyone can get and I've done a fair amount of them. Semi-painful in the moment with a long healing time. They can look good on the right person, though."

That causes her eyebrows to nearly shoot up to her forehead. 

"What do you mean, the right person?"

"You're just a nosy little thing tonight, aren't you?" Harry fires back with a smirk. She goes to cower with deflated shoulders but he instantly makes a tsk-ing noise with his mouth, grabbing her hands to keep her close, "I just mean, like any piercing, it doesn't always look right on the person. Sometimes people get nose or eyebrow piercings and it's like, oh, that's fine. But sometimes it's as if their anatomy looks complete with the piercing — almost like it's meant to be there, if that makes sense."

It doesn't, but it only continues to pique her curiosity even more. 

"What about me?" 

"What about you?" Harry chuckles, using a hand to smooth her hair down. 

"What piercings would look good on me?"

He smirks at her little game. She plays this sometimes, and he assumes it only comes from a place of true wonder. When they talked about the drugs he's done before, she asked which ones he think she'd like. (None, except maybe for weed, but she has to get her anxiety under control before she tries it.) They went over different styles of tattoos when Y/N was interested in his work, especially when he explained that his are just a hodgepodge of designs, some with meaning, some without. (He said she can get whatever she wants if she decides on something one day, but he's particularly partial to a little "H" on her bum.) And now, she wants to know what piercings would fit her. 

"You can get whatever you'd like, dovie," he replies, "Just as long as I'm the one doing it."

She rolls her eyes and leans her shoulder against the plush of the couch cushion. "Yeah, but you're the professional, Harry! You know what would look best on me."

"Anything would, you're gorgeous."

"That's a cop-out answer and you know it!"

Harry laughs loudly and places his hands atop her shoulders, "Okay, okay. Let me think, dovie. I need to assess my client."

"Oh, you're being a professional now?"

"Shhhh!" he exclaims, and it only makes her laugh harder. He's already gone to that focused place, though, with wandering but fixated eyes and that small crinkle between his eyebrows. She feels bashful beneath his gaze, blinking her eyes as he analyzes her facial features. She's watched him work before, but for some reason, this in particular reminds her of the first time they met, when she sat in on him tattooing Mai. She remembers the way her stomach warmed and her core throbbed at his attuned facial expression, similar to how it is now.

"Okay," he murmurs. Slowly, he reaches up to gently tap at the side of her nose. "I think you'd look very pretty with a small nose piercing."

"Really?"

He nods. "Yes, but you're beautiful with or without, so it doesn't matter. Plus, I can't have my girlfriend looking cooler than me."

She's not surprised at the way he instantly returns to his teasing self, even if it's not exactly the answer she was fishing for. She watches as he leans forward to grab his carton of noodles. With her tongue peeking out to moisten her lips, she attempts to grab his attention again.

"What about...?" she glances down at her chest. Harry looks at her with a quirked eyebrow. Her form is currently swallowed up in a sweatshirt that's a few sizes too large, so she realizes she's not being entirely specific about what she's asking. "Like...?"

"Huh?"

She sighs frustratedly, "My boobs!"

"Oh," Harry's eyes widen, flickering down to her covered breasts, "You wanna know if you'd look good with nipple piercings?"

She nods, nibbling on her bottom lip. She watches at the cogs turn in his brain, his gaze meeting hers a moment later. 

"Need to see 'em." he says decidedly. 

She huffs out a chuckle as he helps her peel her sweatshirt off, leaving her in a comfortable bralette. It's pale pink and sheer, but with Harry's hands splayed across her ribs, he still pulls the fabric down. In an instant, her nipples are stiff and peaked from the cold air, and she's attempting not to feel sheepish underneath his intense eyes as they flicker between her breasts. 

"I don't know why I'm even contemplating it," he says, though it's mainly to himself, "Of course you'd look hot with them. You're you."

He looks up at her with a goofy grin before pressing a kiss between them. She blushes.

"You think so?" she asks as her hand finds the back of his neck. He nods, eyes flickering closed when her fingertips play with the shorter, curly tendrils. 

"Of course."

"Would you do it, then?"

Harry's eyes shoot open. "Wait, what? I thought we were just... talking, I didn't think you were being serious."

Y/N shrugs, "I dunno, I kind of like the idea of it."

"Dovie... you only have your ears pierced," he mumbles, sitting up and reaching to gently touch her ear lobes, "If this is something you'd seriously want, I'd want you to think about it for at least, maybe, a few days, not just 10 minutes."

"I've never done anything impulsive, though," Y/N says through a whine. He understands it, and his face crinkles some at her request. "You've gotten tattoos while you were drunk! O-or given stupid ones to yourself!"

"I know, baby," Harry coos, "But those were stupid decisions and I don't want you to make the same ones. You're so much better than that."

She sighs dejectedly. He presses a kiss to each of her cheeks, then to her nose. 

"I get it, dove, really. And by all means, I'd rather you get an impulsive piercing than a tattoo. But the healing time is really long, and it is painful. I just don't want you to regret it or... or get mad at me, either."

Y/N's heart softens a bit, nodding her head as she worries her bottom lip between her teeth. "No, I understand." 

"If you still want them in a few weeks or months, I'm more than happy to be the one to do it," he says softly, reaching down to give her hand a small squeeze. She perks up a little at that, and he smiles. "Just give it some more thought, okay?"

. . .

Harry really, truly thought Y/N would never mention the whole nipple piercing thing again.

It turns out, his girl is way more stubborn than he could have ever anticipated, because it's been four weeks since then and she still wants them. 

In fact, she's currently sitting in his little work zone, where he tattoos and pierces other clients. Not his girlfriend.

"Are you sure?" he asks for the thousandth time. In the time since she first brought it up, she's done tons of research, including asking Harry just short of a million questions. He appreciated her enthusiasm towards education, but talking about nipple piercings as soon as he finished up work wasn't always ideal. Still, though, he made sure to entertain anything she had to ask, even catching her looking up different jewelry styles and what it looked like on different people. 

And, as soon as Jo accidentally overheard Y/N talking to him about it, of course she offered to show her own. Harry wanted to bang his head into a wall as he listened to them excitedly chatter in the corner, right after one of his employees bared her entire chest to his girlfriend. It had to be some type of workplace violation, only Harry served as the closest thing to Human Resources at the shop — and, considering they sold weed on the side, he didn't think he had much of a case against Jo.

It just so happened that Y/N got out of classes early on Wednesday and Harry hung around the shop those days, making deals and doing boring business administration things. When she asked if she could come by to get her piercings done, he reluctantly said yes. 

It wasn't that he didn't absolutely love the idea of it — he did, actually, and his mouth nearly watered at the imagery it created in his brain. What he did hate was the thought of causing his girl any kind of pain. He was still in the camp of being fearful that she'd get angry at him if she didn't end up liking it. But her excitement towards it never wavered, and he would never be one to tell her no.

"Yes, I'm sure," Y/N replies, wringing her hands together in her lap. "I'm nervous, though."

"That's normal, dovie. Just try your best to relax, it's only me."

She nods as he shuts the door to give them some privacy. He never does that with clients, but he wants to make sure he's making it as comfortable as a process as possible — and, maybe he's keen on ensuring no one else gets a peek. 

He busies himself with sanitizing his tools, washing his hands, and eventually pulling a pair of latex gloves on. He wishes he could make it a more fun experience for her, but the whole thing is quite medical.

"You already picked your jewelry out, right?" he asks lowly. She nods her head as she watches on. 

"Mhm. I sent you a picture of it last week."

"Right, these simple pink barbels, hm?" 

The piercing jewelry she'd chosen were pretty spot on to Y/N's aesthetic of being uncomplicated and feminine. When he saw what she picked, he immediately told her that it would fit her perfectly. 

"Alright, I'm gonna clean them and then we can get started. Still feeling good?"

She nods again. 

"You gonna tell me if you're gonna pass out again, baby?"

She scowls, remembering back to fainting from her first ear piercing. The sour, twisted frown on her face makes him laugh. 

"That's still so embarrassing." she mumbles. On the newly cleaned workspace, Harry shakes his head, placing the sanitized jewelry and piercing supples down on it. 

"Not embarrassing. Cute, actually," he corrects, peeling his gloves off. "Okay. I'm gonna help position you, is that okay?"

"Do you do that for every client?"

He narrows his eyes at her playfully, "No, you jealous little fiend."

She pulls her sweater off, revealing a pale blue baby tee. He swallows as she lays back on the extended table, taking a deep breath to surely calm her nerves. He gently squeezes her wrist, hovering over her form as she gets comfortable. When she shoots him a small nod, he smiles, flipping her shirt up. 

"Okay, baby," he says, smoothing his hand over her stomach, "I'm sure you read this in your... insane amount of research—"

"Not insane."

He nods curtly, "Right, not insane," he quickly corrects. "Anyway, your nipples have to be hard for this. It helps with the placement."

She issues another silent nod his way but doesn't move to do anything. With a small smile, he gently cups her breast. 

"Do you want me to?" he asks, his tone dropping lowly. She's not quite sure what he's even asking to do, but she still provides an affirmative answer. It's not a second more before he's latched his lips around her nipple, her eyes fluttering back from the sucking sensation. It's messy, the way he alternates between each one so they're swollen with his spit, and her fingers find his long curls, tugging at them gently to press him closer to her chest. 

It feels like he's gone far too quickly, plushy, wet lips pressing a quick kiss to the valley between her breasts as he examines his work. Her mouth parts as she watches him bite his lip. 

"You're good," he pants out, though he takes a moment to adjust the growing bulge in his pants, "Need to... put gloves back on."

They're both a bit lust-driven now, but Harry's quick to meld back into his professional persona after snapping a clean pair of gloves on his hands. Y/N swallows as he analyzes her, feeling squeamish beneath his eyes. Wordlessly, he grabs a marker and places two dots on either of her nipples. 

"That's just for the placement," he explains, grabbing a mirror so she can look at where the jewelry would sit, "What do you think?"

Truthfully, they could have been completely wonky and Y/N wouldn't have noticed, let alone say anything. She trusts Harry implicitly, even if she still feels a bit hazy from the welcomed assault on her stiffened breasts.

"Good." she says with a nod, glancing up at him, "Looks good."

"Alright, baby," he replies. He turns to get the clean piercing needle from his rolling tray. "I'm gonna count down from three. I want you to close your eyes and inhale on three, then exhale on one. We'll take a short break after the first one, and then I'll do the second. Does that sound okay?"

"Mhm," she mumbles, nervously biting her lip. "Just do it, please. 'm gonna lose my nerve."

He chuckles and nods, instructing her to keep her eyes closed as he situates himself over her. 

"Okay. Three— there you go, dovie, big, deep breath— two, one."

She immediately winces from the sharp bite of pain, a noisy gasp falling from her lips. Harry silently cringes to himself — not because the piercing isn't perfect, but because he absolutely hates knowing he's the reason why she's in pain right now. 

"Keep your eyes closed, baby," he murmurs as he fits the jewelry through the first piercing, "Good girl. You're doing so good for me, hm? My strong baby."

She swallows harshly, hands balled into fists at her side. It's painful, that much is true, and she's beyond grateful when he finally finishes screwing the jewelry into place. She lets out a shaky breath and Harry coos, taking one of his gloves off to thumb her tears away. 

"Was that okay, dovie?" he asks worriedly, "We can always save the second for another day."

Y/N quickly shakes her head, "No, no. Just do the other one now, otherwise I'll never have you do it."

Harry repeats the process on the other side. The pain is just as bad, tears continuing to cloud Y/N's vision and roll down her cheeks despite her keeping her eyes squeezed close. He shushes her softly throughout it, his heart tugging. Once he's finished, he's quick to wash his hands, listening to her quiet sniffles. 

"I know baby, I know," he mumbles. He crosses the room as soon as he's done, sitting down next to her and brushing her hair back, "You did so good, you know that? 's all done, dovie, you're done."

She sniffs, batting her wet eyelashes up at him. "'s done?"

"Yeah, sweetheart." he says with a small, crooked smile. "You were so good. Took it like a champ."

"I didn't, I cried the whole time."

He chuckles and leans down to press a gentle kiss to her forehead. "Do you wanna see them?"

She nods, nibbling on her bottom lip as he stands to grab the handheld mirror. He helps her slowly sit up, hinging at the waist. He holds it up to her chest, both pairs of their eyes staring at her swollen breasts. His eyes flitter to her face to gauge her expression, scared that she hates them. 

"Wait," she mutters, cocking her head to the side, "Wait... they're kind of hot."

Relief floods Harry's system and he smirks. "You think so?" 

"Yeah," she nods, sitting up on her knees, "I know they're kinda puffy right now but... I think I like them. A lot."

Harry swallows harshly, dropping the mirror on his chair. Suddenly, he's surging towards her and taking her cheeks between his large palms, smushing their lips together like his life depends on it. It takes her entirely by surprise, and it's hurried and hot and desperate, so much so that she's panting into his mouth and gripping at his black tee-shirt. 

When he finally breaks their kiss, strings of spit still connecting their mouths, he keeps his forehead pressed against hers. Again, he glances down to get another look at her chest. 

"I love you so fucking much," are the only words he can utter out before he's pulling her jeans down to bury his head between her legs. 

#bestie asks #writing #tattoo artist h #harry styles #harry styles writing #harry styles one shot #harry styles blurb #harry styles fan fic #harry styles fic #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fanfic #harry styles imagine #harry styles fluff #harry styles angst #harry styles smut #harry styles one direction #one direction #harry styles x reader #harry styles x oc #harry styles x y/n #harry styles x you #harry styles fic rec

[teatreeoilll]

𝐅𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐥𝐲 (𝐆𝐨𝐣𝐨 𝐒𝐚𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐮 𝐗 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐗 𝐆𝐞𝐭𝐨 𝐒𝐮𝐠𝐮𝐫𝐮)

˚• . ° . • . ° . • . ° . • . ° . • . ° . • . ° . • . ° . • . ° . • . ° .

w/c - 1.4k content - MDNI! 18 + ! fem!reader, porn, Gojo eats you out while you sit on Geto's lap. That's it. That's the plot.

• . ° . • . ° . • . ° . • . ° . • . ° . • . ° . • . ° . • . ° . • . ° . 

Geto loves it when you sit in his lap. He loves it so much that sometimes he can't help himself; he puts a large arm around you first, nuzzling his face into your hair to smell its sweet scent, almost intoxicated. You draw closer to him; it's hard not to when the pads of his fingers begin to draw soothing patterns on your shoulder.

It's just a regular Tuesday night, and some average heist movie is playing idly on the television, and neither you, Geto, or Gojo - who made himself at home in your and Suguru's shared apartment with his feet crossed over on the coffee table - are paying too much mind to it.

You watch Gojo reach a pale, veiny arm into the bag of sweets. He takes out a piece of candy and unwraps it slowly, and you notice how his tongue darts out just a bit before he puts the chocolate candy in his mouth.

"Want one?" Gojo asks as he's about to take another one, and something in his small smirk when he says that makes your muscles tense.

With his hand still around you, Geto notices that - it's not the first time he spots it - he already took note of the light red flush that covers your cheeks when his best friend comes over after a workout with his shirt too tight from being drenched in sweat, or when you look just a moment too long into Gojo's blue eyes when you greet him before your eyes dart to the floor, the corners of your lips twitching up. Not that you ever do or say anything; it's all so innocent and sweet that Geto can't help but savor it, knowing his girlfriend's dirty little secret crush.

"Oh - no, thanks," you smile back at Gojo and lean further into Suguru's side, fixing your eyes on the screen.

Geto's arm around you tightens, and he reaches his other arm under your thighs to lift you up a bit and pull you on his lap. The heat spreads quickly on your cheeks, "S-Suguru," you whisper, fumbling away from his grasp, "not now." Geto knows you're not too much into public displays of affection, but the thought itches his mind, and his trousers grow uncomfortably tight.

Geto pulls you on top of him anyway, and Gojo's ever-perceptive pale-blue eyes stray away from the screen to land on your flushed face.

"Don't be shy," Geto whispers as his hand brushes the hair away from the back of your neck. His heavy breathing warms your skin, "We're all friends here, aren't we?" He raises his arm to grab you by the side of the face, turning it for your eyes to land on Gojo as he presses chaste kisses over your neck.

"S-Suguru," you whimper, feeling his stiff cock rubbing on your lower back through his trousers, "not - " but you can hardly breathe when you notice the sly smirk plastered on Gojo's lips and the way his jaw clenches each time you try to wriggle away from Suguru's touch.

"Satoru's a good friend, don't you think?" Geto urges, his hand leaving your face to brush over your thigh, raising the hem of your skirt, "I don't think you ever told him what a good friend he is, did you?"

"I don't think she did, Suguru," Gojo suddenly says, his eyes narrowing when the blush on your cheeks deepens to a crimson shade, "but I guess it's my fault," he sighs dramatically as he runs a hand through his white hair, "I don't think I ever showed her what a good friend I am. How's she supposed to know?"

Suguru chuckles, shaking your body along with him, "I guess she isn't," He runs his hand up your thigh to slide his fingers over your drenched panties, and you shudder, "But she wants you to show her. Don't you, princess?"

All you manage is a stifled mm-hmm before Gojo pushes the coffee table away, and it screeches as it reaches the middle of the living room, making space for him to kneel and settle himself between your thighs.

You gulp when you feel Gojo's hand run up your thighs, grabbing the sides of your underwear to pull them off, and you shiver at the touch of his warm hands running down along your legs together with your panties. He throws them on the floor and looks at you from beneath his long white eyelashes. The air gets trapped in your lungs.

"Come on, princess," Suguru's voice purrs in your ear as he spreads his legs, your own legs on either of his, revealing your wet cunt to Gojo's eager eyes, "Tell Satoru what a good friend he is, or he won't know."

"Y-You're a very good - " and Gojo reaches a long finger to skim along your folds, "Friend - Fuck - " you gasp.

"That's not nice," Geto chastises in your ear, his palms holding your thighs spread, and you place your hands on top of them, digging your fingers into them to steady yourself.

"It's okay, Suguru," Gojo smirks as his face draws closer to your clit, licking a teasing stripe along it, and you feel him smiling against your cunt, "She'll be nice in a minute."

Gojo's tongue begins lapping at your folds, and your thighs jolt, wanting desperately to close on his head only for Geto to hold them tighter in place, "Satoru - Fuck - " you moan, feeling Geto's cock twitch against your lower back.

"Feels good?" Geto murmurs, and you feel Gojo's two long fingers hover at your entrance before pushing in teasingly slow, his tongue still flicking at your clit.

"So sweet," Gojo pulls away from your clit, his mouth drenched in your essence as he works you open with his fingers, licking his lips clean, "If you told me she tastes so sweet, we would've done this a lot sooner."

Geto's chaste kisses on your neck turn to soft nibbles on the soft skin there as he groans every time your body twitches, letting him have a bit of delicious friction on his clothed cock, "Shit," he groans into your neck. He pulls his hand off of one of your thighs, running his fingers along your wet cunt to collect your essence before lifting them up to his mouth, licking them clean, "You are, so sweet."

Gojo's fingers pick up a ruthless pace, the pads of his fingers abusing the gummy spot inside you, "So needy," he smirks when he feels you clench around his fingers, and your vision nearly blurs when his tongue laps at your folds again, your hand darting out to grab strands of white hair to make sure he doesn't pull away again.

"Ah - Fuck - " you moan out as you writhe and squirm at the dizzying feeling of Gojo's fingers nudging your sweet spot, the heat pooling in your stomach as a Geto still holds you in place, "Shit - 'Toru - I - "

The lewd squelching noises coming from your wet cunt fill the room, and your back arches, tension coiling in your stomach as you almost instinctively turn your head to Suguru, who shakes his head. "It's okay princess," Geto's fingers grip your chin to tilt it down at Satoru, "You can look at him."

And you watch Gojo's blue eyes, desperate moans mixed with cusses escaping your lips as he looks up at you. His tongue still works hungrily on your clit, and his fingers push deeper and deeper with each erratic thrust while his free hand rubs his erection through his trousers for some relief.

The coil in your stomach snaps, and your release drenches Satoru's lips and chin as his movements finally slow down. Your nails dig into his scalp as you ride out your high on the slowing pumps of his fingers. He slides his fingers out, "'Toru - " you whimper when his tongue glides one more time against your sensitive clit.

You feel Geto's unsteady breathing at your neck as he locks eyes with Gojo, giving him a nod. Gojo rises from his knees, his face an inch away from yours, "You have one more in you, princess?" He asks but doesn't wait for an answer before pressing his slick-drenched lips against yours, sliding his tongue into your mouth as he moans at the feeling of your release rolling off his tongue onto yours, the sweet aftertaste of the candy he ate still present on his tongue.

He pulls out of the kiss, and you turn to Suguru, who eagerly pushes his tongue in your mouth, "I bet you do," Gojo teases, and you feel him between your legs again, pressing soft, wet kisses to your inner thigh.

#gojo satoru smut #geto suguru smut #satoru gojo x reader #gojo x y/n #gojo x reader #gojo x you #jujutsu kaisen x you #jjk x you #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk x reader #geto suguru x reader #geto suguru x you #geto suguru x y/n #jjk x reader smut #jujutsu kaisen smut #satosugu x reader #satosugu x you #satosugu x y/n #satosugu x reader smut #suguru geto x reader #suguru x reader #geto x reader #geto smut #geto x you #geto x y/n #jjk smut fics #gojo smut #getou suguru x you #getou suguru x reader #satosugu smut

[milkyhoneybee]

Unethical magic friend who uses you to solve their problems without asking you or considering your comfort

They ran out of milk for their morning coffee? They snap their fingers and suddenly your tits are massive and leaking milk. They take what they need and don't bother changing you back until they remember hours or days later, even if you try to remind them they just wave you off saying 'sure, sure, I just need to finish working out this summoning circle' and get distracted again

Sometimes they read something in a book that gets them horny or there's something they couldn't figure out, or they just pass someone in the market who takes their fancy, so guess who's helping them recreate it? You lose track of the amount of times you've been turned into the current object of their desires-- you don't even remember what your original hair colour was at this point, though you think you're mostly the same as you were when they change you back... but, enough subtle differences over time can build up...

Not to mention the times you've ended up with tentacles or horns or fangs or a foot long tongue, genitals of every configuration, or been transformed into slime and used just for their pleasure, or, more humiliatingly, been used in some test or experiment, or used to get spell ingredients

You would leave, you think, even if it didn't usually feel so good you lose control of yourself, but you didn't realise how binding a mage's "friendship bracelets" were when you first accepted it when you became friends, and now even if you do go anywhere, they can summon you back without trouble

They just conjure you some souvenir or some kind of 'treat' if you complain, and you feel your cheeks flush with the patronising nature of it. None of your complaints are ever taken seriously

Sometimes they'll summon a demon or other creature either for information or for some task, and you've ended up being used as payment or to placate them. You start drooling and going weak at the knees whenever you smell succubus milk or incubus cum from the amount of times you've been exposed to it already-- you're honestly worried it'll become an addiction before too long...

The one time you tried to sabotage one of your friends spells, hoping they'd get a taste of their own medicine, and while at first it was satisfying seeing their look of panic when the magic went awry, it didn't last long...

When you looked at their spell book and saw they were trying to create an armour spell as strong as dragon scales, you figured out just what your interference had caused, watching those glistening sapphire scales spread along their growing, shifting limbs, long claws growing in, a tail stretching out behind them, horns and wings starting to form

Unfortunately, your friend was still conscious enough to realise it was you that had caused the issue, and they had no qualms about 'punishing' you for it

Increasingly they grew larger and stronger than you, long maw full of sharp fangs and a wicked tongue grinning as they pinned you down under one paw. The tongue that shoved itself inside you was larger than some of the cocks you'd taken before, making you squeal and writhe, body shaking when the edge of claws sent little trickles of blood down your thighs and sides. They pressed you down harder into the floor, growling like a thunderstorm and started fucking their tongue into you. Suddenly, their haunches were over your face, their serpentine body much more flexible and longer than their human one, and your eyes widened at the sight of the cock hanging heavy and flushed, pushing past the split of scales between their legs

Even trying to keep your mouth closed didn't save you, your draconic friend simply smothering you with their cock until you were forced to take a breath, and after letting you get a little air, they took the opportunity to ram their cock straight down your throat. You can't fight back at all as they fill you from both ends, feeling like a toy being hollowed out

Their cock is covered in ridges and the slick confines of your throat drag against them in a way that, from what you can still manage to piece together due to the lack of consistent air, must feel good. They even get their tail wrapped around your throat, making your watering eyes roll up as they tighten their hold

You pass out, of course

Thankfully, they must have pulled out before the lack of air completely did you in (though you have no way to tell, perhaps they could still cast necromantic magic in dragon form?) but you come to in fits and starts, finally piecing enough of yourself together when you're being held in both of their front paws, your hole stretched and leaking around their cock as they bounce you up and down its length

From the way your belly sloshes, and how sticky your legs are (not to mention the rest of you, you assume), you can guess they've already cum in you a few times while you were out cold

When the draconic mage finally finishes with you, you're left slumped over, face half laying in a puddle of cum and you don't think you'll ever not smell like it or if you'll ever taste anything else again. You don't know if you can even talk any more from having your throat so thoroughly fucked. Not to mention if your holes will recover after being stretched out and absolutely ruined on that massive dragon cock...

Of course, leaving them a dragon doesn't seem like a good idea for anyone. Once you get enough energy and brain cells to rub together, and manage to clean up a bit, you get herded over to their spell book. They eventually nudge you and manage to gesture, growl, and, at times, roughly manipulate you, until you can brew a potion to change them back

Once they're back on two legs? 'Well, that was fun, wasn't it?'

#nsft fantasy #nsft concept #tf kink #unethical mage #monster fucker #objectification kink

[hairmetal666]

Closing shifts at Scoops Ahoy are always boring, but Robin took off early to study and nobody is coming in for ice cream at 8pm on a school night in mid-winter. Steve's alone and has been for the last forty-five minutes, with no end in sight.

He's doing tricks with his scooper, counting how many times he can twist it through his fingers without dropping it (57 so far), when the most beautiful man Steve has ever seen, walks in. He's got long dark hair that falls in perfect curls around his shoulders; wide eyes the same deep brown of fresh, dark coffee; and the most perfect plump mouth.

Steve can't move, his head going fuzzy. His eyes catch on the man's chest--visible through the black mesh tank top he's wearing-- revealing tantalizing swirls of black ink and the glint of silver bars through each nipple. The guy also has on leather pants that cling to the line of his legs like a second skin.

Jesus. Steve just realized he's bi and the physical embodiment of his wet dreams walks into the store like it's nothing. He's going to die.

The man rushes to the counter, his eyes finally falling on Steve, and it's like his feet get caught on each other for a second before he struts forward. His face melts into this heart-stopping smile, bringing out the cutest set of dimples Steve has ever seen. This is it, Steve is done for, time of death, 8:06pm.

"Ahoy, sailor," the man says with a mischievous glint in those dark eyes.

He returns the smile and somewhere, somehow, finds the words to reply, "I think that's my line."

Steve leans towards the counter, but in doing so, drops the scooper hanging from his fingers. The metallic clatter is harsh against the tile, and blood rushes to his cheek. "Whoops," he mumbles. He ducks down to retrieve it, mentally kicking himself for his clumsiness.

The man's smile only grows, and now there's a faint flush across his pale cheeks. And fuck if Steve can't help but smile right back, to let their eye contact linger.

"What can I get you?" He asks. His voice is way too low for regular customer service, and if he flutters his eyelashes too--well, that's between him and the USS Butterscotch.

"I know this is ridiculous. It's late and it's starting to snow," the man says. He leans over the counter. "But I need a strawberry shake to go."

"Strawberry shake, good choice," Steve nods. "Coming right up."

They don't stop looking at each other or smiling as he blends up the drink, and when he hands the cup over, their fingers brush, linger, both their faces staining red.

"How much do I owe you?" he asks.

Steve shakes his head. "On the house."

"You really know how to charm a guy, sailor-boy."

"Maybe I'm hoping to see you again."

"Depends," the man says. His smile widening, his dimples getting somehow deeper.

"On?"

"How good this shake is." He winks.

Steve thinks he might burst into flame before the man can taste the drink, but then the guy glances at his watch and curses. "Sorry, sweetheart, I gotta run. Been a pleasure, sailor."

And with that, he runs from the store, strawberry shake clutched in his long-fingered grasp.

Steve collapses against the counter, burying his face in his hands. He's not ever gonna recover from that.

---

Eddie's guitar is in his lap, his melted strawberry shake at his side. He can't get the guy from the ice cream shop out of his head.

Fuck, he had all that perfect hair under that silly little hat; his face dotted with cute little moles and freckles; eyes that flashed from honey to gold to green flecked hazel; and the poutiest, most perfect lips ever had Eddie seen. Not to mention how he looked bent over in those itty bitty shorts. Shit, if he isn't totally done for.

He can't stop smiling.

That is until a guitar pick hits him right in the forehead, dragging his attention back to his surroundings.

"Earth to Eddie," their manager, Chrissy, says. "You go on in ten minutes."

"Don't tell me you didn't get the stupid shake." Gareth shakes his head.

"No, I got it. Not to worry."

"Then what's up with you?" Jeff asks.

Eddie can't help the huge, stupid smile that illuminates his face.

"There was a guy," Eddie sighs.

Chrissy and his bandmates share a look. "Let me guess," Gareth says. "You walked in and he was like 'Oh, Mr. Munson. Let me get you ice cream, let me suck your dick. Oooh, you're so hot. Corroded Coffin is my favorite band.'"

"C'mon, no. I don't even think he knew who I was."

At one point, that would've bothered him. But now, after five years of hooking up with dudes who were only interested in famous Eddie Munson, he likes that the guy from the ice cream parlor seemed totally oblivious. That, when his eyes lit up with interest, it was for genuine attraction and not name recognition.

"Did you get his number?" Chrissy asks.

He slumps. "No."

His friends all groan. Another guitar pick flies at him, getting caught up in his curls.

"Well, you'll go back tomorrow. Now get your head in the game, Munson! You have a sold out stadium to play!"

---

"I'm not kidding you, Robs, he was the hottest guy I've ever seen. I didn't even know dudes could be that beautiful."

"Uh-huh," she says.

"You're not even listening." He jabs her in the ribs, making her squeak.

"Sorry, sorry," she bats his hands away. "Describe him again?"

And he does, leaving nothing out. Once he's done, Robin is gaping at him, gum about to fall out of her open mouth.

"What?"

She grabs his wrist, dragging him out of the store.

"Robin, what are you doing? We're supposed to be working!"

She doesn't answer, just hauls him to the record store down the hall.

"Was it this guy?" She asks. She's out of breath.

"What?"

"Steve! Was it him?" She gestures to a new release display and it's Steve's turn for speechlessness.

He's surrounded of images of the man from last night; on magazines, CDs, cassettes, on a couple posters hanging on display. He's with a couple of other guys, they're in a band called Corroded Coffin, but all Steve can see is deep brown eyes and plush lips, the bright dimples.

"Well?" Robin demands.

"Yeah," he nods. "That's him."

"Oh my god!" Robin screams. She grabs his arm and squeezes. "You flirted with Eddie Munson! Steve! You minx!"

"It was nothing," he blushes. "He's probably got someone already, anyway. I mean, look at him."

Robin makes a little face. "There are some rumors, but nothing serious."

"It was a nice dream," he says. He gives her a little smile. "Now, let's get back to work."

She loops her arm through his. "Whatever you say, dingus."

---

It's been a long day of slinging ice cream. Maybe Robin's revelation that the cute guy from the night before was an insanely famous rockstar is to blame, but Steve is exhausted.

"Hey, dingus!" Robin calls from the front.

"Yeah?" he mumbles.

"Some guy is here for you. He looks a lot like Eddie Munson."

She's not even finished with her sentence before Steve is vaulting back behind the counter, coming face-to-face with the man of his dreams.

Eddie's gorgeous, his face already flushed a faint pink. And just like the night before, Steve can't help but smile at the man before him, who dimples up immediately in return.

He forgets that Robin is there until she says, "Go get 'em, tiger," and snaps him in the chest with a towel.

With Robin gone, they still don't say anything for a second, both smiling and blushing and staring at each other.

"So, uh, I guess you're wondering why I'm back today."

"That's easy," Steve says. "It was the best strawberry milkshake you ever had."

Eddie laughs with his head back and Steve is stuck staring at the long lines of his throat.

"Well, it was the best, no question. Made me realize I was a fool not to ask for your number."

Somehow Steve's smile grows. He jots his name and number on a Scoops napkin, passing it to Eddie who does the same, before carefully ripping the paper in half.

"We're still on tour for the next three months, but I'll call you when I can?"

"I'm looking forward to it."

"Talk soon, sweetheart," Eddie leans into Steve's space, pressing a kiss to his cheek.

Steve still has a hand resting on the spot when Robin re-emerges.

"Oooh, you've got it sooo bad," she sing-songs.

He's so happy, he can't even bother to shush her.

---

Corroded Coffin has a new album out. It's a huge hit, number ones across the board, a fixture on MTV. It's full of heavy metal love songs, sales bolstered by the rumors that Eddie's been in a secret relationship for years.

They're at the Grammys, nominated for Best Metal Performance. The band has moved on down the red carpet, but Eddie's still answering questions, their assistant waiting with him. The interviewer asks Eddie, "There's a lot of speculation about your romantic life because of this album. There are rumors that the song 'Sailor Boy' is in reference to how you met your lover. Will you tell fans about the person you're dating, the one who inspired the album?"

"No," Eddie smiles for the camera. "But oh, do I love the way he moans," he sings a lyric of the song in question before giving the interviewer a lascivious wink, and continuing on down the carpet.

Years later, after Eddie and Steve are comfortably out and married and Corroded Coffin has cemented themselves in metal history, the video of that interview will be uploaded to YouTube.

It's obvious, now, the way Eddie and Steve, the "assistant", gravitate towards each other. How Steve flushes a pretty crimson that spreads below the collar of his shirt as Eddie sings. The way Eddie smirks at him with a raised eyebrow. The way his hand cradles the small of Steve's back as they walk away together.

It causes a frenzy online, fans compiling blog posts and videos of moments of Steve and Eddie being totally obvious about being in love before the world knew that they were.

Eventually, Steve posts a photo to the band's webpage. It's of him and Eddie at Scoops Ahoy. He's wearing his uniform, and Eddie is in a faded Metallica t-shirt and ripped jeans. They stand at the counter with their arms around each other, smiling hard, eyes locked. He captions it with, "putting the sailor boy allegations to rest."

#steddie #steve x eddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #fluff #love at first sight #meet cute #mutual pining #ficlet #oneshot #rockstar eddie munson #scoops ahoy steve #famous eddie munson #corroded coffin #steve has no idea corroded coffin exists #robin buckley #platonic stobin #platonic soulmates #chrissy cunningham #i'm wonderstruck blushing all the way home #scoops ahoy steve the babygirl that you are

[neoplatinum]

til' death do us part - part 1 | minatozaki sana

summary: sana minatozaki walks right into your life with a marriage license.

pairing: heiress!sana x reader

themes: arranged marriage au, fluff, angst, tension, lots of elitism, conglomerate power-hungry side characters, implied sex

wc: 5.0k

(series masterlist)

"the minatozaki's are waiting." you stare at the contract in front of you, frustrated at the idea of the family visiting. they sent the contract to you two weeks ago, and you knew that they were expecting a response, as in a signature. but here lays the contract on your coffee table, left to collect dust.

"let them in." you sit up from the couch, adjusting your shirt. you watch the maid let them in, timed steps in the long marble hallway. you hear their presence before you see them. then you see the matriarch of the minatozaki family step into the room. her head held high and proper, like a leader.

she reminds you of your own mother: the sharp tongue, quick judgements, and inability to let go of grudges.

then walks in sana minatozaki, the only heiress of the minatozaki group. she is not a stranger at all, but you havent decided if she is a friend or foe. when you were both younger, annual balls were centered around her. she always took those events in stride, while you enjoyed sticking by your mother's side.

you often remember watching sana dancing with anyone who would ask her; even from afar, you knew she was someone that everyone awed at. they treated her attention like a prize worth attaining.

"hello mrs. minatozaki and ms. minatozaki, please have a seat." you direct them to sit on the opposing couch. "how may i help you?"

they both get situated while you sit by yourself, feeling the weight of the minatozaki power firsthand. you watch your staff rushing to present them with tea, only for the two to dismiss them quickly.

"yes, we sent over a contract earlier last week, please sign it." the matriach points at the contract on your table.

"yes well, it is a marriage contract, a legally binding one. i need time to think it through."

"what is there to think through? you get to marry into the minatozaki group, and solidify your business with the backings of our family, i see no reason that it's empty now."

you frown at that, those were the exact words your own father told you over the phone, you called him immediately after receiving the contract, he told you the same exact thing, ending the call immediately after.

you dont disagree with the benefits, you would just rather marry someone else. someone that you could be in love with, not sana minatozaki.

"mrs. minatozaki, as much as i understand the power and backing of your family. i am rather old-fashioned. i only believe in marriage out of love." you nod solemnly to the older woman.

she lets out a trained laugh and holds her daughter's hands like they're her prize and tool. "love? you don't think that you could love my daughter?"

"mrs. minatozaki, i didn't mean it in that way-"

"so, what way did you mean it? my daughter sana," you say, watching as her daughter stands up from the couch, tall and proud, just like her mother, and smiling at you in that coy smile. "she has a line of suitors far longer than you could imagine; you should reconsider."

"mrs. minatozaki' please if i may-"

she holds her palm up, completely stopping you from speaking. "enough. here's what we're going to do: a three-month commitment. truly court my daughter for three months, and if you can honestly tell me you aren't in love with her, then i won't bother you with this matter for any longer."

"mrs. minatozaki, i think this is a completely archaic idea!" you exclaim, shocked to hear her say these plans. how quick she is to decide for her daughter's life.

"watch your tone. do not forget that your mother and I are well acquainted." she points her finger at you, and in a split second, she's back to that trained smile that is always so unnerving and threatening.

"i'm very sorry mrs. mintatozaki, please forgive my rudeness." you bow deeply at the woman. you return to your trained demeanor, letting mrs. minatozaki run your life for the next three months. who knows what she'll say to your mother if you decline?

both women get up promptly at the matriarch's signal, and you rush to walk them out of the manor. their resounding footsteps echo through the halls. the matriarch continues speaking of the three months of "dating," and you nod at every word in appeasement.

you assist them into their car, and soon they speed away from your manor. leaving you frustrated in your own driveway. by the time the sun has set, you finally return to your room.

--

the thought doesn't bother you anymore, while you were nervous at the idea of the minatozaki's pressing you on this marriage, you had gotten way too swamped with work.

in a week's time since the visit, you were giving a big presentation to shareholders and clientele. countless nights spent languidly going through the motions of collecting data for infographics and reports to extrapolate data. all part of your stressful day job.

a job that you take pride in, to take over the family business. dedicating years of your life to build the rapport needed for your father to put the company in your name.

you begin to wrap up on your final slide, indicating the prosperous quarter that your company has been seeing. beautiful graphics that display profit margins through the roofs. in every chair of that conference room sat a wide smile at your future projections.

"we expect to see a projection of 33% from our previous annual profits, along with more assets, and with the likes of a possible acquisition, this company will continue to flourish. thank you all for today." you conclude your presentation and smile to the many shareholders. they all stand and applaud you; you take a deep bow and shake hands.

the shareholders hound you, all gathered around in suits that costed more than the average house. they only bowed to the sound of money dropping into their pockets. so they push you, push your boundaries of how much you'll let them take.

mr. seki has always been the most persistent, asking for more money than he knew how to spend. so he stands before you, eyes twinkling and his grubby hands rubbing together like he found a gold mine.

you listen to him speak of the golden days with your father, business had little to regulations, making money was easier than breathing, but now he breaths down your neck for bonuses. the words travel in one ear and out the other, he forgets that you were a young child listening in to his discussions with your father.

before you know it, you hear that sharp clicking sound, the sound of sharp hard rubber hitting the tiled floor, you hear heels. short confident steps of a woman, and then you see it through the frosted glass, a womanly figure.

she's walking right into the conference room. then you notice the details: long brunette hair in waves, branded sunglasses atop her nose, a light pink suit adorned with blinding diamonds. behind her are bodyguards that tower over everyone. everyone's conversation stops at the sight of her, she stops right in front of you.

eyes strong and daring, she slips off her glasses and you recognize her, the woman of all your friend's dreams: sana minatozaki. more confident than ever, not being guided by her mother, she smiles that smile that you know your friends swoon over. delicate fingers slip off her glasses as she hands them to her assistant. eyes still focused on yours.

then she does it, grabs ahold of your tie, and slams her lips against yours. and you can hear it faintly, the sound of the shareholders all gasping, drowned out by the sound of your own heartbeat. the searing kiss lasts so long, like a time loop. when she pulls back, you gasp for air, choking and doubling over coughing like you inhaled chili powder. all your presentation material spilling on the ground.

"sorry to cut the festivities short, gentlemen." she bows lightly, an amused smile underlying her sarcasm. "my fiancé and i have things to attend to, i'm sure you know how demanding your wife can be". she giggles at that, letting them all nod, and disperse.

"fiancé?" you cough out, still catching your breath. sana grabs ahold of your hand and drags you out the conference room, and out to the elevators. you watch her two bodyguards at your feet, ready to intervene with broad and thick builds.

they remind you much of your father's bodyguards. but you never wanted them because it just felt so unnatural to be followed by men who protected you.

sana stands before the elevator, and without missing a beat walks in, at the sound of the door opening. you get pulled by the two bodygaurds into the box. now you stand next to a smirking sana and two men who could break your spine ten times over.

you exit into the lobby, all the staff rising to their feet at the sight of you and miss minatozaki. greeting you all, as you rush to follow after sana. you have a sinking feeling if you don't that those two men behind you are going to toss you right into the ocean. right outside of the lobby, is the sight of the signature black marked sedan. a true sign of a minatozaki. like the fortress of a family, this car is far than capable of withstanding a nuke, how true this statement is? you never want to know.

sana is quick to sit herself inside, being guided by her chaffeur. you nod to him before sitting inside, seperated by the middle seat. the door closes and suddenly you feel claustrophobic.

the last time you spoke to sana was years ago, back in law school, you never did like her clique but they were everywhere. so you have interacted with her through case studies and presentations, steering clear of the intimidating minatozaki group. so much for avoiding them, now you're stuck in a car with the exact person you were avoiding all your life.

"mother is furious." she comments, grabbing her heels off her feet, tucking them into a compartment. you stare at her for a while, confused with what she means. "well?"

"miss minatozaki, i thin-"

"sana. just sana please." she corrects you.

"miss sana, please, you cannot barge into my shareholder meetings and attack me like that. that was unacceptable on all levels." you continue. loosening the tie that felt like it was choking you when she grabbed it. you slip it off your neck and into your pocket.

"i thought mother made it clear her expectations. you sign that marriage license, and we're good." she continues to correct you, disregarding your frustrations.

"sana. i apologize but i have been swamped with work, i cannot even begin to think about marriage." you complain.

"work? you marry into the minatozaki group and you'll never lift a finger. those infographics you put together were cute, but the minatozaki's never put themselves through work they can pass off to others. marry in, and we'll find a suitable ceo the second you say so." she is everything you stand against, a figurehead as the ceo is the last thing you want for your budding company.

"i think you are mistaken, miss sana. this company is me, i am this company, that will not change if i marry into the minatozaki group." you don't waver for a second, conviction running through your blood.

she smiles at that, "you are one of those. the ones that are married to their work before anything else." she takes a second to contemplate this thought, what would you bring to the minatozaki group? profit, drama, not a headache that's for sure.

"i'm going to let you in on a secret," she leans her head towards you. "like how you are married to your work, i am married to wealth. doesn't matter if you have a million mistresses, or a thousand bastard babys. as long as you don't smear the minatozaki name, you will fit right in."

"i do not think so miss sana. the minatozaki's are adamant about blood purity, they don't let bastards live." you explain. she smirks at that, you've clearly done your research about the minatozaki clan. "miss sana, please, me marrying into your family would not beneficial to you. i am too concerned with my own self to be a pawn for your clan." you finish, hoping they will let this issue to rest.

"you seem to know a lot about our family for someone who isn't interested marrying in." her eyebrow shoots up and with the snap of a finger, the bodyguard hands her a manila folder through the slit of the window.

"once again, we urge you to sign this. i hope we become lifelong partners, fiancé." she winks and steps out of the car. speaking to the chauffeur, and soon you're being driven by the minatozaki car, another car ready for sana in an instant.

now you're left with a manila folder, weighing heavier than anything else in the world. when you are sit in your armchair with the manila folder, nursing a nice drink to unwind, you finally untie the manila folder. opening the contents, you find the same contract on your coffee table. signed with sana's signature in the bottom, and another paper.

in a written letter from your own father, you nearly crumple the paper in your own hand. the clauses of placing your company in the hands of your father, all shareholder signatures at the bottom. indicating the removal of power. in another line it reads in big bold letters, date sana for three months or your company will be absorbed by your father.

you call up your father.

"father, this is ridiculous, you cannot do this to my company. why are you meddling now?"

"you insolent child, given the opportunity to grow your business, you choose instead to be selfish? i present to you the opportunity of a lifetime: marriage into the minatozaki group. and i've been told you're pushing their patience." his deep voice rumbles into the phone. "my final words are these: you want your company so bad, prove that you are committed to the minatozakis, then i will transfer the power back." he firmly states.

"i don't even have the time, father. my schedule is busy with the new year and final changes with new clientele."

"i've already spoken to your assistant, all work for you the next three months have been transferred to my coo. he will take over for the time being, i trust him to run my own company, so don't you go spouting nonsense about his credibility." you bite your tongue at the sight. how dare your father meddle in your company? one that you built up with your own hands. the only piece of yourself that wasn't controlled by your father.

"do not forget who raised you. i can take everything away." his voice booms through the speakers. he ends the phone call there. and you throw that phone like a baseball, shattering the device into pieces.

--

so you do date sana for three months, finding it absolutely absurd in the beginning. often visiting her wherever she traveled. when she was busy, you would send out bouquets in your absence. you tried your best to date her, devoting time to getting to know her better. she's like you remembered when you were younger, loud rambunctious and had an eye for all things expensive. you spent trips all over the globe within those three months.

it's a strange feeling. letting yourself rest, you can't remember the last time you went on a vacation other than in law school. here you are, lying in a lounge chair on a private beach in santorini. drinking mai tais while you stare into the horizon. confused with your own life right now.

it should've been the merger. you get antsy just at the idea of your father's coo leading the merger, but what can you do. that company is not "yours" right now. while you are trying to enjoy the sight of the bright sun and clear waters, you watch out of the corner of your eye as sana flirts openly with a resort worker.

hand on his bicep, leaning in to show more cleavage, all the while keeping a sultry smile on her face. you're done letting your life be decided for you. you walk over.

"hi honey, how is it going?" you smile towards her, leaning in for a quick kiss. holding her neck in place, as you watch the man walk away. you let her go.

"jealous?" she smirks.

"no. i need answers." you sit down in front of her. "why me?"

"what do you mean why me?" she sips on her cosmopolitan, not provoked by the question.

"why marry me? my father is well known, but we are not a conglomerate group, why do you wish to marry me? i provide nothing to the minatozaki group, it doesn't make sense. there's the watanabe clan, the abe clan, the ito clan. i really don't understand why my family."

"it's not your father or his companies, it's you." she points at you. still sipping her drink. she doesn't skip a beat, no hesitation in her words.

"i hold no power on the world stage, you would be well off marrying any clan." you try reasoning with her, beyond perplexed on why she chose you.

"the watanabe clan are dirty: plagued with dirty lust, the abe clan are ruthless killers, the ito clan has been known to kill their woman. so tell me, how much better off i will be marrying them?" she continues. face hardened.

"i see...they are not as great as their name." you stare at her. less perplexed but definitely confused.

"we all grew up together, all the heirs, i know them better than they know themselves. and i do not like what i see. but you and i didn't speak to each other." she signals for another cosmopolitan, thanking the staff member and digging through her bag. pulling out photos of you two when you were children at the annual balls.

"you are worlds better than all of them combined. i could see it in the way you never vied for my attention. they all were intact dogs, hoping to hump something by the end of the night."

"sorry for the assumptions," you offer. the way she looks away from you, watching the ocean. and letting out a long and heavy sigh. she tucks the photos away. "so, marriage out of convenience? is that all this is?"

"yes." she nods.

you grab the contract from your bag, signing it in front of her. and then placing it in her hands, "to a happy marriage sana minatozaki, i hope you can handle my snoring." you laugh.

she grins at the contract, and tucks it into her bag. "then i hope you can handle my kicking. you groan jokingly and laugh loudly, her joining you.

--

minatozaki weddings were no joke. halls lined with marble pillars with gold accents. dishes made out of the finest and purest porecelin. waiters dressed in their finest, not a single hair out of place. global leaders and their children attending, even if they had no ties to the minatozaki.

the grandiose hall with beautiful mirrors dating centuries ago. recovered artifacts from the edo period, adorning the shelves. the giant minatozaki family crest on the back wall. with long tables lined with wedding gifts. you stand next to sana as the reception procession continues into the night. many notable figures congratulating the marriage. as well as the intricate gifts being handed off to you. each gift being placed and documented by the minatozaki security team.

the minatozakis look happy, wearing traditional kimonos and inviting all the guests to talk about their daughters marriage.

even though the place is filled with laughter and happiness, you can't help but feel like you just entered a loveless marriage. where you are destined to avoid sana, she smiles at everyone, showering in the attention, while you can't wait to get back to work.

--

you had explained to sana you wanted a quiet honeymoon, one that was peaceful and relaxing. so you both went puglia, to enjoy the rich Italian culture and the beautiful greens and blues of the water.

sana spent nearly ever second of the day buying herself clothes while enjoying pestering you. often times dragging you along to carry her bags, and be at her beck and call. she calls it "conditioning for a happy marriage." you had rolled your eyes when you heard it, but you wanted a happy marriage too so you complied.

now you stand in the middle of puglia, taking photos of sana, at her request. for the third time that day.

"how many photos do you need sana?"

"as many as i want. stop talking, more clicking!" you get back to taking photos and letting her enjoy the scenery. it's quite nice being with sana, she may be a bit high maintenance, but she doesn' t overstep when it comes to your boundaries. letting you enjoy your own alone time and venturing through the city alone.

sometimes you bring back flowers or a small gift to her, all of which she happily enjoys with a warm smile.

--

after the honeymoon, its back to the real world. in which your father happily returned the company back to you. the merger had been successful, but you're still catching up on paperwork that only you could sign. in the coming months, sana has moved in.

living together has become a routine. when she moved into your manor, she claimed it was a nice change from her home. you were confused because her house was far more amenities, but you let her move in.

so, every morning and night, you spend time with her, sleeping in the same bed, drinking the same coffee, and sitting at the same dining table. you don't share more than a few words with her, but her presence has become a nice addition to your life.

she's made herself comfortable, her makeup products all lining your sink, heels filling the floor of the closet. her closet so big that she ordered construction to build her own walk-in.

often times you see her out lounging in the sun room doing yoga or pilates. or when she's in a good mood, she'll join you in your study room to do work herself.

she goes out at night frequently, so you make it a habit to stay up until she gets home. you know she's protected and safe with her trained bodyguards and chauffeur.

it just brings you a sense of comfort to bring her inside in case she's unwell. some nights she gets home with love bites all over her body, other nights she comes home drunk falling into your arms. you never comment on it.

she comments on your life first.

"do you...have someone special in your life?" she asks with a glass of wine in hand. you look up from your table, eyeing her in the doorframe.

"no, i'm married to my job." you look back at the work laid out for you, pushing glasses back up the bridge of your nose.

"have you slept with a woman before?" you stop your work, putting the pen down.

"sana, are we asking about each other's sex lives now?"

"well i can be curious, cant i? you always look so proper." she walks in to sit by you.

"well, yes in the past i have." you comment, a little thrown off with the line of questions. she nods her head and gives you her wine, you sip it and place it on the desk. "why do you ask?"

"we've never consummated our marriage, don't you think it's time?" she leans over, eyeing the work on your paper.

"what happened to marriage out of convenience?"

"marriage out of convenience could mean we're sex partners out of convenience," she smirks. she stands up, pushing the paper off to the side. you raise your eyebrow, trying to get her to stop messing with your work.

"sana."

"yes?" she takes the glasses off your face. a coy smile on her lips.

"we don't have to do this."

"i want to. do you?" she stands in your way, eyes trained on yours. a playful smile on her face. you get up to set your mind straight, no way were you sleeping with your non-wife.

"sana, please, you must be drunk." you walk past her, calling out to staff. "hi, could you please assist sana to bed." sana scoffs at you, flipping you off and pushing past the maid.

you return to your desk, eyebrows pushed together and a headache forming. but you can feel that spike in your stomach, you're sexually frustrated.

--

you've been actively avoiding being too close with sana. whenever she circles around, you scoot further away. opting for open spaces where she won't make sexual advances. rejecting her isn't fun either, she gets all pouty about it, but the way she makes you feel lately, has been dangerous. so you try your best to exercise restraint.

in the coming weeks it's harder and harder. some days she visits with your dress shirts tucked into a pencil skirt. walking in like a wet dream into your office. you will yourself to have self control but you can feel it slipping. the way you want to grab her, feel her skin under your fingertips, wanting to wrap around her.

today she manages to get under your skin. "darling, you must be so tired." she slides behind you. and starts massaging your shoulders, pressing the knots away.

you let her, feeling the tension release from your shoulders. her hands move expertly, and soon you feel more relaxed than ever. her hands begin to wander, sliding over your torso and frame. you turn to look at her, playful eyes staring back at you. you pull her into your lap, grabbing her neck for a kiss.

"i think it would be rather impolite of me to have our first time here in my office. maybe later?" you offer, playing with her pencil skirt.

"i don't care where we do it, as long as we do it now." she smirks and plays with your hair. you pull her up and place her atop your desk. walking quickly to close the door and drop the blinds.

she laughs when push her back, back hitting the desk, and then you lean over her. giving her a long kiss, before sliding your hands up her legs.

"come take what yours." she grins. you begin unbuttoning her shirt, hands trailing down until they reach her hips.

you kiss her fervently, moving towards her like a magnet. "yes miss minatozaki."

--

you might have to label yourself a sex addict, maybe a sana minatozaki addict actually. after sleeping with sana, you can't keep your hands off of her. often messaging her and taking days off to be around her.

it's unlike you, so unfocused and nonchalant about work. but you can't help it, sana feels like a drug and you need your supply. so here you are in your study, trying to clean up the smell of sex before your mother-in-law arrives. sana's an absolute vixen and trying to coax you into another round, but you know at any second her mother will walk into the house like its her own.

you spray a scent over top of the room urgently before closing the door behind you. a clingy sana kissing you deeply, trying so very hard to get you in bed with her.

"sana, no. your mother will be here any second." you force yourself to be the bad guy, pulling her arms off of you. to which she flicks your forehead.

"sana!" the sound of her voice booming like it's through a speakerphone. sana immediately tenses up, posture straight like a board.

"hi mother."

"glad to see you still recognize me." her mother chastises her. you watch the two woman, and you stay quiet. letting sana speak to her mother in a hushed tone, while you stand nearby.

it's hard to get a gauge on sana's mother, she's fierce and demanding. you also can't tell if she likes you, she keeps her distance. but you also can't tell if that's a good or bad thing. oftentimes she shows up requesting your presence at her events. but you play the part well as much as you can.

the older woman walks towards your living room, where she was months ago, and requesting you to marry her daughter. now she moves around your home like it's her own.

"now that you two have been happily married, it's important to discuss the next step." she starts. "we need heirs, multiple."

you and sana look at each other in horror.

"sana was the only heir in her generation of minatozaki's, i need you two to produce more than a single heir. to protect the minatozaki clan." she states firmly.

you groan into your hands, horrified at the conversation. and for the first time you see the matriach smile as she shows off photos of sana as a baby, cute as a button.

it does make you wonder about having a little sana running around, so you take the conversation topic in stride. letting the matriarch discuss traditions, schooling, extracurriculars and education to maintain the minatozaki standard.

sana is horrified to hear all this from her mother, but when she leaves, a light bulb turns on in her brain. then she smiles at you in that knowing smile.

"honey, come on, you heard my mother. we have to produce heirs. you know what that means?" then she wiggles her eyebrows as she drags you upstairs.

and you let her.

--

a/n: sana, sana, sana. she's been plaguing my mind recently. hope you enjoyed, proofreading is difficult work so i didn't do it. stay safe and stay healthy everyone!

#sana #twice #twice sana #sana twice #sana minatozaki #minatozaki sana #sana x reader #sana x you #kpop imagines #twice x reader #twice x you #neoplatinum