#The Night Ripper x Reader | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

niccolites · 5 months ago

Text

febrile (or; input vs output)

simon 'ghost' riley x fem!reader

He expects some kind of betrayal, for you to hiss and snap at him. Image of the NCPD, accepting your cyberware one week and raiding your clinic the other.

Instead you stand to the side and watch with him as the other officers dig through your stuff. They’re a bit too enthusiastic, your tray gets flipped over and your bench kicked over to check underneath and it isn’t righted again.

Simon watches you, uncaring that he should be watching his men. You tilt your head back and look up at him, you aren’t half his size but it’s a close thing. He thinks he likes that, watching the top of your spine disappear into your neck just to look at him, the arch of your throat. Traces his eyes over it, tendons and a vulnerable jugular, pushed out for him.

or: Simon is a member of the Night City Police Department and you're a ripper doc. It is his job to catch criminals, but even he can admit, he's taken a different approach for you. CYBERPUNK!AU

TAGS: Dubious Consent, Power Imbalance, Size Kink, Unhealthy Relationships

read here on ao3

Simon’s got a bug in his system that is turning his vision white at the edges when he finally visits you.

Not that he has much of a morality regarding visiting ripperdocs. Sure, they’re criminals and as a member of the NCPD, it is his job to arrest and charge criminal activity, but that was a rigid rule set decades ago. These days, the split between the NCPD and a common gang is that the rules the gang lives by aren’t written into the law. But, allowances are allowed on both sides.

Simon has never cared much to think about it. He sees some other officers have that blank look in their eye after they finish a shift, others who seem to revel in being able to do whatever it is that they want. Simon just does as he’s told. If he’s told to save the woman who survived a cyberpsycho attack then she is tossed over a shoulder and brought to the ambulance. If otherwise, a nod is all he needs to know that there are no witnesses. Finger, gun, trigger. The explosion in the palm of his hand, kicked back and caught. Delivered.

Maybe it has left a screw loose in his head. Not his job to analyse that.

Flouting the law as and when it suits the law is a part of the job. Not one that Simon has much indulged in, he must admit. Any murder, extortion, crime that is involved in the ‘etcetera’ part of his work, has been asked of him. His fellow officers flout the law as and when it suits them. Illegal weapons, killing a perp who gets too mouthy, maybe getting a bit too handsy with a victim. Simon hasn’t been much interested in the ‘benefits’ he can reap with his badge.

However, after a job where the NCPD took down a group of scavengers, Simon’s vision starts getting spotty. He’d had to jack into one of the victims to see if they were still alive. Horrible static, bad channel. They hadn’t been. And seemingly willing to haunt him from the afterlife, leaving a pesky virus in his system.

There are NCPD designated docs that he could go and visit, but the idea of letting one of their starched, freshly pressed hands go worming around in his cyberware makes his skin crawl. Years before his official service, he’d had all his kit installed by a ripperdoc, and he hadn’t had an issue he couldn’t fix himself since.

He spends a few days just trying to deal with it, still able to hit his shots using the noise that all criminals insist on making. He can still mostly see, even a few days in. Maybe not make out features, but people are blurry and morphed shapes that approach him and he puts them down with the same accuracy as before.

It’s not long before his captain pulls him up, though. Forces him to admit the bug, and issues a new command. Sort it out.

Standing in the doorway of your clinic, hidden in his civvies, here he is. Sorting it out.

You’re in the middle of muddling around with some of your equipment, humming to yourself before you must catch sight of him. The blur of your figure jumps, as your face comes into profile. You must be intimidated by the sight of him, something that he registers with a cool type of pleasure. Even not in his uniform and clearly strapped with all of his weapons, he blocks the light coming in from your doorway. You must see the metal of his left arm, nothing human left there. The gas mask that covers half of his face, black and stark against the pale of his skin.

“Hello. How can I help?” you ask, shifting something up your forehead. It distorts ths shape of your head and he realises that they must be massive goggles. Ridiculous, he imagines you must look like the image of the crazy scientist from old stories; you probably have a lab coat on. He wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for your reputation, known as one of the best ripperdocs in Watson, even if you are as cheap as they say.

Ripperdocs are the gray area in Night City. Criminals, yes, but the hassle of actually taking down ripperdocs is more than it’s worth. Not that Simon tends to give a fuck about the politics, or the give and take of crime vs law. He is a bullet, pointed in a direction and shot out.

“I got a bug in my system,” he says, taking another step into your clinic.

You nod, gesture for him to take a seat on your bench. Something out of a dentist’s nightmare, he imagines, but he takes a seat nonetheless. Despite lying down, everything in him is as tense as a straight line. Gaze landed and caught on you, lazy as he watches you drift around your clinic. His vision is filtering your clinic as starkly white, the outline of your light grey. You both may as well be in void, he can only see the outline of objects as they get close to him.

You swing your chair around and pick up a wire. “You cool if I take a look?” you offer, gesturing with the wire. His forearm is already tense with the instinct to catch your hand before you can plug that into the side of his neck. His metal gasmask covers the slot anyway.

A beat, in which you look back at him. He considers making it awkward, telling you no or something. Settles on nodding and watches the way you flounder for a moment when you realise you can’t reach the slot. You’re paused, flatering in the space between the two of you.

“Can you take off your mask?” you ask. Your voice is deliberately light, but he can hear the catch of annoyance underlying your tone. It makes him want to grin, wonders how you look right now, if you’re frowning at him or trying to hide it with a smile.

“No,” he tells you. A beat. You don’t move or attempt to say anything else. Stalemate, when he can’t see how you look. “There’s a catch on the side, you unlatch that to reach the slot.”

You don’t say anything else, and he’s irritated by that. Relying on noise when the other individual doesn’t want to make any noise just leaves him listeless. You reach up, click open a section of his mask and plug in. You turn away, pull what must be a tray towards yourself. You must have plugged him into your laptop, your figure hunched towards it.

You cluck your tongue, goggles shifting across your brow as you gaze at your screen. “This is a nasty one, how’d you catch this?” He decides that’s not relevant and watches you instead. You give him a quick glance, head tilting his way, but decide to shrug off his strange silence. “I’ll just be a moment while I clear it. Seems to have caught onto a lot of your neural sensors, I’m surprised you can still walk.”

His chest doesn’t puff out with pride, but it’s a close thing. You tinker away at it, finally clearing it from his system. The whites that had clouded his vision clears, and he can see you in high definition finally. Can see the pores next to your nose, the frizz around the strap of your goggles as it disappears into your hair. You’re giving him an evaluating look, your eyes intent even as the rest of your body is deliberately loose. You don’t seem to have much chrome on you, thin lines of metal around your eyes, and a scanner on your right palm. He doubts you have much more.

“There we are, good as new,” you tell him, leaning back in your chair with a pleased huff. You give him another long look, but this time he can see the widen and pinprick of your retina. He wonders how he comes up in the scan that you must’ve pulled up the second he was in your doorway. Cop, ex-army, de-commissioned, KIA but here, in the (mostly) flesh. You don’t give any of it away, just shut your laptop and unplug him.

You hadn’t asked for payment upfront, and he imagines just walking out. Wonders if you would scowl at him, if you would expect it, maybe scowl for once. Drop that calm look on your face in exchange for something a bit uglier.

There is a long beat that he draws out to see what you will do, but you only sit patiently. You turn back to your laptop, tapping away on something else now. It’s not fun if you’re not biting, he sends you what he decides must be your standard fee, watches you tilt your head to the side at the chime of money exchanged.

He doesn’t thank you, just gets up and leaves. You didn’t close the latch on the side of his mask, and he considers marching back and making you do it, but decides to save it for another day. He closes it himself for now, and fancies that he can feel the finger print that you left behind on it, evidence.

The first warrant he comes back with is legitimate. Cyberpyschos are going mental over the bridge, and they have a faint enough lead that shows some of the cyberware tracing back to yourself. He knocks on your door and watches your face when he presents it to you.

He expects some kind of betrayal, for you to hiss and snap at him. Image of the NCPD, accepting your cyberware one week and raiding your clinic the other.

He imagines reaching over and holding his hand over the soft column of your throat. You’ve left it bare, you’d likely barely have any time to start flailing before he’d squeeze with intent and you’d drop, caught in the palm of his hand. If you can sense his thoughts, you don’t give it away, just watch him in return, blinking like a stray cat. Curious but wary.

“You know, Officer Riley, if you wanted to see me again, you didn’t have to bring the official signed document,” you say, gesturing with the hologram that was on the chip he presented to you. It’s slightly flirty, but cautious, like you’re padding around an interrogation room, but you don’t know what he’s done yet.

He doesn’t say anything. You smile back, as if he had responded, and let it lie. Your eyes are sharp, he imagined he could hear the whir as you scanned each of his men as they came in, but your smile and limbs are loose, like you are unaware of everything. Your teeth are blunt, but he imagines the cut of one against the metal of his forearm.

They don’t find anything, and one of his men huffs, giving you a dirty look. You’re asked what you work as and your smile doesn’t slip. “I help those with addiction, this is a place for them to speak, to be treated,” you answer.

“Treated?” one of his men pushes, giving Simon a look. It’s a terrible lie, so bad that Simon reckons they’ll have a hard time proving it’s not true. This is a shitty area, there’s likely 3 gonks in the alleyway outside lying in the gutter, high. You’re also liked enough that they could grab a random off the street and they’d lie for you easily enough.

“Simple brain dances, meditations,” you explain, rolling your head back to give Simon another look. The smile is gone, eyes gone guileless. He squints at it, suspicious and the corner of your mouth gives the faintest twitch. “Honestly, officers, whatever it is that you’re looking for, I’m sure I would not be of any help.”

One of his men steps forward as if to grab you by the arm but Simon barks at him to step back. You haven’t looked away, but you look analysing again, like you had looked at the virus in his system. “We’re done here,” Simon announces and steps back before you can say anything else. Leaves you with your trashed clinic and his warrant on the chip he gave you.

Simon falls asleep later and dreams of you with a scalpel in your hands, and when you cut into him, there is no blood.

Simon sees you again, but this time you’re outside. It bristles him, seeing you standing on an open street. Your sides are bare and before he can think about it too much, he’s cut his eyes around every alleyway around you. Making sure that there is no one on the rooftops. Traffic roars past and he grits his teeth. There's been a spike in drive-by shootings, gangs nipping at each other’s heels in a show of territory.

He’s over to you before he can stop himself, a hulking mass at your back, shielding you from the view of the road. He would tell himself that he is doing his duty as an officer, but he has always been a self-interested man, and never cared much to lie to himself.

You startle as his shadow swallows you up, turning around to blink up at him. You squint at the sight of him. “Officer,” you greet. He grunts in response, which makes you almost roll your eyes.

You turn back to the stall you were standing at, humming over some mods for sale.

The man at the stall is terrified at the introduction of Simon, pale and nodding mindlessly as you start to barter. Simon imagines if he flashes his holster then you would even get the mod for free, a thought which amuses him. You'd likely get even more annoyed, which he does want to see.

As if you can sense his thoughts, you wrap up the exchange quickly and step away, Simon following at your back. “There something you want from me, officer?” You ask, giving him a look over your shoulder. He stares back at you, unyielding.

He’s unsettled suddenly, imagining how often you must be outside of your clinic. He hadn’t thought of it, had only imagined you were constrained in those four walls. The door had shut behind him and he had left you there, a still picture until he would return eventually. Waiting, like a good girl, sat by the door.

“You going home?” he asks you. Tells you.

You give him another look. He wants the crack of your skull in his palms, like the clean split of a watermelon. Wants to parse through your thoughts, wants to have them before they even fully form on your own.

“Yeah, I got what I needed,” you reply. He grunts, follows you until you tilt towards the side streets that lead back to your clinic. Barely any safer, but at least it’s not the open street, and he has his orders to patrol here. He watches you as you disappear around a corner. His gums itch, his tongue flexes in his mouth. He is a wild dog held back with a tattered leash, but he respects it all the same, heads back to his post, but keeps his ear tilted in the direction you went in.

He comes back again, and the warrant isn’t even real. He stares you down, wants you to open it, wants the reaction to his baldfaced lie. You take the chip and step aside to let him in. There’s a cut across your brow, purple bruising around it and he can’t look away from it. White in his vision again, he’s starting to suspect you’ve put another virus in his system, infecting him. He blinks and it clears, but the distrust stays like a rotting in his core.

He wants to dig his teeth into the edge of the metal in your palms and peel it up, wants the imprint of his teeth somewhere on you that you couldn’t replace with technology. He thought about you while he fucked his fist in the shower, and you had been beneath him, teary-eyed as he broke you in on his cock. He wants to fuck you until you drop that questioning look in your eye and bare your throat for him again.

“Look at the warrant,” he tells you. You smile up at him, like he is someone charming. He’s not, and he wants the reaction that he has sought out of you.

“Won’t it just say what all of them say?” you point out, leaning back against your desk. “Something that may have something to do with me, and here you are.” He stays silent, stares you down. “Do you want me to be a criminal?”

“You are one,” Simon rebuttals. That’s why he’s here. You need to be, he needs to catch you. He dreamt of chasing you down a network, jumping between wires and static until he caught your hips in his hands and crushed them. His desire for you is entwined with the dichotomy of your identities. He isn’t much interested in forcing you to become a legal law-abiding citizen, as he is pushing the two of you further into the roles that you are in.

“You know what I mean,” you add, pushing off of your desk and stepping towards him. A step away and he reaches his metal hand out, clamps your jaw in his palm. You let him, like you always seem to do, and it’s like pure heroin, lights something up in him.

“Who did this?” he asks, your chin in his palm, his thumb on your eyebrow. Right on the cut. He thinks if it was him that put it there, he might dig in a little, but he wasn’t. It’s hidden from view like this, with the edge of your eyebrow, disappeared behind his ugly, metal thumb.

“Got jumped by some asshole who thought he was hot shit,” you say, easily. The way you say everything, no pit-stop between your brain and your mouth. He wants to dig his tongue into the back of your throat and catch the words there, drink them down.

“Who?” he asks. You shrug and he shakes your jaw like a bad dog. “Who?” he repeats, tone biting. There’s a twitch in your eye at being roughhoused but you don’t step back.

You give a name, raising an eyebrow at him. He vaguely recognises it, some asshole who’s been causing trouble in Watson. Some wannabe gangbanger. He butts his head against yours, too hard to be truly affectionate before he leaves. His gas mask bumps against your cheek, leaves a red mark on your jaw from where his metal fingers dug in.

He shoots the fucker who jumped you, and dumps his body in the river. He watches it float, knowing it’ll be found. When they see the NCPD bullet extracted from his brain, he’ll be dumped back out again. Simon thinks about allowances, thinks about ropes of wire and how they snap. Rubber ripped, coil exposed.

He comes to see you again, this time in the middle of the night, wanting to see what you look like when you’ve just woken up. He imagines you’ll be pliant, let him shift you around as he wishes, sleep in your eye and a dream still dragging on your limbs.

You open the door and rub your eyes. Your hair is a little ruffled from your bed, blinking up at him with thick-cottoned eyes. He smiles with teeth beneath his gas mask at how awareness flickers into your eyes before you force a yawn. You’re so quick, which is why it’s always so satisfying to catch you.

“Something I can help with, officer?” you ask, leaning against the doorframe.

“Let me in,” he tells you. Demands it of you. It would be so easy to force his way in, but he likes it when you do as he tells you to.

“You got a warrant for that?” you ask, scrubbing a hand over your jaw. Eye him like he’s your patient again, like you’re finding that virus in his system and cutting it out.

“No,” he replies. Watches your expression, the subtle tick of your brow at his bold-faced honesty.

He wonders if you’ll shut the door on him. Make him peel the metal back to get in anyway. He would, he’s saved up his allowances and he plans on cashing them out on you.

You give him another long look before you step to the side and let him in. The door slides shut with a wheeze and a soft thunk.

“Is there something that you would like to say, Officer Riley,” you say, as if it’s a question but your voice doesn’t lilt at the end. He wants to catalogue every one of your reactions and keep them to himself, squirrelled away, out of the sight of anyone else. That is something beyond liking you, beyond attraction. Simon feels possessive of everything about you, like he might cave someone’s skull in if they saw too much of you.

Simon’s never been too much of a talker, he steps forward and crowds you into the desk that has all of your equipment on it. You blink up at him, perfectly still in the way that prey animals are, when they know they’re caught. The rabbit-like flutter of your heart, caught in the palm of his hand as he cups your neck. Thumb against the soft give just beneath your chin. “Simon,” he tells you, although he knows you already must know. He never told you he was Officer Riley, knows that you must have pried your way into whatever confidential information that you could find on your scan of him.

“Well, that doesn’t feel appropriate, Officer Riley,” you point out. Your calm tone is undermined by the kick of your pulse. His fingers flex, held back with a trained restraint. He likes knowing you’re afraid of him, like that you talk back to him anyway. Like watching a kitten yowl at a beast. Cute.

“Simon,” he repeats, bending his head closer to you, A hunch in his shoulders, and his face still isn’t that close to yours.

A quiet beat. “Simon,” you repeat. Your voice is flat, as if you’re trying to take the enjoyment out of it for him. He huffs with something like amusement. He gets his rocks off here, having his way in your clinic, the feel of your skin against the scar tissue of his human hand. You could be scowling or smiling, and he’d like either once he’s got his fingers in your mouth.

He reaches his other hand up and undoes his gas mask, lets it drop off and sets it on the desk next to your hip. Hoists you up, catches the kick of your leg, steps into the cradle of your thighs. “There we go,” he tells you. Your eyes have taken in the exposed section of his face. Ripped skin, some replaced by chrome, most of it left to heal as is. He knows that he is an ugly sight, a hulking, horrible man, hunched over you. He doesn’t care much what you have to say about it.

He ducks his head and looks you in the eye, even playing ground. You glare back at him and he grins with teeth. He hopes that you bite him, seals his mouth over yours. Your tongue is wet and he tilts your head back, wanting to get into your throat. You bite his tongue and he groans, his other hand pushing your hips into his. He grinds into you, huffing into your mouth. He memorises each point of your teeth, sucks your tongue into his mouth and blinks at you with half-closed eyes.

He pulls back with a wet smack, which leaves your cheeks flushed. “Show me your tits,” he tells you, hands flat on your desk, framing your hips. You don’t move, glaring up at him again. He gives you a lazy look, like you’re boring him now. If anything, the hateful look in your eye has made him even harder, if it were possible. “Now.”

“Such a dick,” you mutter to yourself, reaching for the buttons of your pyjama shirt and slipping it off. There’s a fine tremble in your hands before you still them with a calming breath. He was right on his first impression of you - that you barely have any chrome on you. Your skin is soft looking, no harsh metal on your torso. Restricted to the framing of metal around your eyes, your right palm.

He smooths his metal hand up your side, watches gooseflesh and vellus hair raise in its wake. Cups one of your breasts in his cold metal palm. Almost coos at the sight of your nipple pebbling as his thumb swipes over it. Restrains himself at the last second, but gives into the urge to give you a mean pinch as retribution for your filthy mouth. You jump, a hitch in your breath. He smirks at you, hopes you can see the chip in his canine. “Behave,” he tells you, reaching for the waistband of your bottoms. Maybe once he’s drunk his fill, he can indulge the bite of your mouth, but his skin feels stretched thin over chrome and bone, and he wants what’s his and he wants it readily.

There’s a jump in your abdomen as his hand dwarves your hip, tugging your pyjama bottoms off and tosses them behind him. He spreads your thighs, peaks at the curls the cover your sex. All of the dolls in Night City are clean shaven. He likes this better, likes that you hadn’t been expecting him, and here he is anyway. He makes a mental reminder to bin all of your razors if he gets a chance.

He parts your sex with two fingers, huffing at the sight. So sweet, even with your strange looks and your filthy mouth. Sweet as sugar down here, your hole fluttering, your clit hidden under its hood like it’s shy. His hands are a cage around the span of your waist, squeezes in warning before he thuds to his knees and flattens his tongue against you. You whimper at the contact, manage to strangle the noise just barely. When he seals his mouth over your clit and sucks, you yowl, thighs kicking out. He squeezes them in place over his shoulders, barely jostled.

He brings one hand down from your waist, lifts his head, a string of saliva connecting him to your clit. It’s out now, throbbing and awake. He spits on it, watches you flinch with it. Spittle drips down, sits on the slick that has gathered at your hole. He feeds you one finger, groans as he watches your flesh part for him, and feels how hot you are inside. You're tight, he can feel muscle clamp down around his index, clinging to him. “Need to relax, sweetheart, or my cock’s gonna break you,” he tells you. It almost feels like a struggle to even feed you one finger, something that leaves a strangled feeling in his chest.

“Do one,” you reply, eloquently. But you don’t kick him off you or anything, so he just gives you another look. He’s being too indulgent with you, he knows. But, it’s better to let a puppy misbehave so they know what’s not tolerated. Training for another day, he lowers his head and licks at the stretch of your pussy around his finger.

He slides his finger in and out of you, gives you another when your panting starts to hitch up, rubbing his thumb over your clit when you whine at the stretch. You start whining out swears, hips jolting forward and then back again as if you want to come, but don’t want him to give it to you.

His third finger is pushing it, he knows because you start clawing at his scalp, sharp little nails. He groans hot onto your clit, which has you shaking. You’re wet with sweat, he can see the shine of it on the curve of your belly, on the strip of skin between your tits.

He slows the pump of his fingers, idly toying your clit with his tongue. He debates if you should be allowed to come. He doesn’t want you knowing that he finds your pissy words amusing, doesn’t want to overly encourage it. However, you haven’t tried to run, or punch him or anything of that ilk. He knows that you can’t help the kick of your hind legs. He pinned you down with teeth at your throat, and he knows that you’re trying so hard to behave. Besides, sinking his cock into you is already going to be a struggle, nevermind if you aren’t loose and pliant for him.

He curls his fingers, sucks your clit, chasing your orgasm like it’s his last meal. A test in his restraint. He thinks that he wants this more than you do. Your lungs stutter, shaking as your hands cradle his head. You’re muttering to yourself, ‘please’ spilling out of you, again and again. Another mean suck and your shriek, back bowing and he feels the clench of your cunt around his fingers.

He fingers you through it, until you are almost sobbing, trying to crawl away from him, but held in place with his metal hand that has slipped to the small of your back. He gives your clit a kiss, mean and hard just to watch it throb before he gets up off his knees with a groan. He;s getting too old to be kneeling on tile like that. He’ll fuck you in a bed next time, if you’re good.

He slides his fingers out of you, unbuttons his trousers. You stare at him, vaguely out of it as you try to catch your breath. Awareness seems to slam back into you as he fishes his cock out. He’s big, he knows this, but the way your eyes widen like he’s pulled a gun on you has him chuckling to himself. “That’s not going to fit,” you tell him, tone dead.

“Enough flirting,” he tells you, catching your legs over his forearms and dragging you to the edge of your counter.

“You’re deranged,” you snark. He’s amused, watching the anger tugging at your scowl, naked beneath him, and your slick caught in the curls between your legs.

He gives the side of your thigh a firm smack, catching the jump of your body. “Watch that mouth, or I’ll put it to use,” he warns you. You glare up at him, but don’t say anything else. A shame, but he does have to have a firm hand with you.

He takes his cock and grinds it against you, parting your curls to get to the hot, wet flesh beneath. He catches the head of his cock against your clit, slicks himself up, knowing that he’ll need it if the greedy suck of your cunt around his fingers is any indication. He pulls back and lines himself up. He understands what you’re saying, the mushroom shaped head dwarves the small hole that flutters as he presses against it lightly. It’s hard to imagine fitting in there, even given that he has tried to prepare you.

You don’t seem to understand how bullheaded Simon is, though. He hasn’t chased anything that he hasn’t caught yet. A tense of his wide bicep and he starts to push into you, metal hand on the base of his cock, the other lightly rubbing your clit in circles to get you to give way.

There’s a moment where he thinks it might not happen, you’re starting to flush, face shining with sweat. Then there’s a shudder and your cunt parts, splits, sweet fruit halving and the head slips inside. You both groan, his head dropping onto your collar as he pushes further into you. You’re slick, he can feel your cunt sucking at him.

You start to whimper as he pushes further into you. His thumb rubs up and down on your clit, insistent even as if you try to cringe away from him. Shallowly thrusts, keeps pushing until you start to give way. You thump your fist against his chest, the impact bouncing off of chrome. He barely acknowledges it, and continues grinding into you.

He bottoms out, groans into your collarbone. “There we go, there we are, sweet girl,” he tells you. The muscles in your back loosen at the praise, feels tense flesh give out into his metal hand.

He pulls fully out and slams into you, and you whine, hands on his shoulders and clinging. “Simon -” you start, but he shifts both his hands onto the back of your knees and pushes them up to your shoulders. He can see the stretch of your cunt around him like this, the spread of your legs for the monstrous size of him. He feels dizzy with it, can’t stop himself from pulling almost all of the way out of you before slamming inside. His eyes almost roll back into his head, and you sob, nails digging into the flesh that he has on his back.

Your knees over his forearms, he braces his hands on your hips and he starts thrusting into you, pleasure zipping up his spine. Breathy sounds are punched out of you each time his thighs slap into yours. There’s a heat rising in him, catching and flaming.

He lifts his torso up, looks down on you. It’s like he thought, the prick of tears in the corner of your eyes, the swollen spread of your pussy around him. He drops one of your legs in favour of flattening his palm against your throat. Your pulse is fat in his palm. He catches it there, feels the ricochet into the meat of his hand.

You clench down on him and he groans, bares his teeth at you. “You like that, huh?” he asks you, flexing his fingers over the tendons of your neck. Your mouth is open, he can see the pink flash of it in your mouth. You try to shake your head but another hard thrust just sends it rocking back instead, another moan gritting through your teeth again.

He digs into you, flexes the metal in his legs to thrust into you hard and fast. Exertion is an old friend, and he takes it into his stride. He is only starting to pant a little, but you’re running hot and have been for a while.

Pleasure is molten hot at his pelvis, and each time his hips meet yours, cock kissing your cervix, his vision whites out at the sides. The virus that you must have planted in him is deteriorating in his system, leaving him almost mindless. He’s chasing you, still, even with you caught between his body and your desk. Breath like steam pouring out of his mouth, saliva pooling under his tongue as he realises that you’re within reach.

You stare up at him, eyes wide. The vision of your head held up by his hand is enough to finish him off. He slams into you a few more times, groaning deep in his chest while you squeak, spills hotly in you, grinds to draw out the spark that glares in his vision until he stills.

A moment of quiet, air thick with sex and sweat. He drops his head against yours with a thunk as your skulls collide. Feels the buzz of your grunt in your throat with his hand still nestled there.

“You got a bed back there?” he asks, temple against yours.

“Not telling you,” you mutter, sounding wrung-out and gutted. He snorts, scoops you up in his arms, stepping back from your desk, holding you up. Still have a smart mouth. But, he has the patience to get that out of you. Not all of it though, but he won’t tell you that.

A week later, a missing report for a ripperdoc in Watson hits Simon’s desk. He shreds it, and it sounds like the chime of an allowance, cashed in.

#simon riley x reader #simon riley #simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley x reader #cod x reader #cod #call of duty x reader #call of duty #nic writes #cyberpunk au #cw dubcon #hes sooooo nasty i need him terribly #he's my pookie (exact thought that lands this reader in immediate trouble)#anyway i have tagged this as dubcon #but its more on the lighter side than my usual #at least i think so. will welcome thoughts on that lol

786 notes · View notes

reallyromealone · 10 months ago

Note

Sebastian michaelis x demon/vampire butler reader? Omegaverse perhaps?

Title: a bit bitey

Fandom:black butler

Characters: Ciel, Sebastian

Fic type: fluff, omegaverse, suggestive content

Pairings:

Warnings: male reader, reader insert, omegaverse, fluff, suggestive themes, vampire reader

Notes: IM BAAAAAACK >:)

Summary: Reader is a vampire who drinks the blood of alphas who fall for his charms and gets mistaken for Jack the Ripper and gets chased by Sebastian and offered a position be can't refuse

🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸

It was said that when a demon bedded a witch that it would create something truly unholy that would walk the earth craving human flesh, unable to touch the sun.

It's why (name) found his home in London, a lovely home with his centuries accumulated wealth and all his trinkets over the years scattered around, like a museum of his immortality.

"I was so hungry..." (Name) Sighed, the Omega watching as the man dropped to the ground, body drained of all blood and (name) licked his lips, a bit of blood on his top lip. A sense of euphoria washed over the Omega who let out a sigh before stepping over the dead alpha, seeing a wanted poster for Jack the Ripper, whoever that guy was sure made feedings easy...

It was the dead of night, no one really in the streets and the oil lamps lighting his path home, a pep in his step and soft humming could be heard.

He was always so happy after a good feeding.

"There he is! Sebastian, get him!" A child's voice could be heard and (name) turned to lock eyes with a deep red pair... A demon.

(Name) Immediately bolted, the young blue eyed boy going into his carriage to wait while his demon stalked down the street.

Running through alleyways and corners, (name) was thankful for his speed and lack of footsteps, slipping into his bedroom door and closing it with a sigh.

Safe.

"Fu--" (name) was pinned to the ground by the black haired alpha, arms pinned to his side "you know, people would typically take one on a romantic stroll or maybe a dinner before doing something like this" (name) snarled at the alpha who wasn't even remotely phased "you have been causing problems..." Sebastian said casually, eyeing the Omega who huffed "I'm simply having dinner" (name) didn't particularly care for the humans, really seeing them as food "you killed five prostitutes"

Huh?

"My apologies but I don't pursue other omegas" (name) said simply "I pursue alphas, they're easier" Sebastian stared him down, looking for any trade if a lie but when he found nothing he let go of his wrists but stayed on the vampires hips "is there anything else I can assist you with Sbeastian?" Remembering the name the boy called the demon "are you looking for employment?" Sebastian asked curiously, (name) raising an eyebrow at the question.

"What are you on about?"

"I can offer you something, an exchange"

"What could you possibly offer me?"

"Demon blood in exchange for employment" (name) didn't need money, he didn't need items or anything material as he lived for centuries and had an Elizabethan era outfit in a chest in the attic of his home. "You are willing to give me your blood?" (Name)s eyes were blown out while moving to touch the others cold neck, right around his jugular "no more attacking humans, work under me and you get demonic blood" demonic blood was like a fine wine to a vampire, addictive and delicious.

Sebastian could smell the omegas pharamones even when masked, biting his lips "do you know what you're asking of me, alpha?"

"I am well aware of what in asking, Omega" Sebastian whispered, getting closer to the other "I'm half human, do you think you can handle my mortal emotions? I am very high maintenance" (name) didn't flinch, the twos lips barely touching and eyes locking "I think I can manage, humans are needy creatures"

"Half human"

"Ah yes, like a mutt"

(Name) Glared "my my what a charmer, can you please kindly get your flat bottom off me alpha?" (Name) Batted his eyes "don't you have your child to tend to?"

"Do you accept my offer?"

"I suppose I will become your mate..." (Name) Huffed, looking at the alpha who was now his mate "my heat is in two weeks, I will be having it here and I will be keeping my residence for such matters or if you annoy me too much"

Sebastian silently chuckled at the Omega he chose, a snarky vampire who didn't care for silly human traditions on being an Omega.

This was going to be fun.

#black butler x male reader #black butler x reader #sebastian michaelis x male reader #sebastian x male reader #sebastian michaelis x reader #sebastian x reader #omegaverse #omega male reader #x male reader #male reader #anime x male reader #anime x reader

948 notes · View notes

playthingsforpeanut · 5 months ago

Text

One Night Repair

A/N: Hey so I've had this idea of !WorstWolverine meeting someone at a bar and having really aggressive sex to blow off steam... it gets pretty cute at the end in my opinion so I hope you like it. Takes place post time ripper.

Pairing: Worst!Logan Howlett x Female!Reader

Word Count: 5.3k

Summary: You meet Logan at a bar, and he ends up wrecking your apartment. You'd usually object in the morning but... he had something else in mind.

Content Warnings: 18+ SMUT MDNI, swearing, p in v, creampie, fingering (fem! receiving), light choking, multiple orgasms, oral (f + m receiving), literally words of pure nasty smut, idk I'm h*rny, porn w/o plot, no use of y/n. porn & somewhat plot (in between the lines), actually y’all i apologize this is just pure smut i think, rough sex, overstimulation, slapping, pussy slapping, tiny hint of arousal from crying, Praise kink, Pet names (hun, baby, doll, sweetheart, darlin’, angel, honey, bunny), Squirting, Body worship, slight use of restraints, Dom x Brat... If I missed anything please tell me.

⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺ ⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺ ⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺ ⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺

The evening dragged on like any other. Another late night shift, another bar full of drunk bastards. You like that the owner would let you wear what you wanted to work, and tonight, you opted for a simple black tank top and black workout leggings. They hugged your curves well enough to get decent tips but didn't expose you enough to get groped by strangers, not that any of these bastards were smart enough to not touch you like that.

Most of the evening was normal, your regulars ordered their usuals, and you kept up your friendly facade as you worked.

Unfortunately for one patron, he decided to grab you as you leaned over the table to deliver his group's next round of drinks, earning a concerned brow raise from Logan, who was sitting at the bar. You had tried making small talk when he ordered his drinks from you, but he preferred to stay quiet. You shrugged it off as him not wanting company and carried on with your orders.

"Excuse you, I am not on the menu." You bitch rather loudly, grabbing his hand and pinning it to the table with a rather quick motion. Tonight was not the night to fuck with you. You were itching for a fight, but not enough that you'd be willing to lose your job.

"Ey, ey easy sweetheart! Just trying to have a good time!" He groaned, pulling his hand free from the pressure grip.

"You're done." You said calmly, "You leave your money and you get the hell outta here." You release his arm, and saunter your way back to behind the bar, cursing to yourself under your breath.

"Nice technique," Logan speaks up. "But next time you should break his wrist." He takes a swig from his beer.

You turn your head from the drink you were mixing to look him over. You toss him a half smile. "You wanna be next?"

He chuffs. "Tempting."

You roll your eyes and serve the mixed drink, moving on to cleaning some stacked-up glasses. He eyes you out of the corner of his, nursing his beer. He noticed how your attitude had changed, your responses to the patrons weren't nearly as friendly as they were when he arrived.

Closing time finally rolled around, and Logan couldn't help but wait outside with a cigar in his mouth. You cleaned up the bar, and as you locked up, you spotted the tall stranger leaning nearby.

"You lurking?" You put your hands in your jacket pockets as you turn to confront the stranger.

"Walkin'" He said. "Thought you'd want an escort." He puts out his cigar on the cold brick wall, also putting his hands in his pockets.

"I can handle myself." You scoff.

"Heh, Yeah, I saw that," He admitted, stepping a bit closer. "But I didn't like how that guy eyed the alley on his way out."

You roll your eyes, shake your head, and begin walking toward your apartment, which is only a few blocks away.

He followed from a safe distance, but not too far so he could still be there if something happened to you.

"I don't need a bodyguard." You call over your shoulder.

"I know. I'm walkin' home too." He replied with a smirk.

You roll your eyes and continue your path home. He continued behind you, just a few steps away. You stop at a traffic light, and he stops next to you.

"I never caught your name..." You say looking up toward him.

He smirks and faces you. You can't help the way your eyes dilate as you take in his features. He was handsome, in a rugged way. Something about him made you want to climb him like a tree but, you weren't that easy... were you?

"It's Logan." You hum a response and turn to face the pedestrian light that changed to allow you to walk. He followed a bit closer now, but making sure to read your body language to make sure he wasn't making you too uncomfortable.

"Why did you really follow me home? Hmm? looking for somewhere to crash?" You decide to at least make some small talk.

"Like I said, thought you'd want an escort." His replies were brief, which was relatively aggravating. Thankfully your apartment complex was only a few feet away.

"And like I said, I can handle myself." You toss back. You twirl quickly to meet his gaze, causing him to stop abruptly. "So thank you but no thank you, you can fuck off now, Logan"

His eyes darkened as you cussed at him. His brow raised at your boldness. His lips were inches from yours, and his breath fanned over your flushed cheeks.

"Say that again." He growled.

"Say what?" You stood your ground, not allowing your body to falter. You kept a strong stance, eyes fixed on his. "Logan?" You smirked, enjoying how worked up he seemed.

He pressed closer, pushing you against the door to your apartment. You sucked in a breath at the forced proximity, your eyes glancing at his lips briefly.

Logan loved how defiant you were. He would've left you alone at the door had you not whipped around on him and sassed him like that.

"Say the word, and I'll walk away," He leaned in closer, his large, muscular arm bracing his tall frame against your door.

Your legs rubbed together to soothe the newfound ache between your thighs. 'Fuck it...' you thought. If he was gonna tax your time and patience after a shit night, the least he could do for you is be a good lay.

You arched your back into him, allowing your lips to connect in a rough, passionate kiss. His teeth graze your bottom lip, his tongue following suit, as he attacks you. His free hand meets your waist, pinning you to the door. You can’t help the soft whimper from escaping you, as his hand slides down your thigh and pulls your knee up to his waist.

He moves down and sinks his teeth on the sensitive spot on your neck, pulling a sharp gasp from your lips. Your hands move to his neck, holding on for some kind of grounding. You open your eyes, coming down and realizing you are still in the hallway. “Fuck…” you groan.

“Such a dirty little mouth…” Logan growled into your neck. He took a moment to catch his breath.

A shiver ran down your spine, and your hips buck involuntarily. Logan smiles against your flushed skin. “Oh… You like that?” He purred.

God, you hated this guy. He is so cocky but he’s so fucking attractive you can’t help but want him. “Oh shut up…” You groan.

“Do you not want me, pretty girl?” He cooed.

You don’t reply. You do want him, but you couldn’t let the smug bastard have that satisfaction. He leans back to meet your hazy gaze. He licks his lips at the sight of your swollen lips, and at that, you find yourself turning around to unlock your apartment door.

Logan removes his arm from the door and watches as you go inside. He’s more respectful than you thought. He actually fucking waited for you to invite him inside. You look at him, half exasperated at his cockiness, and half desperate for him to come in. You stand there holding the door open.

“May I come in?” He asks with a sly smile, leaning against the door frame.

You roll your eyes and grab him by the jacket, pulling him inside. “Oh Fuck you.” Your lips crash into his as he enters your apartment. The door shuts behind him, and his hands immediately find your hips. He growls and harshly pushes you against the wall. You thought you were just crazy, but he threw you against that wall so hard, he dented your wall.

“Filthy fucking mouth…” He growled between the fight of your lips and teeth. His words pull a moan from you, your legs automatically wrapping around his waist. Logan’s hands grip your thighs firmly. You whimper when you feel his very hard cock pressing against his jeans into your core.

You tug off his jacket and throw it aggressively to the floor. Logan’s hands wander to your tank top, making quick work of removing it. His hands roam your body, almost as if in silent worship.

“Fuck…” You groan. You lean forward and bite his neck hard, causing Logan to buck his hips and punch the wall. A growl ripped from his throat as he gripped your hips and ground into your core, pulling another needy whine from your throat.

“You want this?” He growled, grinding into your core again. “You fucking want me to fuck you pretty girl?” He bites your neck back pulling another moan from your lips.

“Mmh fuck you… fucking asshole.” You whine. You grab his shirt and pull it off, ripping some of the threads as you do. He allows it, before his hand wraps around your throat, holding your head against the wall, squeezing hard enough for you to get a slight high from the pressure.

“I’m gonna fuck that attitude right out of you, dirty girl. The only curses you’re gonna make are pleas to god.” Your eyes meet his, and you bite your bottom lip.

“Is that a promise?” You grind your hips against him again, a fierce need building quickly, Logan growls again.

“Needy fucking thing…” He curses to himself. He spots the couch in the dim room and throws you on it. “Take ‘em off.” Logan orders. You bite your lip as you watch him remove his belt expertly. He starts to wrap the belt into a figure 8. “Now.” His eyes flicked from your pants to your eyes.

Defiance shone in your eyes. “Make me.” You smile devilishly, crossing your arms. Logan let out an annoyed huff, and yanked your legs to him, spreading you wide. He started to kiss you passionately again, and just as you thought you got away with it, Logan raised his hand and slapped your heated core.

The sound that escapes your lips is a mixture of pleasure and pain. “What the hell?!” You whimper. Logan’s eyes are dark.

“I said, take, em’, off.” His voice left no room for discussion. You stare at him as your thumbs hook the waist of your pants, and slowly pull them down, exposing your soaked undergarments. The scent of you filled Logan’s nose. He let out a low growl. “Good girl.” His hand glides up your thigh feeling how wet you were. “Mmh look at you. Already soaking wet for me. Such a pretty little fucking thing.”

Goosebumps rose over your body, his words sending shivers throughout your body. Or was it his hands? Where one hand was grazing your cunt gently, the other was pulling on your hair slightly as he held himself up over you. He grabs your hands and pins them over your head. He slides his belt over your wrists, tightening it.

He places rough kisses down your body, biting here and there. He hovered over your cunt, releasing a hot breath over it, making you arch your back and whine. Logan smirked. “Mmh look at you, so wet for me.” He hooks his arms around your thighs, holding them open for him. He inhales and runs his tongue up the length of your cunt, over your soaked panties.

A moan escapes your lips, your hips bucking from the contact. “Now are you gonna be a good girl and do as I say?” He licks his lips.

“Maybe” you reply.

Logan grunts and leans forward. You cry out as a sharp pain emits from your cunt, where Logan just bit through your garment.

“Rule one.” He looks into your eyes from his position between your thighs. “You do as I say. You be a good girl, and you get pleasure. You be bad?” He licks over the sensitive spot he just bit. “And you get pain. Understand?” He holds eye contact, waiting for an answer.

“Yes…” You say through a breathy moan.

“Yes, what?” He grazes his thumb over your trembling lower half.

“Yes… sir.” You bite your lip and gaze at him through hooded lids.

“Good girl.” He smiles and pulls your underwear down your thighs. You whimper as the cool air of your apartment meets your aching core, and Logan watches as you clamp around nothing. “Such a needy little thing, I’ve barely even touched you and you’re already aching for me.” He smirks and lazily strokes your inner thigh, avoiding all the best spots on purpose. You groan in frustration.

"Ah ah ah... patience counts toward you being good, you want to be good for me don't you kitten?" He rubs his thumb over your clit, pulling another stuttering gasp from your lips.

"Y-yes s-sir." You whisper. He smirks and glides his tongue up the length of your cunt, flicking your clit gently with each stroke. A silent praise for your good behavior. You moan as he laps up your pussy, acting like a man starved. You instinctively roll your hips, but Logan keeps them firmly planted under his arms. His thick biceps hold you down with ease.

You begin to feel that familiar ache in your lower belly, as he draws little circles with the tip of his tongue around that sensitive little bundle of nerves. He adjusts his arms, one placed over your lap and the other begins teasing your entrance. He slides his middle finger in and groans at how you squeeze him.

"Fuck..." He growled between laps. "So tight..." He can only imagine the feeling of sheathing himself inside you later. He knew he needed to work you up to that though. So after a few soft thrusts, Logan slides his ring finger in, pulling a desperate moan from your lips. He curls his fingers expertly till he finds the spongey sensitive spot in your core. You arch your back as he finds it. "There it is..." He moans. He wraps his lips around your clit and sucks hard while offering soft flicks of his tongue for relief. He feels your walls quaking around his fingers. He knows you're close.

"FUCK!" You moan out. Logan's merciless attack on your most sensitive spots sends you barrelling toward your climax so fast it's dizzying. Your moans grew louder and more desperate as he continued his attack.

"You wanna cum baby?" He growled, his words muffled. "Ask me, baby, nicely, and I'll let you."

"Fuck you!" You cry, your body hot and writhing. Logan bit down on your clit again, pulling a pained wail from your lips.

"I said behave pretty girl. That's the only way you're gonna get what you want." He thrust a third finger in aggressively.

You moan louder at the intrusion, digging your nails into your palms. "Fuck! P-Please.. pleaseeee..." You whine, your body so close to its release.

"Please what?" He lifts his head off your cunt for a moment to hear you better.

"Please.. please can I cum? Please Logan I want to.. I need to cum...." You whine. The need to finish overwhelming your iron will. Logan, now satisfied with your pleas, lowers his head and continues to flick your clit with his tongue, pulling the most pathetic little sounds from your lips. Your walls flutter around his probing digits.

“That’s right baby,” he cooed “let go for me…” your toes curled at his words. The final push your body needed to release a cry of his name, followed by a mumbled jumble of curses. He smirks and laps up the excess fluids spewing from your body as he relishes in the mess he’s making of you. His fingers slow, and he raises to place a hard kiss on your lips. He trails down to your jaw, giving your clit soft circles with his thumbs as he helps you ride it out. “Goooood girl…” he moans into your neck.

You whimper as he removes his hand from your cunt. He uses his free hand to grip the back of your head and pull it back slightly, earning another gasp of pleasurable pain from your lips. “Open,” he growls.

You whimper and look into his eyes for a moment, unsure what he meant. He furrows his brow and pulls your hair a bit tighter. “Open your mouth, pretty girl.” He says again. You whimper but slowly open your mouth for him. He slides his fingers into your mouth and you suck them clean. He grins, releasing a breathy groan as he watches you greedily suck on his fingers.

"Atta girl, atta girl..." He smiles and pulls his hand away, replacing his fingers with his lips and tongue. You moan as he wraps his arms around your waist. He lifts you off the couch to your feet. He places you down on your feet. "Can you walk?" He says in a low growl.

"You think I can't?" You reply sarcastically, catching your breath. He chuckles and removes the restraints in your hands.

"So feisty." His eyes graze over your face, which was defiantly looking back at him. You smile and bite your lip, as a wicked idea crosses your mind. This fucking man just made you a whimpering mess and you intended to do the same to him. Before he catches on, you turn and shove him onto the couch. "Hey wait-" You grab him through his jeans and smile up at him from your knees.

"What? Do I have to ask for permission to suck your cock too?" You smirk. He smiles and chuckles to himself.

"I suppose not." He unbuttons his jeans and you help him pull them off. You suck in a short breath when you spot how big he is. You run your hand over his bulge and hook your fingers in the waistband. You expose his member, as it springs free with a loud *thwack* against his toned abdomen. You bite your lip at the sight. You inhale deeply and grip him firmly, bringing him to your lips. You lick up the length of him, flicking the tip that's dribbling with pre cum. He lets out a breath of relief and lounges his arms across the back of the couch.

'The smug bastard' you thought. You'd be lying if you said you hated how he immediately took control of you, but now was time for your revenge. You look in his length, allowing him to slip into the back of your throat with ease. You smile at the buck of his hips, and glide your teeth back up his shaft, earning a hiss. He looked down at you with a glare, and you simply smiled at him innocently. You wrap your lips around the tip and suck while pumping his shaft with your fist. You work him slowly at first, enjoying how he groans at your touch.

Now that you've got him, you start bobbing your head on his cock. The sound of his dick hitting the back of your throat, paired with his groans fill the room. When his moans get particularly loud you graze your teeth along his shaft once more. He growls and grabs your hair at the base of your head.

"Behave..." He warns. You smile innocently again.

"I am behaving." You tease

"Little fuckin' brat..." He mumbles.

Your mouth is replaced with your fist, however, you're quick to occupy your mouth. You dip your head between his legs, holding his glistening cock so it's pressed against his belly as you press your wet tongue onto his balls. He bucks his hips and groans, tugging at your hair.

The sounds he makes above you are downright filthy, deep moans and filthy praise that have you moving faster. The lewd sounds of your actions fill the room along with the rising sounds escaping Logan's lips. His moans are deeper, harsher, and you can feel his pulse through his cock. He's close. You work him perfectly, syncing your bobbing head with your hands, stroking and massaging.

"F- Fuck!" He growls. He bucks his hips up while grabbing your head and holding you in place. "Stay still, stay right fuckin' t-there." He strains. With another flick of your tongue, he unloads into your mouth. You drink him greedily and smile. The sweat dripping down the side of his face was enough for you to know he was spent.

When his grip on your head loosens, you smirk and graze your teeth along his shaft once more. The smirk on your face is quickly wiped away when Logan hisses and grabs your head again.

"I told you to behave." He growled. "And look at you, all smug because you think after one little orgasm I'm done with you?" He catches his breath and unsheathes a claw. "Little do you know brat, I'm just getting started with you." He cuts the center of your bra off with his claw, and grabs your now exposed breast aggressively. You bite your lip to hide the moan that threatened to erupt. Fuck, this guy was hot.

He pulls your head closer to his, causing you to crawl up the couch over him. "Get. In. Your. Bed." He growled in your face. His eyes demanded you take him to your room, so he could finish what you both started.

Oh but you, ever the defiant one. "You don't wanna take me here? on this couch?" You talk-back.

"You deserve to be properly bedded, even if you are a little brat." He pulls you in for another kiss. He nibbles on your lip and rubs your head, worried he may have hurt you the last time he tugged. You smile, pull off of him, and lead him to your bedroom.

The sounds of your footsteps fill your ears as you try to keep yourself together because fuck, he can't know how goddamn turned on you were at his words. Or rather, everything about him. Once Logan knew which room you were taking him in, he picked you up and threw you onto your own bed, earning a soft yelp from you.

Logan strokes his cock as he gazes over you, laying helplessly in the bed. "Look at you... so fuckin' pretty. I hope you don't have to work tomorrow..." he smirks, pulling you to the edge of the bed.

"Why is that?" You say, raising your arms to cover your exposed breasts.

"Because..." He grabs your arms and pins them above your head. He leans in, where he's mere inches from your lips. "You won't be able to walk in the morning." He leans down and crashes his lips onto yours. You feel him grind against your core, still slick from his previous actions. You buck your hips as he grinds over your sensitive clit. "So sensitive.." He works his way down to your neck and bites down hard as he sheathes himself.

"Fuck! Fuck, Logan I didn't do anything what was that for?" You cry out. He chuckles and licks the spot he bit.

"You tried to hide your body from me... You broke rule 2." He purrs.

"You never said there was a second rule..." You whimper. Logan smirks.

"Didn't I?" He smirks, and thrusts harshly into you once more, pulling yet another loud moan from your lips.

"FUCK! Gods I fucking hate you... You cocky bastard..." You groan. Logan's smirk returns.

"Don't worry pretty girl, if you're good, I'll be gentle." He teases with a slow thrust.

"And what if I don't want you to be gentle?" You challenge.

"Mmmm that can be arranged. I can make a rule you'll keep breaking. Over and over and over." He pumps again, slowly.

"And what rule might that be?" You arch your body into him, gaining some more friction than he was currently giving.

"Rule 3. No cussing. Not for you, brat." He smiles, giving you a knowing look. You whimper at the new rule, knowing he's got you pinned.

"You don't fuckin mean that..." You whine.

Without hesitation, Logan takes one breast in his mouth and pinches the other between his fingers, earning a sharp cry from you. "Oh I assure you brat, I do." He smiles and licks the abused nipple. "Now, be a good girl and hold onto something."

Logan grips the backs of your thighs and raises your legs high in the air. He slides his hands down and grips your waist. He pistons into you mercilessly, and your moans fill the apartment.

He grunts. “So tight,” he praises. “Fucking perfect little cunt...” He pumps in and out of you harder, faster now, letting himself go.

Your hopeless little whines drive him further. "Fuck.. Logan..." You whimper. Logan raises his hand and slaps your face. Not too hard as to hurt you, but enough to register as punishment for breaking a rule.

He twitches inside you when you moan louder at the slap, and your walls flutter around him. His lips find yours again, biting, kissing you bruisingly. You struggle to keep your mouth shut, as it seems to have formed a more permanent 'O' shape as he fucks you relentlessly.

Your walls contract around him, squeezing him as he sinks deeper inside you, hitting exactly where you need him most. You’re so close, ready to come undone. “Fuck, L-logan,” you whine as he pounds into you. “I’m gonna—” He cuts you off with another slap. You whimper and he leans down to kiss your red cheek.

He feels you contract around him, and he growls. "Come on brat, cum for me. You can do it." You can feel his pace growing faster, his cock pushing deeper, stretching you out as he plunges into you. “You feel so fucking good,” he groans, kissing your pulse point again. “So fucking beautiful.”

It’s all too much, him, his cock, his words. Your skin is on fire, and the friction is absolutely delicious. You’re already so close, just a few steps away from the ledge, and you’re ready to fall. Your pathetic little "uh uh uh's" meld into soft "fu- fu-fuck's" and Logan wraps his hand around your throat.

That move alone sends you careening over the ledge. You scream out his name as he grips the pressure points in your neck making you see stars. Your heavy pants turn to squeaks as you slowly come down from your high.

“That’s it,” he murmurs. “So fucking tight, so fucking sensitive.” His praises are muffled in your ears, the blood roaring over anything else. He slows his pace a bit, allowing you a moment to come down. He rubs your quivering legs, humming soft praises.

Liquid pooled from between your thighs. It took him a moment before he realized you came so hard, that you squirted all over him. He stared at the sight. Your cheeks flush red at the realization of what you have done.

“Did you just-“ Logan whispers, a soft smirk on his lips.

"I am so sorry... I-" Logan cut you off with a rough kiss.

"Don't you dare apologize." He stared into your eyes intently. A new gleam of excitement entered his features. "Think you could do it again?" He chuckled darkly.

“I didn’t know I could do it in the first place…” You whisper softly, trying to steady your breathing. Logan slams into you with that confession, burring his head in the crook of your neck.

“Fuck…” he growled. His chest swelled with pride at the admission. Knowing he was taking you further than you ever had been before was entirely too intoxicating for him. He bit down on your neck, pulling more pathetic little sounds from you. He lifted off of you just enough, so that he could shove your legs down, practically folding you in half.

He resumed his brutal pace, watching as you jiggle underneath him. He takes in every curve, every feature, every sound that escapes you, including the vulgar squelching coming from between the two of you.

He leans down and grabs the back of your neck, forcing you to look at the sight between you.

“You see that princess? See that pretty little mess you’ve made? Such a good girl…” he praises.

Your eyes lock at his impossibly large member penetrating you. Tears prick your eyes as he releases your neck, and guides his hand to your over stimulated bundle of nerves, stroking soft circles. You throw your head back, releasing louder, almost pained moans as he continues to push you.

“Come on baby, I know you can give me another…” He said between pants.

“I-it’s t-to muuuuuuch!” You cry.

“Shh baby I know you have another one in you… just let go for me. I’ve got you.” He lowers himself down again, silencing you with more sound swallowing kisses.

Your hands find his shoulders, digging your nails deep into his skin. He groans and bites your lip, dragging his tongue over the stinging sensation.

You drag your nails down his back, trying to ground yourself from this impossible high he’s got you on. You feel your white hot release coming, and with just a few more thrusts, he’s got you careening over the edge again.

Logan’s fist meets the wall with a loud *thump*. His release came on him so hard from the way you were scratching and sobbing for him, that not only did he cum hard, he punched the wall even harder.

He stills while still inside you, panting loudly. You can feel him twitching inside you, and you can’t help the disappointed whimper that escapes your lips as he slowly pulls out.

“Shh baby.” He leans down and kisses you gently. “Wait here.” You felt Logan get up. It’s not like you could see him. Stars clouded your vision from your most recent orgasm. You couldn’t hear much either honestly, and just as you think you heard him leave, he reenters your room with a warm rag and a glass of water. He places the water on your bedside table. He smiles at the mess on the bed, the mess you both made together. He gently crawls over you, placing gentle kisses up your leg as he softly wipes your swollen cunt. He smiles and hums as your hips buck, your core still entirely overstimulated. He places a soft kiss on your clit, and wipes the rest up.

He kisses your breasts, then your shoulder, and then your lips. If it weren’t for those kisses, you would’ve passed out right there, lulled to sleep by his gentle demeanor after being utterly obliterated.

He brings the cloth to your face, turning it over to make sure he was using a clean side.

“Are you alright?” He asks as he wipes away the tear trails from your cheeks.

“Mhmm…” you respond.

“Ah ah… use your words baby girl.” He strokes your forehead with his thumb.

“M-ok” you manage to mumble. “N-you can stay if- if you want.” Your small, dazed smile makes Logan laugh softly.

“Don’t worry about me, pretty girl. You need to rest.” He strokes your hair and moves some of it out of your face. He loved seeing how cock drunk you were, and the scent... he couldn't get enough of how your entire apartment reeked of sex.

You didn't need much convincing, because you quickly drifted to sleep. Logan smiled and looked up at the hole in your wall. He silently cursed to himself, already pissed he had done the same thing to your living room wall.

The next morning when you woke up, your apartment smelled like paint. You looked around to see you were alone, and your heart sank. You lift your head enough to see a small piece of paper next to the untouched glass of water from the night before. You slowly reach for the letter, eyes straining to focus on the scrawled handwriting.

*Good morning pretty girl. I'm sorry I had to go. I repaired the holes we made in your walls. Call me, if I missed a spot, or... if you wanna make some more. 111-111-1111 -Logan*

⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺ ⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺ ⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺ ⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺ ⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺ ⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺ ⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆

706 notes · View notes

cosmickid-inmotion · 10 days ago

Text

Just for Fun

Joel Miller x gn!reader

General Masterlist : TLOU Masterlist

Taglist

Summary: You and Joel decide to do a little non con roleplay. It does not go as expected.

Warnings: CNC. Just a kinda silly fic I wanted to have fun with. SIckly sweet they are very in love your honor. TW JD VANCE MENTION (we're bullying him.)

V similar to @pedge-page's role play me not. Similar sense of humor and similar idea so def check it out for a lighthearted read!

A/n: V silly. I used gifs and emojis. Just wanted to be lighthearted. Reader is GN but I'll be honest they might be fem coded. Giggling and kicking feet, reading romance novels etc. But men can also do those things so do what you will.

800 words

***

Sarah in bed and fast asleep, out early for once. Being a Friday night, you and Joel had some time to yourselves, and for once, neither were exhausted.

You know what that means.

When you first brouched the concept to Joel of CNC play, he wasn't judgy, just a little apprehensive. He didn't want to kink shame you. You explained it like those old bodice-ripper dime store novels, like playing with the idea of wanting it but "needing convincing."

"I don't wanna convince you to have sex with me."

You resisted the urge to smack your face. "You're not, baby, it's just pretend. Like, pretend you're a sexy pirate king and my dad is a rich merchant and you've you've taken me for ransom but then we fall in love."

"Why would we fall in love? I'm trying to get money from your dad. I feel like that would get in the way of-"

"Joel."

Eventually, the boy got it, and you found yourself pinned underneath his broad shoulders, his slight belly rubbing against the draw strings of your pants.

You'd decided that maybe full pirate was a bit advanced for Joel, so just some basic CNC. You wanted to give up power, to feel helpless... it was kinda hard when your husband was the biggest cutie pattootie on the planet, but hey.

Joel's hands wrapped around your wrists, pressing them into the bedspread. "You're gonna take what I give you, and you're gonna like it, wether you like it or not."

"Am I gonna like it or not?"

Joel looked at you with a straight face. 😐

You clear your throat. "Right, right, sorry. I mean... oh noooooo anything but your dick! Noooooo"

"Can you maybe put a little more into it? It's hard to get into character with this." But a little smile play at his lips.

You sit up on your elbows. "Ain't no goddamn way you're critiquing my acting right now. I was a theater kid. You thought Les Misérables was about the barber who kills people."

Joel drew back, hand on his chest in mock offence. "I did not! That was JD Vance! I'm not that goddamn stupid."

"Okay. Let get back in the game. Brrr, Brrr, Brrr, MAH!"

Joel's face hardened. "Get on your fucking stomach."

Suddenly, you felt a pool of warmth deep in your belly. Your husband was a cutie patootie for sure, but he was also incredibly strong, and could absolutely could you down. You wanted to feel his whole power.

You glare at him. "You can't make me!"

Just as you wanted, Joel growls, grabbing you hips and flipping you over where he wanted you. His hand pressed you down by the shoulder blade, spread wide. Fuck he had big hands.

Joel hand you shoved down, mouth muffled against the mattress, his other hand trying to figure out how to get your pants off one handed. Fuck this was actually kinda hard. He worked with his hands for godsake! He should've had you undress. He swears in frustration, then he heard a sound. At first, he thinks he's upset you, that you're crying, and he quickly releives his pressure on you ready to make it better. Then he realizes you aren't, actually, crying.

You're laughing.

"Are you laughing at me?!?!"

"No!" You turn around, eyes sparkling as you grin up at him. "You're so fucking hot."

He frowns at that. "No, I think you're laughing at me."

"I'm not! Here." You shove down your pants, more eager than ever to feel him. "Take me! I'm yours!"

"That doesn't sound very consensual non consent."

"Don't take me! I'm not yours!"

He tries again, covering your mouth this time and leaning over to whisper in your ear, his hard cock grinding against you. "I know you want it, baby. Just needed a little persuading, thats all. You're just too good, didn't wanna admit you want me to rule this hole of yours."

You scream a laugh into his hands. This time Joel knows what it is, because you're kicking your feet in the bed. When he sits back, straddling you, his arms drop. "Baby, common now."

You cover your face, feeling the heat as you continue to giggle and kick your feet. He was gonna make you go tee hee like this was some 50's cartoon. "I'm sorry!" You peak out through your fingers grinning wildly. "It's just, fuck when did you get so hot."

"??? excuse me?"

"Have you been reading my romance novels? Because YOWZA!"

🤨 "Did you just say yowza?"

You fan yourself. "Joelseph Miller, where have you been all my life."

"My names not-"

You surge up, grabbing his shirt and pulling him to a kiss. Joel joins you in laughing now, rolling you on the bed as you giggle. "C'mon baby," He says through his grin. "How'm I 'spossed to be a big scary pirate when you're act'n like that?"

***

IDK I just wanted to be silly. I havn't been silly with fics for a minute but i used to write stuff like this for moon night a lot

If you want something NOT SILLY and maybe wanna cry, read Independence Day

Tommy Miller comfort

2500 follower fic rec celebration

@pedge-page @my-secret-shame @hornystan @femmeanonymelives @miraclesabound

#joel miller #joel miller x reader #gn reader #joel miller smut #joel miller x you #tlou hbo #the last of us hbo #tlou #the last of us #fluff #joel miller fluff

166 notes · View notes

ghosts-to-reid · 8 months ago

Text

Red Herrings

~SPENCER REID REQUESTS OPEN~

Request: Heyyy, so I don’t know if you even like Taylor Swift, but I NEED a smutty Spencer fic inspired by Guilty as Sin x So Highschool…I‘m talking build up and idk after a case the team all go to Rossi‘s house and the next thing they know is they‘re drunkenly playing spin the bottle…maybe Spence getting jealous or something? And once reader spins again and it lands on him he can’t hold back anymore, so they make the best of the time they have going at it like horny teenagers. She‘s been waiting for that since she first met him. Imagining how it would feel to finally touch him. @mariechristine00

Warnings: 18+ MDNI! Smut, Unprotected sex, dom!spencer, sub!reader, kinda emily x reader??? not really, spin the bottle, Fingering, teasing, jealousy, orgasm denial, creampie, rough sex, cockwarming

A/N: Sorry it took so long! I have had very bad writers block, i hope this is ok!

Four women had died before the team had arrived in Arkansas. All of them had been sex workers, murdered in the same fashion as Jack The Ripper's victims. It wasn’t uncommon for serial killers to replicate Jack the Ripper, but this Unsub had paid incredibly close attention to the habits of the original Jack, which should’ve made him easy to find, right? Predict his next move based on the timeline of the original crimes. Except- This unsub had adapted Jack the Rippers techniques to the modern day, even sending red herrings, making him harder to catch. After 8 days though, the team had finally done just that, leaving everyone to finally feel the full effect of exhaustion.

The jet journey back had been fairly quiet, you and Spencer had fallen asleep on the couch together, your head leaning against his shoulder, his head resting on top of yours. The team had shared a look after spotting the pair of you in such a position.

They had noticed shared glances between you both, how Reid would always bring you cups of coffee, how you’d bring enough lunch for two- knowing he wouldn’t eat if you didn’t. They’d heard all about your weekend hangouts, nights at the movies, dinners at each of your apartments. More often than not, you’d find both of you at one of your apartments, having stayed too late from a movie marathon, or even simply just wanting to stay in each other's company.

Any outsider who saw you both would think you were together, but you weren’t. Not like it want something either of you wanted, no it was quite the opposite. There were definite feelings between you both, and neither of you denied it. Both of you were just afraid to ruin what you had, so instead of facing them, you both lived in willful ignorance. Something the team were becoming exceedingly frustrated to watch, but neither of you would take their advice either. Leaving them stewing in frustration as the pair of you willfully ignored your feelings.

So, seeing you both sleeping on one another? Not as exciting as it used to be, but still made them happy to see.

Rossi is the one who woke the two of you up after the jet had landed. The rest of the team were gathering their things as the two of you stirred, sitting up straight at the sight of the older man before you, making him chuckle.

“Just wanted to let the pair of you know that we're having a dinner party at my house tomorrow night. 6pm Sharp, okay?” Spencer glanced over to you, whilst you rubbed your eyes, sleepily muttering an agreement. Following your lead, he smiled at Rossi, accepting the invitation on his own behalf.

Spencer helped you gather your things before guiding you out to his car, you often carpooled together and when you were at work the day of the case was no exception. You were still half asleep as he sat you down in the passenger seat of his beat up car, before sitting himself in the driver's seat.

“Can I stay at your house tonight, please?” You quietly asked, head leaning on the window, gazing at him through half lidded eyes “I feel bad for you driving all the way to my house, and doubling back to your apartment.”

The man driving smiled and muttered a small ‘Of course’, keeping his eyes on the nearly empty road. This wasn’t uncommon, ever since a mix up with hotel rooms a few months back, sleepovers had been added to your roster of ‘totally platonic’ activities you did together. Cuddling, sharing space, even beds, was now normal for you two. The rest of the team, if privy to this information, would point out how this was a manifestation of your feelings for each other; pushing the boundaries between friendship and romance, to try and fulfil your longing for each other subconsciously. Damn profilers.

The fact that this aspect of your relationship was secret from the team was also further proof that you both understood the implications. But you were just friends, right?

The car journey was quiet and quick, Spencer passed your go bag to you, mirroring you when he slung his own over his shoulder before grabbing your hand and leading you inside of his building.

Once inside, the pair of you set about your bedtime routines, changing in the same room, backs to each other. Brushing your teeth together, and slowly sliding into the warmth of Spencer’s Dark green covers. Small good nights are bid as Spencer pulls you into his chest, wrapping his arms around you, leg habitually landing over your him, effectively caging you as close to his chest as he could. Though, you were no different, lacing your arms around his middle, crossing your leg over his, if you could get any closer you could. It was just natural to the pair of you, being as close as possible to one another just made you both feel better, but you both would never mention that to anyone.

After a few minutes, when Spencer is sure you have fallen asleep, he places a small kiss to the crown of your head. Gently stroking the back of your head till he soon follows suit.

The next day, the two of you wake up entangled in each other's arms still. The mid morning light streamed through the curtains, gently rousing you both from your slumber.

Spencer lazily rubbed his fingers along your arm, up and down, until you finally roused fully. Sleepily smiling up at him, you hum as you bring your hand to meet his, intertwining your fingers together. Nudging yourself closer into his chest, he lets out a small chuckle.

“Morning, sleepy head.” He smiled as he squeezed your hand, he could hear a muffled “g'morning’” from you. Slowly, and hesitantly, he pulls his hand from yours, moving your head from his shoulder so he can look at you. He loved how you looked when you just woke up. Lips in a pout, eyes still half lidded, a slightly confused look on your face; he thought it was the cutest thing. As your eyes met his, his smile grew at the sight of your slightly messy hair. The hand holding your face slowly smoothes it down as he speaks.

“Do you want to shower and I'll go make breakfast?” He asked quietly, you nodded, still half asleep. Neither of you wanted to move yet, content in each other's arms. If you were lovers, it would be acceptable to say ‘no, I want to stay in bed with you’- But you are only best friends, nothing more. The realisation dawns on you both simultaneously as you both finally break from each other's hold. Though now feeling empty, you both move to perform your respective routines for the morning. It was around three that afternoon that you finally left Spencer’s house. After breakfast, the two of you had settled on his couch watching TV all morning, until you realised that you should probably go home to get ready for Rossi’s party tonight, Spencer offered to come to your house instead and sit with you as you got ready. He showered quickly, grabbing a change of clothes, before driving you both to your apartment around four.

Sitting with you was exactly what he did as you got ready, he sat in your room reading through your bookshelf as he waited, occasionally watching you as you put on your makeup and did your hair. When you were ready, he had changed as well, the pair of you dressed smart but not too fancy. Your idea, of course.

“I’m sorry but there is no way I was going to a Rossi party in a tight dress, I want to comfortably eat as much pasta as I want without feeling like I can’t move” Was what you had said.He laughed, and you both climbed into your car. You had worn a long summer dress, it flowed loosely around your frame, landing just below your knees. The dress was a a darker lilac, with dark purple flowers haphazardly splashed around the fabric. He had picked it for you when you had asked him to choose between two, unsure which you wanted to wear. Obviously, he chose his favourite colour. The thin straps accentuated the curve of your shoulders, he found his gaze landing on your neck for a moment too long before he reminded himself that you were just friends.

Pulling up to Rossi’s house, you parked the car. As you learnt into the back seat to grab your purse, he quickly hopped out of the car to open your door for you. He took your hand, closing the car door with the other. You smile at how much of a gentleman he is, intertwining your fingers with his before he has a chance to pull away. Hands staying intertwined the entirety of the walk into Rossi’s living room, breaking only to greet the rest of the team.

As the night flowed on, so did the wine. Dinner had been eaten, Spencer was amused at your gleeful motions as you reached for seconds, having your fill without worry. The team imbibed hard, bottles of Rossi’s expensive wine collection had been emptied before he had shooed the team away. Penelope, always the party animal, invited the team to continue the party at her place. Hotch was the only one who refused, wanting to get home to Jack. JJ and Will had agreed without hesitation, JJ’s mother being in town they had the whole night off, Emily followed suit of JJ, Derek agreeing without hesitation of course. The team glanced at you, Spencer and yourself sharing a look, silently communicating before you both agreed. Ordering a taxi to Penelope's house, you all piled into the minibus they sent.

One quick trip to the 24/7 liquor store around the corner, the team minus Rossi and Hoth were gathered in Penelope’s living room. Spencer sat behind you on the sofa whilst you sat on the floor, between his legs. The team were thoroughly drunk now, enjoying their time off as best they could. Derek, ever the party animal, finished his beer with a loud ‘Ahhh’, grabbing everyone's attention. He held the now empty bottle into the air with a triumphant grin.

“Do you know what time it is, ladies and gentleman?” He smirked, an evil glint in his eye as he scanned the room. Confusion painting the faces of everyone around you. “Spin the bottle!” He laughed, moving to sit on the floor in line with you. Penelope squealed in glee, clapping her hands as she moved from her position to sit across from Derek. JJ shrugged to Will, who chuckled and joined the rest of the team on the carpet. Emily sat beside you soon after, and Spencer, albeit reluctantly, slinked from his place on the sofa behind you to sit. Once the team had gathered, Derek explained the rules as he moved the bottle into the middle of the newly formed circle.

“Ok, we’ve all played before. You spin, and whoever it lands on you give them a big old kiss” He paused to wiggle his eyebrows at Penelope, who giggled at him “If it lands on yourself, spin again”

The man looked around, seeing the team ready, before starting the game. He gave the bottle a quick spin, and leant back as he watched the bottle spin. After a few moments, the bottle lands on JJ, who he respectfully pecs quickly on the corner of the mouth, like she was his grandmother, Obviously slightly disappointed to land on the one married woman in the circle.

“My turn?” JJ asked with a small slur, she held a glass of white wine in her hand carefully, leaning to spin the bottle. Landing on Emily, There is a small pause between them before they share a longer peck, Emily quickly moving on.

“Please, God, do not make me kiss Reid.” She joked, making the team laugh as she spun the bottle. Whilst the team watched the bottle spin, You nudged Spencer’s shoulder comfortingly. You knew Emily wasn't being mean, and so did he.

The bottle did, however, land on you. Raising your eyebrows in surprise, Emily clapped her hands

“That was close!” She laughed, JJ smirking and shaking her head amused. Penelope sighed

“I want a go” She pouted “I want a chance to kiss the one and only Derek Morgan.” She complained loudly. Everyone laughed at her fake tantrum, before Emily quickly moved in before you, softly grabbing the sides of your face, and bringing you in for a big closed mouthed kiss. It took you by surprise, and after a few seconds she pulled away, patting you on the shoulder.

“You’re welcome.” She deadpanned, making the rest of the team laugh once more. Still taken aback, you didn’t notice how Spencer had tensed up beside you after he saw your bewilderment from Emily’s short kiss. He watched silently as you leant forward to take your turn, eyes shooting up in surprise when he realised the bottle had landed on him.

A chorus of ‘OOO’s’ rang through the living room, Red painted both his face and yours as you turned to each other. He blinked slowly at you and, after a second, the wine he had been drinking flushed him with confidence, he softly grabbed the side of your face, kissing you deeply, tongue running lightly over your bottom lip before he pulled away.

Another chorus of cheers were heard from around you, the team celebrating seeing one of you finally make a move. Spencer smirked as he pulled away, seeing your shocked face from Emily’s kiss change. You were staring at him, pupils blown and doe eyed, panting lightly through parted lips, cheeks flushed. He didn’t have a moment to enjoy it, as a knock ripped through Penelope’s apartment. She jumped quickly, answering to find her elderly neighbour, complaining about the noise.

That was your cue to go. Spencer called a taxi for you both, you had already planned for him to stay the night. Both of you had shared a few bottles of wine between Rossi’s and Penelope’s, but that kiss seemed to have sober the two of you up. The taxi ride wasn’t awkward, more so quiet. Neither of you knew what to say after the kiss, just sharing the occasional joke about the night.

Walking up to your house, you opened the door silently. After you both take your shoes off, he takes your hand once more, leading you to your bedroom- Once more setting off into your night time routine. Once you are changed, you sit on the edge of your bed, busying yourself by putting on hand lotion, you hardly register that Spencer has finished in the bathroom until you feel the bed dip behind you. Without thinking much of it, you continue slowly rubbing your hands together when you feel Spencers hands grab your hips. A jolt of electricity shot up your spine before Spencer’s lips connected to your neck.

The surprise caused you to let out a gasp, your hand shooting up to hold his curls.

“S-Spencer?” You gasped the question as his grip tightened, continuing to kiss and nip at your exposed neck. It felt amazing, his lips against your skin, tender yet hungry. His desperation for you translated through every touch of his lips to flesh. Eventually, his lips assault reached your jawline, You heard him moan as you lightly tugged at his hair, an involuntary action after he lightly nipped at your earlobe, eliciting a low gasp of pleasure from you. One of his hands let your hip go, moving your head to face him. He stared at you with such hunger, such adoration, his eyes were full of so much love, but painted with a dark lust. His eyes flickered between your eyes and lips, he was just inches away. Both of you panted as you looked at one another, Spencer leaned in first, crashing his lips to yours. He kissed you with such fervour, it caught you off guard. Eventually, you melted into his kiss, moving from his grip to face him head on. His arms found their way around your waist, pulling you closer to him. Snaking your arms around his neck, he sighed into the kiss. After a moment he pulls away and begins to plaster kisses all over your face

“I don't…” he kisses your forehead “want you” he kisses your cheek “ Kissing anyone” He kisses your nose “But me.” He locks eyes with you for an intense moment before placing another kiss to your lips.

When he pulls away, he's still got one hand on your hip. You are both out of breath after his massacre of kisses.

“Tell me to stop and I will.” He meets your eyes, searching for any regret of what you just did. He finds none, but he needs to hear you tell him. He watches as you bite your swollen lip, he stops himself from letting out a small groan at the sight of you like this. Your face is flushed, hair messy, giving him that wide doe eyed look once more. He can’t help the rush of heat that travels through him at the sight of you, shifting himself in hopes you do not notice.

“Don’t stop…” You spoke quietly, and before you knew it, Spencer had you pinned on your back to the bed. His mouth was on yours, a feverish pace as he kissed you, hands now exploring every inch of you he could. He slotted himself between your legs as you opened them, wanting him closer. You had become a moaning mess at this point, muffled only by his lips on yours. He explored your mouth with his tongue, hand dipping to the hemline of your pyjama shorts. His fingers played with them for a moment before you pulled them down, along with your underwear. Spencer smirked at your action, looking down at you with dark eyes.

“You’re so eager…” He purrs, eyes moving slowly down to see you, his words suddenly make you self conscious. Making a move to close your legs the best you could with him between them, he quickly stopped you, prying your knees wide. He lets out a low moan as he looks down at the state of you, already wet for him. The way he looks at you makes you squirm, never had you seen someone so excited to see you, all of you. The look in his eyes was dark as one of his hands grazed slowly down your thigh. His eyes move to meet yours in question as his fingers inched closer and closer to your throbbing core. Nodding feverishly, he smirked once more.

“Use your words. Tell me what you want.” His voice was harsher than the Spencer you knew, his tone was authoritative, nothing like the timid man you knew.

“I want you, Spencer.” Was all you could whisper out, overwhelmed by how he was making you feel. Without any further hesitation, his lips caught yours in another fervent kiss. One hand held your cheek, whilst the other was making its way down between your legs.

Smirking at you squirm under him, his hand finally reaches its destination. Long fingers begin to explore your folds, occasionally bumping your clit as he gathers your slik. From his position over you, you can see how much he's enjoying this. How he knows he has power over you, the look on his face says it all. He’s almost observing you, brows furrowed as his eyes are glued to your face. He smirks at every pleasured moan, every twisted expression as you grind against his palm involuntarily.

“You like that?” He asks you, smugly. A long finger now teasing your entrance, you can’t help but whine in response. He lets a low chuckle out, finger dipping into you, only slightly. His grin widens when he hears the strangled moan, disrupted by disappointment.

“More…” You gasp, he has sat up straight now, one hand still teasing your entrance, whilst the other moves to hold down your hips.

“You want more? I’ll give you more.” He bites his bottom lip as he pushes his finger knuckle deep, he doesn’t let you adjust as he begins to fuck you steadily. Absent-mindedly, you grind down once more, only to be stopped by Spencer’s grip. “No, not yet, baby. Don’t worry, I’ll take care of you.” He cooed, sounding entirely unsympathetic as he slid another finger in.

This was a side of Spencer that you’d never thought to exist. The look in his eyes, the way he moved, the way he spoke to you- It was primal. The sweet, innocent nerdy bookworm was currently ruthlessly finger fucking you. You never thought a day like this would happen, but with the way he was making you feel, it was almost electric.

As he continued, he brought his other hand down to your clit, massaging small circles into the sensitive nub. Gasping his name, you can’t help but grind your hips against his hand, seeking any kind of relief you could.

“I-I’m so close-” You manage to choke out “Im gonna cum-”

Spencer quickly removed his fingers from their place inside of you, causing you to let out a frustrated cry “No! Sp-encer… WHy” You pant, it was embarrassing how needy your best friend had managed to make you. As you slowly managed to recollect yourself, you managed to meet his gaze. A smirk was still present as he brought his fingers to his mouth, popping them into his mouth. Biting back a whimper, you watch him suck your slick clean from his fingers, his eyes never leaving yours.

You couldn't help but watch him, lips a part, eyes doe like, a dumbfounded expression that he loved. The same expression you gave him after he kissed you. Letting out a low groan, he began to remove his sweatpants, keeping his eyes trained to yours as you watched him release himself.

He made quick work of aligning himself with your aching entrance, looking up to give you one last mischievous smirk before leaning in to whisper to your ear

“When I do this, you're gonna promise to be just mine?” His breath is hot against your skin, you eagerly agree. HHe stays leaning over you as he slides in, slowly. A groan is muffled in your shoulder as he bottoms out, staying still for a moment. You can't help but dig your nails into his back, the way he felt filling you up was just too good.

Without warning, Spencer began to move, sluggish at first, but he quickly began to gain speed. A loud moan escaped you as he sped up, lewd sounds filling the room as he began to fuck you relentlessly.

“Spencer!” YOu cry, he leans up, pulling you down the bed by your hips, he pulls your legs around his shoulders as he finds a new purchase. The new position makes him hit your core in a way you’ve never experienced. “Dont stop”

He doesn't reply,distracted by the feeling of your pussy around him. A tight knot began to wind in your stomach, once more threatening to snap.

“I'm gonna cum, please can i cum?” You begged through tears of pleasure. Spencer let out a malicious laugh, loving the mess you had become. He didn’t reply, simply speeding up his hips, answering your question. All you could do was grab the bedsheets as he brought you to your climax, a loud groan filling the space as he continued to fuck you, cooing praises as he rides you through it.

As your orgasm winds down, you feel his hips begin to stutter irregularly. He grunts with effort, hair sweatily covering his face. “Where can i cum, baby?” He gasps, hips tense as he tries to hold on. Involuntarily, the sight of him now struggling turned you on, making you clench around him. A loud gasp interrupts him “Fuck, let me cum inside, please?” He begs

“Yes!” You moan, without a second thought, you felt the man release, filling you up completely. He lets a loud strangled groan as he bottoms himself out once more, collapsing on top of your body.

There is a moment of silence as you both lie there. It seems to dawn on you that you have just been fucked by your bestfriend, making you panic momentarily. The panic subsides when you notice the tickle of his fingers on your bare side, tracing small patterns as he nuzzles closer into your neck. Bringing a hand up to play with his hair, you let yourself melt into his touch. His weight on top of you was a comfort, his warmth radiated from his skin to yours, and all you could do was feel safe.

After a moment, your clarity comes back. Curiosity takes over, you weren’t complaining about what had happened between you both, in fact, you wanted this for years. But why now?

“Baby?” You hum out, testing the waters of your new predicament. Though, it seems silly to be hesitant in a pet name when he was still currently inside of you. His head perks up nonetheless, the usual sweet and smiley Spencer seemingly coming back as he gives you a soft smil;e at the nickname.

“Yes, baby?” He hummed back, a dopey smile on his face as he emphasised the pet name, Making your heart flutter.

“Not that i'm complaining about this… but what brought this on?” You asked, quaking a brow in question. A blush creeps across Spencer’s face, shifting slightly in his place on top of you.

“I… Well. I was jealous…” He mutters, now exceedingly shy compared to the side of him he has just shown you. The surprise made your brows shoot up, giving him a questioning look, spurring him to continue “When Emily kissed you… I just got jealous, the look on your face… I’d never seen it before. I didn’t want anyone else to look at you like that, but after your turn…” He trailed off, eyes trailing your naked body underneath him. The sight of you seemed to re awaken his dominant side as he caught sight of where you were both still connected. He lets a huff of a laugh out as he drags his hips out slowly, before slamming himself back into you, happy at the moan he managed to take from you. That cocky grin found his lips once more as he continued his motions, slowly dragging his hips out and slamming himself back in, all the way to the base.

He didn’t need to say anything else, as soon you were both too preoccupied in the feeling of one another once more.

When the two of you return to the office together on Monday, Hand in hand, Spencer still in the same suit the team had seen him in Friday, the team all but threw a parade. Derek dejectedly passed Emily a twenty as they watched the man, not so secretly, kiss you in the kitchenette.

511 notes · View notes

dolliestfairy · 2 years ago

Text

Yandere Vampire Men x Chubby!Nun!reader

𑁍 Tw; Stalking, Monster-Fucking, Obsessiveness, Somnophilia, Noncon/dubcon, breeding kink (?), biting(obv), harshy grabbing, blood mentioned, virginity-take, the words 'rotten', implied murdering & religious theme. dead dove. Chubby Reader Fics With No Skintone Of Reader Mentioned.

This is a dark yandere fanfiction. if you dont like it then just block me ;) ୧₊˚

୨୧💭 thinking abt yandere!vampire!men who is obsessed with chubby!nun!reader. yandere!vampire!men whos freezing heart is now stuck with you. yandere!vampire!men whos colded heart is melting from fluttering once his eyes meet your plump & round appereance. yandere!vampire!men who eats all the other nuns & peoples who talked down on you. no creature ever should tell you what to do or else he'll rip their jaws off and snatched their ribs open. yandere!vampire!men who wants you to be his spouse, he wants you to be with him forever in the dead life! isnt that sound so spectacular my dear? yandere!vampire!men whos hands likes to touch your big ol thighs while you were sleeping, rubbing them softly up and down. at first it was belly, but the way of where he placed his hands is getting lower as he touch your thighs and later on his hands would touch your pussy and rubbing it softly within his fingers. putting his fingers in the middle of the entrance of your pussy lips. yandere!vampire!men who soon enough is inside you while you're half unconscious. whispering in your ears of how he is your savior and later on you'll get to marry him in the after life in which you just nod while your body is basically served his own. yandere!vampire!men who harshly grabbed your waist and stretch it apart, grabbing it so hard you can really feel his claws makes a pattern of it. it was feeling hurt enough to make you yelp until he start to put his fangs into your neck. pushing through your flesh while the blood slowly came out of the holes where his fangs made. slowing his thrust speed as you felt your body go warm and warm, until your vision start to become more and more blur, when your vision was starting to look white as you passed out at the chruch in the middle of the night where you just handed your virginity over someone or some 'creature' that you dont even know about. as your head and vision slowly and slowly become more unconscious, where you heard the creature muttering "finally, you are mine now."

Those Cold-blooded Vampires Are ;

OBITO UCHIHA, RYOMEN SUKUNA, Geto Suguru, Mahito, Nanami, Sasuke uchiha, VLAD TEPES, Hades, Sae Itoshi, Bachira, HOSHIGAKI KISAME, Mikey, Eren, Jack The Ripper, Kuroo Tetsuro, Semi Eita, Tsukishima Kei, Suna Rintarou, ITTO, Dottore, WRIOTHESLEY, Diluc, Zhongli, Kakashi Hatake, EVERY DIABOLIK LOVERS MEN, Buddha, Johan, Tendou, Oikawa & MALLEUS.

4K notes · View notes

skmhlml · 24 days ago

Note

the butcher x fem!wife!reader, she's his accomplice, acts all hurt and lures people in, only for her big ass husband to rush out of the cornfields and bash their heads in. bonus points if they fuck while covered in blood. i want to write this myself but I'm a hayden christensen and star wars blog so it wouldn't get much traction lol, but I know you can do it justice!

The Butcher x Fem!Wife!Reader – Headcanons (SFW + NSFW)

🔪🚫 Warning: Graphic violence, blood, gore, toxic romance, sexual content, implied cannibalism, dark horror themes. Minors do not interact.

🪓 You met him when you were just as unhinged—a runaway with a taste for pain, desperation in your eyes, and not much else to your name. He found you trying to dig through his trash, looking for anything edible. Instead of bashing your skull in, he brought you inside and made you his.

🪓 You learned quickly how to survive. Your sweetness, your voice, your bruises—they became weapons. You walk barefoot through the fields, tear-streaked, limping, whispering for help until some poor soul follows you into the maze of corn.

🪓 That’s when he comes. A hulking shadow breaking through the stalks like a nightmare, apron already soaked in drying red. He doesn’t say a word—he just swings, and the field swallows another scream.

🪓 You laugh when it’s done. That dainty, delighted giggle of yours echoes through the blood-drenched rows. He grunts in satisfaction, dragging the fresh meat back to the shed. And you follow—his good little wife, all sunburned and barefoot, proud of another successful kill.

🪓 The townsfolk know something’s wrong. People disappear when they pass near the corn. But no one ever suspects you—the quiet woman with bruises on her neck and that big, distant husband who “doesn’t talk much.”

🪓 You love him in the sickest ways: cleaning his tools, soaking his shirt, licking your fingers when you taste the seasoning in the “special meat.” He doesn’t show affection with words. He shows it by keeping you fed, letting you sleep close, and giving you someone to hurt with.

🪓 The aftermath of a kill turns you both feral. The blood’s still warm on your skin when he grabs you, lifting you off your feet like you weigh nothing. He presses you against the inside wall of his ‘work’ room, hands sticky, mouth feral.

🪓 Flesh slaps against flesh, blood smearing between you both, matting your clothes and hair. His apron’s still on, your dress is torn, and he ruts into you like he’s possessed—grunting, breathing hard, leaving bruises you’ll proudly show off in the mirror later.

🪓 You whisper things to him while he’s inside you—sweet nothings and wicked promises. “You’re such a good boy, baby. You split his skull in one hit.” He growls when you praise him, fucking you harder, messier, grabbing your hips like he’s afraid you’ll vanish.

🪓 Sometimes, he doesn’t wait until the victim is dead. He’ll press you down right next to the fresh body, rutting into you while the blood pools under your knees. You moan louder just to drown out the dying gurgles.

🪓 He marks you with his bloodstained hands, spreading it over your chest, your thighs, your throat. And you do the same—painting him with streaks of red, biting his shoulder, leaving your teeth marks like a wedding band.

🪓 After it’s over, he always holds you for a minute. Just a minute. In silence. You both lie there in the dim room, the tools above your heads, corpses cooling nearby, and your heart still thumping from the thrill.

🪓 You’re the perfect bait. You know just how to tilt your head, how to cry just enough to look like you’ve been running for hours, how to stumble out of the field barefoot and bleeding—self-inflicted, of course. A little scratch across the stomach, a bruise on the cheek. You even let your lip swell when you bite it too hard.

🪓 People can’t help themselves. They approach. They fall for the helpless act. And right when their voice softens—“Are you okay? Do you need help?”—he’s already behind them.

🪓 The crunch of bone against hammer is almost sexual at this point. You flinch, sure. But it’s an excited kind of flinch. You gasp like it’s foreplay. And when the blood sprays across your chest, you lick it off your collarbone with a grin.

🪓 Afterward, you talk to the corpse. “You shouldn’t have come here,” you murmur as you squat beside the twitching limbs. “He gets jealous.” You stroke their hair as they bleed out, looking up at your man like he just gifted you a bouquet.

🪓 The Butcher is huge. You’re dwarfed by him, practically thrown around like a ragdoll when he gets into one of his post-kill highs. His body is thick with calloused muscle, meat-fed and brutal. His grip? Possessive. Bruising. Irresistible.

🪓 You whimper into his chest as he takes you right in the dirt. Your body rocks forward with each thrust, knees scraping against gravel, blood from the kill still warm on your thighs. He ruts into you like it’s instinct. No words. No love songs. Just raw need.

🪓 You’ve come to crave the terror in others’ eyes. It gets you wet, how they scream and beg, thinking you’re just a hostage—until you look at them with a tilted head and whisper, “He’s not going to stop. You should run faster.”

🪓 You and him don’t just kill. You hunt. You plan, you clean, you feast. There are rules: never leave witnesses, never kill kids (unless you’re hungry enough), and always save a piece for later.

🪓 private, he’s quiet. Gentle in a grotesque way. He brushes blood out of your hair with thick fingers. He bandages your wounds after a struggle. He even hums lowly when you fall asleep in his lap, surrounded by fresh meat.

#stay out of the house puppet combo #the butcher stay out of the house #night shift abductor x reader stay out of the house #stay out of the house #the butcher x reader #the night ripper puppet combo #the butcher x reader puppet combo #the butcher #the night ripper x reader puppet combo #the night shift abductor x reader #puppet combo #monster fucker #horror

72 notes · View notes

profilerclra · 4 months ago

Text

Museum meet cute | Spencer Reid x Reader

meet cute | fluff

In which you have your own meet cute in a museum visit

Warnings: None

Content: Reader meets spencer in a museum and he does a classic Reid ramble (she loves it, it's cute)

All the studying for your master’s degree was starting to get to you, the sleepless nights, the stress and one of the most draining: the lack of fun. You had never been one to spend weekends in parties and clubs, hating the crowded spaces and loud music, your type of fun consisted more of slow things like vising libraries, museums and expositions, but lately you couldn't even find time for those little things that brought you so much joy. Well, this ended tonight.

After sending what you hoped would be the last draft for your thesis, you decided you deserved to finally have some fun. You got ready in your favorite outfit, and stepped out the house, the first stop was your favorite coffee shop to grab a caramel macchiato before heading to your favorite museum. You had heard of this new exposition of a painter caller “Walter Sickert” that sounded fascinating and were excited to finally see it, as you walked into the exposition you were mesmerized by the beauty of the work there, never been one to totally understand art and all the meanings and references, but you always had a soft spot for it, a thing that captivated you to those paintings and sculptures.

As you walked into the exposition, the soft lights above the paintings, the faint sound of the surrounding conversations, it all made you feel at home, you noticed how much you had missed these places. One in particular caught your attention, a painting of a woman looking straight out, her gaze seemed lost and half of her face was not painted, you were intrigued by it and stood there trying to make understand what might be the history behind what you were seeing.

A couple of minutes later, you felt a presence beside you, you looked to the side and saw a tall man standing there dressed with a cardigan you internally wished were yours and these glasses that made him look like one of those philosophy professors, his hands inside his pockets also admiring the painting.

“Mesmerizing, isn't it?” He speaks, pulling you out of your thoughts. His voice is soft and quiet as to not disturb the other people in the gallery, you look over to him, a small smile forming on your lips as you nod.

"Absolutely." you reply. "There's something about this style of art that just catches my attention, it's so…" You drift off, trying to find the right words for how you were feeling

“Hauntingly beautiful” He completes your sentence, giving you a small shy smile that made your heart flutter

“Yeah, exactly that. I couldn't put it into words before”

You two fall in a comfortable silence, admiring the painting in front of you until he breaks the silence. “You know, some people believe that this artist was actually Jack the ripper”

Your eyebrows shoot up in surprise, not expecting the random mention of a serial killer, “What, really? Why?” You turn to him, your genuinely curious expression seems to only fuel his excitement, he smiles and begins talking. The words roll out his mouth like he’d just been waiting for the moment to drop this.

“Some DNA analyzed from the letter jack sent to the police matched with the author's, also he has a series of paintings called 'Camden town murder’ which were made at the same time jack committed his crimes in the same town, also he is said to have worked in a studio that once was occupied by the ripper himself” You nod along and smile, being a sucker for true crime and history you really were interested in what this guy was saying, plus the speed in which he talked was perfect for your brain, and you found yourself immersed in his explanation.

“However” He lifts his pointer finger in a way that makes you hold back a giggle, god this man was cute – Why were you finding a man who was talking about a painter possibly being a killer cute? Maybe all the time inside your house made you lose your self-preservation skills. “Forensic scientists believe that most, if not all the letters sent to the police weren't actually sent by the killer, and all the other possible evidence is very circumstantial so the probability of him actually being jack the ripper is almost none, still an interesting hypothesis though.” He smiles and nods as he finishes his explanation, and he starts fidgeting with the strap of his satchel bag.

“Wow, that's actually really interesting, I would never imagine it” You smile at him “It's really impressing how you just know all that”

“Thank you, my brain is basically filled with a bunch of random facts just waiting to be said” He chuckles, and you notice a light blush showing up in his cheeks as he looks away from your gaze, going back to staring at the painting.

“I never got your name” You say, trying to keep the conversation going, you were drawn to him for some reason and didn't want to part ways so soon.

“I'm Spencer, and you are…” You tell him your name, smiling at him.

You were never the girl who would ask guys out or try their number, always being shy you were terrified of rejection, but right now you met this really cute guy who seemed so smart and was exactly your type, and you really didn't want to just leave it at this, so with a sudden courage you decide to take the plunge.

“You know, this museum has a really good coffee shop downstairs, would you like to go?” You smile at him, feeling your heart thump on your chest from the nervousness.

Spencer's eyes widen in surprise, but a warm smile spreads across his face as he nods eagerly, agreeing to your spontaneous invitation “Yes, I'd love to, maybe I can find more painter fun facts to tell you”

“Oh can't wait” you let out a giggle as you both start to walk out.

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid fanfiction #criminal minds #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid one shot #spencer reid x y/n

307 notes · View notes

gallavichsreddie1128 · 5 months ago

Text

Complicated (Will Graham)

Description: Will loves Y/N who is cold towards everyone but opens up to him that is until Hannibal comes along

Warning: Smut

Word Count:1,908

Request:Can you write a will graham x fem!reader where reader is an fbi agent and is working in the case with will and will starts to fall in love with her since she ‘understands’ him but she’s quite cold towards everyone can you also make her one of the best agents and Hannibal becomes quite intrigued by her could you add in will and reader smut too pls❤️

Author’s note: kind of an x Hannibal story as well. Also I misread it and thought it said to add smut and then add Will I am sorry but I hope you like it!

She took off her gloves and put them in her pocket as her and Will checked out the body. “Looks dead to me.” She said in a plain voice but Will laughed. “Yeah he certainly does.” Jack put the best agents on the Chesapeake ripper case and all week they’ve been trying to find hints, clues, anything that would give away who it was.

Y/N sighed and looked at the poor guy’s neck. “He was strangled to death.” She said and he nodded, “His lower half is missing.” She nodded. “Way to point out the obvious.” She looks at him and he smiles. They sat there and investigated the upper half of this man. Y/N making jokes with a straight face and Will laughing and adding to the jokes. Y/N was cold and distant to a lot of people. She was very professional and one of the best agents in the FBI.

Will favored her over anyone and loved her jokes even though she never has a joking tone to her voice when she speaks. He could tell her anything and she never judged him and even on rare occasions she would share some things with him. She too had sleep problems and needed therapy. She could make him smile without even trying. He wanted to tell her so badly but decided that it wasn’t right. She was too professional; there was no way that she would date him.

“You have a good night, Will Graham.” She tells him and he nods, “You as well, Y/N Y/L/N.” As she walked to her car she had a small smile on her face. Will had a huge smile as he got in his car and drove home for another restless night.

Will should have told her how he felt but once Hannibal met her he had the feeling that Hannibal also liked her but Y/N didn’t seem interested in his company as a matter of fact Y/N didn’t seem to like him at all. “You need to leave, we are working on a case Dr.Lecter.” She told him without looking at him.

Will hid a smile as Hannibal looked surprised. Not many people talked to him like that but he wasn’t offended. He was intrigued and wanted to know more about her. “I was offering my help on the case.” “We don’t need it.” Will nodded at Y/N agreeing with her. “Well I will leave you two to it.” He said and left the room.

“You don’t like him very much do you?” He asked her. She shrugged, “I don’t like many people.” She told him and he felt that. Though he had his quirks with Hannibal the guy was smart. “He shows up and thinks he knows everything and that he could help.” Y/N says and Will looks at her a little surprised. “You aren’t interested in what he has to say?” He asked her. She shrugged, “Not really.” Hannibal felt the complete opposite about her. And the next day Will would be pondered with questions about her.

“Y/N seems different.” He said to Will who was not happy about him taking interest in her. “Y/N doesn’t really like you Hannibal. I would give up now.” He told him and Hannibal looked offended. “She doesn’t even know me.” Though this was true Y/N didn’t care to get to know him at all. “She’s just like that.” Hannibal looked at him before standing up, “What makes you any different?” He asked Will. Will gave him a smile, “She likes me.” What does Will have that he doesn’t?

Y/N rolled her eyes as Hannibal walked in her office with Will and Jack. She looked up and greeted ⅔ of them. Hannibal cleared his throat but she ignored him. “Y/N this is Hannibal. You may have already met him.” Y/N nodded and looked over at the man. “He is helping us on the case.” Will said, trying to hide his annoyance. “We don’t need help, we have got this.” Y/N told Jack. Will agreed but Jack didn’t care. Y/N tried to hide her eye roll but Will saw it and smiled at her. “I promise I won’t get in the way.” Hannibal said and Y/N looked at him. This was going to be so fun.

Hannibal shared his thoughts on what he thought about the next person that was murdered. Y/N hated to admit it but he seemed to know what he was talking about. Maybe he should be in the FBI. “You are onto something Lecter.” Hannibal chuckled, “Did you just call me by my last name?” He asked with a smile.

She looked at him and shrugged, “You have been warming up to me.” He teases and she rolls her eyes. Will was the only person that she truly was comfortable around but after these past few weeks she had gotten closer to him. Will walked in and saw the smile on Hannibal’s face. He too has noticed that Y/N was warming up to Hannibal and he didn’t like it. Hannibal also could tell that Will was annoyed by it but that was more of a reason to do it.

They worked on the case and made up theories and thoughts until it was time to rest. Will left first no longer wanting to be in the room with Hannibal and his flirty comments towards Y/N. “What’s it going to take for you to let me make you dinner?” She looked over at him.

She couldn’t say exactly how she got to this point. This wasn’t like her at all. She was eating the meal that Hannibal had made her and let herself go for once and now she was on the table that they just ate off of and Hannibal was thrusting into her. Her fingers dug into the table as he rocked her and the table. His large hands gripped her hips tight enough to leave bruises, not that either of them cared right now. Her lips were swollen from kissing and taking his dick into her mouth. She was loud but not extremely loud.

Hannibal had his hips angled to hit her sweet spot so she was moaning and whining for him. He looked down at her and noticed how beautiful she was and how amazing she felt. She whined his name weakly pulling him out of his thoughts and making him thrust faster. He wished Will was here, not to join but to see him fuck the woman of his dreams.

Will would hate it but Hannibal would love it. He wrapped a hand around her throat and groaned, “Are you going to cum for me?” She nodded and was breathless. “Cum for me. Cum all over my cock and scream.” He demanded and just from that it was so easy for her. She screamed his name as she came all over him. Her body shuddered and her hips stuttered as she felt the intensity of the orgasm flow through her body. The sight of her made Hannibal cum with a moan.

The next day Will was supposed to have a session with Hannibal but Y/N was there for the case. Will had nearly walked in on them making out but Y/N stepped away before they could get caught. “What are you doing here?” Will asked her as he walked into Hannibal’s office. She held up the case file in her hand, “I believe I have the next lead.” She told him as she handed him the file. He took it but looked over at Hannibal, “We were supposed to have a session.” “Yes but Y/N said that this was important.” Will opened the file and looked through it.

Though he believed that the other man in the room had something to do with this he couldn’t shame Y/N’s effort. “So this is what we are working on today?” He asked them. Y/N nodded and sat in a chair, Will sat in the other one. He couldn’t shake off how weird it was that Y/N was in Hannibal’s house and in the office with the door closed. Come to think about it, Y/N never knew where Hannibal’s house even was…unless… He tried to ignore that thought but couldn’t.

Y/N would call him first about the case before showing Hannibal. Let alone tell him what the plan was today. He saw Hannibal not even paying attention but staring at her with hungry eyes. He had no doubt that they had slept together and maybe were about to before he came in. Anger and jealousy rose in him and he was going to confront her as soon as they left the house.

“You slept with him didn’t you?” Was the first words out of Will’s mouth once they were outside Hannibal’s house. Y/N turned to look at him with surprise. Had it been that obvious? “What makes you say that?” She asked him. He shook his head with a scoff, “You so did. You would have straight up said No and you barely show emotions through your face.” She stared at him with a straight face as he ranted. “Why does it matter?” Will couldn’t believe she would even ask that.

He thought that they had something but was proven wrong with this Hannibal situation. “Y/N you can’t be that oblivious.” She knew that Will and her were very close and before Hannibal that was the person she was closest to. “You think he’s using me for something?” Yeah she was that oblivious. “I’m in love with you!” He yells at her and her eyes widen a little. “I love you and I thought that we had something or that was a possibility but you sleep with him? You hated him when you first met him.” This was all true and Y/N couldn’t help but look down at her feet in shame. This wasn’t like her at all and if she was to sleep with anyone it would be Will. She couldn’t believe herself.

“Will I-I don’t know what to say. It’s complicated.” She admits to him and he wants to laugh. He wants to laugh in her face because what was so complicated about it. He shakes his head, “Truth be told Y/N I think he’s the Chesapeake ripper.” He walks away to his car leaving her stunned.

She couldn’t stop thinking about what Will said to her that night. She went back to being quiet during meetings and investigations and even cut ties with Hannibal. She knew that Will was smart but did she actually believe what he said? Hannibal, a killer? Hannibal was confused by her behavior. Maybe she regretted sleeping with him or maybe Will put things in her head about him. He couldn’t help but think that maybe Will was truly behind this. But she wasn’t speaking to him either. Actually she was avoiding them both.

But for different reasons. Will loves her and maybe she feels the same way back and Hannibal could be the killer that they are looking for. She sat in her bed staring at the pictures of all the bodies that they found. Could Hannibal actually be capable of doing all of this? She thought back to all he was saying about the killer and how he did seem to understand things even though he was a therapist. She reached for her phone and called Will, he answered and she sighed before talking, “So Hannibal’s the Chesapeake ripper.”

#hugh dancy #hannibal nbc #hannibal lecter #hannibal #mads mikkelsen #will graham #will graham imagine #will graham smut #will graham x reader #hannibal lecter smut #hannibal lecter x reader #hannibal lecter x you #hannibal lecter x will graham

208 notes · View notes

estellan0vella · 8 months ago

Text

More Than Enough Time: L. Mh Lee Minho x fem!reader (College AU)

WC: 11.6K

CW: Anxiety, Menace Jisung, Secret Simp Minho

General Masterlist SKZ Masterlist Part II

The room is alive with the sound of clinking glasses, murmured conversations, and the occasional burst of laughter that slices through the warm air of the grand banquet hall. The dim, golden glow of chandeliers drips overhead, casting a soft light across the elegantly dressed guests.

You sit at the round table, nervously smoothing your hands over the silk of your champagne-coloured gown. Every so often, your fingers toy with the sapphire-encrusted hairpin holding your hair in place, a gift from your grandmother. It's more than a piece of jewellery; it's a talisman tonight, something to cling to.

Beside you, Jisung, your best friend, fidgets in his seat, drumming his fingers on the table. He's dressed in a sleek black suit that contrasts nicely with his hair, but despite the confident exterior, you know he's just as anxious as you are. But for once, it feels like your nerves are trying to outdo his.

"Fuck, why did I agree to this?" Jisung mutters under his breath, glancing at you with wide eyes. "I swear to God, Y/N, if I have to stand up there and give a speech, I might just throw up all over the stage."

You force a chuckle, though it feels weak in your throat. "Join the club. I feel like my stomach's doing backflips. What if I trip in these shoes? What if I can't say anything at all and I just stand there like a fucking idiot?"

Jisung snorts, giving you a sympathetic look. "We're both fucked."

Across from you, Bang Chan, the Alpha Phi fraternity president, leans back in his chair, sipping on a glass of whiskey. His black hair is slicked back, giving him a polished, suave look that almost distracts from the fact that he's one of the rowdiest guys you know. He gives you both a grin that's way too confident for your liking.

"Relax," Chan says. "You guys are gonna crush it. You wrote that article like badasses, now just get up there and take the damn award."

Jisung glares at him. "Easy for you to say, Mr. Football Star. You literally thrive on people staring at you."

"Exactly," Chan grins wider. "Which is why you should listen to me."

You shift in your seat, glancing around the table. You're surrounded by Alpha Phi members tonight, all of whom seem a lot more comfortable in their skin than you feel in yours.

Hyunjin sits next to Chan, looking ridiculously perfect as always. His long black hair falls just past his shoulders, and he's tapping his fingers rhythmically on the table while staring off into the distance. He's receiving an award tonight too, for something in the arts, and though he looks calm, you can see his jaw clenching every few seconds.

"Stop staring at the program," Hyunjin mutters to you without even glancing your way. "It's not gonna change."

You blink, realizing that you've been staring at the folded piece of paper in front of you, the one listing all the awards for the night. Yours and Jisung's, The Innovative Journalism Award, is still about fifteen minutes away, and the waiting is fucking killing you.

"Fuck," you whisper under your breath, more to yourself than anyone else.

Felix, sitting on the other side of Jisung, notices your stress. He gives you a soft, warm smile, his freckles standing out against his fair skin. "You'll do fine, Y/N. We all believe in you."

"Yeah," Jeongin chimes in from the end of the table. His hair falls slightly into his eyes as he leans forward, resting his chin in his hand. He's getting an award too, something for fashion design. "We all know you're the smartest one here, so just relax, okay?"

You nod, but the knot in your stomach refuses to untangle. It's not just about the award. Sure, winning an award for the article you and Jisung wrote, a deep dive into the theory that Jack the Ripper might have been a woman, is huge.

It's the culmination of months of research, late nights, and too many cups of coffee. But the idea of standing in front of a room full of people, having all eyes on you, waiting for you to say something intelligent... it's suffocating.

Minho, who's been quiet up until now, finally speaks. He's seated directly across from you, his deep cherry red hair gleaming under the soft light of the chandeliers. "You'll be fine," he says simply, his voice calm and steady. "Just breathe."

You meet his gaze for a second longer than you intend to, feeling the weight of his words. Minho is always like this. Quietly confident, never too loud or overbearing. He's the type who can make you feel like everything's going to be okay, even when you're pretty fucking sure it's not.

"You make it sound so easy," you mutter, breaking the eye contact and taking a quick sip of your drink, trying to focus on something else. Anything else.

Hyunjin shifts beside you, his gaze flickering to the stage. "It's easy for Minho because he's never nervous. Must be nice to be so fucking chill all the time."

Minho shrugs, the corner of his mouth lifting slightly in a half-smile. "Just a talent, I guess."

Jisung rolls his eyes. "Well, share some of that talent with us because I feel like I'm about to shit myself."

There's a round of laughter at the table, but you can't join in. The knot in your stomach tightens as the minutes tick by. Your hands, now resting on the table, feel clammy. The silk of your gown is suddenly too heavy, clinging to your skin in a way that makes you feel trapped. You know no one else can hear your heart pounding, but it feels deafening in your own ears.

You glance at the stage again, watching as the current award is being presented to some group for their contributions to environmental science. You're not even paying attention to the speech, just counting down the minutes, waiting for your turn. You can feel it creeping up on you. The anxiety. The tightness in your chest, the shallow breaths, the overwhelming need to get the fuck out of this room.

Suddenly, it's too much. The noise, the lights, the heat. You need air. Now.

"I—uh—I need to use the restroom," you stammer, pushing your chair back.

Jisung glances at you, concern flashing in his eyes, but he nods. "You good?"

You nod quickly, too quickly. "Yeah. Just nerves."

Before anyone can stop you, you're on your feet, weaving through the tables and out of the banquet hall. The moment you step into the hallway, the cool air hits your skin, and it's a relief, but only for a second. Your heels click against the marble floor as you make your way down the corridor, your breath coming in shallow gasps now.

You find a small side room and slip inside, closing the door behind you. The silence is almost jarring after the noise of the banquet hall, but you're grateful for it. You lean against the door, pressing one hand to your stomach and the other to your forehead. The room feels like it's spinning, and you squeeze your eyes shut, trying to focus, trying to breathe.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck," you whisper to yourself, feeling the panic rising in your chest.

You yank the sapphire hairpin out of your hair, letting your carefully pinned-up style fall apart, the soft strands brushing against your bare shoulders. The pin feels cold in your hand, a grounding sensation, but it's not enough to stop the wave of anxiety crashing over you.

Your stomach twists painfully, and you press harder against it, as if that will somehow make it stop. But it's not working. Nothing's working.

You lean over slightly, bracing yourself on your knees, trying to remember what the hell you're supposed to do in moments like this. Breathe. You're supposed to breathe. In through your nose, out through your mouth. Simple. Easy. Except it's not.

Back in the hall, the crowd shifts with anticipation as the MC steps up to the podium, smiling widely at the gathered guests.

"And now, the recipients of this year's Innovative Journalism Award. For their brilliant work on the investigative article delving into the theory that Jack the Ripper may have been a woman, please welcome Han Jisung and Y/N L/N!"

There's a pause. Jisung's heart nearly jumps out of his chest as he hears your name. He looks over to the seat you left empty minutes ago, feeling the weight of everyone's eyes turning to him.

"Fuck," Jisung mutters under his breath, pushing his chair back and standing up.

The nerves that were already gnawing at him double in intensity. His best friend isn't there to share the load, and now, he's completely on the spot. He glances over at Minho, who's been silently watching him.

Minho, though still seated, leans over slightly. "Where the hell is Y/N?"

Jisung runs a hand through his hair, his heart racing. "She, uh... she went to the restroom or something. She's been freaking out all night. I think she might be having one of her moments, man."

Minho's expression darkens slightly with concern, and he pushes his chair back. "I'll go find her."

"Wait, wait," Jisung hisses, grabbing Minho's wrist as he's about to stand. "What the fuck do I say to them up there?"

Minho glances toward the stage where the MC is starting to look a little confused, waiting for someone to approach. "Make up some bullshit. Tell them she had to take a phone call or something, just so they don't start asking too many fucking questions."

Jisung frowns, his anxiety doubling. "Dude, I can't do this shit on my own."

Minho's eyes soften for a second, something almost rare to see from him. "I know. But you've got this. Just give her the credit she deserves, take the award, and make sure someone films it so she can see it later. Chan will do that. I'll make sure she's okay."

Jisung clenches his fists for a moment, feeling the pressure crushing him. The thought of going up there alone, without you, makes him feel like he's about to pass out. But when he looks into Minho's eyes, he knows he's right. You're the priority right now.

"Alright," Jisung says finally, his voice tight with nerves. "Just... just make sure Y/N's okay, alright? You know how she gets with this kind of shit."

"I'll handle it," Minho nods, his voice low but firm. He claps Jisung on the shoulder. "Now go get the fucking award."

Jisung exhales sharply, watching as Minho slips away from the table, moving swiftly through the hall. He takes a deep breath, feeling the weight of what he has to do next.

"Chan," Jisung mutters to his friend, who is still seated at the table, looking between him and the stage.

"Yeah?"

"Film this for Y/N, alright? Minho's going to find her."

Chan raises an eyebrow but nods, pulling out his phone without a word. Jisung swallows down the rising panic and heads toward the stage, his steps feeling heavy as the crowd watches him.

Minho doesn't waste time as he leaves the banquet hall, moving swiftly down the corridor. His steps echo softly in the quiet hallway, the muffled sounds of the award ceremony still filtering through the door behind him.

He's seen you spiral like this before, and his heart tightens in his chest. You're tough as hell most of the time, but when the anxiety hits, it hits hard. Minho knows that look in your eyes all too well. The panic, the overwhelming urge to escape. He's watched you, time and again, try to fight it, to shove it down, but sometimes, it's just too much.

You're not the type to cry during these moments; that's not how your panic works. Instead, you go silent, withdraw, pull yourself in so tight that it's like you're trying to disappear. Minho's learned to recognize the signs, the little tells. Like how you start fidgeting with your hair or that sapphire hairpin you always wear when you're stressed. The one that belonged to your grandmother. It's your good luck charm, though tonight it seems like it's doing little to stave off the rising storm inside you.

As Minho searches for you, he opens door after door, moving quickly but not frantically. His mind stays focused, methodical. He doesn't need to be panicked; that won't help you. He knows you well enough to know where you'd go in moments like this. Somewhere quiet, somewhere empty.

Finally, he reaches a small room at the end of the hallway, and when he pushes the door open, he sees you.

You're pacing back and forth, your gown swishing gently as you move. One hand is pressed to your forehead, the other to your stomach, like you're trying to physically hold yourself together. Your breathing is shallow, quick, and your eyes are wide with that familiar look of dread.

Minho's heart breaks a little as he watches you. You look so vulnerable, so unlike the confident woman you usually are. Yet, at the same time, there's something undeniably beautiful about you, even now. Even in the middle of your anxiety, you manage to carry a grace that makes his chest tighten for entirely different reasons. But now's not the time for that.

He steps into the doorway and knocks gently on the frame. "Hey, sweetheart," he says softly, using the nickname he's reserved just for you.

You look up, startled at first, but then you see it's Minho. A small, shaky breath leaves your lips. "Hey, Minho," you murmur, your voice quieter than usual.

Minho takes a few steps into the room, closing the door behind him, sealing off the rest of the world. "You doing alright?" he asks, though he already knows the answer.

"Yeah... I'm fine," you lie, but the strain in your voice gives you away. "I just... I don't want to go up there."

He nods, stepping closer to you, not crowding your space but just enough to make sure you know he's there. "I know," he says quietly.

He reaches out, gently placing his hand on the back of your neck, his fingers lightly brushing the soft skin there. His thumb traces over your pulse point, and he can feel how fast your heart is racing.

"It's okay. Jisung's up there right now, telling them you had to step out for an important phone call. No one's gonna make a big deal about it."

You blink at him, processing his words. "He did?"

"Yeah," Minho confirms, his voice soothing. "Chan's filming it too, so you'll still get to see the moment you're credited for the work. Don't worry about it. You don't need to put yourself through that shit."

You let out a small breath, your shoulders sagging with relief. The pressure in your chest eases slightly, though the tightness in your stomach remains. Minho's thumb continues its gentle rhythm on your neck, grounding you, pulling you back to the present.

Suddenly, Minho pulls you into a hug. His arms wrap around you, firm but gentle, and he presses his cheek against yours. The warmth of his body, the solidness of his embrace, catches you off guard for a second, but then you relax into him. He smells like something warm and comforting, and you breathe it in, your arms coming up to grip his shoulders as you rest your head against his.

He holds you tightly, his cheek still pressed against yours, and rocks you slightly, back and forth. It's the same thing he does for Jisung when he's panicking, the pressure of the hug helping to suppress the nervous system, calming everything down.

Minho doesn't say anything for a while, just keeps holding you, his cheek brushing yours, his thumb still moving gently on the back of your neck. His breathing is calm, steady, and before long, you find your own breathing starting to match his.

The scent of your mango and passionfruit body spray lingers in the air, and Minho can't help but smile a little to himself. He's always adored that scent on you. It's light and sweet, just like you, and being this close to you, holding you like this, it makes his heart pound in his chest. But he pushes those feelings aside. Right now, it's about you, not him.

"You're crashing with Jisung at the frat tonight, right?" Minho asks after a moment, his voice low and calm.

You nod against him. "Yeah, that was the plan."

Minho pulls back just enough to look at you, his hands still resting on your shoulders. "Let's get you back then. Fuck these fancy assholes. You earned your award, you don't need to torture yourself by staying here. Take those torture devices off your feet, too. They're not doing you any favours."

You glance down at your stilettos, your brows furrowing. "I should've worn wedges. I hate these fucking shoes."

Minho chuckles softly, shaking his head. He crouches down in front of you, his fingers already working on the small buckles of your stilettos. "Next time, wear the wedges. I know you prefer them."

You watch as he carefully unbuckles your shoes, slipping them off your feet one at a time. His movements are gentle, and something about the simple act of him helping you out of your heels brings another wave of calm. He stands back up, holding your shoes in one hand, giving you a small smirk. "Better?"

"Yeah," you murmur, wiggling your toes against the cool floor. "Better."

Minho slips his suit jacket off and hands it to you. "Here, put this on. It'll help with the cold when we head back."

You take the jacket, pulling it over your shoulders. It's too big, but the weight of it is comforting, and the scent of his cologne clings to the fabric, making you feel a little more secure.

Before you can say anything else, Minho pulls out his phone and quickly dials a number. He holds the phone up to his ear, waiting for the other line to pick up.

"Yo, Felix," he says when the call connects. "I'm taking Y/N back to the frat. She's okay, but she needs to get out of here. You guys good?"

There's a muffled response on the other end of the line, and Minho nods. "Cool. Tell Jisung I found her, and we'll meet you all back at the house later." Another pause and Minho chuckles softly. "Yeah, I know you were planning on ditching after Hyunjin and Jeongin get their awards. We'll see you guys then."

He hangs up the phone and tucks it back into his pocket, turning his attention back to you. "Alright, let's get the hell out of here."

Without waiting for you to argue, Minho crouches down, turning his back toward you. "Get on."

You blink in surprise. "What?"

"Get on," he repeats, glancing over his shoulder at you. "I'm giving you a piggyback. Your feet are gonna hurt like hell if you walk back barefoot."

You hesitate for a second, feeling a little self-conscious, but the look in Minho's eyes is so earnest, so full of quiet understanding, that you don't argue. You slip your arms around his neck, and he hooks his hands under your thighs, lifting you up with ease. The weight of the world seems to fall away as you rest your chin on his shoulder, your arms wrapped loosely around him.

As he starts walking, you close your eyes for a moment, letting the cool night air hit your face as you exit the building. The campus is quiet at this time of night, only the sound of Minho's footsteps echoing softly on the pavement.

"Feel better?" he asks after a few moments, his voice soft.

"Yeah," you whisper, resting your head against his shoulder. "Thank you, Minho. I just... I couldn't handle it in there."

"I know," he replies gently. "And that's fine. There's no point in torturing yourself for an award you already earned. You don't need to prove anything to anyone."

You nod against him, feeling a little lighter with every step. The anxiety that had been clawing at your chest earlier is slowly dissipating, and you can focus on the steady rhythm of Minho's breathing, the warmth of his back against your chest. He carries you across campus with ease, his hands never faltering as he supports you.

"You know," Minho says after a while, his voice cutting through the quiet, "next time you feel like this, don't wait until it gets so bad, alright? Just grab me, or Jisung, or any of us. We've got you."

You smile slightly, your fingers curling a little tighter around his shoulders. "I'll try."

"You better," he says, a teasing note in his voice, though there's still that underlying sincerity that makes your heart warm. "Because if I have to chase you down in the middle of every fancy event, I'm gonna start charging you for these piggyback rides."

You laugh softly, the sound feeling good in your chest. "Deal. I'll make sure to pay you in pizza."

"Now we're talking."

The rest of the walk is quiet, comfortable. You can feel the weight of the night lifting off your shoulders as you approach the Alpha Phi house. By the time you reach the front door, you feel almost like yourself again, thanks to Minho and his steady presence.

When he finally sets you down in front of the house, he gives you a small smile. "See? Not so bad, right?"

You nod, smiling back at him, feeling more grateful than you can express. "Not so bad at all."

Minho grins at you as he unlocks the door to the Alpha Phi house, holding it open for you to step inside. The familiar warmth of the frat house surrounds you, a stark contrast to the cold, fancy banquet hall you'd just escaped from. The moment you cross the threshold, some of the leftover tension in your body melts away.

"Come on," Minho says, his voice low and relaxed, the same voice that had been grounding you since he found you spiralling. "Let's get you something to drink."

You follow him down the hall toward the kitchen, the soft glow of the house's lights making the space feel cosy, almost like home. The tension from the evening still clings to you a little, but Minho's presence beside you is like a steady anchor, keeping you from drifting back into panic.

When you enter the kitchen, Minho heads straight for the fridge, glancing over his shoulder at you. "What's your poison tonight? You look like you could use something strong."

You laugh softly, settling onto one of the barstools at the island, adjusting your floor-length gown so it drapes neatly around you. "Surprise me."

Minho pulls out a bottle of pineapple juice and a bottle of vodka from the fridge, giving you a wink before he grabs a couple of glasses from the cupboard. He makes quick work of mixing your drink, pouring a generous amount of vodka into the glass before topping it off with juice.

He slides your drink across the counter, the clink of the glass against the marble catching your attention. "Vodka pineapple for the lady," he says, raising his own glass. "And a double JD for me because, fuck, we've earned it."

You chuckle, taking the glass and sipping it. The sweetness of the pineapple juice mixed with the vodka goes down smoothly, and you feel some of the remaining tension in your chest loosen. Minho takes a sip of his own drink, watching you with a soft smile.

"You know," he says after a moment, leaning against the counter, "if it helps at all, you were definitely the most beautiful girl in attendance tonight."

You feel heat rise to your cheeks at his words, and you can't help but smile. "You're full of shit, Minho."

"I'm serious," he insists, his eyes twinkling with amusement but also sincerity. "The moment you walked into the hall in that dress, I'm pretty sure every guy there forgot why the fuck they were even attending. It was all eyes on you."

You shake your head, sipping your drink again to hide the fact that his words make you feel more flustered than you care to admit. "Well, I'm not so sure about that, but thanks."

Minho smirks, taking another sip of his drink before his gaze softens again. "It was also pretty fucking sweet how Jisung's pocket square and tie matched your dress."

You grin, finally letting out a genuine laugh at that. "Yeah, he insisted. Said best friends and co-journalists have to match, so everyone knows we're the shit."

Minho chuckles, shaking his head in that fond, almost exasperated way he always does when he talks about Jisung. "Of course he did."

You're about to take another sip of your drink when you suddenly remember something, and your smile falters. "Shit... I forgot my hairpin in the room."

Minho doesn't hesitate. "Don't worry about it. I'll text Chan, and he'll grab it for you before they leave."

You nod, a little relieved. "Thanks. I'd hate to lose it. It was my grandmother's."

Minho pulls out his phone, already typing a message to Chan. As he sends it, he leans against the counter again, taking another long sip of his drink. "So," he says, his voice casual, "to be completely honest, I was supposed to read your article, but I never got around to it. You know, being a veterinary science major kind of takes up all my fucking time."

He's lying, and you have no idea. Minho read that article the moment it was published, studied every word like it was the most important thing he'd ever laid eyes on.

He remembers the excitement in your voice when you first started talking about the project with Jisung, and he couldn't help but get curious. So, yeah, he read it, but he doesn't want to give that away. He wants you to light up and tell him about it yourself, to see the passion in your eyes as you explain your work.

Your face brightens at his interest, and you lean forward slightly, resting your elbow on the counter as you take another sip of your drink.

"Oh my God, you're missing out," you say, your voice already more animated. "Jisung and I have this theory that Jack the Ripper was actually a woman. A midwife, to be specific."

Minho raises an eyebrow, feigning curiosity. "A midwife? That's a hell of a theory. Go on."

You nod, excited now, the exhaustion from the evening momentarily forgotten. "Right? Think about it. A midwife would have had access to all the knowledge needed to perform those surgical cuts on the victims. And during that time, no one would've questioned a woman walking around in blood-covered clothes. She could've been out at all hours, and people would've just assumed she was delivering a baby or something."

Minho swirls the drink in his glass, watching you intently as you explain. "That actually makes a lot of fucking sense. Victorian sexism would've worked in her favour."

"Exactly!" you exclaim, your eyes lighting up. "Back then, no one would've suspected a woman. They were too focused on looking for some deranged man, and the police reports were all written from a male perspective. They overlooked so many possibilities simply because they didn't think a woman could be capable of something so gruesome."

Minho takes another sip of his drink, his gaze fixed on you. "That's pretty fucking brilliant. What about the eyewitness reports, though? There was at least one person who claimed to see a man near one of the crime scenes, right?"

You nod, already ready to dive into that part of the discussion. "Yeah, but Jisung and I argued that just because someone was in the area doesn't mean they were guilty. There are always people wandering around in cities, especially in a place like Whitechapel during that time. Plus, eyewitness testimony is notoriously unreliable, especially in the dark, in a chaotic place like that."

Minho's lips curl into a small smile as he watches you. You're practically glowing now, completely immersed in the subject matter. This is exactly why he brought it up.

Seeing you like this, seeing you so passionate, it's what he loves most about you. Though he'd never admit that out loud. He sets his glass down and leans in a little closer.

"So, basically," he says, keeping his tone light and teasing, "you're saying Jack the Ripper might've just been an extremely intelligent, sadistic woman who knew how to avoid suspicion by playing into society's sexist expectations."

"Exactly!" you say again, nodding enthusiastically. "It's just a theory, of course, but it fits so many of the facts. And honestly, it makes a lot more sense than half the other theories out there."

Minho chuckles, shaking his head. "I'm impressed. That's some seriously clever shit. I'm pissed I didn't read the article now."

You smirk, taking another sip of your drink. "Well, you can still read it. It's not going anywhere."

"I will," Minho says, though he already knows it word for word. "You and Jisung killed it."

Your smile softens at the compliment, and you feel that warmth in your chest again. The same one that always seems to appear when Minho says things like this. He has a way of making you feel proud of your work, of reminding you that you're capable, even when you don't always believe it yourself.

You glance down at your glass, twirling it in your hands. "Thanks, Minho. It means a lot, really. It was... it was a tough project, but we're both really proud of how it turned out."

"As you should be," he says, his voice soft but firm. "You've always been fucking brilliant. That's why it pisses me off when you get in your head about shit."

You laugh softly, though there's a note of vulnerability in your voice. "Yeah, well, getting in my head is kind of my speciality."

Minho's expression softens, and for a moment, the teasing drops. He steps around the island, standing in front of you as he leans on the counter, his hands resting on the marble surface.

"Listen," he says, his voice lower now, more serious. "I know tonight was rough, but don't let it get to you. You've already proven yourself, not just with the award, but with everything you've done. And you've got people who have your back, alright?"

You blink, a little surprised by the sudden shift in his tone. Minho's always been good at saying the right thing, but this feels different. You meet his gaze, and there's something there, something you can't quite place. It's intense but not overwhelming, grounding in a way that makes your chest feel warm.

"I... yeah," you murmur, your voice softer. "Thanks, Minho. Really."

He doesn't say anything for a moment, just holds your gaze, and then he breaks the moment with a small grin. "Now, how about we ditch this heavy shit and enjoy the rest of the night? We've got the whole house to ourselves for a bit."

You laugh, nodding. "Yeah, sounds like a plan."

Minho taps the counter. "I'll top up your drink."

The door to the Alpha Phi house swings open, and the sound of footsteps fills the hallway as the rest of the guys file in after the awards ceremony. You hear Jisung before you see him, his voice cutting through the noise with its usual mixture of excitement and concern.

"Y/N!"

The moment he spots you sitting calmly at the counter, his eyes soften with relief, but his feet don't slow down. He rushes over, crossing the room in a few long strides, and immediately starts fussing over you like a mother hen.

"Shit, are you okay? You should've texted me or something. I would've ditched and come with you."

You can't help but smile at the sight of him. Jisung's still wearing the matching pocket square and tie that he insisted on wearing to match your champagne-coloured gown, though his suit jacket is a little rumpled now from the event. His hair sticks up in odd directions, no doubt from running his fingers through it a thousand times since you left the hall. He looks stressed, but the sight is comforting in its familiarity. You let him fuss, knowing that this is just what he does. What you do for each other.

"I'm fine, Ji," you assure him, though your voice is soft. "Promise."

Jisung's eyes narrow slightly, his hands gently squeezing your shoulders as he bends down to wrap his arms around you from behind, resting his chin on top of your head. "No, you're not," he mumbles, his voice quieter now, almost like he's talking to himself. "It felt wrong up there without you. I fucking hated it."

You reach up and pat his arms, which are still wrapped around you, a small smile playing on your lips. "I'm sorry."

Jisung shakes his head, pressing his cheek to your hair. "No, I should've ditched with you. You know I hate leaving you alone when you're feeling like that. I shouldn't have left you with Minho, that stinky prick."

"Oi!" Minho's voice cuts in from across the kitchen, where he's leaning casually against the counter, drink in hand. He looks amused rather than offended, a teasing grin on his face. "Who do you think you're talking about, you cheeky fucker?"

You giggle at the exchange, and Jisung, ever the dramatic one, tightens his hold on you as if Minho's words have personally wounded him. "I'm talking about you, you smelly asshole," he says, sticking his tongue out at Minho while burying his face further into your hair, clearly unbothered by his friend's retort.

Minho rolls his eyes but says nothing else, instead taking another sip of his drink and shaking his head in mock disbelief. He watches the two of you with a small smile on his lips, though there's something else lingering in his eyes. Something softer, more careful. He doesn't push the banter further, choosing to stay quiet for now.

The door opens again, and Chan enters the kitchen, looking as polished as ever despite the long night. He's still got his suit jacket on, though it's clear he's ready to relax as he pulls out his phone, glancing around at the group.

"Oi, Y/N," he says, catching your attention. "You left something behind."

Chan reaches into his blazer pocket and pulls out your grandmother's sapphire-encrusted hairpin. Relief floods through you as you realize you'd completely forgotten about it being in a bubble of comfort with Minho. You reach out to take it, but before you can, Minho steps forward and gently takes it from Chan's hand.

"Here," Minho says softly, his voice lacking the usual teasing tone as he approaches you. "Let me."

Jisung watches the exchange with narrowed eyes, his arms still wrapped around you. He doesn't say anything, but you can feel the tension in the way his body stiffens slightly as Minho steps in closer.

Minho's touch is gentle as he slides the hairpin back into your hair, taking care to make sure it's secure. His fingers brush against your scalp, sending a soft shiver down your spine, but you ignore the feeling. When he's done, he gives you a small smile, his eyes lingering on yours for just a moment longer than usual.

"Perfect," Minho says softly, stepping back.

Before you can thank him, Jisung immediately shoos him away, his hands fluttering in the air as if to physically push Minho aside. "Alright, alright, back off, Romeo. I've got it from here."

Minho rolls his eyes again, but there's an amused smirk on his face as he steps back toward the counter, grabbing his drink. "You're so fucking possessive, Ji."

Jisung doesn't bother responding to that, instead wrapping his arms more securely around your shoulders as he glares at Minho's back. You don't miss the way Jisung's grip tightens slightly, though he's still careful not to make you uncomfortable. He's always been overprotective when it comes to you, but lately, it's been more intense. Especially when it comes to Minho.

"Chan, have we got anything to drink?" Hyunjin's voice cuts through the tension as he and Jeongin finally make their way into the kitchen, both of them looking ready to relax after the long night.

Chan nods, already pulling out glasses from the cupboard. "Yeah, yeah. What do you want? We've got plenty left from the last party."

As the group starts grabbing drinks and chatting amongst themselves, Minho silently pours you another drink, setting it in front of you with a small smile. You notice that he doesn't say anything, just gives you a look that says he's checking in without being too obvious about it.

Jisung, meanwhile, is still fussing over you, his arms around your shoulders like a security blanket. He doesn't let go, not even when you shift slightly in your seat to take a sip of your drink. He stays close, watching you with worried eyes as if he's waiting for you to show any sign of distress.

"Ji, I'm okay," you assure him again, though your voice is soft. "Really."

He huffs, not fully convinced. "Yeah, well, I'll be the judge of that."

Chan finishes pouring drinks for everyone and turns to the group with a grin, raising his glass. "Alright, before we get too fucked up, let's do a toast. To Jeongin and Hyunjin for their awards, and of course, to Y/N and Jisung for killing it with that award-winning article."

The group raises their glasses in agreement, and Minho tilts his glass toward you, a grin tugging at his lips. "Cheers to Y/N," he says softly, his eyes meeting yours.

You smile back at him, feeling the warmth of his gaze settle over you like a comforting blanket. It's moments like this, when he's not teasing or throwing sarcastic comments, that you feel a strange connection to him, something that you can't quite put your finger on. But before you can dwell on it, Jisung pulls you closer, pressing a quick kiss to the top of your head.

"To us," Jisung mutters, his voice soft in your ear. "But mostly to you."

You chuckle, clinking your glass against his. "To us."

The rest of the night passes in a blur of laughter, drinks, and the comfortable warmth of being around friends.

Eventually, Jisung drags you up the stairs, leading you through the dimly lit hallway toward his room. After the long, chaotic night of the awards ceremony, and the endless rounds of small talk and congratulations, this is the sanctuary you need. Being around Jisung, your best friend, feels like hitting reset on a night that left your emotions tangled.

"Come on, let's chill," he says as he pushes open his door. His room is just as messy as always. Clothes scattered on the floor, textbooks stacked haphazardly on his desk, and the faint glow of those stars you stuck to his ceiling two months ago.

You flop onto his bed beside him, both of you lying side by side, staring up at the ceiling. The stars glow faintly in the dark, their soft light casting a surreal calm over the room.

"Remember when you made me put these fucking stars up?" Jisung says, his voice half-teasing, half-nostalgic. "I thought they were gonna look stupid, but..."

"They're kind of nice, right?" you finish for him, smirking. "See? You should listen to me more often."

Jisung snorts. "Yeah, well, don't get used to it. This is like, a one-time thing."

The comfortable silence that follows is filled with the distant hum of voices from downstairs, but up here, it's just the two of you. It's moments like this, with Jisung, that you appreciate the ease of your friendship. There's no need to fill every second with conversation. Just being here, next to each other, is enough.

You close your eyes for a second, letting the tension from the night melt away. But then, Jisung, ever the one to break a peaceful moment with something unexpected, speaks up again.

"You know," he starts, and you immediately know there's something coming. His tone is a little too casual. "I was thinking... maybe I should set you up with Felix or Chan."

Your eyes snap open, turning your head toward him, caught completely off guard. "What?"

He's lying there next to you, staring up at the ceiling like he didn't just drop a bombshell on you.

"I'm serious," he continues, his voice still annoyingly nonchalant. "They both think you're amazing and beautiful. Felix especially, he's been crushing on you for ages."

You blink at him, unsure whether to laugh or be genuinely surprised. "Uh... I don't know, Ji. I mean, maybe, but I'd have to think about it."

Jisung shrugs, still staring at the ceiling like this is no big deal. "No pressure. I just think you and Felix could be really good together. He's sweet, thoughtful. Plus, he thinks you're like, Aphrodite-level beautiful."

You snort. "Aphrodite? Really?"

"I'm dead fucking serious," Jisung says, turning his head to look at you. "I've heard him talk about you. The dude practically melts when you're around."

You can't help but smile a little at the thought. Felix has always been a close friend, but you never really thought about him in that way. He's easy to talk to, kind, and funny in that understated way of his.

"I don't know," you say, rolling onto your back again, staring at the stars. "Felix is really sweet, but has he ever actually said anything? Like, to me?"

Jisung shakes his head, waving the question away like it's a minor detail. "No, but come on, he's shy. Attraction is the start, right? You two have good chemistry, and he's definitely into you."

You bite your lip, unsure of how to respond. You've always been close with Felix, and while the idea of a date with him doesn't sound bad, it feels unexpected. Like something you hadn't even considered before tonight.

"And Chan?" you ask, more to fill the silence than because you're seriously considering it.

Jisung shrugs again. "Chan's great too, but he's more focused on school and music right now. I think Felix is the better choice if you're looking for something real, you know?"

You can't help but laugh at how serious Jisung sounds. "Since when are you the expert on my love life?"

"Hey," he protests, sitting up on the bed and crossing his arms. "I'm your best friend. I know you better than anyone, and I know what's good for you."

You roll your eyes. "Right. Of course, you do."

"I'm just saying," Jisung continues, grinning now, "one date with Felix won't hurt. See where things go. If it works out, great. If not, no big deal."

You sigh, leaning back on your elbows. He's persistent, you'll give him that. But there's something about the way he's pushing this that makes you wonder if there's more to it than just wanting to set you up with Felix.

"Okay," you say finally, letting out a deep breath. "Fine. One date won't hurt."

Jisung beams at you, clearly pleased with himself. "Fuck yeah. I'll talk to him tomorrow and make sure everything's set for tomorrow night."

You raise an eyebrow, sitting up fully now. "Wait, tomorrow night? You're already planning this?"

"Yup," Jisung says, completely unbothered by your incredulity. "I'll talk to Felix in the morning. He's probably just waiting for an excuse to ask you out anyway."

"You're ridiculous, you know that?"

Jisung just grins, leaning back on his hands. "You love me."

You roll your eyes but smile despite yourself. "Yeah, yeah."

The room falls into another comfortable silence, the distant sounds of the guys downstairs still faintly audible. You stare up at the stars again, wondering what tomorrow will bring. Felix is sweet, and he's always been a good friend. Maybe this date could be something more.

But before you can think too much about it, Jisung speaks up again.

"Felix is seriously into you, you know," he says, his voice softer now. "He hasn't said it outright, but I can tell. You're the kind of person he'd fall hard for."

You glance over at Jisung, wondering where this sudden emotional shift is coming from. "You're really sure about this, huh?"

Jisung nods, his expression more serious now. "Yeah. I just want you to be with someone who sees how fucking amazing you are. And Felix is one of the few guys I know who would treat you the way you deserve."

There's something about the way he says it that makes your chest tighten. Jisung has always been protective of you, sometimes to the point of being overbearing, but it comes from a place of genuine care. You know he just wants the best for you.

"Okay," you say quietly, more to reassure him than anything else. "If you're that sure, I'll give it a shot."

Jisung breaks into a grin again, clearly relieved. "Good. Trust me, you won't regret it."

What neither of you knows is that Minho is standing just outside the door, his jaw clenched, fists curled at his sides. He's heard every word of the conversation, and it's taking everything in him to not burst into the room right now.

Minho knows exactly what Jisung is doing. He's pushing Felix toward you because he doesn't trust Minho. And it pisses him off more than he can even articulate. Jisung thinks Minho is going to break your heart, that he's just some player who doesn't care. But Jisung has no idea how hard Minho's fallen for you, how much he's been holding back because he's been waiting for the right moment to tell you.

And now, hearing Jisung practically set you up with Felix? It's infuriating.

Minho grits his teeth, leaning against the wall as he listens to your conversation. He could go in there, stop this whole thing, and tell you how he really feels. But he knows Jisung won't make that easy. Jisung will fight him every step of the way because he doesn't think Minho is good enough for you.

But Jisung is wrong. Minho knows he is.

He'll prove it. One way or another.

The restaurant is buzzing with the soft hum of conversations and the clinking of cutlery. You and Felix walk through the dimly lit space, a hostess guiding you to a table near the window. The atmosphere is intimate, maybe a little too intimate. The soft glow of the candles on the table reflects off the wine glasses, making the whole thing feel like the date Jisung had envisioned.

Except, it's not.

You tug at the edge of your black mid-thigh blazer dress, adjusting it slightly as you sit down, your thigh-high stiletto boots brushing against the leg of the chair. The sapphire-encrusted hairpin in your hair catches the light, just like the sapphire necklace resting against your collarbone.

Your grandmother's heirlooms feel like a protective layer tonight, a way to steady your nerves even though Felix has never been the type to make you feel anxious.

Felix slides into the seat across from you, and for a second, you take in his outfit: black slacks and a half-buttoned white shirt, his hands adorned with chunky silver rings. He looks good. And that, combined with the fact that you're both dressed like you're on the cover of a fashion magazine, only adds to the absurdity of the situation.

"Okay," Felix starts, his eyebrows raising as he takes a long look around the room. "This is fucking weird, right?"

You breathe out a laugh, feeling the tension melt slightly. "So fucking weird. What the fuck was Jisung thinking?"

Felix leans back, shaking his head. "I honestly don't know. He cornered me, said something about how I think you're beautiful, and then put two and two together and somehow got ten."

"He's been pushing this since last night. Something about how we'd be 'perfect' together. I guess he thought your opinion on my looks was enough for a love story."

Felix laughs, and the sound is warm and genuine. "Well, to be fair, I do think you're beautiful. I have eyes, don't I? But that doesn't mean I've been harbouring some secret crush on you."

"Thank God," you sigh, leaning back in your chair with relief. "So we can just treat this like a regular friends' dinner?"

Felix raises his glass of wine, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. "To a friends' dinner."

You clink glasses, the soft ting sounding like an agreement between the two of you. Already, the night feels lighter. The weirdness of it all slowly dissipates as you both sip your wine and settle into familiar conversation.

"So," you say, gesturing around the restaurant, "if this is supposed to be a 'friends' dinner,' let's make the most of it. What's new with you? Still managing to ace all your classes while simultaneously being everyone's favourite stress baker?"

Felix grins, his eyes sparkling as he leans forward. "Of course. My cookies are keeping half the campus sane, honestly. The other half's still in denial."

You laugh, knowing all too well how Felix's baked goods have gained a sort of cult following around school. He's practically famous for them.

"Speaking of which," he continues, "I made those macadamia nut ones you like the other day. Jisung stole half of them before I could bring them over."

"Typical," you say, shaking your head. "I'll have to fight him for the rest. You know how much I love those."

The conversation flows naturally as you both dive into your usual back-and-forth. The wine loosens you up a bit, and soon enough, you're laughing loudly with Felix, completely relaxed. It feels like any other hangout, the weird pretence of a date"falling away.

The waiter comes by to check on you, refilling your wine glasses as you both finish the first bottle. Felix eyes the bottle in the waiter's hands, then glances at you, a mischievous smile spreading across his face.

"You know," he says, his voice lowering as if he's letting you in on some grand secret. "We could get a free bottle of wine right now."

You raise an eyebrow, intrigued. "Go on."

Felix grins like he's thought of the most brilliant plan. He slides one of the many rings off his fingers, stands up, and before you can even process what's happening, he gets down on one knee in front of you.

The people at nearby tables glance over, curious, but Felix ignores them, focusing entirely on you.

"Y/N," he says in an exaggeratedly serious voice, holding up the ring like it's some priceless artefact. "Will you make me the happiest guy in this restaurant and marry me?"

The wine has quelled any anxiety you might've felt earlier, so instead of feeling awkward, you decide to play along.

"Yes!" you exclaim dramatically, sticking out your hand for him to slide the ring onto your finger. "Of course, I'll marry you!"

The tables around you erupt into applause, people clapping and cheering as if they just witnessed the most romantic proposal of the century. Felix stands up, a smirk on his face, and the waiter, looking entirely caught up in the moment, hurries over to offer congratulations.

"Congrats!" the waiter says, looking genuinely excited. "Let me get you two a complimentary bottle of our finest wine to celebrate."

You barely hold back your laughter as the waiter rushes off. Felix slides back into his chair, grinning from ear to ear.

"I can't believe that worked," you say, shaking your head in disbelief.

Felix raises his glass again, this time with a proud look in his eyes. "To my fake fiancée and free wine."

You clink glasses again, still giggling as you drink to your ridiculous plan. Just when you think it couldn't get better, a couple from a nearby table leans over and says, "We've got your bill tonight. Congrats again!"

You and Felix exchange wide-eyed looks, barely managing to hold back more laughter. "Holy shit," Felix mutters under his breath. "We just hit the jackpot."

As you drink your newly acquired bottle of wine, the night only becomes more fun. The awkwardness that had hung over the evening at the start is long gone, replaced by pure enjoyment. You and Felix settle back into conversation as the restaurant continues to buzz around you.

"So," Felix says after a sip of wine, his gaze drifting toward the sapphire and diamond necklace around your neck. "Tell me about the heirlooms. That necklace and the pin. They've gotta be worth something, right?"

You nod, tracing the edge of your necklace absentmindedly. "Yeah, they are. My grandmother left them to me. She had a lot of money."

Felix leans forward, intrigued. "I had no idea. So, like, how much are we talking?"

You smile, not bothered by his curiosity. Felix has always been straightforward, and you appreciate that about him. "Well, she was a CEO. She raised me after my parents died, so I inherited pretty much everything. I've got shares in her company and in the other businesses she invested in."

Felix's eyes widen slightly. "So you're rich."

You shrug, sipping your wine. "I guess I am."

"Damn," Felix says, leaning back in his chair with a grin. "Jisung never mentioned that part."

You laugh softly. "Yeah, I don't go around announcing it. I'm not really the 'rich heiress' type, you know?"

Felix nods, understanding. "Makes sense. Still, that's kind of badass. You've got all this wealth and power, and you're still just you."

You smile, feeling the sincerity behind his words. "Thanks, Lix."

The conversation drifts after that, touching on light topics as you both finish the second bottle of wine. The restaurant is still bustling, but it feels like you and Felix are in your own little world, enjoying the absurdity of the evening.

After a while, Felix leans back in his chair, stretching his arms above his head. "You know why Jisung set us up, right?"

You raise an eyebrow, your mind still pleasantly buzzed from the wine. "Because he's an idiot who can't read people at all?"

Felix snorts, shaking his head. "Besides that."

You tilt your head, genuinely curious. "No, enlighten me."

Felix grins, but there's something knowing in his eyes. "Well, I'll let you figure that out for yourself. I won't ruin the fun."

You roll your eyes, playfully smacking his arm. "You're such a dick."

Felix just laughs, finishing the last of his wine before setting the glass down with a satisfied sigh. "Hey, I'm just saying, Jisung had his reasons. You'll figure it out eventually."

You shake your head, still smiling as you lean back in your chair. The night has been a whirlwind of laughter, fake proposals, and more wine than you expected. Whatever Jisung's reasons were, you're just glad the evening turned into something fun instead of the awkward mess it could have been.

Felix pulls the car up to your apartment complex, the quiet hum of the engine filling the comfortable silence between the two of you. . It had turned into a night you didn't expect, but somehow, it felt exactly right.

Felix glances at you as you unbuckle your seatbelt. "Well, that was fun."

You chuckle, shaking your head as you gather your bag and open the door. "So much fun. I don't know how we pulled that off."

Felix's grin is playful, his silver rings catching the dim light. "What can I say? We make a pretty good fake couple."

You laugh again, stepping out of the car and leaning back in through the open window. "Goodnight, Felix. Thanks for the... whatever that was."

Felix smirks. "It was an unforgettable friends' dinner. You know, one for the history books."

"Goodnight, Lix," you repeat, still grinning as you wave.

"Goodnight, Y/N," he replies, watching you head toward the building.

As you walk to your apartment, you feel lighter than you have in days. Felix always has that effect on you. He makes everything seem easier, less complicated. The night could've been weird and awkward, but it turned out to be exactly what you needed: fun, simple, and completely free of stress. Jisung's matchmaking might've been misguided, but at least it had resulted in a memorable night with one of your closest friends.

You unlock your door and step inside, immediately kicking off your boots with a sigh of relief. Your apartment is quiet, a stark contrast to the lively restaurant you just left. It feels good to be home, and you head straight to the kitchen, still feeling the buzz of the wine as you pour yourself another glass. The cool liquid slides down your throat, grounding you after such a surreal evening.

As you set the glass down on the counter, you reach up to take off your sapphire necklace, your fingers brushing against the cool metal. You remove the matching hairpin, carefully setting it down next to the necklace before turning your attention to the silver rings on your fingers. You begin slipping them off one by one, the rhythmic movement soothing after such an eventful night.

But then, there's a knock at your door.

You pause, glancing toward the front door with a furrowed brow. It's late, and you're not expecting anyone. Curiosity piqued, you set down the last of your rings and walk toward the door, glass of wine still in hand.

When you open it, you're greeted by a sight you weren't expecting: Minho, standing in the hallway, his expression unreadable, but there's something intense in his eyes.

"Minho?" you say, your voice a little surprised. "What are you doing here?"

He looks at you, his eyes scanning your face, then down to your lips. "Did you kiss him?"

You blink, confused. "What?"

Minho takes a step closer, his voice more insistent. "Did you kiss Felix?"

The question catches you off guard. You feel your heart skip a beat, and suddenly, you're not sure what to say. "No," you answer honestly, "I didn't kiss Felix."

Minho exhales sharply, like he's been holding his breath. "Okay... okay, good."

You raise an eyebrow, still confused by his sudden appearance and his line of questioning. "Minho, what the hell is this about? Why are you asking me about Felix?"

Minho meets your eyes, his gaze unwavering. "Because I still have a chance."

"A chance?" you repeat, feeling even more lost in this conversation. "What are you talking about?"

Minho runs a hand through his hair, clearly agitated, but not at you—more like at the situation. His voice softens when he speaks again, though there's still that intensity behind it. "I lied."

You tilt your head, frowning slightly. "What do you mean, you lied?"

Minho lets out a frustrated breath, looking almost embarrassed for a moment. "About your article. I said I didn't read it, remember? When we were in the kitchen last night, after the awards thing? I told you I didn't get around to reading it."

You nod slowly, still not sure where this is going. "Yeah...?"

"I lied," Minho says, meeting your gaze again. "I read it the second it was published. I've read it more than once, actually. Like an embarrassing amount of times. I said I hadn't read it because I saw how stressed you were about everything, and we were alone, and I knew if I asked you about it, you'd light up. And I wanted to be the one responsible for that."

You stare at him, the weight of his confession sinking in slowly. Minho, always so cocky and teasing, is suddenly standing in front of you, admitting that he'd lied just to see you happy. The realization hits you harder than you expected.

For a moment, you're at a loss for words. "Minho..."

He takes a step forward, closing the space between you, and his voice is quieter now. "Can I come in?"

You nod, stepping aside to let him in. Minho walks into your apartment, the atmosphere between you shifting. He turns to face you, his expression serious, more vulnerable than you've ever seen him.

"I like you," he says, his voice steady. "Like, I really like you. And Jisung knows that. He hates it because he thinks I'm going to break your heart, but I'm not. I swear, I wouldn't do that."

You feel your pulse quicken at his words, your mind racing to catch up. "Minho, I..."

He holds up a hand, cutting you off gently. "You look so fucking beautiful right now, and it's really distracting me. So I'm going to kiss you, if that's okay."

Your breath catches in your throat, but the answer comes easily. "Yeah, that's okay."

Minho doesn't waste any more time. He steps forward, closing the distance between you, his hands gently cupping your face. His lips meet yours in a kiss that's soft at first, tentative, as if he's waiting for some kind of permission. But then you kiss him back, your arms wrapping around his neck, and the kiss deepens.

Minho's hands slide down to your waist, pulling you closer until there's no space left between your bodies. The kiss is slow but intense, each movement deliberate, like he's savouring the moment. You can feel the heat radiating off him, his grip tightening slightly as his hands roam over your back.

You break the kiss for just a second, gasping for air, but Minho doesn't let you go far. His forehead rests against yours, his breath warm against your lips as he speaks.

Minho's forehead rests gently against yours, and the air between you is thick with tension. Your heart is racing, every nerve on edge, and just when you think the silence will swallow the moment, you feel a giggle bubbling up from your chest.

It's ridiculous, the whole situation. The intensity of the kiss, the way Minho's hands feel so warm and grounding on your waist. You pull back just slightly, enough to catch your breath and give him a mischievous look.

"Oh, by the way," you say, trying to keep a straight face, "Felix and I got engaged."

Minho blinks, clearly caught off guard. "Huh?" He stares at you, confusion clear in his eyes, as if trying to piece together whether you're serious or not.

You can't help the laugh that escapes. "Yep," you nod, keeping up the act. "I'm set to marry Felix. So, congratulations, we're now having an affair."

Minho's brow furrows for a second, and then realization dawns on his face. A grin spreads across his lips. "Oh, so that's how it is, huh? I'm the dirty little secret now?"

You smirk, feeling a little more daring. "Exactly. I'm cheating on my fiancé with you. How scandalous."

He hums, his thumb tracing slow circles on your hip. "I don't mind being the side guy. Adds some spice, don't you think?" He leans in again, his breath ghosting over your lips. "Just keep this between us, yeah? Don't want Felix to find out."

The playfulness between you two eases the tension, and you laugh softly, completely forgetting about everything else for a moment. You're about to respond when, out of nowhere, the door to your apartment swings open with a loud bang, making you both freeze.

"No! This is exactly what I was trying to prevent!"

You and Minho quickly step apart, your heart racing for a different reason now. Jisung looks at the two of you with wide, panicked eyes, like he's just walked into his worst nightmare. His hands fly up in the air as he groans dramatically, pacing a few steps.

"This is exactly why I set you up with Felix!" Jisung exclaims, pointing an accusing finger at Minho. "I knew this would happen! And now he's got his STD-riddled claws into you!"

Minho's jaw drops in disbelief. "Okay, hold the fuck up," he says, hands raised in defence. "I have no STDs, and I'd really like to clear that up before we go any further with this conversation."

You take a slow, deep breath, pressing your lips together to hold back a laugh. Jisung, however, is far from amused. He looks like he's about to have a full-on breakdown as he turns to you, his face full of concern.

"Listen to me," he says, his voice urgent. "He's going to break your heart! Minho doesn't do relationships—he just flirts and messes around. He's like a... a... heartbreaker! A professional one!"

Minho rolls his eyes, stepping closer to Jisung, clearly fed up. "Oh, for fuck's sake, Jisung, I've liked her this entire time, and you know that!" His voice is sharp, filled with frustration. "You're the one who set her up with Felix, knowing damn well how I feel!"

Jisung glares right back, crossing his arms over his chest like a protective barrier. "I did it because I know you, Minho. You're all charming and smooth when you want something, but then you bail as soon as it gets serious. I'm not letting that happen to Y/N."

You shake your head, walking over to grab your glass of wine from the counter. The tension between Minho and Jisung has been building, and now it's finally spilling over. You sip your wine, deciding that the best course of action is to stay out of it and let them bicker it out.

Minho takes a deep breath, his frustration visible. "You think I'm going to hurt her? Jisung, you've got no idea how hard it's been trying to be patient with this shit. You set her up with Felix like some overprotective dad, and now you walk in here acting like you're the fucking saviour of the day."

Jisung's face turns redder, and he steps forward, eyes blazing. "You're my best friend, and so is Y/N! I've seen what you do to girls, and I'm not letting you do that to her."

Minho doesn't back down, stepping forward as well, the space between them shrinking fast. "You think I'm like that with her? Do you even know how long I've been waiting to make a move, only for you to play matchmaker with Felix?"

Jisung's mouth opens and closes like a fish, clearly lost for words.

You, on the other hand, take another slow sip of your wine. The back-and-forth between them is almost entertaining. They're like two kids fighting over a toy, except this time, you're the toy, which is both ridiculous and hilarious.

"Look," Minho says, his voice a little calmer now but still firm, "I'm not playing around with her. I've been serious about this, and the fact that you think I'm just going to fuck her over pisses me off."

Jisung throws his hands in the air again, clearly exasperated. "Of course I think that! You're Minho! You don't do relationships!"

Minho rubs a hand over his face, clearly trying to stay calm. "God, you're an idiot sometimes. This isn't just some hookup, okay?"

Jisung doesn't seem convinced. "You expect me to believe that? After everything?"

At this point, you've had enough. You walk over to Jisung, wine glass still in hand, and without a word, you pour the rest of the wine into his mouth. He tries to protest, but you give him no choice. He swallows the wine, sputtering slightly as he looks at you in surprise.

"Go sit in the living room," you say, pushing him toward the door with more force than you probably should. "We'll deal with you later."

Jisung stumbles into the living room, still flustered and clearly not done with the argument. But before he can say anything else, you shut the door and lock it, effectively trapping him inside.

Minho watches the whole thing unfold with an amused smile. "You know it's going to take him about an hour to realize he can unlock that from the inside, right?"

You shrug, turning back to face him with a grin. "That gives us about an hour of peace."

Minho's smirk widens as he steps forward, his hands sliding around your waist again. He pulls you close, and the heat between you reignites instantly. "There's a lot I can do in an hour," he murmurs against your lips, his breath hot and teasing.

Your heart skips a beat as you wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him even closer. "Oh yeah?" you whisper, your voice daring.

He kisses you again, this time with more urgency, and you melt into it, your body pressing against his. His hands slide down to your thighs, and in one swift motion, he lifts you off the ground. You instinctively wrap your legs around his waist, holding onto him as he carries you through the apartment.

"Bedroom?" he asks between kisses, his voice low and filled with need.

"Second door," you manage to say, your voice breathless.

Minho kicks open the door to your bedroom, not bothering to turn on the lights as he carries you inside. The door swings shut behind you with a satisfying thud, and with that, the world outside ceases to exist.

All that matters now is the heat between you, the feel of his hands on your skin, and the promise of what's to come in the next hour.

Minho kicks the bedroom door shut behind him, and in that moment, you know that an hour is more than enough time.

284 notes · View notes