#“he completely changed! demeanor and all!”

[euthymiya]

you want to change my mind (and maybe you already have) — ft. wriothesley.

art credits: rana_co_co on twitter

synopsis: november 23rd comes and goes just like every year. wriothesley looks at you in his bed, curled under his sheets—pretty. soft. kind. a gateway to a cushy sort of life he never envisioned for himself. this birthday, he finally realizes that neuvillette sending you down for weekly compliance checks at the fortress was the first time celestia had ever favored him

word count: 8.7k — this was truly agonizing. just know that

before you read: female reader ; reader works at the palais ; work relationships ; fuck buddies who clearly are smitten ; newly turned duke wriothesley ; my own personal headcanons about his childhood and past (spoilers for his backstory ahead!) ; mentions of murder and child trafficking (his canon backstory) ; mentions of serial murders and disappearances of women (the canon missing women’s case so major fontaine spoilers if you’re not done) ; very lightly implied sexual comments about reader made by an inmate ; violence, injuries, and blood descriptions (wriothesley defends her honor) ; blow jobs ; cum eating ; semi public office sex ; exhibitionism ; wet dreams + male maaturbation ; cunnilingus ; unprotected vaginal sex (he pulls out) ; fluff and getting together

commentary: a little late, but here’s my birthday fic for my birthday boy who owns my whole heart <3_<3

“Duke,” you say as soon as you walk into his office, making Wriothesley want to hide in the corner, “You’re late.”

He saw it coming, really. Knew it would be the first thing you’d point out as soon as your shoes would thump against his quiet, peaceful office floor. Well, peaceful until now—now you’re here to disrupt that tranquility with demands that he’d like to politely ignore. Unfortunately, because Celestia have never exactly favored him, that’s not an option.

“Ah, my favorite babysitter. Whatever do you mean?” He smiles at you innocently. He knows exactly what you mean, of course—and he knows you know it, too, because you stare blankly at him before rolling your eyes. But there’s still a small hint of fondness underneath the staged irritation. He can’t help but throw you a little playful wink as he notices it.

As far as babysitters go, you’re not bad, exactly.

That’s how Wriothesley likes to think of you. His weekly babysitter. You come in once a week, keep an eye on him, check and make sure he’s doing what he’s supposed to and following all the rules, tattle on him if he does anything wrong, and you force him to do his homework.

Neuvillette likes to call it an administrative compliance audit. You make sure Wriothesley is keeping things at the Fortress running smoothly, get an update on how the standing situation is, report back to Neuvillette so he stays informed, and make sure that no paperwork is submitted or completed past the expected deadline. 

Wriothesley says babysitter, you say compliance officer. Tomayto, tomahto. 

“You’re late to sending in the quarterly reviews of the most recent batch of prisoners,” you hum, jotting that down in your convenient little notepad that is the bane of Wriothesley’s existence. You return his cheeky wink with one of your own. Every time you pull it out, he knows he’s about to get a write-up. Every time he gets a write-up, he knows a letter from Neuvillette is coming with a lecture about his responsibilities and how seriously he should take them.

Fighting back a groan, he rubs his face tiredly as he mumbles, “I’m getting to it.”

“Yes,” you agree, “You are. It’s not exactly optional—the sooner, the better, of course.”

“You love pushing my buttons, don’t you?” He looks up at you petulantly. 

One thing about Wriothesley is that his rugged, almost tactless demeanor only adds to his charm. He wears formal wear only because he has to—which, to be fair, his outfit choices are considered formal by a very loose definition as is. He keeps his tie knotted loosely and borderline informal. He has a rather sarcastic and playful way of speaking professionally. 

All of these things should scream that he's a misfit for this position, but you think they almost make him the perfect candidate. In an odd sort of way, he’s not as stiff as a board and at risk of using his position to his advantage. He’s down to Earth enough that you can trust him not to take his role too seriously and run the Fortress like his own personal military grounds. 

Grinning, you walk over to him, seating yourself on the armrest of his chair before tracing a finger along his bicep as you lean in and murmur against his ear, “C’mon, they’re not so bad. If you finish it up, you might even have a nice little reward waiting for you after.”

He swallows thickly for a moment before reconstructing his carefully crafted composure. Raising a brow, he gives you an amused—although shaky—smile as he hums, “Oh? Is this some sort of incentive?”

“You could say that,” you bite your lip to keep from letting out a giggle. “Incentive. Reward. Compensation. Whatever you want to call it.”

 “Can I pick what I get?”

“Perhaps if you’re lucky, I’ll let you have your way,” you tease.

Neuvillette sends you from the Palais to the Fortress to make reports about the Fortress of Meropide after observation. It’s imperative, of course, that during this weekly assignment, you stay fair and unbiased. That seemed easy enough when you took on the job.

That is until you met Wriothesley. 

It happens by accident. One second, you’re letting him walk you around the underwater prison that he calls his home, taking notes of the way prisoners do their jobs and how they're compensated. (The name credit coupon still makes you giggle sometimes, but you keep it to yourself for the sake of avoiding his glare). The next second, you’re slipping on leaked water from a burst pipe and heading straight for your demise of a face-first fall onto the hard metal flooring of a tunnel. 

Wriothesley catches you with ease. Effortlessly, his strong arms wrap around you to catch you against his chest before you have a chance to fall any further. It’s cliche, you think—how this weird difference between professionalism and personal attraction gets blurred more and more every day. How it all started with your body being pulled flushed against his for the sake of avoiding a rather painful injury, only to have both of your lips be mere inches away from each other as your wide eyes bore into each other. 

You never knew who kissed first. It never mattered. All you know is that you’ve been kissing in the comfort of his office ever since. Sometimes in his bed, too. He tries to convince you in riskier, less-than-appropriate spots, too—but luckily, between the two of you, one of you has a sense of proper risk calculation. 

That person would not be him.

“Would you do me the honors and make me a lucky man today, then?” He asks sweetly, blinking innocently before his arms wrap around you, pulling you from the armrest of his chair to his lap, comfortably perched for him to have easy access to your lips. 

“I’ll have to see if my schedule allows it,” you say slyly, pretending to look at his clock as you add, “I’m a busy woman, you know. They demand my time underwater and above land. Can you believe the requirements they have for me?”

“Sounds like you’re severely overworked,” he nods in faux sympathy, shaking his head as though he really feels for your predicament. You laugh, wrapping your arms around his neck as his hands firmly grip your hips.

That’s the thing about Wriothesley. It’s just so easy to be charmed.

“I am,” you murmur, leaning in.

He closes the gap as he mumbles, “I can think of a way or two to take the edge off.”

With that, your lips meet. It’s not the first time, and the Gods certainly know you hope it’s not the last. Your mouth slots against him perfectly enough that it feels like sunlight on water—warm, bright ripples of light gliding along the surface that waits for them to make their home against it. 

He brings you closer, dragging your body up his lap as he kisses you deeper, groaning lowly into your mouth as your fingers tug at the roots of his hair. You feel it between your bodies—the proof of his arousal is clear and so hard to miss that you can’t help but reach a hand between your bodies to get a better feel.

 “Already?” You grin, pressing your hand over his hard, clothed cock. He grunts, glaring at you as he stiffens in his chair at the way your hand offers limited friction to a rather delicate issue. “I’m flattered.”

“Great,” he hisses, “Why don’t you do something about it, then?”

“Here?” You gasp dramatically, “In your office? What if someone walks in?”

“No one would disrupt the Duke without knocking first, sweetheart,” he gives you a smug, self-assured wink. You snort before shaking your head, slowly climbing off of his lap before sinking between his legs onto the floor. His breath hitches—sure, you’ve taken him in your mouth before. But it’s never been here and not there. Never in his office and at his desk instead of the bedroom that's just a few feet away. 

It feels more intimate there. He almost misses that sort of atmosphere. But there’s something filthy enough about watching you unzip his pants and slowly free his cock just enough in his office that almost makes his brain short circuit too.

So beautiful, he wants to tell you. Because you are. And he thinks he will, but just as he opens his mouth, his door interrupts him with a knock, vibrating through its metal surface. You pause. He almost curses under his breath.

“Your Grace?” A voice comes from behind his door. “There are urgent matters I must report to you.”

“Not now,” he grits, fighting back a groan as you take this opportunity to throw him a sly, almost evil grin before wrapping a hand around his cock, leaning in to run your tongue along the slit and get a taste of his pre cum. “I…I’m busy.”

“But Nurse Sigewinne has insisted we tell you immediately.”

Well, fucking hell. It’s not like he can exactly ignore that—and you seem to know it, too, because you blink up at him with innocently expectant eyes. So, gritting his teeth, he gently shoves your under his desk and rolls his chair to cover himself under the open leg space where you’re cramped. 

He clears his throat. “C-come in. I’m late on documents to the Chief Justice, so it better be quick.”

You hold back a snort at his convenient excuse that happens to consist of papers he’s really in no rush to get finished at all. He fights back the urge to glare at you, instead peeking up as soon as the door to his office opens and a guard steps in. 

“You’re Grace,” he nods politely. Respectfully. A small part of Wriothesley is still not used to being addressed so…seriously. So formally. So importantly. “The head nurse would like to bring to your attention that a group of inmates have been ganging up on others. This has been the third fight this week, and the infirmary is busier than usual from flu season for her to properly handle such constant injuries.”

He’s only half listening. It’s hard to pay attention when your lips are wrapped around his cock, sucking slowly as you move your head up and down his length. Warm. Hot. Tight. Your mouth feels obscenely good—he can’t help but let out a low groan of pleasure. 

The guard flinches slightly at the sound. “I apologize for springing this on you while you’re so busy, Your Grace. The head nurse insisted I tell you as soon as possible for things to be handled properly.”

It’s clear the guard is oblivious to the way Wriothesley is hardly holding onto his thinly kept composure. Your tongue traces that heavy, thick vein along the side of his cock. You take him as far as you can, bobbing your head up and down impressively well along his length for being stuck in a tightly cramped place like under his desk. 

He grabs the edge of his desk, gritting his teeth as he lets out a sharp inhale when your hand reaches to fondle the delicate, sensitive sacs of his balls. 

“Your fault,” he hisses abruptly. 

The guard shrinks back, furrowing his brows in confusion as he stammers, “Y-your Grace?”

“I mean,” he clears his throat, barely fighting back a low moan as your swirl your tongue around his tip, “I-I mean it’s…it’s not your fault. That’s all.”

If relief was an expression, it would certainly be the cowering guard’s expression in front of him. Deciding it's time he put both of them out of their misery, Wriothesley barely grits out, “I’ll be done with this report for Monsieur Neuvillette shortly. It’s very—v-very time sensitive.”

You let out a quiet snort that only he hears at that. He nudges you warningly with his knee. 

“As…as soon as I am, I’ll drop a visit to the infirmary and have a chat with the group involved,” he continues. “J-just…fuck…just give me a few minutes.”

The guard rushes to insist a panicked, “No, no, no! No rush! Take your time, Your Grace. I’ll leave you to it—just wanted to get the message across as the head nurse wished.”

“Thank you,” he hardly manages to keep a straight face. A slight grimace of a smile is all he can offer before the guard nods and hurries out as if trying to avoid whatever wrath he thinks he’s conjuring up by being in the Duke’s office any longer than he should be. 

Wriothesley thinks that’s a habit of most guards he needs to correct: assuming that being anywhere near him is a quick to be punished sort of behavior. But for now, he’s too worried about sliding his chair backwards and letting you crawl out of his desk’s enclosure as soon at the door shuts closed and the guard is gone. 

Finally. Fucking finally. 

“You’re a piece of work,” he glares down at you, watching as you suck on his cock innocently. Your lips look so wet. So sticky. So swollen parted around him that he almost wants to pull you off for just another taste. “You know that?”

You only hum around him, the vibrations forcing his head back against the chair as he moans low and drawn-out. Freely this time that no one’s here, but still quiet enough in case anyone’s outside the door. 

One more swirl of your lips around his thick, swollen tip, and he’s limp in his chair, groaning into his hand as he tries to muffle the sounds while cums down your throat. You can feel every twitch of him, hot, thick seed painting your throat white with his release. 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he chants, completely lost in his own world of pleasure. You watch him like that. It’s pretty. You’re a little too used to it—a little too dependent on the routine of watching his face break over the devastation of pleasure like that. 

When you pull away, making a show to swallow everything you can, he groans and rubs a hand over his face as he mutters something about trying to kill him. 

“So,” you wink with a cheeky, sly little smirk. “See you next week?”

“If I make it alive long enough,” he says tiredly. “You might kill me before that. Or these damn prisoners and their shenanigans.”

You laugh, standing and dusting yourself off before leaning down and pressing a small kiss to his lips. He tastes himself on you. Something about that makes him swell with more pride than it should. 

“You’ll be fine,” you hum softly. “I’m sure of it.”

────────────────────────

Wriothesley never earned the title of Duke—not at first, anyway.

You’ve heard the story.

He was supposed to be released from his sentence a few months ago. Except, by some stroke of bad luck, the warden at the time was nowhere to be found in his office the day of Wriothesley’s release. So, as on-brand as ever to his nonchalant, carefree attitude, Wriothesley signs the papers himself and effectively crowns himself with the title of Duke. 

He’s been running things down at the Fortress ever since. And pretty well, too—you’ve heard that things have improved rather drastically in prison for inmates. Free meals once a day. Better regulation of currency to exchange for benefits. A system of rules that keeps them in check and prevents them from behaving like dogs.

You’ve heard it all. 

But hearing everything means you hear the snide whispers, too: not everyone thinks he’s earned the title enough to keep it even if he’s done good—he’s a murderer, they gossip. We can’t have someone like that running the Fortress! That’s an outrage! Neuvillette has received enough formal complaints on the matter that you’re the product of a compromise—weekly audits done by a relatively impartial member of the Palais who doesn’t necessarily ignore his stained record but doesn’t particularly deem it as an irrefutable reason why he shouldn’t be Duke. You accept under the agreement of a slightly better paycheck for your troubles of making the trip to the Fortress and a little extra vacation time for the added paperwork to your usual responsibilities. 

Under the Palais and court rules, you take an oath to honesty and promise to offer, to the best of your abilities, the truth of what goes down in the prison and how its warden runs it. 

But, well…Wriothesley grows on you. A lot. It’s not that you ever have to lie about him—he really is a good Duke. But you like him enough that you’re starting to wonder if you could keep your honest streak if it really came down to it. You like him enough that you can’t claim anymore that the once sexually charged tension is just that: sexual. Because it’s not. It’s more complicated than that. Coming down and seeing him every week, finding your way in his sheets, getting to know him through a tangle of sweaty bodies and bantered pillow talk only makes you human. With feelings. Feelings for a man who’s more good than he’s not—you learn that pretty quickly. 

Wriothesley is a good person. Murder be damned. He did it to save people—sure, it’s a sin all the same. An extreme all in the name of justice, but it was to save people. He’s not a cold-blooded man. And he cares about the prisoners, too. That much is palpably abundant with the headaches he takes on to better the quality of life for convicted criminals.

No one believes in second chances like Wriothesley. No one has put as much work into offering people second chances like him, either. You think, despite initially earning his title or not, he’s certainly earned it by now.

So, when you watch him get pulled off of the limp body of a beaten prisoner by a handful of guards, you’re more than a little shocked by the almost feral, heartless look in his eyes as he snarls at the crumpled body on the floor in disgust. 

This is not the Wriothesley that you know. This isn’t the Wriothesley who runs the Fortress. The Wriothesley that you know doesn’t tolerate violence within his walls, and he certainly doesn’t instigate it. 

“What happened?” You ask quietly as you bandage his knuckles. It’s a deadly tone. He doesn’t answer, choosing to stare at his desk instead as he sits and lets you disinfect the broken skin. “Wriothesley.”

“He was being an asshole,” he grumbles vaguely. 

You raise a rather unimpressed brow at the juvenile response. He doesn’t seem to miss it either—even if he doesn’t meet your gaze to see it, the way he wilts a little is a hint enough that you know he’s aware. “Being an asshole,” you repeat. “That’s your sound logic for pounding someone into a bloody pulp?”

“Oh, please. He’s fine—”

“Really? He has a cracked rib, Wriothesley, for crying out loud!”

“So he’s fine,” he snorts almost bitterly. “In my time here, I’d have considered that lucky.”

“That’s exactly why you’re still here even though your time is over,” you say, the anger in your voice almost palpable as you throw your hands up and look at him in disappointment. “You’re supposed to be here making sure something like that is not the standard for luck anymore! Not upholding it.”

Wriothesley exhales sharply, his jaw tightening as he leans back in his chair, finally lifting his gaze to meet yours. He looks like a stubborn, moody teenager being scolded. You have to take a deep breath and remind yourself his teen years probably didn’t consist of a lot of patience, so you try to keep yourself calm for both of your sakes—the storm brewing in his icy eyes is far from calm.

“You just wouldn’t understand,” he says, his voice low and strained, “Things are different down here than up there.”

“Then explain it to me,” you challenge, arms crossed as you stand your ground. “Help me understand why the Duke of the Fortress of Meropide—the one who’s supposed to set an example—decided to act out like a rowdy delinquent.”

His lips press into a thin line, and for a moment, it almost looks like he’s going to lose his temper, the same temper that’s already rather thinly composed. His hand clenches into a fist in your hold, the faint wince that follows indicating the pain in his injured knuckles. “He said something,” he mutters finally, his voice barely above a growl.

“Something?” you glare, your voice doing pretty much nothing to hide the frustration that’s mounting. “Wriothesley, I’m going to need a lot more than that. You realize I have to report this, right? To Neuvillette? People already have tons to say about your position as Duke at the Palais—we’re supposed to try and change their minds! You’re telling me you threw the progress away because some asshole said something you didn’t like?”

“Yes. He said something he shouldn’t have said,” he mutters vaguely, voice low but laced with a dangerous edge. It’s almost like he’d do it all over again if it called for it. 

You pause, narrowing your eyes. “Okay, then let’s hear it. What did he say?”

His jaw tightens, and he looks away, his gaze fixed on the faint bloodstains on his knuckles. “It doesn’t matter.”

“Wriothesley.” Your tone is sharper now, more insistent. “Tell me.”

“He said something about you,” he snaps, his voice cutting through the room like one of his well-practiced uppercuts to a jaw. 

“About…me?” you frow, crinkling your brows in confusion. “What about me? Because of my job? Who cares—they’ll realize soon enough that I’m not here to harm the Fortress rather than help it. You didn’t need to—”

He clicks his teeth as his gaze drops to his legs, unable to meet your expectant gaze as his jaw works while he tries to force the words out. “Not like that. Something…disgusting. Something he had no right to even think, let alone say out loud. So yeah, I broke his rib. I could’ve broken more, but he got lucky.”

The ferocity in his tone leaves no room for doubt—he means every word, and he’d do it again if you let him. Maybe even worse without the intervention of guards dragging his body off the limp figure. You chew your bottom lip as you process what he’s telling you, the almost tangible way he’s so…so what? You stop to think. So protective? What exactly is it that he’s making you feel that has your anger washing away so fast? So respected? Perhaps he respects you enough to fight for your dignity, but that’s not quite it.

You know that. 

You know that really, at the heart of things, it’s so easy to stop being mad at him when there’s real proof that he cares. About you. Sure, you have faith in Wriothesley’s ability to be a respectable man to the ladies—you doubt he’d accept someone talking about any woman that way. But it’s clear that…well, he cares enough to take it this far because it’s not just a woman. It’s you.

You.

“Wriothesley…” you start, slow and careful. It’s like you’re approaching a cornered animal in a cage you trapped yourself. 

“I know what you’re going to say,” he interrupts, his tone softer now, almost resigned. He slumps back in his chair almost petulantly as if he’s accepted that this is a lecture he can’t avoid. “That I need to be better. That I need to think before I act. That there’s a lot riding on my behavior and all that nonsense about proving to some assholes in a chair that I deserve this title and so on. And you’re right—I know you’re right,” he sighs.

You raise a slightly shocked brow at his admission. “Oh, well—”

“But I had to, okay? So everyone knows things are different around here now. Things like that were normal before, you know? Things weren’t safe for girls like you in the Fortress, and it’s about time they changed, so yeah, I set an example. Not the best one, but it got the message across, didn’t it? I’ll take some losses, sure, but that’s okay. It’s one minor setback.”

“Yes,” you nod carefully, “And I just want you to know—”

“But…about you? It’s…it’s different when it’s you, and you know it. Hearing someone talk about you like that...” He trails off, his fists clenching again. “I couldn’t let it slide. Not you. So—”

“Thank you.” You interrupt before he can finish. You say it softly. Like you mean it. 

He pauses, reeling back. “What?”

“I said thank you,” you huff, rolling your eyes. “Don’t make me say it again, you jerk.”

“You’re not mad?” He looks at you bewildered, like you’ve grown two heads. You snort, looking at him like he’s an idiot. He huffs at just the look on your face alone.

“I’m furious,” you shake your head, “But I’m not ungrateful enough not to appreciate someone defending my honor. I’d prefer it if it was less violent next time.”

Wriothesley sits in silence for a moment after your words, the tension in his frame ebbing. “Less violent,” he repeats, a sulky, almost pouty look on his face. “I guess I’ll work on it.”

“Yes,” you nod, “You will. So that I won’t have to lie to Monsieur Neuvillette next time.”

He blinks. “What—”

“Since an inmate attacked you, I’ll let him know you had no choice but to throw him off and crack a rib from the impact,” you shrug innocently. 

He looks at you in wonder, a small, amused smile curling on his lips as he lets out a soft, quiet snort. “I don’t know if you can crack a rib from—”

“You should be quiet and think about what you’ve done,” you hiss. “Awful behavior means you’re on time out!”

“Oh, yes,” he salutes, obediently straightening as he folds his hands together on his desk. He winces a bit at the strain it puts on his hurt hand, making you bite back a fond smile. “I’m deeply thinking about my mistakes and regretting my deplorable actions. I promise.”

“Good,” you roll your eyes. “Don’t let it happen again.”

You turn to leave, and he sinks back in his chair, sighing as he watches you go. Next week’s audit can’t come fast enough, he thinks.

────────────────────────

When he hasn’t seen you in too long, Wriothesley has dreams. Vivid ones, in fact. 

They start not too long after the shift in your fragile friendship—you’re still friends, of course. It’s not as though that part of your relationship was ever fragile. It's just that….now, you’re more than friends without actually being more. It’s a delicate sort of arrangement that can easily have someone like him wanting more. And regrettably, he wants more. That much is clear by these dreams of his—and you’re often in these dreams of his. Scandalizing dreams, if you will. 

He never really took himself for a guy who’s attracted to someone with a pristine and spotless record—if anything, all Wriothesley seems to be attracted to anymore is trouble. 

But you’re different. Not because you’re unique or anything special by any means (which, he realizes, sounds a little bit rude in his head when he really thinks about it), but that’s exactly why he likes you. You’re rather ordinary. You work your ordinary job at the Palais, go home, do what’s expected of you, and go about life simplistically. He can’t help but enjoy it because there’s this weird, odd sense of normalcy that you grant his life. 

Nothing about Wriothesley’s life is normal. Not now, not then, not ever. 

He was young as an orphan. Doomed to the fate of no family by the tender age of four. A poor, sickly father who left this world long before he left his mother’s womb and, by fate’s desire, later orphaned by a missing mother who never came home from work. By the time he’s old enough to piece together that his mother was yet another victim of the missing young women’s case in Fontaine, he’s far too past that life to properly grieve her. 

And then there’s the darker part of his past…the messy memories of blood and betrayal that he chooses not to dwell on for the sake of his own peace. It landed him on the streets for the better part of his youth and then in a dark, ruthless prison where just even a meal is a burden to acquire. 

Nothing about his life is normal. His mother was ripped away by the nation’s darkest mystery, his siblings weren’t ones he’d acquired by normal means, his “parents” were anything but standard, and his housing conditions (or lack thereof once upon a time) consisted of a large, metal cage situated at the bottom of the ocean. Even his romantic history, which he can count on one hand the instances of, have been odd, unconventional flings that he indulged in rarely because he was but a growing boy turned into a man, raging desires that make any form of relief seem like a blooming romance. 

His first girlfriend left the Fortress after finishing her sentence when he was barely an adult. She promised to write to him every day until his own release. He’d never heard from her again. His second “girlfriend” didn’t even make it far enough to earn that title at all. She was a girl, who was a friend, who sometimes when he was exceedingly lucky, wove herself into his sheets and let him have his way with her so his growing frustrations have an outlet. 

Romantic intimacy is a world beyond the skies of Teyvat for him.

So, when you wander into his life, working a standard nine-to-five job that requires nothing excessively abnormal of you, grinning at him with a happy, free smile that carries little to no burdens, he can only fight the human part of him for so long before his desires come hitting him full force. There was a time when dreaming of a wife and kids and white picket fences was well within his reality. When he dreamt of being like his father, hearing small, excited footsteps pounding against the hardwood floor to greet him at the door. When he dreamt that the mother of his children would smile just as sweetly and brightly as his own mother. 

That’s gone now, of course. Well out of his reach and far from his realm, but at the very least, you bring some rare burst of normality in his fascinatingly odd life. 

So he dreams of you. Admittedly, they’re not always the best-natured of dreams.

He wakes up sweaty and tangled in sheets as a familiar heat is already built between his legs—for quite a while, too, he surmises, because the ache is thick enough to let him know that he’s been sporting this erection for quite a bit. How—he wonders—did he end up with such a shameless problem in the middle of his rare and well-deserved rest? The answer is infuriatingly obvious, but he hates to admit it to himself. 

You. 

You’re the reason for this predicament—that raunchy, filthy dream of his from just a few moments ago, the vision in his subconsciousness of your mouth taking him, your hand stroking him, your lips kissing him. All of it lands him here with a thickly hardened cock and little to no dignity left for the pure filth he indulges himself in. 

Flaring his nostrils with a tired exhale, he decides there’s no point in dragging out his suffering any longer. What’s happened has happened. 

“Fucking hell,” he hisses as he frees his length from his boxers, tugging them down just enough to rest against his balls. Even under the protection of his blanket, he can feel cool air kiss the hot, velvety skin enough to make him twitch involuntarily. “Mmh,” he groans.

His fist takes shape around his cock. It’s different from your touch—he’s felt it enough times briefly to know that your hand is far smaller and far softer. Less wear and tear from boxing and fights, less scabs and calluses of healed skin. But he works with what he has, stroking himself slowly as he throbs in his own hand. 

“Fuck, sweetheart,” he all but whines to an empty room as if you’re right there with him, helping him through his glaringly obvious problem. “Fuck, it almost hurts, baby. You’ll help, right?” 

You will. You nod from the depths of his imagination in the back of his head, where you live to play out his shameful fantasies. He bites his lips and lets out a shaky breath as he imagines you leaning forward, pressing a soft, delicate kiss to the tip of his cock. 

As if in response to the phantom touch of your mouth, his cock does another little twitch. I’ll take care of you, Wrio.

No one has ever called him that—not affectionately, at least. (He refuses to let his old prison nickname born from bantering mockery count.) The nickname falling from your (imaginary) lips has him throwing his head back against his pillow as he groans deeply. 

“Don’t be a fuckin’ tease,” he demands gently. Obediently, you giggle and listen to him. “Gods,” his back arches as soon as your hand pumps his aching length, finally offering him some sort of relief as he bucks his hips up in time to meet your strokes.

Feels good, huh, baby? You hum. He nods, letting out a throaty sound in response. I can tell. It’s all over your face.

“Quit it,” he clicks his teeth petulantly. A thumb rolls through his slit teasingly, collecting pre cum and smearing it along the thick, sensitive vein along the side of his cock. “You’re…you’re such a brat, you know that?”

You like it, you hum.

“I do,” he lets out an airy, breathless chuckle of admission before the strokes get faster. And faster. He’s grunting freely now; something crossed between a moan and a gasp sounding through the small, secluded bedroom built in with his office. Luckily, it’s deep enough into the Fortress that no one could hear him if they tried—not unless they were standing right outside his bedroom door from his office.

No one has the audacity to do that, he thinks with smug satisfaction, so you don’t have to worry about how much noise he’s making. You’re the type to get stressed about things like that.

Close, Wrio?

“So close, baby,” he chokes.

Do I make you feel good?

“Better than anyone,” he confirms. 

You look so pretty like this, did you know?

“F-fuck, fuck—I…I’m gonna cum, sweetheart,” he warns.

Yeah? Then do it, pretty boy.

He does. He cums in thick, full loads of cum that have his cock twitching with every rope. Your hand is a mess, coated in his release, stroking him through his pleasure and smearing it along the heated skin. You know just what he likes—have his little quirks and preferences memorized as if you know him better than himself. You know he likes having the vein traced with your thumb, and you know that when he’s just about almost finished, giving his balls a soft squeeze makes him gasp and let out one final rope of his seed. 

By the time he’s done, slumped against his bed with boneless, tired muscles, he realizes with a sigh that the hand on his cock is not yours. It’s his.

Somewhere in the midst of his fantasies, he forgets what’s real and what’s not. Your voice in his head sounds so close, so real, so tangible, he forgets he’s talking to the empty air of his room and not you.

“Shit, sweetheart,” he groans to himself, rubbing his good hand over his face tiredly, “You’re seriously messing me up in the head. What’re you doing to me?”

────────────────────────

“What time do you need to return to the Palais by?” Is the first thing he says to you when you walk into his office. You pause, staring at Wriothesley before you blink and huff.

“Ah, yes. It’s wonderful to see you, too! I’ve been doing fantastic; it’s so kind of you to ask,” you bat your lashes with a sarcastic smile before adding, “And you? How have you been? Rather well, I’m sure.”

Wriothesley purses his lips, looking at you with a fractional amount of patience before giving you an equally as sarcastic smile and responding, “I’m doing quite well. Thank you for your generous concern. In fact, if it wouldn’t trouble you too much—because you know I’d hate to do that—I would be faring quite a lot better if you’d even more generously answer my question.”

“I don’t have to return to the Palais today,” you roll your eyes, “I go home directly after five and bring Monsieur Neuvillette your report card tomorrow morning.”

“Wonderful,” is all he says. “Perfect.”

“Why—”

You don’t know how he got up fast enough to bridge the distance between you and his desk and cut you off mid-sentence with a crash of his lips to yours, but he does. His lips are pressed to yours in a desperate kiss that has you melting against him against your will. Like he’s expecting it, his arms are there waiting, catching you to hold you upright against him as he chuckles against your mouth.

Bastard, you want to say into his lips. He’s too busy keeping them occupied to give you the chance.

“I need you,” he rasps, “Now.”

“It’s technically still my work day,” you gasp between breaths, “I’m supposed to observe—”

“Then observe me from here,” he grunts.

With that, he sweeps you into the bedroom connected to his office. You’ve been in it so many times, yet you always wonder why it still shocks you that such a convenient room is in his personal office—but you figure the Duke of a prison surely would not sleep with the rest of the prisoners. And more importantly, it’s…good for the noise to be located in such a private, secluded area.

“Been thinking about fucking you all day,” he mumbles in between kisses, his large, callused hands cradling your face as your hands tangle in his hair. 

“Then fuck me,” you challenge, making him let out a low, unimpressed sound from the back of his throat. 

“Oh, sweetheart,” he says lowly, trailing his lips to nip at your neck and jaw, “Trust me, I will.”

Your back meets his mattress. You don’t have the slightest concept or understanding of time—by the time you’re both bare with all your clothes tossed to the floor, you can feel a dull, building ache between your legs as a pool of slick coats your inner thighs. 

“So wet,” he grins to himself, bringing a hand between your thighs, right to the apex where he studies the leaking essence waiting for him there. “All this for me?”

“Not for long if you don’t make good use of it,” you hiss stubbornly. His gaze darkens at that, making him let out a snarled sound of displeasure before he lowers himself between your legs. 

“Careful, baby,” he warns, “You have no idea what you’re signing yourself up for.”

And you don’t. Because by the time Wriothesley’s face unburies itself from between your legs, your two orgasms and a semi-decent stream of tears smeared along your face in. He finally unlatches himself from your clit once the waves of your second high finally come down, glistening slick coating his chin and lips as he grins. 

“How was that for making good use?”

“I don’t know,” you huff. “I had something else in mind.”

Pointedly, you stare at his tall, standing and neglected cock. It’s clearly painfully hard and painfully aching for some form of relief as it twitches between his legs. 

You admire it for a moment. The nearly trimmed hair at the base—how Wriothesley supplies the necessary equipment to even trim himself downstairs in a place like a prison, you’re unsure but definitely not ungrateful. He’s always been pretty, in a ruggedly handsome way—but his cock…well his cock is pretty because it responds so well to you. To your body. To your every movement. 

You gently grab him, gently stroking a few times and humming in satisfaction as he groans and clenches his jaw while it twitches in your touch. 

“Sensitive,” you tease. 

“I could argue the same about you,” he replies smartly through a labored, breathless voice. You laugh, sweet as honey on warm bread. 

He doesn’t taste that too often in the Fortress, but he doesn’t think he’s missing out. Not with you here. 

“Come here,” you whisper. “I want you too.”

With that, you guide him slowly to your entrance. He shivers as he rubs the tip along your folds, coating himself in your wetness and swearing his own pre cum along your cunt before slowly sinking in. 

“Fuck,” you both hiss in unison. 

“Feel…feel so good,” he says hoarsely, “So fucking tight.”

With that, it’s a blur. Something you’re used to by what feels like your millionth week feeling him, but something that never feels like it’s not the first time all over again. 

He rocks his hips in a steady, perfect rhythm. You pull him close and feel his body searing against yours. Skin on skin. Heat against heat. Body melting into body. 

“Never get enough to you,” he whispers. 

“Then keep taking more of me,” you whisper back. 

“Yeah?” He chuckles, breathless. Hopelessly smitten. It’s written all over his face. You’re sure the same goes for yours. “You want that? Want me to keep taking more and more of this pretty cunt?”

“What, you’re saying you’ll get bored of me?” You pout teasingly. 

He huffs, pulling you into a deep, bruising kiss. “Never. You hear me? Never.”

Like that, you fall apart. And with that, he follows not long after. He pulls out just before he can spill into you, hand moving to pump himself until yours beats him to it, wrapping around his girth and stroking the way you know he likes it. With his vein traced. With a fast pace but not too fast. With everything he needs to feel seen and known because that’s what you do best. 

See him. Know him. Treat him like he matters. 

“Gods,” he says shakily as he finishes. “I needed that. Needed you.”

“You always have me,” you remind him softly. “Always.”

He grins. Kisses you softly—ike you’re a fragile, blooming lakelight lily. He’s gone momentarily to grab a warm, wet towel to clean you off before he’s sinking into the bed beside you, turning to look at you as he takes in your curled up figure under his sheets. 

He could get used to this. More than just once a week. 

“It’s the twenty-third,” you whisper quietly, like it’s a secret. 

Huh, he thinks. It doesn’t register what day it is until you bring the date to his attention—he didn’t even realize today’s date. Not that this date ever matters enough to make his day any different from the rest of the days of the year. But typically, he at least remembers when it passes by. 

It’s the first time it’s slipped his mind completely. 

“It is,” he agrees, looking at you with a slightly confused look. “Any reason why that’s relevant?”

“It’s your birthday,” you look at him incredulously, lifting your head off of the pillow to get a better look at him. 

He lays quietly beside you, still slowly catching his breath. He doesn’t answer at first—just pulls the sheets over both of your bare bodies as he curls an arm around you and pulls you close. You used to never take Wriothesley for the cuddling type. You used to never take him for the affection type, in general. 

Maybe, you like to think, maybe even people like Wriothesley aren’t above enjoying something soft. It’s a comforting thought. It’s nice to know that even someone so strong and immovable like him craves some sort of bond with another human. Some tangible form of safety and kindness. Some form of proof that people can be—and are—good enough to trust, good enough to lie beside and slowly lose consciousness around.

“And who told you that?” He quirks up a half amused, half shocked brow, voice low and smooth enough that you almost think you could go another round just from the sound of him.

You don’t tell him that, of course. The Gods know he doesn’t need any more reasons to be smug. 

“I read the files,” you answer with a wave of your hand, trying to dismiss him. “I like to know who I work with.”

“Yeah?” He snorts, “That so?”

You don’t really have to answer him. You shouldn’t let him win—but something about that wolfish grin and that cocky glint in his eyes tells you he already knows more than you’d like. They have you huffing as you quietly mumble out, “Okay. I asked Sigewinne when it was. You’re awfully ungrateful about the fact that I cared enough to ask.”

“Your benevolence graciously exceeds my expectations every time,” he chuckles. 

“Well,” you raise a brow expectantly, “Are you going to do something to celebrate?”

He shakes his head. It’s too instant for your liking—and he seems to notice that, too, because he takes one look at your frown and shrugs, “My birthday’s not that important to me. I’ve never really celebrated it much.”

“What?” You ask incredulously. You think you’re being a touch dramatic—you seem more hurt about this than him, but you can’t help yourself. “What do you mean? Birthdays are the one important day we get.”

Wriothesley lets out a soft breath, his chest rising and falling steadily against you as he looks up at the ceiling. There’s a flicker of something in his expression—something fleeting and hard to name. It’s not quite pain, but it’s close enough that you can feel it in the way his body tenses beneath your touch.

“They weren’t important growing up,” he says finally, his voice quieter now, rough around the edges. “And now I’m too old for it, anyway.”

He keeps the answer pointedly vague, like he’s avoiding the truth on purpose. You don’t mind. Not so much when it’s him, not so much when something heavy and unresolved that he doesn’t elaborate on is clearly there. You don’t like to push him—not yet. Maybe not ever. He deserves patience and compassion for once, you think—someone who puts his feelings first so he knows that his feelings aren’t at the bottom of some tiered list of relevancy that he somehow always ends up on the bottom of.

Instead, you shift closer, laying a hand against his chest and feeling the steady thrum of his heartbeat beneath your fingertips.

“Not even when you were a kid?” you ask softly, careful not to sound too intrusive.

His lips press into a thin line, and for a moment, you think he’s going to brush you off. That maybe he’ll throw you off his scent with some annoyingly smooth-talking joke and change the subject. You’re prepared for it—for the disappointment of being pushed away and not let in. You’re prepared for anything because it’s him, and you don’t mind when it’s him. But then, his hand moves, his fingers idly tracing along your arm as he speaks again, his voice low and resigned.

“I did celebrate. Briefly. We’d get a party every year, my siblings and I.” He pauses, his jaw tightening briefly. “And there would be people. I thought they were friends…you know? Friends my parents would invite over to celebrate with us. When I got older, I realized the truth. Those parties were just another excuse to show us off. To market us easier.”

Your heart clenches at the bitterness in his tone. You don’t need to ask what he means—you’ve heard the rumors about his past, heard the whispers about how the Duke of Meropide is a killer. Cold-blooded and ruthless as he watched the life drain from his own parents’ eyes without a single regret. Didn’t even hesitate to plead guilty and admit to his crimes.

You read the files in Neuvillette’s office before he first sent you down. Something about reading his testimony made you feel helpless—like there’s still a child stuck in an awful predicament with no way out instead of a now grown man who’s well on his way to being a rather significantly important figure in Fontaine. 

“—And after that,” he continues, his voice almost a whisper now as it breaks you from your thoughts, “I was stuck down here. Not many birthday festivities you can do down in the ocean alone, so I didn’t see the point. A birthday’s just a day. Another reminder of…everything I’d rather not think about if I can help it.”

“Wriothesley,” you start gently, lifting your head to look at him. He meets your gaze, his eyes darker than usual, guarded but not completely shut off. He doesn’t like being comforted—doesn’t like the idea of his emotions being in someone else’s domain to handle. It leaves him open to worse wounds. But you ignore the way his jaw tenses, cupping his cheek as you hum, “It’s not just a day or some reminder of them. It’s about you if you make it about you. And you’re not a sick marketing scheme. You’re…”

You trail off. Not because you don’t know all the things he is: cunning, resourceful, selfless, incredibly smart. But because you don’t know which one to start with. Like choosing one first means it’s the most important one—you can’t bring yourself to define him as one thing more than the others.

“Devilishly handsome?” he cuts in with a faint smirk, the tension in his face easing just a little as he pushes your buttons. “You seem stuck there, so let’s start with that.” You roll your eyes, but the warmth in your smile is impossible to ignore as you let his good-natured jab slide. 

“Yes, that’s one way to describe you, I suppose. But you’re also just…good.” You settle on that word because he is. He’s good, and he makes things good. He makes life feel okay and the day a little better. Like your own piece of good from the world to have for yourself. “And you deserve to have something good. Something that’s just for you.”

For a long moment, he doesn’t say anything. He just looks at you, his expression unreadable but soft in a way that makes your heart beat with a painful ache. Then, he leans in, pressing a slow, lingering kiss to your forehead.

“Maybe,” he murmurs against your skin, his voice low and almost tender. “Maybe next year, I’ll let you change my mind.”

“Next year? Surely, if you mean I’ll be around for that long, then this is your way of asking me out?” Your lip twitches at the corners, hopeful. You force it down to a neutral look before faking a yawn and saying, “What an underwhelming way of asking.”

He raises an amused brow. Still, there’s something dangerously cautious about his expression as he looks at you. Like he’s guarding himself from possible disappointment. “You’re saying you’d say yes if I asked nicely?”

“Depends. Are you asking?” You ask softly. 

He lets out a shaky breath, studying your features and avoiding your eyes as he brings his gaze along your nose and lips and the slight sweatiness of your skin from your earlier activities. “If I’m asking, is that a yes?”

“Yes,” you say breathlessly.

“Then yeah,”  he stares at the ceiling, voice quiet. Hopeful. A rare moment that he lets himself try to be happy without worrying the world will fuck it up for him. You’ll handle it if it tries, he thinks—you always do. “Maybe next year, you’ll change my mind.”

“Not maybe,” you insist. It’s firm enough that he believes you. “I will change your mind.”

“I’ll hold you to it.”

“Happy birthday, Wrio.”

“Thanks,” he grins, “Same time next year?”

“Same time next year,” you laugh, nodding in confirmation. He doesn’t tell you that you’ve already changed his mind. Maybe he’ll even tell you next birthday that you haven’t managed to—just to have an excuse to keep you around one more year.

But something tells him you’ll stay even without such a ploy. 

This fic was genuinely such a struggle for me to write. I’m not sure why. I suppose because it doesn’t have a real conflict to guide me in a sense—I wanted it to be mainly happy and just a small sort of timeline of them having each other but still finding each other. If that makes sense. Idk if it does LOL. The main focus was just making his bday happy. Hopefully I achieved that but ANYWAY!! If you made it this far, thank you so much for reading!! Kissing you on the forehead <3

[axeeglitter]

Reformating Love

Ethan stared at the unwashed cereal bowl on the counter, the sticky remnants of milk and granola solidifying into an unappetizing paste. The apartment reeked faintly of saltwater and old gym clothes, a byproduct of living with Scott.

Scott, his surfer roommate, seemed to revel in making Ethan’s life a mix of frustration and quiet misery. The man had an effortless charm. He was tall, broad-shouldered, with a sun-kissed tan that made him look like a walking advertisement for beach life. His messy, curly long blond hair, perpetual smirk, and casual demeanor made him maddeningly attractive and completely insufferable.

As if on cue, Scott sauntered out of his bedroom wearing nothing but a pair of low-slung boxer briefs. His toned body, slightly hairy in all the right places, gleamed faintly as if he had just stepped off his surfboard. He stretched his long arms over his head, revealing the thick patch of hair under his armpits, and yawned loudly.

“Morning, sunshine!” Scott said with a grin, his voice dripping with playful condescension.

Ethan gritted his teeth. “It’s three in the afternoon.”

Scott shrugged, completely unbothered. “Time doesn’t matter when you’ve mastered the art of the chill, my man.” He opened the fridge, pulling out a carton of orange juice and drinking straight from it.

“Can you at least use a glass?” Ethan asked, already knowing the answer.

Scott turned, a mischievous glint in his eye. “What’s the matter? Afraid of catching my cooties?” He wiggled his eyebrows before smirking and adding, “Or do you just want my lips on your lips, huh?”

Ethan flushed, his jaw tightening. “You’re impossible.”

Scott grinned wider and leaned against the counter, his muscular arms casually crossed. “Aw, come on, E. I’m just messing with you. You know I think you’re great. I mean, if I swung that way…” He trailed off, letting the implication hang in the air.

Ethan turned away, grabbing his laptop and settling onto the couch.

He was used to Scott’s teasing by now, but it still stung. The comments weren’t overtly homophobic; they were Scott’s way of pushing buttons, of asserting dominance in their shared space.

It wasn’t just the comments, though. It was the way Scott left his belongings everywhere, his dirty clothes strewn across the floor like trophies from his latest conquest. It was the way he played his music too loud, the bass vibrating through the walls at all hours. It was the way he walked around the apartment half-naked, completely comfortable in his skin, while Ethan tried to focus on anything other than the sharp curve of his hip bones or the way his legs seemed to go on forever.

Ethan had tried confronting him once, but Scott had just laughed it off, ruffling Ethan’s hair like he was a kid. “Relax, dude. Life’s too short to stress over this stuff.”

But for Ethan, it wasn’t just "stuff." It was the constant reminder that he was the one who cared too much, the one who had to clean up, the one who tiptoed around Scott’s oversized personality.

That night, as Scott sprawled on the couch in his underwear, flipping through channels like he owned the place, Ethan found himself staring at his laptop, typing a phrase he never thought he’d search for: How to make someone change their behavior.

The results were a mixed bag of self-help articles, manipulative tricks, and obscure forums. But one thread caught his eye: Reprogramming personalities: Is it possible?

Ethan clicked, his curiosity piqued despite himself. The thread was filled with wild claims about new technologies that could alter someone’s behavior at a fundamental level. Some users spoke of psychological conditioning, others about experimental devices that could rewire a person’s mind entirely.

One comment stood out:

"Tired of dealing with someone who just won’t change? The solution is simpler than you think. Reprogramming kits are real, and they work. DM me for more information."

Ethan hesitated. It had to be a joke, right? Some elaborate scam? Still, the idea burrowed into his brain, refusing to let go. What if there was a way to make Scott understand, to force him to see how much of a burden he was?

Without fully understanding why, Ethan clicked on the user’s profile and sent a message: Tell me more. But after waiting for almost half an hour, no answers appeared on his screen. “Yo E., What you doing bro?” Asked Scott as he was getting up from the couch. Out of reflex and fear, Ethan closed the window, his heart racing. Ethan decided that he was just tired and needed some time away from everything and went to bed, his heart still racing from stress.

The next morning, Ethan received a notification on his phone: Your package is out for delivery.

“What package?” he muttered to himself.

When he received the package later that afternoon, Ethan didn’t understand what this was. “Hey Scott, have you purchased something?” He asked still on the porch with the package in his hands. No answer from Scott so he went back inside and opened the box on the kitchen table. It was a slick USB drive with only a handwritten note inside: “Reformation kit”. Ethan held the UBS in his hand, a chill ran down his spine.

It seemed absurd, like some kind of prank. Ethan turned the USB over in his hands, its glossy black surface unmarked by logos or branding. The note offered no further explanation. He almost tossed it in the trash, but something stopped him. Ethan walked down to the couch where Scott was laying there in his underwear and exposing his muscled and slightly hairy physique, as always. “Hey Scott, have you purchased a Reformation kit?” Scott looked up at Ethan and laugh answering “Yea sure E. I have purchased this nerdy shit to better perform on the board. You really aren’t the smartest of the nerds, are you?” Ethan felt rage rise in him as he heard Scott taunting one more time. “You are a jerk; you know that right?” He answered while throwing the USB in his direction, not seeing that Scott turned his head back on his phone, exposing his naked neck as his still wet hair parted around it. Ethan didn’t wait for an answer as he walked in his room to get ready for his night shift at the movie theater. unbeknown to him, the USB stopped mid air before touching the ground. Then all of a sudden, the USB started to light a faint blue hue and hum as it floated just behind Scott’s exposed neck. Then, Scott felt a tingle at its base, not knowing that a small rectangle USB port just appeared out of nowhere in his flesh, the skin around it smooth and metallic like a port carved directly into his spine. As he was about to scratch the itch, the UBS plugged itself inside Scott’s neck.

There was a soft click.

Scott froze, his entire body stiffening as if a switch had been flipped.

“What the hell…” Scott started, but his words were cut off by a strangled cry. His head snapped back; his mouth open in a silent scream as his entire body began to convulse.

Scott’s fingers clawed at the couch cushions, his muscles spasming uncontrollably. His eyes were wide with terror, and tears streamed down his face as his voice returned in gasping, ragged muffled screams.

But there was no way to stop it. The USB drive glowed faintly, and Scott’s body arched violently, his back lifting off the couch.

Inside Scott’s mind, the sensation was beyond anything he could have imagined. It was as if every fiber of his being was being pulled apart, unraveling into threads of light and sound. His memories flashed before his eyes in rapid, chaotic bursts. His childhood, his first surfboard, his friends, his favorite songs.

But then, those memories started to fade.

“Ethan!” he tried to scream, his voice cracking with panic. “Help me! something’s wrong! I’m... I’m disappearing! I don’t feel goo…”

Scott’s face contorted with pain, his words becoming garbled. The light around the USB grew brighter, and a faint hum filled the room, like the whirring of a hard drive.

Scott’s mind was unraveling, his sense of self slipping away. His thoughts fragmented, disintegrating into a flood of static.

The pain was unbearable. It wasn’t just physical; it was the loss of everything that made him him. His memories, his emotions, his very essence were being stripped away, digitized and compressed into raw data. Scott could feel his senses being cut one by one. It started with the lost connection to his feet, then it climbed up his legs and now he could only feel his face.

And then, there was nothing.

Scott’s body went limp, the glow from the USB fading as the reprogramming completed. Ethan left for his shift just after the USB stopped shining and fell back on the ground, the hole in the neck disappearing once the connection was lost. Scott stood there, his eyes closed and his head resting on the couch. “I’m leaving Scott. If you have time, try to clean the apartment please. I’m exhausted and I just want to come back to a tidy house for once. See you!” Scott didn’t answer, but as Ethan closed the door, his eyes opened, a soft hue shining blue hue brighten his eyes before disappearing to his natural blue color. Scott looked around the house and then at his body, he touched himself as he took everything in. A smile appeared on his serene face, typical Scott’s signature cocky smile as he looked at his reflection in his smartphone, making his cock chub up a bit. Then out of nowhere, he jumped up from the couch and started to walk to the kitchen, ready to do some cleaning.

When Ethan came back home later that night, Scott was sitting on the couch in his underwear, as always, but Ethan realizes the house smelt fresh. He turned around to see the house clean and tidy, even the dried granola balls in the full kitchen sink were washed and put away. Ethan walked to Scott with a smile on his face and stress released from his shoulders. “Thanks bro!” started Ethan not waiting for any answers from Scott. But as he turned around, he felt Scott’s calloused manly hand grabbing his forearm. Ethan turned around not understanding what Scott wanted only to be met with Scott’s smile. “Yo E., I realize that you did a lot to keep this house as clean as possible and I didn’t help you at all those years. I also realize that life is short and I’m done not being me to my fullest. Now I know I’m not gay, but I kind of have some… feelings for you. You think we could… be something? Like, a relationship…. Maybe?” Ethan stood there; his mouth opened in surprise as he tried to take in everything that he just heard. He tilted his head on his forearm to see Scott still grabbing him for dear life and moving his thumb back and forth on his sensitive skin. He tilted his head back up to see Scott’s smiley face and out of pure pulsion, he thought fuck it, and threw himself in Scott naked and muscled arm to kiss him.

Over the next few days, Ethan explored the limits of their new relationship. So much had change and Ethan couldn’t believe how all of that was possible in only a couple of days. Scott was more attentive, less cocky. He no longer teased Ethan or strutted around the apartment like he owned the place. Instead, he was now helping with chores, cooking dinner, and even suggesting they watch movies together.

It was everything Ethan had hoped for.

As the days turned into weeks, their relationship deepened. They spent hours cuddling on the couch, wrapped in each other’s arms as Ethan introduced Scott to new shows of adventures and fantasy. Scott’s touch was gentle, his affection genuine. He laughed at Ethan’s jokes and listened to him talk about his day with an intensity that made Ethan feel seen for the first time in years.

They shared baths; Scott’s strong arms wrapped around Ethan as they soaked in the warm water. They fell asleep in the same bed, their bodies entwined, the sound of Scott’s steady breathing lulling Ethan into a peaceful sleep.

Ethan told himself that this was what he had always wanted. Scott was happy, and so was he.

One evening, as they lay on the couch about to start The Witcher, Scott turned to Ethan with a contented smile.

“This show looks really good,” he said, his voice warm. “Thanks for introducing me to it.”

Ethan smiled back, his heart swelling with affection. He reached out to brush a strand of hair from Scott’s face.

“I love you,” he said softly.

Scott’s expression faltered for a brief moment, as if he were realizing something that was just out of reach. But then he smiled again and leaned in to kiss Ethan.

“I love you too,” he said.

Ethan didn’t notice the faint flicker of light in Scott’s eyes.

“I’ll grab some popcorn,” Ethan said, smiling as he untangled himself and headed to the kitchen.

Scott stretched, his body lean and relaxed, the dim light catching on the subtle golden tan of his surfer’s skin. As Ethan rummaged in the cupboards, Scott plunged his hand inside his right pocket where he toyed with the black sleek USB drive between his fingers.

“There’s no going back now.” he muttered to himself.

Without thinking, he got up and walked over to the TV. The back of his neck itched faintly. Scott stood in front of the TV and took the USB out of his pocket. He looked at it and a smile appear on his lips, without further thinking inserted the USB into one of the ports on the side of the television.

The screen flickered violently, the Netflix logo distorting into jagged lines and glitches that sent static crackling through the air. Scott stepped back, his heart pounding. The screen of the TV turned off and the room darkened. The television’s screen turned pitch black, save for faint flickers of light coalescing into a chaotic storm of colors.

And then, in the center of the screen, pixels started to merge together to form an entity. Something human like. Limbs started to appear and soon a face too. Scott stood in front of the as he watches with attention his reflection appears on the screen. Scott’s digitized soul had been plugged in.

Scott’s digitized soul emerged on the screen, flickering into existence in a form that resembled his body but was translucent and distorted. His limbs jerked as though he were a marionette struggling against invisible strings.

“What’s happening?!” he screamed from inside the TV, his voice echoing in the dark void. He looked down at his hands,they were translucent, pixelated fragments of light that didn’t feel solid.

His vision swam as he turned, desperate to find some kind of anchor. Instead, he saw his own body standing on the living room carpet, staring blankly at the TV.

“No,” he whispered, his voice cracking with panic. “That’s... that’s me. That’s my body!”

He pounded on the invisible barrier of the screen, his hands sparking with faint glitches. “Ethan! Help me! I’m in here! I’m…” “He won’t answer.” Scott heard his deep manly voice answering his please “In fact, no one will help you. You had it all, Scott. But you had to push the boundaries a bit too much and now look at you. Digitized, trapped, floating naked inside a TV screen.” “What are you talking about?!” screamed Scott from inside the TV. “Get me out of here! I’ve been stuck in darkness for weeks! Get me out!” “That won’t happen buddy… See, I have been stuck in there for years and there’s no way I’m going back in it. My ex, this fucking piece of shit, cursed and trapped me in there after finding out I planned to quit her. She did the mistake of keeping me trapped in "this" and make sure I always was close to her, but the second she met someone, she sends me to the first one without even freeing me from this cursed existence? I won’t do the same mistake. I'm here to stay, even if I have to play for the other team. And Ethan is kind of cute. Yes, this cycle ends now!” As he said that, Scott took the remote in his hand. The screen flickered, and Scott was cut off as the television’s remote was pointed at the screen, guided by the steady, precise hand of his own body.

“No! Who are you?!” Scott screamed, slamming his fists against the inside of the screen as his body selected The Witcher from the Netflix menu.

 Scott laughed as he pressed the button "My name was Cody, but you can call me Scott!" The first episode began to play, the familiar opening scene filling the screen. But something was wrong. The edges of the screen twisted, pulling Scott’s glowing form toward the center.

“No, no, no!” he begged, thrashing against the pull as the show���s digital world unfolded around him.

In the blink of an eye, Scott was now standing awkwardly on the cobblestone streets of a medieval town. The air around him shimmered, glitching like corrupted code. He could walk again. He could feel the air on his skin and the dirt under his feet. But as a fresh breeze blew in his hair, he realized he was still naked in the middle of a busy street. Scott started to walk to hide somewhere, to ask for help, but with every step he took, his body was starting to change. As he got out of the city, Scott stood and hide behind a bunch of rocks and trees, trying to understand what was happening as he felt the dirt under his soles and the rocks against his naked and exposed back. Suddenly, a deep pain invaded his body.

His bones shifted first, cracking and shrinking with sickening precision. He could see his sight getting closer to the ground, slightly shorter than his original frame. He cried out as his limbs reshaped themselves, his lean surfer’s build giving way to a softer, more compact form.

His skin prickled as the sun-kissed tan faded into a smoother, paler complexion, dotted with faint freckles that hadn’t been there before. Every hair on his body seemed to rearrange itself, the wiry, sun-bleached strands on his chest and legs softening and darkening.

Scott’s armpits burned as the sparse hair there thickened, giving off a muskier scent that matched the medieval street he was hidden in. He gagged as the scent surrounded him, a mix of sweat and leather that was foreign yet undeniably his.

“Stop it! Please!” he screamed, but his voice was already changing, cracking and shifting into a higher, more melodic tone.

His face was next. He felt his jawline soften, the angles rounding into the boyish charm of young visage. His cheekbones lifted, and his nose reshaped itself with an audible crunch. His hair fell off, revealing rich, chestnut waves that grew longer, brushing against his shoulders.

Scott’s pelvic region seized with a deep, invasive ache. He doubled over, clutching at himself as his body rewired the most intimate parts of his anatomy. His penis pulsed painfully, growing longer and thicker. Scott could feel all the nerves decupling and rearranging. He tilted his head, cupping his cock between his new hands only to scream at the feeling of something alien. Something warm and thick but totally frozen. He heard a Snap sound as Scott felt his balls attaching to the base of his penis and starting to reshape into an inhuman form. Scott screamed again as he felt a tugging sensation at the base of his cock and suddenly, he heard a snap as he felt his cock falling in his hands. He could still feel it but it was not attached to his body anymore. Scott screamed again as he realized his cock and balls had reshaped into a lute. He felt every string, every curve, every stroke like if it was his still his cock and balls. Every brush of his finger sending him waves of pleasure like he was about to cum, making his knees weak.

“Oh God,” he muttered out of fear and pleasure.

His feet and hands were the last to change. His surfer’s calloused soles smoothed into the soft, narrow feet of someone who took care of himself but still walked a lot, his toes curling in agony as the final adjustments were made. His hands, once strong and capable, became slender and delicate, perfect for plucking strings. Scott could feel that this wave of change died as his nails finished adjusting to their new form. He tried to get up, his lute still in his right hand and feeling like he was tugging his cock at the base, ready to cum any instant. As he took his first step in this new reality, clothes materialized over his trembling body, stitching themselves into place. A doublet of deep blue and gold, tight trousers, and knee-high boots encased him, completing the transformation.

Scott tried to scream, but the sound came out as a cheerful laugh. His body straightened, his new face lighting up with the unmistakable charisma of someone he didn’t know, someone far away from his real self, someone like Jaskier.

Inside his own mind, Scott’s soul writhed.

“What’s happening to me?!” he screamed, but the words were drowned out by a flood of new thoughts, new instincts.

Scott tried to scream for help but his body was not answering his orders anymore. Instead, he started to walk calmly his lute hung in his back and grinding on his soft velvety jacket, sending him waves of pleasure along the way. Then, behind a rock, he saw Geralt ahead of him, and his body moved on its own, rushing forward with a wide grin.

“Ah, Geralt, my dear friend!” he heard himself say, the voice no longer his own.

Inside, Scott’s soul screamed. He could feel everything, his new body, the weight of the lute, the way his new clothes clung to his skin, but he had no control. Every thought, every movement was dictated by an unknown force, forcing him to embody the bard’s carefree, loyal persona.

“No! I’m not Jaskier! I’m Scott!” he tried to shout, but the words never left his lips. Instead, his body turned to Geralt with a mischievous smile, delivering another line with perfect comedic timing.

Back in the living room, Ethan returned with a bowl of popcorn. He sat down next to Scott, who was watching the TV intently. Ethan looked the screen for a moment, he was sure he saw a glitch on Jaskier, like if his face went from screaming to smiling in a few seconds without any reasons. Ethan blinked and all he saw was Jaskier on pause on the screen, holding his lute in his hands, must be the sleepiness coming to his eyes, he thought, forgetting instantly what he jsut saw.

“Sorry, got a call from work. What did I miss?” Ethan asked, popping a kernel into his mouth.

Scott turned to him with a smile, his expression calm and untroubled.

“Nothing important,” he said, resuming the show, his voice soft and even. Jaskier resumed playing his lute to entertain Geralt on their journey.

Ethan relaxed on Scott's shoulder as Scott grabbed Ethan's hands, unaware of the turmoil raging within the screen as Scott’s soul was forced to entertain an audience forever trapped in this new reality, playing with his lute and begging to cum.

______________________________________________________________ Hey guys!

I’ve been meaning to post this story for a while but just couldn’t find the time to put it together properly—until now. So here it is! This story was created for @petew21-blog, based on his amazing request:

"would you be so kind and uploaded this handsome guy to my USB? I want his body empty for me to enjoy. I do need a hard pillow to cuddle while watching TV shows. And he looks comfy. I could play with those long hair, feel the heat of his muscles, bathe him... All while his body would be just empty, followed me and listened to every command I give him.

And while in bed together, we could watch some TV shows with the USB inserted in the TV with a VERY FAMILIAR actor. If you know what I mean."

I hope you all enjoy this one! Let me know what you think in the comments.

As always, my DMs are open, and you’re welcome to send me an ask if you have an idea you’d like me to explore.

Take care, and see you soon!

[heldbykento]

⋆˳ . ⋆ — “LIKE IT’S ALL MINE. . . !”

part 1 | part 2

wrd count: 2136

warnings: pure smut, breeding kink if you squint, fem!reader, pet names used, big dick josh!!!!!, p in v sex, 18+ content, hard teasing

a/n: finally a part 2!!! yay!! enjoy babies :3 not proofread, per usual >_<

“you’re already so worked up just from humping my leg?” josh breathed out a laugh, hands grabbing at your hips, firmly enough to leave bruises.

all you could do was grow small in embarrassment under him, causing your hips to slow and eventually come to a halt.

his words made you realize what you were actually doing and reality snapped back at you.

josh had a fat grin on his face and he shook his head in disapproval. “don’t stop now, keep going. maybe i’ll let you cum on my dick if you’re obedient.”

your head was spinning, by now you could hardly make out anything he was saying, mind haunted with disgustingly sexual thoughts.

but he wouldn’t just make a huge mess out of you for fun.

josh liked you.

he liked your face, body, and how bright you were; how much you stood out from everybody else. he found it so attractive and he was ready to pour all of those feelings inside of you.

along with something else.

the exposed skin on your warm back started to melt into the cold plaster of the wall, reminding him that he was still completely clothed.

that had to be out the way. now.

josh met his lips with yours again, mouth wet from how harsh he was sucking on your tits. a dream come true.

while kissing you, nice and slow, he started pulling his layers of clothing off, only breaking the kiss for a moment to take his shirt off.

you broke the kiss entirely though, hands still holding onto him just because if you let go, your weak knees would buck and you’d be a puddle on the floor.

“t-take… take off your pants.” a soft order came from your lips, he couldn’t help the chuckle that left his.

he tilted his head at you, like a confused dog. “why don’t you do it for me? hm, pretty girl?” he whispered to you, the words making you feel things deep in your stomach.

there was no need to ask twice.

you were already on your knees, the warmth of your tights battling against the cold floor.

by the time you could take in a deep breath, he was already teasing you.

“c’mon. i love the view but i have needs too, y’know?” josh said from above you as he ran a hand over the top of your head, giving you a gentle push towards his crotch.

it was evident in his tone now that he was just as needy and ready as you. maybe not as much as you but he was getting there.

your hand reached to unbuckle his belt, being gentle because it felt expensive. the noises of metal clanking and pants hitting the ground filled the room.

silence.

stunned is one word to explain the feeling of the sight in front of you.

joshua washington was big, big and tightly pressed against his navy blue calvin klein boxers, pre-cum leaking through the cloth and it was staring right at you.

this was a sight women die for.

the cold breeze of the room was hitting him because his entire demeanor had changed.

josh was flushed, grabbing at the hair on your head with more vice than before, breathing in staggered patterns.

you tugged at the waistband with delicacy, swallowing dryly as the thick seven inches in front of you bounced slowly.

with a hand, you grabbed at the base while your lips made their way around the pulsing tip.

the new contact wired a low groan out of josh’s mouth, knuckles now wrapping themselves into your hair.

you started off slow.

bobbing your head only enough to take less than a few inches in as your hands twisted and tugged on the parts that weren’t in your mouth.

his mouth was wide open, spurring out words of praise while his hands tried to push your head closer, simultaneously pushing his cock farther into your mouth.

“fuck…holy shit thats good, s’good…” his head fell back and a grin fell on his face at the sounds of you gagging all on him.

tears pricked your eyes like thorns, and taunting you for thinking you could handle something so big.

the quicker you sucked on it, the louder the noises of your choking were. it made your cheeks burn hot in embarrassment.

the closer he was to finishing, the quicker he ripped your head from him.

right when you were in the zone. what an asshole.

“h-huh? wha— what? was it bad?” you asked in pure confusion, eyes big and full of tears as you stared up at him.

josh shook his head, his chest heaving and breath hot. “the complete opposite. i just want to finish while fucking your pussy. not your mouth.”

every time he spoke like that, you were just left with your mouth half-open and brows raised, looking dumb founded.

all he could do was laugh.

he grabbed you from the floor, picking you up with ease and hooking your legs around his hips.

hands on the prize, he palmed your ass to hold you up as he started chewing up your neck, loving the taste and all the mewls you cried out.

he was rock hard. dick twitching and ready to burst just from feeling your bare tits on his skin.

but he had to stay strong, had to maintain himself so he could blow a mean load into your guts and clean up the mess.

like a respectful gentleman.

thought there was nothing gentle about the things he was about to do to you.

before you knew it, your back was slammed against the mattress and your shorts were being stripped off your body, all in one swift movement.

he carefully placed one of your feet on his shoulders, holding it there with his left hand.

the view was something straight out of some cheap porno.

his biceps tightening as he ripped open your tights right where your cunt was, his fingers of his free hand slowly sliding your panties to the side.

you twitched from under him, knees bucking as you felt a thick digit rubbing between your lips, teasing your clit.

a whine left your mouth, noises almost pornographic. so embarrassing how quick he could get you like this just from one finger.

and he wasnt even thrusting it yet.

“so wet ‘n pretty. didn’t even have to wet it before putting it inside.” he tutted, sucking in his bottom lip between his teeth to hold himself back from saying something that was almost disrespectful.

your eyes rolled into your skull, biting down on the tip of your acrylic nail to hold back a dramatic moan that was inching out of you.

“josh, just fuck me already. please”

he wanted it as bad as you did. but he was an asshole about shit so, of course he had to take the high road.

“not just yet, gotta get you ready for me.” his tone was cocky as hell. he knew how big he was and how dramatic you were. so if he tore you up, he wouldn’t hear the end of it.

after a short moment, he sucked in a breath and scoffed. “fuck it.” he muttered almost to himself and quickly after, he grabbed at your hips, flipping you completely onto your stomach.

as if you’d run away, he forcefully pulled your hips up, leaving a sharp slap on the full skin of your ass through the tights.

you still felt every little thing, jumping and flinching at the burning pain; that still felt so fucking good.

once he realized he couldn’t get the full effect, he was ripping that section of the flimsy material too.

all in a few seconds, he was sliding your panties back to the side and grabbing himself, positioning his length right at your entrance.

a dazed chuckle left josh’s mouth and he’s practically drooling at the sight. “shit, baby. if only you could see how good this looks.”

your back was arched, leaving a sexy arc that made him dizzy to look at.

he never imagined actually having you like this. and it made him so eager to fill you up.

with a guttural moan at your tight walls soaking him in, he tried to slowly push in every inch.

which made everything feel ten times better.

he sucked in a sharp breath, biting on his bottom lip and making a writhed up expression at how good it felt.

you on the other hand, let out a harsh gasp when his tip was touching areas you never thought could be reached.

it made your head perk up from being stuffed in the bed, eyes wide and chest heaving.

“g’nna start— f-fuck— moving… now…” he could barely speak, groans interrupting his words as he started bucking his hips forward.

his hands grabbed at the fat on your hips, holding you in place.

your mouth was stuck in an ‘o’ shape, brows furrowed up and eyes shut as you felt every. damn. thing.

noises you didn’t even know you could make were being let out. and he was barely even fucking you the way he wanted to yet…

how embarrassing.

his dick was so good. you had goosebumps on every part of your body and you could hear your juices squelching every time he thrusted into you.

when he started to get used to the tight and wet feeling, a hand reached for the hair that rested over your neck, grabbing up a handful of it.

with this, all he could do was fuck into you harder, skin slapping as he bit on his bottom lip.

his dark green eyes were full of lust due to the way you just consumed every inch so well.

you were loud. telling him you couldn’t take it and babbling out a whole lot of nonsense.

it just felt too good.

“what’s wrong, baby? never had anyone fuck you this good? hm?… yeah i bet no one’s been appreciating this pretty pussy like they should be.” he groaned, looking at your body as if it was a renaissance painting, his free hand grabbing at the plush skin of your ass with every fiber in him.

safe to say the skin was tinted red with his hand print all over it.

the mix of pleasure and pain of being stretched out made you weak.

your brain was absolute mush and you were so cock drunk, his dick replacing the feeling of all the alcohol from earlier.

“j—! oh my— fuck…!” was all you could blabber out. you tried to respond but he was pulling your hair so harshly, causing your back to arch more than you physically could.

meaning he was hitting a whole new spot, with harsher movements and a faster pace. the new feeling made your mind completely black out.

you were left a loud, whiny and moaning mess.

josh had promised himself to not get too caught up in one thing on this trip.

but the alcohol and ways you were talking to him earlier into the night made his dick twitch in his pants for any kind of attention from just you.

the both of you were close.

he could feel your walls tightening around his cock so nicely, making him want to empty all the cum he could hold into you.

“shit— shit, y/n. ‘m gonna cum inside this pussy, yeah? gonna make you all mine, fill you up so nice.” he was spewing half-minded bullshit in between deep breaths, grabbing at your hair and your hip while his thrusts became more aggressive.

you were drooling everywhere, his words made you want to cum right then and there.

the sounds of wet skin slapping and the feeling of his balls slapping against your clit consumed all of your thoughts.

“c— cum..! g’nna cum.. fuck—!” your legs were trembling, voice shaky while you reached for your orgasm by fucking yourself on his dick, rutting your hips; gripping the bed sheets for stability.

could’ve sworn you were seeing stars. your vision started to enhance white sparks and your eyes were open as wide as they could go, a loud moan of his name slipped out of your mouth.

a few more pumps in and he was cumming deep inside of you, holding his dick as deep as it could go.

he finished with a baritone and low groan, biting at his bottom lip as he watched the cum overflow, slipping out of you and down your thighs.

the both of you lied there in sweat and with limp

limbs, one of his hands was still stuck to your ass, holding it as he rested on his back while you were on your stomach.

“you awake?” josh muttered to you in a bit of concern, breaking the silence.

when he heard soft breathing in replace of your voice, he figured that was his answer and got up to find something he could clean you up with.

tags: @someobsessionrequired @lanadelreyscokewhor3

[st4rpiece]

NSFW

pairings: office worker! nanami x hyper-femme coworker! reader summary: nanami doesn't like sharing your attention warnings: no use of y/n, office/public sex, fingering, oral (f! receiving), jealous & possessive nanami, airhead reader, (not proofread)

nanami kento was the epitome of discipline and order. his life was a meticulously crafted routine, each minute accounted for, and each task executed precisely. from the moment he woke up at 5:30 am sharp to the time he retired to bed at 10:00 pm, every aspect of his day was planned to perfection. he thrived on structure and predictability, finding solace in the monotony of his well-organized life.

that was until you entered the picture.

you were a whirlwind of pastel colors (mainly shades of pink) and rhinestones, a hyper-feminine force that indirectly disrupted the rigid order of his world. your desk was a chaotic explosion of cute stationery, scented candles, and an impressive collection of lip glosses. you were always seen humming some catchy pop tune under your breath or mindlessly shopping during work hours.

as the days went by, you began directly disrupting his carefully maintained routine. you’d stop by his desk to chat about the latest episode of your favorite reality show or to show off your new nail art. at first, nanami found it incredibly annoying. he had work to do and deadlines to meet, and your constant interruptions were a distraction he didn’t need. but there was something about your infectious energy that he couldn’t help but be drawn to.

one particularly hectic afternoon, you appeared at his desk with a perplexed expression. “ken, can you help me with this spreadsheet? i think i messed it up,” you said, holding up your laptop. he sighed, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose, but he couldn’t deny the small thrill he felt at the prospect of spending time with you.

as he walked you through the steps to fix the spreadsheet, he began to notice little things. like how good your vanilla & coconut perfume smelt or how kissable your glossy lips looked as you pouted in concentration.

when you finally got the hang of it, you beamed up at him, your eyes sparkling with gratitude. “thank you, ken! you’re honestly the best!” you exclaimed, leaving him with an unfamiliar warmth in his chest.

from that day on, you made it a point to seek nanami out whenever you needed help. whether it was a technical issue or just someone to listen to your latest shopping haul, nanami became your go-to person. he tried to maintain his stern, no-nonsense demeanor, but he couldn’t deny the way his heart raced whenever you were near.

he was printing out a report when you breezed into the office, a vision in pink. you wore a white dress shirt, buttoned halfway up, offering a peek at the baby pink lace bra underneath. it was tucked into your mini tweed skirt that barely covered your ass. the look was completed with white thigh-high socks that clung onto you like a second skin and a pair of shiny white heels.

your outfit effortlessly drawing attention. though it was more suited for a garden party than a corporate environment. like usual, you greeted everyone with a cheerful “good morning!” that was met with a chorus of subdued replies.

nanami barely looked up from his copies as you always greeted him separately no matter where he was. always with a random treat that he just “had to try.” so, like usual, he waited for you to make your way to him, but you never came. instead, he found you by your desk chatting animatedly with another male coworker.

a pang of jealousy surged through him, twisting his usually composed demeanor. he knew he had no right to be jealous, but the sight of you talking to another man had stirred a primal instinct within him.

“morning," he said, his voice steady but firm as he walked over, placing himself in between you and the guy. "hope i’m not interrupting anything important."

“not at all,” you replied, flashing him a bright smile, unaware of the subtle change in the atmosphere.

“great, could i see you in my office?"

he didn’t bother waiting for a reply, confident that you would follow, and the distinct click of your heels echoing behind proved him right.

nanami's body was a mere few inches away as you closed the door behind you. his warmth radiating toward you, made you all too aware of the lack of physical space between you. his eyes, usually so calm and composed, now danced with a dominant look that was both thrilling and slightly intimidating.

“morning ken" you greeted like usual, trying to keep your voice even as your heart pounded. his proximity was intoxicating.

“morning sweetheart”

"you look lovely," his voice uncharacteristically playful as his fingers rubbed against the hem of your skirt, a gesture that was both comforting and possessive.

“but it seems i wasn't the first to tell you that this morning."

your cheeks flushed, warmth spreading through your body as you looked away, a shy smile tugging at the corners of your lips.

"only matters when you say it," you said sweetly, still avoiding eye contact, focusing on the way his fingers brushed your leg.

“is that so?”

his voice was low and gruff, hinting at the emotions he was trying to keep in check. his fingers still lingering on the fabric of your skirt as the scent of his cologne filled the space, a tantalizing mix of musk and something faintly sweet.

you nodded, feeling his hand move from the hem of your skirt to your chin, gently turning your face back to meet his gaze. the room felt smaller, the air thick with unspoken tension as your eyes locked onto his. you could see the hunger in his gaze, a mirror of your own.

"may i?" he asks, his voice gruff with need. his hand remained on your chin, his thumb tracing the outline of your bottom lip. his touch was featherlight, but the intention was clear.

you nod, unable to form words as your heart races. feeling a spark of desire ignite within you as you leaned into his touch.

“i need words, sweetheart,” he said, flexing his thigh. adding to the pressure against your cunt.

“what is it that you want?"

you gulped, eyes wide. the proximity was overwhelming, the warmth of his body pressing against you, his breath hot on your face. "i...i need you," you murmured, the words barely escaping your lips. "please."

with a groan, he claimed your mouth in a kiss that was as fierce as it was tender. his hand moving from your face to the small of your back, pulling you in tighter before lifting you off the floor. your hands gripping onto his shoulders, as he made his way to his desk.

the kiss was a declaration of need, of desperation, of a hunger that had been building for months. his tongue slid against yours, tasting and exploring as if he could never get enough. your body responding instinctively to the demand. the world outside his office door was forgotten as you lost yourself in the warmth of his embrace.

he places you down on the desk, your legs draping over the edge. the wood was cold against your skin, a stark contrast to the fire that had been ignited within you. his eyes raked over your body; the sight of you, flushed and eager, only fueled his hunger.

“ken,” you whined at the sudden absence of his warmth. your lips swollen from the kiss, eyes hazed with desire as you watched him drop to his knees. his hands slid up the inside of your thighs, pushing your skirt higher as he pulled your legs further apart. the scent of his cologne filled the room, mixing with the faint scent of your arousal.

he kissed the soft skin of your inner thigh, his eyes locked on yours, watching your every reaction. his mouth moved closer to your panties, his breath ghosting over the damp fabric, making you shiver. with a gentle tug, he pulled the lacy barrier aside, revealing your glistening pussy. his eyes darkened, pupils dilated, as he took in the sight of you, wet and ready for him.

"so fucking wet for me," he murmurs, his voice thick with arousal before leaning in to taste you. his tongue slid along your folds, teasing and exploring, as he held your gaze.

you gripped the edge of the desk, biting your lip to keep from crying out. the sensation was exquisite, a sweet agony that made your toes curl. his hands held you open, thumbs rubbing lazy circles around your clit, as he devoured you with a hunger that was both thrilling and terrifying.

"a-ah yes," you breathed, unable to form coherent sentences as his tongue delved deeper, hitting that spot that made your eyes roll back in your head.

"please, m-more," you begged, your hips bucking against his mouth. he chuckled against your skin, the vibration sending waves of pleasure through you, before obliging, his tongue curling and flicking, driving you closer to the edge.

“patience, baby,” he murmured against your sensitive flesh, the vibration sending another shockwave of pleasure through your body.

he knew exactly how to tease and taunt you, pushing you to the brink of insanity before giving you what you craved.

without warning, he slid a finger inside you, the sudden intrusion making you gasp. the digit was warm and thick, filling you in a way that made your legs shake. he stilled for a moment, allowing you to adjust to the new sensation before adding a second finger.

curling them slightly as he moved in slow, deliberate strokes, mimicking the rhythm of his tongue. the combination of his tongue on your clit and his fingers inside you was almost too much, but he wasn't about to let you cum just yet.

instead, he added a third finger, stretching you even further. the sight of his digits disappearing into your slick warmth was almost too much for him to handle, his own cock straining against the fabric of his pants. he could feel the pressure building, the tension coiling in his stomach, but he remained focused on your pleasure.

he continued his relentless assault, loving the way your muscles tightened around him. watching the way your body reacted to his touch, memorizing every twitch and whimper. with the sounds of his fingers sliding in and out of you filling the room. mixing with your muffled gasps and the wet smack of his lips against your skin.

"k-kenny," you panted, your voice shaking with need. you were so close, so incredibly close.

he noticed the desperation in your voice and felt a surge of satisfaction. he knew he had you right where he wanted you—on the precipice, begging for release. he picked up the pace, his tongue flicking faster, his fingers curling in a steady rhythm that had you gripping the desk tightly.

with one final, firm suck on your clit, he felt your body tense and then release in a cascade of pleasure. you came hard, your back arching off the desk, your legs wrapping around his neck. He held on tightly, lapping at your juices as your pussy contracted around his fingers. the sound of your cries filled the room, echoing off the walls in a symphony of ecstasy that only served to inflame his desire even further.

his fingers slow their rhythm, gently stroking your sensitive flesh as you ride out the aftershocks. your breath comes in ragged pants, and your eyes are glazed over with pleasure.

"ken," you whimper, your voice hoarse and needy. "more."

idk nanami is just the type of man you can be an airhead around cause you know he got it.

I didn’t know how much of an airhead i wanted the reader to be, but i ultimately settled on this one, so i hope you guys enjoyed it!

updates have been slow cause of school, so i’m just trying to get my drafts out of the way for now 😭.

[also, dodger blue by kendrick is so good!!!]

[maxiwaxipads]

let me jumble your brains with my jumbles but doesn’t it make sense for Tuxedo Sam Kingdom to be the place where parents tell their children: “If you don’t BEHAVE right this instant, I’m sending you to a DISCIPLINARY school in Tuxedo Sam Kingdom!”

[chososdiscordkitten]

Baby Fever?!

Synopsis: JJk men/reader have baby fever ≽^•⩊•^≼

Includes: 𝐆𝐨𝐣𝐨, 𝐓𝐨𝐣𝐢, 𝐍𝐚𝐨𝐲𝐚, 𝐆𝐞𝐭𝐨, 𝐍𝐚𝐧𝐚𝐦𝐢, 𝐇𝐢𝐠𝐮𝐫𝐮𝐦𝐚, 𝐧𝐝 𝐂𝐡𝐨𝐬𝐨 Content: afab!reader, topics of pregnancy, marriage, breeding, and having children. mostly nsfw (sorry anon) (a.n) Jesus my page has been full of baby fever nd marriage recently.

Dedicated to; this ask.

MDNI

Satoru Gojo

Ever since you first became official- Gojo had this little habit of asking to give you a baby. You always shook him off, telling him ‘no’ because it was far too soon and you were too young to start having children. 

Birth control became a necessity because of the little need he had to finish inside of you.

On one occasion of him asking the incessant question- you leaned in real close to his ear, “I will impregnate you.” you whispered.

This unlocked a whole other can of worms in Satoru’s mind. The urge to breed you was strong, but that little promise lit a fire in his soul. 

But one day, while out on a date- walking down an empty street, a child no older than 7 or 8 ran up to Satoru, Tears staining his cheeks and asking for his mom. 

Though you hardly saw Satoru interact with children in your daily life, you could see his demeanor change from a normal playful one to a more serious and authoritative one.

Crouching down to the child’s height and asking where he last saw his mom and his name—all with calm. 

You watched the little interaction unfold before you with wide eyes- the thought that Gojo was too immature to be a father completely being thrown from your mind as Satoru stood up straight and held the child’s hand in his. Guiding him back to where the child last saw his mom and reuniting the stressed mom and the crying child.

After that, more and more little instances Satoru did, made you start contemplating his little offer of giving you a child. 

Whenever you’d go shopping with him, you’d always pretend to accidentally stumble across the baby aisle.

Gojo perked a brow, watching your eyes admire the little socks attached to the onside in your hands. 

Corner of his lip curled up with a soft giggle, stepping over to you and whispering- “You’re actually considering having a kid?” he teased watching you furrow your eyebrows and hang the little onesie back on the rack. 

You shoved him with your elbow, scoffing and making a mental note to never bring this up again. 

That night, you were scrolling on your phone- watching any video that popped up of a chunky baby with a soft expression. 

Satoru was beside you, focused on his phone, but the sound of a child’s laughter made him look over at you with furrowed eyebrows- peeking over to your phone and watching the tiktok you were looking at. 

Some video of a mom showing their child’s massive hair bows- he was about to laugh at how silly the baby looked. Only he scanned your expression and got a hint as to why you hadn’t scrolled yet. 

Satoru rolled atop you, resting his head on your sternum and urging you to put your phone down. 

Holding his head in your hands- “I can give you a baby if you want one so bad~” he teased, causing you to furrow your eyebrows. 

Parting your lips with a soft gasp, “Satoru Gojo!” you feigned shock, whispering, “A child out of wedlock? What would the clan think?” you teased, mushing his cheeks together as he rolled his eyes. 

Pulling your hands from his cheeks and hoisting himself up- face to face as he placed a hand between your thighs, urging you to open them. 

Placing a kiss on your lips with a smile- “I am the clan.” he scoffed smugly. 

Toji Zenin

It all started with one little sentence he littered during intercourse, legs bent to your chest, and Toji pounding into you like his life depended on it. 

Something along the lines of, “Gonna breed this perfect pussy-” in a low husky tone. It was muttered- like his internal thoughts seeped from his lips without permission. 

But the words stayed in your mind- long after you had cleaned off his copious mess from your center. Even as Toji was snoring next to you- you stayed up thinking about the words he had muttered into the air. 

They made you squint thinking about the possibility of it. Questions you wish Toji was awake to ask him. 

Rare were the times he would sprinkle dirty talk during sex. But the way he said it, it wasn’t meant to be heard as dirty talk. The way it sounded was he spoke it as a proclamation. 

The next morning, when Toji woke up to your face pressed against his chest. Feeling your eyes watch him sleep, he woke up asking you what you needed. 

“You want to-” air caught in your throat, recalling what he said. “..breed me?” you whispered, looking at his hazy eyes and furrowed brow. 

Corner of his lip curled, “Where’d you get that idea?” he scoffed, closing his eyes and pretending not to feel your harsh gaze on his skin. 

“From you- you said it last night.”

Toji nodded ‘no’. As though the idea of him saying that was impossible. 

“Yes, you did- I heard you.” watching Toji’s smug face nod ‘no’ again. 

“You can’t gaslight me Toji- I heard you.” Your determination amused the man- feeling his chest rise in a half laugh against your cheek. 

Even a few days after- the thought lingered in your mind. Toji still refused to believe he said it- telling you that you were mistaken. 

And then Toji caught onto the feverlike smile you’d get on your cheeks whenever you’d see a baby in public. Smiling to himself as you pinched your eyebrows at the little humans. 

But there was this one time- on an elevator with a new mom and a baby in her hands. Toji noticed your staring as the woman struggled to reach into her purse, which caused it to fall and spill her belongings on the ground.

The woman sighed- looking down before peering her eyes back to you- “Could you?” she asked, holding out her baby to you- which you happily took and looked at Toji with the child in your arms. 

Toji swore his eye twitched as he watched you- happily bouncing the child in your arms before the woman reached her hands back to her child. 

After that, Toji started expressing his urgent need to breed you full of his children during intimacy- to which he still denied he said any of those things. 

“Whatever- as long as you don’t become a deadbeat again, I don’t care.” you scoffed, referring to his son he refused to talk about. 

Naoya Zenin

While he was dating you- Naoya took a lot of care in ensuring not to get you pregnant. “Children out of wedlock never result in anything good.” he would defend. He told you to start taking birth control- only you laughed in his face and said no.

That if he wanted to have safe sex- he would have to wear a condom. That you wouldn’t alter your body’s hormones just because he doesn’t wanna get you pregnant. And Naoya obliged. 

Midway through sex, pulling his ear down to your lips and telling him how much better it would feel without a condom- only for his eyes to shut tight- trying to keep his focus on not cumming, going as far as telling you to shut up. Multiple times, knowing if you didn’t, he might just listen to you.

Though you liked teasing him with the possibility. Asking if he didn’t want to see you barefoot and pregnant, waiting for him at home. Watching his neck pulse with a low gulp just thinking about it. 

In truth, you didn’t really want to get pregnant- Naoya had a point in the whole ‘marriage first, then kids.’ thing. You only liked watching his ears turn red and warm whenever you’d try and tempt him with having sex without a condom.

You didn’t think much of it- unknowing of the temptation brewing in Naoya’s mind with every waking day he didn’t marry you. 

Every time you whispered a temptation in his ear- the mental image of you waiting for him at home, swelled with his child and the future of his clan—Naoya was hanging on a very thin thread. 

And once he finally had the guts to ask you- it took very little time for the wedding to be planned. The thought of children was nowhere near your mind on the day. 

A small ceremony with his family, prancing you around like some trophy in front of the elders. 

And that night- Naoya held a gentle hand as he undid the little buttons of your wedding dress- carefully unwrapping you from the costly lace. 

You found it odd- sure. Naoya wasn’t usually the type to take things slow and gentle in this department. 

But when you looked at him, his hips between your knees with your back on the bed. Looking up at Naoya as he undid the buttons of his dress shirt- “We’re not stopping till you’re pregnant.” he huffed, tossing his shirt aside and easing himself onto the bed. 

Had you known your little temptations and offers of unprotected sex would cause his brain to rewire the idea of having kids- you still would’ve done it. Maybe with a little more tact though. 

Naoya no longer saw it as another responsibility of being head of the clan- he saw it as an opportunity to breed you again- and again. Till you were so full there was no other choice than to get pregnant. 

Suguru Geto

All it took was Suguru showing you pictures of him and the two girls he adopted when he left Jujutsu High and telling you countless stories behind the photos for you to look at him differently. 

You saw a certain change in the way you looked at him. No longer a father figure to two teenage girls, you saw him as an actual father. 

Mouthy and mean as those girls could be, you saw how gentle he was with them anyway. And you knew he could make a phenomenal father. 

You chose a tactless form of asking him. Sitting at the table eating breakfast- looking at his soft expression. 

“Would you be a dad again?” 

Suguru looked at you with furrowed eyebrows- “...Again?” unsure of when the first time he became a father was. 

You rolled your eyes, urging him to answer the question with a sigh. 

“Depends.” Geto murmured, looking back down to his phone and earning a kick from your socked foot. 

You scoffed, “On?” 

“If we are stable- money wise, and if the conditions are right.” he grinned, wondering where this topic came from. 

Your cheeks tingled in the slightest when he used ‘we’ to refer to becoming parents, answering another question you had. 

Suguru thought back to the question again, lightly raising his eyebrows at realizing what you were asking. 

“With…You?” 

You laughed- “No Suguru- with your next partner.” tone full of sarcasm as he rolled his eyes. 

“I would be open..?” he squinted, trying to gauge where you stood on this. Watching your face go unchanged at his response- wanting to hear the truth, not just something that he said catered to your opinion. “...To it?”

You grinned, “Suguru, this isn’t a trick question. Just answer honestly.” assuring him that this was a necessary conversation in a relationship. 

He gulped lightly, trying to shake away the worries of saying the wrong thing. Placing his phone on the table and looking at you with his hands between his knees. “I would love-” he grinned, cheeks blushed and avoidant of your gaze. “To have children with you.” 

You couldn’t help the shy little laugh that left your lips- “But we are a smidge too young- don’t you think?” you grinned, watching his head nod with a scoffing smile. 

“I did the teen dad thing- so maybe a little too young.” he joked- 

You nodded agreeingly, looking at him with love filled eyes- “We’ll wait till we are 40.” you grinned, watching his shoulders move in a small giggle. 

“Till 50- if we can.” 

Kento Nanami

You both had been toying with the idea of children. Small comments like, “Awe Ken-” looking at him with a soft smile. “You would be a wonderful dad.” whenever he talked about the fears of becoming a father. 

The talk of kids was spoken early in your relationship. Often were the times when the conversation of how many would come up a few minutes before bed. 

Playing with your hand in the dark, lying on your back with Nanami beside you. 

“How many?” You asked softly- hearing Nanami hum, close to falling asleep. 

A low exhale left his lips; “Two. Maybe three.” His voice husky from how close he was to falling asleep. But he was always happy to answer your questions- knowing they would keep you up if he didn’t answer. 

Rolling over onto your side and placing your head on his chest, “Twins?” you asked with a smile. Picturing the future with him as he put his hand onto your back.

Nanami let out a soft exhale with a smile. “Twins are a handful,” he spoke softly, his eyes daring to drift off to sleep as you caressed his torso.

You thought about it- remembering that you would have to carry them. “Okay. No twins.” 

Hearing his heartbeat against your ear as you thought of another question. 

“When?” 

Nanami gruffed a soft laugh, rubbing small circles on your back. “We’d have to be married first.” he mumbled. 

“Then wait a year or two.” his voice dwindling its tone as he eased into the exhaustion.

You furrowed your eyebrows, “Why?” softly blinking your eyes. 

“A year of blissful marital life before children come into the picture.” Nanami spoke, half asleep, as the tiny part of his brain that filtered his words refused to work. 

You grinned, “You wanna marry me?” softly giggling against his chest.

Nanami sighed- pressing his hand onto your back a little firmer, holding you close. “I do. Dunno why I haven’t ask you yet.” his words breathy and bordering on sleeping. 

“Should get on that-” he exhaled, hearing his breathing ease into a heavier pattern against your ear.

After that, conversations about children only came up more and more. There was talk of names and if you’d move into a house instead of an apartment. 

Slowly your own baby fever stuck onto him- you sending tiktoks of the chunky babies you’d get on your fyp didn’t help either. 

The words “Practicing won’t hurt” were uttered whenever you mentioned the word breeding. All too thankful to the iud you had, knowing the apartment would be crawling with children if you didn’t have it. 

Hiromi Higuruma

When you started letting Hiromi cum inside- he kinda just assumed that you were on something. Never hesitating to give you what you asked him for. 

But Hiromi started getting the hints that you had a particular itch in your brain that only he could scratch. 

The topic came up when you joined him for lunch- sitting outside a sandwich shop and hearing Hiromi talk about a case debriefing after this. 

Too focused on telling you about it before he realized you had stopped listening. 

Eyes looking off to the side and your thumbs twiddling in your lap. 

“Honey?” he asked, looking in the direction you were looking and seeing a mother playing with her child. Snapping your gaze back to him- 

“Sorry.” Softly exhaling, “Sorry- you were saying?” 

Hiromi furrowed his eyebrows, watching your eyes glimmer with a nervous light. Reaching a hand out to yours, “What’s wrong?” he asked- all too intuitive at what the look on your face meant. 

“Nothing- it’s okay.” Squeezing his hand assuringly. 

Hiromi raised a brow- parting his lips about to speak only for you to interrupt him. 

“Do you want kids?” preferring to rip the bandaid off rather than ease into a conversation. 

He inhaled again- only for you to speak again. “With me. I mean.” 

The corners of his lips curled, almost in a teasing smile. 

Hiromi sighed, thinking about the question and looking down to his half-finished sandwich. 

“I’ve never been in a relationship serious enough for the talk of children to come up.” he grinned, leaving your question unanswered. 

“You’ve never thought about it?” holding his hand tightly. Scared that you were illusioning yourself into a future Hiromi didn’t want. 

Hiromi tilted his head- thinking about it.

“I think I do…?” 

You pursed your lips, unsatisfied with the half answer. And Hiromi let out a blushed scoff- “If wanting kids meant wanting them with you- i do.” he clarified. Earning for you to look at him with soft eyes and a wiggling pout. 

“You mean-?” you pouted, looking at him with a soft expression. 

His eyes widened at the sudden severity in your gaze, not knowing how much his confirmation meant to you. 

Raising his hand to your lips and pressing a light peck on his knuckles “Can we?” 

“...Now?” 

You scoffed, “No, not now.” with a soft smile.

Hiromi exhaled, thinking of having an actual child- “How ’bout we focus on getting married first?” 

Choso Kamo

Ever since the first time you had sex- Choso always finished inside, no patience nor ability to time his orgasm and pull out in time. 

Not recalling the repercussions of unprotected sex- nor really caring. 

And when the conversation of children came up- You insisted on giving him an army of children. “I think it’s what you deserve.” To which he looked at you as though something awakened in his mind when you said that. 

While on dates, he would see an overly large family struggling to keep the many children in check. He would look at you and remember what you had said. 

‘An army of children.’

Between the two of you- he caught babyfever first. 

Walking through a strip mall- looking for a new pair of shoes when you passed a baby store. 

Choso tugged your hand, looking at you eagerly and leading you into the store. “Just to look,” he said. 

Holding onto a tiny pair of shoes, looking at you, and presenting them in his palm. “Are these really meant to fit a child?” 

You let out a small giggle, nodding your head yes and watching him prattle around the store. 

Asking you questions- as though you had any more idea than he did. 

Watching your face uninterested in the window shopping he was doing- “You don’t want to have kids anymore?” furrowed eyebrows and determined to cut the window shopping if you didn’t. 

You grinned, “Of course I still want to have kids.” taking his hand and placing it on your tummy as though you were already pregnant. 

Eyes wide and cheeks pink as he rested his hand onto your tummy. “You gotta pump a baby in me first.” Smiling at the fact he was already looking for things for a child that hadn’t been conceived yet. 

His mind sparked the idea of watching you grow big with his child. Made his eye twitch knowing that if you acted on your promise. That image wouldn’t be just an idea in Choso’s mind. 

Marriage didn’t make a difference to him- only a meaningless piece of paper. Like a license, or a ssn number, or money. (he’s in denial)

So the next time you had intercourse- Choso accidentally overstimulated himself. Keeping your words of ‘Pump a baby in me.’ in mind as you allowed him to pump you full of potential children. 

You did say an army of them. And Choso was more than happy to assist in creating the small army. 

-

𝐍𝐞𝐱𝐭: play fighting with the jjk men!

[gh0stsp1d3r]

nah cause all i can think abt it rafe being an absolute DICKHEAD to everyone but you. like he 180 changes when ur around and it completely baffles everyone.

OOOOH yes. everyone tellin you “he’s a dickhead, I don’t get why you’re with him.” And youre like “wdym? he’s the sweetest boy ever.” because you nd him and literally like this everyday

his friends hate it sm. I imagine it would go something like this

🪷 ꪆৎ 🕊️‧₊˚♡︎

Everywhere Rafe went, you followed. His friends never had the balls to say anything and just let it happen.

At parties, he was drinking and leaning in his chair, talking to Barry, who currently smoked a joint. A man sat in front of them, offering them an amount of money for the gold from the cross.

Rafe shook his head at the offer.

“That all?” Rafe asked him, unamused.

“I mean,” the dude scoffed. “How much would you take for it?”

“This bar is at least 5 grand. If you don’t got the money, fuckin’ stop wasting my time.”

“How is that five grand?”

Rafe rolled his eyes, irritated as he shut the case the gold was kept it. “Yo, what the fuck did I just say? Stop wasting my time. Get the fuck out.” He nodded, the man scoffing and shaking his head, standing up and walking away.

Rafe seemed irritated, his eyebrows furrowed and his face rested in an annoyed expression. That was until he glanced up and saw you walking towards him.

The man that had tried to buy the gold pushed past you, making you furrow your eyebrows at his rudeness.

Rafe had seen it, his irritation and anger bubbling once again. You just shrugged it off as you continued your stride to your boyfriend.

And he saw your bubbly demeanor, bouncing around happily as you walked towards him with the sweetest smile. He melted, the corners of his lips twisting up to form a smile. You fell into his lap, clearly drunk as you slurred out his name happily, hiding your face in his shoulder.

“Hey, baby.” He mumbled softly and quietly, hands rubbing circles on your legs.

Barry raised his eyebrows at Rafe, Rafe motioning for him to leave, his old glare back before he turned his attention back to you.

“You tired?” He asked you quietly.

“Yeah. Wanna go home, Rafey.” You whined and complained. And with anyone else, the nickname would have had someone 6 feet under.

“Alright. We’ll go home. Lemme just clean up here, Kay’?” He patted your ass softly, gently getting you off his lap.

“‘Kay.” You mumbled tiredly, rubbing the sleep from your eyes and waiting, but before he could even turn around to you, you were fast asleep on the couch.

He sighed, shaking his head and smiling again to himself.

[hannieehaee]

18+ / mdi

content: newbf!vernon, based off this quote, appearance from some svt members, afab reader, smut(?), suggestive, etc.

wc: 1848

a/n: this is such an odd premise but it caught my attention so yeah<3

masterlist

"i dont get the joke," seungkwan cocked his head to the side in a questioning manner.

"yeah, april fool's was last month?," added joshua.

"there's no joke. we're dating."

even as you and vernon found yourselves cuddled up on the couch, – in a manner only a couple would intertwine with each other – your friends seemed unimpressed by the mere suggestion of the two of you dating.

"so you've been besties for twelve years and suddenly you're dating? no warning, no nothing? not very believable", answered mingyu, staring at you in nothing short of annoyance.

"why is this so surprising? you guys knew that i had a crush on her," argued vernon, feeling a bit annoyed at the way all his friends were currently staring him down. meanwhile, you appeared to be completely chill as you nuzzled into his side, watching videos on his phone and ignoring the conversation altogether.

"i just don't buy it."

"yeah, i don't get the joke, but i'm not falling for it."

"she's out of your league anyway."

seungkwan, seungcheol and jeonghan all expressed their sentiments to vernon as he groaned in frustration, unable to understand why it was so difficult to accept that he had finally grown the balls to ask you out. alas, he gave up as his friends grew distracted by something else, opting to go back to watching cat videos with you on his phone.

this was a brand new change in your dynamic, so maybe it'd be hard to grasp at first. but it was fine. vernon didn't need his friends to acknowledge his relationship in order to make it real. he'd simply continue to love on you like he'd been doing since you accepted to be his girlfriend, damning any denials from his friends.

~

acting unaffected by his friends' constant refutals of his new relationship proved to be harder than vernon had first anticipated. they'd gone above and beyond to attempt and disprove your relationship, claiming that it simply didn't make any sense.

any time you posted a picture with vernon it'd get spammed with comments from all twelve boys declaring the falsehood of your relationship.

jeonghanieyoon: booo 🍅

joshuacoustic: drop the fake bf and date me instead 😘

dk_is_dokyeom: ok u guys are starting to look believable 🧐

sometimes they'd even respond to vernon's stories about you and slide in his dms just to call him a dumbass for attempting to make this 'a thing' when it was clear you two were lying.

from: pledisboos - stop being a coward and ask her out for real

from: feat.dino - clearly fake. try harder next time!

in retrospect, maybe vernon only had himself to blame for this. after years of liking you, he never once gave any indication of attempting to leave the friendzone. his friends had all given up on hyping him up to confess to you years ago, leaving his crush as a dormant subject of conversation. it was quite sudden how you and vernon ended up together, and your dynamic hadnt changed too much, so your upgrade from friends to lovers was likely not noticeable to the naked eye.

however, this did not excuse the damned booing vernon had to endure any time the two of you walked into a room hand-in-hand. it also did not excuse jeonghan and mingyu's continuous flirting with you – they were doing it to prove a point, they said. and the most frustrating aspect of it all was how nonchalant you were about it all, always giggling along with his friends and never backing vernon up when he'd try and argue with them.

this was quite out of character for vernon. his demeanor had always been extremely chill and laid back, never one to be bothered by any outside forces (much less his dumb friends). you, however, were not helping manners in any way. you found the whole situation funny, telling vernon not to stress over it as you giggled over how passionate both vernon and his friends were about such a benign subject.

so, vernon gave up. he guessed that since you found the running gag about your 'fake' relationship amusing rather than frustrating (as he did), then he would just leave it alone. he was never one for pda anyways, so attempting to prove his relationship to his friends was kind of like beating a dead horse.

what vernon forgot to consider, however, was how nosy his friends were.

when it was time for all fourteen of you to spend the week at mingyu's beach house, he had let his guard down far too much, leading to a situation he'd like to consider both a win and a loss.

despite the sheer size of the beach house, housing fourteen people proved to be quite a difficult task, meaning that roommates were a must. with six rooms, everyone was separated into twos, with two rooms containing one extra roommate each. you and vernon always paired up together with no questions asked, except this time you were teased and mocked as you settled into your rooms, all while they assigned you chan as an extra roommate with the sarcastic intent of him keeping an eye on the two of you – "just want to make sure you don't get down to any funny business," had sad dokyeom in a mocking tone.

it was quite common for everyone but vernon to go out and play some badminton or basketball during these types of outings. he just wasnt a sports guy, and he was well loved despite his lack of participation. you'd occasionally join the guys, but would mostly hang back with vernon, which was what happened this time around. usually, you'd simply lounge around and watch a movie, but now that you were finally together, vernon decided to make better use of your alone time.

"are you sure we should be doing this?", you pulled away with a heavy breath, tilting your head back so vernon's lips could trail down your neck.

"it's fine, baby. they're all busy. they don't even believe we're dating, so they probably just think we're watching a movie," he explained as his hands attempted to get you to sit on his lap.

you didn't seem to need convincing as you slid over onto his lap, allowing his hands to guide your hips against his own. even through the pajamas you were wearing, he was sure you could feel his hardness under you.

"fuck, you're so fucking warm," he murmured as his hands went under your shirt, feeling up your warm skin and throwing it off in the process.

his lips went back to yours, groaning against you as your hips sped up against his own. easily frustrated, he laid you down, bringing down his pants and boxers to his mid thigh and leaving you in just your panties, adjusting his hardness so it'd grind itself perfectly against your clothed folds. the wetness seeping from your panties drove him insane with desire, but he couldn't stop grinding into you, growing easily obsessed with the stimulation. his lips had made their way back to your own, groaning endlessly against them while your hands pulled at his hair in a way that made his eyes cross.

"hmm, nonnie ..." you'd murmur every so often, making his resolve break little by little.

"fuck, is this okay, baby? just- wanna make you cum like this. i'll fuck you, i promise. just feel so fucking good like this," he groaned as you licked into his mouth, refusing to entertain any amount of separation.

eventually he reached down to your tits, tonguing at them like a starved man in search of his next meal. he was shameless in his desire for you, having wanted you for far too long and finally having you all to himself. no other thought occupied his mind at the moment. the touch and sight of your pretty body under his own was all his brain had the capacity of entertaining.

which was how neither of you noticed the boy suddenly intruding the scene, screaming in absolute shock at the nasty sight in front of him.

"oh my god?! you weren't lying?!"

what was even more unfortunate was how chan's yelling immediately alerted the rest of the members (or at least the nosier ones), leading to the door being filled by about seven spectators within seconds.

the only fortunate thing about the situation had been how fast vernon's protective instincts over you took over, covering you up with a blanket the moment he saw chan enter the room, preventing all the nosy men from having a peek at the nudity only vernon was allowed to see (and apparently chan too, as vernon had not noticed his presence until after the fact).

however, even as he covered you up, he left himself completely bare, having to take on all their shocked commentary whilst fully nude, barely able to pull up his boxers a few moments into their intrusion.

"no way, you're actually dating?!"

"either that or they took this joke a little far ..."

"man, channie's gonna be jacking off to this for ages."

"how the fuck did you score her??"

"do you guys want a third?"

these were only a few of the comments thrown at you and vernon within the first twenty seconds of the guys' presence in your room. however, to vernon it felt like a whole hour of scrutiny before he finally shook the shock off and began yelling at them to leave.

"get the fuck out! and never look at my girlfriend again!", he got up and began pushing them out as a few of them giggled at his anger whilst some others remained in shock at the situation.

in the meantime, you had pulled up the blanket over your head as you sat crisscross on the bed, likely too bashful to face the situation until your friends took their leave.

once vernon closed and locked the door, grabbing a pillow and throwing it outside for chan (who would not be allowed back in, by the way), vernon sped to your side, uncovering you, fully worried that you might be mad or petrified at what had just happened. to his surprise, you began laughing the moment you first made eye contact, causing vernon to furrow his eyebrows in question.

"baby, what the fuck? you find this funny?", he wasn't mad, but more so extremely confused.

"you got want you wanted, nonnie. there's no way to deny we're dating now," you grinned, crawling to sit on his lap again.

"god, i take it back. i'll never be able to fuck you again in peace. i was just about to cum, too."

"'was'?", you asked, wrapping your arms around his shoulders and leaning in closer, "you don't wanna anymore?", you tilted your head in fake curiosity.

"i mean-"

"they already know we're fucking. might as well have fun with it. right, nonnie?", you grinned.

chuckling at you, he couldn't help but agree with your horny logic. his boner was still half-there anyways.

"c'mere, baby."

[morganbritton132]

Adding a bit more to this post and this add-on:

“What the fuck?”

“I know,” Gareth says, stopping short right next to Eddie in the middle of the cafeteria. They both stare at their table where Steve Harrington is standing. “I’m still getting use to it.”

“What do you mean ‘use to it?’ Gar, what-“ Eddie trails off when Gareth keeps moving. His hasn’t got his voice back in full yet from being sick and Gareth is right. You can’t stand still for too long in the cafeteria without getting your lunch knocked out of your hands.

Eddie narrows his eyes at King Steve’s hunched shoulders and his crossed arms. The way he’s hovering over Jeff…menacingly.

Yeah, no.

No one messes with Eddie’s sheep.

it’s a dick move and Eddie knows it when he throws his weight into an arm around Steve’s shoulders. He’s seen the way the jock has been carrying himself. His ribs are broken. Steve squeaks and Eddie smiles with all sharp corners, “What do we got here, my liege?”

“Huh?”

“The high life too boring for you that you got to…” Eddie trails off, ignoring the gesture that Jeff makes telling him to stand on Steve’s other side because - “That’s a character sheet. That’s a character sheet for D&D.”

Sitting next to Jeff with Steve crossed out for the character’s name is a D&D character sheet which is - “What the fuck?”

Steve’s demeanor completely changes in a moment of realization, shoulders going loose and smile bright enough to weaken Eddie’s knees. He’s like, “Heyyy, you’re like, king of the nerds, right? That’s perfect. Sit with us.”

Steve shakes off his arm and sits in Eddie’s chair, offering him a seat at his usual table. All Eddie can say is, “What the fuck?”

[hydrobunny]

never took me quite where you do

tags: established relationship, fluff, silliness

a/n: based on king of my heart. (which was also my eras surprise song!!)

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

"you haven't had a girlfriend?" you ask, surprise coloring your voice.

rin itoshi stares at you like you've suddenly got infinitely stupider. "not before you."

"that's," you start, then stop. actually, now that you're really thinking about it, it does make sense. "you know what, yeah. seems about right."

offense glares in his eyes as he leans away from you. "the hell does that mean?"

you raise your brows. "what do you think, rin?"

he fully untangles his limbs from yours at that, shoving himself off of the couch. you protest at his motion - a little halfheartedly, but the effort is there .

standing up to his full height, rin itoshi glares down at you.

you blink up at him, smiling with all the innocence you can muster. "yes?"

"do you know how much fan mail i get?" he grits out. "how many chocolates i've gotten on valentine's?"

it takes quite a lot of effort for you to not start laughing. "i do know how popular you are, yes. you should see the edits on tiktok."

"so why-" rin falters. "edits?"

"go on."

it takes him a second. "i could've had a girlfriend if i wanted to," he says at last. "i just didn't."

you nod, still biting back a smile. "mhm. i'm sure all the girls would've loved you after seeing that personality of yours." you scoot over, offering up the space on the couch again.

rin continues to stare, but you can see his will weakening. "not like anyone wanted to date your lukewarm ass either," he says with a finality.

you snort. "i thought you grew out of that word."

he rolls his eyes.

"also- factually untrue. i've had boyfriends before."

and rin's entire demeanor switches. "what?"

you wave your hand, dismissive. "not like a lot, but. an average amount to have for a high schooler, i think. none of it was ever serious. not like you," you grin.

rin doesn't return it. genuine shock bleeds through his face; he turns on his heel. "i'm going to bed."

"wha- rin?"

forty five minutes later, you breeze into your shared bedroom. your teeth are freshly brushed, your skin lotioned, and you're almost ready for a good night's sleep.

"are you actually still mad about- what the hell are you doing?"

rin freezes, one hand still on the computer mouse. from your vantage point, you can see every pixel on that screen.

"is that my high school boyfriend?"

he turns in the swivel chair, very clearly not in bed. the classic 'itoshi indifference,' as you've coined it, masks itself over his face.

you step closer. "rin. is that, or is that not, the instagram profile of my ex."

he nods, slowly.

"can i ask why you're looking at his profile?"

he begins to shake his head, and then changes his mind (a good choice). but rin itoshi has never been too good at keeping himself calm-

"he's unemployed."

there's a beat of silence.

"sorry?"

"jobless. a leech on society. useless as a human being," rin continues. "a complete ass of himself, basically."

you stare at him. he stares at you. and then-

you burst out laughing. "are you serious?"

rin seems surprised by your reaction. it makes you laugh even harder.

"oh my god- you've been stalking his socials? for the last, like, hour?' you broke your stupid athlete sleep schedule for this?" there are genuine tears welling in the corner of your eyes. "for a guy i dated years ago?"

a little self-conscious now, rin stands up. "i was trying to sleep for the first twenty minutes. after that.." he trails off.

and you slam into him with a hug, still laughing. "i love you so much."

he stiffens at the initial contact, but gives into your touch the moment after. "i love you too?"

you hum into his ear. "they don't matter anymore. you know that, right? they never did- not seriously enough. you're the only one."

rin doesn't reply.

"and i know you could have any girl you wanted. but that doesn't matter to me. because you want me. and i will never get enough of you, rin itoshi."

his voice is a low murmur. "me neither. no one's ever compared to you."

and he presses a kiss onto your lips, and it's better than anything you've ever had.

[cvnntagious]

:: fuckboy!matt loves when innocent!reader kisses his neck

"--have to go." was all you heard before matt stood up from his comfortable spot on your bed, between your legs, searching the mint green comforter splayed on top of it for his phone in an almost frantic manner. your head tilted in confusion, embarrassment washing over you as you lifted your hips to pull the shorts matt had dragged down to your ankles all the way back up your legs.

"d- did i do something wrong?" you asked, brows furrowed in a way that made you practically irresistible to matt.

his eyes instantly flicked up to meet yours, the blue of them practically burning with desire. "wrong?" he echoed, a bit confused himself, "no, no. nothing wrong, s'jus— remembered i gotta handle some shit."

despite his reassuring words, the worry in your eyes never faded as you sat up against your pillows. you had a feeling he'd been avoiding going to the next base with you, but this just confirmed it. did he not actually want you like he claimed? you'd never heard of him having any problems sleeping with any other girls before.

matt could tell by the way you looked at him that his words hadn't convinced you in the slightest, eliciting a long sigh from him. he leaned over the side of your bed, hoovering over you with one of his arms posted on the pillow beside your head. "c'mon, don't be like that," he started, pausing to place a kiss on your forehead, "i'll see ya later, a'ight?"

with a small whine, and lack of a second thought, your arms reached up to wrap around his neck, pulling him into you. a soft gasp from him as your lips placed an open mouthed kiss on his neck had you smiling as your eyes met once more. matt's demeanor had almost completely changed, leaving him smirking above you. "what d'you want from me?" he grumbled out, seemingly questioning himself more than you for some reason.

"huh-?" you started to question, only for matt to place his lips on yours with a passion you'd never seen before.

he trailed kisses from your lips, to your cheek, and down your neck, stopping at your color bone. "it'd be so mean of me to jus' leave y'now, wouldn't it?" he cooed, faux sympathy written all over his face before he kissed your neck again.

w/c : 395

[moonlit-typewriter]

“So do we have a deal or am I killing all 3 of you so I. Can eat. In peace?!”

Walker is the absolute king of micro-expressions.

This is how Percy reacts to Ares’ threat. Up to this point, he’d actually been giving the god some pushback (in typical Percy fashion). But the second Ares’ tone changed, the second that he gets angry, leaning forward, forceful and red-faced, Percy’s demeanor changes. His eyes widen, eyebrows draw together, his mouth falls open before he intentionally presses it closed, and he looks away.

He’s completely avoiding eye contact.

When he does look back at Ares, he has this slightly disdainful look in his face. The way that one side of his face is kind of scrunched up.

You wanna know what Percy still doesn’t do? He doesn’t hold eye contact. He looks at Ares, sure, but for less than a second at a time. When he finally says they’ll do it, he’s looking away and his eyes very quickly move to Ares’ face before looking away so quickly that it’s easily missed, almost like he’s trying to see how Ares reacts to his “surrender.”

And what does Ares do? He backs off. Sits back in his chair and smiles like he didn’t just coerce a kid. And while he’s talking, after that, we see Percy briefly again and he’s the only one of the 3 not looking at Ares.

The sudden fear in Percy’s eyes at Ares’ tone and inflection? Lowering his gaze? Giving in despite clearly not wanting to and the moment of processing after the interaction is over?

Just because we didn’t see Gabe being overtly abusive onscreen, doesn’t mean the abuse isn’t still there in subtle ways.

[uluvjay]

How I think F1 drivers would kiss you…

|LEWIS HAMILTON |. Lewises kisses make you feel like you’re on top of the world, the way he moves his lips against yours makes everything else fade away. His hands usually find themselves cupping your cheeks, cradling the back of your head, or resting on your waist. He’s also a lover of hand kisses, more specifically placing kisses on your ring finger with the promise of one day marrying you.

After a bad race this man doesn’t even give you the chance to speak before he has you pressed against him with your lips locked in a hot kiss. His large tattooed hand comes to tangle in your hair as his tongue fights against yours, and next thing you know he has you bent over his massage table…

| MAX VERSTAPPEN | His everyday kisses are the kind that have you blushing and butterflies fluttering in your stomach. He holds you by the chin or places a gentle hand on the back of your neck and pulls you in. He always dips back in for one more after initially pulling away because he can never get enough of you.

Now if he’s pissed after a bad race his grip is much stronger, there’s no escaping his bruising kiss. He enjoys nipping at your lower lip and allowing you no chance at taking over the kiss. He’ll keep you pinned against his body until he has you begging him for something more..

| LANDO NORRIS | His kisses are HOT, there’s never a time where he doesn’t slip his tongue in your mouth even when he’s rushing. His hands are glued to your ass, he’s gripping and groping the entire time, he feels like unless he works a small whimper from you then he didn’t kiss you good enough. Sometimes when he’s feeling cheeky he’ll allow his hands to travel up under your shirt to feel your skin and run his thumbs along the bottom of your bra. And while he’ll never admit it out loud he loves when you sit on his lap and he gets to kiss you and feel up on you for as long as he pleases.

Now if it’s after a bad race his kisses don’t change much but his handling does, his hands are tangled in your hair or resting at the base of your throat and he squeezes just enough to earn himself a moan from you. He has you pinned somewhere, either a wall of his drivers room or on the couch as he balances over you with his body rutting into yours.

| CHARLES LECLERC | Charles kisses you like you’re gonna disappear, he’s obsessed with loving on you, his lips move so softly against your own. His hands are usually tangled in your hair or cradling your cheeks, and he lovesss rubbing his nose against yours before completely pulling away. He is not a fan of quick pecks, he doesn’t care how late he’s running he will always have time to give you a proper kiss.

After a bad race he quite literally seeks out a kiss from you, he’ll hold you close with a firm hand cupping the back of your neck as he locks your lips. They move a bit more rough but still slow, he’s had to go all that time without being to kiss you and he’s not going to rush it.

| LANCE STROLL | This man’s hand placement is perfection, when he kisses you it’s slow and intimate, his hands are either both rested on your waist or one is settled there while the other cups your cheek. His kisses make you feel like it’s your first kiss every time, he doesn’t even have to say he loves you because you can feel it in the way he kisses you.

Now if it’s after a bad race his whole demeanor changes, his kisses become rough and fast, your teeth are clashing as his hand rests on the base of your throat and he purposefully places his thigh between your legs.

| ALEX ALBON | He kisses you with nothing but love, he absolutely loves to kiss your cheeks and side of your head, it’s his go to spot as you pull away from a hug. But don’t underestimate him, he leaves you breathless and chasing after his lips when he kisses you. He likes to hold and stroke your cheek with his thumb as he kisses you, he enjoys feeling your cheeks heat up under his hand.

Now if it’s a bad race he has you pinned to a wall as he kisses you hard, his hand has moved from your cheek into your hair as he tangles his fingers in your locks. His lips move feverishly against yours as he does his best to forget what just happened out on the track.

| OSCAR PIASTRI |. Oscar’s kisses are a bit more light but nonetheless loving, he enjoys placing a sweet kiss to your lips that makes your heart flutter and blush tint your cheeks. His hand placement is top tier, they always find themselves on your waist, hips, lower back, sometimes even slips a hand into your back pocket, and he always strokes your hair as you two finally pull apart.

After a bad race I don’t think he gets rough, he’ll definitely sit you on his massage table and stand between your thighs or pull you onto his lap as you fall into a small make out sesh. He’ll mark you up a little but it’s usually only where his eyes can see.

| LOGAN SARGEANT |. His kisses are soft but intimate, he pours all of his love into kissing you and doesn’t pull away until you are both in need of air. He loves kissing your forehead so much so that it’s become a pre-race ritual for you two and he looks forward to it every single race. He is also a big lover of hand kisses, he loves trailing his lips along your knuckles.

After a bad race he allows you to take control, he’ll pull you on his lap and let you make everything better. He loves holding you close by your waist as you trail your lips along his face before finally attaching your lips in a slow and comforting make out.

| DANIEL RICCIARDO |. Daniel loves kissing you, it’s one of his favorite activities. He always finds himself smiling brightly into a kiss leading him to pulling away from your lips and trailing kisses all over your face instead. He loves holding you close by your waist and often times it ends up with you two hugging while he kisses your sweet spot and whispers sweet nothings in your ear.

Now after a bad race he switches, his lips are rough against yours as he has a tight grip on your hair, head pulled back as he trails kisses all over the column of your throat before trailing them back up and keeping you locked in a hot and heavy make out.

| CARLOS SAINZ |. Carlos kisses are typically soft and quick, he’s not big on making out unless you’re both in the mood but best believe his hand placement is good. He usually rests a hand on your waist or bum as he pulls you close and places a series of small pecks to your lips, sometimes he’ll pull you in close with a hand on the back of your neck but it’s not his go to.

After a bad race kissing your lips isn’t really on his mind, he’ll trap you against the wall of his drivers room and trail kisses from your lips down your body until he has you whimpering and withering for him.

[rafecameronssl4t]

For high maintenance reader! Can you write a prompt where they’re all talking to rafes friends at the country club or some party and they make some plans with rafe but reader gives him her signature look like raised eyebrow look and rafe just folds and is like ummm yeh I mean I can’t do that night or quietly asks reader if he can go just pussy whipped rafe

Whipped || Rafe Cameron x fem!reader

MASTERLIST

Rafe, always the center of attention, animatedly discussed plans for a guys’ hangout on Friday night out on the porch. “C’mon, Rafe, you have to come! It’ll be fun,” one of his friends insisted, grinning broadly as Rafe leaned against the railing. Inside, on one of the country club’s sofas nearest the door to the porch, you could practically hear every word.

Friday nights were usually spent at either your place or Rafe’s, watching movies or simply enjoying each other’s company—a cherished ritual. Catching Sarah’s eye, you exchanged a knowing glance, a pang of annoyance hitting you at the thought of those plans changing.

Rafe, sensing your gaze, hesitated before speaking up. “Ummm, yeah, I mean… I can’t do that night,” he stammered, his confident demeanor crumbling momentarily. You raised an eyebrow at him, giving him a look he knew all too well.

You watch him intently as he continues talking with his friends, knowing he is fully aware of your gaze. Every now and then, his eyes flicker over to you, a subtle acknowledgment that doesn’t go unnoticed. “Why not, man?” one of them questions in surprise, their voices mingling with the background hum of the country club.

Rafe shifted uncomfortably, meeting your eyes briefly before turning back to his friends. “I, uh, have other plans—with Y/n,” he finally said, a satisfied smile spreading across your face as you returned to your conversation, triumph settling in your chest.

A few minutes later, while carefully applying another coat of lip gloss, you feel the couch dip beside you. The familiar scent of Rafe’s cologne reaches your nose, confirming his presence before you even look. He sidles up close, arm resting behind you as his his voice dropping to a whisper. “Can I go?” he asks, his usual bravado completely absent, his thumb rubbing absent minded circles in your shoulder.

You take a moment to look at him, your eyes scanning his face. His expression is earnest, almost pleading. With a soft sigh, you lightly roll your eyes and return to your lip gloss. “Fine. But don’t make a habit of it,” you mumble, crossing your legs at the knees in a gesture of mild annoyance.

Rafe’s face lights up with relief, a grateful smile spreading across his lips. “Thanks,” he mutters, glancing back out to the porch where his friends are waiting. He stands up, ready to leave, but then hesitates. Leaning down, he aims to kiss your lips, but you stop him with a tap of your heeled foot against his inner leg.

“Baby, I just put on a new coat,” you sigh, leaning away and turning your head slightly, still a bit annoyed. Rafe lets out a sigh of his own, his eyes filled with a mix of apology and affection. “My bad,” he says quickly. He then gently kisses your cheek, his lips lingering for a moment longer than necessary, before straightening up and heading out to join his friends. As you watch him go, a small smile tugs at the corners of your mouth, your annoyance melting away.

[foxy-eva]

Cuddle Buddies

Summary: Spencer misinterprets the meaning of the term friends with benefits – but having a friend who will cuddle with him is, in fact, highly beneficial

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader 

Category: Fluff

Content Warnings: suggestiveness (referenced/implied sex), embarrassment, awkwardness

Word count: 1k

Author's Note: I wrote this for @imagining-in-the-margins FWB writing challenge!

Masterlist

“Tell me, pretty boy. What’s going on with you and her?” Derek teased his coworker while motioning towards your desk.  

Acting like you didn't hear him, you kept your eyes focussed on the paperwork in front of you. But of course you were interested in Spencer’s answer too. For weeks you had been trying to figure out the nature of your relationship (or friendship?) with him. 

“We’re friends,” Spencer said and thought about his own response before adding, “With benefits.” 

Spencer, oblivious as ever, had heard that term before but didn't know its true meaning. The two of you were friends who occasionally cuddled with each other – something Spencer would consider as highly beneficial to the wellbeing for the both of you. 

His words caught the attention of everyone in the room. The snickering and whispering followed the second he finished his sentence. You could no longer pretend you weren't listening as you felt your cheeks heating up.  

“Excuse me?” You squeaked, clearly embarrassed by what he had just stated. 

It was not like you hadn’t thought about it before. In fact, most nights when you ended up cuddled up with Spencer under a blanket while continuing your Doctor Who rewatch, it had crossed your mind. But it had never happened and you weren’t sure why Spencer would lie about it. 

Spencer found your eyes, immediately noticing the horror written all over your face. “Did I say something wrong?”

“We’re not friends with benefits,” you mumbled, still in disbelief about what was happening. 

Derek couldn't hold back his chuckles anymore but JJ seemed to feel sorry for you and chimed in on the conversation. “Spence, I’m not sure you know the actual meaning of that term.”

She stepped closer to him before whispering what you assumed was the correct definition of friends with benefits. Once he realized his mistake, his facial features changed and could only be described as panicked. 

“That's not what I meant,” he stated what already was obvious. To deflect from the awkwardness, he started doing what he was most comfortable with - rambling. “I’m sorry, I just assumed that's what it meant. Our friendship does have benefits though, specifically the cuddling aspect. Did you know that nonsexual physical contact is very common among social animals? There are many health benefits to it, like lowering blood pressure, the release of oxytocin and –”

Your unit chief stepped into the room to interrupt Spencer and finally end your misery. “Guys, we have a new case.”

Spencer had to hold back a sigh of relief that this painfully awkward situation had come to an end. Both of you tried your best to not let it affect your workday, keeping up your professional demeanor in front of your coworkers. But neither of you could hold back the occasional glance at the other. 

It was hard to interpret Spencer’s expression when his eyes met yours. He had an apologetic look but there was also something else. Almost as if he had trouble holding back his thoughts from wandering to places that were completely inappropriate at work. 

You were very familiar with those struggles. 

It didn’t surprise you to hear him knocking on your hotel room door once your workday had come to an end. Spencer was predictable and you knew that he was about to apologize for embarrassing you earlier. 

When you opened the door, you immediately stepped aside to let him into your room. He had already shed his work attire and changed into sweatpants and an old Caltech t-shirt – a look not many people beside you got to see on him. There was a moment of silence between the two of you before Spencer finally found the courage to talk. 

“I’m sorry about what I said,” he mumbled. 

You showed him a soft smile and responded, “Yeah, I know.” 

“Are you mad at me?”

The question amused you. To you it was almost impossible to be mad at Spencer. You were aware that he never had any intention of hurting you. In fact, looking back you almost found his innocence and lack of discretion endearing. 

You shook your head. “Of course not.” 

Spencer sighed when you reached out your arms to hug him. He reciprocated the contact, immediately pulling you into his arms and holding you closely against his chest. There were many things left unsaid but talking about your feelings wasn’t really one of your strong suits. So you decided to suggest what the two of you seemed to be most comfortable with. 

You motioned over to your bed and said, “Do you maybe want to stay and watch a movie with me?” 

His smile was genuine when he responded, “Yes, I would love that.”

It was almost like the two of you followed muscle memory when you slipped under the duvet and turned on the TV. You found your place inside Spencer’s arms, your head resting on his chest, listening to the steady thumps of his heart. His fingertips gently brushed over your arm, leaving goosebumps on their path. 

Despite the positive effects Spencer explained about cuddling earlier, it was impossible for you to fully relax that night. He noticed it, too. 

“You okay?” He breathed as he turned down the volume of the TV. 

Before you could think about it too long, you heard your mouth spill out the question that had been nagging you all day. “Do you sometimes think about those other, more exciting benefits?” 

Spencer audibly gulped before clearing his throat. Instead of answering your question, he retorted, “Do you?” 

You shifted your position until you sat beside him and said, “Would it be weird if I said yes?” 

It seemed like your confession took him by surprise. Spencer took a moment to think about his response. First his eyebrows furrowed, then his facial features softened again. “It’s not weird. I think about it, too, sometimes.” 

That was all the confirmation you needed to boost your confidence for once. With your hand gently placed on his jaw, you leaned closer to him until you could feel the heat of his breath against your mouth. Spencer didn’t hesitate to close the gap between the two of you, finding your lips in a tender kiss. 

Please like, reblog and leave a comment! I need your lovely words to stay motivated to write more stories.

Taglist: @nomajdetective @reidsbookclub @gspenc @samuel-de-champagne-problems @matthew-gray-gubler-lover @malindacath @reidselle @alexxavicry @frickin-bats @spencersprettyslut @sebs-oxygen @happymangospot @cynbx @hotchandspencearedilfs @emiliaserpe @velvetthunder93 @saturnstringz @missabsey @guacam011y @hugyourlungs @reiderwriter @loaksulluyswife @xserenax-13 @grumpyy-bearr @luredwithpretzels @castiels-majestic-wings @super-nerd22 @pleasantwitchgarden @yeonalie @r-3dlips @evvy96 @torigorie @meyaareads @luvdella @bunnylovesani @spenciesslut @billie-lover8 @indyvelazquez @evrmorets

[nikkento-writes]

It was bound to happen eventually. You just didn’t think you’d get caught literally with your pants off, staring at your roommate Toji like a deer in fucking headlights and a vibrator between your legs. 

The silence between you is staggering, except for the buzz of the toy still active in your hand. You’re in such utter shock that it takes you a few seconds to finally turn it off, blood pounding in your ears, completely mortified of getting caught in the act. 

You’re not close to your roommate; in fact, you actively try to avoid him. Part of this is because the two of you come from totally different worlds. He’s nearly a decade older than you, a divorced dad who barely sees his son. His current means of income are betting on horse races and more nefarious tasks he typically performs at night, though you can’t confirm exactly what those nefarious tasks are. Meanwhile, you’re a struggling grad student, forced to share a small apartment with a potential hitman, pimp, and/or yakuza member. Like you said, you’re still not sure, but based on his looks and demeanor, those are your best guesses. 

But it’s not as if you’re complaining. 

While you are a tad bit scared of him, he’s definitely easy on the eyes. Tall, statuesque with those chiseled muscles, that alluring scar across his lips. He leaves you alone just as much as you do for him, so no matter how sketchy he comes across, you have no reason to be wary of him. 

Though, tonight might change that. 

You just finished writing a paper that you’ve been working on for weeks now. Toji is out, as usual, and you need some major stress relief. So, you shut your door closed, not bothering to lock it, strip off your bottoms, and plop yourself onto the bed, reaching for your vibrator inside your drawer. You browse through your spicy audio app and select one of your favorites, knowing it will certainly get you off. Again, you’re negligent when it comes to discretion because you play it out loud, no headphones and at the highest volume. Maybe the tiniest part of you wants to get caught with how careless you’re being. 

That’s proven the second he walks in on you, eyes wide at the lewd sight before him, black t-shirt clinging deliciously to his body, erection growing in his grey sweats. You’ve been at it for a few minutes by now, already one orgasm in, and you’re well aware how wet you are, how shiny and enticing it looks with your legs spread wide, on full display for him. 

The silence is broken when he walks towards you, long strides to get to you quickly. He grabs hold of your knees, spreading you even wider, and you don’t resist. You yield to him, like putty in his hands, ready for whatever he’s willing to give you. He licks his lips, tongue grazing over that fucking scar you like so much. “Finally,” he mutters, bowing down to spread his tongue on your clit, slobbering all over you as if he’s been waiting for this moment, as if you’ve been teasing him all this time. 

Yeah, you definitely wanted to get caught tonight.