#SOMEBODY KNOCK SOME SENSE INTO THAT MAN PLEASE

[timothyslucy]

far fetched closing scene prediction, but i hope rachel flags down tim before she leaves to pester him on why exactly he broke up with lucy.

[lovifie]

Hormones Pt.2 🧡

Enemies to lovers | Fluff | smut | 2400 words | Masterlist

Part 1 - Next Part

Simon's POV

Simon was excited you joined, really. Even if you were not officially part of the team, whenever the Captain would tell him you were joining for a mission he already liked the mission better. 

He loved to see the way you were around the Sergeants, the three of you being the same rank made it easier to get along; and after a couple of missions together the three of you were already close friends, almost sibling-like. 

With the Captain was different of course, but it was still great. You wouldn't make call the captain a muppet like you liked to call Gaz, but would still make fun of him calling him “old man”.

Laswell liked you the best, the usually stoic woman entered now the room beaming with a smile when you were tagging along, obviously pleased with the presence of another woman.

And Simon, him… well, he tried. He really did!

Simon is aware that he is a big guy, tall, muscular and even if he has any trail of sympathy on his face it doesn't matter because it is always covered. But he wanted to make a good impression! You seemed like a nice girl, everyone on the team liked you and finally, when it was his turn to introduce himself he saw you looking up to him.

And you looked so beautiful, so genuine, so out of place on such a cruel thing the military was, he felt his heart speed up and his dick twitch a little bit.

He needed to make a great impression, so he practised in his mind “Hi, I'm Lieutenant Riley, but everyone calls me Ghost, welcome aboard, Sergeant.” It was perfect! The perfect introduction, perfectly cordial, perfectly measured, perfect everything. And yet, when the moment come, the only thing he said was: “The fuck you looking at? Want a pat on the back for making it here without shitting yourself in the process? Get the fuck out of my face, go bother somebody else.”

Simon wanted to shoot himself on his dick.

He realized he had obviously intimidated you, he was still your superior and on top of that he was an asshole to you.

But every time he tried to fix it, he would just make it worse. And at some point, you started to avoid him, and he hated it. You no longer reported to him, you went straight to Price, right over him and for a while he was both annoyed and impressed he couldn’t catch you doing it so he could afront you and ask you to report to him. To talk to him, basically. 

And then he did, he was just getting out of Price's office when you were about to knock, and he quickly realized what was going on. And he was going to ask you why and to please go back to him, but the only thing he managed to say was:

“Now you are too great to speak to your immediate superior? Need to go cry to the Captain like a brat? Make sure not to wet your nappies, soldier.”

And honestly, what's his fucking problem? 

He decided he was going to get over you, it wouldn't work anyway. C’mon, he was an adult, he couldn't keep getting out of his senses like this. So he decided he would just ignore you back, and eventually, he would forget about you and everything would be easier. 

Until Soap caught up, and now he couldn't backtrack. 

It was during sparring training, you were against Gaz and the taller man had jet to land a hit on you. It was impressive to see, how you used every single fact to your advantage. Gaz has gotten hit before on the right side of his face, hurting his eye; and you weren't even there when it happened but you quickly realized it and we're constantly moving to the right side of Gaz; annoying him and making him lose his focus. 

You moved so fast out of Gaz's reach, that he would have thought you were a glitch in a video game. And once you realized Gaz was getting tired enough, you grabbed his arm on one of his punch tries and by the time Gaz realized you had grabbed him; he was already face-pressed against the floor, arms behind his back and you sitting on his hips.

Any normal person would have been impressed, maybe even a little afraid; but Simon? Simon was aching with a growing boner; something about the way you were sitting over the bigger man, you back to Simon which gave him a perfect view of your ass, the way you were breathing hard after the exercise, yeah, no wonder Soap caught on.

“Ye getting exited, LT.” He suddenly said beside him, almost making him jump. “Ye getting a thing for the wee lass? A bet ye wish ye were Gaz right now.”

“Shut the fuck up, Johnny” 

He didn't, of course. 

But he promised to help him.

And a couple of weeks later, there is another meeting. Supposedly, Soap has a plan; he won't tell him what is it, but he has it. And when Simon enters the room and it is boiling hot, he starts to guess what it is. 

You are sitting opposite to Johnny, who smiles at Simon with a thumbs-up. Not that he looks at him for long, not when you are sitting right on the other side of the table. Wearing a tank top, tight on your body as you use your hand to fan yourself; looking up to him through your lashes, the look travelling straight to his dick. He sighs and sits down, waiting for his turn. 

Simon cannot really understand how being boiled alive will help him with you, but is not like he can ask Johnny now. In the end, he's glad he let the sergeant do his thing; because the moment he stands to give his presentation he can feel your eyes on him.

He is trying really hard to stay focused, he knows by memory what he has to say, but the moment he lifts his eyes from the paper, his mind is blank and he stutters on his words. But how can he not?

Your skin is glistening with sweat and Simon can feel his mouth water because of it, little droplets drip down your neck and over the mount of your chest, light reflecting like on a mirror as your chest raises with each breath. He looks up your arm, finding your thumb between your teeth as you bite your nail; your soft lips pressing your finger, your pink tongue visible through the small space between your teeth and it sends Simon's mind in a turmoil as to what he would like to do with your mouth.

He shouldn't, he is at work and he is giving a damn presentation! He doesn't dare to look at Price, he is sure he is talking no sense at this point, but he can’t peel his eyes away from you when he can feel you look at him.

It is then that he looks at your eyes, and he swears he has never seen you look like that. You have a hunger in your eyes that causes a shiver up his back, you have a determination mixed with a desperation that has Simon weak on his knees and you are not even looking at his face. You are looking at his body, he unconsciously flexes the muscles you look at and when he sees you focus your eyes on your crotch he has the need to sigh, emptying his lungs to suppress a moan. 

He looks back at the paper, trying to remain focused as he figures out where the last line he read is. He doesn't find it, because suddenly Johnny is laughing at the top of his lungs after you show him something on your phone. He cannot see it from where he is standing, and he fights with all his might not to bend down to be able to see it.

He'll ask Johnny later, once he is done with the presentation and doesn't have to fight a boner back.

He does ask him later that same day, when he is in the sergeant’s barracks lying on his bed.

“I told ye it would work, Lt.” Soap says smiling from his desk. “She's into ye, mate. Ye just need to stop being weird.”

“I'm not weird.” Simon defends himself, being interrupted by a knock on the door. Gaz pokes his head in, entering once he sees they are both inside; he wonders for a second what he is doing here until he sees you walk in just behind him.

Gaz has a brick of beers in his hand, he winks at Simon and he quickly realises he is into whatever plan Soap has orchestrated. He whips his head to look at the mastermind and finds him sitting on the other bed in the room, Gaz quickly sitting beside him; leaving only half of the bed Simon is sitting at left for you to sit.

Soap and Gaz look at him with a shit-eating grin on their faces when he looks at them, the two little shits are physically making you sit next to him, almost skin-on-skin with how much space Simon takes. 

You POV

Fucking Soap.

Last fucking time you trust him with your secrets! When you left the meeting this morning, he tackled you to ask you about why you were ogling like that at the LT.

“Is not me, Soap. Is it my hormones.” You whine, trying to convince him to let it go.

“Yeah, yeah, sure. But you were drooling for HIM.” He says, accentuating it. “It hurts my pride, bonnie. We were all in the room, but ye only had eyes for him.”

“Soap, for god's sake. I looked at him for two seconds.” You argue.

“Two seconds for each ball, lass. I saw you, looking up and down his bod. Ye got a crush for the Lt, bonnie?” He asks, moving his eyebrows up and down. You look at him offended before rolling your eyes. “I'm not fifteen, Soap.”

“I know, lass. The way you were looking at him was not of a fifteen years old, you were thirsting for him. You were staring at his willy, lass.” He says cocking his head and smirking.

“No, I wasn't!” You lie, feeling embarrassed to admit something like that.

“Shoot your shot, lass. I'm pretty sure he has a thing for you too.” He says, putting his hand over your shoulder.

“Yeah, murderous thoughts.” You snort, not believing the scotsman.

He laughs at you and claps your back stepping aside. “Trust me, give it a try. Ye may not end up married, but I'm sure ye'll get your kitty pet.” He says before taking a step back and mimicking having sex doggy style making you cringe which causes him to laugh. “Come to my room later, we getting drunk.”

Simon shimmies his way a little to a side, and even though for a second you wonder about sitting at the desk, you decide it is not worth it. 

This man has been just a little asshole to you since you met, and now suddenly your fucking hormones have you wanting to peel his pants off and choke on his dick. It's not fair!

So you sit down next to him, your leg touching his. He keeps his hand on his lap, only raising his hand to catch the beers can Gaz throw at him. He catches them, opens one of them and hands them to you. You grab it and mutter a thank you, looking at him and noticing him looking at the other men in the room. 

Gaz and Soap quickly start to talk, filling the room with a comfortable sound and Ghost and you remain as mere spectators. 

The beers get drunk fast, a warm feeling flooding everyone's bodies and everyone kind of melting onto the beds. At some point, you notice Simon move and the next thing you feel is the heavy weight of his arm over your shoulder.

You tense for a second, looking up at him, finally making eye contact with him and he says: “Sorry, luv. My arm was getting numb, you don't mind, do you?”

You shake your head, unable to speak. Simon's eyes on you, feel like a truck lying on your chest, but still, you can't peel your eyes away.

He looks down at your lips and you unconsciously lick your lips, an almost unnoticed groan leaving his throat. He caresses your arm making you jump and you get goosebumps all over your body.

“You two should make out.” Soap suddenly says, making you both look at him like he just grew a second head. Ghost is not the only one that has gotten comfy; Gaz and Soap are currently cuddling, legs tangled and Soap's head resting on Gaz's chest. “Yeah, Ghost's about to bust a nut just for looking at you, bonnie.”

You whip your head back to look at his crotch, and for the milliseconds before he covers himself you can feel the protruding bulge of his boner trying to break free from his pants. 

The little horny monster on your brain is rattling at the bar of your enclosure, urging you to just throw at him. It's been too long since you got laid and Ghost it's obviously reciprocating your feelings.

Gaz starts to chuckle with Soap, your irrational mind tells you that if anything they are laughing at Ghost, but your brain only tells you that they are laughing at you. Because maybe Ghost has a boner, but you are looking up at him, opening and closing your mouth like a fish and overall looking like an idiot.

Ashamed of yourself you start to stand up from the bed. “I'm going to sleep.” You vaguely feel Ghost's hand on your wrist, not fast enough to keep you in. And you leave the room keeping their complaints about not wanting you to leave inside.

You practically run to your room, throwing yourself on your bed, tears pricking your eyes from humiliation. And you would have cried if a knock on your door didn't interrupted you.

“What?!”

“It's me, can I come in, love?”

[snailmail444]

ohhh, can you do hcs for what the sdv bachelors say during sex?

Bachelor Volume Headcannons

18+ 🌱 NSFW 🌱 MDNI

PART II of the double feature!!! Happy New Year lmao I hope you enjoy this filth 😈 shoutout to @hopefuloverfury who did a HOT bachelor volume headcannon list very recently that I ate UP. Check that out Here

Poll said post as you finish and I had this finished so here you are everyone. As always, MDNI, NSFW content under the cut.

Harvey-

💚 Kinda loud, tbh.

💚 I envision him as captain dad noise already, so I think during sex it carries over and he’s groaning and grunting these hot gravelly moans.

💚 Genuinely. I could go on about the sounds this man is sure to make. Because DAMN. Somebody get him into ASMR sex audios he’d make a fortune.

💚 Now that said I don’t see him as much of a dirty talker.

💚 It doesn’t come naturally to him. He’ll do a bit and try his best to appease you if you’re into it, and he’s definitely a person who could learn, but it’s never been easy for him and won’t be.

💚 Gets too in his head about if what he said was hot or if it was weird. Takes him out of it worrying that he’s taken you out of it. Which, relatable.

💚 But he does know through empirical evidence that his sex noises are hot, so he doesn’t hold back. Especially if you two are going at it rough, or you’re sucking him off, it’s obscene.

💚 Will praise you with that same sultry rasp, because that’s another thing he thinks is safely in the always-hot category.

💚 Such a good job baby, feels so good, etc. Can never go wrong.

💚 Loud to the point his voice cracks when he cums 😇

Elliott-

❤️ My hot take is that I think Elliott would say the filthiest things you’ve ever heard during sex.

❤️ HEAR ME OUT!!!

❤️ I just think that as a man who is incredibly well read he knows what’s hot. And he’s not afraid to say it, either.

❤️ Especially with some of those dime novels that are his guilty pleasure, he’s picked up a thing or two.

❤️ Of course it’s still in a very Elliott way, but he’s a dirty talk king.

❤️ He’ll be worshiping your body while he details everything he wants to do to you. How he’s going to mark you with hickies where everybody can see that you’re his, how hard he’s going to ravage you with his cock, how many times he’s going to make you cum, etc.

❤️ Matches it with equal praise and romantic lines, too. It’s all about balance, and he wants to fuck you like a beast while still reminding you that you’re precious to him.

❤️ Grunts and huffs and moans, but not a lot unless he’s right about to cum. Man’s got more important uses for his mouth!!

❤️ Kind of irrelevant, but I see him as the type to passionately fuck you against the door to his cabin or overtop his writing desk or deep into the mattress. It’s not often that the furniture isn’t creaking and knocking in time to his thrusts.

Alex-

🤎 Okay so another hot take. But I think Alex is secretly incredibly shy and romantic.

🤎 Empirical evidence includes: his heart events imply that he puts on the machismo front as a defense mechanism, and he was raised by the most lovey-dovey old people you’ve ever seen.

🤎 SO. I think he would be very sweet in the way he talks in bed.

🤎 Lots of softness and nerves, but he’s still kinda noisy.

🤎 Tries to muffle himself because he’s embarrassed about making too much noise, but he can’t help it.

🤎 He’ll be about to tell you how good you’re doing, how much he loves it, and his words will warp off into a whimper because it’s too much.

🤎 I feel very strongly that he is a whimperer. I’m sorry. It makes sense.

🤎 Especially with his insane physical endurance he ends up overstimulating himself because he can’t get enough.

🤎 Like he can go a third round, sure, but he’s overstimulated and his voice is cracking and his cheeks are bright pink with exertion.

🤎 Lowkey he’d love it though I mean let’s be real. Let’s be so real. He wants to come until he’s crying. And he will.

🤎 Please don’t come for me abt this it’s just my take.

Shane-

💙 The curse words. The curse words.

💙 Listen. This man is already somebody who swears a lot so in bed? He’s letting FLY.

💙 Fuck that’s so good, you’re so goddamn tight, holy shit that’s hot, et cetera.

💙 Not much for moans but he does grunt so like. Same difference?

💙 Like it’s not that he’s stifling himself he just grunts and groans and swears instead of moans

💙 No whimpering I’m afraid 😔

💙 But he makes UP in dirty talk good lord.

💙Since he’s not a mean person just prickly from his defenses he’s well practiced in being mean even when he’s not.

💙 So ladies gentlemen and those of us that know better, we’ve got the makings of the PERFECT mean dom

💙 Dirty little slut, you’re so fuckin’ pathetic for it, beg on your knees just for the privilege, I could Go On.

💙 Only like that if you want it of course, but like with his gravelly sex voice asking if you think you’ve earned the right to cum yet? Somebody take me AWAY.

💙 Cums with a bit of a yell.

Sam-

🩷 It’s been said before I know.

🩷 But I must also agree. Sam is the loudest in bed. Far and away.

🩷 Good LUCK getting him to shut up honestly, between his whines and whimpers and moans he’s either apologizing for his lack of control or thanking you profusely for letting him hit.

🩷 Because Sam genuinely can’t control himself when he’s fucking half his vocabulary consists of sorry. He wanted to do it slow and sweet, but fuck, you’re so hot and tight around his cock he’s pounding you instead and he’s really sorry but he just can’t help himself.

🩷 I don’t see him swearing much tbh, not unless he’s completely fuck drunk. If he’s not babbling some pseudo-polite good boy nonsense, he’s whining. Maybe the stray shit or fuck, but not to excess.

🩷 Also throws in a ton of compliments. You’re so hot, you feel so good, you sound so beautiful, and so on. I just see him as an open complimenter, and when his mental circuit board is on overload he’s unable to stop himself.

🩷 Gag this man. Do it. I dare you.

🩷 He’ll be moaning and whimpering and drooling all around the gag, his eyebrows drawn up and in, eyes pleading for you to let him moan properly.

🩷 The most pathetic man you’ve ever seen and all because he can’t whine for you. God somebody just take me away, lock me up.

Sebastian-

🖤 King of being amused by how turned on you are.

🖤 He’s chuckling, huffing, asking incredulous rhetorical questions like “yeah? Already?”

🖤 I could see him falling hard and fast, so he’s probably using his dry sense of humor to hide how fucking gone he already is.

🖤 Because emotional vulnerability isn’t his thing so it gives him some distance while still allowing him to enjoy how fucking hot and adorable everything you do is.

🖤 As far as his own sounds, though, he’s not moaning or whining a whole lot.

🖤 He does whisper a lot of swear words, and he’s HEAVY on the panting, as a consolation prize.

🖤 Dirty talk gets a little spicy with him just because he lives to tease. He’s not the heaviest dirty talker even on this list, but he can definitely turn up the heat.

🖤 Lowkey I can see him being a hand holder because he can’t help himself. He can only keep his affections at bay so much.

🖤 And I bring that up only because he’d lose his breath the moment your fingers twined with his and reward you with a soft, stuttering moan.

🖤 Definitely bites you to keep from making noise when he comes. He’d probably end up whining if he didn’t.

[lordsukunas]

jjk men & you: nail appointment!

tldr: gojo, geto, nanami, ino, choso, toji, sukuna + mahito going with you to your nail appointment.

cw: fem!reader. sukuna refers to reader as ‘woman’ once. and mahito.

a/n: this was fun lowk. might do it for jjk boys, depends on my motivation. idk if mahito particularly counts as a man, but he’s here for my mootie. time to sleep now, enjoy!!!

✿ — gojo:

first things first, he’s paying for your nails. which sounds like a good thing, until you realize he’s insisting on going along with you. he’ll pester you the entire time, suggesting colors and styles (how does he know so much?!) and then doing anything to get you to laugh or look at him. sometimes it results in your nail tech getting a little lot frustrated because he keeps making you squirm. eventually, tho, he’ll stop and let the tech finish up your nails.

���they’re cute. would’ve been cuter if you let me pick, buuuut... still cute.”

✿ — ino:

he’ll flex his knowledge about nails like it’s something revolutionary or suggest a style that he swears is completely unique, only for you to correct him and realize that it’s really just basic information. he’ll spend the rest of the appointment scrolling through pinterest and instagram, trying to find inspo for your next set.

“ooh, baby, look. these are nice, right?”

✿ — nanami:

only pays if you want him to, and only goes if you want him to. is content to let you pick whatever style you want, but likes to pick out bold colors and suggest designs based on your interests or adding charms. always tips the tech, and once your nails are done, he gently grabs your hand and kisses the back of it.

“these suit you perfectly, my lady.”

✿ — geto:

at first, he is nawt going in there. unless you find a sorcerer nail tech, he’s going to be slick the entire time. he’ll side-eye everyone else getting their nails done, judge their taste (“why would she choose that shit-brown?”), and stand up the entire time. he doesn’t want the germs. once you’re done, he’s pulling you out of there as quickly as possible.

“here, take this. ... yes, it’s hand sanitizer. you don’t want those monkey germs, right?”

✿ — toji:

only goes because you told him if he tagged along, you’d pay. in reality, he was going to go all along, just to make sure nobody tries anything. he will slap the shit outta somebody, including your nail tech. sits in a tiny chair by your side, massive head resting on your shoulder and arms crossed, absolutely knocked out. he’ll only wake up if you shrug your shoulder or if the appointment ends (he has some kind of sixth sense for that shit).

“huh? ... nah, i ain’t sleep. you cute, now c’mon.”

✿ — choso:

kind of like gojo, clingy asf. he won’t make suggestions (bro has no idea, pls bear w/ him), but he’ll praise any and every decision you make. his arms will be wrapped around your waist the entire time, earning him lots of ‘awhss’ and ‘look at them! so cute.’ tips the nail tech for “making you extra gorgeous.” his words, not mine.

“you look good, i swear. i like the colors, and the shape, and the design, and your hands...”

✿ — sukuna:

has a personal nail tech. you think he maintains them black nails by himself? no. threatens his nail tech to do good on your nails, otherwise it’ll be the last set they ever do. makes minor suggestions, but is content to sit back and let you decide for yourself. he does have a preference color, though, either black, red, or dark purple. gets a weird urge to nibble your fingers once your nails are done. please don’t ask why.

“hm? you look fine, woman. nothing rivals your natural beauty, so quit ya whining.”

✿ — higuruma:

he’s awake for the entire prep process. watching you pick your colors, decide on a design, get settled in the chair. the second the nail tech actually gets to work, though, he’s tapped out. just like toji, he’s sitting in a chair beside you, head either resting in your lap or on your shoulder. if he could sit across from you, his head would be on your chest. only wakes up when it’s time to pay (he tips!) or if something goes wrong.

“... mm? oh, those are nice, sunshine. i like the little designs, very cute.”

✿ — mahito ..?:

a lil shit the entire time istg. doesn’t care what you pick, will poke and squish and pinch and nuzzle you the whole process, annoying both you and the tech. considers getting his done to match yours, but realizes he could probably just morph the shape of his soul instead of sitting there.

“those are, like, so cute! ... no? you don’t like my valley girl accent?”

[sitp-recs]

Hi! :)

Could you please do a funny/witty/bantery rec list?

Looking more so for writing tone, but dialogue would ofc also be okay!

Thank you so much x

Hi there! I have a reclist for witty!Draco, but here are some witty fics I really love. They are such fun reads I remember exactly which scenes made me laugh out loud. In terms of writing tone, 4 authors whose sense of humor always hit the mark for me are astolat, shiftylinguini, blamebrampton and iota. Enjoy!

Tense by Faith Wood (E, 3k)

Harry and Draco have sex. Very, very slowly. Seriously, this is, like, 3K of penetration.

Never Gonna Give You Up by InnerLilith (E, 5k)

Five times Harry rickrolls Draco and one time Draco gets him back.

Game On by @pennygalleon (T, 5k)

Draco blows Harry a kiss and the press goes nuts. Harry suggests they use this to their advantage.

Matched Set by astolat (E, 6k)

“No one asked you to look, did they?” Draco said, eyes glittering and intent on Harry’s face—like he’d just wiped off the years and turned back in time to when their greatest ambition in life had been to knock the other off his broom in front of the school and grab the Snitch first, before they’d both gone to war and come back with scars.

Up The by @shiftylinguini (E, 7k)

“I feel I need to point out,” Draco kissed gently over Harry’s Adam’s apple, “that this is the most Gryffindor approach to conception that could possibly exist.”

draco malfoy's substitute murder service by @oknowkiss (E, 10k)

When Harry joins the Curse Breakers shortly after his twenty-fifth birthday, he’s surprised to find himself assigned to the Department of Creatures, Cryptids, and Associated Calamities.

The Loathly Worm by Selden (E, 12k)

When Draco Malfoy is forced to go undercover among the remaining Death Eaters in the aftermath of the war, the last person he expects to find there is Harry Potter.

Party of Two by fireflavored (E, 13k)

Drinking, sex, and a total misreading of the concept of fuck buddies.

keep it down, orphaned (E, 13k)

Malfoy’s an inconsiderately loud roommate and Harry’s over it.

An Act of Kindness for One Harry Potter by a Sympathetic Draco Malfoy by 0idontknow0 (E, 15k)

As Draco leaned on the wall to wait for them to get dressed, he could not help feeling like he had done a very kind thing by disrupting them. Someone should give Potter a better rogering than that sorry sod had. The man had saved the bloody world—okay, mostly Europe—the least someone could do was give him a proper shag.

Stupid Love by @the-sinking-ship (E, 17k)

Harry Potter, how does Draco Malfoy hate thee? Let me count the ways.

Heartlines by @sorrybutblog (T, 22k)

Just as Draco Malfoy's life seems to be getting back on track, the magic at Malfoy Manor is spinning out of control. Auror partners Harry Potter and Angelina Johnson are assigned to the case and quickly find that nothing about the situation is obvious. The flare ups are unpredictable at best, downright dangerous at worst, and why has a Hogwarts first year gone missing at the same time?

Little Red Courgette by blamebrampton (T, 31k)

When this season's purple courgettes are woefully thin, Draco Malfoy thinks it amounts to small beans. Next thing he knows, the Department of Standards is over-run with leeks, Brussels sprouts all sorts of legislative difficulties, and somebody appears to have put a roquette under Harry Potter. Can Draco seize a marrow victory? Or will his plans for peas be squashed?

Clouds That Veil the Midnight Moon by @drarrytrash (E, 36k)

According to Harry’s personal narrative regarding the incident, he’d hooked up with Draco Malfoy for purely self-destructive reasons, or out of convenience, or by some unlucky accident. Looking at him, sprawled in the moonlight, Harry is devastated to recall that he’d hooked up with Draco Malfoy because he’s hot.

Bite Me, Hate Memes by pir8fancier (E, 44k)

Draco Malfoy is incensed to realize that someone is trying to usurp his position as the premier Harry Potter hater.

Rookie Moves by peu_a_peu (E, 75k)

Aurors Potter and Malfoy crack the case.

The Liars Department by @dorthyanndrarry (T, 103k)

This is a story about Harry meeting up with Draco Malfoy four years after the war. And a story about Harry, well, not hating his job per say, but it's not like he has much to compare it to and it seemed fine. His whole life seemed fine. Then Malfoy came along with and his flashy suits and fast car making everything seem dull in comparison, and Harry... Harry couldn't just leave well enough alone.

[little-diable]

The Devil is Among Us - Tom Riddle (smut)

I just love writing priest!Riddle, he's def my fave. Nevertheless, remember: Don't like it, don't read it. Please like and reblog if you enjoyed reading this, your comments keep us writers motivated! Enjoy my loves. xxx

Summary: The reader is in a desperate need, asking the Devil himself to help her with the daily struggles she keeps on facing. But what will she do when suddenly her local priest turns up?

Warnings: 18+, smut, unrpotected piv, blowjob, loss of virginity, praise kink, sex in a church, mentions blood, power play, religious connotations, biblical beings

Pairing: Priest/Devil!Tom Riddle x fem!reader (3k words)

header by @deathofpeaceofmind

The candles danced in the thick blanket of darkness surrounding (y/n), knees pressed to the ground, hands tightly gripping the leatherbound book she was reading. No sound could be heard, nothing but a bone-chilling silence that made goosebumps rise on her skin, unsure if she should keep on doing this. 

For a moment (y/n)’s eyes flickered up from the page she was reading, studying the pentagram she had drawn on the ground, following every step of the ritual. Her heart was pounding, roaring in her chest in hopes of ripping her away from this scene before she could take the last step. But she was determined, set on following through with the ritual she had been studying for nights on end.

With a deep breath sucked into her lungs, (y/n) reached for the knife laying next to her, trembling hand pushing it closer to the candles. She watched the reflection of the flames dance in the shiny blade, heating up the material before she brought the blade back to her wrist. A hiss rolled off her tongue as she cut her skin, collecting drops of her blood in the old goblet she had thrifted weeks ago. 

The first words began to roll off her tongue, latin words she knew by heart, forcing them into her brain. Her eyes fluttered close as (y/n) rose to her feet, positioning herself in the middle of the pentagram, letting the blood drip down onto the candles, while she kept speaking the words. 

Her body couldn’t stop trembling, sensing the danger before her mind could pick up on it, but (y/n) couldn’t stop now, not after waiting for this very night to come upon her for weeks. She had prepared everything, carefully, not daring to tell anybody about what she was doing, trying to summon the Devil, the one that could help free her from the mess she found herself stuck in. All she needed was some of his help, ripping those from (y/n) that talked down on her, that pushed her away from gatherings, treating her like an outcast. 

As soon as the last word was spoken, the goblet fell from her hands, clashing to the ground with a sound so shrill, (y/n) couldn’t help but jerk in surprise. She held still, kept her mouth shut, waiting for something to happen, anything, and yet nothing did. Seconds kept fading by, seconds turning into one minute, then two, then three – till the first wave of defeat began to flush through her. 

With a sigh leaving her (y/n) found herself groaning, rubbing her eyes in exhaustion, wondering what she had done wrong. But before another sound of hers could echo through the dark basement, the sound of somebody slowly clapping their hands filled the room, making her eyes snap towards the dark corner across from her. The sound of chuckles rang in her ears, eyes desperately trying to focus on the person hiding away from her. 

“I have to say, (y/n), I’m impressed.” A familiar voice filled the basement, and yet (y/n) couldn’t pinpoint where she knew the male voice from. Fear filled her body, thumping through her veins as she began to take a step back, almost knocking over the candles. “What? First you summon me, and now you’re afraid of me? C’mon, (y/n), I expected better from you.”

The sound of a chair being pushed back left her gasping, boots meeting the cold ground till the man’s frame was exposed to her. Her eyes met an all too familiar pair of pupils staring at her, making her gasp in surprise.

“Priest Riddle? What are you doing here? How did you –” the sound of laughter once again interrupted (y/n), forcing the young woman to keep quiet. The man kept walking closer, till he came to halt in front of her trembling frame, staring down on her with a smirk tugging on his lips. He picked the goblet up, thumb collecting a few last drops of her blood before he pressed his now red digit against her parted lips. 

“So naive, so stupid, don’t disappoint me, (y/n). You know why I’m here.” Shaky breaths left her, shaking her head as if she was trying to wake from this nightmare. It couldn’t be, it couldn’t be. 

“You’re a priest, how – how could you possibly be Him?” It was nothing but a whisper, a sound so quiet even her own two ears struggled to pick up on it. He tilted his head, didn’t break eye contact once as his hand began to move down her throat, finding its way to her chest. (Y/n) felt her heart skipping beats, a power so strong was pressing down on the strong muscle, she failed to keep on breathing. 

“Haven’t you heard? I like to keep those close who fear me, I enjoy their whimpers, how they ache for guidance because they fear ending up in my claws. It's pathetic.” Only as he pulled his hand away did she manage to suck another breath into her lungs, glassy eyes searching his firey ones. “You asked me here, because you want something from me. Speak freely, (y/n).”

“I,” she stumbled over her words, no longer able to remember why she had tried to call the Devil himself, no longer remembering the pain she was forced to endure day in, night out. Her eyes couldn’t leave his features, the smirk that had an awfully unfamiliar touch to it, not fitting the face of the priest she had known for years. “Do you remember what I told you last month? In the confessionary?” 

“I do, of course I do.” The softness of his voice left her heart roaring, torn between her fear and her curiosity, body moving closer before her mind could pick up on the movement. His eyes followed her around, like a moth drawn to a flame, like a sinner drawn to the Devil, a perfect match. 

“I want it all to stop, the rumours, the pain, everything.” A hum left the tall man, he pondered over her words, eyes flickering down to her fingers, watching her fumble with the fabric of her blouse. His cold hand found her chin, forcing her eyes back to meet his, the pupils that have seen more pain than one could even begin to understand. 

“You know it’ll come with a price, don’t you?” Her pupils grew wide once again, clearly (y/n) hadn’t thought about the price she’d have to pay, wondering what he may ask of her. 

“Do I have to sell my soul to you?” The words leaving her lips in nothing but a whisper left the man chuckling, head thrown back to release the sound. He shook his head, clicking his tongue as if he was trying to keep her frozen to the spot, not daring to let go of her warm skin just yet. 

“Whoever told you that clearly wanted to frighten you, sweet (y/n). No, I don’t want your soul, but your body. Give yourself to me, and I will follow your request.” She choked on her breath, unable to rip herself free as he tightened his grip even further. Her heart once again picked up its pounding pace, roaring in her chest, begging (y/n) to pull back. No man had ever touched her, not one man had been able to reach for her heart nor her soul, hidden from greedy eyes and greedy fingers. 

“Can I think about it?” He shook his head, wordlessly circling her in even further, forcing (y/n) to make her decision right there, right then. “Okay. I will do it.”

“Good girl,” the praise left her shuddering, straightening her back as goosebumps rose on her skin. All he could do was laugh, watching her body tense at his words, very well aware that he’ll have his fun with (y/n), the one he had been watching from afar, expecting this very day to roll upon them. “I’ll expect to see you tomorrow for my morning service, (y/n).”

And with a nod thrown his way, (y/n) watched him disappear in front of her wide eyes, leaving her to wonder if this had been a dream, a trick of her brain. 

……

With her eyes set on the tall man, (y/n) followed the others, walking closer and closer to receive the body of Christ. Her heart was pounding, wondering if he’d say something to her, if he’d tease her once again. Just the mere thought about what she had experienced yesterday evening left her feeling uneasy, thighs trembling. 

“Open your mouth, (y/n).” The command forced a sigh from her, lips slowly parting to expose her tongue to him. Without breaking eye contact he pushed the host down on the strong muscle, making him smirk as he watched her pupils dilate. With a nod thrown her way, he allowed her to turn back to the waiting crowd, none of them seemed to pick up on the shudders his touch shot down her spine, none of them seemed to pick up on the way her skin grew hotter with every passing second. 

The Devil had her trapped, caught in a dark web of lies, of pretending, a web she couldn’t break from. 

No longer could (y/n) spare any attention to the end of the service, hanging onto his every word without picking up on what he was actually speaking, imagination running wild, forcing sinful pictures into her mind. She could only guess that he’d be ruthless with her, he will take what he is aching for – that much she was sure of. 

Only as he ended the service with one last “Amen” leaving him did (y/n) snap out of her trance, eyes watching the others pour out of the church, while she stayed seated. He leaned back against the altar, arms crossed in front of his chest as he wordlessly forced her to walk towards him, almost stumbling over her feet as the pull inside her grew stronger and stronger. 

“Kneel.” The word echoed through the empty church, making her eyes snap up to meet his as (y/n) fell to her knees in front of him. She watched him loosen his white collar, plastic placed down on the altar before he began to roll up the sleeves of his black dress shirt. “Will you stick to your promise, sweet (y/n)?”

“I will.” Her whisper left him smirking once again, eyebrows raised as he waited for her to keep on speaking. “I will give myself to you. But how will I know that I can trust you? You’re fooling those around you, all of it is blasphemy, is it not?” 

The man’s deep laughter rumbled through him, shaking his head as he reached for her jaw just like he had done yesterday evening. His thumb was forced into her mouth, pressing down on her tongue to make (y/n) suck on the finger, drawing a raspy groan from him. “You’ve always been my favourite, (y/n). I knew you’d be good, such a good girl for me. A deal is a deal, I won’t back out, you have my word.” 

Trusting the word of the Devil, how pathetic, how naive of her. 

“What should I call you?” Her whispered question was left unanswered, drowned out by the sound of him undoing his trousers, exposing his throbbing cock to her curious eyes. She stared at him without moving, unable to speak another word, mouth growing dry, throat growing tight. She had never seen a man naked before, had never even dared to imagine what she was seeing now, and yet (y/n) couldn’t stop the anticipation from thumbing through her veins, making her tremble for more.  

“Part those pretty lips for me, darling.” He pushed his cock past her lips, leaving her to instantly choke. Water filled her pupils, blurring her sight for a moment. The man didn’t hold back, his hand found the back of her head, forcing her to pick up a bobbing motion. Without seeking any further guidance her hands moved up his thighs, grasping his cock. 

It took her a few tries to adjust, but (y/n) was determined, set on pleasing the man who’d help her out, the being with a soul so dark, her mind couldn’t even begin to understand what he was capable of. Her hands trembled, struggling to move in sync with the speed of her bobbing motion, taking him deeper and deeper. He was a groaning mess, producing sounds that left her cunt begging for his attention, needing to be touched like she had never been touched before. 

“Mhm, I should keep you, make you mine for eternity. I know you’d do well serving me.” (Y/n) could only whimper around him, not expecting him to jerk his hips, fucking her mouth without a warning rolling off his tongue. Spit dripped from her mouth, strings of saliva connected her lips to the tip of his cock as he allowed her to pull away, catching her breath as her hands kept moving. “Fuck, look at you, so oblivious, so naive, and yet your hands know how to touch me.”

An unfamiliar sense of pride flushed through her, taking him into her mouth once again. (Y/n) was eager, set on proving her worth to the king of darkness, the one all sinners followed through the darkest night. She was his, had sold her soul without knowing so, and yet (y/n) felt protected, safe, and appreciated by him. A trick of his mind that forced her to do whatever he asked of her. 

“Tell me, are you ready to take me?” The question left her swallowing, unable to reply, not knowing what was awaiting her. He didn’t give her any time to ponder on the question, pulled away from her to pick her up, setting her down on the cold altar. Her gasps rang in their ears, making him chuckle with a dark expression tugging on his features. There was no way out, she was stuck, forced to the being without any chance to snap the unbreakable bond. 

He spread her legs, hands disappearing underneath her skirt, feeling the damp fabric of her panties. She didn’t dare speak, didn’t dare move, wondering what would happen, how he’d touch her, how he’d make her feel. Her heart was pounding, mind racing, paying attention to his every touch. 

“You’re soaked, dripping for me, so inexperienced, but your body knows just what it wants, doesn’t it?” (Y/n) could only nod her head, allowing him to pull her panties down her legs, making the cold air hit her warm skin. A moan ripped through her as his fingers brushed through her slit, pumping into her without giving (y/n) the chance to adjust. He fucked her with his fingers, rubbed her pulsing bundle of nerves with his cold thumb, making her writhe. 

“Oh god, feels good.” Her head rolled back, hands finding his forearms, desperate to hold onto the ancient being. She barely picked up on the teasing words he spoke, couldn’t care about the things he was speaking, fully focused on the new sensation, hoping that this moment would last forever. 

“God isn’t around, He won’t help you, not as long as you’re mine.” Darkness engulfed her as (y/n)’s eyes fluttered close, drawing sobs, moans, and whimpers from her body, sounds growing louder as he pulled away, as he stopped touching her. Her hazy eyes watched him align himself with her cunt, slowly pushing into her, making her body tremble in pain. 

It took her a while to adjust to the stretch, needing to breathe through the pain, while he slowly fucked into her. With their eyes connected, he placed one hand down on the altar, while the other found the back of her neck, forcing her lips to meet his, officially sealing their deal without (y/n) knowing so. He had claimed her, had made her the devil’s toy, nothing would ever free her from him. The being tasted of darkness, of a rich darkness that was so unfamiliar she’d never taste it again. 

Curses left her, words he found himself chuckling about as he built up the pace of his thrusts, ruthlessly, merciless fucking (y/n) on the holy altar. There was nothing sweet about the first time she was touched, and yet (y/n) felt grateful that he was the one touching her, that she had given herself to him, to him only. 

Her walls clenched around his cock whenever he nudged her sweet spot, murmuring a soft “Touch yourself” against her neck. With trembling fingers she began to rub her clit, eyes fluttering close once again, arching her chest against his. (Y/n) felt him suck marks into her skin, marks she’d carry around with herself till her last day on this very earth, forever marked by the Devil himself. 

No words helped her express the intense feeling building itself up inside of her, thumping through her veins, making her quiver. She came with a gasp, clinging onto her orgasm in hopes of prolonging the feeling. He kept on fucking her, even as her body trembled from the overstimulation, begging him to give in.  

With his hand finding her jaw, holding onto her, he came inside of her, painting her walls white with a deep groan clawing through him. She felt his heat filling her, stretching itself through her body, a sensation she’d forever remember, stuck in the holy halls, closer to God than she had ever been before. 

“I expect you to return, you’re mine now, you belong to me. I will take care of my end of the deal. But know that there’s no way back.”

[persuasivetfs]

Our Lady of Blessed Contentment Part 3

There were many things in Amir Khan’s life that he was not pleased with. His shoestring apartment, his perpetually aching knees, his deep sense of loneliness.

Unmarried, elderly, and as one of the few Muslim residents in town Amir had to make do with what he did have. He had his job as an accountant, his books, his routines and his close personal relationship with God and maybe that was enough.

So it was with sudden disturbance that the elderly Mr. Huang, Amir’s boss at their accounting firm, made a very sudden and public conversion to Christianity. Now this by itself wouldn't have been cause for alarm.

Mr. Huang had been a Buddhist in all the time that Amir had known him, and beyond the statue of Guan Yin he kept on his desk and the occasional day off on Buddhist holidays, Amir hardly would have noticed. He had hoped that little would change, with Mr. Huang’s conversion beyond maybe what days he would have off next.

With this new religion however, came a zealousness that Amir neither expected or wished for. In truth, it scared him. The man had taken to peppering every inch of wall with Bible passages, crucifixes, and artistic scenes from the New Testament.

It made Amir feel as if he’d been kidnapped in the once familiar office, forced to work in the house of a Christian extremist rather than a secular accounting firm. It made him so uncomfortable that Amir was even hesitant to pray as he usually did, fearful that Mr. Huang or somebody else would force him to stop.

And he wasn’t alone in his discomfort either. Several other co-workers, two Buddhists and an atheist, felt similarly about the crowding of Christian imagery in their workspace and met privately to discuss their options.

In time it was decided, that Amir as the most seasoned and loyal employee would meet with Mr. Huang over their concerns. He didn’t like it, but he was willing to do whatever it took to make things bearable at work again.

So it was with quiet trepidation and trembling heart that Amir knocked on Mr. Huang’s door.

“Come in,” Mr. Huang greeted, his voice muffled but much louder than he expected. Amir entered.

Mr. Huang sat calmly at his desk, filling out information on his computer. He looked vastly different than before his conversion.

For one Mr. Huang looked decades younger, his face nearly free of wrinkles, while his bald spot had been covered by a thick crown of wavy brown hair. He smiled.

“What can I do for you Mr. Khan? I hear you have a list of concerns from you and a few of your other co-workers,” he greeted, pausing from his computer with his hands folded on his desk.

“Well, myself and others have grown concerned over the overwhelming nature of Christian imagery in the office. We feel that as a secular accounting office that both employs and receives clients of many faiths that while some displays of your personal faith are acceptable, that what we have now is too much.

”We just ask that some of the Christian imagery is toned down, while asking that you promise to maintain a sense of religious tolerance among staff. I have a list of signatures agreeing to such proposals right here,” Amir explained, revealing a list of 4 signatures including his own.

“May I have a look at that, please?” Mr. Huang asked and Amir obliged, handing it to him. He nodded after examining it.

“Then, I will see to it that everyone on this list feels perfectly comfortable and tolerated working here. We’ll be a solid unit,” Mr. Huang said, getting up from his chair.

It was then that Amir noticed that Mr. Huang not only looked younger than but was slightly taller and far more muscular as well. When he gripped his hand, Amir’s own hand felt small and delicate, as his boss’s which had once mirrored his own in age had gained a flourish of youth and strength.

In the next few days, it was announced that a team building exercise would take place at the local Summer camp on Saturday.

It would consist of Mr. Huang, Amir Khan, Kelly Zhao, Tyre Blake, and David Cheng. It didn’t take long for everyone to deduce that the only people going besides their boss were those who had signed their names on the complaint letter. Amir considered lying about being sick to avoid it, but he felt it’d be wrong if he left his co-workers out to dry while he hid at home so he opted to go.

When the day came and they all drove to the campgrounds, they were all greeted by Lawrence Daniels, a stoic and smooth-talking young man who introduced himself as a kind of guidance counselor.

Also attending to everyone’s surprise was Mr. Huang’s adult son, Eric. The last any of them had seen of Eric he was arguing with his father in the parking lot of their office. Eric had been dressed in a revealing nylon crop top and pair of skinny jeans while covered entirely in body paint. From what Amir could gather, Mr. Huang had bailed Eric out of jail after being caught trespassing with an illegal homosexual night club. Apparently the hope had been that Eric would abandon such foolishness and go back to school so he could work at his father’s company but that very quickly fell through. At least that’s what Amir had thought.

Yet this Eric dressed in a white button down shirt, khaki pants, and upright posture seemed entirely different from the man Amir had known of. This Eric looked like a younger splitting image of his father, similar in rigidity and strength.

Amir followed the pair inside. It was a dining hall with connected lunch tables crowding from one side of the room to the next. As people took their seats at one of the tables, Amir struggled to move his legs, the pain in his old knees was too much.

“Try sitting on the edge next to me, Mr. Khan,” Eric’s charming voice offered. Amir, surprised, did as Eric suggested, sliding in next to him on the corner after Eric comfortably sat down.

“Hello there, welcome everyone. My name is Lawrence Daniels and I’m a pastor at Our Lady of Sacred Contentment Church,” all of them but the priest, Mr. Huang and Eric Huang looked to each other to confirm what had just been said.

Not only had Mr. Huang converted to this priest’s church, but he was most likely just trying to convert them all as well. This possibility drew collective annoyed glares and heavy sighs from the non-Christian participants.

“Alright calm down everybody, I’m only here as a secular facilitator of today’s team-building function, nothing more. Just thought I’d be honest about where most of my work experience as public facilitator has been,” Pastor Daniels admitted, not expecting such resentment.

“It’s quite alright, Pastor. Please continue on,” Mr. Huang said in an authoritative voice.

“I hope I can leave early. My knees are particularly bad today,” Amir whispered to himself. Eric nodded.

“This won’t take long, we’ll be out of here soon,” Eric said with a wink in his direction.

“Now I’ve heard that we’ve had some trouble with disunity around the office. So together we’re going to work through some exercises to improve company cohesion. Now before we start I’d like you all to fill out these brief questionnaire sheets,” Pastor Daniels explained, handing out sheets and pencils to the table.

Amir stared down his questionnaire. It asked him basic questions about his age, his marriage status, his skills, his interests, his faith, his education. His whole life on a single sheet of paper. It didn’t take long for him to finish.

When all the papers were collected, Pastor Daniels skimmed each one before coming to a stop.

“Amir Khan?” Pastor Daniels asked, scanning the room. Amir’s stomach lurched like he had been called on in class.

“Yes, Mr. Daniels?” Amir refused to call him his pastor.

“I’ve noticed a few strange discrepancies on your form. Are you being completely honest with me?” Pastor Daniels asked, pointing at the papers. Amir looked around flabbergasted.

“I have nothing to lie about,” Amir answered with a shrug.

“It says here you’re 67, but that can’t be true. You look about 30,” Pastor Daniels said with the voice of a school teacher impatient with childish pranks.

Amir wanted to counter him but suddenly found that he couldn’t. Years were peeling off his face as the seconds clicked by. His wrinkles were receding, his hair was growing and his body was regaining a sense of vitality he hadn’t felt in ages. Across his face, his wispy gray mustache and well-kept beard had faded and become replaced with a dark and luxurious mustache that Amir felt the sweet urge to twirl between his fingers.

“And here, you say that you are unmarried yet you have a gold wedding ring across your finger. Or is that mere jewelry, Mr. Khan?”

A solid gold ring materialized on Amir’s finger and with it a name, Jasleen. Amir had thought they had lost touch after he emigrated to the United States and yet he remembered that they had married, that she had come with him, and that she was young as he was. In fact, they already had a son and there was another child on the way.

“Nope, proudly married. I wrote that as a joke,” Amir said, half-confused as he tried to save face. Everyone gave him looks that varied between pity and annoyance.

“Maybe try to keep such jokes between friends, right, man?” Eric whispered with pleading eyes.

“Yeah, sorry,” Amir said, awkward and dazed. He vaguely remembered Eric Huang as his boss’s unemployable gay adult son but that was impossible. Eric worked as a major consultant for his father’s accounting firm with the hope to inherit it after Mr. Huang’s retirement and he was engaged to a woman. Eric was one of Amir’s closest friends and yet he couldn’t remember the two working together. Did this mean that Amir never worked there?

“Now for what you wrote for interests, you put math puzzles and reading but that doesn’t sound like you at all. Of all I’ve heard from Eric, you only love football, nutrition, and exercise.”

Amir groaned as his whole body ballooned underneath him. His neck widened, his chest expanded, his arms and legs and torso packed on muscle. While never the most unathletic man in the world, Amir had played tennis in college, he felt larger and more powerful than he had ever felt. Memories of tennis soon gave way into football, and Amir suddenly gained a deep and reverent joy in the sport that had never died with age.

Suddenly his small tweed sweater and corduroy pants felt too small for him, too old for a muscular young man such as himself. Before he could focus too hard on his outfit, he found himself in a snug gray crop top, a pair of nylon shorts and sneakers, as if he was in the middle of a run.

“And with faith, you wrote Islam but as a non-pastor you have one of the strongest and loudest senses of devotion to our church. You’re obviously a deeply pious Christian man,” Pastor Daniels pointed out.

For much of his life Amir’s faith had always been a private matter. A relationship that was intimate and quiet, achieved through reflection and reverence. Made all the more quiet, in such a county where his religion was often regarded as a threat.

Yet in that priest’s voice, Amir felt a sense of electrifying zealotry that he never had before. A devotion that could not be contained in quiet contemplation but had to be shared with all the people of the world.

His new faith too, had come with a sense of community Amir had long craved. Every week, if not more, he could go to church and pray among the throngs of the faithful. No longer isolated, Amir could be as open about his faith as he wished and would often find others in town who shared his views.

“I’m a Christian first before anything else, Pastor. I would never write any other faith as being more important than the one we share,” Amir said, raising his eyes to heaven with the passion of a Sunday preacher.

“Right of course, my apologies. You did write ‘Christian’ here. Never should have thought differently, though there is one other complication, Brother Khan,” Pastor Daniels said, pausing for dramatic effect before he went on. The dining hall was silent. A bug buzzed by the window. Kelly Zhao yawned.

“Why did you fill out this sheet at all? You work as a gym teacher and football coach at the local high school. I still don’t know why you even came in here.” Memories writing and rewriting themselves to fit the current situation blurred into Amir’s mind.

“I was carpooling with Eric to the school gym when he got a text to come here to act as co-facilitator from Mr. Huang. So not wanting to be bored in the car, I tagged along and wrote down some information on one of your forms. Wanted to see how far I'd get before you noticed,” Amir said with an impish grin.

“Why were you heading to the school gym?” Mr. Huang sternly asked Eric who shuffled nervously in his seat.

“It's Saturday at midday, I have the keys, and the basketball team doesn’t practice till 6. Figured we’d have the whole place to ourselves,” Amir admitted, idly twirling his mustache.

“Well Eric, while I still need you here, it should be no harm to take a few minutes to drop Mr. Khan off at the school. Please do so before we have another distraction,” Mr. Huang said, hand waving the pair away.

Both of them grunted as they slid up from their seats, their muscular legs were too large to be able to stand up and out of them.

Amir, for all his new personal history that had just become cemented in his head in the last half hour, still marveled at the fact that his knees, still the weakest part of his body, were strong enough to successfully hold up his massive new weight.

Eric let out a sigh of relief as the pair left the dining hall behind.

“Thanks for trying to make my Dad’s team building exercise interesting, Amir. Though probably not the best to make jokes when my Dad’s trying to bring people into the fold,” Eric said politely as Amir swaggered out in his muscular new form.

“You’re welcome, bro. I find that adding humor in discussions of faith, improves everybody’s mood and can help make people more amenable to the word of God,” Amir said, confidently.

“You also work with teenage boys everyday. So what works with them might not work with my co-workers, or my father,” Eric said, dreading the future argument they would have. Eric unlocked the car from a distance.

”You think Pastor Daniels is really going to successfully convert the Sinners back there?” Amir asked, twirling his mustache with deep satisfaction.

In the walk to Eric’s car, Amir noticed an old gray Saturn that felt uncannily familiar. It was a small, old car, seperate from the others, probably abandoned. Amir quickened his pace, unnerved, only satisfied until they reached Eric’s own Jeep.

“He hasn’t failed yet,” Eric answered, getting into the driver’s seat. “Honestly, I have no idea how those pastors at our church do it. It worked on my father and our family, and you know how obstinate he is.”

“They’re really building a new world. God’s heavenly kingdom on Earth and we all get to be a part of it,” Amir said with a grin and a mighty flex of his muscular arm before he got inside the passenger's seat. Eric started the car.

“We’ll have to see about that,” Eric answered quickly, so quickly he hoped Amir didn’t hear. The man didn’t seem to notice, smiling with unaware bliss as he twirled his mustache.

In the coming days and weeks, Amir quickly solidified himself as both a major aid and hindrance of Wentworth Falls Public High School. On one hand, the man was an excellent football coach, encouraging his players to victory in a way they haven’t seen all season. However, Amir was also proving to be a major source of controversy. While once afraid to do so much as pray in public as a Muslim, as a Christian in the United States, Amir was emboldened to invoke Jesus and the Church, even to the point of working to convert some of his students.

While this new Amir had come to lack the eloquence of people like Pastor Daniels or the quiet subtlety of Pastor Agosti, he was able to utilize his position to convert young wayward souls to the Church as Pastor Carter would do once the Church basketball team was set up.

Many in the school’s admin were opposed to such open proselytizing in a public school, and tried to use threats of suspension to force Amir to stop, but certain conservative religious and private interests blocked any real chance of that happening. The influence of Our Lady of Sacred Contentment was growing. It was only just the beginning.

[chronicbeans]

Let's Make a Deal! (Yandere Queerplatonic Alastor x Fallen Angel Reader)

Part 1: Hello, Deer!

Part 2, Part 3

TW: Fear and Panic, Confusion

You wake up, your eyes opening to see a red sky above you. It takes you a few moments, before you remember what happened. You got kicked out of Heaven... Someone had convinced the other angels to cast you out, by lying about you...

You sit up from your spot on the ground, looking to your wings and frowning. Their gold hue has turned to an ash grey. You quickly begin panicking, realizing the horrible situation you are in. You are in Hell, alone, with no knowledge on what it is like. You being a fallen angel makes things worse! What if the people here don't like angels? That'd be reasonable, considering the exterminations... You never took part, but it'd make sense...

You stand up, your legs shaking a bit, before you run in a random direction through the streets. You feel millions of eyes on you. You need to find some way back to Heaven! To convince them to let you go back! To-

You are so lost in your head, you don't process where you're going, despite looking ahead of you. You run straight into somebody. Your eyes widen as you look up at a tall woman in a red blazer. She turns, looking to you... Then, her eyes suddenly sparkle. "Oh my goodness! Are you an angel? Please, please come with me!"

As you are about to protest, your hand is grabbed and you are dragged along the streets towards a hotel. She's also singing some sort of song, but you are too spaced out and panicked to actually process it. Before you know it, you're standing inside a hotel, dazed and confused, surrounded by sinners...

"WHERE AM I?!" You wave your arms a bit in a panic, as the woman stops singing and tries to calm you. "No, um! You're at the Hazbin Hotel! A place of redemption! You, um... you're an angel! A fallen angel, yes? So, you now have a chance at being redeemed!" She then gestures to herself, smiling nervously "I'm Charlie Morningstar, princess of Hell." You look up to her, trying to calm down. "Like... The daughter of Lucifer?" "Well, yes.... But Lucifer was an angel, too! So, I'm sure you both will have a lot in common, and-"

"Now now, dear, why don't you give our new guest some space?" You look over to the entrance to the hallway, which leads to the rooms, spotting a... Tall deer demon, dressed mostly in red. His wide grin fills you with anxiety, as you notice the pointy teeth. He continues, his voice sounding as if it's coming through an old-school radio. "My, my! They look like a deer in headlights!" He then laughs, taking a few steps over to you.

When he stands right next to you, you notice how tall he is. Everybody here is so tall?! You frown, taking a deep breath, while Charlie takes a step back. "Sorry..." You wave to her, taking deep breaths "No, no, it's alright... I'm just a bit panicked! This um...! I just fell into Hell. I don't know where I am, or why exactly I was casted out...!"

"Darling, our lovely princess of Hell here, has brought you to the right place, then! The Hazbin Hotel is the safest place in Hell! We have Lucifer, himself, guarding this place!" The deer man then wraps an arm around you, continuing. "I am Alastor, the host of this establishment! Let me show you around. Charlie was just out buying stuff to get the next workshop ready, so I'm sure she's going to be busy getting it all up and running." She is about to complain, before Alastor then looks over to her. "Charlie, dear, you know how you are. If you don't get it done now, it'll never get done." "Fine... Thanks for helping, Alastor." "No problem, my dear."

He then grabs your hand, leading you along. You follow, hesitantly, too afraid of the entire situation to say no. Your heart was still racing with fear, and your mind with all the worst outcomes. What if he kills you? What if he eats you alive? What if Lucifer shows up?! What it-?!

You feel a random tapping on your head, knocking you out of your thoughts. You look up, seeing that Alastor literally bopped your head with his microphone. "Are you listening? I said that this is your room." "Ah... sorry. I got caught up in my own thoughts..." He grins a bit wider, patting your head. "Don't be worried. I made sure to place your room right next to mine, so that I can keep you safe!"

That isn't very comforting, but you hold back that comment... "Alright, Alastor..." You slowly open the door, expecting the worst. This is Hell. The room's probably going to be terrible.

You peek inside, a bit shocked by how it looks. It looks a bit like a warm cabin, of sorts. Certainly not something you'd see in a regular hotel. It has a warm fireplace, dark cherry wood floors, some nice furniture, and a comfortable looking bed. You walk over to the fireplace, the fire inside looking to be an unnatural, but beautiful, red and pink flame.

"Now then... what's your name, dear?"

You flinch, looking over to him. The room seems to have calmed you down, a little, even if you still feel slightly uneasy. "I'm (Y/N)... As you could already tell, probably, I'm a fallen angel, not a sinner." "Well, to have fallen, you've probably done something wrong, yes?" Alastor walks over to you, his grin turning a bit smug. "Though, I shall say, with the way you act like a scared little bird, it probably wasn't something as bad as the others in Hell. I'll give you that much." Once again, he boops you with his microphone, this time tapping your nose with it. "I'll also give you a pass on not introducing yourself for this long. You must've been so frightened, you simply forgot!" You gently nod, taking a deep breath.

He steps away, grinning. "Now then, take your time to get settled in! I'm sure you'll be here for a while! Farewell!" Before you can even respond, he's closed the door and left your room. You stand there, in front of the fireplace, flabbergasted. He's strange... You get an off-putting vibe from him, but then again, that's how you feel about everything in Hell.

You look back to the red and pink flames, and you swear, for a brief moment, that you see a small flicker of green in them.

[kiibichio]

PLAY DATE 2. 𐙚 ❤︎ M. STURNIOLO

OVERVIEW ;; you and matt get into a heated argument over your ‘friends with benefits’ deal, how will it end ?? (good ending i promise)

CONTAINS ;; angst, fluff, good ending !! (that’s it?)

momo speaks ;; PART TWO OF THISSS. this was so fun to writeee. I HOPE U GUYS REALLY LIKED IT BC I WORKED HARDD MAN I WAS BREAKING A SWEAT OVER HERE (but kinda rushed). enjoy !! (PART ONE HERE <33)

date published ;; 02.20.24

not proofread !!

——————————————————————————————

6:49 pm.

“are you serious? you just told me you ‘missed me so much’, but you’re letting me leave just like that? am i just some sort of play date to you?” i ask, sitting up. anger, sadness and confusion written all over my face.

maybe i shouldn’t have said that.

matt goes silent for a while, then speaks up.

“you do realize that when we started this we both mutually agreed to have no feelings right?” he says, trying to keep his cool

“well- i mean yeah, but-” i try to speak

“then what makes you think i want to be something more?” he cuts me off. he stands up and starts to get dressed.

“matt. good fucking god, i mean you just have sex with me that damn near kick me out?”

tears start filling my eyes. shit.

“yeah!” he exclaims sarcastically “i do because when we established this, i told you i didnt want a fucking relationship. we’re just friends that just so happen to fuck.” matt raises his voice at me.

then the water works break. goddammit.

i wipe my eyes before speaking up, “okay then… if that’s how you want it to be, then we can end this shit right fucking now. im not gonna allow myself to be used like some damn sex toy.”

“wait.. y/n- c’mon i didn’t mean it like that.” matt tries to explain, regretting what he had just said.

“oh no. i fully understand what you meant,” i reply, now getting dressed.

“fuck..” he mumbles under his breath, but still loud enough for me to hear.

“that’s all you have to say?” i stand up after putting my shoes on, crossing my arms in front of the bedroom door.

matt goes silent.

“oh, what? we’re mute now? real cute.” i ask sarcastically before storming out the room. he follows behind me, trying to explain himself with ‘y/n this!’ and ‘y/n that!’ but i easily tune him out.

as i reach the front door, it starts to open.

it’s just chris and nick, i give a small wave and quickly pass by them and start walking to my house.

ill be damned if i ever let somebody treat me like this shit again.

——————————————————————————————

an hour later, i get a knock on my door. dear lord, who is it now? i walk over to the front door and open it.

matt’s on the other side.

“hey.. forgot your phone…” he says sheepishly, handing it over to me.

“mhm. thanks.” i answer. i start to close the door before he pushes it open again.

“can i… come in?” he asks

“why? so you can screw me over again? no thanks.”

“y/n. im serious. please?”

i can tell he’s serious, but im still hesitant.

i sigh and open the door wider to let him enter.

he makes his way to the couch, while i lock the door and follow behind him, but sitting on the opposite side of him.

there’s a few moments of uncomfortable silence.

“just gonna sit there?”

he lets out a deep breath, “listen, i’m sorry for yelling at you earlier. i didn’t take your feelings into consideration and i clearly wasn’t thinking in that moment.” matt explains sincerely.

“i accept your apology. and i understand, but now that my secrets out, we cant keep doing this. it’s just- not.. right.” i shake my head

“that’s another thing i wanted to talk about. it’s not that i don’t like you.. i do- it’s just…” he sighs

“what, matt? you can talk to me. we’re still friends.” i speak. i move closer to him and put my hand on top of his.

“ive been extremely busy lately. flying back and forth, videos, podcasts, everything. its just a lot to handle and im not sure im ready for commitment. so its not a no.. its just a ‘not now.’” he looks at me.

after he said that, i felt like a weight lifted off my shoulders. i needed that sense of reassurance. but now i feel like the asshole. i should’ve thought about him too.

“that’s perfectly fine, matt. i can handle that.” i start to smile, “ill wait for you, matt. take as much time as you need.”

he hugs me and i can feel his face growing into a soft smile against my shoulder.

“thank you, y/n.”

4 months later ;;

“matt! baby, i missed you so much!!” i say, leaping in his arms as he walks out into the airport parking lot towards my car. i attack him with kisses all over his face and hug him just a bit too tight.

“too tight, my love.” he says almost out of breath.

“it’s not my fault, this is the first time you’ve ever left me like this! i just really, really missed you.” i exclaim, letting go of him.

“you’re so extra.” he chuckles

okay that first part was a partial lie, but it really is the first time he’s gone back to boston without his girlfriend of 2 months!

“can you two get a room? good fucking god.” nick says disgusted, chris nodding his head and agreeing with his brother.

me and matt both shoot them the middle finger and continue walking to the car.

he grabs my hand, “i missed you too, though baby. i was thinking about you the whole time. and…” he continues to tell me how much he had missed me and loves me.

best boyfriend ever.

——————————————————————————————

momo speaks (again) ;; ugh this was really rushed im sorry if it sucks 😭😭 BUT I GOT IT DONE. love you guys <3 hope you enjoyed !! TOODLES xx

tag list ;; @sturniolos-blog @mayhem-72 @hearts4chris 🍵

[acaivert]

reunion ☆. ☽

happy vijinx week my lovelies ~

pairings: vi x jinx

warnings: dd:dne, siscon pining alert

On particularly cold nights like this one, Jinx thinks about how warm it was back when she had a home. When she had a family.

Jinxed that one.

She kicked a particularly vulnerable rock, affronted, but did nothing more than that. She didn’t feel like entertaining the little horned voices chewing on the frayed wires of her mind today.

She was tired. More than the surface level kind that anyone could see, where you can trace a map of the hours she hasn't slept under her sunken eyes. She was a deep, to the bone, heavy kind of tired. Maybe you could see it, too. It sure felt like you could. The regular musings of her mind were uncharacteristically silent. She didn't want to fill the empty space either. Not with anything louder than the haunting break of sleep. That and this musty place. It was all she could do to drag herself here every night. To peel in behind a shady somebody and– hopefully– do right for once.

She works her way to the same spot as always, shouldering through the buzzing throng. It was like a masquerade ball, or the opposite. People all around her, some from Zaun, some Pilties, some from somewhere else entirely. They all come to shed their daily normal person masks; to cram into dingy seats and watch the nauseating view below. The quarrelsome yell of a man somewhere behind her pulls Jinx out of her mile long train of thought. Something something “Fuck off,” something something, “I pay to watch, buddy.” Jinx scoffs crudely.

Animals .

A bell rings. It cracks the air, really. The room freezes over. Cold and too silent. Almost sterile. The spasming fluorescent bulbs overhead brighten– impossible white and screeching in Jinx’s ears. Her singed nerves are set alight, heart pounding a distinct threat. Every sense tells her to run, leave . To eject herself from the filth and release the iron grip around her lungs. To spew her stomach contents into the dank, wet alley and run home.

I want to leave .

Not yet.

With screwed eyes, she grips the crimson slip of paper in her clammy hands, working it torturously between her thin fingers. She knows she can drown out the shrieking crowd and the bellowing of the particularly greasy announcer. She can make it just a bit longer. It takes a stubborn amount of quivering breaths, ins and outs, to set her back somewhere close to all right. Though, it’s really all for naught as her ears catch the name in the enthused ring man’s speech. She tracks the black-clad figure that stalks in for every inch.

Poison and tar that had been working deep in her gut bubble up to blanket her glued tongue with bile, and she aspirates on all the selfish air she had just caught. It felt like she was beat to shit– really, thoroughly fucked up– when the world decided, “I’m gonna hit the brakes,” and sent her crashing into it. All the wind knocked out of her.

The woman now standing at the dead center of the pit was inescapably familiar. Recognizable from the square of her broad shoulders to the path her solid muscles took down to her wrapped, bloodied hands. Her face was obscured from here, and Jinx wasn’t sure if the breath she let out was one of relief or desperation. The tail end of it caught with a broken whimper either way. She unwittingly sunk as deep as she could manage into the cover of her hood, becoming increasingly aware of the risk in all of this.

Vi, please. Look at me .

Vi .

Please don’t look up here .

Two distinct voices warred in her mind. Not really fighting. Just pulling at themselves weakly, one trying to outrun the other-- crabs in a bucket. One was a formless want, a juvenile idea pinned with her own greed, crying on her knees and gripped by the jaw. The other was a plea. A whisper etched in uncertainty.

A better fucking idea. Jinx bared her teeth as she thought it.

The little piece of her fell silent at the stab, scraping her knees on the way. Jinx was pleased with how the tension raised at the resolution, choosing to ignore the sting. Without warning the crowd around her roared, rallied, and spit. Jinx followed their reaction back to the center of the pit below. The tatted-up, fat, barbarian of a man was wiped, face flat on the perma-stained cement. Vi stood feet away, her jacket shrugged off at some point, fist pumping in triumph. The jagged edge of her all out war cry was the only thing that cut through the noise. Even though it was ridiculous, Jinx felt a rush of pride at the sight. Under that was a thin line of something that threatened to rear its ugly head at her if she stared too long. A hot, tainted drip of possession. Jealousy.

None of you even know her. She could have beat this guy's ass at half the height.

Vi pivoted to face her half of the ring, and Jinx’s hackled raised.

Get out.

Not yet.

She studied her now that she was in the light, with all of her sharp angles and purpling bruises. Even though she had just taken blows to the face  Predictably, she stares at her lips more than anything else. Shame coiled its snakey grip around her as she chewed at her own lip, cheeks blooming pink. She brushed her gaze over the pull of Vi’s thick bicep, the area of bare skin around her wrapped chest beaded with sweat...

Jinx’s eyes jammed in place, fixed on the way soft, unpainted skin squished over the edge of the dirtied fabric. A regrettable heat swirled with the dread she had been nursing for the hour, and her throat bobbed with her effortful swallow. She wondered how soft she really was there. Wondered if she could sneak into her apartment while she was passed out and find out, press their lips together, slide her tongue over–

Jinx visualized herself swatting at the indecent thoughts, shooing them away and tucking them into their bad little corner. That wasn’t why she was here.

You should leave .

Yeah.

Jinx pocketed the now wrinkled slip of paper– like she didn’t have plenty at home. She glanced around, making sure she wasn’t spotted or followed before she stepped back slowly. One foot behind the other, until Vi, then the pit, then the crowd shrunk. Each footfall spurred a new wash of regret. A new weight to add to her hunched shoulders. Only when she was absolutely certain she wouldn’t catch any lingering piece of her sister did she turn on her heel and push open the busted up metal door, letting the biting night air nip at her still-warm cheeks.

ֶָ֢

[mercy-burning]

(2) the fire. || THE DOCTOR.

in which a fire grows between the doctor and the landlord. content: strong language, alcohol, a hand injury/bleeding, kissing word count: 4.5k

series masterlist || main masterlist

———

Today, Spencer remembers why he never went to school for medicine.

It's not that he can't properly diagnose a problem and offer the proper treatment, though he'd be lying if he admitted to denying any insecurity over holding the powerful title of The One and Only Town Doctor, because what if he does diagnose something wrong, or he doesn't have all the information he needs and gives somebody the incorrect treatment? Then what? He wouldn't only have to worry about an eviction, but complete humiliation as well. He'd have to either locate somewhere else or just live out the rest of his "witness protection" in the Alaskan Wilderness, left to fend for himself. He'd likely die then, anyway.

Being this isolated from the outside world must have triggered my over-dramatic tendencies, he thinks with a shake of the head and a deep sigh. He closes the patient file in front of him and rubs his eyes, stifling a yawn.

He'd only read each file over twenty times each. But the better acquainted with Sardinia he was, the more accurate his work would be. It also might please Stanton to know he's at least making an effort to get to know the town a little bit. Not that it's his life-goal to please the man, but after his town tour last weekend, Spencer had sensed a fierce protectiveness in the mayor over his town and its residents. It was commendable, and definitely not something to interfere with.

At the same time, knowing everybody's business is, quite frankly, exhausting.

It's the price I pay for safety, I suppose...

Three knocks sound at the basement door, and Spencer sits upward, putting on his glasses.

"Everything alright in there, Doctor?"

The librarian's voice is a relief. "Yes, thank you, Roberta! I'm almost done!"

She shuffles inside and looks around, adjusting her long, patterned skirt. "You know... We're not technically supposed to let these files leave their home, but... You're the town doctor now, Spencer... If you need to take some home, you're more than welcome. That way you don't have to stay down here." She shivers at the thought.

"Oh, that's okay. I've read them all more than a dozen times over, I just wanted a refresher."

Roberta laughs with him, probably assuming he's exaggerating, but he says nothing and lets her keep her amusement. "Well alright, if you're sure. Are you heading out then?"

As if on cue, his stomach growls rather eagerly at the thought of sustenance. "I was just about to go to lunch, actually."

"Well there's no rush if you have more reading to do, Dear. If you'd like, I can make you a sandwich or something."

Spencer almost takes her up on it, but as his stomach growls again, it suddenly occurs to him that it's highly unlikely he'll run into Y/N in the library's basement.

In actuality, he doesn't have any concrete plans to seek anything out with her. It wouldn't be right, technically being her doctor and all. Not to mention, he was supposed to be detaching. Doing his job, indulging in friendly conversation when needed, but not allowing himself to form strong connections with Sardinia when he knows he'll just leave eventually anyway. It's easier, it's stable, and it's clean.

But for whatever reason, he can't seem to stop thinking about her anyway. It's obvious that she doesn't seem particularly interested in putting in effort to being his friend, not after the morning she showed up on his doorstep and injured her hand on his porch. Day by day he kicks himself for being so awkward. He didn't mean to keep interrupting her, but he also didn't want to be responsible for not doing his job. Intentional on her part or not, it was cold outside, she was hurt, and he did the responsible, professional thing by ushering her inside and tending to her wound. It really had just been an unfortunate turn of miscommunication and awkward first impressions.

And so, while he's aware that turning things around is probably out of the equation, Spencer finds himself constantly daydreaming about running into her or breaking something in his house so he has a reason to call her. He shouldn't even entertain it, but she's a knot in the deepest part of his gut that he can't ignore no matter how hard he tries.

It's almost as exhausting as reading the entire town's medical records over and over again.

"Thank you, Roberta, I appreciate it. But I think I could use some fresh air."

———

The generally considered "lunch hour" has just passed, leaving BAR in limbo as the cleaning staff prepares for dinner. A small group of customers sit in the corner by the lifeless karaoke machine, nursing beers, and as Spencer finds his way to the bar, his eyes drift to the woman behind it, all the way up on a ladder as she drills in some shelving.

"Doctor, what can I do you for?" Sonny greets as he sits down.

If Y/N heard him, she doesn't let on.

Spencer removes his coat and scarf and drapes them over the back of his chair, doing his best to hide the joy he feels at successfully locating his landlord. Not that there are many places here she could have been in the first place. "Uhh, water and a club sandwich?"

"Fries or chicken soup with that?"

"Soup, please."

"You got it."

As Sonny puts in the order, Spencer diverts his gaze back to Y/N. As she's reaching high and stretching up to grab a screw, he has half a mind to tell her to be careful, but he doesn't want a power tool thrown at his head.

The scariest thing happens just then.

"The second you tell me to be careful, Doctor, I'm evicting you."

He hesitates. "Did you know, the American Academy of Orthopedic Surgeons estimates that there are around 500,000 people treated for ladder-related accidents each year?"

She pauses and turns her head to look over her shoulder at him. "What did I just say?"

Spencer throws up his hands defensively, unable to hide his smirk. "Hey, I didn't tell you to be careful..."

She tosses the screw in his direction, and it rolls across the bar.

Sonny snatches it up without even looking, sliding over Spencer's water with the other hand. "And you just know that off the top of your head, or did you make it up?"

"Uh, no. I didn't make it up..."

"Sounds like a made-up number to me," Y/N mumbles, barely in earshot.

"I'm a doctor. It's my job to know these things."

"Well, I've been climbing ladders pretty much my whole life, Doctor, so you and your Ladder Statistic Surgeons can take the day off."

With a snort from Sonny and the sudden loud whir of Y/N's drill, Spencer leaves it alone, taking a few large gulps of his water.

Minutes pass, and even though his eyes are glued to the small box-TV in the corner, muted and playing some '80s movie he's never seen before, Spencer is earnestly aware of Y/N's presence behind the bar. She's humming to herself, something that sounds theatrical like a show-tune, and it serves as some pretty comical background music to the rather intense scenes playing out before him.

"Aw, man, Red Dawn again? Can't you play Lethal Weapon or something?"

Spencer looks to his left sharply, a little horrified at the fact that he hadn't seen or heard the presence of someone beside him.

"Do I look like a movie theater, Lionel?"

The kid can't be more than twenty years old. His deep brunette hair is longer than Spencer's— way longer, in fact; it cascades down the back of the chair and almost touches the floor. He doesn't judge, but the thought of having hair so long that it's constantly getting tangled and always nearly touching the floor sounds annoying and completely unsanitary.

"What if I buy you a copy?"

"No."

"I don't know, Sonny, maybe you should switch it up once in a while," Y/N offers, and Lionel cheers like a frat bro. "I know I wouldn't mind watching Mel Gibson while I eat..."

"My bar, my rules. And Mel Gibson's a jag-off."

Spencer thinks of Rossi at the insult, almost hearing it in his voice, and his heart aches a little of home. Still, he can't lie and say he isn't enjoying the bar banter just a little.

"Yeah, but a hot one," Y/N presses, stepping down the ladder and shuffling around some of her tools. "Anyway, shelf's all shiny and new. You need anything else repaired before I head off?"

"Nah, you're free. Thanks, Moonface."

Just as she rolls her eyes and starts berating him about the nickname, Lionel twists his seat to Spencer.

"You're the new doctor, right?"

"Yes, I am. Lionel? It's nice to meet you. I'm Spencer."

"Doctor Spencer..." He says it like he's testing something. Pondering. He squints his dark eyes and then looks him over. "My mom said you were dreamy, but I don't see it."

He feels his face getting warm, and then Y/N laughs. "You know who is dreamy..."

Lionel points. "Mel Gibson."

Y/N points back at him knowingly, and they share a smile, much to Sonny's chagrin.

The barman looks at Spencer, who can't help but laugh. "You wanna chime in on this, Doctor Spencer?"

He shakes his head. "I'm not qualified to diagnose dreamy." Then he glances at Y/N, catching her eye. "Only to offer ladder statistics."

Sonny laughs, and Lionel slaps his knee, but Y/N is holding Spencer's gaze as if to say, "well played." There's something else there too, but before he can place it, she's tearing herself away and packing up her things.

"I like this guy!" Lionel says. "I'll have what he's having."

"You don't even know what he ordered," Sonny counters.

As the two discuss, Spencer lets their words drone on until they're muffled background noise,  Y/N cleaning up her workspace. She doesn't catch him until after she steps under the ladder to reach for something, and then raises an eyebrow as she walks through the other side.

"You're not gonna lecture me about bad luck now, are you?"

"I'm not superstitious."

She smiles, to his surprise, and his breath catches at the sight. It's a beautiful smile anyway, but when it's directed at him, it feels like a reward he wants to achieve forever.

Before he has time to read into the feeling, a plate of food is set in front of him, and the spell between the doctor and his landlord has lifted. She goes to fold up the ladder, and he keeps himself busy by stirring his soup, waiting for it to cool.

He'd chosen it as a ploy to stay warm on this cold November midday, but he doesn't feel like he needs it anymore.

———

Y/N is avoiding Spencer at all costs.

She's glad he didn't see her almost slip off the ladder at BAR earlier today, but not because of the "told you so". No, she was more worried that he would genuinely come to her aid, and the close proximity would surely have her abandoning all reason and throwing herself at him. Because, let's face it, he is dreamy (Lionel doesn't know shit). And he's funny. And smart. And his hands...

Y/N lets out a rather aggravated grunt, thwarting the sharp sting of desire she feels in the pit of her gut, scrubbing a plate clean with a grip so vigorous, her fingers start to cramp.

You know, you could just... be nice to him, the Angel on her shoulder suggests.

What, and completely disrupt the snarky bantering nature on which we've set our foundation? the Devil counters back, stubborn as always. I don't think so!

The argument goes on for way too long. Y/N has furiously scrubbed all her dishes clean about five times over before she decides to promptly get drunk about it. She can't go to BAR, and she could make a run to the convenience store for a bottle of something strong, but... there's more risk involved out in public than in the safety of her own home, where there happens only to be a half-bottle of red wine that she keeps for when she's feeling frisky. And 'frisky' is exactly what she wants to thwart, so...

The options are very limited.

"God damn this stupid fucking small town bullshit," she grumbles through gritted teeth, harshly tossing the sopping-wet washrag in the sink and reaching up to the cupboard for her wine. "Whatever. Maybe... I just have to pull out the vibrator and get it out of my syste—"

Perhaps it's superstition, or irresponsible outbursts of frustration, or perhaps it's just plain bad luck that makes her slip backwards and fall on a puddle of water when she turns around, bottle of wine in hand. But whatever the reason, she can't help the maniacal laughter that tumbles out of her system the second her ass hits the floor. Her hand holds the neck of the bottle in a death-grip, but when she goes to set it on the floor, it shatters, staining everything in red. Sharp pain slices through her finger, and her laughter quickly stops with a hiss.

Staring down at the aftermath, Y/N slowly feels the pain growing and throbbing in her body. Her butt is surely bruised, her hand is hot and cascading with blood, and there's only one person qualified to help her.

"Fuck my life..."

She starts to laugh again, but grabs her phone and dials the first number she can think of.

———

What Spencer had told Y/N is completely true; he's not superstitious. Coincidences happen, and that's just how life works, but walking under a ladder or breaking a mirror won't bring you bad luck, just as surely as being in the right place at the right time is merely that— a coincidence. Good things and bad things simply happen, no matter how badly you want to believe there might be some cosmic reason for them.

That being said, as he charges up the driveway to Y/N's house, first-aid kit in hand, he starts to wonder if Sardinia has its own sort of superstitious magic or something. It's the fact that the one and only person that he's needed to aid since being here—not once but twice now—is the one person that doesn't seem thrilled over his presence. Not that everyone he met seemed absolutely ecstatic to have him there (save for Stanton), but everyone else didn't seem inconvenienced by him at least. And for whatever reason, he can't stop the burning need that simmers low in his stomach at her every sarcastic word, every roll of the eye, and every beautiful frown of her lips.

He couldn't make it go away. He couldn't make it make sense.

Why?

He manages to push away his frustrations when he opens the door to check on her, wiping his feet on the mat and calling out her name.

"Are you alright?"

As he removes his coat and steps inside to find her, heavy stomping sounds through the house, getting louder and louder until his landlord is in sight, her eyebrows narrowed and her hand wrapped in a blood-soaked washcloth. "What are you doing here?"

"I was with Roberta when you called her, she said you were hurt and you needed help, so I came—"

"She wasn't supposed to send you!"

"I'm... I'm sorry? Here, what's wrong? She said your hand might need stitches."

She looks like she's about to cry, her body going slack and her head falling back in defeat. "Yes, it does, because I fell on my ass with a bottle of wine in my hand, and sliced it open..."

"Y/N, it's okay. I can help you. Let me take a look."

He reaches out for her hand, but she snaps it away to her chest and huffs. "No! I don't want your help, okay?"

Spencer sighs, feeling himself getting irritated now. "What?"

"You heard me! It's... It's your fault anyway!"

He blinks. He can't believe what he's hearing. He wants to help her, to calm her down, but her words are so sharp and her tone is violent enough that he isn't sure any of his tactics would work anyway. He's spent a fair share of his time talking people out of scary situations, talking them off many ledges, but right now he feels trapped. He feels confused and maybe a little hurt, but also extremely hot, like his temperature is rising steadily with every second he's in her presence.

"Excuse me?" is all he can say.

"First you show up to Sardinia and ignore everybody, which makes Stanton send me to lure you out, and I bust my hand open on your door! And then you keep following me around town and fucking pester me about your stupid made-up ladder statistics, and it pisses me off so badly that I come home to unwind, and hurt myself in the process! You did this to me! So no, I don't need your help, I just need you to—"

"Y/N."

"Stop interrupting me!"

Despite her rising frustration and inability to filter out the ridiculous threads of reasoning that give her away now, Spencer keeps a calm, even tone when he continues. "I can leave and have Roberta come over to help you instead, if you want. I won't stay if you really don't want me to."

It's her turn to blink, her mind working hard to comprehend what he's just said. She looks exhausted and just about as confused as he'd been, picking at the washcloth wrapped around her hand.

"You... What?"

Everything makes so much more sense now. As she'd rambled on and on about how annoying she found him, a switch flipped, and Spencer knew exactly what her outburst had been really about. Suddenly, all the somethings he kept catching in her glances have become bright beacons, and he wonders how he'd missed it.

It probably has something to do with that rising temperature of his— too distracting to allow his brain to work properly.

Regardless, his brain is working just fine now, as he takes a step closer to Y/N. She backs away, but he keeps slowly walking towards her as he speaks.

"I understand. You've probably known Roberta all your life, and she's a safe, comforting person to confide in. I'm just a stranger. You don't like me, and you don't trust me, even though I am your doctor and it is my job to help you."

Her back is to a wall now, and she startles when she runs into it, realizing she's trapped. Spencer watches her swallow and try to avert her eyes as he keeps talking. His lips twitch into a smile then, remembering the day she hurt her hand on his door and how she could barely look him in the eye, and how he's missed yet another sign.

"But you are an independent, very beautiful, incredibly stubborn woman, so that makes sense..." Their faces are inches apart, Y/N's head tilted to avoid him. But that just won't do, so Spencer gently places his forefinger under her chin and adjusts her to look at him. Their eyes meet finally, and that fire burns bright in his belly and spreads through his entire nervous system at the matching heat in the depths of her stare.

He continues softly, his lips barely a breath away from hers. "So if it's what you really want, then I'll go."

"God, fuck you," she breathes, pushing herself forward and colliding their mouths together. Her sharp words echo so strongly that when her tongue slips past and makes contact with his, he can practically taste their sweet, sweet venom. He welcomes the sting and involuntarily growls into her mouth, pressing her firmly into the wall. He's never felt a violence quite as satisfying as the one she exudes.

It's a violence that amplifies the burn in Spencer's gut, the one that causes him to abandon all logic and reasoning in favor of indulgence. It had happened once before, with a particularly wretched woman he'd rather not remember, but this time is different. It's relatively harmless in the grand scheme of things, and absolutely life-altering all the same.

Her kisses fizzle out slowly, though not out of boredom or change of heart. In fact, Spencer figures he's stunned the poor woman into a simmering lust-driven stupor, a power that he hadn't gone searching for but accidentally stumbled upon while cradling her head in his hands. He's never considered himself an ambitious, power-hungry man, but as his fingers massage her scalp and he kisses her deep and slow, her mouth returning his energy with lazy, fiery laps of the tongue, it's the first time he's ever ached so deeply to claim something as his own. The feeling is addicting, plain and simple.

She seems to gain some semblance of control when he pulls back and pivots his head for a gasp of air, because in a split second her weight is pushing against him, forcing his feet backward. Still attached at the lip, they stumble through the house together until they find themselves in the kitchen.

When Spencer lifts her enough to sit her down on the table, she pulls away from his mouth with a hiss and then hits his shoulder with the palm of her hand. "Ow!"

"What's wrong?" he asks breathlessly, dizzy on her kisses but slowly coming back to his senses as he remembers why he'd even come here in the first place.

"I fell on my ass, remember? It hurts!"

"Sorry," he says, helping her down and pulling her back to him through the empty belt-loops of her jeans. "I'll be careful."

"Some doctor you are," she scolds, kissing him again.

He breaks away a second later with a laugh. "You didn't want my help. Remember?"

"If I didn't hurt my good hand, I'd punch you."

Kiss.

"You should have that looked at."

Kiss.

"Probably."

Kiss.

He knows that he should stop and take a look at it anyway. He should be firm, yet still gentle and caring, and make sure her wound isn't already starting to get infected or worse. He has no doubt that she'd probably taken care of it to a good enough standard to avoid anything major, but in any case, it doesn't matter. Because it's his job to look after her.

But... fuck.

Her quick-witted, glorious mouth is too intoxicating. It's ruining him, completely demolishing any ounce of professionalism and sense of reason he might have once had.

And then her injured hand drags itself along his shoulder and down the front of his shirt, just for a second before she pulls it away again, inhaling against his lips.

She's in pain. But she won't stop.

Spencer pulls away and rests his forehead to hers. She tries to chase his mouth, and he wants to let her, but he can't.

"Y/N..." He says her name softly, trying not to focus on her pout. Otherwise, he might just leap forward again.

Their breathing is heavy, the air between them thick with a fire that still longs to burn bright, but is being extinguished by necessity. It's still fighting though, dancing in their eyes as every other part of their bodies slowly part from each other.

"My hand hurts," she says finally, holding it out to him.

She's still very obviously drunk on him, her words strung together clumsily as she sways to keep her balance. She looks dazed, hair tousled and lips puffy, all at his mercy. And so fucking help him, Spencer vows in that moment that he will see her in this state again, and he will not have any obstacles like wounded hands getting in his way of the job. It will be thorough and deliberate and he will not stop until the wicked words spewing past her lips have dissipated into breathless gasping pleas.

Just not today.

"Will you help me, please?" she asks softly.

He nods, gesturing for her to sit down. "Of course." Then, he notices stains of red littering his arm. Studying them, then her, then his arm again, Spencer can't help but laugh. "First you bleed on my porch, and now my favorite shirt?"

It isn't his favorite shirt really, but for the sake of their dynamic, it's worth the look she gives him. She scrunches her eyebrows in an adorable stabbing glare, her lips pouting again, and his heart races. "You're a doctor, get fucking used to it."

As he pulls up a chair and gets out his first aid kit, he shakes his head, refusing to meet her eyes when he tells her, "That mouth of yours is going to get you in a lot of trouble one of these days, Y/N."

"Hasn't yet."

When he finally does meet her eyes, she almost breaks down, her pupils flexing and her body going frigid as he gently grabs her hand without breaking eye contact. But then he glances down at her mouth, and back up again with a contemplative hum.

"It will."

He doesn't know why, or how he's even managing to flirt with her like this, but for some reason it comes as the most natural thing in the world. He likes making her react, he likes hearing her scoff at him and swear at him under her breath. He likes how as he tends to her gashes with tender hands, she watches him intently without saying a word. She'll wince when it hurts, and he'll apologize in a whisper, but she doesn't say anything, like she's refusing to give him the satisfaction.

He could play this game forever, probably.

When he's done stitching her hand up, he places it in her lap and looks up at her through his eyelashes. "Are you okay?"

"Yes. Thank you."

"You're welcome. You're lucky, it's a minor cut, and you cleaned it up pretty well yourself before help arrived. Just don't do any hard work with that hand for two weeks, and you can come back to see me then to have them removed. Sound good?"

"Mhm."

"Good. Then... I'll be on my way."

For the smallest of milliseconds, Spencer swears she looks disappointed. But as quickly as the look appears, it vanishes, replaced by an indifference that would have stung him otherwise, had he not just felt her desperation as it seeped into his bloodstream with every breath they exchanged.

He tries to hold back a knowing smile as she gets up to walk away. "Thank you. I should probably go see Roberta and give her a piece of my mind."

"That's a good idea, I'm sure she'd be glad to know you're okay."

Though her back is turned to him, he feels her eyes rolling and it makes it harder to hide his joy. He's practically radiating with it when he packs up his things and leaves, and he hopes she can feel it.

He doesn't know it, but she does.

[gluion]

somebody ➵ ji changmin

you needed somebody to give you what you crave. will you allow changmin to be that for you?

requested by @sungbeam for the song "somebody" by keshi

genre/warnings ➵ smut, afab reader, porn no plot, petnames (baby), slight dom!changmin, changmin is trying to prove to you that you're all he needs, reader is very much insistent on denying that they need him, no explicit consent was used (consent is sexy btw!), use of your vibrator (though he doesn't let you cum with it), hickeys, making out, nipple play, unprotected sex (yes there is p in v action! please wrap it up), dirty talk, cum eating (reader's end), no aftercare since the ending is kind of abrupt, not edited because i kind of hate rereading the smut i write... apologies

word count ➵ 3.2k words

taglist ➵ @deoboyznet @kflixnet @blankjournal @winterchimez @vernyangel

a/n ➵ surprise! fulfilling my first request since i first opened it!! i hope you enjoy it beam!! i know i said to expect it at the end of this week but smth possessed me... i'm not sure if it's great because i'm also getting used to writing smut </3 but i still hope you enjoy it!! let me know your thoughts :DD for the other readers: if you enjoyed this, always make sure to reblog (even if it’s on your tbr </3)!

want to be part of my taglist? send me an ask! want to request? check out my guidelines! masterlist

They say that any decisions made after 2:00 a.m. are ones made to set you up for the worse. All rational thought seems to leave someone’s brain when the clock’s hand strikes that number. And all events that occur after that time are ones people tend to regret, rethinking their choices and the situation they’re placed in as soon as the next day comes. 

You are well aware of the curse. Your friends have been victims of the supposed curse, making choices that will give them another story that will gather laughs or scowls from others. And you end up becoming the one person your friends call before they make these stupid choices—the one person who has to knock sense into your friends whether they may be in an intoxicated state or not.

But it’s embarrassing enough that while you usually take the position of knocking some sense around this time of the night, you find yourself in the same position your friends seem to always be in—lips interlocked with the guy you should have no connection with.

The smell of him has your brain turning into putty. This could all be due to the later hours of the day; you’re probably only making these impulsive decisions because you’re deprived of sleep. But being in this hazy state intensifies how his hands feel as they venture all over you.

As soon as his lips leave yours, he notices how insistent you are in keeping your eyes closed. The idea of you refusing to meet eyes with him out of pure shame has him chuckling. “Come on, now. There’s no need to be shy,” he mumbles before letting his lips move to the side of your neck. His hands find their place on your hips, holding you against your bedroom door. 

You feel the way he sucks on the skin, and it’s one you can never find the right words to describe how it makes you feel. Call it blissful, pleasurable, or gratifying—all you know is that it’s sinful to feel all this just because of him.

“I’m sure that there’s a reason why you let me in your dorm,” he says as he stops littering your neck with hickeys. As you feel his breath fan over the wet marks, you cannot help but shudder at the sensation. “I’m sure I made it clear about what I wanted from you since you saw me standing by your door.”

You shake your head. “No, I didn’t.” Your attempt to defend your pride is almost pathetic—one that even has you cringing at the sound of it. In no way did it sound convincing but you needed to do anything and everything to protect your ego.

A chuckle leaves his mouth. And the hands that held you against your door maneuvered you away from it. Your eyes snap open, finally taking sight of the man who seems to know what you crave. The smirk on his lips has your blood boiling. “That’s not true.” And before you could protest, his lips find their place on yours.

The way he tugs on your bottom lip has your knees going weak, providing him an advantage to knock you down to your bed—the same one where you find yourself dreaming about him marking you up in every spot possible. Between you and this bed held secrets you were afraid to ever admit to anyone.

Even in the hours you would never allow Changmin to touch you as you were capable of making rational decisions, thoughts of him occupied every corner of your mind��from the way he would leave your lips all bruised from the way he kisses you all the way to how he had you moaning his name into the crook of his neck while he whispered nothing but profanities and dirty secrets that had you creaming around him.

As you two lay down on your bed, his hands tugged on the hem of your shirt. He parts away from you, leaving you both breathless. “Don’t forget that I know all about you,” he points out before another smirk shows up on his face.

Before you know it, he removes your shirt off of you, your bare chest now exposed to him. And when one of his hands finds its place on your boobs, you cannot help but whine at the way he gropes you, fingers playing with your nubs.

“I never forget, baby.” The way he whispers the pet name has you wanting to kick him out. He shouldn’t call you that, ever, for it should only be reserved for ones you’re in a relationship with. And in no way are you and him together. But god, these hours hold power over you—you never tell him to stop.

His hands continue to fondle your chest and you bite on your bottom lip to hold back any moan—any sound—from leaving you. But you cannot help but let your eyes flutter close. If Changmin didn’t know your body better than you do, maybe then it would be easier to reject all his offers.

“There’s no need to hold back those pretty sounds of yours. I know all of it, remember?” He leaves a kiss on the space of your cheek that’s close to your ear. “But I have a question for you: Were you expecting to meet with someone else by your door?”

When you shake your head, he chuckles against your ear. “I don’t believe you.” Your eyes snap open at his claim. He moves away from the side of your face so that he can look directly at you.

“Something tells me that you were trying to ring up your other hookups. From the way you were dressed up when you answered the door,” his face gets close to yours so that your noses touch. And with his breath fanning so closely over your mouth, you cannot help but hold yourself from breathing. “It’s almost like you wanted someone to fuck you then and there.” The way he whispers such profanities has you sucking in your breath. 

You really weren’t expecting to meet with anyone—not even when Lee Juyeon from your general mathematics class messaged you an hour ago. Although his message did say that he was interested in doing some “homework” with you, you were capable of reading between the lines after all the instances you two couldn’t help but make out.

But the reality is that you two never went further than groping each other—you were too preoccupied with thoughts of the man who continues to pleasure you now.

“I really wasn’t going to meet with anyone,” you admit as your eyes almost close from exhaustion and desperation. “I was going to go to sleep until you barged into my dorm.”

Changmin cannot help but laugh. As he sits up with his legs caging you down, he removes his shirt. As soon as he flings his shirt to the side, he allows his chest to be pressed up against yours. You want to gasp at how nice it is to have his skin on yours, but you do your best to make sure your facial expression never changes. 

He lets his hand reach out to your face, cupping your jaw so that you keep your eyes on him. And the question that leaves his lips makes you want to kick him out of your dorm. “Were you really going to go sleep or use that purple vibrator of yours until you passed out?” And you should’ve pushed him off of you—tell him to get out so that you could allow yourself to sleep. But when you try to look away from him, that’s when he knew he had you right where he needed you—you had him right where you shouldn’t need him.

He chuckles and says, “Is that why you let me walk into your dorm? Is that vibrator of yours not enough?” His hand leaves your face before he sits up once more, reaching out for your bedside drawer. 

“No, it’s more than enough,” you argue back, trying hard to not have your hands all over his chest—over his arms, for that matter. But when he’s at eye-level with you once more, you notice the smirk that seems to be etched on his face. And before you know it, he raises your toy so that you can see it. As soon as you gulp at the sight of it, that’s when Changmin knew that his assumptions were right.

Before you can say anything, he pulls your shorts down with one hand, bringing your panties along. Your eyes cannot help but trail to his arm all the way down to his hand that successfully holds your bottoms all crumpled up. And when he examines the garments, he notices a wet patch on your underwear that was formed all from the way he touched you.

He tongues the inside of his cheek as he looks back and forth between the garment and you. As soon as he flings away your bottoms to the side, he uses that same hand to reach down to the area where you shouldn’t need him. But as soon as his fingers make contact with your folds, you cannot help but arch your back in instinct. It’s embarrassing to want him carnally.

Changmin’s fingers prod their way into your pussy. The way you bite on your bottom lip to hold back any moans is what has him chuckling. “There’s no need to hold back. I’ll give it all to you.” His fingers trail up and down, gathering your slick. And now, you were sure you weren’t exhausted, for all the sensations you were feeling were enough to keep you awake until you got what you craved.

Once his fingers leave your pussy, you bite the inside of your cheek so that a whine never leaves you. But as you watch his slick-coated fingers rubbing over your toy, you almost want to pass out from what can be expected next. As he clicks on a button, the toy begins to emit a buzzing sound, vibrating in his hand.

“Let’s see if this toy can really make you cum.”

And before you know it, the toy rests right at your entrance. You let your hands reach to your scalp, holding onto your hair so that you don’t touch him. You wanted to grab your vibrator off his hands just to show him where you needed it to be, but you would never give him the pleasure of watching you get off. And yet, it’s almost as if he reads your thoughts for he brings it upwards, meeting your clit.

The sudden vibration on your nub has you sucking your breath in, your head lolling backward. With how hard you’re biting on your lip, you’re positive that a wound has started to form. “Why don’t you moan for me? We both know you want to.” Changmin’s words have you shaking your head. You don’t want to give him the satisfaction. But with how good your toy feels on your clit, you almost find yourself giving into him—just almost.

As you shake your head with your eyes closed, you hear the way he hums. And before you know it, your vibrator goes at a faster speed. Your face scrunches up in pleasure. Now, all you want to do is chase your high until you can finally cum.

“Look at you, all desperate for me.” His words almost sound like he’s making fun of you. But when you let your eyes slowly flutter to look at him, you notice how in awe he is with how you try to chase the feeling. You notice how his eyes trail down from your torso all the way to where the vibrator is found. “Is this how you look like when you fuck yourself until you pass out? God, I need to see you more like this.”

And you shake your head, eyes closing as you try to regulate your breathing. But when his free hand reaches your nipples, you almost pass out. The combined sensations have you breathing heavily, your brain reaching territories of absolutely no rational thought. Now, all you want is for him to be inside you.

The vibration on your clit has you moving your bottom up, aiming to get anything inside you. Somehow, Changmin knew that all the way from how your body was writhing in desperation. And you expect him to set your vibrator to a higher setting or to have his fingers shoved up in your pussy. But when your toy suddenly stops buzzing, your eyes open to only see him smirking.

He sets your vibrator aside before he sits up, his hand leaving your chest. “I’m not letting your first time cumming tonight be from your toy.” He unbuttons his pants as he stares you down. You’re still breathing heavily from all the sensations, but his eyes on you have you wanting to hide away in shame. “There’s no need to hide it, baby. I’ll be the one to satisfy you—to please you.”

As soon as he discards his pants, he lets himself lean forward so that his face is close to yours. With one arm resting on the space near the side of your face, the distance between you two is almost nonexistent—lips so close to touching once more.

“On the nights you need someone to please you, I’ll make sure to be that person for you,” he says as he holds his cock in his hands, his tip meeting your folds as it gathers your slick. “I’ll become that somebody for you—only if you let me.” And his whisper has all rational thought leaving your mind for you cannot help but wrap your arms around his neck, bringing his lips to yours.

The way his tongue prods against the same of your lips has you parting your mouth slightly open, letting his tongue play with yours. The more he kisses you, the more lightheaded you feel. It almost feels like minutes since you initiated this kiss, and he still has yet to enter you. As soon as you part away from him, you’re about to scold him.

But before you can do so, his cock slowly enters you. The air gets knocked out of your lungs as he slowly enters you little by little, and the way you hold your breath has him chuckling. He lets his face snuggle to the crook of your neck as he leaves kisses all over the space. “Let me all that you need,” he mumbles against your skin. “I know all that you need, so why don’t you let me become that somebody for you?”

And you want to tell him that he’s wrong. You can find someone else who can learn all about what you want—all that you need. But deep down, you know how no one can make you crave something so carnally like he does; no one is capable to have your brain turning into putty just from how they touch you, and; no one can fuck you like he can.

So as soon as you find yourself slightly nodding, he is aware that you have completely allowed him to be the body that you will use—the body that will give you all that you need. And just like that, he thrusts into you. The moans now spill out of your mouth as you let your fingers scratch his back. His cock glides against your ways in a way that your vibrator never will.

“Oh god,” you blubber out accidentally. You can’t believe you let such words leave your mouth for they hold the power to feed his ego. You feel the way he smiles against your neck.

Once his lips move away from your neck, he moves his face so that it hovers over yours. “The way you moan for me is pretty. Do you moan like this for anyone else?”

You stare right at him. “Y-yes.” It’s your attempt to prevent his ego from inflating—to stop him from ever thinking how much of an effect on you. But he sees right through your lie, the smile now bigger on his lips.

“Okay,” he says. “Then I’ll make sure that you never go back to your other fucks.” And just like that, he continues to thrust into you at a faster rate. You throw your head back as more moans spill out of you. And when his tip started to meet the spot that had your toes curling, that’s when you knew you were so close to finally breaking.

With the way you start to clench on him, he looks down to where his length gets lost in your folds. “God, you’re gripping on my cock so tight. You’re going to cum already? But we’ve only just started.” You let your eyes meet his face, and you notice that his eyes are about to flutter close. Just like you, he was getting close to cumming as well.

His thrusts get sloppier. “Don’t worry about who you’re fucking anymore.” You feel yourself teetering on the edge of release. All you needed was something more. And before you can think of what you needed to finally push you to cum, you feel his fingers meet your clit, rubbing it in circles.

You gasp at the sensation. The way his cock enters you all while his fingers rub on the nub of nerves is enough to let you see white. “Cum for me.” And as he chants that set of words, you find yourself creaming all over him. The moan you let out as you cum all over him is sinful. With your face scrunched up in pleasure, he cannot help but feel himself about to orgasm.

Despite how tight your pussy grips his cock, he manages to find a way to move his dick away. Your eyes flutter open to see the way he grips his dick, rubbing it up and down as he tries to enter the same zone you’re in. As you watch the way his hand moves, you cannot help but admire the sight of him getting lost in pleasure—eyes closed as he focuses on the sensation. And before you know it, cum spills out of him as he moans, his release painting your chest.

His free hand rests on your bed as he continues to pump his cock, riding out the orgasm. Once he finished, you notice how his breathing is just as heavy as yours. His eyes flutter open to meet with yours. Once his hand stops holding his length, you notice that his fingers trail to your chest as they gather some of his release. And without a second thought, you let your lips part.

You notice the way his eyes widen at your willingness. Even without his conviction, you were willing to eat his release up. With that, his fingers coated in cum slips into your mouth. And he feels the way your tongue licks his digits up.

Just from the way you lick his cum off his fingers, he feels himself getting lightheaded and his cock growing hard once more. And before you know it, his digits leave your mouth. “Are you ready for round two?”

[highpriestess13]

FS READING‼️📣

“I Want it Bad” by Kid Cudi is the first song that comes to mind with your future spouse! lol the funny thing about this is… idk the context of which they mean “I want it bad” but it’ll make sense when you finally meet this person. First and foremost this person may be a fire sign or they’re a fighter. Could be a literal fighter OR they fight for what they want and love! Some of you may be stuck or in some kind of situation that’s leaving you in the 5 of pentacles energy. This could be financial losses or lack of financial security or this could be health related. Someone or this person may have lost a mother figure in their life or this may have been someone who they have/ had children with. But I’m getting like a… dying wish in a way. So this person may have been very close to this woman (or man) it’s definitely someone who they looked up to as a mother/ father figure who went through a lot for them and their family. 808 as I type this so heavy on that Leo Energy. But anywho, this person is a go getter, like they will go to the very extent to make sure you’re good and protected. How they view you is the Empress 😊. You could be or was dealing with a lot of heavy HEAVY burdens and this person will be coming in to help you through it or save you. The narrative is going to be different for each and every one of you. They want this cycle of you struggling to be done and over with. They know you wear your battle scars on your sleeve and your heart and they want to fix that… and heal it. This person may like RnB or slow jams in general or this may be you, cause I’m hearing Teddy Pendergrass (idk how to spell the man’s name) or this is going to be the songs playing when y’all… yeaaaaaaa lmaoo! They say that you’re very sweet, kind and lovable and also a potential wife and mother 👀. 1010 is confirmation. If this person has a history, they know that they’re going to have to kick anything that’s going to disrupt and be a hinderance to this relationship especially if they’re wanting long term with… and the same thing goes for you as well. I’m answering “answer the question” somebody is on someone’s ass about something. Communication is going to be on 10… love will be on 10… it’s giving 10 10 10 across the board! Speaking of 10 you and this person are going to be one fine ass couple WOO! The both of you are going to have some beautiful babies together. Now don’t start acting all surprised when this person comes to you or you to them because this is what you wanted and manifested. You could’ve came from a lot of heartbreaks, loss, etc. however this person wanting and is meant to heal that and build you up bigger, better and stronger and also wiser. They’re are going to enjoy watching you grow and heal into the person you were always meant to be. They are going to protect you with EVERYTHING they have because you are their precious little diamond. Allow this love in, yes you may be guarded and have your walls severely up and strong but this person is going to knock them tf down with just a look. “Knock you down” by Kerri Hilson is what I channeled. Heavy air, water, and fire with a little bit of Earth. They could be any of these signs or have them highly aspected in their chart or yours. Hope this helps!

**Please keep in mind that these readings are general, if it doesn’t fit your situation/ narrative then it wasn’t meant for you. If you would like a more personal reading/ message, feel free to DM for prices and ways to book a reading with me, thank you! 🫶🏾**

[archerlullaby]

There aren’t enough TOTK comes back to the Chain fics out there so I figured I would write one. Hurt/Comfort, some angst, and some self-worth doubts. TOTK Link needs a hug tbh. Also, This is a Zelda slander fic, though I don’t directly hate her she kinda gets on my nerves in totk. MY BOI IS JUST SO TIRED LET HIM SLEEP PLZ.

Weariness and Worth

He was just so damn tired. He tried to be patient. He tried to put on the “Hero Façade”. But his resolve had begun to splinter with each passing moment alongside the princess.

He dragged his feet to the nearest cooking pot as Zelda strode purposefully up the Lookout Landing staircase. As soon as she got her wits about her after falling from the sky, she vehemently insisted that Purah is the first one she needed to see. It had only been a few hours since he had dragged her out of that lake, his body aching from his fight against the literal incarnate of evil, and the first thing she focused on was how she was home. How she needed to talk to Purah. How she needed a change of clothes. How she, who was a dragon for 10,000 years thank you very much, would like a good, hearty, home cooked meal, so Link, could you whip something up while I talk to Purah, please and thank you? He sighed, and all but collapsed at the edge of the fire, eyes starting to close of their own accord. The others in Lookout Landing all but ignored him, the Princess taking up all the attention while she smiled and waved as the individuals around her practically worshiped the ground she walked on.

“You look pretty worn out there son,” the elderly stablemaster chuckled, startling Link out of his stupor. This old man was the only one not rushing to greet the princess, and is instead settled a couple yards away from the cooking pot, his gnarled walking stick leaning against the inside of his knee. Link did his best to give him a smile, but only came up with a strangled-looking grimace. In the very least, he was grateful somebody at least acknowledged him. The stablemaster sighed.

“If only I was younger, maybe I’d have a chance with the young lady. I used to be something of a hero myself back in the day. Now all I got are my horses and these old bones!” He laughed, rapping a knuckle against his knee. “You are one lucky young man!”

Link’s grimace turned into a scowl. Yet again was he fooled into thinking someone cared about him. How naive of him. He stood and turned away from the old man, taking the Purah Pad from his hip. After stoking the fire, he decided on meat and rice balls. However while flicking absentmindedly through the Purah Pad for ingredients, he felt a very deep, sharp ache slam into his ribs. The pain gnawed at him like a wild beast, quickly buckling his knees and knocking the wind out of his lungs as his butt hit the ground. He gingerly felt around his chest, and came to the conclusion that becoming a dragon’s chew toy probably wasn’t the healthiest thing for ribs. He chuckled darkly. At least his shining sense of humor survived. The amusement was short lived, however, and tears pricked the corner of his eyes when he realized he used all his healing potions during the fight against Ganondorf, and that nobody, not even the stablemaster a stride away, cared enough to come to his aid. Everyone was so enthralled with that Princess. He fought the urge to bury his face in his arms and cry because he’s the Hero, the Chosen One, the Sworn Protecter of the Crown. Instead, he gathered himself quietly, stood, clipped the Purah Pad back to his hip, and hobbled out the southern gate without barely a glance towards the gathered crowd.

It had been an hour when he finally stopped walking, or rather, when his legs gave out and he flopped to the grass. The sun was just touching the western edge of the world, dew and darkness creeping into Hyrule Field as crickets began to sing. He knew he should go somewhere safer, somewhere where the wolves and the monsters wouldn’t catch his scent, but he could hardly keep his eyes open, and the smell of the earth and grass was so encompassing that he couldn’t bring himself to care about the danger. So instead, he closed his eyes and peacefully listened to the sounds of the coming night. That is, until his thoughts caught up to him. Coward, they called him. Abandoning duty for some pitiful, self-absorbed notion that he should be recognized, awarded, for accomplishing that for which he was destined to accomplish. These thoughts swirled through his head and screamed in his ears until he thought he would be deafened by the voices themselves.

That is, until the familiar and oh-so-welcome sound of time and space being torn open met his ears. Link blearily stumbled to his feet, and was met with the sight of a portal suspended in air just to his right. It couldn’t be. It shouldn’t be. He’s Link, he doesn’t get this type of fortune in his life. He felt like he could cry as he tripped over his feet and fell just a step away from the entrance, the burn in his side stealing away his breath. He only paused for a moment as he considered what this meant. He would disappear again, the people of Hyrule clueless as to where he went. Zelda clueless as to where he went. He bit back a bitter smile. She’ll just have to find him this time. Perhaps it was cruel, but he found that he couldn’t bring himself to care. So, on his hands and knees he dragged himself to the very edge and lurched through the swirling colors.

It was so warm, so gentle, so peaceful to just lie floating in the darkness. This didn’t feel like the icy cold waters of the shrine of resurrection, nor was it similar to the dark and damp cave he woke up in on the sky islands. No, this felt like a warm, thick wool blanket wrapped itself around his body, a soft embrace. Perhaps it was the downy feathers of the soft bed in Rito Village. Or maybe, Link mused, this was the water bed at the Seabed Inn in the Zora Domain. Sidon had spoke about a warming technology for the beds Kayden was trying to develop. Whatever it was, Link wanted to stay in it forever. Unfortunately, this peace was cut short.

“Cub? Wild, please look at me.” A familiar voice cut through the fog as he started to come around. His body changed from warmth to and almost refreshingly cool, as if aloe had been spread over a burn. A gentle magic encompassed him, one that was similar to Mipha’s, though less like a bubbling stream and more like that of the sun in the deep woods. He sighed, and snuggled further into the comfort that called to him. “Cub. CUB. Link!” Something tickled his nose, and it quickly pulled him away from soft darkness and into an irritating light. He blinked his eyes open all the way and was met with the welcome sight of a face donning a single black mark upon his forehead.

“Twi?” He muttered, voice raspy from lack of use.

“Oh, Wild, what happened to you?” Twilight asked, voice thick with emotion. Wild opened his mouth to reply before Twilight shook his head. “It doesn’t matter right now. All that matters is that you’re okay.”

“Damn right. You fell through that portal and straight into Time’s lap. You’re lucky he wasn’t wearing his armor. You would’ve ended up with a concussion to add to your broken ribs!” Several chuckles came from the group, and a hearty laugh rang from Warriors. Hyrule, with his hands alighted on Wild’s side, looked pleased with his joke. Twilight merely shook his head and brushed his hand through Wild’s bangs. Wild had a thought to bat the hand away, but the worrying felt so good, so needed, that he found himself leaning into the touch, and, as Twilight continued his ministrations, Wild couldn’t help the tears that began to leak from the corner of his eyes for a second time that day. He brushed them away quickly and palmed his eyes.

“Sorry. M’fine,” he said gruffly, “Help me get up please.”

Twilight opened his mouth to protest, but Wild was already trying to shuffle himself out of Time’s lap when large hands, one on his forehead and the other on his shoulder, gently pushed him back down.

“Rest, Wild. You have no need to push yourself now. Your family is here to care for you,” Time’s voice rumbled from his chest, soft but demanding.

“But—”

“No arguing.”

Wild relented, and settled back into Time’s embrace, eyes feeling heavier than he would like to admit. Though despite the welcoming tendrils of sleep that curled around his consciousness, he couldn’t find it within himself to give in, not yet.

“What’s the matter, Cub?” Twilight still knelt next to him and Time while the others had begun to set out their bedrolls. Wild merely shook his head.

“It’s just-” he swallowed, “I’m afraid if I fall asleep, everyone will be gone when I wake up,” he whispered, embarrassment turning his head and closing his eyes so the others couldn’t see his face. “That always happens to me.”

He shouldn’t be saying this. He’s the Hero. The Savior of Hyrule. He doesn’t get to show weakness. Wild doesn’t want to open his eyes and see what surely must be disappointment on Time’s face, or disgust in Twilight’s eyes. Only a gentle warmth along his side breaks him from his thoughts. He looks down hesitantly and is met with the wide eyes of Wind, who has taken residence tucked along Wild’s hip, an arm thrown across his chest. The youngest gave him the biggest smile he could muster.

“It’s okay to be scared. I promise I’ll stay right here until you wake up in the morning. Even if you snore,” Wind said, and snuggled closer into his side. Time shifted, lying down close as Twilight tucks his pelt under Wild’s head.

“We all will,” the eldest reassured. It was only then Wild allowed himself a small smile. The doubts still ate at him, but they were lessening in their ferocity. The tiredness he felt before settled deep in his bones, an exhaustion so deep it slowed his breathing and finally closed his eyes, and finally, finally, he could sleep.

[senorabond]

Rumor Has It: Chapter 7 Peña x f!reader x Pike

Pairings: Javier Peña x f!reader; Marcus Pike x f!reader; future Peña x f!reader x Pike

Chapter 7 Summary: The case is progressing more quickly than expected, presenting the first opportunity to set the bait for the narcos. When plans for the undercover operation go awry, you have to think and act fast. Meanwhile, whatever is going on between you and Javi gets kicked into high gear.

Rating: 18+ (Minors DNI), Explicit sexual content, additional warnings may be added for future chapters

Chapter Warnings: no use of y/n, previous relationship (Marcus x f!Reader), boss!Marcus, slowburn, workplace romance, ohh the yearning, fake relationship, protective!Javi, Dom/sub dynamic, precisely (1) spank, almost caught, please just fuck already

Reader/Character notes: Reader is fem!afab; No mention of Reader’s body size, shape, composition, or skin color.

Words: 8k

Author’s Note:  I am SO happy to finally post this! I’ve been sick with back-to-back viruses ever since November, so I’ve been slowly chipping away at this chapter. It’s super plotty and a lil smutty, but I had to kick Javi and Reader in the ass to move this shit along somehow. I have so many thots and ideas for these two, especially when we get to see more of Marcus. As always, a HUGE thank you to my dear, sweet, lovely beta @kilamonster, who lets me torture her endlessly with all the dirty things that come to mind and for correcting my atrocious Spanish. 💋💜

Masterlist || Previous Chapter

The Next Morning   Washington, D.C.

There’s a knock at Marcus’ office door and a grinning man pokes his head inside. He’s got a slight build, and sandy hair that falls across his forehead in natural waves. You had always told Marcus this agent reminded you of that weaselly guy in Dirty Dancing, Neil, and he can certainly see it now. Though the resemblance was probably more down to personality than looks.

"Sir, you wanted to see me?" The man asks, waiting for permission to enter. 

"Yeah, Wilkins, come in – and shut the door.” Wilkins has to halt midway to turn around and close the door and is looking a bit less confident now as he sits down in the chair across from Pike.

Pike fixes the smaller man with a neutral expression. He'll give Wilkins a chance to be honest and forthright, but he’s not going to beat around the bush. 

"Did you receive a call from a DEA agent about helping them with a potential art money laundering case?" 

Wilkins' eyes grow wide for a second, and he stumbles a bit over his next words. "Uh, I'm not sure, maybe?"

"Maybe?" The fewer words Marcus gives Wilkins to work with, the more he'll have to come up with himself, and the less he’ll be able to turn Marcus’ words back around on him – a common interrogation technique.

"I remember a call from somebody at the DEA, but I don't think I recall the specifics." Wilkins fidgets with his tie.

Marcus keeps his face neutral, but laces his fingers together on his desk and leans forward, closing the space between them. "What do you recall?" 

"He might have mentioned some drug dealers." Wilkins, a man with an ego the size of Nationals Park, has already been reduced to a little boy getting in trouble at school. 

"Being that he's DEA, that would make sense." Pike says blandly, waiting for Wilkins to continue. 

"Yeah. And... there might have been some talk about art." Wilkins’ voice is small, tentative. He knows he’s been caught out, and it’s no small matter.

"That's interesting. And why do you think this DEA agent called us – the FBI art squad – about art?" 

Wilkins doesn't say anything in response. He knows there's nothing else he could say in his defense at this point. 

"Do you know who that DEA agent was, Wilkins?" 

Wilkins juts his chin out defiantly. "No, Sir."

"You might, if you'd bothered to get his name." Wilkins has grown sullen, already tired of the tongue lashing. 

Pike has no patience for this guy’s attitude. Normally, Marcus wouldn’t draw out disciplinary issues like this, on the rare occasions he has them with his crew. But this guy has pissed him off too many times. 

"That was Special Agent Javier Peña. You might have heard of him, made the news awhile back." Marcus leans back in his chair, watches Wilkins’ petulant shrug.

"He put away Pablo Escobar and the Cali Cartel, remember them?" Wilkins doesn’t respond, but there’s recognition in his eyes. "So when Javier fucking Peña calls to ask for help, that's probably when you should tell your superior.” 

Marcus pauses, waiting for Wilkins to say something, anything, but he just sits there.

“Do you agree?" Marcus prompts, each word punctuated.

"Yes, Sir." The man replies, his tone clipped. 

"Glad to hear it." 

"Is that all?" Wilkins stands, and Marcus fights the urge to stand as well. But there’s power in showing you’re confident enough to not rely on being physically overbearing. 

"No, I'll tell you when that's all. There have been some rumors floating around the office for a while now.” Finally, what Marcus has wanted to confront Wilkins about for months. 

“I tried to ignore them, thinking it was just some office gossip, but then one of our best liaisons at Customs fast-tracked a transfer.” Marcus has to take a breath, the lead ball in his stomach growing heavy. “Some of that office gossip was about her. Know anything about that, Wilkins?"

"No, Sir." Wilkins shifts from foot to foot, glancing around the office nervously. Marcus lets him squirm for a bit longer. 

"That's good. Because if you did know something about who was spreading those harmful rumors – rumors that affect the lives and careers of federal agents who outperform you on any given day – we’d be having a very different conversation." 

Wilkins stands rigid, eyes wide.

"That's all." Marcus turns back to his computer and without giving Wilkins another glance. 

______________________________________________________________

That Afternoon Texas

The briefing went off without a hitch. You could feel Javier's smile on you from the other side of the briefing room while you talked through each of the slides. Your stomach was in your throat, but Javier's presence gave you the bit of confidence you needed every time you glanced his way. 

The other agents ask questions you and Javi had anticipated and discussed thoroughly the day before, and even a few you didn’t prepare for. Once you answer their questions flawlessly, Javier dismisses the group to their respective assignments. Several of them shake your hand on their way out. 

Javi stands back and watches the crowd file out, then saunters over to you. You’re beaming a smile at him and fight the urge to throw your arms around him in a grateful embrace. 

“That was…” You shake your head in disbelief, eyes as wide as your smile.

“‘Amazing.’ You can say it.” He’s smiling in return and leans a slim hip against the table, crossing his arms. 

“It was amazing! God, that felt good.” Adrenaline pumps through your limbs in a rush.

“You did a great job today.” 

“Thanks, I had a lot of help.” You start to gather the briefing materials and Javi jumps in, working his way around the opposite side of the table. You meet on the other side, where he adds the stack from your hands to his own.

“Not as much as you think.” Javier tucks the stack of briefings under his arm and gives you a friendly wink. Friendly, yet it still manages to set those butterflies flitting again. You haven’t felt this moony over a guy in…well, awhile. 

The rest of the day goes by like a blur. Javier introduces you to the two agents he’s assigning to report directly to you for the duration of the case – Diaz and Tran – and the three of you get to work immediately. The first thing you do is get in touch with the closest ports of entry to see what high-priced artwork may have crossed in or out of the country within the past few months.  

You lose yourself in piles of customs reports, flagging anything that catches your eye, and before you know it, Javier appears at your desk, knocking on the wall of your cubicle. Blinking, you’re surprised to see that the office has emptied out. 

“Hey,” he says softly. 

Your eyes widen when you see that it’s past seven o’clock on your computer screen. “Jesus, no wonder I was starting to go cross-eyed.”

You start putting the reports away in your bag, intending to look at them some more at home. The excitement and buzz of the day is fading, and the fatigue finally starts setting in. 

"Want to grab a drink?" Javier has his jacket over his arm, a hand casually in his pocket. 

"Can I take a rain check?" You feel bad saying no, because you actually would like to have a drink with Javi. 

“Are you going to keep working at home?”

“That was the plan,” you admit sheepishly.

“Then, no.”

“‘No,’ what?” 

“No rain check. Let’s go – there will be plenty more to do tomorrow. I had to learn that the hard way.” Javier reaches over and takes your bag. 

You let out a long-suffering sigh for dramatic effect and shut down your computer. As you join Javier, he splays a broad hand between your shoulder blades, guiding you to the elevator. You barely have a chance to register the warmth of his hand before it drops, leaving pleasant tingles in its wake. 

The silence between you is born from that day’s weariness, yet it feels comfortable. Javi takes you to the same bar as before, and you grab the same table in the back while he orders you each a beer. A server brings a couple of glasses of water over as well, which you find a sensible choice, given how tired you feel already. 

Javier settles back in his chair with a groan and starts taking off his tie. As he stretches his long neck, you try not to stare, but those freckles and prominent veins hold your gaze. He takes a long pull from his bottle of beer, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows.

Tearing your eyes away, you focus on the rings of condensation your beer bottles have left on the table and try to think of anything to talk about. Before you can think of something, Javier speaks up. 

“I got a call today.” He’s fiddling with the label on his beer bottle, peeling it back. His knee bounces under the table, jiggling close enough that you can feel the edge of his pant leg against yours.

When he doesn’t continue, you prompt him with a soft, “Oh?” and take a swig of your beer. 

“It was the FBI art squad getting back to me.” 

You pause before swallowing, determined to play this cool. “About time.” 

“Yeah, the guy was really apologetic. He said they could assign a couple of people to help us with whatever we need.” Javier finishes pulling the label off his bottle, all in one piece. 

“That’s great!” You hope Javi can hear the genuine enthusiasm you feel in your voice. “My contact said they’d help, but wasn’t sure what they could do.”

“I spoke to the agent in charge, Pike. Do you know him?” He keeps his large, brown eyes on you as he takes another sip of beer. 

Schooling your features, you dare yourself to meet his gaze. “I do, yeah.”

“Have you worked with him before?” Javier tilts his head a fraction, watching you.

“That case I finished before transferring, he and I worked on that together.”

“Closely?”

“What are you trying to get at?” You counter, putting your beer down harder than you intended, your hackles starting to rise.

“Nothing.” Javier shakes his head and looks down at his beer, but you can see a hint of a smirk appearing under his mustache.

Huffing, you slouch and take a sip of your beer, then cross your arms, feeling a little like a child. “Yes.”

“Hmm?” Javi looks up at you through his lashes. Those damned eyes of his. He could bring entire cartels to their knees with those eyes. 

“Yes, he’s the person I had a… thing with.” You cross one leg over the other, bouncing it peevishly.

“Sounds complicated,” Javier remarks, not unkindly. 

You shrug, as though to say it was nothing. As though the time you spent with Marcus didn’t mean anything to you, and wasn’t the healthiest relationship you’d ever been in, even if it didn’t have the label society demanded. You’re embarrassed to feel the sting of tears in your eyes and turn your face away from Javi before he can see.

“I understand complicated,” Javi says, his soft words a balm to soothe your injured heart. 

The beers are finished in contemplative silence. Both of you take plaintive sips of water, mindful of the drives ahead and the weariness you’re each already fighting. 

Neither of you seem to mind that the space between you is shrinking, or that your legs rest gently against each other’s under the table. Neither of you flinch or pull away when the backs of your hands wrapped around your water glasses touch. When Javi’s thumb grazes your knuckles, you only look at him, but his face stays turned down determinedly. 

You move your thumb against his in a soothing repetition. Slowly, but without hesitation, Javi takes your hand in his, linking your fingers, and you give a gentle squeeze. Your breath slows, the noise of the bar fades, and the tension in your muscles unwinds as you inhale and exhale in time with Javi. 

Without a word, without a glance, Javi pulls you to your feet and begins to lead you out of the bar. 

It’s completely dark now, but the goosebumps erupting across your arms aren’t from any chill in the air. Holding tight to Javi’s hand, you follow swiftly behind him. He lengthens his stride, shoulders back and jaw set. 

About half a block from your office building, Javier pulls you around a corner and onto a darkened side street. You let him lead you without thinking, completely trusting him. But before you can blink, he’s got you pressed up against the wall of a building, one hand cradling the back of your head, the other around your waist. Instinctively, your hands grip onto the lapels of his jacket to not lose your balance. 

Everything Javier does is purposeful, focused, intentional – he is not a man to lose complete control of himself, especially when he feels out of control. With his face mere inches from yours, and the faint scent of beer on his breath, he speaks. 

“Tell me to stop.” 

Javi’s tongue pokes out and licks his plump bottom lip. The cool stone of the building at your back is a welcome relief from the heat pooling in your lower belly. 

“W-what?” A glance at his eyes, black from the shadows around you, makes your knees shake. 

“If you don’t want this, tell me now.” The hand on the back of your head gently eases down to cup your face, and Javi caresses your cheek with his thumb.

“Please,” he pleads in a whisper, his lips a hair’s breadth from your own. “Before I do something I’ll regret.” 

“Don’t…” Your breath shakes. 

A sigh from Javi’s lips is warm on your face. Almost imperceptibly, Javi nods and begins pulling away. You tighten your grip on his jacket, holding him in place. 

“I mean - don’t stop.” 

Javi’s smile changes his entire face, and the tension in his shoulders eases. 

“Cariño,” he murmurs, resting your foreheads together and nudging your nose with the tip of his. 

Before Javi can do more than brush his lips against yours, a small group of people pass by on the sidewalk a few feet away. This close to the office, it’s very possible they work in the same building – might have even come from the same bar. Fortunately, Javier reacts quickly. He shifts your bodies and tucks your head into his chest, blocking the light from the nearby street lamp – and their view of you – entirely.

Their chattering ceases abruptly as they spot your forms in the shadows, one letting out a quiet, “Whoops,” under his breath. Another sniggers, and they continue on their way. You think you hear one of them whisper Peña a bit too loudly and get shushed by their companions.

Javier holds you there a few more moments, your bodies molded to one another in the dark. Stilling your pounding heart, you breathe in his scent and run your hands around his back, underneath his suit jacket. The muscles of his back are firm under your hands. He presses his face to the top of your head and wraps his arms around you in return. For a while, you stay there together, breathing in sync and savoring this stolen moment.

Eventually, Javier starts to pull away, and you reluctantly let go. He leans in, and tenderly places a kiss to your forehead, your cheek, and your ear. Softly, he says, “Come on, cariño, I’ll walk you back to your car.” 

Holding hands again, your pace is much slower this time. There seems to be an understanding that what you just experienced was too close a call. Still, neither of you are in any hurry for this to end, whatever it is. 

At your car, Javier stands back with his hands in his pockets while you open the door and toss your bag inside. 

“Get home safe, cariño.” 

“You too, Javi.” 

In your mirror, you see him give a small wave as you drive away.

~*~*~*~

It was stupid to ask you to grab a drink after work. Javier doesn't really understand what motivated him to ask you in the first place. 

That’s a lie – he knows exactly why he asked you, why he asked you about Pike, why he dragged you out of that bar. You're on his mind all the time now, to the point of distraction. Javier sees you when he closes his eyes, pictures you lying next to him when he’s going to sleep, tries to imagine the feel of your skin, soft on his fingertips. The only relief he feels is when he's with you in the flesh. 

It’s selfish of him, he realizes, to want these things from you. You haven’t said much about what happened in D.C., but it was enough for him to understand that he can’t put you in that position again. People are cruel, especially to women. 

With a heaving sigh, Javier rolls over in bed. Even if he can’t allow himself to act on his desires, he can let go a little in his mind. For a moment, he lets himself indulge in the fantasy of having you, fueled by the memories of your fingers laced with his, the heat from your back where he placed a gently guiding hand, the scent of your shampoo when he kissed your face. 

Javier imagines what it would feel like, being able to touch and feel you in those natural ways people together do: your arms wrapped around his chest and kissing the back of his neck and shoulders, the weight of you seated on his lap, caressing all of your lines and curves. All the things he could do with you, just because you’re his. 

______________________________________________________________

Five Days Later Texas

You’ve never seen a case get off the ground and progress so quickly. In the last few days, the DEA managed to bring in the art gallery couple suspected of planning a money laundering deal with the narcos under investigation. Not only did the couple admit to their plan, but they agreed to cooperate with the investigation in exchange for immunity. 

The gallery was hosting a special exhibit opening that night, and the narcos – Castano and Lopez – were confirmed guests. The timing was perfect to introduce Peña and another agent, Bateman, who would be posing undercover as business partners in competition with the art gallery owners. But that meant their task force had to act fast to get everything organized and ready in time.

Surveillance had been placed on Castano and Lopez, and the agents tailing them were sending in frequent reports on the men’s movements. They had already arranged transportation to get them to the gallery event after dining at an expensive restaurant nearby. Their dirty money certainly didn’t stop them from enjoying a lavish lifestyle. 

You check over the information on the tablet in your hands. Posing as an event coordinator gave you access to all areas of the gallery, service entrances, back rooms, the whole shebang. It also gave you the ability to watch a live video feed of all the cameras placed around the gallery, right from your tablet, and listen in on the audio through the wires Peña and Bateman would be wearing. 

A few other agents were staged as caterers, wait staff, and private security detail for the special event, but this evening would only have one mission: get the narcos interested in finding out what Peña and his “business partner” could offer. He and Bateman were already out on the gallery floor, mingling with the crowd, and looking at the art. 

Javi was wearing a dark blue suit, fitting snugly to his broad shoulders and tapering in at his slim waist. He’d obviously taken extra time grooming himself that evening, because he had some kind of pomade in his hair that added a sleek wave, and his mustache was neatly trimmed. It was criminal how fucking good he looked.

Surveillance checks in to report an ETA of approximately 10 minutes. Letting out a deep breath, you tap out a message on your tablet with the ETA and send it to Javi’s phone. Through your earpiece, you hear Javi’s phone ding, a pause, and then his voice mutters, “Copy.” 

Things between you and Javier that week had been a bit tense, to say the least. The two of you orbited each other, coming close yet never touching before being slingshot back out in opposite directions. 

The memory of his arms around you and his lips ghosting across your mouth kept you warm each night. You continuously waffled back and forth between reprimanding yourself for even thinking about indulging in another workplace fling, and craving him like a drug. It was maddening. 

Diaz’s voice in your ear says, “Targets have arrived, entering now.” You message Javi, and he confirms he has eyes on them. He and Bateman continue circulating a bit, keeping an eye on Castano and Lopez, but blending with the crowd for now. Things are right on track. 

Closing your eyes for a moment, you take a deep breath and lean against a wall in the back corridor. The coolness of the wall reminds you of the cool stone against your skin in that alleyway. You let the radio chatter in your earpiece fade as you remember the heat from Javi’s hands, the strength of his arms and chest, the smile on his lips when you told him ‘don’t stop.’ Heat pools in your lower belly, imagining what could have happened if you hadn’t been interrupted.

“What’s wrong? Are you okay?” You hear Javi’s voice in your ear and your eyes fly open. A few taps on your tablet and you’re watching video from a nearby camera. Bateman is gripping his abdomen and grimacing in pain. 

“Yeah, just this stomach ache. I’ve had it for days.” Bateman gestures to his lower right side. Something tells you that’s no mere stomach ache.

Quickly, yet calmly, you bustle over to their location and assume your best event coordinator voice. “Sir, is everything alright? Can I get you some water?” 

Bateman tries to wave you off, but is interrupted as another wave of pain hits him and he doubles over. Javi watches his partner and concern knits his brow. 

“Boss, the targets are headed in your direction, I think they’re trying to check out what’s going on,” Tran’s falsetto says over the radio. 

You lay a hand on Bateman’s shoulder, lowering your voice to say, “We need to get him out of here.”

You put your arm around Bateman’s hunched shoulders and say loudly enough for some of the looky-loos to hear you, “Everything’s alright, Sir. Please come with me.” You give a meaningful look to Javi and gesture for him to come with you.

The gallery owners have a small office in the back that’s part of a larger storage area with a loading dock for larger works of art. You take Bateman and Javi back to the office, passing through the swarm of catering staff, who have been using the storage room as their staging area. Pulling out one of the office chairs, you guide Bateman to sit. Diaz bursts into the small room, dressed in the typical black attire of private security, worry etched across his face. 

“Nick? Talk to me – what’s happening?” Diaz’s voice is a bit tremulous, but he takes charge and gets on the radio to report an agent down. You’ve seen how close Diaz and Bateman are at the office and wonder if there’s something more between them than friendship.

Javi catches your eye and nods his head to the side, indicating for you to both exit the office. Following him a bit down the hallway, you step close to his side to escape the bustle of caterers with trays of hors d'oeuvres. 

“What’s happening?” Javi wipes a hand over his mustache and flicks a finger at your tablet. 

He leans over to look at your screen and you swipe through several views until you spot Castano sipping on champagne and Lopez looking bored. The latter was the one, if memory serves, who made the comment about modern art being just a bunch of splattered paint. 

The scent of Javi’s cologne and his closeness make your hands tremble. You haven’t been this close to him since he almost kissed you. In fact, his face was near enough to your own that you could easily turn your head and place your lips to the side of his neck or shoulder. Your head swims at the thought.

Hazarding a glance up, you see out of the corner of your eye that Javi isn’t looking at your tablet anymore either. His chest rises and falls, brushing your arm with every inhale. Those dark chocolate eyes are nearly black, his pupils wide and intense. Seconds tick by that could be minutes, both of your bodies frozen in place. 

Movement on the screen in your hands catches your attention and breaks the reverie. You can’t let yourself be distracted by whatever is happening between you and Javi. Not now, on this big of a case – your first opportunity to really prove that you’re capable on your own, and not someone who fucks their way up the ranks. 

Javi takes half a step back, and you clamp your teeth down on your lower lip to stifle a sigh at your loss. How the hell are you supposed to focus with all of these feelings and urges flying through your body? 

Clearing his throat, Javi rasps, “I better get back out there.”

You nod your head in agreement. “Yeah. That’s good, I’ll - uh, check on Bateman.” Javi moves to leave but pauses. 

“You’re doing great,” he whispers next to your ear, his touch on your lower back light as a feather before slipping off back into the crowded gallery. You fight the urge to run after him and shift your focus back to Bateman. Stepping back into the office, Diaz is already on the radio, arranging transportation for the two of them to the hospital. 

“I think it’s his appendix,” Diaz says to you quietly when you walk over. 

You grimace. Shit.

Bateman was chosen to be Javi’s partner in this operation because he could carry a conversation about art and make it convincing. Javi – to use his own words again – doesn’t know shit about art. 

Looking down at your tablet, you tap through the various video feeds and see that the narcos are in the same section of the gallery as Javier. Switching the channel on your earpiece, you listen in on the audio feed coming from his wire. 

You’re not sure if Javi is genuinely distressed over Bateman’s condition, or if he’s acting it up to try and draw the attention of the narcos, but you can hear his labored breathing from his wire. Could he be nervous? You select the video feed with the best vantage and see Javi rubbing the back of his neck and fiddling with his tie. 

With Javi’s breathing in your ear, you make up your mind. You can’t let him finish this alone. 

“Diaz, you got this?” 

“Yes, ma’am. Transport will be here in less than five minutes.” 

You’re already setting down your tablet and removing the curlicue wire from behind your ear. 

“Good. Report in once you get him seen to.” Diaz nods, but watches you curiously. 

Next goes your blazer and the clip holding your hair back. You grab your purse and find the red lipstick, quickly applying a fresh coat to your lips.

“Well, how do I look? Can I pass as a shady art dealer’s girlfriend?” You step back and smooth down the dress you were wearing under the blazer. 

You don’t have many occasions to wear the black cocktail dress, but for tonight you needed something more stylish than your regular work clothes. Its V-neckline is relatively modest, but the smooth material clings to your curves in a way that leaves nothing to the imagination. 

Diaz gives you a once over and says, “With all due respect, Boss…you look hot.” 

“Thanks,” you fluff your hair a bit, using your reflection in the office’s window. “Bateman, take it easy. We’ve got this.” Bateman groans in response and you rush out the door. 

You’re flying blind now – no eyes or ears on anything but what’s in front of you. Tran spots you and cocks her head quizzically, but otherwise doesn’t break her cover as she approaches you with a tray of champagne flutes. 

Grabbing a glass, you mutter, “Bateman is down, I had to do something.” She nods and quirks an amused lip. 

“I like your dress,” she mutters back. You toss back the rest of the champagne in your glass for courage, and Tran hands you another to take its place. 

“Thanks, so does Diaz.” Tran snorts and pivots to offer champagne to a cluster of guests nearby. 

The three of you gelled almost immediately, and you felt immensely grateful. Their support on the case made you feel at ease with being in charge of a team. You wonder if Javi assigned Diaz and Tran on purpose, thinking you’d all suit one another.

Javier, Castano, and Lopez are still in the same gallery space, admiring adjacent pieces. Well, Lopez is digging a finger into his ear, but at least Castano seems genuinely interested. 

Seemingly more relaxed now, Javi stands with his back slightly to you, leaving his body language open to the targets. But you already know him better than the casual observer. The veins in Javi’s neck are more prominent, and you tamp down the urge to lick them. He’s practically vibrating like a plucked wire, but his shoulders are relaxed, one hand casually in his pocket. Fuck, he looks good in that suit. 

Taking a deep breath, you decide you’ll just have to go for it. It’s just for tonight, after all. 

“Babe!” A few people turn their heads to look at you, including the three men you needed to take notice. 

You shuffle over on your tiptoes to not break an ankle in your heels, and Javi – to his credit – doesn’t react beyond a shift in his eyes and a twitch of his jaw.

“Oh, my god! I’ve been looking for you everywhere, babe.” You practically throw yourself at Javi and cling to his side. He wraps an arm around your waist, the other hand coming out of his pocket to lightly grasp your bare arm.

“I saw poor Nicky – he didn’t look so good,” you say, placing your free hand on Javi’s chest and adding a touch of real concern to your voice. 

Javier’s entire demeanor shifts with you in his arms, his body relaxes, immediately falling into lockstep with you. You’re impressed at how quickly he responds to this curveball. Neither of you could have prepared for something like this.

“Yeah, he decided to head home, probably just ate something bad.” Javi took everything in stride. “You’re feeling okay, right?” He pulls back a bit to take you in, like he’s checking you over for bumps and bruises.

“Yeah, baby, I’m okay. But…” you drop your voice to a stage whisper, aware that at least Lopez is paying attention to this little charade. “What about the you-know-what?”

Javi glances around like he’s worried somebody might hear you. “Don’t worry, we’ll figure it out. He wasn’t moving it until next week anyway.” Javi kisses your temple. You nod, seemingly pacified, and offer your glass to him. 

He smirks, and instead of taking it from your hand, he leans down and places his lips to the rim. You let out a little giggle and tilt the glass for him. A little dribbles over the side of his mouth, dripping off his mustache. Letting out a mock tutting sound, you wipe it away with your thumb and lick the remnants from your skin. 

Your eyes meet, and you melt a bit, seeing that Javi’s pupils are completely blown.

“I can’t take you anywhere,” you tease, managing to regain composure. 

“I know exactly where you can take me,” he fires back, and – to your utter shock and private enjoyment – squeezes your ass. 

“Babe!” You gasp, and hit him playfully on the arm. Looking around nervously, you notice Lopez staring lasciviously at this public display, and you still, clearing your throat. Javi notices, and follows your gaze to Lopez, who is now adjusting his pants by his gaudy belt buckle.

“Hey - qué pasa contigo?” Javi’s face morphs into something serious and intimidating.

The two men exchange some words in rapid Spanish, and Castano gets involved. You’re genuinely flummoxed, not understanding what the men are saying, but it’s clear Castano is trying to apologize for Lopez’s rudeness and making amends. 

You tug at Javi’s arm to pull him back to you, running a soothing hand over his chest. “Come on, baby. It’s fine.” 

“I want an apology,” Javi says, stubbornly. 

“Lo siento, Señor,” Lopez mutters, and Javi shakes his head. 

“An apology to her,” he clarifies, his eyes boring holes into Lopez’s forehead. 

Lopez repeats himself, but can’t meet your eyes. Castano steps forward and reaches out a hand. Without thinking, you place your hand in his, and he holds it between his own. You know what this man before you is capable of, what he’s suspected and guilty of, and you fight the urge to shudder. 

“Miss, I am so sorry for my associate’s bad manners,” Castano begins in lightly accented English. “When a woman as beautiful as you is nearby, any man would take notice.” 

Pretending to be flattered and appeased, you dip your head. Castano – a slim man of equal height – bends at the waist formally and brushes dry lips to your knuckles. You turn a disgusted curl of your lip into a demure smile. 

“Thank you,” you simper. 

Javi says something to Castano in Spanish, and the two begin to converse, their tone much more pleasant now with formalities out of the way. He drops his arm from your waist and joins Castano at the painting he’d been admiring.

You catch Lopez’s eye and let the corner of your mouth tilt up as you take a sip of your champagne, now warm and flat. The man – squat, with a thick unibrow under a greasy forehead – is the kind of fish you want to keep on the hook for a while. It lets them think they’re winning. 

“Cariño,” Javi says and beckons you to join the men. 

Sauntering over, you let the high heels do their job and smile sweetly up at him. The conforming dress rises up your thighs a bit higher than you’d be comfortable with in real life, but you decide to leave the hem where it rests when you see Javi’s eyes rake over your exposed skin. The hair on your arms stands up, and the heat in your core begins to rise. 

“Señor Castano has a question about this piece, and I told him you were the brains between us,” he winks, and your breath hitches. 

Over the next ten minutes, you speak knowledgeably about the art on exhibit in the gallery. You’d never felt more grateful for the times Marcus would get excited about a case or piece of evidence and animatedly answer your questions while sharing takeout from one of your regular haunts. There’s a sudden pang in your chest. 

Just as suddenly, Javi is right behind you, stroking the backs of his fingers up and down a bare arm. His left hand is on your hip, caressing his thumb over the thin fabric of your dress. You relax into his touch, melting back into him until you feel the swell of your ass meet the front of his pants. 

Javi sucks in a sharp breath, and his fingers on your hip tighten their grip. You’re trying to focus on Castano’s words, but you feel Javi’s breath shudder a bit as he makes the smallest of movements with his hips, pressing himself into your ass. 

“...and that’s why we’re here tonight, drinking champagne, admiring the works of art on display… and speaking with beautiful women,” Castano finishes. The smile on his face would be genuinely charming if you didn’t already know what a deplorable human being he is. 

“Mi amor loves talking about art, I only wish I knew more. She and my partner could talk all night about our latest deals–” Javi stops himself short, pretending that he’s let something slip.

Castano’s eyes go sharp, but his smile barely changes. Showing a bit of intelligence, even Lopez perks up at this false faux pas. You’re surprised he was even listening, he’s been so busy shoveling canapes into his mouth and ogling the other women nearby.

“Ah, so you are art dealers then!” Castano exclaims. “Little wonder Señorita is so knowledgeable.”

You move your left hand to caress Javi’s on your hip. Not sure if Castano thinks you and Javi are married, or he’s just being polite, you’d rather play it safe and leave your ring fingers out of his sight until you and Javi can speak privately. 

“My partner is really the art dealer, it’s a shame you couldn’t meet him tonight. I’m just another man of business.” 

“And what line of business are you in, Señor?” Castano asks.

“Please, call me Javi,” he says with a casual wave of his free hand. “And I’m in whatever line of business is good – I’ve done a bit of this, a bit of that. Here, have my card.”

Javi fishes out the prop business card from the inner breast pocket of his suit jacket. “I represent my client’s business interests, whatever they may be.” 

Castano takes the card and glances it over, then hands it to Lopez to hold. “And your clients are interested in art?”

“Some are. That’s how I met mi alma. She was working at the private gallery my new partner owns.” Javi stands next to you, keeping his fingers locked with yours on your hip, and smiles down at you. 

You have to remind yourself that none of this is real, it’s all for the cover – and a last-minute cover, at that. None of this was supposed to happen. But standing there, basking in the warmth of Javi’s affection, your heart races a bit and you give him a genuine smile in return.

“And the rest is history,” you finish with a small shrug of your shoulder, then rest your head on Javi’s shoulder for a second. Lopez’s phone rings and he turns away to answer it quietly, then taps Castano on the shoulder deferentially.

“Well, Javi, Señorita,” Castano nods at each of you in turn. “I would love to treat you to dinner soon. I have a new case of vintage bordeaux and a new painting I’m looking for any excuse to show off. I’ll have my associate call to make the arrangements. Please, bring your business partner.” 

Javi nods and shakes Castano’s hand. The two men leave, and you see Lopez stuff a napkin full of food into his suit pocket. Castano rolls his eyes in exasperation and glides away to the front exit. 

Javi gives your waist a squeeze, and you turn to face him, smiles on both of your faces. You hover for a minute, just in case the men return, but then Tran comes by with another tray of champagne. 

“May I take your glass, ma’am?” Javi takes the glass from your hand and sets it gently on the tray. He busies himself by taking another so Tran can murmur, “They’re off the premises, tracking in place.” 

Javi nods and sips the champagne. Tran moves away once more. A couple beats pass, and Javi sets the champagne down on a nearby cocktail table, grips your hand tightly, and starts pulling you in the direction of the back office. 

This time you struggle more to keep up with him, not in your usual office attire. Javi is pulling at his tie and undoing the top buttons of his shirt. In the back storage area, Javi drops your hand and makes a beeline into the small office. 

You slow almost to a stop, a bit winded from practically jogging in heels. Javi turns and meets your eye. Seeing the intensity in his face, you pause before the threshold and worry flits across your mind. 

Maybe Javi’s actually upset with you for going rogue, for jumping in and messing with the plan. Maybe he’s just really good undercover, and you projected your own desires onto his smiles and touches. He silently crooks two fingers, bidding you to join him in the office. 

Steeling your spine, preparing for a fight, you pull your shoulders back and strut into the office. Closing the door behind you, you take a breath, ready to go toe-to-toe with Javi if that’s what it takes to prove you were in the right. 

You made an executive decision in what could have been a crisis, and you’ll stand by that judgment call. You did what a good leader is supposed to do when plans go south. Everything worked out with the narcos, and even if they don’t take the bait and call, you still have tracking and surveillance on them.

Javi remains silent, finishes unbuttoning his shirt, revealing his freckled skin underneath. He removes the wire taped to his chest, then sets it down on the desk and switches off the receiver. You open your mouth, prepared to state your defense.

In two strides, Javi closes the distance between you and takes your mouth in a crushing kiss. You throw your arms around his neck and his hands grip the backs of your bare thighs, lifting you effortlessly and setting you onto the desk. 

Deepening the kiss, Javi’s tongue plunders your mouth and he lets out a strangled grunt when you wrap your legs around his waist and pull him flush against your panty-clad pussy. Groaning, you feel his cock quickly getting hard and you soon realize you were already wet before he even started kissing you. 

Javi kisses a searing trail across your jaw, the hairs of his mustache tickling the tender flesh under your ear as he nips at the lobe. You gasp and rut against the front of his pants. 

“You are – fucking – incredible,” Javi growls in your ear, grinding his straining cock against the damp spot on your panties for emphasis. Your breathing is shallow, and you cling to his broad back as he continues his way down your neck. 

“You’re amazing,” he adds, then gently sinks his teeth into the flesh between your neck and shoulder, eliciting a small whimper from your lips. 

Letting your head loll to the side, willing him to take whatever he desires, you whisper, “Javi, please…” 

You can feel his mustache turn up as he smiles, his path across your clavicle interrupted. 

“‘Please’, what, cariño?” His wide hands roam up the expanse of your back, then down to massage the meat of your hips and ass. You rock yourself against his cock again, but he holds your hips still and pulls back to look into your wrecked face, lifting an eyebrow in question. 

“Fuck, Javi–” You rebel against the grip of his hands, trying to feel that pressure from his hard cock again, but he stops you. He mimics your tut-tut from earlier out in the gallery, and pulls his hips away from yours. You lock your ankles behind him, trying in vain to keep him in place. 

Javi smacks a hand against the flesh of your ass that’s still covered by your dress, which luckily muffles the sound. Your mouth pops open in surprise, and you look at him. The intensity in his face has returned, but there’s no malice in his eyes, just hunger. Without a word exchanged, you unhook your ankles from behind his waist and let your legs spread open. 

Javi lets out a satisfied moan from deep in his chest. “Mm, somebody trained you well, cariño.” 

You let out a shuddering breath and Javi leans in to capture your bottom lip between his, sucking it between his teeth before letting it go with a soft pop. You nod, just barely, and wait for him to continue. 

“I bet I can guess who it was,” he teases, then his tone changes. “Stand up and turn around. Palms on the desk.” 

Javi pulls away and walks the two steps to the door, never looking away as he watches you follow his command. Your dress is now hitched up onto your hips, your ass presented to him. 

Before he can lock the door, a tentative knock on the other side makes both of you jump. You immediately straighten up and pull your dress down, while Javi checks through the blinds in the door’s window. 

“Tran,” he mouths. 

You try to smooth your hair down and Javi opens the door and quickly turns away, busying himself with the wire and receiver on the desk, as though he’d just turned it off. 

Clearing her throat, Tran stands in the doorway, not meeting your eye and says, “Boss, Diaz just reported in. Bateman is getting an emergency appendectomy, but he should be fine. They got him to the ER before it got too bad.” 

Both you and Javi let out sighs of relief. “Thanks, Tran. We’ll debrief in the morning.” 

Tran glances between you and Javi, and gives you a sly smile. “Sure thing, Boss. Have a good night.” She winks and closes the office door behind her. You’ll have to deal with that later.

“Fuck me,” you sigh and sink down in the office chair. All the adrenaline of the evening was starting to make your legs shaky. Javi sits a hip on the corner of the desk in a way that reminds you of Pike. 

“That’s kind of what I was trying to do,” he tosses his head at the door. “Before we got interrupted.” 

“It was very rude,” you agree, both of you sharing a smirk before going quiet. 

“Listen,” Javi swipes a thumb at the corner of his mouth. “I don’t know if this is a good idea–” You put a hand on his knee to stop him.

“But it’s what I want. And you obviously want it too,” you look pointedly at his crotch, where his aroused state is still quite evident, despite the interruption. 

“Fuck yeah, I do,” he states emphatically. “It’s just…” He sighs and places his hand over yours. “I recognize what a huge deal this case is for you, for professional and personal reasons.” 

Javi pulls you to stand and cups your face. “I couldn’t live with myself if I fucked that up for you.” 

You sigh, and think for a moment. 

“Javi, no offense, but that’s bullshit.” 

“What?” He pulls back in surprise.

“First, you’re giving yourself way too much credit,” you chuckle to break the tension, then grow serious. “Secondly, I’m a grown ass woman who can make her own choices. If anything gets fucked up, it’s because I made a decision, so I’ll deal with the consequences.” 

Javi takes a deep breath, evaluating your words. You can see that he doesn’t like the idea of what those consequences may be, nor the thought of you being the one to deal with them. 

He swears under his breath in Spanish, looking to the heavens for help, then leans in and kisses you. Gently at first, then more persistently, holding your face until you’re both breathing heavily through your noses. He breaks the kiss and you both take a deep breath.

“Okay, ‘grown ass woman,’” he says, and you let out a small laugh. “I’ve got a choice for you to make.”

“Oh, yeah? And what’s that?” 

“Your place or mine?”

Chapter 8 - Coming Soon!

Additional Author’s Note: Thank you, thank you, THANK YOU for all the lovely comments and reblogs! I can’t tell you how much they mean to me. As always, I would love-love-love to know what you think. I really want to become a better writer, so any and all feedback is welcome! Thank you for reading! 💜

[little-diable]

A Losing Game - Professor Aaron Hotchner (Profiling 101 Series, Part 8/?)

Chapter eight, here we go. I hope you enjoy the way this moves into, I can't wait to hear your thoughts on this! Thank y'all for the love on the past chapters! Please like and reblog if you enjoyed reading this, your comments keep us writers motivated. Enjoy my loves. xxx

Summary: The reader enrolls in professor Hotchner's class "Profiling 101", a man she has always looked up to, a man who treats her like an asshole from day one. Will her need for academic validation manage to push the two closer together? Will her bright mind push her into the world of Aaron Hotchner and the BAU team? Will he manage to keep his distance before the world he tries to protect her from can get its grasp on her?

Warnings: 18+, smut, unprotected piv, shower sex, some angst due to the kidnapping, regular CM stuff

Pairing: Professor!Aaron Hotchner x fem!reader (2k words)

Profiling 101 Series Masterlist

Part One Part Two Part Three Part Four Part Five Part Six Part Seven Part Nine

It took her a while to wake, forcing her eyes to stay shut, not daring to give away her awakened mind should she not be alone. With a quiet exhale leaving (y/n), she tried to focus on her other senses, on what she could feel, smell, and hear. But she was surrounded by complete silence, nothing could be heard, no cars, no beeping sounds that could indicate any machines, not even the sound of somebody breathing.

She felt the hard chair she was sitting on pressing against her aching back, her wrists unable to move due to the tape that was burning into her skin, keeping her glued to the chair. Fuck, panic arose in her system, not being able to move made the whole thing even more complicated, unable to fight off whoever had taken her.

It had been too dark inside the SUV to make out the features of her stalker, only his unfamiliar, deep voice had rang in her ears before he had knocked her out. She hadn’t even gotten any time to struggle, face falling forwards against the dark console, swallowed by the darkness within seconds before Aaron could come rescue her. 

Aaron – oh god, Aaron. (Y/n) knew that he’d blame himself for letting her out of his sight, leaving her side for just a minute too long. Had he seen her stalker drive the car away from the BAU? Or had he thought that she had driven off on her own? No, he knew what had happened, they were already looking for her – they had to be. 

Chills ran down her spine, a sensation so strong, (y/n) could no longer keep her eyes closed. She had to blink a few times to adjust to her dark surroundings. The room was small, looking like a prison cell, with only her chair, a table, and a small lamp that barely managed to alight even half of the room.

Where the hell was she?

Her gaze flickered down to the black tape that had been wrapped around her wrists, glueing her to the chair. With a huff breaking through (y/n), she tried to tug on her restraints, knowing that she’d eventually be able to break free if she’d get enough time to find her strength. Her body felt weak, leaving her to wonder how long it had been since her stalker had gotten his hands on her.

Fuck, she had been careless, in retrospect she should have been all too aware of the dangers lurking outside. She couldn’t help but curse herself for leaving Aaron’s side, for declining Derek’s offer, she would have been safe with them around. Fuck, fuck, fuck. 

(Y/n) didn’t get any more time to curse her stupid actions, eyes flickering to the door which was pushed open. The man who stared at her looked unfamiliar, a stranger she hadn’t ever crossed paths with before – at least not willingly. She wasn’t sure if she should feel relieved that he was a stranger, or scared, unable to tell what he’d do to her. 

“Well, finally, sweetheart, you had me worried.” He wasn’t much taller than she was, with brown hair slicked back, and dark eyes hidden behind round glasses. The guy must have been in his mid-twenties, a lanky figure she could take down in a fight if she’d only get the chance to. “Now, don’t look at me like that, I warned you, didn’t I? You should have been a good girl, should have listened to my warnings, to the rules, but you’ve never been good at doing that, huh? Of course not, you’re sleeping with your professor after all.

A humourless laugh left the man, dripping with jealousy and hatred. Fear thumped through her veins as he took a step closer, forcing her to part her lips to flush some water down her throat. Perhaps she could use his anger to her advantage, perhaps she could try to rile him up just enough to force him to cut her restraints – she’d only need one chance to fight her way out of this.

“Who are you?” Her voice was monotone, not dripping with anything that could give away her fear, the uneasiness she was held hostage by. She kept her eyes on him, not daring to look away even for one second.

“That’s not important right now, darling. What counts is that I’ve got you here with me, and well, I’ll need to thank the lovely Penelope Garcia for that. She helped me get you after all.”

……

“Hotch, c’mon man, at least sit down for a few minutes. We’ll get your girl.” Aaron’s coffee-coloured eyes met Derek’s wide ones, letting go of an exhausted huff as he slowly sat down on the chair. It has been over six hours since (y/n) had been taken, forced to watch the video over and over again, watching how a masked figure had broken into the SUV, how (y/n) had stepped into the car all too obliviously, and how the SUV had hastily left the parking lot moments later. 

“Alright, so we can rule out Lorey, we can rule out her family,” Emily repeated what they had put together hours ago, letting go of a defeated huff. 

“So, we have nothing.” Aaron let go of another sigh, eyes momentarily squeezed shut to try and collect himself. This is what he had been fearing all this time, after losing Haley Aaron had known that he needed to be even more careful, that he couldn’t take any risks, for his sake and Jack’s. 

“Garcia, anything you could pick up on the CCTV feed?” His dark eyes snapped towards Penelope, studying her tired features, not used to seeing her this quiet. She kept her teary eyes focused on the screen, not replying verbally, only shaking her head. With Derek’s hand placed on Peleope’s shoulder, they found themselves engulfed by silence. A silence that left their insides churning, knowing that time was working against them.

……

She helped me get you after all. She helped me get you after all. She helped me get you after all.

Bile rose in (y/n)’s throat as his words kept ringing in her ears. Penelope? It couldn’t be, not the one she had instantly clicked with. It couldn’t be, not the sunshine that had brightened the darkness she had been trapped in. It couldn’t be, it simply couldn’t be. 

She needed to distract herself, needed to get a grip before she’d spiral. Her thoughts brought her back to Aaron, how he had touched her only hours ago, in the early morning, pressed against the dark shower tiles. 

“Hold on to me, I’ve got you, baby.” Aaron’s raspy voice left her gasping, choking on the moans he forced from her. He had her pinned against the wall, hands holding her up as she slung her legs around his waist. With their eyes holding contact, he pushed into her, making them moan in unison.

Their hearts were racing, minds silenced by the intense sensations washing through them. She wondered if she’d ever get used to feeling him this close, deep inside of her, pressing against her stomach. 

Aaron fucked her without holding back, his thrusts were fast, rough, and calculated, knowing that they couldn’t waste any time in the morning. The open-mouthed kiss they shared managed to swallow some of their sounds, leaving them clinging to one another. 

“Fuck, Aaron, I can’t.” Her pulsing bundle was overstimulated from the two orgasms he had pushed through her only minutes ago, pressed to the mattress with his face buried between her thighs. No man had ever managed to make her cum this fast, this hard, an insatiable need that guided the two of them on. 

“You can, and you will, baby.” His voice dropped with possessiveness, a dark touch that left her toes curling. Fuck, (y/n) knew that she was close already, once again letting go with a moan clawing through her without another warning. 

Aaron kept fucking her, chasing his own high with his eyebrows furrowed together and his fingers digging into the flesh of her ass. She could tell that he was about to cum, pulling out of her at the last second, watching his cum paint her lower stomach. 

Fuck, she needed to get back to Aaron, to touch him again, to feel him again, to speak to him again. She had waited too long to finally be with him, and nobody could take that from her, and especially not her stalker.

As if the man had heard her thoughts, he waltzed back into the room with a smug grin glued to his lips. He wore a suit, trying to come off as sophisticated, as if he was just another normal guy, not the sick and twisted bastard who was holding her hostage. Only as he placed her breakfast down for her did (y/n)'s eyes focus on the badge dangling from his neck, clearly stating that he was working for the FBI. 

The FBI? Had he been that close the whole time?

“It’s time for me to go to work, I was called in earlier because the oh-so-valuable assistant team member of the BAU is missing. Of course, they won’t find her, especially not since I’ll be the one supporting them.” The smirk he wore on his thin lips left (y/n) choking on her angry gasps, trying to keep quiet. He wanted to get a reaction out of her, wanted to rile her up – but (y/n) wouldn’t give in, she couldn’t. “You should eat something while I’m gone. And there’s a bucket for you, I’m sure you’ll eventually need the toilet.”

“Cut me loose, asshole, otherwise I won’t be able to reach the food or the bucket.” A raspy laugh left the guy, slowly stalking closer to (y/n). His breath fanned her skin, leaving her covered in goosebumps, torn between disgust and fear.

“You’re a smart girl, (y/n), I’m sure you’ll figure something out. I’ll see you tonight, babe.” 

……

“Guys, this is Kacey, he’s from the Tech Department, he’s one of the best down there, I thought it’d be good for Penelope to have some extra help.” JJ’s voice echoed through the room, she shot Kacey a grateful smile as he pushed his glasses up his nose. 

“Hi guys, it’s good to finally meet the rest of you, Penelope always speaks so highly of you. I’ll do anything to help you find her, I promise.” He nodded at the team before he was pulled in for a tight hug by Penelope. She and Kacey had crossed paths a while ago, spending some time in her office together as they talked about shared interests, making plans to go out with their friends together, and building a friendship she deeply cherished. 

“Thank you, we’ve got no time to lose, it’s been over twelve hours by now.” Aaron’s voice was emotionless, no longer dripping with the fear he had shown his team, no longer appearing vulnerable in front of a man who was a stranger to him. “Garcia, you two will keep on following the unsub on the feed, the rest of us will go back to (y/n)’s apartment, we’ll comb through it again, and see if we missed something.”

“You found him on the feed?” Neither Penelope nor the others seemed to pick up on the surprise filling every word that rolled off Kacey’s tongue, eyebrows furrowed. 

“I did! He thought he was sneaky, but he missed a few cameras, it’s not much, but maybe we can eventually trace him back to his work, his car, or even his home." Penelope shot Aaron a hopeful smile, clinging to the smallest detail. "Thank you for helping us, really, I know if somebody can push us in the right direction, it’ll be you, Kacey.”

.……

Sweat was pooling on (y/n)’s forehead, lips bloody from the way she had pierced her teeth into the thin skin. She had lost count of the amount of tries she had used to free her aching wrists, without any luck so far.

“Fuck, c’mon!" Tears dripped down her cheeks and a deep, shaky exhale left her, trying to keep herself somewhat collected. With another breath inhaled into her burning lungs, (y/n) collected all her strength to try and rip her wrists free. One last try. It took her a second to realise that she had managed to break through the layers of tape on her left wrist, having to shake her numb fingers a few times before she could free her other wrist. 

She’d get out of here, for the sake of herself, for the sake of Aaron.