#Bridge course for professionals

[townpostin]

Tata Steel Expands Employee Diploma Program

250 slots open for trade and non-trade apprentices; bridge course introduced Tata Steel enhances its evening diploma program, offering new opportunities for employee education and career growth. JAMSHEDPUR – Tata Steel has expanded its evening diploma program, now allowing 250 employees to enroll and introducing a bridge course for those with prior professional education. The program is…

[beepbeepmfkr]

There's nothing like taking a quiz, seeing a factual misunderstanding being paraded as correct, answering the way you're supposed to and then Immediately pulling up JSTOR to find some sources for the email you're about to send the professor :)

[education43]

What Are the Qualifications for a Data Scientist?

In today's data-driven world, the role of a data scientist has become one of the most coveted career paths. With businesses relying on data for decision-making, understanding customer behavior, and improving products, the demand for skilled professionals who can analyze, interpret, and extract value from data is at an all-time high. If you're wondering what qualifications are needed to become a successful data scientist, how DataCouncil can help you get there, and why a data science course in Pune is a great option, this blog has the answers.

The Key Qualifications for a Data Scientist

To succeed as a data scientist, a mix of technical skills, education, and hands-on experience is essential. Here are the core qualifications required:

1. Educational Background

A strong foundation in mathematics, statistics, or computer science is typically expected. Most data scientists hold at least a bachelor’s degree in one of these fields, with many pursuing higher education such as a master's or a Ph.D. A data science course in Pune with DataCouncil can bridge this gap, offering the academic and practical knowledge required for a strong start in the industry.

2. Proficiency in Programming Languages

Programming is at the heart of data science. You need to be comfortable with languages like Python, R, and SQL, which are widely used for data analysis, machine learning, and database management. A comprehensive data science course in Pune will teach these programming skills from scratch, ensuring you become proficient in coding for data science tasks.

3. Understanding of Machine Learning

Data scientists must have a solid grasp of machine learning techniques and algorithms such as regression, clustering, and decision trees. By enrolling in a DataCouncil course, you'll learn how to implement machine learning models to analyze data and make predictions, an essential qualification for landing a data science job.

4. Data Wrangling Skills

Raw data is often messy and unstructured, and a good data scientist needs to be adept at cleaning and processing data before it can be analyzed. DataCouncil's data science course in Pune includes practical training in tools like Pandas and Numpy for effective data wrangling, helping you develop a strong skill set in this critical area.

5. Statistical Knowledge

Statistical analysis forms the backbone of data science. Knowledge of probability, hypothesis testing, and statistical modeling allows data scientists to draw meaningful insights from data. A structured data science course in Pune offers the theoretical and practical aspects of statistics required to excel.

6. Communication and Data Visualization Skills

Being able to explain your findings in a clear and concise manner is crucial. Data scientists often need to communicate with non-technical stakeholders, making tools like Tableau, Power BI, and Matplotlib essential for creating insightful visualizations. DataCouncil’s data science course in Pune includes modules on data visualization, which can help you present data in a way that’s easy to understand.

7. Domain Knowledge

Apart from technical skills, understanding the industry you work in is a major asset. Whether it’s healthcare, finance, or e-commerce, knowing how data applies within your industry will set you apart from the competition. DataCouncil's data science course in Pune is designed to offer case studies from multiple industries, helping students gain domain-specific insights.

Why Choose DataCouncil for a Data Science Course in Pune?

If you're looking to build a successful career as a data scientist, enrolling in a data science course in Pune with DataCouncil can be your first step toward reaching your goals. Here’s why DataCouncil is the ideal choice:

Comprehensive Curriculum: The course covers everything from the basics of data science to advanced machine learning techniques.

Hands-On Projects: You'll work on real-world projects that mimic the challenges faced by data scientists in various industries.

Experienced Faculty: Learn from industry professionals who have years of experience in data science and analytics.

100% Placement Support: DataCouncil provides job assistance to help you land a data science job in Pune or anywhere else, making it a great investment in your future.

Flexible Learning Options: With both weekday and weekend batches, DataCouncil ensures that you can learn at your own pace without compromising your current commitments.

Conclusion

Becoming a data scientist requires a combination of technical expertise, analytical skills, and industry knowledge. By enrolling in a data science course in Pune with DataCouncil, you can gain all the qualifications you need to thrive in this exciting field. Whether you're a fresher looking to start your career or a professional wanting to upskill, this course will equip you with the knowledge, skills, and practical experience to succeed as a data scientist.

Explore DataCouncil’s offerings today and take the first step toward unlocking a rewarding career in data science! Looking for the best data science course in Pune? DataCouncil offers comprehensive data science classes in Pune, designed to equip you with the skills to excel in this booming field. Our data science course in Pune covers everything from data analysis to machine learning, with competitive data science course fees in Pune. We provide job-oriented programs, making us the best institute for data science in Pune with placement support. Explore online data science training in Pune and take your career to new heights!

[geekonik]

Latest in Tech and Programming.

Who We Are

Welcome to Geekonik, your go-to platform for mastering the latest in tech and programming. Whether you’re a beginner eager to start your coding journey or an experienced developer looking to sharpen your skills, we offer a diverse range of expert-led courses designed to help you succeed in today’s ever-evolving tech industry.

Let the Numbers Speak

✅ 200+ Courses

✅ 30+ Expert Instructors

✅ 4000+ Students and Growing

Our Vision

At Geekonik, we believe learning tech should be both practical and enjoyable. That’s why our curriculum is constantly updated to reflect the latest trends, technologies, and best practices. Join us today and take the first step toward becoming a skilled programmer or tech professional!

Our Mission

Our mission is simple: to make technology and programming education accessible, engaging, and impactful for learners of all backgrounds. We are committed to equipping individuals with the skills and knowledge they need to thrive in the digital world.

Through hands-on projects, expert-led courses, and a collaborative learning environment, we inspire curiosity, foster growth, and empower the next generation of tech professionals. Our goal is to bridge the gap between learning and real-world application, ensuring our students are ready to tackle the challenges and opportunities of the future.

Success Stories

🚀 "Geekonik transformed my career! I went from zero coding experience to landing my first developer job in just six months. The hands-on projects made all the difference!" – Alex R., Software Engineer

Join the Geekonik community today and start building the future of tech—one skill at a time!

Call Us

+91 9560562455

Our Location

H140 Fourth Floor Sector 63 Noida

Website 

[mariasont]

HI i have an idea and its making me really giddy

ok so reader is a translator for the bau and they’re always reading and translating texts or calls or anything like that. and the reader to spencer is basically like penelope to derek. they flirt all the time and all of those lovely things.. and it’s kinda just where they’re flirting on the phone and morgan teases reid about it and reid gets all flustered

IDK IF IT CAN WORK I JUST LOVE FLUSTERED SPENCER :(

anyway i’ll probably be in your inbox a bunch uhhh so call me h or something

-h

Warm Under the Collar - S.R

summary: spencer insists he is not flirting. morgan insists that spencer absolutely is. one of them is lying. pairings: spencer reid x translator!reader warnings: heavy flirting, pre-relationship mutual pining, verbal sparring as foreplay, workplace hr violations, use of angel wc: 0.6k

“Are you thinking about me, Dr. Reid? Because I’ve been thinking about you.”

Spencer exhales, tugging at the collar of his dress shirt as if loosening it might alleviate the sudden stranglehold of your words. He wasn’t sure if it was always this constricting or if it was conspiring against him at the mere sound of your voice.

He rolls his eyes, performative, really, because you can’t see him, and it’s easier to feign exasperation than admit the effect you have on him. His mouth, however, twitches in betrayal, flirting with a smile before he crushes it. 

The crime board he was supposed to be focusing on, filled with monochrome photos and reports, was now blurring into meaningless scribbles as his thoughts veer off-course, plummeting headfirst into you.

“I’m always thinking about you.”

The words come easily because they require no effort to be true. Always isn’t hyperbole, it’s a mathematical constant, an irrefutable fact.

He was thinking about you before he even called you, felt the shape of you in his mind like an afterimage burned onto his retinas. 

Thought about what color you were wearing, whether your hair was up or down. He wondered if you’d eaten, if you were drinking enough water, if you’d remembered to bring a jacket to the office because the temperature had dropped unexpectedly. 

“Always? Spencer, if you wanted me that bad, all you had to do was say so.”

He isn’t sure why he hesitates — why his brain takes a detour through all the ways he has said so, if not in words, then in the way his thoughts orbit you like a law of nature. 

“I feel like I did say so. Quite literally. But if you’d like me to be more explicit about it, I’m happy to oblige.”

Another pause. He wonders if you’re smiling.

“Mmm, well, I’m certainly not going to stop you.” You sigh, a little dramatic. “Go ahead, be explicit.”

Spencer physically winces at how hot his face gets. The very concept of explicit sits indecently in the pit of his stomach.

“Tempting.” He exhales, rubs a hand down his face, forcibly redirects. “But I do actually have a job to do. And, lucky for me, it just so happens to require your specific set of skills.” 

He leans against the crime board, half-smirking despite himself, because if nothing else, this is fun — the sharp back-and-forth, the way you press all the right buttons just to see what happens.

“I have a recording that needs translating. Think you can focus for long enough to help me, or do I need to, I don’t know, compliment your intelligence first to get you in a professional mindset?”

“Complimenting my intelligence to get what you want? Interesting. Manipulative, even.”

He groans, tilting his head toward the ceiling, appealing to some higher power for patience. He pinches the bridge of his nose. “I didn’t say I was going to —”

“Too late, you put the idea in my head, and now I expect it. Preferably in an eloquent, well-structured speech. Bonus points if you make it poetic.”

“Or,” he counters, “you could translate the recording first, and I’ll… circle back to stroking your ego at a later, more convenient time.”

A small pause. The kind that feels intentional, like you’re weighing your options.

“I guess that works,” you say. “Send it over, pretty boy.”

Spencer shakes his head, fingers moving on autopilot as he sends the file, because if he thinks too hard about the way you lilted that last pretty boy, he might die. “Alright, thanks. Be good, angel.”

He hangs up, still grinning like an idiot, still entirely too warm under the collar. He exhales, staring at the phone in his hand like it might have the decency to cool him off, maybe undo the physiological mess you’ve left him in.

“If I have to listen to one more of your phone calls with her, I’m sending y’all an invoice.”

Spencer freezes when he sees Morgan standing behind him.

He clears his throat, ignoring the flush he knew was climbing up his neck. “Flirting is an unsubstantiated claim.”

Morgan just stares at him. Stares. “You don’t even believe that.”

Spencer mutters something about professionalism because he’s nothing if not a walking contradiction.

💌 masterlist taglist has been disbanned! if you want to get updates about my writings follow and turn notifications on for my account strictly for reblogging my works! @mariasreblogs

[madamechrissy]

CEO Nanami

pairings- CEO Nanami x F! assistant reader

MDNI- explicit- lots of longing, masturbation hehe (m and f) some fingering, and teasingg- just more Nanami drabbles bc I love him

CEO Nanami constantly thinks about you, his pretty assistant, so bratty and just well... perfect. Driving him insane in your tight little business skirts, making him have to clear his throat and look away, blushing, trying to will his thick cock to go down.

CEO Nanami keeps it professional of course, he respects how hard you work, even if he's constantly just thinking about you on his desk, your legs spread. Even if he keeps picturing his cock pumping in and out of what he's sure is a perfect little pussy, between sexy thighs clad in black stockings destined to drive him to distraction.

CEO Nanami can't help himself from staring when you're showing him a presentation you've put together for him, smiling so pretty and smelling so sweet. He leans back in that big leather office chair, huge hands clenching and unclenching at the thought of bending you over it right now, when you look at him nervously 'Is the presentation alright Mr. Nanami?'

CEO Nanami clears his throat, smiling at you, only enhancing his cheekbones impossibly more. Making your pulse race, the sandy blond haired man sitting with his long legs spread wide does insane things to your mind, you shouldn't think this way about your boss! You will those thoughts to calm down, thinking the most wicked things about that cheetah tie, how good it would feel on your wrists. 'The presentation is wonderful' he murmurs then, so sweet as always.

CEO Nanami sees an eye full of your breasts when you bend over, blouse unbuttoned just a bit, his cock hurting, he knows he'll stroke it to you later, he always does, but it takes so much not to rub his palm over his length then and there. You smile sweetly from his praise, your own mind running as you peer at him, his green glasses firmly on the straight bridge of his nose.

CEO Nanami locks his office with a click when you leave, stroking his thick, veiny length with a muffled groan, already leaking precum from you just too close to him. He hates that he feels this way its simply unprofessional! But how can he not when you're so, so fucking pretty!? He's stroking faster, picturing being deep inside your cunt as he then hears a knock on his door, a rap rap rap.

CEO Nanami answers only after tucking his cock up into his belt, yes its that big its his only option, looking to see you now, hands itching to grab you. 'So sorry Mr. Nanami, I forgot my favorite pen!' You grab it quickly, bending over just enough to almost make him cum, before smiling again so sweetly and rushing out. Nanami rest his head on the door, sighing, just how is he supposed to not fuck his pretty assistant?

CEO Nanami doesn't realize you look at him that way because you want him, because you need him. He doesn't realize being near him alone gets you so wet you're touching your own pussy, hidden by your big desk at work, as you catch a glimpse of him from his office, resting his handsome face on his knuckles, as you circle your clit so wanton. He lowers those glasses, hazel eyes boring into yours, as you casually smile, wishing this man would make a move. But no, Nanami is a gentleman.

CEO Nanami really is not such a gentleman in his head, when there is the company dinner, and he's sipping on a whiskey neat and watching you dance with a coworker, he aches to yank you by your hair, to fuck you so good you have no chance to pay attention to these boys. Boys is what they are, as you giggle and look at him over your glass of champagne, wishing he'd ask you to dance. When Nanami does finally come up, pulling on that cheetah tie, the next words shock you.

CEO Nanami leans down, lips against your ear, murmuring - 'will you ever be a good girl?' which leads to him pressing you against a wall in one of the halls of the grand room moments later, slipping two thick digits in your slutty little cunt, his other hand pressing on your lower tummy over the sleek little dress that's covering nothing, as you cry out against your own palm. 'Couldn't wear any panties, hmm? trying to ruin me?' he demands desperately, only for you to look back, eyes dilated, your lips parted, hearing the squelching wetness of your cunt as you whisper - 'yes'

hehe- I love writing Nanami as a boss MY GOODNESS

perm tagsss- @alt--er--love @indiewritesxoxo @nanasukii28 @cuntphoric @loafteaw @n1vi @miizuzu @beachaddict48 @honeybunnnnie @re-tired-succubus @gojosukuna2268 @waterfal-ling @1brii @wise-fangirl @moncher-ire @orikixx @uhnosav @baepsays @designerpvssy @orixxxana @airandyeah @nina-from-317 @evelynxxo @naammiii @soyokosuguru @espresso1patronum @tomboy-disaster @iam-souless @lanii-i @cristy-101 @doeeyestoji  @cvixmei @mutsu422 @ivyvenus333 @g00seg1rl @suki91 @satoao-main @fairygardenprincesss @theonlyjuggernaut @huntyhuntycunty @lovelockdownff @ibreathesmut @s777athv @twinklywinkly @akiii143 @squeezyvalkyrie @cookielovesbook-akie @oinksa @cutelittlesugarfairy

[aomiiine]

I COULD HAVE YOU ANY TIME

OFFICE ROMANCE WITH … CEO!zayne x secretary fem!reader warning(s) -> nsfw, MDNI (18+ only), smut w little plot !! dom-ish zayne, established relationship (husband/wife), jealous-ish zayne, fingering, orgasm denial, discipline-ish vibes, impact play, sir kink, creampie, petnames: darling, my love/love, dove, brief dry humping, romantic/fluffy intimacy, not proofread wordcount. 2.2k (i love him, this is my way of making up for the horndog i was for caleb) taglist. @jellysix @tinycatharsis @wonuwuuuuu @wonryllis @tsukkisukkii

ZAYNE KNEW HIS WIFE was a gorgeous creature, the epitome of a woman’s essence—it was only natural for others to covet her, to feel the same infatuation he had with her. Except, he placed his band on her first.

3PM in the afternoon, Zayne had a meeting with investors at a resort’s hall. You, as his secretary, were obligated to come with him.

Negotiations went smoothly, transactions mutually agreed and satisfactory. But for some reason, Zayne left the room feeling more agitated than he should be.

He returned to the company’s headquarters in silence, barely talking much on the way, not even to you. He was awfully silent even when you two arrived. Unable to think much about your husband during business hours, you focused on work as you knew he would like you to.

you did exactly that for the rest of the hours, the day fleeting briefly until night fell in a blink of an eye. Finally, Zayne wanted to see you.

“You called, sir?” You greeted formally, aware that the rest of the staff hadn’t left yet. They knew you were married but still, you wanted to maintain some professionalism at work.

“I did, love. Close the door,” Zayne replied cooly, standing beside his desk chair, arms crossed as he stared out the ceiling-to-floor windows showing a view of Linkon City’s centre buzzing roads and buildings.

you did as you were asked, of course, shutting the door behind you with a click.

“What is it, Zayne?” You approached him with ease now, expression softening to a look of curiosity at his sudden summoning after an entire day of silence.

“Those investors we met earlier today, what did you think of them?” he asked suddenly, turning to you once you reached his side, soft hands sliding up his arm gently. His own reached to circle around your waist, gently pulling you flush against his body. His eyes seemed to darken behind his glasses seated firmly on the bridge of his nose, your head tilting in confusion.

“They were.. generous, I suppose. Respectful, and wise in their business handlings. Why do you ask?” You lifted another hand to hold his bicep, eyes searching for his in the dimly lit room of his office, his warm breath brushing against your skin.

“Respectful? Hah.. Were they?” Zayne muttered to himself more than to you, eyes drifting from yours for a second. His hand on your waist tightens for a milisecond before he relaxes again, brows furrowing deep in return.

“They were practically ogling you, my love. Didn’t you notice?”

You raised a brow at him.

“They were? Really?” You queried, genuinely baffled at the revelation that you missed something like that. His hold clenches harder.

“Feigning ignorance now? Not a smart move, darling,” Zayne tested, eye twitching with unbearable irritation that those men got away with eyeing his wife up and down like meat at a wagyu restaurant.

“Zayne, I seriously didn’t notice,” you reassured, hands clinging onto him in hopes he’d see the sincerity in your eyes. You heard him exhale a huff, hold loosening on your waist, fingers rubbing idly over your clothes.

“.. Very well,” the man grunted, eyes closing shut for a moment as if attempting the ever churning turmoil inside him that formed since that same meeting earlier today. “But I’m not satisfied with just that, sweetheart.” Zayne shook his head simultaneously, tugging on your hand to lead you toward his desk, turning you around and placing your palm flat against the surface of his desk.

He manoeuvred to stand behind you, using the advantage he had by the brief moment of shock he gave you, the way your breath hitched, just by cupping his other hand onto curve of your waist, the one of yours holding you down firmly to prevent chances of escape. Though, he fully doubted you’d dare such a thing while knowing the consequences.

“Don’t get me wrong.. I know you’re all mine, darling. This is simply.. extra measures,” Zayne’s husky words from behind you only fed the anticipation coiling in your lower belly, feeling his hand leave your waist to unzip your pencil skirt with practiced ease, fingers tugging them down until they fell to the floor.

He left you trembling from the sharp cold of the air-conditioner, the thin lace of your panties doing little to prevent the heat from his skin to seep into you—specially, the rigid curve of his cock that strained in his pants brushing against your ass whenever he leaned in, motions calculated to have you dripping with arousal for him.

“Punishment or reward—I bet they’re both the same for you at this point, hm? Pleasurable regardless.. and you’ll take it all like a good girl, yes?” Zayne’s low yet clear mutter were accompanied by a drifting hand, leaving your side to travel to your behind, fingers hooking beneath your panties to tuck them into the cleft of your ass, making sure to leave the firm globes of your rear exposed for him to see, and touch.

A moment of silence passes, save for your shaky breathing that hitched when a sharp smack rang in the room from the impact his firm palm made with one of your ass cheeks, earning a yelp from your dry mouth.

“What do you say when your punishment is given?”

“I.. I’m sorry, sir.” Your head dips down, eyes searching to fixate on the details of the documents and papers scattered on his desk.

“And if a reward is given?”

“Thank you, sir,” you breathed, brows knitting and lips parting for a silent moan when his thick fingers drift lower between your legs, settling to grab the plump flesh of your thigh, thick fingers dangerously close to your folds.

He kneaded your inner thigh, fingers tightening to earn yet another reaction from you—your hips that lifted further to meet his touch, back arching for the mere reminder of the hard on you effortlessly gave him.

“Your ‘thank you’ sounds much sweeter, dove. I think I’ll settle for giving you a reward for now,” zayne decided, looming further towards your bowing back, fingers on top of yours curling to delve between them. His head lowered to rest a kiss onto your tense shoulder, inhaling and exhaling your scent as much as he could, swearing it was the only aphrodisiac and vice capable of making him fall into addiction.

just then, his hand holding your inner thigh loosened, shifting its trajectory upwards to tug on the flimsy fabric of your undergarment, skilled fingers sinking past your folds to find your already wet pussy. The man exerted little to no effort to penetrate your tight cunt, digits burying knuckle-deep into your heat.

Zayne held your hand the entire time, lips and defined nose nuzzled against your shoulder with his hand holding yours on his desk still. The mewls and moans he drew from your throat did little to settle the hungry desire within him, only feeding his desperate need to bring you to the heights of pleasure once again.

“Forgive me for being overbearing at times, my dear.. I just… can’t help myself around you when such intense feelings burn so painfully in my heart,” Zayne began behind your ear, fingers pistoning in and out of your thigh channel, feeling your velvety walls clamp down around his digits when he spoke. It seemed like he caught your attention even in the middle of a heated session such as this one.

“Mmhh, don’t you dare apologise for that—nnh” you murmured between short breaths, swallowing the saliva that collected in your mouth to stifle the moans clawing to be released. As much as you loved being vocal, you couldn’t forget that you were still in office.

zayne with his glasses previously perched on his nose bridge now beginning to slip down the slope of his nose, hummed softly at your response, leaning further to hold you close, nails digging into the soft skin of your palm on the table.

“Too kind for your own good yet again, huh..” he whispered more to himself than to you. Zayne’s fingers continued their clever strokes of your fluttering cunt, the increase of pitch in your hidden moans telling him more than he needed to know about your climax

“I am just being grateful for my loving husband.. like any other would if they had someone as good as you,” you huffed, voice slightly strained from the continuous pleasure he offered from his callous fingers, along with the never fading heat radiating from his hard cock that’s been rubbing against your ass the entire time.

“No, never any other.. There’s only ever you, my love,” he corrected, sounding unshakeably confident as he always when you mentioned the mere notion of any other person taking your place in his life.

Your husband wasn’t subtle, no. He relished in the thought of showing you how much he wanted you, needed you. His actions always spoke louder than his words did, but he balanced it off with verbal affirmation every time you two were done.

“Hmph.. persistent..” you muttered, turning your head away from where he was behind you to hide your face now the you felt heat creeping onto your cheeks at his smooth words.

“I’m only persistent on making you see and believe the truth,” zayne insisted, fingers pulling out of your squelching pussy the moment he felt you inching too close to the edge. He couldn’t help but chuckle lowly at the whimper you made when he left your sopping pussy empty, clamping down on air.

“W-wait, what’re you doing?” you whined, head lifting to turn over your shoulder, searching for him, his touch, anything. Instead, you were greeted with a demanding glare, thick brow raised at you as the sound of his metal buckle finally reached your ears. You turned away once again, not wanting him to change his mind.

“Flustered or scared—I can’t tell with you,” Zayne finally spoke after breaking the brief eye-contact he made with you earlier, undoing his belt and tugging the zipper of his pants down, repeating the same motion to push his boxer down just enough to reveal his fully erect cock.

His hand circled around his length, giving it a few lazy strokes, smearing the buds of pre-cum with his thumb around his tip before he positioned himself behind you, aligning his cock along your entrance. Zayne’s cockhead notched past your slit, hips surging forward slowly to sink his painfully aroused cock into your narrow channel, not bothering to stop until he was balls deep.

While one hand was held with yours still, the free one held tightly onto your hip, holding your squirming self in place before he began to fuck you, his breathing escalating along with his thrusts. Zayne could tell you were barely a few strokes away from cumming due to earlier foreplay, but at least it was reasonable.

Him on the other hand, he was embarrassingly an arm’s length away from his orgasm without even a touch to his dick, surviving from measly humps against your firm ass cheek whilst bringing out those pretty moans from your lips for all the staff and receptionists outside to hear when they got a few steps too close to his office doors.

“You’re too good a—haah— at this, darling.. make me cum too damn easily,” he mumbled, words barely coherent from the mingle of groans and moans in his throat as he fucked his needy cock into you silly, juices dripping down to coat his balls when they slapped against your clit. His grasp on your waist was equally unforgiving—thumb pressing down on the shallow of your spine, preventing your greedy cunt from fucking back into him.

your lips parted in an ‘o’ shape, unable to form a syllable of any other word that wasn’t his name— Zayne. And every time you did it, cried out for him between sobs or whorish moans, you could’ve swore he pulsed inside you, just waiting for the perfect time to spill its pent up load. And you craved it so terribly—the feeling of his hot, thick cum painting every crevice of your insides, feeling it swirl inside you whenever his thrusts would continue to ride out his orgasm.

Just as you wished in your blank, lust-dazed state, Zayne’s climax hit him like a freight-train, offering you the same effect when his grip became bruisingly firm, the first spurt of viscous, white semen hit your clenching inner-walls.

“Cumming— Zayne, ‘s too much, your cum’s gonna make me cum, fuck!” you wailed in erotic panic, nails scraping on the surface of his desk and his fingers nestled between yours, threatening to pierce the skin with the strength.

Right then, your orgasm hit you, overwhelming your already quivering body as squelch after squelch were made within his office when your juices flowed freely, creaming in a perfect mess around his cock.

Zayne’s chest heaved with exhaustion, strands of his groomed hair falling over his eyes as he collapsed onto you half-heartedly, still making an effort to not lay the entirety of his weight onto you shaking body.

“That’s my girl.. my wife,” he cooed softly by your ear once he collected himself a bit, breath still bated. Zayne kissed your shoulder once before hiding his face deep into your crook of your neck, lips peppering tender kisses onto your sweat sheened skin all the while his fingers laced with yours fidgeted with the cold metal of the wedding ring he placed onto you when he proposed.

[tobiosbbyghorl]

bounded by fate | psh

pairing: Ceo!Sunghoon x Secretary!Reader

summary: When CEO Park Sunghoon needs a date for his friend’s wedding, he unexpectedly asks you—his dedicated secretary—to accompany him on a three-day trip. What starts as a professional arrangement quickly shifts into something more as unforeseen circumstances bring you closer together.

word count: 3.8k

Sunghoon Park was a man of routine. Everything in his life was carefully structured—work came first, emotions were secondary, and personal entanglements were unnecessary distractions.

As his secretary, you had long accepted that he was a machine in human form.

Efficient. Cold. Untouchable.

So when he asked you to be his date for a three-day wedding trip, you were… stunned.

"You need a date?" you repeated, wondering if you had misheard him.

Sunghoon, seated at his desk in his pristine office, didn’t even blink. "For a wedding this weekend. Three days."

You folded your arms. "And I was your first choice?"

"You’re the most logical option."

Logical. Of course.

"And this is strictly professional?"

He tilted his head slightly, amusement flickering in his dark eyes. "Unless you’d like it to be something else."

Your stomach flipped. "I’ll pass."

He smirked. "Then it’s professional."

You should have expected that answer.

"Fine," you said. "I’ll go."

Sunghoon nodded, satisfied. "I’ll pick you up Friday morning."

Friday morning arrived faster than expected.

The sound of a sleek black car pulling up outside made your stomach twist.

Sunghoon stepped out, effortlessly elegant in his black coat, his sharp gaze scanning your apartment building before landing on you.

Without a word, he took your suitcase and placed it in the trunk, then opened the passenger door.

"You didn’t have to do that," you muttered as you slid inside.

He shrugged. "Get in."

The drive was… oddly comfortable. Sunghoon wasn’t one for small talk, but he surprised you by stopping at a café and ordering your usual coffee.

"You remember my order?" you asked.

"You get the same thing every day," he replied, handing you the cup.

You tried not to read into it.

જ⁀➴ ♡°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･જ⁀➴ ♡°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･જ⁀➴ ♡°⋆.ೃ࿔*

Hours later, when you arrived at the resort, the trouble began.

“There must be some mistake,” Sunghoon said, his voice firm as he spoke to the receptionist.

“I’m so sorry, sir,” the receptionist

apologized, looking flustered. “We’re fully booked for the wedding, and due to a system error, only one room was reserved under your name.”

You froze. “One room?”

Sunghoon exhaled sharply, pinching the bridge of his nose. “There aren’t any other rooms available?”

The receptionist winced. “Not for the next three days.”

Silence.

You turned to Sunghoon. “Well. This is unexpected.”

Sunghoon looked at you, his face unreadable.

Then, finally, he sighed. “Fine. We’ll take it.”

The room was beautiful—spacious, elegantly decorated, and boasting a breathtaking view of the ocean.

The only problem?

One bed.

You both stood at the doorway, staring at the large, king-sized bed as if it had personally offended you.

“I can sleep on the couch,” Sunghoon said immediately.

You eyed the small, decorative loveseat in the corner. “You’ll break your back.”

“I’ll manage.”

You sighed, placing your suitcase down. “Sunghoon, the bed is huge. We’re both adults. We can just… stay on our own sides.”

He glanced at you, expression unreadable, then nodded. “Fine.”

The first few minutes in the room were awkward. You busied yourself unpacking, hyper-aware of every movement Sunghoon made.

“You take the bathroom first,” he said after a while, his voice softer than usual.

When you stepped out in your pajamas—shorts and an oversized T-shirt—you caught him staring for a split second before he looked away, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Your turn,” you mumbled, quickly getting into bed.

When he emerged, he was in a simple black T-shirt and sweatpants, looking impossibly relaxed. He climbed into bed stiffly, keeping as much distance as possible.

The silence stretched.

“You’re acting like I bite,” you teased, glancing at him.

Sunghoon exhaled a quiet laugh. "Do you?"

Your breath hitched. "Go to sleep."

Somewhere in the middle of the night, you woke up to warmth.

Sunghoon.

At some point, he had moved closer, his arm draped lazily over your waist, his breath steady against your shoulder.

Your heart pounded.

For a moment, you considered waking him. But instead, you let yourself relax. Just for a little while.

Sunghoon Park was not a morning person.

You discovered this the hard way when you woke up to him groaning into his pillow, his usual sharp composure completely ruined by sleep. His hair was an adorable mess, his voice groggy as he mumbled something incoherent.

“What was that?” you teased, sitting up.

His hand lazily swatted at the air. “Too early.”

You glanced at the clock. “It’s eight.”

He groaned again, shifting to bury his face deeper into the pillow. “Five more minutes.”

You grinned, enjoying this rare, unfiltered side of him. “You’re the one who said we should be on time for brunch.”

“Regret,” he muttered.

You chuckled before nudging him with your foot. “C’mon, Sunghoon.”

At that, he cracked one eye open, and a slow smirk formed on his lips. “Hmm. That’s the second time you’ve called me by my name.”

You froze, heart skipping a beat. He was still half-asleep, voice lower than usual, and yet he had the audacity to sound so smug about it.

“I—”

“Say it again,” he murmured.

You grabbed a pillow and smacked him with it. “Get up.”

That woke him up.

જ⁀➴ ♡°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･જ⁀➴ ♡°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･જ⁀➴ ♡°⋆.ೃ࿔*

The morning sun streamed through the floor-to-ceiling windows of the elegant seaside restaurant, casting a golden glow over the neatly arranged tables. You smoothed down the fabric of your dress, taking a deep breath as Sunghoon led you inside with a casual hand on your lower back.

“Relax,” he murmured close to your ear. “They’re not that bad.”

You shot him a look. “Easy for you to say. You know them.”

Before he could respond, a loud voice called out.

“Sunghoon! Over here!”

A group of well-dressed men and women waved from a round table near the window, their smiles teasing before you even reached them. As soon as you arrived, a woman with sleek black hair leaned forward, eyes gleaming.

“So this is the date?” she asked, her gaze flickering between you and Sunghoon.

Sunghoon pulled out a chair for you before taking his own seat beside you. “This is my secretary,” he said smoothly, but before you could nod in agreement, he added, “and my plus-one for the weekend.”

You barely held back a sigh. Great. That definitely didn’t clear anything up.

A man with dimples smirked. “Ahh, so you’re the one who keeps him from losing his mind at work.”

You chuckled, finally easing into the situation. “I try my best.”

The conversation flowed easily after that. Sunghoon’s friends were charming, playful, and had no problem teasing him relentlessly. Stories about his university days, awkward moments at past weddings, and even a particularly embarrassing karaoke night were shared freely—all while Sunghoon rolled his eyes and sipped his coffee with an air of practiced patience.

At one point, his best friend, Jaehyun, leaned over with a smirk. “So, how did he convince you to come? Did he bribe you with a raise?”

You grinned. “Surprisingly, no. He actually asked politely.”

The table erupted into laughter. Sunghoon sighed. “Why is that so shocking?”

The woman from earlier smirked. “Because you don’t ask, Sunghoon. You tell.”

You turned to him, feigning curiosity. “Wait… was I supposed to say no?”

Sunghoon narrowed his eyes at you, but there was amusement in them. “It’s too late now.”

As the laughter died down and the meal continued, you found yourself enjoying their company. They made you feel welcomed, teasing included, and with Sunghoon occasionally leaning close to refill your drink or murmuring small remarks just for you, the entire brunch felt… easy. Comfortable.

And when Jaehyun sent a knowing glance between the two of you before saying, “You two look good together,” you felt Sunghoon’s knee brush against yours under the table.

He didn’t move it away.

And neither did you.

After brunch, with the afternoon sun warming the air, you found yourself walking along the beach with Sunghoon.

He wasn’t the kind of man who did casual strolls, yet here he was, walking beside you, his hands tucked in his pockets. The waves crashed gently against the shore, and the salty breeze played with your hair.

“This is nice,” you admitted.

Sunghoon glanced at you. “You like the beach?”

You nodded. “Yeah. It reminds me to slow down.”

He hummed, gazing out at the ocean. “I don’t slow down much.”

“No kidding.” You smirked. “I’ve never even seen you take a vacation.”

“I don’t like wasting time.”

You rolled your eyes. “Enjoying life isn’t a waste of time.”

He was quiet for a moment before surprising you with, “What would you do if you weren’t my secretary?”

You blinked. “What?”

“I mean…” He hesitated, then continued, “What’s something you’ve always wanted to do?”

The question caught you off guard.

Sunghoon never asked personal things.

You thought for a moment. “I used to want to be a travel writer. Just exploring places and writing about them.”

He looked at you thoughtfully. “You should do that.”

You chuckled. “Easier said than done.”

“You’re capable,” he said simply. “If you wanted it, you’d do it.”

His confidence in you made warmth bloom in your chest.

“What about you?” you asked. “What would you be if you weren’t a CEO?”

He exhaled, looking away. “I don’t know. My whole life has been planned out for me.”

Something in his voice made you soften. “That doesn’t mean you can’t want something more.”

Sunghoon met your gaze, something unreadable in his eyes. “…Maybe.”

You walked in silence for a while, but it wasn’t awkward. It felt… nice.

જ⁀➴ ♡°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･જ⁀➴ ♡°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･જ⁀➴ ♡°⋆.ೃ࿔*

The rooftop pool of the hotel was breathtaking—an infinity pool that stretched toward the sky, its waters reflecting the soft glow of sunset. The beach skyline sparkled in the distance, and a warm breeze carried the sound of laughter, splashes, and clinking glasses.

You stood near the pool’s edge, taking in the view when Sunghoon walked up beside you, a drink in his hand. “You’re not going in?”

You glanced at the pool, where his friends were already having fun. Some were in the water, splashing around, while others lounged in cabanas with drinks. “I don’t know… I didn’t exactly plan for this.”

Sunghoon eyed you for a moment, then smirked. “You’re wearing a dress, but I bet you packed something.”

You sighed. “Of course I did. Just didn’t expect to use it.”

His smirk deepened. “So go change.”

You raised a brow. “Are you giving me orders, boss?”

Sunghoon took a slow sip of his drink, eyes gleaming. “Consider it a suggestion.”

Rolling your eyes, you turned to head back inside. But before you left, you heard Jaehyun call out, “Sunghoon! Get in here, man!”

You glanced over your shoulder in time to see him unbuttoning his shirt.

And wow.

You quickly looked away, heart thudding, before you made it obvious you were staring.

When you returned in your swimsuit, the atmosphere had grown even livelier. The pool lights cast a soft glow across the water, and the laughter was louder, conversations easy and flowing. You hesitated for a moment, standing near the edge when—

SPLASH!

You gasped as a sudden wave of water hit you. Sunghoon stood a few feet away in the pool, smirking as he wiped droplets from his face. “You’re already wet. Might as well come in.”

You glared at him. “Did you just—”

Before you could finish, Jaehyun swam up behind Sunghoon and pushed him underwater.

The table turned instantly.

Sunghoon resurfaced, coughing and swiping water from his face. “Jaehyun, you—”

You burst into laughter.

His head snapped toward you, eyes narrowing. “Oh, you think that’s funny?”

You grinned. “Very.”

He stepped forward, the water sloshing around him. “Then come in and say that to my face.”

You crossed your arms. “What if I don’t?”

“Then I’ll make you.”

There was barely a second to react before Sunghoon reached up, grabbed your wrist, and pulled.

You squealed as you tumbled straight into the pool, water swallowing you whole before you surfaced with a gasp. Sunghoon was standing right in front of you, smirking.

“You—” You splashed water straight at his face.

Sunghoon didn’t even flinch. “I warned you.”

The night continued like that—teasing, laughter, playful bickering. At one point, you ended up lounging on a pool float, drifting lazily while watching the lights. Sunghoon swam over, resting his arms against the float, keeping you in place.

“You having fun?” he asked, voice softer now.

You met his gaze. “Yeah. I really am.”

Something passed between you, something that had been building since the trip started.

And as the night carried on, you couldn’t help but feel like this trip wasn’t just about Sunghoon needing a date for a wedding.

It was becoming something else entirely.

જ⁀➴ ♡°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･જ⁀➴ ♡°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･જ⁀➴ ♡°⋆.ೃ࿔*

That night, when you both got into bed, things were different.

There was no stiff, awkward distance between you. Instead, there was a quiet understanding—an unspoken comfort that hadn’t been there before.

When you shifted slightly under the covers, Sunghoon turned his head to look at you.

“…Goodnight,” he murmured.

You smiled. “Goodnight, Sunghoon.”

This time, he didn’t tease you about saying his name.

And when you woke up in the middle of the night, warm and safe, you realized he had instinctively moved closer again.

But this time, you didn’t pull away.

The first thing you noticed when you woke up was warmth.

The second was the weight of a strong arm wrapped snugly around your waist.

Your breath hitched.

Sunghoon was curled against you, his chest pressed lightly against your back, his slow and steady breathing tickling your neck. His grip on you was firm, protective—like he belonged there.

Your heart pounded as you carefully turned your head.

Big mistake.

His face was impossibly close, his sharp features softened by sleep. His dark hair was tousled, and his lips—God, his lips—were slightly parted.

Your stomach did an embarrassing flip.

Just as you were debating whether to wake him up or stay like this a little longer, he let out a sleepy groan and nuzzled closer.

Okay. Now this is dangerous.

“Sunghoon,” you whispered.

A low hum.

“Wake up.”

He groaned dramatically, tightening his grip on you. “Five more minutes.”

You huffed. “You’re literally using me as a pillow.”

“Mm,” he murmured. “Comfy.”

Your face burned. “Sunghoon.”

He finally cracked one eye open, sleepily meeting your gaze. His lips curled into a smirk. “You’re blushing.”

You shoved him. “Get up.”

With a quiet chuckle, he finally released you and stretched, looking far too smug for someone who had been caught cuddling.

You threw a pillow at him.

જ⁀➴ ♡°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･જ⁀➴ ♡°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･જ⁀➴ ♡°⋆.ೃ࿔*

Later, as you were getting dressed, you found yourself struggling with your zipper.

“Ugh,” you muttered, twisting your arms awkwardly.

A deep voice interrupted your struggle. “Need help?”

You turned to see Sunghoon leaning against the doorway, already dressed in a crisp black suit. His dark eyes scanned you lazily, a smirk playing on his lips.

You swallowed. “Fine.”

He stepped forward, closing the distance between you. His hands brushed your bare back as he reached for the zipper, and your breath hitched.

“You’re tense,” he murmured, his fingers grazing your skin.

“Maybe because you’re—” Your words caught as he slowly zipped up the dress, his touch lingering.

When he finished, he leaned in slightly, his breath warm against your neck. “There,” he murmured. “Perfect.”

Your pulse was out of control.

You turned quickly. “Thanks. Now go before you start charging me for personal assistant duties.”

Sunghoon smirked. “I’d pay extra for this.”

Your jaw dropped, and he walked away, laughing under his breath.

The ceremony was beautiful. With the ocean stretching out behind the altar and golden sunlight casting a warm glow over the venue, it was straight out of a dream.

Sunghoon stood beside you, his presence steady and warm.

At one point, you noticed him watching the bride and groom with an unreadable expression.

“You okay?” you asked softly.

He glanced at you, then back at the couple. “Yeah. It’s just… nice.”

There was something wistful in his voice.

You smiled. “Maybe one day that’ll be you.”

Sunghoon scoffed. “Doubt it.”

You nudged him playfully. “You never know.”

His lips quirked, but he didn’t argue.

And somehow, that made your heart race.

જ⁀➴ ♡°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･જ⁀➴ ♡°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･જ⁀➴ ♡°⋆.ೃ࿔*

As the reception went on, the announcement came.

“Ladies, it’s time for the bouquet toss!”

You instinctively started to step back, but before you could escape, Sunghoon placed a firm hand on your lower back.

“Where do you think you’re going?” he murmured.

You shot him a look. “I don’t do bouquet tosses.”

He smirked. “You do today.”

You frowned. “Sunghoon—”

“Come on.” His voice was teasing but firm as he gently pushed you forward. “Just try.”

You sighed but reluctantly walked toward the group of women gathering in the center.

The bride stood with her back to you all, grinning as she tossed the bouquet high into the air.

Time seemed to slow as the flowers arched toward you.

Instinct kicked in.

Before you could even think, your hands shot up—and caught it.

The room erupted in cheers.

Your jaw dropped. “Oh, come on!”

As laughter and applause filled the air, you turned toward Sunghoon, expecting him to be smug.

He was.

Standing at the edge of the crowd, arms crossed, he smirked at you.

Then someone shouted, “Guess who’s next?!”

You groaned as people started teasingly glancing between you and Sunghoon.

Another voice called out, “Better start planning, Sunghoon!”

Instead of brushing it off, he smirked, eyes locked onto yours.

And then he said the words that made your stomach flip.

“We’ll see.”

The crowd laughed, hooting and whistling, but you couldn’t focus on anything except the way he was looking at you.

Did he mean that?

Because suddenly, it didn’t feel like a joke anymore.

જ⁀➴ ♡°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･જ⁀➴ ♡°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･જ⁀➴ ♡°⋆.ೃ࿔*

Back in your hotel room, the air between you and Sunghoon felt different.

The teasing from the wedding, the warmth of the day, the way his eyes lingered on you—it was all leading to something unspoken.

You placed the bouquet on the nightstand, staring at it for a long moment. “I still can’t believe I caught it.”

Sunghoon, who was loosening his tie, chuckled. “I can.”

You turned to him, raising a brow. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

He smirked, walking toward you with slow, deliberate steps. “You were meant to.”

Your stomach flipped. “Sunghoon—”

“It suits you,” he murmured, gaze locked onto yours. “Flowers. Love. Happiness.”

Your breath caught. “That’s… surprisingly sweet of you.”

He exhaled, as if debating something, then muttered, “Don’t get used to it.”

You laughed softly, but the warmth in your chest remained.

After changing into your sleepwear—an oversized shirt and shorts—you found Sunghoon already on the bed, dressed in a loose t-shirt and sweatpants instead of his usual crisp suits.

It was unfair how effortlessly good he looked.

He was scrolling through his phone, but as you climbed into bed, he put it away and turned to you. “Tired?”

You sighed, settling into the pillows. “A little.”

He hummed. “Come here.”

You blinked. “What?”

His expression was unreadable, but his voice was softer than usual. “Just come here.”

Hesitantly, you shifted closer.

Sunghoon didn’t hesitate. He reached out, pulling you gently into his arms, letting you rest your head against his shoulder. His body was warm, steady.

Your heart pounded. “You’re clingy at night, huh?”

He scoffed. “Maybe. You’re the only one who’s ever had to deal with it.”

That admission made your breath hitch.

You glanced up at him, only to find him already watching you. The dim glow of the bedside lamp cast soft shadows on his sharp features, making him look more relaxed, more vulnerable.

Then, to your utter surprise, he lifted a hand and brushed his knuckles against your cheek.

You stilled. “Sunghoon…”

His fingers lingered for a moment before he exhaled and—just as you thought he might kiss you—he leaned in and placed a soft, lingering peck against your cheek.

The tenderness of it made your stomach flip.

Not rushed. Not teasing. Just… sweet.

When he pulled back, his voice was lower, almost husky. “Goodnight.”

You swallowed hard, heat creeping up your neck. “G-Goodnight.”

Sunghoon smirked. “You’re blushing.”

You huffed. “I’m not—”

But before you could finish, he wrapped his arm around your waist, pulling you flush against his chest. His warmth, his scent, the steadiness of his breathing—it surrounded you entirely.

And for the first time, lying beside him didn’t feel awkward.

It felt right.

As sleep slowly took over, you felt Sunghoon’s fingers lazily tracing patterns against your back. It was the last thing you registered before slipping into the most peaceful sleep you’d had in a long time.

જ⁀➴ ♡°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･જ⁀➴ ♡°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･જ⁀➴ ♡°⋆.ೃ࿔*

The first thing you noticed when you woke up was warmth.

Again.

But this time, it was even more overwhelming.

Sunghoon was completely curled around you, his arm draped lazily over your waist, his face buried against the crook of your neck.

His breaths were slow and even, and the way he held you was… different.

Less accidental. More deliberate.

Your heart pounded.

Carefully, you shifted to look at him.

His dark lashes rested against his cheeks, and his hair was adorably messy. The soft morning light filtering through the curtains made him look unfairly attractive.

You were admiring him when, suddenly, his eyes cracked open.

He blinked sleepily, then let out a raspy groan. “Mmm.”

You stiffened. “Uh—”

Instead of letting go, he only tightened his hold on you.

“You’re warm,” he mumbled, voice thick with sleep.

Your breath hitched. “S-Sunghoon—”

“Five more minutes,” he murmured, nuzzling closer.

You felt your whole body heat up. “You said that yesterday!”

He made a low sound, halfway between a chuckle and a sigh. “Still true.”

You squirmed. “I have to get up.”

“No, you don’t,” he muttered, voice teasing.

“You’re my secretary. I’ll give you the day off.”

You rolled your eyes. “We still have to check out, remember?”

Another groan. “Fine. But first…”

Before you could react, he pulled you even closer and—without thinking—pressed another quick peck against your cheek.

You gasped. “Sunghoon!”

He smirked sleepily. “Now I’m awake.”

Your face burned as you stared at him. He just lay there, smirking up at you like he hadn’t just completely wrecked your sanity.

After a beat, you blurted out, “What happened to being professionals?”

Sunghoon didn’t even hesitate.

He propped himself up on one elbow, looked you dead in the eye, and murmured, “I think we passed that line the moment you woke up in my arms.”

Your jaw dropped.

His smirk widened.

You grabbed the nearest pillow and smacked him with it.

He only laughed, dodging the next hit as he sat up. “Come on, let’s get ready. We still have a long trip home.”

You huffed but got out of bed, still feeling the ghost of his lips on your cheek.

As you went to freshen up, one thought lingered in your mind.

This thing between you and Sunghoon?

Yeah, it was far from over.

taglist: @cyjhhyj

©️tobiosbbyghorl - all rights reserved

[mywritersmind]

THE MOST GORGEOUS - LN4

summary : Lando is convinced he’s found the love of his life during media day, embarrasses himself, and can’t stop flirting!!

listen up : flirty lando! pretend it rained in zandvoort🫨

word count : 616

“Carlos!” I hear the voice before I see him, and he definitely doesn’t see me because as he slides into the room he looks directly at his friend, “Carlos! Did you see that reporter!? Fucking hell, She’s the most gorgeous woman i’ve ever seen! And I saw her completely rage at-”

He spots me then.

I’m sitting in a corner, watching him talk about me. I have to say, My ego is extraordinarily boosted. His hands slap down to the side of his body, his eyes going wide.

I can’t help but laugh, “Hi.” I say, glancing at Carlos who’s already cracking up.

Lando puts his hand on the bridge of his bandaged nose, clearing his throat, he hesitantly looks back up at me, “Hello.”

“You know, I prayed for something comical to happen today! Thank you so much, mate!” Carlos slaps his friend on the back before making his way out, shaking his head at me, “See you!”

“Um…” Lando swallows, “Would you believe me if I said I wasn’t talking about you?” I’m normally not so self centered but I really believe he is talking about me.

“I saw you get escorted into the ‘no press’ area…” He nods, his lips in a thin line, “I was also the only woman in the media pen.”

“Right! Of course.” He leans his arm against a chair, using the other one to motion at me, “Well… Nice job yelling at Vowles.”

I smile and stand, pulling my skirt down a bit, “He deserved it.” I shrug and grab my purse and paddock pads.

“No doubt.” He watches me walk past, “Wait!” I turn and tilt my head, “Would you want to- get coffee?” he looks nervous.

“No… sorry.”

At this, he looks shocked at my blatant refusal, “Uh… That’s alright. Hey! I never got your name.”

I nod, “True.” I walk out and I hear him call after me.

“I’m Lando! By the way!”

⋆｡‧˚⋆

“Great race today, Lando.” I say into the microphone as the man stands in front of me. He’s sweaty and holding onto his water for dear life.

I’ve never seen his eyes so blue. Not that I’ve seen much of him in person… I’m new to the interviewer game, made my way up slowly, “Easy to do well when I know you’re watching.”

He just won Max’s home race and apparently winner Lando is a very flirty being. I raise a brow, “How will you be celebrating tonight? Big party?”

He runs his hand over his mouth, “Nah… looking to hang out with someone special.” Is he… asking me out? Now!?

I clear my throat, trying to stay professional, “Sounds Lovely.”

“Hopefully it will be! If she says yes.” He’s looking directly into my eyes, my cheeks feeling hot.

“Mmm who would say no to Lando Norris?”

He licks his lips, “I know one person.” I shake myself out of it, remembering the camera facing him and the mic in my hand.

“So! I’m assuming you're pleased with tyre management today? Pretty wet track, Is that harder or more fun?”

His mouth pulls into a slow smirk and I know i’m doomed, “Prefer it wet after a few boring races.” He shrugs and I roll my eyes because I know what he’ll say next, “Quite slick today but nothing i’m not used to.”

His media manager taps his shoulder, letting us know time is up, “Have a good day celebrating, Norris.”

“Appreciate it, Y/n.” He winks and turns around. I sigh and turn the other way, praying my cheeks will cool down.

He knows my name.

[2pndr]

The Final Mix

A/N: Written for a prompt by @woollypoison. Much love for hosting! This is also my first time officially writing smut. Enjoy!

Karina & Hyeri x Male Reader Smut

5.7k words

Now here’s the thing about Lee Hyeri: 

She gets it. 

She’s loud, she’s lazy, and she’s casually filthy, sure. But she doesn’t pretend this is about attachment or romance or whatever else people try to slap onto a good fuck. She moans like a banshee, curses like she’s getting paid by the word, and she’ll laugh in your face if you try to call this passion. 

It's not passion. It's Tuesday. 

You like her for that. That, and the fact that she squirts like a pornstar and doesn’t mind doing it on company time.

Desk, floor, couch, conference table—pick your battlefield. She’ll bring the war. (And open the floodgates.)

Today’s bout happens to be in your vocal booth. 

Or, happened, rather.

“Don’t fall asleep in here,” you remind her, yanking your pants up. “You drool on anything expensive and the label’s gonna think I adopted a stray.”

“Hah,” she laughs dryly. “You owe me lunch, for that one. Or, I dunno, a lozenge. I can’t feel my throat.”

You snort, still half-naked, still sweating—absolutely not in a position to debate sexual reparations.

Meanwhile, Hyeri’s lying across the vocal booth bench like it’s a fucking chaise lounge, panties twirling in her fingers, skirt still hiked up, and blouse open like the concept of modesty just doesn’t apply after three orgasms.

Which, it doesn’t, so you’ll give her that one.

There’s sweat on her chest and something else between her thighs—it yours, obviously—and she’s tracing lazy circles around her navel with one red-tipped nail. “I really think I hit that harmony this time,” she muses. “Like... actually nailed it.” She is, of course, referring to the song you’re supposed to be recording and not the chorus of moans she let out as she came all over you.

You shoot her a sceptical look, shoving a cable out of your way with your foot, hunting for wherever your belt got thrown off to. “You moaned through half of it.”

“Artistic expression,” she shrugs, reaching for a tissue. “Adds texture.”

“It adds me spending an hour editing out your sex noises,” you grimace, pulling your belt out from where she's hidden it under her. “That or we schedule another day to record.”

“Oh no,” she mocks, wiping your cum from between her thighs. “Not post-production work—y’know, the thing you’re paid to do. But,” she’s thinking now, tapping her chin with a finger, “you would like another day with me all to yourself, now wouldn’t you?”

You flick her the bird as you slip back into your button-up. She smiles like she’s won something. She has, technically. Three times, in fact. The first when you ate her out on the bench. The second when she rode you on said bench. And the third against the booth wall, displacing soundproofing with a leg around your waist, your cock in her cunt, and a finger in her ass for good measure.

But unlike your little sexcapade with Hyeri, this was supposed to be quick.

Track the bridge, tweak her verse, maybe do a dry run of the group chorus. Nothing that warranted sweat-slick skin and a room that smells more potent than a fish market. But with Hyeri, quick is theoretical. She’s chaos and lust wrapped in short skirts and high heels—all while masquerading as the Nation's Little Goody-two-shoes.

And then, like the universe itself is showing its disapproval for your pseudo-professionalism, your phone buzzes.

12:15 PM – Karina | Vocal Tracking

“Shit.”

You have exactly thirteen minutes to unfuck the studio.

Hyeri doesn’t look up, popping a mint and digging in her bag for lipstick. “What now?”

“Karina’s coming.”

She looks up. There’s a beat. Then she laughs—not shy, not sorry.

Delighted.

“Did you schedule us back-to-back, again?” she asks, sitting up, buttoning her blouse like it’s a suggestion and not an obligation. “Jesus, you’re bold.”

“I forgot,” you admit, which is true. Sort of.

You remembered the moment Hyeri finished singing the bridge. But when the Nation’s Little Sister is in your vocal booth moaning into the mic and flashing her tits, your list of priorities gets jumbled just a teensy bit.

She cackles, sliding off the bench and onto the floor like this is all the setup to a really good punchline. “Wow. Can’t wait for her to sing backup on the chorus while standing in a puddle of my cu—”

“Don’t finish that sentence.”

Hyeri holds her hands up. “What? It’s a collab.”

Right. The collab. Two idols, one producer, and a track about heartbreak or temptation or something equally ironic. Not to toot your own horn or anything but the beat’s  good. An obvious hit.

What makes no sense is the lineup.

 Hyeri—basically retired idol turned variety darling turned actress. 90% charm. 100% chaos.

 Karina—hot as all fuck, a pillar of fourth-gen K-pop, and somehow still the weirdest girl in the room. ‘A loser in a goddess’s body’ as the internet puts it.

There’s absolutely no correlation between the two other than industry and that they’re both drop-dead gorgeous. It’s like some wacky higherup wanted the most oddball idol pairings possible. And for some reason, you’re the glue holding it all together.

The calendar notification flashes up at you again, sending you hurtling into action. “Fuck, I really thought it was just you today,” you scramble, grabbing the tissue box and frantically wiping off the bench drenched in her sweat and fluids. “Are you gonna help?”

Hyeri just shrugs. “I had bridge duty,” she begins, ignoring your pleas entirely. “And Karina’s laying down the second verse, right?”

“Yeah,” you reply, dejected and slightly annoyed. She’s not doing shit. “Just…” you begin, like this makes up for anything,”— don’t leave your bra again.”

She pauses, looking down at her chest like she only just remembered she owns one. “Shit—did I?”

You both spot it at the same time in the far corner of the room. Lace, red, costs three figures. Definitely hers. You snatch it like it’s a grenade and shove it into her tote without ceremony.

Hyeri simply grins. “Oops.”

“Can’t believe you left it in the booth last week,” you hiss. “Karina walked in and asked if you were doing your laundry in here.”

“What did you tell her?”

“That you got hot.”

“That’s not even a good lie,” she replies, quite obviously amused by the whole fiasco. “You should’ve said I was doing vocals in lingerie—very French. Very sexy.” 

“Very suspension-of-contract,” you mutter.

“Barely noticed it was gone, to be honest. Was it the black one?”

“...Yes.”

“Mm,” she nods. “Thought so. I’ve been wondering.”

“For a week?”

“I’m not particularly sentimental about bras,” she says, like it’s a flex.

You shake your head. “Do you want it back?”

“Nope. Keep it,” Hyeri zips her tote with a smile, “as a memento.”

You shrug. Can’t argue with that.

With one last wipe you finish scrubbing down the vocal booth like it’s a crime scene clean-up, which, given your contractual obligations such as: Don’t Fuck The Talent, might actually be. 

Three sprays of some bergamot mist tries to mask the smell of sex, sweat, and the lastest in your long line of poor decisions. It doesn’t. At best, now it smells like bergamot and sex. 

But it’ll have to do. 

Hyeri simply watches from her place on the floor. She’s mostly dressed now—blouse crumpled but closed, lipstick redrawn, auburn hair finger-combed into something that says either sexually satisfied or hungover. Almost normal is how you’d describe her—the faint marks just visible above her collar put an emphasis on the almost.

With a couple more sprays of  the citrus you and Hyeri are out of the booth, but you’re desk is a mess too: A tangle of wires, half drunk coffee and—

The recording light is still on.

The waveform’s still rolling.

The track: armed. The booth: live.

You lunge for the keyboard.

Stop recording.

Three peaks. Clear as day.

You don’t need audio engineering school to know what they are. You’re staring at the literal shape of her orgasms.

“Wow,” she says, squinting beside you. “It’s like… orgasmic morse code.”

You glance at her. “The fuck does that even mean?”

“Dunno,” she shrugs. “Sounded smarter in my head.”

You look back at the waveform, playing one of the peaks. 

No vocals. No takes. Just moans. Whines. Wet, slick sounds. You. Her. You in her. And then:

“Oh my fucking Gggggggod,” she moans through the monitors.

Hyeri watches your face. Smiles.

“I should delete it,” you say looking back.

“But you won’t.”

“But I should.”

“But you won’t.”

She’s right. You won’t.

Instead:

Export > Documents > Private > ALT_Hyeri_Vocals.wav

“Ooooh,” she sings, nudging you with her shoulder, a little too pleased. “Wait, alt vocals? Not even a cute name? Not even ‘HyeriMOANS_FinalVII_REALFINAL_usethisone.wav’?”

“It’s for the back-up vocals,” you lie as naturally as you breathe.

“It’s for your spank bank,” she retorts.

You don’t answer. Partly because she’s right and mostly because you’re red from realizing how much you moaned, too. Not your finest hour, you’ll admit.

“Shouldn't you be going?” You finally ask her.

“Fine, fine.”

With one last devious smile, Hyeri pulls on her tote, checks her reflection in the black of the studio glass, and re-combs her hair. “Well,” she says, turning to leave, “have fun explaining our completely professional relationship to Karina.”

“What? Why would I ever—”

“Oh come on,” she cuts in, laughing. “These fourth-gen girls? You think they’ve never walked into a studio that smells like cum and perfume? Please. I’d seriously be surprised if she hasn’t picked up on it by now.”

“Hyeri.”

“I’m serious. She’d have to be Mother Teresa to not know what’s going on in here.” 

You’re mortified. Full-body cringe—It’s delicious to her. “So, unless she’s got a cross under her clothes, you’re not fooling anyone.”

You go pale. She beams.

“You couldn’t have told me this earlier?”

She pretends to think for a second before landing on a simple:

“Nope.”

At the door, she turns, planting a kiss on your cheek—sweet, sinful, smug. “Good luck,” she sings. “See you next week.”

And just like that she's gone.

You’re completely frozen. Save for the moment you spray the bergamot again. 

Five times this time.

Spoiler alert: 

It doesn’t help.

*

Karina arrives at 12:16.

Which is a little late. But when your producer’s secretly been balls-deep in your sexy co-worker, and your body has curves that put cue balls to shame, a little late is just fine.

She pokes her head in, hair in a low ponytail, gray hoodie and sweatpants on, face bare save for chapstick and what you hope is not suspicions of contract violations.

“Hey,” she chirps, offering a small smile. One of those slow, polite things that doesn’t quite reach her eyes. “Traffic was a nightmare. Did I miss anything?”

Only a live porno starring your dick and Hyeri’s everything.

“Nope,” you lie, voice almost cracking. “Perfect timing.”

She steps inside like she owns the place, which is fair, considering her vocals are probably worth half your paycheck this quarter. Then, she gives you a quick once-over—nothing obvious, but her eyes pause on your sloppy collar, then your flushed ears. You sit up straighter. Try not to look like you’ve just been reverse-exorcised by a woman with zero gag reflex.

Then Karina sniffs.

“New room spray?” she asks, nose wrinkling.

“Uh, yeah. Some limited edition one, I think. Intern picked it up for shits and giggles.”

“Huh.”

You try to make yourself look busy, turning away and absentmindedly double-clicking shit on your desktop, minimising and maximising random windows just to make your screen flash.  You wish you could minimize yourself while you’re at it.

“You, uh… just finished with Hyeri?” she asks, looking over.

There it is.

You nod. Neutral. Casual. “Yeah. She was recording the bridge.”

“Mm.”

Just a sound, not even a word. And yet you can practically hear the subtext screaming: Bridge, huh? Is that what we’re calling it now?

You shouldn’t be scared of her. Of all people, Karina is the probably least intimidating idol you’ve ever worked with—soft-spoken, professionally polite and always just a little behind the tempo of group conversations. 

So then why the fuck does she manage to hit the nail on the head with every word out of that gorgeous mouth?

 “I could tell,” she shrugs. “Smells like her.”

You cough so hard you hit a new vocal register.

But Karina doesn’t say anything. Just makes her way to the booth.

You’re about to ask if she wants water—anything to offset the tension and your crippling anxiety—when she peels off her hoodie.

And fuck you.

It’s not even that it’s scandalous. It’s a black sports bra. Basic. Functional. Nothing that should bring a grown man to his metaphorical and literal knees. It’s gym attire. But it’s her gym attire, and that makes a world of difference. 

The bra doesn’t so much as hide her tits but politely suggest they quiet the fuck down, doing a noble yet futile job of containing what you really wish wasn’t. Because God damn if her breasts aren’t full, shapely—obscene in their perfection, indecent in their splendour. And if that weren't enough for you, right below her stomach tapers in, all sharp lines and lean muscle, just begging for you to run your hands and tongue along.

Karina tosses her hoodie onto the vocal booth bench—the same one you railed Hyeri on half an hour ago. She stretches, arms up, spine arched, that long line of torso on blatant, mouth-watering display. You pretend you’re checking the input levels, but your gaze keeps slingshotting back to her like it’s tied on elastic.

She catches you.

Which, yeah, you’re about as subtle as a cymbal crash.

“It’s really…  stuffy in here,” she remarks as she meets your staring gaze, fanning her face with one hand. “Something must have happened in here.”

Well, if she didn’t know earlier, then she definitely knows now. And she’s fucking with you to boot.

Fan-fucking-tastic.

Your throat works around a lie. Futile, probably. Any moment now she could report your horny ass to a higher-up and have you on the street within minutes. But she hasn’t. So either she’s getting off fucking with you, or she wants something in return for keeping hush. Either one isn’t particularly ideal. 

“A‑ah, yeah,” you stammer. Smooth start. “HVAC’s acting up. I’ll put in a ticket.” You flick a random knob that does absolutely nothing, praying she’ll drop it. “Let’s get your tracking done before the air gets worse, yeah?”

Karina nods. Noncommittal. Disbelieving.

Man, you’re so fucked.

*

Karina nails the verse on the first pass—pitch perfect, emotion dialled, consonants crisp enough to slice butter. And for a little while, you forget about her standing in a room soaked in Hyeri’s cum.

Second pass? Even better. Third? Pure polish. By the time you hit stop for real, you're covered in goosebumps and it has nothing to do with the prospect of losing everything.

Karina’s simply that good.

You press the talk‑back. “That’s the one. Seriously, Karina—gold. Take five?”

She lifts one ear‑cup and flashes a grin. “Sure.”

You breathe a sigh of relief when the conversation ends there. Maybe… just maybe… you’ve dodged a bullet.

You lean back, arms stretching over your head, casual as you can fake it. The worst is over. You’re in the clear. She probably bought the ventilation excuse. Probably thinks nothing of the citrus-and-sex sauna she walked into.

Professional crisis: averted.

Thank fuck.

Perhaps Hyeri’s wrong. Perhaps Karina’s a little too sweet, a little too spaced-out, a little too fourth-gen golden girl to know what a post-sex room smells like.

Karina hums a little under her breath, fiddling with her phone. She looks harmless. Normal.

Just a girl in a sports bra and sweats, checking her messages, laughing at a reel.

But then you let your gaze skate over her bare stomach again. Then those magnificent tits.

And you wonder how that would be possible.

You shake your head. Refocus.

“Seriously, you crushed it,” you say, half to fill the air, half to genuinely compliment. “Some of your best work, period.”

Karina beams, cheeks flushing pink. And for another second, it’s easy to forget the whole ticking-time-bomb nature of this room. To forget Hyeri’s cum still somewhere deep in the booth fibers. To forget everything except how fucking pretty she looks smiling at you.

You even start mentally scheduling next week’s sessions—like you’re gonna get away clean.

You’re an idiot.

Because then she ruins your fucking life.

“So,” Karina starts, tilting her head just slightly, “how long have you been fucking Hyeri?”

You choke on absolutely nothing. Do a spit-take with no drink.

She says it like it’s a joke. Like she’s asking if you’re out of oat milk.

Except she’s not joking.

Not even a little.

 “I—I—what?”

“I mean, I’m assuming it’s Hyeri,” she muses, tapping a finger to her chin. "She did look pretty worn when I passed her in the lobby.”

You wish the ground would open up and swallow you whole. You wish you could eject yourself into the sun.

You wish she hadn’t said it with that much fucking glee.

“Don’t worry,” she says in a half-shrug. “I’m not gonna tell anyone if that’s what you’re worried about.”

Thank fuck.

“There is just one thing though…”

Oh fuck.

"I don’t really like being left out."

What the fuck?

"I want in."

What the fuck.

You stand up, pace around the room. Try to gather your thoughts, try to process what exactly she’s proposing here.

Karina wants to fuck you.

 You won’t pretend you haven’t thought about it. That you’re some righteous saint without the need for fantasy. 

But this is Karina you’re talking about.

It’s one thing for you to be caught with Hyeri, but Karina? Pillar of a whole generation? If the two of you were caught it’d be—

“—A PR nightmare?” she supplies. “A scandal? Headline of the century?”

You nod so fast you almost give yourself whiplash.

She just shrugs again, careless, reckless, hot as sin. "Don't care."

You open your mouth. Close it. Try again. "You—you have no idea what you're asking—"

"I do," she interrupts, stepping closer, breath frosting the booth window. Her voice is silk now. A trap you’re already caught in. "I know exactly what I’m asking."

She walks back to the bench, hands bracing behind her, legs spreading just enough to hint at what’s awaiting you.

“I want you like she has you.”

You’re not strong enough. 

You’re not stupid enough to pretend you are.

But even if you managed to steel your resolve, Karina bites her bottom lip. Runs a hand along her crotch.

"I’ve wanted you since the demo."

And you’re moving before you even register it.

*

You’ve soaked in some legendary sights on the label’s dime.

Dawn over the Han River from sixty stories up, neon Tokyo streets glitter‑wet after midnight rain, front-row seats to an Eiffel Tower light show in a suite. Gorgeous, all of them. Low-end bucket‑list kinda stuff.

But this view might just take the cake.

Sweat slicks Karina’s collarbones, soaks the carelessly lifted sports bra, gathers at the dip between her breasts, slides down to where your hands own her hips. Every grind turns your spine to liquid. Every thrust drives you deeper. And every bounce sends those perfect tits—shape and size defying God and physics—swinging in hypnotic rhythm.

“You fill me so good,” she pants, words cutting the hush of the booth, dirty and devotional at once. “Knew you'd feel this good—just knew it." She braces one palm against the glass, the other yanking her own hair into a makeshift ponytail, dragging it off her glowing face. The move juts her chest higher—an unspoken invitation, one you answer with your mouth. You latch on to the reddened mark just above her nipple, tongue finding its way around the sensitive circumference.

She whines.

You suck harder.

She tightens.

And you’re gone.

You should be thinking your job, about morality, about the very real possibility that a lone intern could wander past and see silhouettes doing something distinctly un‑PG behind the frosted glass. Instead, you’re cataloguing micro‑details: the faint scent of her shampoo under the musk of sweat, the tremor in her thigh when she sinks too deep, the almost reverent way her eyes lock on-to you when you hit that spot.

“Been wanting this for so long,” she reiterates, rolling her hips in a tighter circle. “Wanted your cock buried so deep I can’t hit a high note without it in me.”

The image alone nearly finishes you. You grit your teeth, hold your release back with sheer will and bruising fingers at her waist.

“Fuck, Karina—”

Karina leans in, panting against your mouth, grinding harder and harder, chasing her high and yours without a single shred of shame.

“Wanted you so bad,” she whines, breath hot against your ear, “thought about this every time you said my name—every fucking time—”

Your head falls back against the booth wall with a thunk.

You’re losing it.

She feels it—smiles a broken, wicked smile. “Already that close? Poor producer.” She makes a teasing cluck of the tongue, a soft caress to your cheek, then she slams down hard enough to shatter the bench. “Then give it to me,” she growls. “ Give me everything.”

You can’t not obey. 

Pressure builds and so does your pace. Driving into her with a fury you didn’t know you had in you. Karina’s moaning openly now, every last shred of composure thrown to the wind.

Pressure builds then detonates. 

Heat floods every nerve.

You break.

 She follows.

And it’s bliss.

Her cry is earth-shattering, torn from somewhere deep as she clamps down hard around you, milking you for everything you’ve got. Her thighs lock, her body seizes. She’s trembling, gasping, riding wave after wave like she doesn’t know how to stop.

Her nails rake your back, half for balance, half to brand you, and you let her. Let her take. Let her have you. Her breath stutters against your mouth as you kiss through the fallout—sloppy, greedy. A thank-you and a promise and a question all at once.

Aftershocks hit her in uneven jolts, and you revel in the way she twitches around you with each one. You’re still inside her. Still hard. Still pulsing. Still drowning in her.

KArina collapses forward, full-body flush against yours, forehead pressed to your collarbone. Her heartbeat drums against your ribs. You’re shaking. So is she.

For a long, breathless moment, there’s nothing but the sound of your combined panting, then, your lips colliding. 

You’re engrossed. And so is she. So much so that you both miss the sound of the booth door opening.

“And here I thought I came too early,” a voice says from the doorway.

You don’t look right away. You don’t have the mental bandwidth for anything beyond Karina’s skin and the twitch in your cock. 

And besides, you already know exactly what you’ll see.

Your head finally turns toward the door.

Hyeri’s grinning. “You two certainly wasted no time.”

“Hyeri,” you begin, less surprised, more irritated, “ what the fuck are you—”

“Save it,” she interrupts. “You’ll ruin the mood.”

“What fucking moo—”

In an instant Hyeri’s blouse is open again, revealing an absence of fabric over her tits.

You feel Karina tighten.

“Room for one more?” she asks with a sly grin.

You look at Karina.

Karina looks at you.

And Karina—God bless her, damn her, ruin you for life—grins. 

"Yeah," she says, voice high and sweet and so very, very gone. "Okay."

"You good with it, Producer-nim?" she teases.

You are not good.

You are very, very bad.

But Karina’s hips are still pressed against you, and Hyeri’s smile is so knowing, and your cock—traitorous, eager—twitches inside the girl already dripping down your thighs.

You’re fucked.

Yet you nod.

Reluctantly. Helplessly.

(Gratefully.)

Hyeri claps, wickedly pleased. “God, I love consent.”

Then she drops to her knees.

*

You’ve soaked in some legendary sights on the label’s dime.

Dawn over the Han River from sixty stories up, neon Tokyo streets glitter‑wet after midnight rain, Karina, sweat-slick, tits swinging and your name on her breath as she rides you into the Earth’s core.

But this view might just take the cake.

Which is ironic, because there’s no view at all.

Because Karina’s sitting on your face.

Full weight, full warmth, full heaven and hell combined.

Her meaty thighs clamp around your head, her cunt pressed flush against your mouth, slick and perfect and utterly suffocating. Her ass—round, shameless and the urban dictionary definition of fuck you—is covering everything else.

You couldn’t open your eyes even if you wanted to.

And you don’t want to.

Because the raw sensation—the taste of her dripping down your tongue, the way she grinds against your mouth with broken little whimpers—is worth more than any skyline on Earth.

You’re drowning in her.

And if that wasn’t enough?

Hyeri’s riding you at the same time.

Usually, you’d feel her braced against your chest, feel the needy, desperate grip of her hands as she takes everything you have and begs for more with every bounce.

But you suspect her hands are elsewhere: fondling Karina’s bare tits, holding her throat as they duel with their tongues. Either or works. 

Because God if that mental image isn’t Louvre material.

A lick to the clit softens Karina’s grip around your ears and you settle for sound instead.

Wet, filthy kisses sound somewhere above you. Giddy little gasps. The faint slap of a palm against skin. Karina moans into Hyeri’s mouth—or maybe it’s Hyeri moaning into hers—you can’t tell, you don’t care. 

“Fuck, you’re cute,” Hyeri purrs against her, the smacking of lips resuming instantly.

 You feel the words vibrate through Karina’s body, then feel her clench around your tongue.

“Sensitive too,” Hyeri adds. “You like it when I touch you here?” Karina gasps, the result of having her pussy licked and her tits caressed.

Karina tries to answer, but it comes out as a high-pitched whimper instead.

Hyeri laughs softly—not cruel, but giddy, drunk on the power she holds. 

 You hear the slick sound of their mouths meeting again. The sticky, obscene sound of a kiss that isn’t meant for cameras or fans or anything else where clean and polished is the expectation.

Just raw, messy and private.

Karina breaks away from it first, panting hard, lifting her hips just enough that a thin string of slick snaps between your mouth and her pussy.

You catch a glimpse of her when you blink up—face flushed, eyes glassy, lips and nipples swollen from Hyeri’s assault. 

You’d worship her if you could breathe.

But Hyeri’s hand is curling into Karina’s hair, tugging her up—gentle but insistent—and she moans like she’s been waiting for it.

"On your hands and knees, baby," Hyeri coos through another kiss, brushing the hair out of Karina’s sweaty face. "Be a good girl for us."

Karina whimpers, flushed and dazed, but obeys without hesitation, scrambling off your mouth and onto the bench, ass high, head low, presenting herself so shamelessly it’s enough to knock the air out of your lungs.

The second she’s steady, Hyeri slinks in front of her—legs spread, pussy slick and glistening, thighs trembling from earlier—and cups Karina’s flushed cheeks in her hands.

"You know what to do.”

Karina doesn’t hesitate.

She dives in, mouth open, tongue flat against Hyeri’s cunt, licking her like she’s starving for it. Like she needs it more than air.

Hyeri gasps, hips twitching, hand fisting tight in Karina’s hair.  She catches your eye over Karina’s bowed back, grinning like a cat who got the cream.

“Well?” Hyeri says to you, mid-moan. “You just gonna sit there and look pretty?”

You don’t need more encouragement.

You’re behind Karina in an instant, hands gripping her hips—tight, possessive—and line yourself up.

One push. Slow? Yes. Deep? All the fucking way.

Karina cries out into Hyeri’s pussy, body arching towards the flat of the bench. Hyeri laughs, breathlessly. Her hand strokes Karina’s cheek almost tenderly, but her words are anything but.

“Fuck, you’re loud,” she teases. "Who knew you were such a slutty girl?"

You thrust into Karina again, harder this time, savoring the ripple of her ass you do, the obscene wet sounds filling the booth as she tries—and fails—to keep up with both of you.

"He was like this with me, too," Hyeri purrs, hips rolling against Karina’s mouth in lazy, devastating circles. "First time he fucked me? Thought I was gonna cum at the first thrust.”

You’re turned on by the memory, driving yourself intoKarina harder.

Karina whines around Hyeri’s clit, her thighs shaking, her slick dripping down your cock every time you bottom out inside her.

Hyeri threads her fingers tighter in Karina’s hair, guiding her movements now, rocking her face exactly where she wants it.

“She’s a natural, isn’t she?” Hyeri croons, locking eyes with you again. “Makes the prettiest fucking sounds.”

You can’t do anything but nod, the tightness and sight stealing your breath.

Karina's arms tremble where she braces against Hyeri’s thighs. Her moans are constant now—muffled against Hyeri’s.

And you’re so close you can taste it.

Hyeri gasps, grinding down against Karina’s mouth with reckless, frantic need.

"You close?" she teases, voice shaky but still smug. "Gonna fill her up while she makes me cum?"

“Fuck yeah,” you manage to get out. 

Your hand finds its way to Karina’s clit: extra stimulation to make her tighten, to get her closer to her own release, to motivate her to suck Hyeri even harder.  

Your strategy works like a charm, and you’re graced with the sight of Hyeri’s head’s rolling back, a sharp cry escaping her as she cums all over Karina’s face.  “Fuuuuuuck me,” she exclaims, thighs clenching around Karina’s head, hands yanking her closer like she never wants her to stop.

Karina whimpers too, grinding her ass back against you in frantic, desperate little jerks, her own orgasm building with nowhere to go.

And then you snap.

You grab Karina’s hips, pull her flush against you, and empty yourself inside her with a strangled groan, spilling deep into her own trembling body.

Karina falls apart between you both—moaning and sobbing and soaking the bench with her release.

The three of you collapse together, sticky and shuddering and utterly spent.

And despite being suffocated and impaled at the same time, Karina perks up again. She’s still panting, still catching up on oxygen, but that doesn't stop her from asking:

“Now who’s ready for round two?”

*

The booth door swings open.

Hyeri’s hair is a disaster, Karina’s everything is either red, swollen, glistening or all three, and you’re pretty sure you’ve left fingerprints in places you’re contractually forbidden to even think about.

 (And probably teeth marks, if Hyeri’s wincing is anything to go by.)

And yet, somehow, you’re all laughing.

Half-dressed, fully wrecked, riding the tail-end high of the worst—and best—decision you’ve made in years, but still: laughing. 

Karina tugs the hem of her hoodie down like it might erase the obvious evidence of a threesome. Meanwhile, Hyeri buttons maybe one button of her blouse and calls it a day and you’re wiping sweat off your forehead with the sleeve of your shirt when you notice it.

The recording light is still on.

The waveform’s still rolling.

The track: armed. The booth: live.

You lunge for the keyboard. 

Again.

Stop recording.

There are fourteen peaks this time.

You know exactly what they are before Karina even asks, hobbling over as she pulls her sports bra back over her tits.

“What are those?” she asks, peering at the screen with curious eyes.

Hyeri’s already smiling, smugness just emanating from her. “Our orgasms,” she says proudly, like they’re her children.

“Wait, it was recording? The whole time?”

“Courtesy of me,” Hyeri says, with an even bigger smile now. “Turned it on while you two were getting busy. “

“Surprised you’re smart enough to know how,” you tease. And she hits you right back, literally.

“Ow!”

“Gonna fap to this one too, are ya?” she cackles.

“He’s gonna what?” Karina squeaks, slightly turned on.

You barely make it three seconds into the collective laughter before Hyeri steamrolls right through it.

“That’s it!” she exclaims, snapping her fingers. “This could totally work!”

"Work?" you echo. "What do you—?"

“We use this,” she begins with manic glee, dragging the track into the main sequence, “in the final mix.”

Karina’s eyes light up. "Wait, that’s genius!”

You’re frozen. Horrified. Horny.

“We could layer it in,” Karina continues. “Just subtle. Like an Easter egg.”

“A very hot Easter egg,” Hyeri adds, giving you a wicked eyebrow waggle.

You can barely think up a response. Between the countless hours today you’ve spent having sex, agonising about losing your job, and simply dealing with the pair of women before you, the amount of fucks you can currently give is strewn remarkably thin. 

Not thin enough, though.

“This,” you say, pointing to the screen,“is a horrible idea.”

It’s Hyeri’s turn for her eye’s to light up. 

“Hear that Karina?” She steps closer to you, hand going to your exposed cock. “Sounds like he needs some convincing.” 

“Mm,” Karina hums in agreement, fingers making their way up your chest. “Definitely does.” 

You groan, running a hand down your face.

You’ve already lost.

 “...We’ll put it in the song.”

“Yay!” they both squeal at once, pressing quick, sticky kisses to either side of your cheeks.

You sigh, sitting back at the console, exhaustion setting into your bones.

But you’re already thinking about it.

You’re thinking about how those breathy, desperate little sounds could melt into the track.

How no one would ever know except the three of you.

How every time the song plays, it’ll remind you of the heavenly feeling of Karina’s pussy on your tongue and Hyeri’s cunt on your cock.

You sigh.

You’re weak.

But with the two of them broaching yet another round, who could possibly blame you?

Your hand finds the mouse.

Export > Documents > Private > Vocals — The Final Mix.wav

What a fuckin’ Tuesday, huh?

[fictionalsweethearts]

A CHILD FOR ZAUN | SEVIKA X READER | ARCANE

Synopsis: Under pressure from the Council and with a heavy responsibility on her shoulders, Sevika decides to have a child with her wife to show her commitment with the cause. However, indirect methods are too risky and she ends up choosing the traditional way, being an equal part spectator and participant.

Contains: mention of pregnancy, threesome, male participation, voyeurism, breeding kink, wife!Sevika, dirty talking, jealousy (I could keep going).

MINORS DNI

Note: Alright, so this is some kinky ass shit, I admit, so if you're not into male participation you can enjoy my other works on my masterlist. If you're staying... enjoy.

“A child?” Sevika asked, her eyebrows knitting together at Shoola’s sudden proposition. The councilor had waited until the session had adjourned and the rest of the councilors had left to discuss this with Sevika.

The work at the council seemed endless; since the war with Noxus and all the havoc it caused—from half of Piltover in ruins, to hundreds of casualties, widowed wives an husbands, orphaned children, and protests and riots on the bridge due to Zaun’s refusal to actively collaborate with the other side of the bridge—Sevika had barely had time to make amends and command a plan of action to favor Zaun in this whole mess. She was chosen by her people to represent a city whose fate hung in the balance. There were internal disputes, the districts seemed to want to take sides in the war and attack Piltover now that it has weakened, but Sevika knew that this would cost her authority and the promise to finally include Zaun in the Council's plans and stop being marginalized from public discussion. There were sessions and sessions of disputes and long speeches, where Sevika was ignored or the problems she brought up were disregarded by the rest of the members; by everyone of course, except for Shoola and Caitlyn. Both knew the importance of including Zaun, of making its needs known, even if in the past Sevika had been the enemy, or vice versa.

"A child," Shoola insisted, professional as ever. "You're in a difficult position, you don't yet have the trust nor approval of the rest of the Council. They don't know who they're dealing with."

"How a child would make them see me differently?" Inquired Sevika, both hands on the table before her.

"You must understand that you are rare case by being on the Council and being a Zaunite," Shoola explained. "In the eyes of the others, you are still a threat. The others do not trust you to have a say in matters on this side of the bridge, because they do not know what you are putting at stake."

Sevika clenched her jaw. She was a Zaunite at Piltover's council table, a fish out of water in a world of politics and alliances.

"My loyalty lies with my city, not this side of the bridge."

"Your loyalty will bear no fruit if you are not listened to. You must prove that you are not a mere visitor, Sevika. Committing to the cause means having something to risk."

"And what do you suggest, Shoola? A Zaunite child to hold as a bargaining chip? A token that ensures our cooperation?"

"Not a token, but a proof. A proof that you're not just advocating for your own interests..." she said, her tone growing more serious. "But for those of someone you care about, and the Council can see that you do so."

"Isn't the whole city of Zaun proof enough?" She inquired.

"It's about making yourself seen, Sevika," Shoola insisted. "The rest of the Councillors have entire nations behind them; children, parents, countrymen, enemies and allies. Yet you show up here without the full backing of your people, only a small portion who are not related to you in any way other than mere conviction and ideology."

Sevika looked away, Shoola's speech seemwd to acquire more sense with every word. "Besides... a child of your own will keep you grounded, it's a reminder of why you're here and what you're fighting for." She added.

Sevika knew Shoola had a point, no matter how much she hated to admit it. She was a lone wolf in a pack of powerful families and nations, at a disadvantage before an entire lineage of renowned nobles and politicians.

"I understand the need for solidarity," she said through gritted teeth. "But a child isn't a toy to be used for political gain. I won't endanger a child just to prove a point."

Shoola's expression softened, she interlaced her fingers. "It's a necessary decision, Sevika; causes require sacrifices," she said. "There are children waiting for a change there, using one could help dozens, hundreds. You can't keep arguing with a wall."

Sevika stood there in tense silence for a long moment after Shoola left. The room felt more empty than ever. Her mind raced with the idea of being responsible for a child, of being held accountable for their well-being. With a frustrated growl, she slammed her fist down hard onto the table, the sound of her prosthetic arm hitting the wooden top echoed in the room.

"How long am I gonna fight against this?"

┈ ⋞ 〈 ⏣ �� ⋟ ┈

"Margot won't allow it." Mumbled Sevika under her breath, letting out a heavy sigh.

Sevika took another drink, stamping the glass on the desk before looking back at the map hanging on the wall. She had been in a resounding silence for twenty minutes, interrupted by her own murmurs and growls. The plan to reduce the coverage of the red light district to favor the construction of hospitals seemed more like a fantasy than a plan, taking into account the powerful influence that brothels and sexual services had in Zaun. Sevika knew that truncating that specific area would be liquidating much of the city's income; she herself, when she used to be a regular customer, could realize how essential the business was.

Suddenly, a couple of arms wrapped around her chest, the softness of your cheek against her back and your smell interrupting Sevika's thoughts.

"You're going to pierce the map if you stare at it for so long, wifey." You purred.

Unconsciously, Sevika's shoulders relaxed as she heard your voice behind her. "It's called strategizing." she said with a half smile.

"What's the deal this time?" You inquired, peeking from your wife's wide back to take a look of the map too.

Sevika's grip on the edge of the desk tightened as her gaze traveled over the map pinned to the wall. She seemed to be studying the layout, her mind working through the challenges and options.

"The Rapturewalk," she replied. "It's becoming problematic. Profits are up, but the city needs hospitals, not more entertainment venues."

"Margot won't allow it." You said, just like Sevika thought before.

She sighed loudly. "I know. But the needs of Zaun are not being met. We're prioritizing profit over basic necessities. People are suffering while Margot makes money."

You ran your hands over her shoulders, your eyes sharpening at the markings on the map before you. "Keeping Rapturewalk is your best card, actually."

"How so?"

"It's a constant and safe source of income, after Shimmer's factories." You argued, crossing your arms as you looked at the map. "Let's say that whores are the economic basis of Zaun, whether you like it or not. And the best way to generate reserves to allocate them to other projects is to take advantage of the profits of the red light district."

It was not the first time you had helped Sevika to unravel a problem of this nature. She used to pay attention to your judgment as much as the councilmen's and she trusted your vision as much as her own.

Between pouts, jokes and a kiss on her cheek, you proposed possible solutions. Sevika responded with a grunt, dragging on her cigarette before looking at the map again. "I've only been on the Council for three months… and I'm going crazy already."

"Take the mining and taxes thing as advice only," you said. "I'm just the wife, the final decision is up to you."

"Don't say that." she said firmly, walking up to you and gently grasping your arm. "You're my partner, in every sense of the word." she stated, placing a kiss on your forehead.

And the truth is that your role in Sevika's life was not limited to just being a wife. From the beginning you were a pillar for her when she didn't believe in pillars or in the need to seek support from other people, you showed her that asking for help was not a sign of weakness but of strength, although to this day it was still a bad habit of hers to swallow her problems until she vomited them out between complaints and a few days of drunkenness. That night was no exception, and as soon as you moved away from her, you noticed her staring at your abdomen longer than usual.

"Is something wrong?" you asked.

"No, nothing's wrong." she grunted, knowing she was lying.

"You sure?"

Sevika remained silent for a moment, her tone sobering. "How does children sound to you?"

You seemed speechless for a moment.

You raised your eyebrows and a flash of excitement crossed your face before you turned serious. “Sounds like something we never considered possible…”

"I know we've never discussed it. But the thought has crossed my mind a few times... I never thought it would be an option, given our circumstances. But then again, I never thought we could have a life together in a room above a poker den either."

"I, uh..." you stuttered. "It's a sort of fantasy of mine, actually." you admitted. "You always said you weren't interested in children, and I respect it."

"Well, things has changed, haven't they?" Sevika took a step closer. "We've changed."

But something wasn't fitting, and you sensed it. "Sev. Why are you suggesting this all of sudden?"

She took a deep breath, her hand dropping back to her side.

"The Council has been... making suggestions," she said. "They think it would be a... symbolic gesture. A way to bridge the gap between Zaun and Piltover."

And all clicked.

"So you want a heir, not a son." you stated.

"No, I want what's best for Zaun. And if having a child serves a greater purpose, then that's what I must do."

"A child for a purpose? A symbol." you spat, crossing your arms as the anger began blooming. "Are you trying to please those snobs? Who made you think a heir would change their vision towards you, or towards Zaun?"

"It's about making them respect us. Showing them that Zaun can play the game they set and still come out on top. Sometimes sacrifices have to be made for the greater good."

"Haven't you done enough sacrifices?" you insisted. "Following Vander, then Silco's cause, then Jinx. You've sacrificed what you are every damn time and they still believe it's not enough?"

"What choice do I have?" she snapped back. "If I don't show them, if I don't do something significant, they'll continue to disregard Zaun."

"And using a child is the proper way to earn approval?"

"Babe, it's about respect!" she snapped at you, followed by a sigh when she noticed you flinched.

Silence, thick as fog, settled in the room. Sevika looked not only exhausted, but hopeless. She was making drastic decisions and she knew it. "Love… I don't expect your approval in this, just your support."

You reached out, cupping her cheek as she looked into your eyes, speaking with them. You couldn't stand against that look, you never could. "I'll think about it." you whispered. "But I want you to understand that if we have a child, I will treat him as a son first and as a political tool second."

"I understand." she nodded. "I swear I do."

As the days went by, while the Council gave no respite and neither did Zaun, Sevika planted the seed of a child in your mind frequently. She would talk to you about adoption processes when you were cooking, accompanied by a well-placed caress on your back and a kiss on your neck, and then, after making love, she would talk to you about the possibilities of testing fertilization in a laboratory. Usually you limited yourself to nodding or emitting an "mhm", still questioning the changes that a child would mean, not only as a political symbol, but as an addition to the family.

Sevika would be a good mother, no doubt. She took care of Isha for a whole month without even mentioning she cared for her, but she still came to Jinx's lair with treats and toys or gadgets that she bought at the market. She asked you to cook an extra portion for dinner and whenever you asked her why, it was because "she got hungrier lately", knowing well that it was for Isha. And when she finally admitted her affection towards the blue-haired girl, she passed away.

Sevika remained strong for Jinx and for herself, but you found her asleep in the bathtub the day she found out, her eyes swollen and stinking to whiskey.

"I loved that kid," she admitted later, once you were able to get her out of the tub. "Why is everything dying around me, babe?"

That day you promised yourself to be Sevika's anchor, and bring more joy than worries to her life.

“Baby?” you whispered after Sevika turned around. “Do you think we could visit that doctor you mentioned the other day?”

"Dr. Allard? Yeah, we can. Why?"

"We could ask for advice... about the fertilization process."

Sevika rolled over, her eyes pierced into yours. "Do you wanna... try?"

"Yes, I-" you said before Sevika swallowed your words with a kiss.

And she kissed you later that day, as you two waited for the test results. Fertilization using hextech was still in the experimental phase and was certainly based more on theories than successful cases, but you still hoped you were a suitable candidate for the procedure. Sevika held your hand as the doctor entered, her solemn face not indicating good news.

"The preliminary tests show that your body's response to the hextech fertilization process is not as strong as we would have expected. The success rates will be much lower than we had originally suggested..."

It was the formal way of announcing that achieving a baby by that means was not feasible. And Sevika read your disappointed expression while the woman continued explaining technical details that you stopped listening to. Your wife squeezed your hand and wiped the hint of a tear from your eye. "We'll find a way."

And frustration was beginning to overwhelm you and Sevika. You drank at breakfast and dinner, ruminating on the possibilities and pressuring the Zaun orphanage just to find out there wasn't a goddamn orphanage in the first place. A month of arguments, tears and breakdowns went by. The Council gave no respite, Sevika was on the verge of collapse balanced by two cities that refused to cooperate, drowning her anguish in whiskey and smoking her worries, sleeping barely a few hours and giving up her intimacy and quality time with you. You watched Sevika fall into a cycle of slavering work from which you could not get her out until you found her unconscious in the living room, passed out from exhaustion and alcohol.

And that was the last straw.

"I'll look for candidates," you said in bed, after having fed Sevika a substantial dinner and a spoonful of Shimmer. "You can choose the one you like the most."

"And if I say no?" she dared to argue.

"Then you'll quit the Council."

She was silent for a moment, too weak to argue and too tired to find another solution. She couldn't believe she would consent this.

"Fine," she said grudgingly. "You can look."

It took you no more than a week, spreading out a series of files on the living room table and asking Sevika to study each one carefully. The process took barely an hour.

"This one," she said finally, laying the sheet on the table. "It's the most suitable.

You kind of expected it, Misk. A thirty-three-year-old Zaunite in impeccable health; a rarity in a city like ours. He was an athletic man who was both handsome and noble. He was known to run a humanitarian business, providing beds, food, education, and health. A true symbol of the spark of humanity struggling to survive in the city and an indirect ally of Sevika, if she could put it that way. The file was accompanied by a photo of the man in question. He had tanned skin, pale, slanted eyes, a straight nose, and generous lips. His black hair, usually tied back in a half ponytail, was dazzling with silvery glints and vitiligo had paled half of his face, spreading across his left arm and left pectoral. You knew Sevika had chosen him for his unusual features, she had a thing for Zaun's genetic diversity.

"Did you find him handsome?" you dared to tease her.

"Qualified." grunted Sevika. "I could never call a man handsome."

┈ ⋞ 〈 ⏣ 〉 ⋟ ┈

"I won't repeat myself," Sevika said firmly. "We bought your silence, you keep your mouth shut. Whatever happens in this room, stays in this room."

You were sitting on the edge of the bed, an olive-colored robe as your only garment, your hair loose and your skin soft and smooth from the scented bath you took earlier. The room smelled of floral, penetrating honey, while the lights were dim and invited to retreat and intimacy.

You had prepared the room in advance for the special night; cigars lay on the coffee table in front of the wide bed with silky damask sheets. Three glasses of whiskey with ice, a jug of water, poppy oil beside the bed, aromatic herbs hung from the ceiling and a series of candles spread across the furniture and the windowsill, through which the silver bath of moonlight filtered in. You looked at Sevika, clad in a wine-colored kimono, revealing a glimpse of her bare chest and long, shapely legs. Her hair loose and her mechanical arm gleaming with Shimmer. Certainly her feminine energy was taking more prominence tonight, and you couldn't help but finding her even more beautiful.

Sitting on the couch, Misk watched Sevika intently, sipping whiskey and taking orders with the abnegation of a soldier. He had a robe on and his hair tied in a ponytail. He was more handsome in person and when Sevika first watched him walk in, she let out a chuckle. "He looks like a puppy."

"Sevika."

"He'll act like a puppy, alright."

Misk greeted you and your wife cordially, acknowledging the reasons why he was there and taking a seat on the sofa.

"This is not about your pleasure, but about the purpose. You will do as I say." continued Sevika. "You will touch my wife only when I allow it, and you will not speak unless spoken to. Understood?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"C'mere." she commanded, watching Misk stand up and come closer.

Sevika wrinkled her nose, blowing smoke into Misk's face as she studied his bearing, his face, and his scent. She parted his lips with her fingers, taking a look of his teeth and then his eyeballs, looking for any indication that would cast doubt on his medical certificate. He smelled healthy. "You're in good shape," she said, cupping the young man's jaw to look at his angles as if he was a rare animal.

Certainly for Sevika he was, she only adresses men for gambling, business or brawls. The sole thought of sharing a bed with him was uncanny still. "My wife chose well."

She ran her hand down his throat, feeling his pulse, which felt strong and steady. "Have you been in a threesome before, young man?" inquired Sevika with a dark grin.

"I have." nodded Misk.

"Good, I'm not into teaching men what they have to do." said Sevika, letting his throat go. "No funny business or I'll rip your cock off."

"Sevi." you protested from the bed.

Sevika grinned, her eyes flickering to you. "My wife seems to have a soft spot for you," she said. "Don't push your luck, then."

Misk nodded, his expression serious. "I understand."

"You're scaring him, babe." you insisted.

"He has no reason to be scared," she said shortly. "If he behaves, he'll be rewarded. If he doesn't, he'll remember it for a long time. He also signed a contract, remember? He knows what's he getting into."

Just then, Sevika seemed convinced enought to start.

“Take a seat and watch,” Sevika ordered, leaning over to stub out her cigarette in the ashtray. “You’ll join when I say so.”

You stood up, ready and eager as Sevika approached you with confident steps. She caressed your cheek. "Are you sure you're okay with him watching?" you whispered softly. "He can enter later."

"Let him stay. He can learn a thing ot two."

┈ ⋞ 〈 ⏣ 〉 ⋟ ┈

You squeezed your tits between your fingers, Sevika gave you a slow and methodical oral, she ate you out with all her heart and her whole face, diving between your legs and moaning against your pussy. She took all the time in the world on it, making you shudder and whimper for relief, only for your wife to straddle you on her thigh and order you to ride her as soon as you reached your first orgasm. You refused her nothing, even when Misk was on the couch watching everything and made you shy for a moment. But Sevika gave two shits about his presence, urgently kissing your mouth, whispering obscenities that only she was capable of saying and pinching your nipples between her fingers.

Misk realized that he was in front of an experienced couple, totally in tune.

"Don't look at him," she murmured. "Eyes on me, baby. I'm the one you're riding right now."

Sevika kissed you hard, filling all your senses so that you wouldn't even consider looking at a man while you were with her. She didn't take pleasure in letting a man possess you, not now or ever, but she couldn't deny that she was attracted to your pitiful moans and the way your lips would part when Misk fucked you. Sevika knew that this encounter wasn't just for a particular purpose, it was pleasurable in equal parts and she was certainly spoiling you by consenting to it.

"Admit it." whispered Sevika. "Admit that you're dying for him to fuck you. That you're dying to be the center of attention."

"No, Sev..." you whimpered.

Sevika grabbed your throat and looked into your eyes. "You're an attention seeker, even in three years of marriage that hasn't changed. And I love how desperate you are."

"Ah." that's all you could do, pant. "Ah, ah..." and your eyes softened before Sevika let your throat go and you cried your orgasm out.

You fell on top of her. Sevika cupped your neck with a tenderness she only stored for you and placed a kiss on the top of your head. "You're not allowed to be tired," she whispered to you. "Misk is still watching."

You asked for water, Misk was the one who handed you the glass and while you drank, Sevika drew circles on your back. She looked at Misk with analytical, wary eyes, knowing that the unpostponable could not be postponed.

With a kiss on the top of your head, she made you descend from her lap and wait on the bed, still a little shaken by the two previous orgasms. Misk remained in place, Sevika reached for a cigarette on the coffee table and lit it solemnly.

"Misk." she said. "Take good care of her."

You swallowed, still not believing that Sevika was giving you over to a man. A rush of adrenaline and anticipation ran through your body when Misk nodded, looking at you lying on the bed. You stood up, bare and glowing still, allowing him to come closer.

"Can I…?" he asked, clearly afraid of angering Sevika with the slightest contact on your body.

"Yes." you whispered, allowing him to wrap his hands around your waist and kiss you.

Sevika drowned her jealousy in her cigarette, watching as Misk laid you down on the bed and ventured into your skin, your breasts and your abdomen. His touch was gentle, you appreciated it since your wife had left you quite sensitive after her intervention, but you couldn't stop looking at her while he rubbed you between your legs.

You needed her close, not to be removed from the equation.

Sevika read your thoughts clearly, sitting on the couch, the tip of her cigarette glowing with each drag before she placed it on the ashtray. “Stand up,” she ordered, to which Misk seemed to back away. “I didn’t say you were leaving.”

Misk seemed to understand, allowing Sevika to position herself behind you, cupping your breasts in both hands as she began to kiss your neck. You greeted Misk with another long kiss, feeling more secure with your wife’s close supervision. Only then you moaned opnely with pleasure, parting your legs so Misk could once again rub a sensitive but so wet pussy that it left his fingers with a wet sheen.

With your wife's intervention, the evening flowed (very) well. You were already sitting on the bed, leaning against your wife's chest who was already easing a couple of fingers in you, while Misk was busy pleasing your nipples with his tongue. You moaned, looking at your wife and giving her a short kiss before looking at Misk again. The man seemed engrossed in his task, his robe sliding enought to reveal his chest and the paleness of the vitiligo. You thought he was handsome, an ideal candidate for a beautiful baby.

However, you didn't allow yourself to look at him for too long, knowing that provoking Sevika's jealousy would probably end with a dead man in the room.

"I wanna eat you out." you whined then, cupping your wife's cheek.

"Aren't you busy enough?" she teased.

"Please..."

Sevika wasn't going to deny you anything either, she loved to indulge you in everything. Not in vain she was allowing a man on her bed. Still, she hadn't pay attention to him, much less touched him; he was there as a mere tool, she insisted. Sevika tangled her fingers in your hair, her palm firm on the back of your neck as she watched you trail kisses from her chest to her pubis. She hissed, Misk kneeling behind you and kissing your spine slowly. She felt the urge to break his nose with a punch, but you kept her busy with your mouth between her legs.

“Fuck.” She growled, looking at you. “If it wasn’t for you…” she added in a whisper.

"Mhm." you moaned, venturing to ease a finger into her. And Sevika's anger was soon replaced by a stronger feeling.

You gasped, noticing the presence of his phallus, hard and wet against your entrance. Your body bristled in anticipation, believing yourself ready to receive Misk. Sevika frowned, her hand between your locks clenching tightly. Her blood boiled.

"You hurt her and I swear I'll rip your cock off," she threatened, not caring if she was ruining the mood or not. She only cared to know that her wife was willing to continue.

"It's fine." you purred, pulling back to look at Sevika. "I'm... I'm ready."

Your hands on either side of her hips, you watched Sevika the entire time. You didn’t look away from her grey eyes, not when Misk rubbed against you, not when you arched your back to allow him in. Sevika sucked in a breath between her teeth, holding your chin when your lips parted in a shaky moan.

“Fuck.” you breathed out, kissing your wife as Misk buried himself in you.

And you were embarrassed by how fucking horny you were.

You didn't know how to put your pleasure into anything but moans, words fell short. The feeling of kissing your wife, her hand around your throat while you were being fucked was delicious. Being the center of attention turned you on like nothing else, the moans, the grunts, the obscenities that reached your ears and made you smile. You soon agreed with what Sevika had said before; you love attention. The clash of skin on skin filled the room, Misk held your waist and squeezed your skin while Sevika caressed your lower lip, watching you, almost admiring you.

"Seems you're having fun." she said against your mouth. "Breaking into moans for a man, aren't you ashamed?"

"So ashamed." you whined before Misk leaned to place a kiss on your shoulder and you read Sevika's jealousy in her eyes. "But you love watching."

"I love you." she whispered, only your ears catching such strong phrase.

You lost count of how many times you gasped, or how many times Misk made you shiver with a precise thrust. Your wife watched everything, absolutely everything, scolded and admired you in equal parts, finished smoking her cigarette and gave you a tobacco-flavored kiss before forcing you upright.

"You're already all wasted, I thought I taught you better than that." she said, gripping your chin as your eyes fluttered with exhaustation. Misk had a firm hand on your shoulder, making slower but deeper thrusts. You felt him fill you again and again, causing a slight numbing sensation in your pussy.

You were reaching your limit.

Misk let out a groan, his breathing becoming irregular and noisy. "I take this is how men let you know they're about to cum?" asked Sevika with a raised eyebrow.

"Sev." you whimpered. "I'm..."

You didn't know if you were about to cum or faint, whichever came first, but it worried Sevika. You weren't used to this amount of stimulation and Misk seemed insatiably focused on his task. It was then that Sevika kissed you and left the bed. Your chest hit the mattress, Misk growled against your ear and his hips moved incessantly, to the point that you felt imprisoned by his body. You wanted to cry, it was an unknown pleasure and your body gave signs of wanting to give up.

Until you felt it, like a warm, wet torrent that made its way inside you and filled your insides. It was then that you stifled a cry into the pillow, Misk didn't seem to stop.

"I told you to take care of her, son of a bitch," Sevika said.

Misk stopped dead at the cold touch of a cannon against his temple. "You get away from her right now or I'll shoot you in the balls, you hear?"

You didn't see Misk leave the room, but you heard him. You were lying on that bed, your legs shaking, a thread of his seed seeping between your legs. Until Sevika made you close them.

"Relax, it's all over now…" your wife whispered, sitting next to you and placing a kiss on your shoulder. "I shouldn't have agreed to this in the first place."

"I'm fine…" you murmured. Exhausted and sore, you couldn't deny that you'd never felt this pleased in bed. It wasn't Misk the important addition, it was the dynamic of being watched by your wife and realizing the desire that prevailed in her gaze.

Well, desire until she seemed to kill Misk at the last minute very appealing.

"Keep them closed, sweetheart. I won't let this happen again, either you get pregnant or I set the Council on fire. You won't go through this again."

You looked up, glancing at Sevika beside you on the bed. She covered you with her kimono, tracing circles on your lower back before frowning. “Tell me the truth.”

“Mhm?”

“You fancy Misk, don’t you?”

“You already said it, Sev. It’s suitable, but I don’t like him.” you smiled despite your exhaustion, leaning over to place a hand on your wife’s knee. “I just want to give you a child, Sevika. I want to be and make you a mother.”

“You’ll look beautiful pregnant.” Sevika whispered. "So damn beautiful, round and glowing. I wonder how I got myself such gorgeous wife."

"I wonder the same..." you smiled and Sevika leaned down to give you a kiss before patting your bottom lovingly.

“I’ll run you a bath and dinner, okay? Get some rest.”

You nodded, rolling over to lean back on the soft pillows of your bed as you watched Sevika get dressed.

"Are you gonna kill him?" you asked after a moment.

"I wanted to." she admitted. "But I have too many things to attend to add murder to the list. As long as he doesn't cross my path on the street, I won't try anything."

"Okay..." you mumbled, watching Sevika leave the room. "Love you."

"Love you more."

You sighed, tired and sore, barely processing the situation that took place in that same bed you were laying on. You had never been in a threesome, and it was a good but unrepeatable experience. You stared at the ceiling for a moment, wishing with all your might that this method would work and that you could have a child for Zaun.

But above all, a child for your wife Sevika.

[delphi-shield]

— 「 TOTALITY 」 pt 1

Hugo Vlad x Reader — 4.4k

part 2

summary: when he finally has you, it will be because you have begged for him.

content: thigh-riding, finger sucking, dry humping, a really fresh dom-sub dynamic, delayed gratification, orgasm denial, yearning

Fondness crept in through the back door. It slunk past every lock and every security measure and twined itself between his ribs, squeezed his heart with every pulse. 

Hugo realized it was there in the early hours of the morning when he vaulted in through the window of their latest hideout. A light in the kitchenette beckoned him closer. He expected to see Vivian, up and rooting around. Instead he found you, clothes a muss, eyes red and puffy. His footsteps were light; he’d leaned against the doorway and basked in the fluttering warmth of the stove light. The kettle whistled. You’d picked it up like it weighed a hundred pounds, hunched over your cup as you poured, and let the steam float up to caress your face. The scent permeated the kitchen. Warm, earthy, soothing. He called your name and you jumped, tea sloshing over the rim and down your fingers.

Before regret can bring him to step forward and dry your skin, you recover.

“There’s enough for another cup,” you offer, propping your hip against the counter. You fished a mug from the cabinet before he could say a word. You didn't know how he took it, not yet, but he'd swallowed his critiques and sipped the bland herbal blend for a few more stolen moments in the quiet of the kitchen.

You were punctual, discrete, and forthcoming with information. Exemplary qualities for an informant. But as difficult as it was to find reliable help, it wasn’t your professional qualities that had elevated you in Hugo’s opinion. Sincerity wedged its way into every move you made - something he’d initially mistaken for desperation.

The first time he had come to terms with your genuine intentions, Vivian returned home from collecting a dead drop with two unexpected bundles in her hands. Clear, simple wrapping - cookies dumped into the crinkly packaging. Homemade, by the looks of it. The little flip tags tying them shut (also homemade, heavy cardstock, familiar handwriting) declared ‘VIV’ and ‘HUGO’.

Poison via cookie. Of course. How novel.

No, he shouldn't jump to conclusions. The age of strychnine in cakes is long over. He's simply been watching too many old movies lately. There must be something else to this. You weren't stupid enough to try to lace these. A tracking device, maybe. If you had been so trite as to try poison, perhaps a new compound. 

He spins the little bag in his hand, examining it from every angle. Vivian has already pried hers open, cookie held flat in the palm of her hand. It’s lumpy and uneven. Not the sort of thing he would pick out from a bakery, despite the perfect golden brown shade. 

Surely, Vivian must be having similar thoughts. She held a cookie up to her face, turning it back and forth, squinting in the light. She breaks one in half, inspects the insides. Pride blossoms in his chest. Of course she knew to thoroughly investigate any unexpected gifts. She had always taken well to her lessons, and –

Oh, you've got to be kidding, she just ate it.

"Now, why would you do that?"

"They’re chocolate chip," Vivian confirms.

"Vivian." Hugo pinches the bridge of his nose. There’s a thorough stockpile of emetics in the medicine cabinet. He can’t believe he’s going to have to tear into them after he just restocked. "You cannot eat strange food. Spit it out."

"Chocolate chip cookies aren't strange." Crumbs dust the corners of her mouth. “I thought it may have been oatmeal raisin.”

“Spit it out.” Every word punctuated by a shake of his hand. Vivian places the other half of her cookie in his palm. It’s hopeless, he thinks. She’ll learn once her stomach is cramping, once she’s lying on the couch with a trash can beside her. He’ll have to stay up all night to tend to her.

Hugo put an embargo on the cookies, plucked them from her grasp and kept them out of reach. She would learn not to trust strange gifts so easily. Any minute now. Any second.

After an hour of insisting that she would regret her gluttony, Vivian reclaimed her cookies. She marched away, munching on her prize, chin shoved to the ceiling. The last thing he needed to hear from her, of all people, was ‘I told you so’.

(Once Vivian truly showed no signs of ill effects, he'd tried the cookies for himself. Homemade, as he suspected. Malformed though it was, the flavor didn't disappoint. Soft and chewy - but not so much so that it crumbled at a touch. Next time, he thought, he would like to try them fresh from the oven.

The thought pierces through the cotton candy cloud in his mind. Next time – ridiculous. Hugo dusts the crumbs from his desk and focuses on the papers before him. A forgery will be easily sniffed out if a smear of chocolate blurs the lettering.)

He had meant to tell you to knock it off with the treats at your next rendezvous, but all that had come out of his mouth had been a gentle admonishment:

“Perhaps don't include our names on your extra supplies, hm?” He hands you your promised payment in the dark of the alleyway, any bite in his words weakened by the brush of his fingers.

Honest confusion pulls your brows to a peak. You hesitate, hand hovering between you. Realization clicks in your eyes, the rest of your body following lockstep with rigid precision. You nod, stuff your hands into your pockets. 

“Gotcha. My bad.”

Silence stretches. There’s something here still, something unsaid that you’re trying to dredge up from the depths. Hugo can see the words forming on your tongue, bubbling behind your pursed lips. That pitiful look in your eye was practically pleading for him to toss you a lifeline. After a few false starts, he nearly does.

Finally, you finish floundering and come up for air. “So– chocolate chip is okay?”

Hugo barks a laugh. Genuine, surprised - it seems to scare you. Your shoulders draw up high. You’re serious?

He answers quickly, before you can blow the whole thing off as a joke.

“Macadamia nut.”

You nod again, sharp. The mountains of your shoulders erode. “White chocolate?”

“Is there any other way to make them?”

Twilight looms. The neon signs of the main street hum to life. A warm glow pours into the mouth of the alley. Your edges hum with light in the gloam. He needs to get moving. Tonight has a tight schedule. He can’t spare a moment more, but lingering in this bright spot is all he wants. 

Hugo drowns the instinct and retreats further back into the alley, lets the chill of the shadows embrace him with a quick farewell spared to you. He’ll contact you again if he needs something. You know how to reach him.

When he glances back, you’re still there. Radiant, beaming. You wave. His heart squeezes. He forces himself to rime his ribs in indifference.

It melts quickly. The next time you had a drop for them, Hugo had picked it up himself. He shouldn’t have been surprised, in hindsight, but the bags of cookies waiting neatly atop the files you’d left behind made him pause. He opens one (no name tag in sight, tied with a simple lilac ribbon) and fishes out a cookie. White chocolate macadamia nut.

That was the tipping point. From then, he took notice of every little motion. Every quirk of your head, every barely contained laugh. It’s not obsession, not really - idle fascination, more like. You were an open book when he knew how to look, how to run his finger down your pages and crack open your cover.

The signs were everywhere. Honestly, Hugo is ashamed that he hadn't picked up on it sooner.

A gentleman wasn't supposed to pry into the particulars of other's bedroom preferences, but he had never been much of one to begin with – and this had dipped far past the point of mere speculation. You wanted to be good so desperately that it oozed from everything you did. He had mistaken it as a paltry grasp for control - managing everything around you, evaluating needs at any given time, fulfilling requests both spoken and unspoken.

He could compile a binder a foot thick of evidence of your inclinations - all of it bared willingly, your soft underbelly exposed to any who knew where to look, how to part the layers of your little façade. The more comfortable you became, the more your eagerness to please rose to the surface.

The final nail in your coffin came when Vivian had returned your gifts in kind.

She had shown Hugo the box of treats before you arrived, beaming at the assortment of chocolates. Truffles, chunks of fudge - all manner of delicacies nestled in their crinkly papers, procured from a local bakery. Her eyes had glimmered, the anticipation of your reaction turning her giddy. She'd snapped the lid shut just before he could pluck one up. Still sharp despite her excitement.

“They aren't for us,” Vivian chides, turning her nose up.

“One should always taste the food before serving it to an esteemed guest, don't you think?” He reaches again and Vivian turns her back to him, clutching the chocolates to her chest.

She tied a thick ribbon around the lid, fixing him with a pointed look as she searched for a place to stash the box away. Too slow - you knocked at the door just as she picked a hiding spot. Vivian jolted, nearly tossing the chocolates to the floor.

Hugo swept you inside, gentle press of his hand against the small of your back. You fell into his path easily. The little thrill that shot up your spine didn't escape his notice.  His hand lingered as he called for Vivian, his palm dragging along your back when he finally found it in him to pull away. That had bought her enough time, he thought, but her excitement had led her to simply hide the box behind her back.

"I have something for you," she declares, trying her very best to sound serious. She couldn't even wait for you to ask what it was before she produced the chocolates.

Your eyes soften. Your hand twitches, reaching for the box, but you resist the temptation and lay your palm flat against your chest. "For me? You didn’t have to do that.”

Vivian toddles over to you, a piece of fudge held between her thumb and forefinger. Even she knows that sometimes, you have to be dragged kicking and screaming into life’s little pleasures.

“Open!” She commands, hand reaching up to your lips.

Your mouth pops open obediently. Hugo's eyes linger, sharpen - the chocolate pressed to your tongue, your eyes focused on Vivian, lips still parted - waiting for the other half of a command.

It's not coming, not from her. He has to bite back the word from slipping past his lips. You blink, and anticipation of order clears. You close your mouth and savor the treat for what it is.

“So good. Did you make it?” You ask around a mouthful of fudge. 

Hugo drives his gaze away. To the backdrop of Vivian chattering happily about the confectionery, he formulates an approach. Neither of you can continue like this. For once, he’s grown tired of this dance - the fluid steps, weaving around each other, intentions clear and interwoven, your inclinations perfectly in rhythm with his own.

You pull his gaze back to you, a truffle offered up to him. Cherry bourbon, you think, hopeful smile at your lips.

It will have to be sooner rather than later, he decides, ducking his head and accepting the chocolate from your fingers.

It’s that same evening, after business has been handled and your journey home is too long, too arduous for you to leave for the night. Vivian had already made her exit hours earlier, busied herself with preparations for Mockingbird’s latest target and made herself scarce. The wind outside howls, rattling the windows - evidence that you chose correctly, that you were right where you belonged. 

Hugo took advantage of the circumstances; he bundled you in his own clothes, passing you a spare undershirt to sleep in. You’d rubbed at your arms, forced the warmth back into your skin and sheepishly requested one of his button-downs to wear over top. Just for a while, to warm yourself while you were chatting before bed.

Who was he to deny you? To deny himself? If you wanted to cover yourself head to toe in him, surround yourself with his scent, then he would be a fool to turn you down. You play this game just as well as he does. He helps you into his shirt - unnecessary, you assure him, yielding to every touch – and you shove the sleeves up in a bunch just to get him to chide you, to feel his hands on you again when he fixes your sleeves properly, rolls them neatly up to your elbows and taunts you: “I thought you were cold?”

Of course you were cold. That’s why you gravitated to his side when you settled onto the couch. The pull had become natural over the past months. You tuck into his side, cheek nuzzling the point of his shoulder. It’s tempting to let you be. You’ll fall asleep like this. It won’t take long. It never does.

He can't let you slip into that comfort tonight. Not if either of you want to escape this uncertainty, if you want to stop dancing the same dance every week. His hand smooths down your arm, shrugs you closer to him. The sigh the floats past your lips makes his stomach tighten and churn, thoughts sampling the noise for later, for when he pictures you beneath him.  Your eyes shut, legs drawn up on the cushion beside you.

Hugo's hand tucks beneath your arm, stroking your side with a feather-light touch. The puddle you had melted into reforms, a faint layer of frost over top your comfort. His fingers press beneath your shirt (his shirt, he reminds himself, a flare of pride warming his chest) to plunder your bare skin.

“I'm aware you have certain predispositions.” Hugo brings his other hand up to keep you close, fingers dancing along your collarbone. He drags a knuckle up the column of your throat. You bare it to him willingly. He turns your face from side to side, watches the way your eyes track him.

He knows that look. He’s seen it before when you looked over documents, reviewed statements and picked apart the lies between the lines. The walls have come up - not quite all the way. You’ve merely had time to draw out the sandbags, last line of defense against this coming flood. You're appraising him. Trying to figure out how you measure up - if he truly likes what he sees. If he's worth all this pliable, eager submission. 

You've already made your mind up. You know it. He knows it. But this is how the game is played. What you have to offer is not a reward that can be earned by checking off the right boxes - it's a gift to be given. He's been patient - subtle, even. (Or, as subtle as he gets.) He’s let you pretend that all of his affections are casual, that he touches everyone this way, let you second guess the words that have only ever been for you.

“You sure about that?”

“Very much so.” Hugo’s eyes trail down your form, drinking in every part of you. 

He’s right on the money. He knows he is. Those eyes are open to him now, no more feeble attempts to hide away.

He can see past the feigned indifference. The hesitance, the pall of wariness writ plain across your face. Hugo's sincerity was lost on you. It stung to see you spurn honest efforts at every turn, but he was nothing if not adaptable. If you couldn’t trust words, then he would resort to action. He would ease your mind the only way that he could.

“Come here.”

Hugo's pats a slender thigh. You arch a brow, unspoken really? twisting the corner of your mouth into a grin. Poke and prod all you like. He knows he hasn’t misjudged you. He expects your resistance, just as he expects that in the end, you will shuffle up to your knees and settle onto his lap.

You do, after a moment, after swallowing your denial. You hold your weight off of him, hover over him. As if you really think he’ll allow that. His hands brace on your hips and tug you flush with his lap.

Awkward. Stiff. You're sitting there like a statue, hands hanging by your side, as if you’ve never touched him - as if you’ve never laid your palm over his heart and fallen asleep to the assurance that it still beats for you. That won't do at all. He clicks his tongue. A touch to your waist; you bend against him. A guiding brush against your neck and you tuck your head beneath his chin. One more press to your hip, fitting you just right on his lap.

"Better," Hugo notes. He brushes your cheek with the backs of his fingers. You’re still stiff, still uncertain, but he can feel it melting from you again. His head dips to your ear, voice a whisper. “You've proven me right, you know.”

You're no brat; not really. He knows the difference between a brat and this reticence, so close to fear it’s almost indistinguishable. You want to be good so badly that it burns a hole in your chest. Every move you made, every anticipated need was in pursuit of usefulness and praise.

There was no need to work so hard for it, not from him. You would learn that with time. He lets you adjust, lets you get used to this closeness without the threat expectation.

Your hips shift against him. Hugo's breath hitches. He covers it quickly, twists the sound to a breathy laugh. He pulls his head back to watch you, and you crater closer to his chest, keep your head down and tucked against him. The short, shy little wiggles are off-beat and uncertain.

That won't do. If you're going to do something, you ought to do it right. He curls a hand into the plump of your hips and guides you to a steady rhythm, pushes past the shy little starts of your hips and turns the motion into a drag. Your hands fist in the sides of his shirt, finding purchase against his chest. You’re so painfully aware of your own body. Those little movements must have felt so noticeable, so large to you.

He keeps his hand folded over the point of your hip, urging you to shift and tilt. Too far, the angle all wrong for both of you - a swift tap to your ass corrects you, your breath catching in your throat. When you settle back how he directs, your heat is evident through the fabric of his slacks. Hugo moans. The sound drifts naturally from him. He rolls his hips, eager to show you how good this feels, how you make him stir.

“Lift your head,” Hugo murmurs, knuckle catching beneath your chin. “I want to see you.”

It takes a moment for you to drum up the courage to stop hiding against him. He allows it - but the moment it stretches past a moment, his shifts to grip your jaw, to insist. You don’t need too firm a touch; you’re so eager to comply, after all.

Pulling from his chest straightens your spine, drives your hips into his. His eyes flutter. The heat of your core against his dick makes him shudder. He presses his palm flat to the small of your back, makes sure you feel every bit of what you’ve done. It ripples down his body and into you, mirrored in the roll of your shoulders.  Your teeth catch your lip. All those pretty sounds, stifled. He'll fix that.

He presses two gloved fingers against your lips, tapping expectantly. Confusion clouds your eyes. He taps again, firmer. Hesitant, uncertain, you part your lips. 

“There you go,” he purrs, fingers pressing flat against your tongue. You wait for instruction, keep him held in your mouth, eyes wide and waiting “Suck.”

Your tongue massages along the seam of his fingers, pressing his digits toward the roof of your mouth. If you’re this eager about his gloved hand, he can only imagine the feel of your mouth around his cock.

The phantom sensation makes his cock stir, pulsing with each eager lick and suck. Warm, wet - the eyes that fluttered shut to take his fingers would widen as he slipped past your lips again and again, gazing up at him, delirious and cock-drunk. His thumb strokes your jaw. Just like that. In time, you'll be perfect for this; he’ll forge your confidence, have you pawing at him, pleading for a mouthful.

Your hips stutter when they pull flush with his bulge. You fall out of the rhythm he had lulled you into. Stumbling into sharp, staccato thrusts– even your tongue turns sloppy. Desperate, hitching, sucking at his fingers harder, you disbelief that you could have done this to him driving you forward, enshrining the feeling into your memory.

Hugo holds you firm against him, lets you feel the press of him against your pulsing core. One languid, controlled push of his hips against yours and you whimper around his fingers. His eyes narrow, flit to the plush of your lips. He wants - needs - to sink his teeth into them, to pry noise after noise from you until you’re a moaning mess in his lap, rutting and scrabbling at his belt, needing to feel him skin-to-skin. 

He can’t deny himself any longer. He pulls his fingers from your mouth and grips your jaw. Your head tilts to slot your mouth against his, too eager, too quick, teeth clacking. Hugo chuckles against your lips. His hand cups the base of your skull, fingers curling and tugging you back just enough to lick into your mouth.

It’s hungry and quick. His need for you pulses, his body a throb of pleasure. You’re so pliable underneath him, so eager to be taken.

He almost misses it - the way your hips have stalled, the way your kiss turns ravenous to sweet. It takes too long for it to click, for his touch to soften; he doesn’t know why or what has made you shift, but when he parts from your mouth (lips swollen, kiss-bitten and beautiful, every ounce of his restraint utilized when he brushes his thumb against your plump bottom lip) the heat has dissipated from your gaze.

His cock throbs, strains against his pants. It would be easy to keep going. You would make it so simple, so good for him. But he won’t. When he finally has you, it will be because you have begged for him.

Hugo strokes down your back. He presses his forehead against yours, lets your breath mix in the space between you. You wiggle your hips against him insistently. He hisses a breath through his teeth. The hands the pulled you close still you, firmer now than ever before.

“That’s enough for now, don’t you think?”

Rejection, hurt - he watches it all flicker across your face, keeps stroking you gently to smooth it away.

“You don’t want to?”

“I do,” he concedes, corners of his eyes creasing in amusement. He needs to be firm now more than ever, else you’ll think you can get away with anything. “Very much so. But I’ve said no.”

You're trying your very best not to pout. Poor thing. That prideful streak is harder to break than he thought. He files that look away for later, when he's fucking his fist to the thought of you, rutting into his sheets face down as if it could ever hope to compare. You can pout all you want - but until he hears a proper whine for him from your mouth, this is all you get. 

You shift back on his lap, drive distance between your bodies. His hand lingers on your jaw, fingers stroking as you pull away. A flicker of disappointment joins the lingering heat in his gut.

“There's no need to rush off.”

Hugo's hand encircles your wrist. His thumb trails along your pulse. You could break from his hold easily; he would let you slip away if it was what you wanted, even if it killed him.

 “What, you just wanna hang out?”

He snorts a laugh. You say it like it's impossible. Like this is a trick. Like he hasn’t spent months by your side with no expectation of physicality, like he hasn’t kept that door open for you, waiting for you to walk through it on your own.

“Is that so far-fetched?” Hugo tugs you gently back, suggestion more than action. “Come back here.”

Hugo can see the gears turning. You're piecing it together, struggling to reconcile lingering pleasure, freshly denied, with this new offer. You settle back against him warily, waiting for the other shoe to fall.

It never does. You rest against him. His cheek settles atop your head, eyes closing. His heart still pounds.

“You’re still hard,” you grumble. Adorable.

“Ignore it,” he whispers, a laugh bouncing across his words. He shushes you, turns his head to drop a kiss to the crown of your head. Gathering his arms around you, he hefts you up and shifts to lay flat along the couch, keeps you cradled against his chest.

Despite all your grousing about how impossible it is, you’re out within minutes of him stroking tenderly down your spine, murmuring sweet nothings to appease your over-conscious mind. Limbs heavy, body rising with deep breaths, he pulls a blanket over the both of you.

The wind outside abates; the noise of the city closes in around you. He tries to focus on your breathing, and the little noises you make as your dreams solidify.

Ignore it. Easy for him to say. He stares at the ceiling, hand resting underneath your shirt, still so hard that it aches. His jaw clenches. He should have had you lay any other way, should have found a way to excuse himself and take care of this before settling down with you. A rare misstep in his plan, a contingency he hadn’t thought to ensure. Hugo notes this for next time; leave an out for himself - five minutes to himself at most so he’s not throbbing, dick still pressed against you, unfulfilled.

It will be worth it in time. Having your everything, freely offered, is worth the torment.

[dearlenore]

PARTNER IN CRIME • S.REID

SUMMARY: Spencer Reid is your partner in crime—though the BAU might call you a liability. With powerful connections, effortless charm, and a knack for bending the rules just enough, you always get what you want. Spencer should know better than to get involved, but he trusts you more than he should. When a case tests that trust, he starts to wonder—has he been enabling you, or have you been pulling the strings all along?

PAIRING: rich!fem!reader x spencer

TAGS: reader is kinda mean, season2!spencer, reader buys & wears makeup, use of y/n, heavy flirting, criminal activity.., manipulation, use of my love, angel and spence, non established relationship between reader and spencer

a/n: incredibly rushed + editor is occupied for the foreseeable future</3

w/c: 1.1k

SPENCER’S PHONE BUZZED relentlessly on the table, the sharp vibration cutting through the quiet hum of the BAU’s workspace. He sighed, hurriedly drying his hands on a paper towel, only then noticing the excessive amount of hand sanitizer he’d used in his absentminded daze. As he reached for his phone, he became acutely aware of the team’s eyes on him.

He cleared his throat and answered, tucking the phone between his shoulder and chin.

“I bet you were thinking about me,” you purred, your voice dripping with amusement. You twirled a strand of hair lazily, lounging on the edge of your daybed as the golden morning sun spilled through your window.

“How’d you know?” Spencer murmured, his lips twitching into a faint smile before he caught himself. The response earned a raised brow from Morgan, while Emily exchanged a knowing glance with JJ.

“You’re gross,” you laughed, pushing yourself up from the bed and making your way toward your desk.

Spencer ignored the heat creeping up his neck. “Do you have what I asked for?” he asked, shifting his focus to the case board littered with evidence.

A pause. Then, teasingly, “Depends… you gotta ask nicely.”

Spencer exhaled sharply, glancing at his team as if hoping they weren’t listening too closely. No such luck—Morgan was already smirking.

“Please? Come on, you know I need your help angel,” he murmured, his voice dipping into something dangerously close to a whine.

You bit your lip, thoroughly enjoying the moment as you spun idly in your chair. “Mmm… how tempting,” you mused, dragging out the words just to make him squirm. “Fine.”

Spencer sighed in relief and, with a swift motion, put you on speaker. “What do you have?”

Before you could answer, Morgan raised an eyebrow. “Who is that, kid?” He teased, knowing the answer.

“Why does she talk to you like she’s your dom?” Emily added with a sly grin.

A sharp burst of laughter erupted from your end of the line, the sound echoing through the room.

Spencer groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. “That’s… not important.” He shot a glare at Emily, who only grinned wider. “Just tell them what you know.”

Despite the teasing, Spencer couldn’t help but smirk to himself. The team might have questions, but for now, the case—and you—were his only focus.

Alright, fun’s over—for now,” you said, your voice still tinged with laughter. The sound sent a familiar warmth through Spencer, though he masked it well.

Hotch, ever the professional, folded his arms. “What do you have for us?”

You hummed as if debating how much to reveal. “Well, first things first—I found your guy.” A few clicks echoed through the phone as you pulled up the information. “His name’s Alex Monroe. Mid-thirties, bounced between foster homes as a kid, started running with a crew out of Chicago in his late teens. Blah blah blah, your tech girl told you the boring stuff. What she doesn’t know is that he bought a lot of fun stuff, like drugs type of fun. Cash of course, and he left a motel a day ago which he also paid in cash.”

Spencer nodded, already scribbling notes, while Rossi leaned back in his chair. “That’s impressive. Almost too impressive,” he mused.

Derek smirked. “Yeah, real question is, how’d you get this information?”

“Do you really want me to answer that?” you shot back playfully.

“No,” Hotch and Spencer said in unison.

Emily chuckled, shaking her head. “Of course not.”

You exhaled dramatically. “Anyway, I was able to track his movements based on the— let me not lie I had someone find and follow him. He’s currently in Miami, I’ll send you the casino address. My guys have eyes on him now.”

JJ furrowed her brows. “You have someone stalking him?.”

“Yep. It’s almost like I’m good at this.”

Spencer could hear the grin in your voice, but before anyone could respond, you continued. “But before you run off to make the arrest, I have a small request.”

Hotch’s expression hardened slightly. “What kind of request?”

“Well…” you started, dragging out the word. “There’s this guy—Benji Carter. Low-level drug dealer, nothing too serious. Problem is, he owes me money, and I’d really like to see him in handcuffs. I’d like to see my 35K more but you know, beggars can’t be choosers.”

The room fell silent.

“You want us to arrest someone over your personal vendetta?” Rossi asked, rubbing his temple.

“Vendetta is such a strong word,” you mused. “I prefer financial justice.”

Spencer sighed. “Y/N…”

“Oh, come on,” you interrupted, tone light and coaxing. “I just gave you a literal criminal mastermind on a silver platter. All I’m asking is that you do what you do best—throw someone in jail. It’s not that outrageous.”

Morgan chuckled. “I hate that she makes a solid argument.”

Emily smirked. “It’s almost like she’s too good at this.”

Hotch exhaled sharply, clearly weighing the situation. “We’re not mercenaries, and we don’t operate on favors.”

“Of course not,” you replied smoothly. “But if Carter just so happened to be caught distributing in the wrong place at the wrong time, well… that wouldn’t be my fault, would it?”

Spencer pinched the bridge of his nose, but despite himself, he felt the corner of his mouth twitch. You were impossible.

JJ sighed. “What did he do to you, exactly?”

“Other than refusing to pay me back?” You scoffed. “He tried to sell to my high paying clients. And we really don’t like that, do we, Spence?”

Spencer groaned. “Stop making me complicit in this.”

Morgan let out a laugh. “You’ve been complicit for years, kid.”

Hotch looked at the team, then at Spencer, then back at the phone. “We’ll see what we can do.”

You let out a satisfied hum. “That’s all I ask. Pleasure doing business with you, BAU. Bye my love~”

With that, the line went dead.

Spencer ran a hand down his face as his team erupted into laughter.

“You really know how to pick ‘em, pretty boy,” Morgan teased, clapping him on the back.

Emily smirked. “You do realize we’re all going to be questioned by Internal Affairs one day because of her, right?”

Spencer exhaled. “I’m very aware.”

JJ shook her head, still amused. “And yet, you’re still going to see her tonight, aren’t you?”

Spencer hesitated before grabbing his coffee and muttering, “Let’s just go arrest Monroe.”

“Yep, he’s whipped alright…”

[goorgeousz]

work boundaries | aaron hotchner

after hours au

work boundaries | aaron hotchner

after hours au

pairing: aaron hotchner x female reader

summary: after sleeping with a random man you met at a bar and later finding out he was your unit chief, you have a very awkward meeting. pt 1 here.

content/tw: awkward conversation, bau!reader, sexual tension, bold!reader, reader is a flirt, use pf y/n (once)

word count: 0.8k

a/n: hey guys, thank you so much for all the feedbacks on my first post! You made me so happy I wanted to give you something. I’m so excited for this series, prepare for hotch to be longing #bringbackmanwhoyearns 

I hope you enjoy it :)

after hours masterlist

main masterlist

“Close the door on your way out, Garcia” Hotch, your unit chief — and the guy you spent last night with — said, an invitation for her to leave implied.

She nodded, understanding immediately and leaving his office, but not before winking excitedly at you.

“Agent…”

That’s when you started talking.

“Listen, I know what you’re going to say. What happened between us was crazy. Batshit. I had no idea you were THE A. Hotchner. I mean, I knew your name was Aaron Hotchner, obviously, just that the name I associated with you was just Hotchner. And last night you introduced yourself as Aaron, and besides some BAU interviews here and there, I’ve never given you a proper look. I’ve been on an undercover mission for the past two years and I couldn’t have any contact with police enforcement, as you probably read on my file…” your voice trailed off when you saw the confused look on his face “You weren’t going to talk about that… were you?”

He sighed “Let’s sit.” You followed his lead, sitting across from him at his desk. He sighed — again — and intertwined his fingers.  “I think it goes without saying that what happened last night has to stay between us. We crossed every possible professional boundary, with me being your direct superior, and I have no intention whatsoever of ever letting it happen again…”

“Wait” you interrupted “You don’t need to dump me” “I’m not dumping you.”

“Well it sure seems like it.”

“I’m just establishing work boundaries.”

“Unnecessarily. It’s not like I’m begging you to sleep with me again. I’m not.”

“I never said you were.” “The way you said it sounded like last night only happened because you let it. I let it happen too.” he frowned.

“So you want me to blame you?”

“No. I’m saying that we both wanted it and we both let it happen…”

“Agent,” he interrupted, “There’s no need for us to argue over this. We’re on the same page, it was a mistake that won’t happen again.” he arched an eyebrow “Right?”

“Exactly.” 

“Perfect.” 

“And we won’t tell anyone, obviously. I don’t need the team to think my boss is playing favorites with me just because we had crazy good sex.”

“YL/N” he scolded, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Sorry… Just trying to break the awkwardness.” 

“Please, don’t.” 

“Ok, sorry again.” he just nodded, deciding not to address it.

“Not that that’s cleared out.” he gave you a pointed look, silently warning you to not bring it up again “You have a really impressive resume.”

You had to bite your tongue to stop yourself from asking if he was flirting with you – as a joke, of course.

“Thank you, sir.” – great, now even being respectful sounded pornographic.

“Are you familiar with what we do here in the B.A.U?” “Yes. It was always a plan to join the team. That’s why I chose forensic psychology.” you shrugged, finally becoming more comfortable.

“I believe you’re going to be a great addition to this team.” you smiled “Now let’s get you to meet them.”

—

“Ok, now let’s address the elephant in the room.” Morgan said, sitting on the edge of his desk.

Later, after Hotch introduced you to the rest of the team, he gave you a tour of the building, showing you how everything works. While you were at it, Morgan, Penelope, JJ, Emily, Rossi and Reid sat together at the bullpen, mugs in hand and ready to debrief your arrival.

“Yes, please.” Emily yelped, spinning around on her chair to face the rest.

“What do you mean?” Reid asked, glancing up from his paperwork.

“Really? Little IQ 187 didn’t notice something weird between hotch and her?” JJ pointed at your new desk, across from Emily's.

“A lot of tension, indeed” Rossi chimed in quietly, not wanting to gossip about his friend.

“Sexual tension. A L-O-T” Emily spelled it out, dramatizing.

“Oh, that.” Spencer said “I don’t think it can be called elephant in the room. It’s pretty obvious. Quite literally written on their faces.” they all laughed.

“Do you think they’ve met before?” JJ asked, to anyone in particular.

“Oh, for sure. When I was there, it felt like something was wrong.” Garcia said.

“What exactly? Give us something, babygirl”

“I can’t point my finger at it. Something about the way he looked at her. Or it was her… I don’t know, you’re the profiler!”

“We’ll have to wait.” Rossi reflected.

“Ugh, my least favorite thing to do.” Garcia groaned.

The group suspiciously dissipated as soon as you and Hotch stepped into the room.

With a pointed look, he left you to settle on your desk and returned to his own office – closed door and all.

You could do this – you thought to yourself finally sitting down, the memories of him still too fresh on your mind and on your aching legs. But you were going to forget it. 

Eventually.

[bartonomy]

PUNCHES AND PRANKS

PAIRING James Potter x gn!reader

SYNOPSIS James disguises himself, gets punched and earns another addition to his embarrassment streak

CONTENT WARNING Hufflepuff slander I’m so sorry, Otto being another victim to the marauders’ bullying, injury, fluff!

WORD COUNT 3.0k words

library.

“You lot do realize this is a terrible idea, right?”

Remus, ever the reluctant voice of reason, crossed his arms as he stared at his three best friends. James, Sirius, and Peter were huddled around a small cauldron bubbling ominously in the corner of the boys’ dormitory. The potion inside smelled faintly of apricots and something vaguely musty, a sure sign that it was not brewed by a professional.

“Moony,” Sirius said with a dramatic sigh, slinging an arm over Remus’s shoulders. “You say that about every idea we have.”

“Because every idea you have is stupid.”

James, undeterred, grinned. “Innovative, Moons. Not stupid. There’s a difference.”

Peter nodded eagerly. “Yeah! This is groundbreaking! No one’s ever snuck into the Hufflepuff common room before!”

“Because no one wants to,” Remus deadpanned.

James scoffed. “That’s where you’re wrong, mate. The mystery! The secrecy! Have you ever met someone who’s been inside? Exactly. And besides, I heard they have enchanted sofas that give you hot chocolate when you sit on them.”

Sirius gasped in mock horror, nodding enthusiastically. “And you don’t think that’s worth breaking a few school rules for?”

Remus pinched the bridge of his nose. “You lot are acting as if it's a restricted section. You could, you know, ask a Hufflepuff if they could describe it for you or even invite you in, instead of breaking into it with the idiotic idea of yours.”

“How dare you tell us to talk to the skunks,” James corrected. “And we are disguising, not breaking in. Completely different.”

“You stole Polyjuice ingredients from Slughorn’s office.”

“Borrowed,” Peter mumbled.

Remus exhaled slowly. “I don’t know why I even bother.”

James patted him on the back. “Because you love us.”

Remus muttered something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like “debatable.”

The transformation process was disgusting.

James had barely choked down his portion before his body started twisting and stretching in ways that were definitely not natural. His bones grew longer, his hair lightened, and within moments, he was no longer James Potter, but Otto Bagman, a slightly taller, broader, and very irrelevant Hufflepuff.

Sirius, now transformed into some poor bloke named Edgar Bones, examined himself in the mirror with an approving nod. “Not bad.”

Peter wobbled on unsteady feet. “I think I’m gonna be sick.”

“Do not vomit on the carpet, Wormy,” James warned. “Old Minnie already thinks we’re heathens.”

Remus, who had wisely chosen to remain uninvolved, sighed from his bed. “I’ll start drafting the letter to your parents now, shall I?”

“Save the ink,” Sirius said cheerfully, clapping him on the back. “We’ll be back in two hours tops.”

That was, of course, a lie.

James was striding through the entrance hall, still trying to adjust to his temporary new form, when he saw you.

You, standing there in your usual spot in the corridor next to the Grear Hall, flipping through a book with a determined expression. You, looking ridiculously attractive in a way that made his heart do something very stupid and sentimental.

And he had an idea, an absolute brilliant idea. Would it get him into trouble? Most likely. Would it be worth it? Absolutely. Grinning to himself, he sauntered up to you, his Hufflepuff robes swishing around his way too long legs.

“Oi, darling, where are you off to in such a rush? Care to give me some company?”

Your entire body tensed. Firstly, because tou were just standing, in no rush at all, and secondly, because there was no way Otto Bagman had just tried to flirt with you. He did not talk like that. Otto spent most of his time complaining that the Hufflepuff common room was “too damp” and that badgers were “a deeply unfortunate mascot.” Otto Bagman’s idea of flirting was saying, You know, my brother plays for the Wimbourne Wasps, as if that was supposed to impress anyone. Well, moaning Myrtle would probably be giggling at the rubbish leaving his mouth, but on a second thought, she loved every walking being with a prick between their legs. You glanced over your shoulder, half expecting Sirius Black to be lurking in the shadows, laughing at some elaborate prank, but the corridor was empty.

You turned, blinking in mild confusion at the out of character Hufflepuff. “Pardon?”

James smirked. “Just thought I’d say you’re looking particularly stunning today.” He leaned against the wall opposite of you, tilting his head in what he assumed was an effortlessly cool manner, though he just looked absolutely ridiculous. “Fancy a walk, love?”

Otto-no, fake Otto, because you were 101% sure this wasn't real, and if it was, you were sure he was dating and snogging some Ravenclaw girl from your DADA class, and being seen hitting on you would cause another unnecessary scandal amongst the gossip-y students. The suspicious blonde pushed himself off the wall and took a step toward you. “No need to be so cold, sweetheart. Just thought I’d tell you you’re looking particularly stunning today.”

You were flabbergasted.

He had never addressed you as anything other than oi, can I borrow a quill? or hey, did you do the Potions homework? And now he called you love, darling, and sweetheart in the same conversation.

Otto Bagman, whom you barely knew, was trying to flirt with you.

“Not interested,” you deadpanned, stepping to the side.

But he effortlessly stepped with you, blocking your path. “C’mon, love, no need to make this so difficult.”

You narrowed your eyes. “It doesn’t matter. I’m taken.”

There was a flicker of something in his expression, surprise? Confusion? You didn’t know and quite frankly, didn’t care.

When he opened his mouth again, probably to say something equally idiotic, your eye twitched.

You stared at hard. He was expecting one of two reactions- either flustered stammering (ideal) or playful banter (acceptable). What he was not expecting was for you to square your shoulders, glare murderously, and yell at the top of your lungs:

“FOR GODRIC’S SAKE! I HAVE A BOYFRIEND, YOU ABSOLUTE SLUGGY PRAT!”

And then, without hesitation, you punched him in the face.

James had been hit with Bludgers before. He had been shoved off brooms, crashed into goalposts, and even tackled by Sirius during an overenthusiastic victory celebration.

But nothing, absolutely nothing, had prepared him for getting punched in the face by you.

Pain exploded across his nose. His head snapped backward, and for a split second, his vision blurred. He stumbled, his arms flailing wildly as he tried to regain his balance.

“Oh, bloody hell,” James groaned, voice nasally from the swelling.

But then he felt something shift inside of him.

Oh, no.

His body wobbled. His skin rippled. His bones twisted, stretching and reshaping in an absolute disgusting manner.

And then, suddenly, he was James Potter again. Bloodied, dazed, and standing in front of at least twenty horrified onlookers.

There was a beat of silence and you merely blinked twice.

He mirrored your blinking. “Oh,” James said dumbly.

Your mouth fell open in horror. “JAMES?!”

James managed a weak, bloody grin. “Er… surprise?” But his expression turned into a frown seconds later "Blimey, Bunny! What was that for!"

You stared at him, then at your own fist, then back at him. “Did I- did I just break my own boyfriend’s nose?” You shuddered

“Seems like it,” James croaked.

“And what—WHAT DO YOU MEAN WHAT WAS THAT FOR?!” you screeched. " YOU WERE OTTO BAGMAN TWO SECONDS AGO, JAMES!”

More students are gathering now, whispering, pointing. Someone gasps. Someone else mutters, “Is that blood?”

James presses his sleeve to his nose, glaring at it. “Yep. Definitely blood. Excellent.”

“Oh my God, you are such an idiot-”

A new voice cut through the chaos.

"Mr. Potter.”

The entire crowd froze. James knew that voice. That voice haunted his dreams. Slowly-painfully- he turned his head.

Professor McGonagall stood there, lips pursed, eyes cold in a way that suggested she was already contemplating his punishment. Her arms were crossed, lips pursed in that terrifyingly disappointed way that made even the bravest students wither. She surveyed the scene: the scattered crowd, James’s bloodied face, him in a Hufflepuff uniform that is clearly too big for him, and the fact that he had just transformed out of Polyjuice Potion in the middle of the Great Hall.

James turned an alarming shade of pale. “Oh. Oh, no.”

McGonagall looked at him again, the crowd, the blood dripping from James’s nose, and his unusual uniform. Her expression darkened.

“Mr. Potter,” she said, voice dangerously calm. “Would you care to explain why you were impersonating another student?”

James swallowed hard. “Not particularly.”

Her eyes narrowed.

James caved immediately. “We, uh, might have, sort of, kind of borrowed some Polyjuice Potion?”

McGonagall inhaled sharply. “Borrowed?”

James winced. “Okay, stole is the word you’re looking for, probably.”

McGonagall closed her eyes briefly, as if asking Merlin for patience and strength. “I assume,” she said, voice tight, “this was another brilliant scheme of you and your babbling, bumbling band of baboons?”

“…Possibly. But you see, Min- Professor! It was all part of Sirius' pl-”

McGonagall let out a long, exhausted sigh. “Detention, Mr. Potter. Every evening for the next two weeks.”

James groaned. “Oh, come on, it was just a—”

“Do not finish that sentence,” she warned.

He wisely shut up.

You, still reeling from the shock of everything, could do nothing but stare. Professor McGonagall finally turned her gaze to you. “Are you hurt?”

You glanced at James, then the group of second years behind him and then back at her, still out of it. “Only my dignity.”

James gasped. “I did nothing wrong!.”

"Three weeks now, Mr. Potter" McGonagall turned to you next. “And you, Miss L/N, while I do not condone violence, I must say your right hook is… rather impressive.”

You flushed. “Thank you, Professor.”

McGonagall fixed James with one last glare. “I trust this will be the last time I find you using illegal potions for idiotic purposes?”

James hesitated.

McGonagall’s nostrils flared.

James straightened. “Yes, Professor. Absolutely. Never again.”

“Good,” McGonagall said crisply. “Then I will see you at eight o’clock sharp for your first detention.”

She turned to leave, then paused, glancing back at James’s crooked nose.

“And do get that looked at, Potter,” she added dryly. “Merlin knows you’ll need a functional nose if you insist on spending half your time flirting.”

James grinned. “Don’t worry, Professor, my natural charm is unstoppable.”

McGonagall looked up at the ceiling, as if debating whether she was paid enough for this. She sighed deeply, rubbing her temples. “You are both dismissed. Get out of my sight before I decide to extend his detention to a month.”

You quickly grabbed James’s arm, dragging him away from the whispering crowd.

“You punched me,” James mumbled for the fiftieth time as you made your way to the Gryffindor common room, forgetting the fact that his nose is still very much broken.

“Yes,” you said through gritted teeth. “Because you were flirting with me as another person, you absolute idiot.”

James winced as he pressed a handkerchief against his bleeding nose. “In my defense-”

“No.”

“Fair.”

Your eye twitched. “Care to explain, without coming up with excuses, what the hell you were doing?”

James flinched and let out a long-suffering sigh. “Right, so… Sirius had this brilliant idea, as you heard—”

“Oh, of course Sirius was involved.”

“-that we should try sneaking into the Hufflepuff common room using Polyjuice Potion, because, you know, we’ve never done it before-”

“Let me guess. You picked Otto Bagman because nobody would care if he mysteriously disappeared for an hour?”

James hesitated. “…I mean. I wasn’t going to say it like that.”

You groaned. “James, you absolute menace.”

James gave you a pitiful look. “In my defense, it was going really well until you punched me in the face.” For which he only got a glare from you

And after a moment, he peeked up at you with wide, hopeful eyes. “You were absolutely wicked, by the way. It was so hot”

You exhaled sharply. “Shut up before I give you a broken jaw to match your nose.”

James grinned, and despite yourself, you gave him a small smile back.

Then, just as he was about to say another surely ridiculous thing, you smirked.

“You know,” you mused, “Sirius is never going to let you live this down.”

James’s grin vanished.

“Oh, no.”

“You what?” Sirius Black howls with laughter, clutching his sides. “You got decked by your own girlfriend?”

A few hours later, the three boys, you, and your still injured boyfriend were huddled around the fireplace in the common room, everyone taking great joy in James' misfortune and big blow to his already tarnished reputation.

James scowls. “It was a misunderstanding.”

Remus, struggling not to laugh, clears his throat. “A misunderstanding where you hit on her while disguised as another boy?”

James grumbles. “It sounded romantic in my head.”

Peter snorts. “Yeah, mate. Real romantic. Oi, love, let’s take a walk while I pretend to be someone else.”

Sirius wheezes. “Oh, Prongs, I will never let you live this down.”

James scowls at all of them, then turns to you, expression pleading. “Bunny, please fix my nose.”

You cross your arms. “Hmm. I could.”

He brightens.

“But,” you continue, “I could also let you suffer for a while.”

His face falls. “Bunny, I'm a dying man!”

“You hit on me as Otto Bagman out of all people, James.”

Sirius erupts into fresh laughter, his hair falling over his eyes as he clutched his stomach.

James groans "You broke it!"

“Serves you right.” You exhaled sharply.

James gave you a pitiful look. “You’re not even a little sorry?”

You crossed your arms. “Are you sorry for pretending to be Otto and flirting with me?”

James hesitated. “Okay, yeah. Maybe a little sorry.”

You rolled your eyes and stood up from the carpet. “Come on, let’s get you to the Hospital Wing before you pass out from blood loss, idiot.”

James grinned, following after you. “So, just to clarify- does this mean I’m still your boyfriend, or do I have to woo you all over again?”

You threw him a glare over your shoulder as he held a hand out for you at the exit. “That depends on how long it takes me to stop being angry.”

James pouted. “At least let me buy you a butterbeer to make up for it?”

You sighed. “Fine. But if you ever pull something like this again-”

“Got it, got it, you will hex me. No more Polyjuice-related flirting,” James said quickly. Then, winking, “Unless it’s you Polyjuiced as me, in which case—”

You shoved him and he laughed. You supposed you’d forgive him. Eventually. Maybe.

So,” Remus began, a bored expression in his eyes, “did you two ever actually make it into the Hufflepuff common room, or was that part of the plan just another failure?”

Sirius snickered. “We got very close, actually.”

“Until we heard someone getting scolded at by the Great hAll from some second year,” Peter added with a grin, eyeing the door where Hames stood just seconds ago.

Remus chuckled, shaking his head. “So, no Hufflepuff sofas and hot chocolate for you then?”

“Sadly, no,” Sirius said dramatically, flopping back onto the couch. “All we got was a front row seat to James’ humiliation.”

The wolf smirked. “Well, that’s something, at least.” He leaned back, crossing his arms. “I guess I’m just curious if the Hufflepuffs even noticed you trying to breaking in.”

Peter’s eyes widened. “Oh, they noticed alright. You should’ve seen their faces when we bolted.”

“Bet they were thrilled to see a Hufflepuff they didn’t even know sneaking around,” Remus teased, shaking his head.

“Next time,” Sirius grinned, “we’ll do it properly. With fewer broken noses.”

[cosmiclily]

can I request anything with caitlyn being protective or worrying over fem!reader? only if you feel like it! ty <3

professional

• caitlyn x f!reader

wc: 1.1k

notes: first time writing for cait VJHCGFUGVHGC let me know what you guys think !!

You knew falling for your boss was a terrible idea. The power imbalance, the risk of favoritism, the complications that came with workplace relationships—it was a mess waiting to happen. But when your boss was Caitlyn Kiramman, none of that seemed to matter. You would wade through every obstacle, endure every consequence, just for the chance to be with her.

Especially in moments like this—when you were injured on the job and had her all to yourself. Her usual calm demeanor cracked, replaced by a storm of emotions. Her brows were furrowed, lips pressed into a thin line, and that thick accent of hers slipped through as she tried to keep her frustration in check. Even when she was reprimanding you, she was captivating.

"What were you thinking?!" Caitlyn’s voice was sharp, teetering between concern and anger. She paced in front of you, arms crossed tightly over her chest, her jaw clenched as she struggled to maintain her composure. But you could see through it—the way her fingers trembled slightly, the way she kept stealing glances at your bandaged arm.

"You could have died, Y/N!" she snapped, her voice lowering slightly, but no less intense.

You offered a weak, sheepish smile. "But I didn’t."

"That’s not the point!" She exhaled sharply, pinching the bridge of her nose before stepping closer. "You can’t just throw yourself into danger like that. What if I wasn’t fast enough? What if—" She cut herself off, her voice faltering for the briefest moment before she straightened her posture.

There it was. The real reason behind her anger. It wasn’t just about you being reckless—it was about her almost losing you.

"Hey," you said softly, reaching out despite the lingering pain in your arm. Your fingers brushed against hers, a fleeting touch, but it was enough to make her look at you. Really look at you.

"I’m okay," you reassured her, tilting your head slightly. "You were there. You always are."

Caitlyn held your gaze for a long moment before sighing, her rigid stance softening ever so slightly. "You make it really difficult to stay mad at you, you know that?" she muttered.

You grinned. "It’s part of my charm."

She huffed, shaking her head, but when she finally reached out and gently cupped your uninjured hand in hers, you knew—despite everything—she wouldn’t let you go.

"Go home," she sighed, her thumb brushing lightly over your knuckles. "Get some rest. We can discuss your reckless behavior later."

Before you could protest, she leaned in, pressing a quick, fleeting kiss to your cheek. It was barely more than a whisper of warmth against your skin, but it sent your heart racing all the same. By the time you processed it, she was already pulling away, letting go of your hand.

"Commander—" one of her colleagues opened the door, but Caitlyn was already straightening her shoulders, her professional mask slipping back into place.

"That’s an order." she added, her tone firm, but her eyes lingered on you for just a second longer.

You swallowed hard, feeling the ghost of her lips still burning on your cheek. "Yes, ma'am" you murmured, forcing yourself to step back.

Later, when Caitlyn got home, your arm was feeling much better. The dull ache only made itself known when you tried to use more force than you should, but that didn’t stop Caitlyn from fussing over you.

She insisted on doing everything—making you tea, changing your bandages, even buttoning up your shirt when you struggled with your dominant hand out of commission. You protested, of course, but she silenced you with a pointed look, one that made it clear she wasn’t going to back down.

"Stop being so stubborn," she muttered, carefully unwrapping the old bandage from your hand. Her fingers were gentle, her touch featherlight as if she was afraid of hurting you. "You need to let yourself heal properly."

You sighed, watching her work. "I can take care of myself, you know."

"I know," she murmured, not looking up. "But I want to take care of you."

That shut you up.

She finished rewrapping your arm with the same level of care and precision she put into everything she did, then sat back, inspecting her work. Satisfied, she reached for the mug of tea she had made earlier, pressing it into your good hand.

"Drink," she instructed, tucking her legs beneath her as she settled beside you on the couch. "It’ll help you relax."

You took a slow sip, letting the warmth spread through you. "You don’t have to do all this, Cait."

She exhaled, shaking her head with a small, almost amused smile. "I know. But I want to."

There was something in her tone—something softer, something unguarded. You turned to look at her, and for once, she didn’t shy away.

"Today scared me," she admitted quietly, tracing absent patterns against the fabric of your sleeve. "I know what this job entails. I know the risks. But seeing you like that, knowing how close it was..." She trailed off, shaking her head. "I don’t want to lose you."

Your heart ached at the vulnerability in her voice. Without thinking, you reached out, threading your fingers through hers. She didn’t pull away.

"You won’t” you promised, squeezing her hand gently. "I’m not going anywhere."

Caitlyn exhaled a quiet laugh, shaking her head. "You can’t promise that."

"I can try."

She studied you for a long moment before leaning in, pressing her forehead against yours. "Just... be careful," she whispered. "For me."

You smiled, tilting your head just enough for your lips to brush against hers—soft, hesitant, a silent reassurance.

"For you” you murmured.

You knew falling for your boss was a terrible idea. But when she took care of you like this, when she looked at you like you were the most important thing in her world, damn, was it worth it.

Caitlyn sighed, her breath warm against your skin, her fingers still laced with yours. "You make it so difficult to stay professional." she muttered, half exasperated, half fond.

You smirked, tilting your head. "Oh? Is that a confession, Commander?"

She huffed, rolling her eyes, but the pink dusting her cheeks gave her away. "It’s a warning" she corrected. "Because if you keep making me worry like this, I might just have to start pulling you off field duty."

You chuckled. "And here I thought you liked having me around."

Caitlyn sighed again, this time with a small smile. "I do” she admitted, squeezing your hand. "More than I should."

The words sent a warmth through you that had nothing to do with the tea in your hands. You weren’t sure where this thing between you and Caitlyn was going, what lines had already been crossed, or which ones you’d cross next.

But as she leaned in, pressing one more soft, lingering kiss to your lips, you decided you didn’t really care.

──────────────────────

masterlist