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luveline · 2 months ago

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Hi Jade! Can I request Spencer and Nurse!reader? Maybe they meet when he’s wounded/she’s patching him up?

(Yes I’m a nursing student I promise we aren’t all mean girls 😔)

ty for requesting!! ik ur not all mean of course!!<3 —you meet the cutest FBI agent ever and tend his wounds. fem, 1.5k

One of the small pleasures of your job is when the patients are cute. Not many people come through as handsome as this one. You’re professional nonetheless.

“What am I seeing you for today?” you ask, holding your hands behind your back.

Your patient, charted as a Dr. Spencer Walter Reid, twenty nine years old, gives you a tentative smile. “Someone hit me really hard.”

You can see the bruise forming against his temple. “Yes, I’d say so. Did you know the assailant?”

“No, but it’s handled.” His smile turns to a grimace. “Uh, I get these, like, debilitating migraines, and I feel like I have one coming on.”

“A head injury could trigger that,” you agree, holding your hands out in front of you, little torch in hand. “Can I have a look?” you ask softly.

When you’ve been a nurse for some time, you start to categorise people into boxes. All kinds of boxes for different things, but Spencer Reid gets a tick for a few things straight away: shy, pretty, and sensitive to touch. He must not get touched much, or he’s had a bad experience with strangers. He did just get hit in the head, you allow, brushing a sweet, mousy curl away from his head and holding it out of the way as you shine a light into each of his eyes. He flinches hard, but his pupils react as expected.

Whoever hit him managed to break the skin, upon closer infection of the injury. The skin has turned purple at the edges of his cut. It’ll be a big bruise in just a few hours.

“Spencer, please tell me if I hurt you, honey,” you say, voice still soft. If he’s got a migraine coming, he won’t want your usual overloud distinction.

“It’s okay. It hurts, but not more or less when you poke it.”

“You have a laceration, yeah? It’s about three centimetres long, but deep. I can close it with a butterfly stitch, if you’re okay with that.”

“Yeah, please. Um, about the migraine–”

“Do you want a tramadol, honey? I think you deserve one.”

“I can’t have narcotics.”

You pull back and straighten the hair you’d displaced. “That’s okay, it just means you can’t have the strongest stuff. Most people try to avoid them anyhow. How about tylenol, would that be alright? Or do you avoid painkillers in general?”

“Tylenol is fine as long as it doesn’t have the codeine with it.”

You give him a gentle nod. “I’ll make sure it’s the right one. You can even see the bottle, if you like. Would you want them before or after the stitch?” He probably knows, but you add, “It’s not a real stitch. But it might feel tender when I’m poking around.”

“Anything. Whatever you want to do first.”

His eyes squeeze closed. You give him a frown he can’t see, and rest your hand on his arm. “Is there someone here with you?” you ask him.

“My friend is coming, I think. There was a lot going on.”

“That’s okay. I’m not sending you home until I’ve fixed you, Dr. Reid.”

He smiles, even with his eyes closed, but doesn’t say anything more. You wash your hands and find your bandages. A butterfly bandage, a sterile wipe, and a square piece of gauze to cover it cleanly. His eyes are opening again when you return, ushering him gently down the bed so you can sit on his right side near the injury.

“What do you do for work?” you ask him.

“I work for the FBI.”

“You do?” You tear open the sterile wipe and again pull the curls from his forehead. “This might sting. Please tell me if it hurts too much.”

“It’s not the cut that hurts.”

“I’m sorry,” you say sympathetically. Migraines are a tricky business. If he’s already having one, you probably can’t do much to get rid of it, but that doesn’t mean pain relief won’t help. “I’ll do this as quickly as I can.”

He’s quiet. You wipe around the laceration with careful, concise movements. The cut looks clean enough when you’re done, and it’s so small you won’t irrigate it.

“Are you an agent?” you ask.

“Yeah. Special supervisory with the BAU. The, uh, behavioural analysis unit.”

“Oh, I know,” you say, putting the wrapping and the dirtied wipe into your cardboard bowl. “I think I’ve seen it on TV sometimes, you guys can track the serial killers and stuff?”

“Mostly that, yeah. Uh, sometimes we find trafficking rings or missing kids. Sometimes we manage hostage situations. It depends on the level of the crisis.”

“So you’re the big gun.”

“I guess so. I’m not actually good with a gun.”

“No one has to be good with a gun to change the world.” You pull the butterfly stitch from the packaging and pick at a finicky end. “I hate guns.”

He sighs. “I do, too.”

“They make my job hard. It’s not nice, seeing what they can do to people. It’s awful, really. Spencer, I’m so sorry, honey, I’m just gonna put this on here, it might feel uncomfortable as I pull the sides together.”

“It’s okay.”

You pull the plastic of the butterfly stitch on both sides, cinching his cut together promptly. It looks better now you can’t see the inside.

“I’m gonna cover this with the dressing now. You don’t have to keep it on if you don’t want to, it’s a pretty small cut, it was just deep. I’d recommend you try to keep it dry for two days, really, you should keep it covered, but it’s up to you. And if anything happens, if it gets infected, you can always come see me again.”

You’re mildly flirting, then. Just because he’s nice and shy. It might be a little cruel of you to proposition a man when he’s roughed up, though.

Spencer, luckily, understands that you’re not trying to harass him. “Thank you.”

You stand, peeling the plastic from the bandaid and exposing the sticky backing. Slowly, you stroke his hair back from the wound and line the bandaid up. He shivers under your nails.

“So sorry,” you say, laughing under your breath, “it’s my nails, huh?”

“It’s okay.”

“You’re a great patient, Spencer. I’d give you a sticker if I could, I’m not kidding.”

“You’re a great nurse.”

“Thank you.” You smooth the edges of the bandaid down for good measure and step away from him to assess him. “How’s that migraine?”

“Getting worse.”

“You have them often, you said? Treated or untreated?”

“Psychosomatic, apparently.”

“Oh, honey, I’m sorry. Has your doctor talked to you about CBT?”

“Some. I don’t really… want it,” he says awkwardly.

“That’s okay. If it’s psychosomatic as they believe, it might get better with time. How’s the stress in your life?”

“Stressful.”

“It must be hard, the FBI, everything. Life is hard enough. Stopping serial killers must weigh on your heart.” You smile carefully. “Was there anything else you wanted to bring to my attention? Any other injury, anything that needs urgent care?”

“I was mostly worried I had a concussion.”

“It doesn’t seem like it. You’re not nauseous, are you?”

“No, I don’t think so.”

He gets this awful, sad look on his face, it really isn’t nice to see. People come in by themselves all the time but it never gets easier to handle.

“Are you alright?” you ask, taking his arm into your hand.

“I’m fine.”

He had the look of someone who’s always fine. Luckily for him, it’s your job to take care of people, to make sure they’re more than fine. “Okay. I’m gonna get you something warm to drink. Do you like donuts?”

“Uh–”

“I’m getting a feeling about you. Chocolate frosting, I bet.”

He smiles, startled and pleased at once. “Yeah.”

“Okay, I’m gonna get those for you. A drink, a donut, and some much needed Tylenol. You can lay down if you like.”

He nods but doesn’t move.

As you’re leaving the room, you cross paths with a handsome man with dark skin and a bright smile. Must be something in the air today, you think.

“Reid, you okay?” you hear him say.

“Fine.”

“You’re pink.”

“What?”

“You’re blushing. Oh, you had the pretty nurse, didn’t you?”

“Shut up,” Spencer whispers sharply.

“You can ask for her number.”

“No I can’t, she’s working.”

“But you want to,” his friend surmises.

You bite down a smile, giving your head a shake as you go. You need to get a move on. Spencer needs a hot drink, a donut, Tylenol, and a pen. It should be okay if you’re both feeling up to it, right?

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid oneshot #spencer reid scenario #spencer reid drabble #spencer reid fic #spencer reid fanfiction

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slytherinslut0 · 3 months ago

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SLYTHERINSLUT0’S KINKTOBER

october 21st. tom — gun play / dubcon / masochism.

KINKTOBER MASTERLIST. | 2024.

summary: tom can’t hurt you, but you love seeing him try.

warnings: 18+, SMUT MDNI, i truly mean it minors stay back from this one. this is as fantasy as it comes. do not do this at home. or anywhere, ever. empty unloaded gun, gunplay, hardcore gun kink, masochist reader, sadist tom, very ooc tom riddle imo, lots of history between these two, angst and tension and emotion.

It doesn't matter how you got here—trapped in a room with Tom Riddle circling you, hands clasped behind him, his brother standing guard like a fucking solider just outside the door—it doesn't matter that your wrists are bound behind your back, rope cutting into your skin, or that you were caught somewhere deep within the manor, searching for information for the Order. It doesn't matter that you grew up with Tom and Mattheo, all those years in the orphanage, loved them both more than you ever loved yourself.

It doesn't fucking matter.

Nothing does—nothing except the man standing in front of you—nothing except the moment his hand reaches behind him, pulling a gun from where it had rested at his waist.

Yeah, uh, yeah—that might matter. Just a little.

"I never took you for someone who'd resort to Muggle weapons," you manage, but your voice is thin, a strained sound under the pulse thundering at your throat. "How refined."

Tom's eyes trace over you, stalling on the rhythm at your neck as though it's tangible before dragging back up to meet your own. He hasn't spoken in minutes, just watching, letting the silence swell, the tension grow with each passing second.

He's building it slowly, deliberately. It's always been a game to him—one he knows you'll lose.

"There's a certain appeal to them." His thumb grazes the trigger, almost absentmindedly. "So much power at the flick of a finger. No skill, no magic. Just finality."

Heat rises up your neck, settling in your cheeks, and all you can do is stare at him. He knows he doesn't need to touch you to break you—he's never had to. Tom's greatest weapon, when it comes to you, has always been his words.

He steps closer, fingers still ghosting over the gun as if he isn't holding all of your fate in his hands. He slows when his shins brush against your knees, and you hate how your pulse jumps, how you feel so small beneath him.

"You're tense," he murmurs, amusement playing at the corner of his lips. "Is it the weapon? Or something else?"

You lift your gaze because there's nowhere else to look—dark stone walls close in around you and he occupies every free inch of space between. It's laughable, really, the way your heart aches when you meet his eyes. You know he has to make an example of you, to prove something to the Death Eaters lurking beyond these walls, but despite the fire in his gaze, you can see it—the way he's holding back, just like he's done time and time again, for years.

No matter what he's become, there's still something of the boy you once knew buried beneath the surface. The boy who used to curl into you for warmth, for survival.

Your eyes flicker down to the gun again. You force the words past grit teeth. "Do you need that to feel powerful, Tom?"

There's something chilling in how natural the gun looks in his hand, the way he wields it with the same ease he uses to twist a wand. You’re certain Tom could find ease in anything, especially empty handed.

He's silent for a long moment, until he isn't. "I don't need anything to feel powerful."

The barrel catches the light as he raises it, and your skin tightens in anticipation. You close your eyes briefly as he drags it lazily up your arm, tracing a line of cold fire over your collarbone. Your heart is gone, soaring far away from this room, and a shiver rolls through you—not from fear, but from something you can't name. Something that's always belonged to him—

When the gun reaches your throat, your eyes flutter open, drawn to the sight of metal pressed against your skin.

He tilts his head, studying you. "You think this makes me dangerous?"

He tilts the gun beneath your chin, nudging your head back until your gaze meets his again. You gasp, and your thighs tense involuntarily. His eyes flicker down—he notices.

It's not the gun. It's him. Christ, it's always been him.

"No," you force out against the threat at your throat. "I think you make you dangerous."

Something shifts in Tom's eyes—just for a moment, before it vanishes beneath something more potent—determination.

He moves behind you in a slow circle, fingers brushing through your hair as if in contemplation. It's only a moment before his other hand brings the gun back, cold metal kissing the edge of your shoulder. You tense, feeling the weight of him behind you, his breath ghosting over your neck—and he inhales against your skin as he slides the gun lower, tracing the dip between your breasts, dragging like a threat down to your lap until the barrel presses against your thigh.

At this point, your heart pounds so loud you're certain Mattheo can hear it from outside the door—all you can do is stare at where his hand lingers, your mind racing ahead to the edge of terror and something far more dangerous.

"You seem...unbothered all of a sudden," Tom muses, teasing the gun up your thigh, dragging your skirts along with it. "One might expect the opposite reaction, given where this gun happens to be."

You know it's a game. Of course it's a game—his way of toying with you, forcing a reaction, demanding fear where there's none left. Except instead of fear, there's an unbearable heat curling inside you, your thighs wanting to close around the gun, to push against it, to feel it.

God, you hate that he does this to you.

"You won't hurt me," you manage, though your voice cracks. Your hips shift, just slightly, but enough to feel the cold metal slide higher. "If you wanted to, you would have."

That's the truth of it, isn't it? In the darkest moments, when you face him like this, you know with every beat of your heart that he'd never hurt you. You trust him in the way you shouldn't, in the way no one else in the world could. He could kill anyone else without a second thought, but not you.

That trust is what keeps pulling you back here, again and again, even though you've sworn yourself to the Order, even though you've promised to fight against everything he stands for.

"You always did have a death wish." He says, spitting the syllables at you, the disgust in his tone making your stomach lurch. His grip tightens in your hair. "Is that all it takes to make you pliable? My hands on you, a weapon in the room, and suddenly you're eager? Suddenly you trust me again?"

"You've never been able to kill me." You whisper, trying to sound cocky, sarcastic, but it comes out wrong—too breathless, too raw. "And you never will."

"I've never needed to." He murmurs as the gun moves again, pressing firmly against the apex of your thighs, nudging toward your clothed cunt. "You destroy yourself just fine."

You can't think, can't breathe, can't be when his voice wraps around you like this, when he presses the gun against you like it's a fucking present. Every nerve in your body is screaming, every instinct warring against itself. You want to grind against the barrel, to push it deeper between your legs. You want to trap it there, feel it pressed so tightly that you can't move. You want to drag his face to yours, taste his breath, break him.

Yet, you want to pull away and strike him across the face all the same—and that is Tom's power over you.

It's always been this way with him. You hate him—he's horrible and corrupt and so goddamn bad for you but he knows exactly what to say—exactly what to do to make you want to hurt him, to make you want to worship him in the same breath. The intensity of it steals the air from your lungs, makes a groan slip from your lips before you can stop it.

"Tell me, Tom," you grit out, forcing yourself still despite every inch of you wanting to move, wanting to react. "Would your fucking gun be on me like this if I was terrified of it? Would you be pressing it against me like this if it was loaded?"

The insinuation doesn't escape him. Not for a second. You have him pinned and it pisses him off because you fucked up by sneaking in here but there’s not a damn thing he can do to punish you for it that wouldn’t be punishment towards himself as well.

His grip in your hair tightens as the gun drags slowly over your clit, and you keen at the contact, your hips pushing into it.

"Fucking vixen," he pulls your head back roughly, his breath hot against your ear. His voice—the rawness— sends a goddamn thrill through you, makes your whole body jerk. "I have you tied to a chair, a gun at your cunt, and you still have the power to make me doubt myself.”

"That's me, Tom." You laugh, breathless. "Always ruining your fun."

His eyes flash with something—something devastating but it doesn't scare you because you've been here so many fucking times before. It only makes you arch your back, grinding against the gun harder, a soft moan escaping your lips just to spite him.

He watches you—eyes lidded, and something in the way he stares makes you ache.

"Why do you keep coming back here?" A question hissed through a tight jaw, words crawling down your spine, burrowing beneath your skin. "You keep testing me...fighting me...just to end up like this...”

You gasp. "I have to stop you—I—“

He cuts you off by yanking your head toward his until his forehead presses against yours—

"I didn't ask why you came," his nose brushes yours as he speaks. "I asked why you keep coming back. Why do you keep coming back to be...this for me?"

His voice is raw, something you've never heard in a long long time—unguarded—so fucking human. It makes the heat in your belly coil tighter, and your eyes flutter shut against the weight of it. You don't have an answer, not one that makes sense, not one that fits the way he's looking at you now.

"I-I don't know," is all you can offer.

Tom makes a noise in the back of his throat—low, frustrated, a sound that hums between you.

"Yes, you do," he hisses. "Don't get shy on me now."

He shifts the gun again, sliding beneath your panties, the cold metal making contact with your slick slit and you fucking gasp—a sound so loud you're sure Mattheo heard it—along with the rest of the goddamn house, too.

"This isn't about stopping me," Tom says, a whisper of words. "This isn't about taking away my control—not really."

He's right, and the truth of it stings. This isn't about stopping him, not entirely. You hate him for his choices but gods, you fucking crave this—him, his power over you. Every time you've come here, sneaking past the Order's notice, pretending to gather evidence, pretending you're smart enough to catch him in something—you know this is what you wanted. You know it's always been about him. The boy you survived with, the boy you loved—it's about how you've always belonged to him, even though you hate him for it.

It's always been him. Only him.

"Fuck," you gasp again as you feel the gun shifting, pressing harder against your cunt, and your mind is spinning because you can't believe he might—he wouldn't really— "…are you about to—Jesus, Tom..."

He's listening, you know he is. He's waiting for any hint of something that tells him to stop—a flinch, a breath that isn't right, the smallest sound that says you don't want this. But all he hears is you. You, the girl he's known since all you had was eachother, the one who loved him but left, who keeps coming back to him, no matter how much you claim to hate him.

He hears you submit, and it fuels him.

"You are..." he jerks your head again, roughly, forcing you to meet his eyes as the gun nudges against your soaked entrance, "...so unbelievably frustrating."

Oh, the irony. "I'm...not the only—oh gods—"

Your words crumble into nothing, dissolving in your throat as he presses the gun inside you. Cold metal pushing deep, rough ridges working you wide, the pressure burning with something almost unbearable in its fucking intensity.

Your mind hazes with it, and a groan that isn’t yours fills the room as you fight to adjust to the stretch.

"I hate this," he spits, his voice like gravel, raw and jagged with frustration, trembling with restraint. His eyes, wide and wild, stay locked on yours as though he can't tear himself away. "I hate how easy it is with you—I hate how quickly you give in, how you let me do this to you because you know I’d stop if you asked—I hate how I can never look at you without remembering what it feels like to be inside you. I hate how badly I still want that, after all these years, even though you left me. I hate you for making me want this."

Oh god—fucking hell—there's no room in your head for coherence now, no space left to argue, to resist—Tom Riddle has been so many things to you over the years, but openly, unabashedly vulnerable has never truly been one of them. Not until now. You feel it—beneath the brutality, the power—something fragile.

His forehead presses against your temple, the intimacy of it dizzying, disarming. You clench around the cold metal and he pushes it deeper.

He continues. “Admittedly, I hate myself most for wanting you to want this back.”

Your voice cracks around a sob—he’s pumping the gun in and out of you now—lewd sounds filling the room and your head tips back against his shoulder. His free hand slips from your hair and cups your jaw, thumb brushing your cheek, a gesture that almost feels tender though you know better. His version of tenderness is as dangerous as anything else he offers.

You whinge. “T-Tom—oh fuck—I’m always going to let you win. I trust you—“

"Don't," he cuts you off in a groan against your cheek. Pumping the barrel into you, making your back arch off the chair. “You have no reason to. You know better."

You hear the unspoken words in his voice, the ones he can't bring himself to say aloud—I don't deserve it—and it makes your chest ache, makes your throat tighten—makes you want to shake him, wake him up from this nightmare—

"Of course I know better," you whisper through a gasp as he mutters a spell, something swirling over your clit that makes your eyes roll. “Gods—but you’ve never wanted me rational anyways.”

"You're right," he hisses and you hear the pain in it, a man who has everything still simultaneously has nothing and it makes him frustrated—all because of you. "I never wanted you to be rational. I never wanted you to be safe. I never wanted you to be anything other than mine."

You keen as the sensation on your clit intensifies and he pumps the gun quicker, you look down to watch his hand, the way his knuckles tense with the movement and you can almost see the restraint under his skin telling you just how bad he wishes he was pumping into you instead. You can hear your arousal—you feel the shame in it and you should be disgusted by it, by everything this is, but instead, it only makes your heart race faster.

You know there's more he's not saying—that he can't say.

He wants you to be his, but he will never let you be his.

"I hate you. What you've become." The words scrape from your lips between moans, your climax charging fast. "It shouldn't be this...this hard."

"This is why I call you frustrating. How can you hate me and still let me do this to you?" His voice is raw, burning with something you don't fully understand, but you can feel it— he's pushing deeper, grinding the gun against you with every bit of anger he has left. You're on fire, your mind spinning out of control, and the ropes digging into your skin only ground you to the pain, to the pleasure. "I'm defiling you...and yet, you keep coming back.”

"God," you grunt, sweat slicking over your skin because you’re so goddamn close and his words only drag you that much closer. "Jesus f—Tom, please—“

"Please what?" His hand slips back through your hair, eyes jerked to meet his. "You need to be more specific, sweetheart."

There's a bite in the pet name, but you don't care. All you can think of is him, of more, of everything he's doing to you, and it's not enough. It’ll never be fucking enough—

“Please!” Words fail you. “Tom—I—“

He shudders at the sound of your voice, at how helpless you are, at all the power you've given him.

"Words," he snarls, pumping quicker. "I'll give you what you want, but you’ll need to use. your. words."

“Please! I need to cum!” You blurt out. “Tom—Tom! I need to—“

With that, he kisses you to cut you off, teeth sinking into your lower lip with fervour that borders on irrational. Which, of course it is. All of this is beyond fucking irrational. It's not careful or soft or gentle, his lips searing against yours as if he's trying to claim every breath you've ever taken, every inch of space between you. And you—god, you kiss him back just as fiercely while hating yourself for the way you want it, need it, how you crave the bruises his mouth is leaving behind.

Tom groans against your lips and it's the sound of something breaking, something starved for way too long, something desperate to pour out of his blood. His tongue slides over yours, wet and warm, and you feel the ropes biting into your wrists, feel the ache where your arms strain to break free. You realize, with a pulse of helpless longing, that if you weren't tied, you'd be clawing at him—dragging him closer, letting him consume every part of you until there was nothing left.

"Feel that shame?" He whispers as he pulls back, just as you’re about to tip over. "That's your punishment.”

And then—you break, shatter, explode and the sound that escapes you is so fucking raw you don’t even recognize it. Something filled with the shame of wanting someone so goddamn bad you let them fuck you with a weapon—the shame of wanting someone so terrible you’d never be able to explain yourself to anyone with a rational pulse. The sounds come without reason, without thought—just a release of emotion that you had held in for far, far too long.

“That’s it. Let it burn.” He coos, hungrily watching you break. “You will always be mine."

A jagged sound escapes you as you twitch in aftershocks and he finally, however torturously slowly, pulls the gun free. You realize just how empty you feel without it now, how Tom made it feel so fucking intimate even though, in reality, it was the furthest from. He didn’t even touch you.

“You’re just weak. For me.” He says, as though he heard your thoughts. Part of you knows he did. He brings the gun up to your lips, urging you to part them. “Clean your mess. This is Mattheo’s gun.”

You grimace but take it into your mouth anyways, tasting the result of your need—the shame that comes along with it, the self disgust—the list goes on. Tom watches you tease your tongue around it, his throat working in a terribly dry swallow as you hollow your cheeks and suck it clean as he pulls it free.

He shudders, and for a moment his control wavers. But then he shakes his head, and exhales.

"I was meant to be alone, I understand that." He whispers, something abhorrently vulnerable, tucking the gun away before working at undoing the ropes around your wrists. “But you...you were never meant to change me. And I need you, to understand that.”

A lump forms in your throat. You taste the tears wanting to well but you force them away and instead, you nod.

“I know.”

He straightens up again and presses a kiss to your forehead, soft and almost tender—so different from the way he treated you merely moments ago. It's a goodbye—you can feel it in the way his lips linger, reluctant.

“Good girl.” He steps back. "Don't come back here."

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ghoulphile · 8 months ago

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janey's dad | c.h./the ghoul | part 01

➥ pairing | cooper howard/the ghoul x f!reader ➥ word count | 3.7k ➥ warning(s) | 🔞 smut; age gap, hair pulling, teasing, making out, mutual pining, lipstick kink, stockings, frottage, porn w/ feelings, porn w/ plot, mild angst w/ happy ending, divorced!coop, babysitter!reader, pre-war/bomb ➥ summary | “We really, uh, shouldn’t - oh fuck, you look --” ➥ notes | i'm so sorry this is later than it should be. i am unfortunately a corporate slave and this fic just did not want to cooperate 🫠 there are a lot more things planned and this fic is turning into a bit of a beast (20+ pages and counting rip lmao) so i've decided to split it into two parts to make it more manageable for myself mostly un-beta'd atm a special thanks to @corinthianism for all her lovely help ❤️!!

feel free to send in thots, questions, requests! | masterlist

Divorce is hard, but being a divorcé is downright hellish.

One of the ugliest things in the world, if Cooper Howard has any say. At least when he was a Marine, they told him where to point his gun, where to aim; nameless threats vanishing with a quick squeeze of the trigger.

Here, these ‘enemies’ aren’t enemies — not really.

It’d be easier if they were.

Worse still, they have names he holds as dearly as his own. There’s Barb, whip smart and always so clever. Then Janey, the light of his life and so sweet his teeth ache.

Once upon a time, life was sweeter than apple pie on Sundays.

Then came the separation.

Afterwards, he finds it hard to look at what’s left of his family without losing breath like a horse kick to the chest. Their absence rips open a hole inside him ten miles wide, its edges jagged and wrong.

And when he can’t take the silence anymore, fingers of malt liquor help dull the ache, though it’ll never be enough to mend what’s broken.

See, war’s something he understands.

But these domestic battlefields where he sits across from his ex-wife while lawyers barter this weekend and that holiday?

How he struggles to meet his daughter’s eye every time she asks if he’s coming home?

When Barb keeps the house and the money while he keeps the scrapbooks and the dog?

He doesn’t — can't — refuses to comprehend.

Because in what world can you reconcile looking down the barrel of a smoking gun only to find the woman you love staring back, finger on the trigger? Left out to hang as Vault-Tec orchestrates his downfall.

The true depth of their involvement is unknown, but it’s no coincidence his bank accounts dried up faster than the Mojave in June. The ink still wet when the media snapped up the story of his failed marriage.

Thus, his reputation (rather what’s left of it) unraveled faster than a spool of thread.

Knocked on his ass and kept there by a boot heel crushing his windpipe. Whose? He hasn’t got a fucking clue.

But whoever they are, they’re making sure he stays a washed up nobody who struggles to land a call back, much less pay his monthly alimony on time.

See what we can do? You were America’s favorite gunslinger - now look at you. Mind your place.

Hell, millions used to scream his name.

Nowadays people whisper it behind their hands like a dirty secret, “Oh, did you hear? Cooper Howard…” as they dissect pieces of his life into bite-sized Before’s and After’s. “Hah! Serves him right. Y’know, I never liked him much.”

While he grits his teeth and swallows his bitterness with a smile, he hates how he can’t protect Janey from snide reporters and nosy strangers. Juggling actor-father-divorcé with fumbling hands.

It’s only been six months; a heartbeat, a lifetime, and already he’s scraped thin like butter over too much bread.

Something’s gotta give.

After all, he’s only one man.

But just when it's bleakest, the clouds part.

A young woman moves in next door, the first bright thing that’s come his way in a long, long while.

At first, he kept his distance.

Exchanged vague hello’s and how-are-you’s. Then Janey took a shine; always so friendly and eager to talk about her latest books.

Any reservations he might’ve had died when he saw how enamored you are with her.

Only made sense that over time small pleasantries turned into playdates. Then those playdates turned into sleepovers.

Before long, you’re watching her when a gig runs late.

Rustling up grub and tucking her into bed more often than not these days. And when he slinks in through the door, knees aching and stripped to the bone, there you are with a shy smile and a warm meal.

So what if he takes himself in hand after you leave, stroking his cock to the thought of you down on your knees in that pretty little sundress?

Imagines the wide stretch of your ruby lips as you swallow him down, lipstick smeared an awful mess?

Cums hard to the fantasy of your teary eyes and hiccupy breaths as you choke?

What you don’t know can’t hurt you.

After all, he’s a gentleman... he promises to keep his hands to himself.

“All right, Sugar Bomb, it’s bedtime.”

Bundled in navy bedding up to her nose, Janey’s wide brown eyes peer up at you from beneath a riot of frizzy curls. Roosevelt, her ever faithful companion, plasters himself to her side. The tip of his tail swishes once, twice before falling limp.

“Ah, c’mon guys. Don’t look at me like that.” You sigh with a fond shake of the head, hip popping out to rest against the doorframe. “I don’t make the rules, I just follow ‘em.”

A muffled response sounds from the lump of little girl, “Nmfhm.”

Squinting, you dip your head and tap the side of your ear, "Pardon?"

“Mnhfmmmm.”

“Ye—eah… Didn’t catch that, Mumbler.”

Janey tugs down the blanket, her mouth pursed in a moue of displeasure. “I said,” she crosses her arms with a huff, “not until Dad gets home.”

Shit.

“M’sorry, baby. He’s still gonna be a while.” Walking across the room, you stop beside the bed and motion your hand back and forth. “Scooch over.”

Gangly limbs fumble as Janey wiggles into the middle of the mattress, her feet tangling in the blankets. Roosevelt takes a toe to the nose during the transition, but flops across her knees all the same.

Together they settle with a bounce of springs.

In the open space, you slide in.

The bed sinks under your weight, a plume of rich cologne tickling your nose; mint-spiced citrus. Cooper. Your stomach swoops, and your heart trips.

“I didn’t see him at breakfast — or lunch!” A pout tugs at her mouth. “Not even dinner. I gotta go home tomorrow. So when am I gonna see him?”

“Oh, bug.” You sigh, propping yourself up on your elbow. “Your dad’s been real busy at work. And I know that’s been hard for you, but I promise to make sure he’s here for breakfast tomorrow.”

“D’you mean it?” Her cold nose digs into your skin. “Me and Roosevelt miss him so much.”

Cuddled into your chest, Janey tosses an arm around your back. Her fuzzy head rests in the crook of your arm, springy curls tickling your skin.

You squeeze her tight and trace your fingertips over her forehead.

“I can do you one better,” you say, bopping the tip of her nose just to hear her giggle - a soft sound that sits warm and gooey in your chest. “I pinkie-promise.”

Her finger loops around yours, so small and fragile.

“I’ll even make pancakes. How’s that sound for a promise?”

“Oh, yes, please! I think Dad will like that,” a wide yawn cuts her off mid-sentence. “He’s sad, but he always smiles when you make food.”

Janey’s words — unexpected as they are sudden — cut so deep it steals the breath from your lungs. You flounder, your heart a throbbing bruise in your chest.

“... Then pancakes it is.”

As if nothing happened at all, she asks, “Do I have to go to bed now?”

“Afraid so, little miss.” Your responding chuckle sounds stilted even to your own ears. “Just you wait. When you wake up, Dad’ll be home.”

“Fi—ine, but I want extra pancakes.” Janey pauses, considers you with narrow eyes, then adds, “With syrup!”

“Whatever you want,” you say with an indulgent smile. “Now... time to sleep. It’s really past your bedtime.”

She gives you one last squeeze then lets you tuck her in nice and tight, blankets pulled up to her chin. You drop a kiss on her forehead while Roosevelt re-settles on the pillow beside her after a quick scratch behind the ears.

Everything in order, you turn to go only for a little hand to stop you.

“Yes?” you reply, glancing at her from over your shoulder.

“... can you put on one of Dad's movies?”

The tremble in her voice - like she’s about to get scolded - breaks your heart clean down the middle. Stitching on a soft smile, you nod and walk to the darkened TV set in the room's corner.

After fiddling with the nobs, static flashes to life.

“The Man from Deadhorse okay?”

The holotape sliding into the track swallows the sound of her tiny “Yeah.” Starting up with a whirl of machinery, the second-hand Radiation King flickers to life in black-and-white.

A vast plain and bright sky stretches across the screen.

Then Sugarfoot creeps into frame with the one and only Cooper Howard sitting astride the noble steed. The sheriff’s badge on his chest glints in the sun.

“Thank you,” she mumbles, already half-way to sleep.

“Anything for you, baby. Sleep tight.”

Flicking off the lights, you leave the door cracked. Walk away pretending like hearing her whisper goodnight to the TV doesn’t lance through you like lightning.

The desire to whisk her into your arms and soothe all of her ails is almost impossible to ignore.

Somehow, you distract yourself by wiping up the table, then by fixing a plate of dinner for whenever Cooper rolls in. Though all the while, how brokenhearted Janey sounded sits in the back of your mind like a leaden weight.

When Cooper stumbles into the living room, it’s half past midnight.

You’d gotten up to greet him, curled as you were in an armchair reading, when something about the stern line of his mouth gave you pause.

Where the usual lighthearted greetings lingered, a pensive stillness trembled to life.

Tension crackles through the air; a held breath of agitation. By the faraway gaze and defeated slump of his broad shoulders, it’s plain to see the night didn’t go as intended. And no matter how much you long to soothe, you can’t.

After all, he’s not yours to touch.

Instead, you offer a sympathetic smile and ask, “Rough night, huh?”

Cooper ignores the prompt, squeezing past with a brief touch to your elbow as he makes a beeline for the dry bar. The heat of his body is there and gone in a flash, his cologne teasing your senses. He says, “Thought you’d be asleep by now.”

Your heart flutters in your throat. “Ah,” you lick your lips, “well, I was going to finish my chapter first.”

Humming, he turns his back to you and fiddles with high balls and decanters. The tink of crystal glassware fills the air as he speculates which alcohol goes best with his mood.

“Thanks again for watching Janey.” He nods in approval and fixes his whiskey neat. “I don’t know what we’d do without you.”

“Oh, it’s no trouble, Mr. Howard.” You shrug. “She’s a sweetheart.”

He shoots you a dry look from over his shoulder, stirring the dark amber of his drink with a forefinger. When he sucks his skin clean with a soft pop - a flash of a pink tongue taunting, teasing - your stomach swoops.

God, I wonder what else his mouth can do.

Flustered, you clear your throat and stare at a spot on the wall.

“How many times do I gotta tell you to call me Coop?” he says, digging through some drawers until he finds what he’s searching for: a lighter. “It must be a million and one by now.”

Flint sparks as flames jump, eating away at the end of a cigarette. Cooper inhales in short little puffs, pulling on the filter. His cheeks hollow, the shadows enhancing the cut of his jaw before the tip catches alight.

“Well,” he exhales, his gaze catching yours through a plume of smoke as he turns, brow raised. “Anything to say for yourself?”

“Old habits die hard, I guess,” you chuckle.

The corner of his mouth lifts in a lopsided smirk. “I’ll drink to that.” He knocks back the last finger of whiskey before refilling with gin.

Springs groan in protest when he drops to the couch, settling in with an outstretched arm and wide spread thighs.

“It’s been a long fucking day,” he rasps.

Gulping, you try to ignore the space at his feet.

The stirrings of desire provoked by the urge to sink to your knees and fill it with your body, to ease tension from those shoulders with your hands, your mouth, your cunt — if he’d let you.

“You heading home?” Nursing the fresh drink, he swallows a mouthful, only to hiss low through his teeth at the chemical burn. His throat bobs, framed by the open collar of his shirt. “Whew! Goddamn, that’s strong.”

“No, I can stay for a while.” A bird on a wire, you perch on the cushion beside him. “Got nothing else planned for tonight, anyhow.”

Cooper snorts. “I doubt that very much. A sweet young thing like you,” he motions towards you with his glass, “I’m sure you’ve got plenty of fellas calling, especially on a Friday night. Don’t waste your time with me.”

“That’s not why I--” you stop yourself short.

Save for the bustling LA avenue right outside the complex, the apartment itself is stone silent for several heartbeats. Words hover on the back of your tongue, catching in the bend of your throat molasses thick.

Meanwhile, Cooper continues to swirl the alcohol in his glass.

Maybe in a different life, you wouldn’t hesitate to express yourself.

But here — with him — you shouldn’t.

Christ sake, he’s a grieving divorcé, you chastise yourself. The last thing he needs is me trying to lay one on him.

When you speak, his name glides off your lips for the first time, clementine sweet, “... Cooper, I’m not wasting my time. I enjoy spending it with Janey - and you.”

“Well,” he husks, hooded eyes dragging down your visage in a slow once-over, “you’re the first one in a long while to feel that way, sweetheart.”

Dripping like honey whiskey from Cooper’s lips, the simple phrase burns its way down-down-down until it blooms like liquid fire in your belly. Warms you all the way to your toes as your heart pounds against your ribcage.

“I mean it.” Your knuckles twist in the pleats of your sundress, bolts of blue fabric bunched around your knees. “Everything I do is because I want to.”

The flash of red nails plucking at the sheer nylon of your stockings snaps up his attention, his gaze snagging - staying as he chases the curve of your exposed leg, hungry.

He wets his lips, and tenses his jaw when he spots how the soft fat of your thigh dimples in because of your garter. “That’s awful sweet of you to say.”

You tremble beneath the intensity of his attention.

Greedy.

Little kisses of awareness spark bright along the path his eyes carve like the caress of shy fingertips.

However, before you’re able to confront him about his interest, the heat leaches from his expression, grows mute and cold like a muzzled dog.

Readjusting the waistband of his slacks with a tug, he says, “I know you got better things to do than keep an old man company.”

Irritation sparks. “Cooper--”

“If this is about paying you for tonight,” his lips quirk into a sheepish smile, “I won’t be able to yet.” He scrubs a hand through the stubble peppered along his jaw. “The gig tonight didn’t… Well, it doesn’t matter.”

“No, that’s not what I --”

He plows on, “Anyway, the one I’ve got tomorrow should be enough. How about I stop by around seven o’clock? I’ll treat you to dinner as an apology.”

Frustration bubbles beneath the surface of your skin, antagonism thrumming through your veins. Your hands shake almost as much as your voice. “Cooper!”

“I… uh, yes?” He blinks.

Your brows furrow. “You don’t get it,” you say. “I mean, you truly don’t know?”

“I’m afraid there’s a lot I don’t get. You’re gonna have to be more particular.”

Maybe not said in so many words (or at all) but actions speak far louder.

Otherwise, why else would you spend most of your time in his apartment, fill every spare moment with Janey, and reserve evenings for his company?

Hell, you even cook and clean!

Almost scream your interest from the rooftops, and it’s obvious to everyone but him, it seems.

Here you are thinking he was preserving your dignity whenever he ignored a passing comment or lingering touch when, in fact, he’d been oblivious to their existence to begin with.

How a man can be so obtuse when you’re throwing yourself at him is beyond you.

If he wasn’t so captivating…

“Are you kidding me,” you ask, mindful of your tone, “how could you not know?” You throw your hands in the air. “I’ve been — for months!”

“Well, I don’t have a goddamn clue what you’re talking about, sweetheart,” he snarks, setting his glass on the table. “Care to enlighten me?”

Fine. If that’s how he wants to play, let’s play.

When he moves to take another drag from his cigarette, you strike, fingers locking around his wrist mid-lift. And although his glassy eyes narrow, he keeps his hand still.

Waiting to see what you'll do.

Tucking your knee under you for balance, you bend forward and watch his face from beneath your lashes. When your lips wrap around the filter, a dark hunger bleeds into his expression, his pulse a steady thud against the pad of your thumb.

Inhaling, the cherry lights up, a flashbang in the dim overhead light.

Cooper’s breath hitches, and then you’re pulling away with a lungful of smoke; the taste of ash heavy on your tongue.

He tracks your movements with greed, gaze flicking for the briefest of moments past your chin before refocusing on the ring of red lipstick staining white paper.

“If you wanted one,” he chokes, gripping the back of the couch with white knuckles, “all you had to do was ask.”

With a coquettish grin, you exhale to the side and stare at him with hooded eyes. “Is that so?” Plucking the cigarette out of his limp hold, you stub it out in the ashtray. “What if I wanted to ask for something else, Mr. Howard?”

The next moment finds you deposited in his lap, his hands shooting out to grab at your waist only to freeze before they make contact.

“Woah! I--”

“Tell me something.”

Your lips caress the shell of his ear, sharing breath - sharing space as you plaster yourself to his front, arms looped over his shoulders. He jolts, body trembling with restraint.

“Would you give me what I wanted if I said please?”

The distance between you snaps taut with anticipation. “C-Coop,” he stutters. “Call me Coop.”

You hum. “Well, Coop, would you?”

“That depends almost entirely on what you’re asking for, sweetheart.”

Red nails skate along the back of his neck, play in the downy soft hair of his nape just to feel him shiver. And then you’re leaning back with your hands braced on his knees, your legs falling open in invitation.

The hem of your dress bunches around your waist, exposing the soft cotton of your underwear, and the darkened patch of slick soaking through.

“I think you know exactly what I want,” you purr. “Because you want it too. Don’t you?”

He bites down on a strangled moan when your hips arch forward, rocking the soft plush of your ass against the heavy weight of his thickening cock. The zipper digs into your skin as he tents the front of his slacks.

Mouth dropping open, his tongue flicks out to wet his lips - a slick circle of temptation that makes you clench. “I, uh, I don’t…”

Reaching between your splayed thighs, you hook a finger beneath your panties and pull the fabric aside. He jerks forward, exhaling hard at the flash of your soaked cunt and twitching clit.

“C’mon, be honest.”

With a sigh, you gather your arousal on the tips of your fingers.

Cooper’s gaze is a heavy weight pinning you in place as you pretend it’s him dragging his knuckles over the top of your mond. Him dragging calloused fingers up along sticky folds to play with your sensitive clit, ripping soft little mewls from your lips.

“Can’t you see what you do to me, Coop?” you say, pulling your hand away to show the webs of slick stretching between your fingers. “I’m so wet. Please, I’ve wanted you for so long…”

His hips rock against your ass in an aborted thrust. “Shit - shit!” Eyes slamming shut, he grits his teeth and digs his fingers into your sides hard enough to bruise. “We really, uh, shouldn’t - oh fuck, you look --”

“Why not?” Your hand brushes over his groin. “I can feel how hard you are.”

“It isn’t right, that’s why.” He stutters, stumbles over his words, “Besides, Janey…”

“I can be quiet,” you say, lips trembling. “I promise.”

“Goddamnit, you can’t say things like that and expect me not to --” Cutting himself off, strong fingers seize your chin and tilt until you’re met with Cooper’s severe expression, his scorching gaze. “You need to tell me now: are you sure this is what you want?”

There’s no hesitation, “Yes.”

In what world would you refuse?

The words barely pass your lips before Cooper’s bowing his dark head, mouth ravenous as it captures yours in a slick glide of bruising lips and hungry tongues.

He steals your breath, licks into your mouth and traces along the sensitive inside of your lip.

Pulse jump starting, your toes curl over the edge of the cushion and your thighs squeeze the barrel of his chest, kneecaps digging into his ribs.

“Oh,” a moan punches itself out of your throat - a breathy little thing swallowed up by his lips. “That’s--”

Anticipation swells, simmers between you like a band before it snaps. A strong forearm locks around your waist, tugging you into the cradle of his chest until you’re plastered from stem to stern.

Too hungry for tenderness as his free hand slips up to cup the back of your head, fingers catching in the briar of your hair and tugging at the roots.

You claw at his shoulders while sparks of pain ricochet down your neck, sufficing into a prickly flush that heats your blood. “Hnn, Cooper,” you gasp.

He murmurs your name through languid flicks of his tongue and sharp little nips of skin that leave your mouth tender and swollen. When he pulls away to survey his handiwork, his eyes are dark. Fathomless.

"I never thought I'd get the chance to kiss you like this," he says, wicking his thumb over the pillow of your bottom lip. "You taste as good as I imagined."

Dragging your nails across his scalp, you plead, “No more teasing - I can't take it.”

"Well," he grunts, fingers twisting up in your dress, “If that’s how you feel, then you better put those hips to good use and work for it, sweetheart."

part 2 dropping soon

#cooper howard x reader #cooper howard x you #the ghoul x you #the ghoul x reader #cooper howard smut #cooper howard #the ghoul #the ghoul smut

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prettyfastcars · 8 months ago

Text

'til I touch, touch, touch you | Mob!Lewis

Summary: Lewis finds out that you have a thing for his hands.

Themes: explicit language, smut, fluff, praise kink, daddy kink

“Why are you sitting so far?”

He dared ask, looking at you like he didn’t know what he was doing to you. Manspreading on the other side of the couch, sleeves of his shirt rolled up to his elbows revealing his tattoos, all the buttons of his shirt were undone so you could see his muscular, tattooed chest clearly, and his braids tied neatly at the back.

He looked confused as to why you put all that distance between you and him on the large couch. If you sat any closer, you’d end up getting on his lap and beg him to fuck you till the morning. And he’d been working late these past few days, he looked a little tired. He deserved a little rest, you thought.

But fuck. Those soft eyes he made at you weren’t helping. And his damn hands. One holding a whiskey glass, and the other extended towards you. You tried your hardest to look away from them. Tattoos all over his fingers, and all his rings… you took a deep breath and said, “It’s comfy here.”

He frowned at you and tried again, “Babygirl,” He spoke in that irresistible voice of his, “Come sit with daddy, I missed you all day.”

Ah, screw it. You gave up resisting and crawled to him until you settled right beside him, throwing your legs over his lap and leaned into the warmth of his bare chest. You couldn’t help but lean down and kiss his warm skin, right above the compass tattoo.

“I missed you too.” You murmured, letting your lips brush over his skin. Then you nearly groaned when he brought his hand over to caress your exposed thigh. As if just looking at them weren’t torture enough, now he was gliding those slightly rough, tattooed fingers all over your skin.

You nearly stopped breathing altogether when his fingers began getting closer and closer to your inner thighs. Your little satin PJ set wasn’t hiding much of your body anyway.

“How was your day?” He asked, keeping an eye on what was playing on the TV while his hand mindlessly caressing your thigh.

You couldn’t look away. Those hands had been your fixation for a while now. “Uh,” You struggled to respond, “It was fine. I did, you know, stuff.”

Damn him. His hand slowly inched even further up your thigh, stopping you from even thinking coherently.

“Hmm. What else?”

You opened your mouth to answer but his fingers teased your upper thigh and you couldn’t help but groan. Leaning more into his touch as you hid your face into the crook of his neck. He smelled delicious and you groaned even louder.

Lewis chuckled. “You think I haven’t noticed you’ve been staring at my hands?” You refused to look him in the eyes so he continued. “You’ve been doing it a lot lately, haven’t you? What is it? They turn you on?”

You whined, trying to close your legs but he tightened his grip on your thigh and you couldn’t move.

“You like my hands?” He teased, placing his glass down and bringing his other hand to cup your face.

You finally pulled away from his neck so you could look up at him, and nodded shyly.

“Yeah?” He chuckled. “Where do you want them?”

You mumbled something but it was neither coherent nor audible.

Lewis brough his thumb over to your mouth, tracing the shape of your lips as he said, “Louder baby, use your words. Where do you want daddy’s hands?”

“All over me.”

His pretty brown eyes stared deep into yours as he smirked. “Come here,” He said, pulling you onto his lap.

You straddled him like you had the habit of doing and waited, and watched how his hands went back to your thighs, inching higher and higher up your leg, caressing your inner thighs. He smirked when you moaned and kept going. Sliding those gorgeous, tattooed hands all over your soft skin. The cold metal of his rings made you shiver.

His hands had done terrible things given the nature of his job. He had hurt, maimed, pulled so many triggers, ended lives even, but they were so gentle with you. So careful.

He leaned in to kiss your jaw and down your neck, his stubbled brushing against your skin gently. His lips warm and soft as they brushed all over your skin. His knuckles brushed against the front of the flimsy PJ shorts you were wearing.

He whispered, with his lips hovering over the corner of your mouth. “I can feel how wet you are, baby.” He slipped his hand past the waistband, into your thin underwear and touched you gently. His fingers circled around your clit, before he pushed a finger in, then another and started gently moving them in and out of you. “Is this what you wanted? Hmm?”

He placed his thumb on your throbbing clit and brushed it occasionally while he finger-fucked you, your wetness dripping and smearing all over his hand. You threw your head back and moaned when his fingers touched you in all the right places, curling just right and massaging your sensitive spots perfectly.

His other hand gently wrapped around your neck, not squeezing yet but just holding you firmly. You got just a little louder as he sped up, his fingers slipping in and out of you with ease.

“Look down,” He said, “Look how well you’re taking daddy’s fingers.”

You did. And fuck if it didn’t make you whine and moan even louder.

And seeing you were whining and whimpering already, he decided to torture you more by moving his hand from your throat, “Open up, baby.” He whispered, pushing two fingers past your lips and into your mouth and slowly pumped those two as well.

Your lips immediately wrapped around his fingers. And he smirked at the sight of you, with two of his fingers buried in your wet core, slipping in and out of you rapidly while his other two fingers were buried into your warm mouth. His rings clinked against your teeth as he did.

“Do they feel good?”

You nodded desperately, clenching around his fingers.

The sounds you made alone were enough to make his pants feel tighter, and make him want to tease you even more. “Yeah? You like being completely stuffed, don’t you? Look at you, look how well you take it. Daddy’s perfect little slut, hmm?”

Your muffled moans, the way his hands moved against your skin, his fingers in your mouth, in your cunt… it was all too much. Soon you had tears streaming down your face.

He removed his fingers from your mouth and wrapped his hand around your throat again, squeezing just a little as he brought your face closer to his. His breath was just as ragged as yours, his lips inches away from yours. “Are you gonna come, baby? You’re gonna come for daddy?”

You nodded, moaning when he sped up again, his fingers stroking your walls perfectly and increasing the sweet, almost agonizing pressure forming in between your hips.

You rolled your hips against his hand in a haze, chasing your orgasm, moaning and whimpering. “Come for me, babygirl.” He encouraged you and tightened his grip around your throat just a little bit more.

And you couldn’t hold it anymore, you let the familiar waves of pleasure wash over you as you came all over his fingers, crying out loud in pleasure. Gushing out all over his hand as he kept pumping his fingers in and out of you, getting everything he could out of you. He finally pressed his lips to yours and kissed you hard.

You couldn’t keep your hands to yourself then. You hurried to unbuckle his belt and unzip his pants, lowering the waistband of his underwear to free his erected cock. The mere sight of his perfect cock had you whimpering with need again.

You got off his lap and dropped to kneel in between his legs immediately. You reached out and wrapped your hands around his base and placed your mouth on his cock immediately, your tongue slowly circling his tip. He groaned and spread his legs further apart, inching his hips slightly forward as you took more of him into your mouth.

He sighed as he leaned back and grabbed his glass of whiskey again and sipped on it as he watched you suck his cock, bobbing your head around him just like how he liked it. You took him inch by inch until he filled your mouth completely.

“Fuck, baby…” He swore under his breath again as you hollowed your cheeks and took him deeper into your mouth. “You feel so fucking good.” His praise gave you a rush.

You wanted more. You took most of his cock into your mouth and repeated your actions again and again.

He moaned and growled occasionally. He bucked his hips forward very gently into your mouth, and loved the sight of your spit coating his cock. You looked magnificent on your knees, taking him perfectly. You always did.

You took him out of your mouth and teased him a little bit, licking his cock from bottom to top while your hands toyed with his balls as you gently stroked him. His taste and scent was all you could focus on.

He swore under his breath at your teasing, as you dragged your tongue over the slit on this tip lazily. He looked down at you with a warning in his pretty brown eyes, his glass of whiskey just an inch or two from his plump lips. “Don’t tease me, babygirl.” He spoke, his voice carrying nothing but authority and lust.

So you got back to it while looking him in the eye. You took him back into your mouth and sucked on his cock until he was so close to coming undone all over your tongue, groaning and grunting in pleasure. You sped up your actions because you liked the sounds which left his lips while he was right on the edge.

“Fuck… slow down, babygirl.” He moaned, breathlessly as he came into your mouth. His thigh muscles tensing and his hips thrusting gently up into your mouth.

You swallowed all that he gave you and you licked him clean before climbing onto his lap again. This time after taking your clothes off.

“You’re such a good girl for daddy, you know that?” He said, after catching his breath for a second or two. Hands reaching up to cup your face. “You want more?”

You nodded again, licking your lips for any remnant taste of him. Lewis smirked and pushed you back down on the couch before he slid inside of you again, effortlessly. And the two of you moaned in unison as he filled you up again, your walls already gripping him tightly as your back arched off the couch.

“Fuck…” You whimpered.

His one hand wrapped around your throat while the other held on to your hip, keeping you in place. You felt his cock stretching you, filling you up. Every inch of him sliding into your tight cunt. You could feel your eyes tearing up at how snug he felt inside you. And his hand around your throat… fuck.

He held your stare as he reached down to grab your legs and wrapped them around his waist. He looked down to where your bodies connected, quickly spitting right on your clit, his thumb spreading the wetness around as he leaned down to give you a messy kiss, swallowing your desperate moan in the process.

“Please,” You mumbled against his mouth. You couldn’t help your loud moans which followed as he moved his hips the slightest bit. His cock moving in and out of you.

“Please what, babygirl?” Lewis pulled away and watched you as you whined at the feeling of his cock slowly moving in and out of you.

“Fuck me, please.” You whimpered, then felt your walls clenching around him as he finally sped up and pounded into you. You felt all of him stretching you, filling you up, moving rapidly in and out of you until he was all you could focus on.

“You feel so fucking good…” He whispered, pounding into you relentlessly as he bent down to bite your lower lip and tug on it. “So perfect for daddy.”

You moaned at how perfect his hard, muscular, tattooed chest felt against yours, his weight pressing down on you. His slight stubble tickled your skin as he moved. His soft lips brushing against your skin as he kissed you everywhere he could.

Your legs trembled as you wrapped them tighter around his waist. His thrusts, relentless and unbearably good. The pressure around your lower body, tight and hot.

Lewis looked down at you as you tightened around his cock. He smirked, looking down to where his cock disappeared into you each time he thrust in. “Look at me, babygirl.” When you did, he whispered, “Daddy loves you. So much. You understand?”

You nodded. The possessiveness in his voice only made you clench around him again.

He gave you a lazy smile, “Then be a good girl and come for daddy.” His hand squeezed your throat, making you moan even louder. He leaned in, giving you a messy kiss. “Come all over my cock, baby. Come on.”

You whimpered, unable to say anything because of how good he felt sliding in and out of you. The familiar pressure formed at your core yet again and you whined when his hand let go of your throat and his fingers found your clit, toying with it while he pounded into you mercilessly.

Lewis loved that look on your face, that look of utter bliss, pain, pleasure, lust and hunger all at once. “That’s it, babygirl. You’re taking me so well, look at you. Now come, come all over me,” He whispered and that was all you needed to hear before you came undone all around him.

Whimpering and back arching off the couch as you came hard around his cock, tightening around him. He kept pounding into you as your orgasm washed over you, your walls squeezing him violently. Your body trembling under his intense gaze.

He growled as he buried his cock deep inside you, coming undone right after you. You whined and whimpered as you felt him filling you up, feeling some of his cum drip down your thighs before he dropped carefully on top of you.

“You okay, baby?” He asked, gently kissing your neck while his hands touched you everywhere they could, rubbing up and down your sides, and thighs.

“Yeah,” You breathed, placing a hand on top of one of his, toying with his rings.

“Wanna go to bed?”

You sighed. “Don’t think I can walk just yet, give me a minute.”

#lewis hamilton #lewis hamilton smut #mob!lewis #lewis hamilton x reader #lewis hamilton au #lewis hamilton imagine #f1 #f1 fanfic

1K notes · View notes

liveyun · 1 month ago

Text

you’re an idiot (so am i) | j.jk

pairing. jeon jungkook x fem oc/reader

rating. M

genre. enemies to 👀, university AU, neighbours AU, comedy, drama, romance, angst, slight smut

warnings. coarse language, crACK like lOTS OF IT, theyre both idiots. excessive bickering,,, gym related stuff,,, Medical school itself is a warning,, unhealthy amounts of protein mentions,, i’m Sorry if you’re a gymbro 😭🙏🏾, awkwardness, oc gets slightly injured, it gets slightly smutty 👀, unspoken feelings bc they both suck at communicating, some Cute stuff, that should be it but lmk if i missed any, its 4am

wc. 4.5k +

if this writing style flops, i’ll probably quit writing too 💀

it’s 7:04 AM

or is it really. what is the time again

unfortunately you are awake.

and it’s not by choice.

it’s because your protein 💪 PROTEIN 💪 MORE PROTEIN 🏋️ gymrat neighbour is up, doing burpees in his living room

and the walls between your apartments are criminally thin

and you’re convinced he’s trying to invent a new form of torture through burpees because the sQUEAKING OF HIS DAMN SHOES ARE JUST AS LOUD AS AN ALARM CLOCK!!

why is he even awake at this ungodly hour, you wonder for the 8293838th time since moving in

you feel like crying

for rEAL.

it was around 5:30 am when u finally had let out a sigh of relief at having finally completed your assignment

you roll out of bed, hair resembling a bird’s nest

what else is bed hair supposed to look like

“O YEA!”

here we go

again

you feel like ripping your already damaged hair bc why does he have to be so damn loud

has no occupant not filed a complaint against him yet?

so now u consider knocking on his door to complain... but you remember what happened the last time you tried

jungkook had answered the door holding two dumbbells liKe they were extensions of his arms, shirtless, smiling so brightly it could cure vitamin D deficiency

you knew you were cooked the moment smirked at you gawkinG at his physique and you felt your cheeks warming up

“oh, hey, Y/N,” he’d said, casually flexing mid-sentence with that stupid grin on his face “need something? Or just admiring the view?”

you haven’t known peace ever since

by 8:15 AM, you’ve surrendered to fate and shuffled into the kitchen for coffee

you swEar you hear Jungkook’s blender whirring as he makes another one of his infamous protein shakes

does he even eat anything which does not have protein powder

like ok you understand the value of protein

but anything which has that stupid thing in it automatically tastes like the Biggest Piece of Dogshit

and somehow that’s what you neighbour has 24/7

last week he had accidentally left one in the communal fridge

it smelled like death and regret.

absolute L

anyway u think u need to get something in ur system too and thats when u open your fridge

and sigh

it’s empty.

except for a jar of pickles and a, uh, questionable carton of oat milk

yea. you’ll have to get brunch today. no futher questions asked

10:32 AM

ur first class of the day

and guess what

u have made the mistake of sitting near Jungkook in the lecture hall.

again! 😍

u swear that u are trying to focus on the lecture but is it really your fault that jungkook looks extra,,,...,,,

beefy

his notebook is open, but instead of notes, he’s drawing a disturbingly accurate diagram of biceps

and the shading looks pretty accurate too

he notices you staring, oof “anatomy is about more than just books, Y/N.”

you feel a muscle near your eye twitch

“i really don’t remember asking.”

ouch

that came out a bit too rude. . .

you feel like u should say sorry or something but he just flashes you that golden retriever grin

and somehow, you’re the one who feels stupid

12:10 PM

you’d think a med school lunch break would feel like a break

but no

the first thing you hear is the unmistakable pop of jungkook’s tupperware lid. it’s like pavlov’s bell, but instead of a dog, it triggers your impending irritation

of course it’s chicken, broccoli, and rice. gymrat starter pack™

does this man even know other foods exist?

atleast it doesn’t look unseasoned so maybe you can take it

you’re not the one having it anyway

“bon appétit,” he says with that smug grin, shoveling a forkful into his mouth like he’s filming a mukbang

you side-eye your sad excuse of a sandwich. “don’t you ever get bored of eating that?”

he gasps like a victorian man having seen the ankle of his wife for the first time

“bored? of gains? never.”

the chewing. oh god, the chewing. it’s so loud you’re convinced he’s doing it on purpose

crunch. chew. sip of water from the world’s largest bottle. repeat.

“do you have to eat like a vacuum?”

he pauses, fork mid-air, and looks at you with wide, innocent eyes. then he grins. “do you have to be this cute when you’re annoyed?”

wha— cough!!

did you just choke at your sandwich infront of him?

-100 aura points

your brain just blue-screens

what the hell are you supposed to do with that information

12:22 pm

you haven’t touched your chips yet. you’re saving them for after jungkook’s food massacre ends

his tupperware is licked clean but he’s already eyeing your bag of chips like a hawk

“you gonna eat those?”

“yes, jungkook, i’m gonna eat my chips”

“cool”

c r u n c h

he’s already eaten half the bag.

u are genuinely considering homicide now

the girl from the next table suddenly waves at him, all giggly and twirling her hair like she’s auditioning for a romcom

“hey, jungkook! you should totally sit with us!”

he glances at you, one brow raised. “should i?”

“why are you asking me?” you snap, already annoyed (but like, annoyed in a normal way, not jealous. definitely not jealous)

you miss the way his lips quirk in the corners

“nah, i think i’ll stay here,” he says, smirking. “you’re better company anyway”

...

why is your face heating up. why. stop it

1:00 PM

you’re walking to your next class when jungkook catches up, sipping his protein shake. the smell is somewhere between expired yogurt and pure evil

“so, lunch was fun,” he says casually, like he didn’t commit multiple crimes against your sanity earlier

“for who?” you mumble, giving him the nastiest bombastic side eye

“for both of us,” he replies, grinning. “don’t lie, y/n, you’d miss me if i wasn’t around”

“i’d miss the peace”

he laughs heartily and it’s the kind of laugh that makes you want to both strangle him and maybe... smile a little

1:12 PM

ur phone dings

dumb(bell)kook : (now) bring more chips tomorrow

or don’t. i’ll just steal them again

>:D

you stare at your screen for a second, debating whether to respond or block his number

you type back

you : (1:13PM) touch my chips again and i’ll report you to student conduct

his reply is instant.

dumb(bell)kook : (now) bet they’d let me off for good behavior 😛

2:47 pm.

group project time!

otherwise known as “watch y/n slowly lose her sanity” time

you're hunched over your notes, trying to come up with literally anything for this cursed assignment while everyone else is glued to their phones

“guys, any ideas?” you try, for the fifth time, because teamwork makes the dream work, right?

wrong. dead silence. you can practically hear your soul exiting your body

one guy mutters, "we could... idk, make a powerpoint?" and goes back to scrolling on instagram. helpful king

you’re about three seconds away from making a powerpoint on why you hate everyone here when the door swings open

in walks jungkook, twenty minutes late, balancing a protein shake in one hand and a clipboard in the other

like he’s about to announce his plan for world domination

he slides into the chair next to you, annoyingly fresh, as if he hasn’t just already benched three cows at the gym

“did i miss anything?” he asks, sipping his shake and eyeing you with those boba lookalike peepers like he’s the main character

why are his eyes so

cute

“yeah, we solved climate change and made contact with aliens. you're late.”

he smirks. smirks. “nice. guess i’ll tackle world hunger next.”

one of your lab mates looks up from her phone just to whisper, “he’s so hot..”

my ass.

“he’s useless”

you’re about to drop-kick the clipboard out of his hands when he lazily stretches and says, “so what’s the plan, y/n? you always have the best ideas”

and just like that, everyone turns to you like a pack of hyenas waiting for their next meal

you might actually murder him. right after you finish this stupid project.

>:-)

midnight.

you’re staring at your notes like they’re written in ancient alien hieroglyphics. focus? yup, that’s a myth

through the wall, you hear it. again.

jungkook’s obnoxious gym playlist thumping loud enough to summon the gods of protein.

how about you just summon the reaper to maybe reap your soul or his

you try to ignore it. you really do. but then the bass drops, and you swear the walls start vibrating

ARGH

that’s it. you’ve snapped. you slam your pen down and march out of your apartment like a woman on a mission

by the time you’re at his door, you’re already regretting this decision

but sleep-deprived y/n? she’s not known for her impulse control

you bang on the door like your life depends on it

>:-(

after a moment, jungkook opens up, looking like he just stepped out of a gym rat rom-com. damp hair, earbuds in, wearing a tank top that shows off way too much arm.

good lord, those tattoos..

“what’s up?” he asks casually, pulling out an earbud, as if you didn’t just nearly break his door down

whats up? what thE hELL DOES HE MEAN WHATS UP??

“it’s midnight!” you yell, waving a hand in the general direction of your apartment. “some of us need sleep to survive!”

he blinks at you, tilting his head like a confused golden retriever. “but you’re awake now. want to do a quick set of push-ups?

you stare at him. you need to go to the store from where he bought the audacity. “push-ups?!”

“yeah,” he says, dead serious. “it’s a good way to burn off frustration. i do them all the time when i’m annoyed.”

“maybe i should start,” you mutter, narrowing your eyes. “because i’m annoyed right now.”

jungkook grins like the demon he is. “great! i’ll grab my mat.”

before you can stop him, he’s already turned back into his apartment. you briefly consider running, but it’s too late.

this is your life now.

five minutes later, you’re on the floor of his apartment, struggling to do one (1) push-up while he effortlessly does twenty in the same time it takes you to collapse in defeat

you feel like someone has bathed you in sweat

“this is humiliating,” you groan, face smushed into the mat

maybe you should’ve just slept

“nah, you’re doing great,” he says, way too cheerfully for someone torturing you. “just three more and you’ll hit... like, five total.”

you debate throwing a dumbbell at him but decide against it

jail isn’t worth it.

yet.

five minutes later you’re on the floor of his apartment, now two (2) push-ups deep and already regretting every decision you’ve made up to this point

you try again, your arms shaking with the effort, your brain screaming for mercy, when—

crack

“ow, ow, ow!” you yelp as your shoulder protests in a way that’s probably not supposed to happen

“that’s it, i’m dOne” you wince, face red from the sheer humiliation and pain

jungkook is standing there with a weirdly sympathetic expression that’s 90% amusement and 10% concern

he’s crouching beside you now, and you can't help but notice his Bambi eyes, all big and concerned, looking at your shoulder like he's actually worried for you

fml

this is so unfair

“u good?” he asks, voice unusually soft, and you can’t help but notice that barely there scar on his left cheek pulling slightly as he frowns and looks down at you

you glare at him, wincing a little more than you’d like to admit

does it look like ur good lol

“i think i pulled something” you mutter, still holding your shoulder, and mentally kicking yourself for agreeing to do this in the first place

you knew you shouldn’t have agreed to him

“mm,” he hums thoughtfully, his gaze flicking to your face, and then down to your shoulder with that gentle focus you didn’t think he was capable of

oUuu

“you should’ve asked for help, rookie” he says with that familiar cocky grin, but you catch the slight crinkle of concern in his brow, the mole beneath his lips almost beckoning you to stare at it

why is he so dumb but also so stupidly handsome?

and then his fingers are brushing against your shoulder again, carefully massaging the area in a way that’s too intimate for someone who’s just your annoying gym-obsessed neighbor

your heart rate spikes, and suddenly the injury doesn't seem like such a big deal anymore

“i’m fine, really,” you lie, trying to brush it off, but the way his Bambi eyes are looking at you—all soft and worried—has your head spinning

oh god

“i don’t think you are” he mutters, voice low, as he places a hand gently on your waist, pulling you just a little closer

god, stop being so touchy

the fact that he smells like musk and with some citrus-y notes underneath doesn’t help either

you feel your cheeks warming and lips parting

you feel yourself leaning in despite all logic telling you to stop, and then his eyes flicker down to your lips and back to your eyes, slow and cautious, like he’s waiting for your permission

you really cannot help but feel your heart skip a beat at how beautiful he looks. no like for real, his hair is slightly overgrown, curled at the ends which fall gracefully over his face

and how soft his lips look

your brain is too far gone, and the next thing you know, you’re kissing him, hand tangled in his hair, pulling him even closer

his hair feels so silky soft

but his lips are even softer, but there’s a desperate edge to the kiss, and you don’t know if it's because of your injury or the fact that you’ve both been playing this weird tension game for far too long

you feel like u can finally die kissing him like this

his hand slides down your back, pressing you into him as if you might disappear, and you pull away, gasping for air

jungkook’s eyes are wide, his pupils blown and heavy-lidded, his chest rising and falling quickly as he looks at you with an unreadable expression

“shit, i… i didn’t think i was actually going to do that” he murmurs, his voice rough and nearly trembling if u hear closely

you stare at his lips again, the mole under them, the way he looks so dumb but also so dumb handsome

his mouth parts to say something stupid again but you shush him with your pointer on his lips

“shut up and kiss me again, you idiot” you mutter, pulling him back in without a second thought

oH WOW

Jungkook doesn’t need any more encouragement. this time, it’s all teeth and heat, a kiss that feels like it might burn the air around you both

and your shoulder? completely forgotten, left in the dust

the kiss doesn’t end in some grand, romantic crescendo like the movies promised

you both were shamelessly making out on his mat

you were perched on his lap and both of u were busy eating eachother’s mouths (it sounds gross but that’s what exactly u two were doing) when suddenly you give his hair a tug

and you hear a moan spilling from him

his hips buck up and you gasp, but it ends with him abruptly pulling away

he’s breathing like he just ran an hour on the treadmill. cheeks all flushed, lips shining with saliva and eyes wide

and your heart is hammering in your chest like it’s trying to escape

jungkook stares at you, lips slightly swollen, eyes wide and wild, and for once, the idiot looks just as lost as you feel

“i—uh—” you stammer, the words tangling in your throat because what the hell are you supposed to say after something like that

“y- yeah,” he cuts in, his voice rough and strained like he’s been punched in the gut, “same”

same? SAME?!

you glare at him, more out of panic than anger, because suddenly the room feels too small, and his scent—something annoyingly musky and Jungkook-ish—is now overwhelming you

“i, uh, should go” you blurt out, scrambling to your feet and clutching your sore shoulder like a lifeline

jungkook doesn’t stop you, just sits there on the floor, looking up at you with a furrowed brow and an expression you can’t quite place

“cool” he mutters, dragging a hand through his messy hair as his jaw clenches

you don’t say anything else, don’t even look back as you practically bolt out of his apartment and into the safety of your own, slamming the door shut behind you

breathe, you tell yourself, leaning against the door, your heart still racing, your lips still tingling from his kiss

you won’t lie, you really didn’t think it would take just a tug of hair to have Mr. Muscle moaning under you

and that kind of inflated ur ego too

>:-)

but now

as u stand behind your closed door

the warmth that had filled your chest moments ago is quickly replaced by a knot of confusion and panic

because this wasn’t supposed to happen, not with Jungkook of all people

he’s my annoying gym-rat neighbor. this is… this is stupid

or is this really?..

no matter how much you try to convince yourself, your fingers keep brushing your lips absentmindedly, and your brain replays the moment over and over again like some kind of cruel joke

the next morning, you half expect him to blast his gym playlist at full volume to piss you off like he always does

but it’s quiet

too quiet

jungkook doesn’t blast music. doesn’t clank weights around. doesn’t do anything to make his presence known, and it’s driving you insane

you don’t know why it bothers you so much, but it does

when you leave for class, you catch a glimpse of him locking his door, but he doesn’t even glance your way

just slings his backpack over his shoulder and walks off like you don’t exist

asshole

yea that hurt. a Lot. like a good amount, because you are sure that you felt that pain in the centre of your chest

but it’s not like you’re any better

you bury yourself in your textbooks, pretending the kiss never happened, even though your stupid brain refuses to let it go

your chest feels tight every time you hear his door open or his voice filter through the thin walls

and you hate how you feel disappointed every time he doesn’t acknowledge you

like you really are a stranger to him

:-(

it’s pathetic, but you can’t help it

the silence between the two of you stretches on like an invisible barrier

days pass, and the two of you become masters of the fine art of avoidance

there’s a strange art to it, like walking on eggshells in your own apartment

even if u two live in separate apartments, it just feels

weird

you are so used to him being so noisy and what not

but the silence is heavy, uncomfortable, like an unfinished sentence hanging in the air

and it’s clEar neither of you know how to handle whatever the hell this is

you can’t figure out whether it’s a relief or suffocating

and every time you pass him in the hallway or see him through your apartment window, it’s like a silent conversation you’re not having

and that, somehow, feels worse than everything else

you want him to say something. anything.

but he doesn’t

and neither do you

and it makes you sick how easy it is to fall back into the rhythm of pretending he doesn’t exist

even when he’s right there.

you go to class and he’s there

sitting three rows ahead of you like he’s deliberately trying to ignore you

and with that girl who cannot seem to have her hands off his bicep

and you’re… fine with it

totally fine

you are just hoping that your glare is enough to burn a hole in her skull

it’s just that you can’t stop staring at the back of his head

like maybe he’ll turn around and say something but nope

the entire lecture passes and he doesn’t even glance over

and you try not to overthink it but you’re pretty sure jungkook is doing the same thing to you

ignoring you

on purpose

you’re not imagining it, right?

lunch rolls around and you sit down at your usual spot

jungkook’s sitting at the table next to you with his back to you

he doesn’t even look up when you sit down

normally, he would’ve sent you a little half-smile or asked about your day or whatever. .

but now? nothing

it’s like you’re invisible

and that’s fine. you don’t care.

but deep down, you feel this weird lump in your chest

because you didn’t expect this coldness from him

even after everything that’s happened

and you’d even unconsciously brought his favourite flavour of chips he especially likes..

then you see him texting on his phone

and you can’t help but peek over at his screen

jungkook is texting someone

and it’s not you

for some reason, that stings more than it should, but you swallow it down and pretend you didn’t notice

the silence between the two of you stretches out for days

it’s like the entire universe is pretending you never had that moment together

the night when everything took a wild ass turn

but jungkook’s acting like it never happened

and so are you.

and maybe, just maybe, that’s better

maybe he regrets kissing you.

maybe you even made him uncomfortable?..

and maybe this is easier

you can’t decide if it hurts or if you’re just overthinking it

either way, you stop checking his texts, stop wondering what he’s doing in his apartment

you try your best to pretend it’s okay

but deep down, you miss the stupid moments

the ones where he wasn’t so distant where it feels like something ended between you two before it could even start.

it feels like it’s been over a decade

and you hate it.

but you push it aside

it’s just… the silence is way too loud now.

you’re sitting in your room, trying to convince yourself that letting go of jungkook is the right thing to do

and perhaps ur failing miserably lol

but it’s hard because every five minutes you catch yourself staring at something that reminds you of him

your notes? he doodled on them during lectures

your hoodie? yeah, it’s his. he lent it to you one day and never asked for it back

your heart? yeah. he kind of stole that too

you’re spiraling between sleep and insanity when there’s a knock on your door

no, wait—it’s not a knock

it’s banging — like someone’s fist is about to break through the wood

WHO CALLED THE COPS ON YOU ONG

you jump up, your heart pounding, and open the door

and there he is

jungkook—standing there, looking like he just ran a marathon and fought a bear at the same time

hair all messy, slight bags underneath his eyes and kinda disheveled outfit

for a split second, you freeze, your breath catching in your throat

it’s been weeks since you’ve seen him, and suddenly having him standing in front of you is making your heart race like crazy

“i can’t—” he stops, breathless, hands on his knees like he’s about to collapse

you’re standing there, eyes wide, totally taken aback by the sight of him, feeling a mix of relief and something else you can’t quite place

yet

“i can’t take it anymore,” he says, looking up at you with that ridiculous face of his

you grab that meaty bicep of him, ushering him to stand up

“what are you talking about?” you ask, completely confused

“you. i’m talking about you,” he says, taking a step closer

hUH

the air around you feels like it’s being sucked out of the room

your head is spinning because after all this time, here he is, right in front of you

“i like you. i’ve always liked you. and i didn’t know how to tell you, so i…”

“i got all this gym equipment just to bother you. i’d turn the music up way too loud, and i thought that’d make you notice me. i sat next to you at lunch, even in lectures, doing everything to annoy you because i didn’t know how else to approach you, i really thought—”

“jungkook.”

you blink, processing everything in a blur, your heart still hammering in your chest

but he doesn’t quite listen to you. “i knew you liked my sketches we had during cardio lectures, so i always made sure to draw—”

“juNGKOOK!”

you cut him off, smacking his idiotic shoulders “you’re an idiot.”

jungkook stops, eyes widening a little, but there’s this look of relief on his face

like a huge weight has just been lifted off him

almost like when u get to pee after holding it in for hours

“i know,” he says softly, and for the first time, you realize how vulnerable he looks standing there

he somehow looks

small.

“then why didn’t you just talk to me like a normal person?” you ask, your voice a mix of exasperation and amusement

jungkook smiles sheepishly, his pearly whites flashing. “i guess i thought this would be easier.”

easier.

only if he knew that each moment without him felt like the earth opening up and swallowing you

AND!!! HIS FAVOURITE ONION VINEGAR FLAVORED CHIPS!! which used to be your absolutely hated flavour but somehow you’ve caught a liking to them recently

how ironic

the room feels heavy with tension as you both stand there, unsure of what to say next, but his gaze is so intense, it makes your heart skip

“say something,” he says, his voice quieter now, almost pleading. “please.”

you can feel the heat rising in your cheeks, still flustered, but there’s something about his earnestness that makes everything else fade into the background

and the way his caramel brown eyes nearly sparkle underneath your dimly lit apartment lights

you shake your head with a smile.

“you’re an idiot.”

but you're smiling like a total fool because what else are you supposed to do when the guy you’ve been in love with just confessed to you?

jungkook’s face softens, and then he smiles too

a smile which looks so adorable you feel your heart will burst

and it’s over for you

“so, uh…” he scratches the back of his neck, looking bashful. “does that mean you like me too?”

you roll your eyes, your heart racing all over again, and grab the front of his shirt to pull him inside

“kiss me already”

the door slams shut behind you.

and the rest

as they say, is history

:-)

a/n : i love them bad :’(

mlist | let me know what you think anonymously :))

564 notes · View notes

notexactlyei · 1 year ago

Text

cloud strife dating hcs — ★

contains both sfw and nsfw!!

mdni with nsfw parts.

contains: intentional lowercase, awkward cloud, cute cloud, dom cloud, fluff, smut, gn/fem bodied reader, gn pronouns!

sfw

- at first I feel like cloud would be a bit awkward

- he would definitely be a bit mad at himself because he's supposed to be this tough dude..

- but then you come in and BAM you're just so??? cute??? and he doesn't know how to react to cuteness so he just stands there like 🧍‍♀️ while cussing himself out in his head and being like "not cute shut up annoying annoying"

- and then you'd be all nice to him, just a genuinely kind person and he wouldn't be able to hate you

- he would just suppress his feelings like he always does but you would make it very difficult to him

- if you two were really close then he would maybe flirt a little bit considering the tifa drink scene but just a BIT

- he definitely wouldn't confess first, mans would be too scared and confused. he would think you hate him. So you would have to take the first move.

- when you do confess though, he would just.. be there.

- just stand there. shut down. aaaand... wait, is that a blush you see?!

- you would have to snap your fingers at him to actually get him to react

- "oh- uh, yeah.. I guess.. I like you too."

- he would be very doubtful and afraid that maybe you didn't actually like him, def would overthink the whole situation a lot.

- when you start dating.. he is still a bit awkward. needs some time to warm up.

- but as soon as he does, he is quite affectionate in a cloud-y way

- would scoff and roll his eyes a lot at you but that smile that he just can't get rid of when you "annoy" him tells you everything you need to know

- would love holding you and teasing you about things

- witty

- would absolutely adore it if you played with his hair

- he would just lay down on top of you, his head on your chest.. and as soon as you'd start playing with his hair, he'd make these cute little contented noises, almost catlike

- secretly plays mario kart

- no one can know this. idk why. it's cloud, okay? don't ask why playing mario kart is such a forbidden thing for him.

- one day u catch him and he just freezes.

- "hellooo earth to cloud????"

- *cloud.exe has stopped working*

- then u just take the controller in ur hands so that u could play too

- cue the most aggressive mario kart game ever

- he is SO good but at the same time he sucks ass idk how he does it. one time he's beating you by one lap next he's driving into every obstacle on the map

- ahem

- anyway

- back to fluffy cloud

- would watch you while you cook

- makes up excuses to do that

- "i need to make sure you don't burn the house down" BITCH YOU'RE THE ONE THAT TRIGGERED THE SMOKE DETECTOR LAST TIME

- again, he loves to hold you. he's usually the big spoon but sometimes he also wants to be the little spoon yk?

- poor baby's been through a lot and just needs some comfort :(

- shh there there, just pet his hair and hold him

- he might cry. it's very VERY rare but if you manage to make him feel extremely safe with you then he might cry

- give him love

- now

- NOW

- anyways

- now that I've made you all "awww that's so cute and sad"

- let's move on to smut

- nice topic contrast huh? ik ik

(ok minors now it's ur time to leave! byebyeeee <3)

NSFW

- ass guy!

- would walk behind you a lot just to get a nice view

- when you ask him about it he's like

- "i just need to make sure you're alright. what about it?"

- his fav position would probably be from the back

- would grab your throat (gently, not choking you.. unless you asked for it) or hips in that position

- considering the hand massage parlor scene, the noises he made.. I think a lot of them were suppressed too, so I think he would be pretty vocal if you dommed him

- but here's the thing

- he won't let you

- he is your dom

- first couple sessions he's really gentle

- but oh boy after that

- this boy is rough!!!

- would want you to sit on his lap a lot, which would usually lead to other things ;)

- "sit on my lap"

- "but-"

- "sit. now."

- yessir thank you sir

- would prefer receiving over giving, but he would still love giving.. he'd just love the sight of you choking and gagging on him so so beautiful <3

- when he'd give you oral he'd go ham

- he wouldn't really care if you tried to squirm away, he would just grab your hips to keep you in place

- "stay still"

- loves your cute little sounds

- when you're just bouncing on top of him but suddenly you stop cause you just can't take it anymore, he grabs your hips and just moves you up and down

- if you were being a sassy brat or made him jealous then oh god prepare yourself

- bro will NOT go easy on you

- will not use toys - he would show you how good he is without them

- loves when you wear his clothes

- can be sweet and passionate at times

- when he finally lets you dom him (which takes a lot of convincing)

- his whines and whimpers are just so heavenly. like OH MY GOD.

- secretly enjoys being overstimulated

a/n: I might update/edit this :)

#ff7 smut #ff7 x reader #cloud lemon #cloud strife smut #cloud x reader #cloud strife #cloud smut #cloud ff7 #cloud

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ew-selfish-art · 1 year ago

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Dp x Dc AU: Bruce has a 'if you can't beat them, join them' mentality about the tabloids claiming he adopts too many kids- Developing foster homes that are paid for through the Wayne inheritance, personally vetted by the Bats, they're the leaders in the space for child health outcomes and family placement. Insert Danny.

---

Bruce has too much wealth, too many rumors and not enough reach into the abhorrent foster homes around Gotham to improve them. Tim ends up being the one to suggest it- He's the one who buys up their real estate for their safe houses after all- and Bruce is more than ready to pull the metaphorical trigger to get new clean welcoming spaces, Bat-background checked fosters and a new era of adoption in Gotham underway.

He's lobbied the state and the federal government for reforms of course, but this is a project he can micromanage. He spends time with every kid that comes through, talks with all the families that want to adopt and makes sure that these miniature homes are provided only the very best. Alfred personally hires all the staff, and with Barbara more than happy to help relocate the unhoused children she spots while they patrol, the project is a glowing success.

Occasionally, spots in their houses fill up, and those are the weeks were Cass takes on the Cowl of Batman- Bruce Wayne will personally invite a child in need to his home. He always has one of his kids present (they rotate on a pre-determined schedule) and he does his best to try and get them to understand that they deserve the world, have all the potential that anyone else has and can achieve a bright future. That he will personally aid them in their ambitions.

PR goes crazy for it of course, but Bruce and all of his children know its genuine. Almost too genuine, because a betting pool 'WILL THEY BE ADOPTED' regularly circulates between the siblings and the entire JL when someone spends time at the manor. And not just the black-haired, Blue-eyed kids get picked as favored outcomes- but obviously the running joke gets passed around.

It's a Thursday night when Bruce gets the call that the houses have once again filled up, and that there is a child in need of a home. The social worker (he knows her as Marsha and he has flowers planned to be sent on her birthday next week, like he does for all of his employees) (Say micromanaged one more time) explains that the kid is a bit cagey but has opened up with some humor. She explains that he has a few strange... mannerisms. She's not sure what to make of him, a non-gothamite for sure but something is, well, distinctly 'not from around here' about his energy.

Danny arrives at the house, meets Duke and Alfred, and by the time Bruce meets him at the dinner table it seems as though Marsha had it all wrong. This kid was laughing, he was teasing, he was totally playing along like he'd gone through nothing. Bruce is glad he's in high spirits but its just so... so different from all the other children he's taken in.

Bruce re-focuses on the conversation when Duke mentions something flashing, and its the first time that Danny goes quiet. Entirely still.

"...you noticed that?" Danny quietly asks, a bit of disbelief in his tone.

"You don't have a flashlight on or something do you? It was super bright whatever it is that you had in your hand a second ago?" Duke tries to sound chill but he's looking very much not chill. Bruce saw nothing, and that puts him further on edge.

"Look... I uh, I've been though... I've been through a lot lately. And the last lab I was in kind of, messed with me. I'm normally much better at dealing with it all, I promise." Danny sounds nervous, and the room seems to chill.

"Ah shoot, sorry." Danny notices something and frantically apologizes.

"Sorry for what Danny? You've done nothing wrong but I am worried about you- You said you were in a lab?" Bruce is desperately trying to calm him down while not slipping into Batman interrogation mode.

"Uh, yeah, like a lot of labs. It should get warmer in a second, its just cause I startled, I promise."

"You're a meta." Duke speaks softly and with hope in his voice- Danny is looking between them with wide eyes filled with fear.

"I mean I don't technically have the gene-"

"Danny, have you told any of your case workers where you were? Do any authorities know what you've been through?" Bruce needs to know, desperately, that who ever gave this young boy super powers is brought to justice. Danny goes quiet.

"I'm really sorry." He says softly, but he doesn't leave them.

Duke and Bruce try to ask a few more questions but the silence that meets them declares the conversation over, even with Duke admitting he himself is a meta. Danny didn't even look up from his plate. They watch a movie after dinner, and Danny seems to get back to the smile-y happy guy he had been before dinner.

Each of the bat-fam have their own interactions with Danny- And even if they're getting along amazingly, Danny won't open up. He doesn't open up to his provided therapist. Doesn't talk to Alfred. No one knows what's up.

So when Marsha calls Bruce back explaining they now have a spot for Danny and he can move out of the Manor... Bruce replies that he'd like to get started on Adoption paperwork, so long as Danny is fine with it.

---

Turns out, Danny is fine with it. he's both the newest Wayne and their newest case. (And godamnit, his new family is going to avenge him. If only he'd let them try.)

Danny figures out that Duke= Signal early on because of that dinner, and if he's going to keep his parents out of jail, he needs to be as close to the investigation as possible. He knows that he shouldn't protect the Fentons, but he feels the upset in his core at the thought of letting them befall any harm. He has to protect them. Has to protect Jazz and her hiding spot as a mole within their lab. Has to.

Even if it meant lying to his new family who loves him, and who he loves in equal return. Even if it means lying to The Bats.

---

Tabloids go crazy about the black-haired blue-eyed thing of course, but no poll was ever taken by the batfam or the JL who know the whole story.

#Danny has his powers destabilized by the various lab experiments but he's slowly getting control back #Duke notices Danny phasing his hands through the table/silverware by accident- it just looks like slight of hand tho #Danny figures out the bats and the best he can do is get adopted #friends close and enemies (lol not really) closer #dp x dc #dcxdp #dpxdc #dc x dp #danny phantom #dc crossover #dp crossover #long post #dc x dp fic #please i beg of you- write the other siblings interactions #someone tell me why I left Jazz to sabotage their parents and what to do with her next #jazz looking at danny who now has every possible resource to save them and not using it like- my guy #danny's core working against him like stockholm syndrome basically #like his protected them for this long so now he feels compulsion #danny gets adopted au #bruce adopts danny au

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 1 month ago

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Sum of All 13

Warnings: non/dubcon, mentions of crime, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Character: mob!Steve Rogers

Part of the mob drabbles au

Summary: you are given an unexpected assignment.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️

You’re tired. Despite your blips into the void, you’re less than rested. You sit back from the table and leave the pencil in the crease of the ledger. You stretch your fingers and yawn. You let your eyes closer and your head wobbles.

“Sleepy?” Rogers intones.

You lurch in the chair and glance at him. You don’t remember him returning. He went off to ‘chat with Thor’ but you must’ve been too swept up in the numbers to notice. You nod and fix your posture.

“A little,” you confess.

“It’s late,” he stretches his arms as he speaks then rolls his shoulders. “Should probably tuck in soon. You got a lot of work tomorrow. Me too.”

“Mm, right,” you hum flatly.

You’re trapped in the tenuous stalemate. Since his confrontation, you’ve been reticent. That’s safest. You still can’t figure out what you did to rile him but you hardly want to do it again. A man like Rogers is not the type you want to goad. If it were up to you, you wouldn’t even be here. Again, that’s just another reminder of his power. You’re here because he says you need to be.

“I bought you stuff to sleep in,” he goes around the bed and grabs his own bag, flopping it up on the mattress.

“Oh, thanks, uh,” you slowly close the ledger and stare at the bed.

Your eyes drift over to the chaise. It’s wide enough for you. It even looks comfy. You get up and approach it, peering into the top of the shopping bags. That looks like pajamas?

He grunts and draws your attentions again. As he unbuttons his shirt, your eyes widen and your heart spark. Oops! You grab a bag and flee for the bathroom behind him. He doesn’t flinch as you pass by.

You shut the door and drop the bag. This is going to be so weird. And you thought the hotel room was bad. Him in the bed in just his towel and then you falling out of the shower. It’s a deranged slapstick but you’re the main joke.

You push open the mouth of the bag and pull out the silk top. The dusty rose fabric is trimmed with black lace. You blink dumbly as you examine the thin straps and fish out the matching bottoms. Okay, are these supposed to be pajamas?

You search the rest of the bag. It’s much of the same but in various colours. You’re better off sleeping in what you have on. Still, you are entirely unprepared another argument. Just the memory of his chasing you around that room has you jittery.

You change, reluctantly. How are you supposed to stay warm? You hate being cold. Especially when you’re trying to sleep. You swear, he’s torturing you. For you, he reserved his more sinister practice, you almost envy the man he stomped on the street. At least that was quick.

You crack open the door and peek out. Rogers lays in bed, one arm bent behind his head, his other hand on his phone as he holds it over his muscled torso. He has no shame as he reclines with his upper half entirely bare. You suppose he has no reason to be embarrassed but you very much do.

You steel yourself and emerge. You tear your eyes from him and don’t look back. You circle around the bed with one focus in mind. You snatch the pillow from the other side but find it caught on something. Rogers clears your throat and you look up as he stares back. He clings to the corner of the pillow.

“Whatcha doin’?” He asks coyly.

You gulp, “oh, I was gonna make up the chaise--”

“Why?” He prompts.

“Well, er, I thought--”

“Bed’s big enough,” he shrugs and yanks, putting the pillow back down. “Unless you think I smell or something.”

“Oh, no sir, no,” you argue and fold your hands in front of you. The silk brushes your chest and you’re overly aware of how your nipples poke into the cool fabric. “Um...you didn’t happen to grab any sets with pants? My legs are cold.”

“I dunno. The lady picked it all,” he swipes up his phone again. “Looks like it fits. If you’re cold, get under the blankets.”

“Right, that’s... smart,” you agree and climb onto the bed. You do just as he says and hide under the blankets. You put your back to him and nestle in. Your body relaxes into the cushy mattress and you yawn again. It’s no big deal. You’re just going to sleep.

Your head swirls with exhaustion. It doesn’t take much more than a few deep breaths to doze off. You’re grateful for the quick relief. Your body and mind is so addled that the blank void is much preferable.

You wake to darkness. The kind that blurs like static in your vision. There’s a steady rhythm at your back. Rogers snores lowly between deep breaths. His warmth radiates beneath the blankets and clouds around your legs.

You peek back at his fuzzy figure. It’s the only time you’ve ever seen him anything less than terrifying, even though you can’t really see him. You move carefully and slide out from under the covers. You tiptoe around to the bathroom and ease the door into the frame.

You quickly relieve yourself and wash your hands. As you come back out, the snoring continues, assuring you of your successful mission. You climb back into bed and once more roll onto your side. As you pull the blankets up, there’s a dip in the tempo.

Rogers’ snores fade and catch in his throat. The bed jostles with his movement as he grumbles. You squeak as his arm snakes over you and his heat blazes around your body. He tucks his hand under your waist and nuzzles your hair, puffing hotly into your scalp.

His arm is like a vice. You can’t dislodge it as you wriggle helplessly. His snores rise again to assure you of oblivion. You clasp onto his wrist but you’re much too weak to fight him. You knew that already but now you feel it completely.

As you writhe, you let out another high-pitched gasp. What’s that? The bulge flush to your rear has you paralysed as the realisation slowly sinks in. Oh. He’s only human after all, even if to you, he seems immortal.

You blanch and blink into the dark. The silk isn’t much of a barrier and his own pajama bottoms don’t offer much else. What do you do? You can’t let him wake up like this? You can’t let him know that you felt him.

Yet if you wake him up by wrench him off of you, that would give it all away. Well, you guess this is your life now. You’re stuck. Trapped with this enigmatic man and his unyielding demands. Even in his sleep, he’s managed to impose his will on you.

#steve rogers #dark steve rogers #dark!steve rogers #steve rogers x reader #series #drabble #au #mob au #sum of all #captain america #marvel #avengers #mcu

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therandompagesblog · 1 month ago

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SKZ Pack Chapter 8

Trigger Warnings: None

2 hours to go and Chan goes to work. 3 hours to go and Y/N will be left with Jeongin, Minho and Felix. Y/N was determined to decorate the living room with Felix. Felix had started slowly pulling the boxes out to hide in his room, while the wolves got ready to go out. Hyunjin was working on Chan's assets while Jisung and Changbin worked out at the gym. Seungmin was out getting more Christmas supplies, even though he threatened Chan would spank her for it because he hates it going up early, but did Y/N care? Nope. She was ready. As soon as Chan gave her one hell of a kiss goodbye, promising he was leaving for three hours, Y/N knew her plan was going to work as soon as Felix knocked on her door. "So we need to somehow get rid of Minho," Felix whispered. "I'll lock him in the kitchen. Do you have the keys to the doors? I'll barricade the alcove." Y/N said. Felix nodded and pulled out the keys while Y/N ran down the stairs. The first one Y/N had to lock was the back door, which Minho didn't notice. Once the second door was locked Minho turned around in confusion as to why Y/N locked the door, but he ignored it and went back to his cleaning until he heard the scrape of a table come past the alcove. "What are you doing little wolf," Minho asked causing Y/N to snort with laughter. She was almost dying on the spot at his confused look. "What's going on?" Minho asked again but Y/N ignored him and dragged the corner table over and placed it between the alcoves. "Locking you in." Y/N giggled.

Minho crossed his arms and stalked closer, watching her like she was his prey. Y/N giggled trying to get him to stay back while Felix dragged the tree into the living room. "Little wolf." Minho sang. "Nuh-uh. Stay right there. All day." Y/N giggled. "If I kiss you will you tell me?" Minho asked boldly. "If I give you lots of kisses and attention and. And. And. And. Help you in the kitchen you will not get mad." Y/N begged as she looked at the wolf. "Hmm." Minho hummed and brought her chin forward, ready to kiss her when he noticed two ball balls run out the door. "What is that?" Minho asked just as Y/N pulled him into a suffocating kiss as she slid her tongue into his mouth. Minho gasped and a hot feeling swelled in his stomach as he grabbed the wall. Y/N brought her hands up into his hair pulling his head back to deepen the kiss. When Minho suddenly pulled back his saffron eyes appeared. Y/N felt nervous when she saw his eyes. Did I do something wrong? "You're such a little distraction are you not omega? Now tell me what you are up to. Hmm." Minho asked slowly. "Putting the Christmas tree up," Y/N said nervously. "Alright. Let's do it. Felix doesn't know how to put it up." Minho stated, pushing the table away so he could get through, while Y/N nervously watched him. She wondered if he was going to tell Felix to stop. Felix jumped, almost knocking the tree down when he saw Minho. "Baby, why is Minho here?" Felix asked nervously. "He said he wanted to help," Y/N said innocently, while Minho gave them a grin.

Minho pushed Felix out of the way to put the tree up, because Minho liked it a certain way. It had to be simple but elegant. While he did the tree, Y/N and Felix decorated the living room with Christmas pillows. Even the fireplace was decorated in garlands with cute little ornaments. Seungmin joined later with bags of snacks and some weird-looking ornaments he got because he was apparently under pressure in the store. Minho scolded him for that and told him to put it somewhere else so Seungmin decorated the hallway. "Shall I cook some of the snacks," Y/N asked as she took the bag into the kitchen. "No. No. I can do it." Minho said as he put the ornaments in Felix's hands. "Ya. I can cook Min. Let me cook." Y/N assured as she pushed him lightly into the room. "Did you not like my cooking on your birthday?" Y/N jested. "Yes-" "So then go and decorate. I got this." Y/N gave him a quick kiss before heading into the kitchen. Y/N looked at the foods Seungmin bought and preheated the oven while she set up some savoury snacks in the kitchen.

Y/N smiled to herself in the kitchen, as she thought back to the first time she met them. She feared them if not hated them back then and now things had changed. She felt safe with them. She loved them. She loved all of them in different ways. She loved Chan's patience and caring nature. She loved Minho's silent attentive nature that isn't always recognised as it's hidden deep within his cold façade. She loved Changbin's sense of humour and playful nature when he didn't want to do something. She loved Hyunjin, and despite him still being a closed book she loved his determination to keep her free from isolation. She loved Jisung's neediness and paranoia to get things right. She loved Felix's naiveness but his hidden strength to protect when he needed to. She loved Seungmins aloofness but also his irrevocable sexual nature. She loved Jeongin's determination to be the best alpha, but most of all she loved his protectiveness. Love was a strange thing for Y/N and she didn't think she could ever love again, but one thing she learned was you can only love once. You can only love someone once in that way. Love forms in different shapes and sizes. There is no way you can love someone different in the same way. People are far too different and hold many flaws. Even Y/N was flawed. She was flawed in many ways but her scars and wounds had started to heal. She was in a new place with new people who loved her. She felt safe.

Y/N jumped when she felt someone wrap their arms around her waist, placing their chin on her shoulder. It was Minho. He didn't say anything at first, only embracing her as he watched her put the snacks in a bowl. "Why do you look sad but feel happy?" Minho asked. "I'm happy. I was only reminiscing and thinking about how things have changed. How I feel safe here. Loved." The last part was a whisper, but Minho heard it. "You are loved, Y/N more than you ever know. I'm glad you feel safe here. You deserve to feel happy." Minho said, his voice softer than usual. "The living room is done. Chan and Hyunjin are on their way but I diverted them as I've asked them to pick up sauce." Felix stated eagerly. "We don't need sauce," Minho stated as he moved to open the cupboard where a variety of different sauces lived. "He doesn't need to know that. I wanted to watch a film with Y/N before they get here, or at least part of it since Chan is going to shout at us." Felix stated. "He won't. I'll defend it." Minho stated as he pulled Y/N towards the nicely decorated living room.

The living room was cosy and the fireplace had been lit. The sofa was nicely decorated even though Seungmin had already sprawled himself out on it with a bowl of crispy peaches. "What?" Seungmin asked. Minho ignored him and smacked his legs off so he and Y/N could sit down. It was quite awkward for Minho as this was the first time he was being openly affectionate. He allowed Y/N to sit in between his legs, cuddled up to him, while his other leg hit the floor. Felix sat next to Y/N as he flicked through Netflix to find a reasonable film while Y/N placed her legs on him, leaving a sulky puppy bunched up in the corner alone. Minho during the film would occasionally stroke Y/N's hair or rub circles on her hand, making it difficult for Y/N to concentrate on the film. Y/N was feeling a warm little bubble spread in the bottom of her stomach as she looked at the three wolves who were close to her. Even Seungmin had his hand resting on her foot so she knew he was there. "Why is there Christmas shit up," Chan called out. "Ask Minho." Seungmin and Y/N called out. "The living room looks nice. I can tell Minho did the tree." Hyunjin said as he poked his head around the wall to see the living room done up. "You did the living room! What did i-" "Ya," Minho shouted. "It's Y/N's first Christmas with us. She's allowed to celebrate early this year and we're going to make it the best Christmas. So take your grumpy self elsewhere." "Hyung calm down," Seungmin stated as he picked up half the food he dropped down himself from Minho's shouts.

Chan sighed but seeing his sweet omega's face looking disappointed at his actions made him feel guilty. It wasn't that Chan hated Christmas, it was that he didn't understand why they had to decorate two weeks before December. It made no sense. "I think it looks nice, but these blankets are awful." Hyunjin frowned in disgust. "You buy them then," Seungmin answered back. "I will. I'll take Y/N shopping soon." Hyunjin glared as he took one of the snacks off the table. "Hyunjin's right. It does look nice. I'm sorry baby." Chan apologised. He could see Minho's reasoning behind wanting to decorate early and he was right, she deserved it. She deserved better memories. "But no more decorating, please baby," Chan begged. "We're doing the kitchen tomorrow," Y/N answered and Felix grinned, causing the alpha to shake his head as he sat on the stool pressing play on the film they were watching.

Taglist for the iconic readers:

@galaxy4489 @reallychaoticwoo @leezanetheofficial @mbioooo0000 @jisungs-iced-americano @maybeimmia @hwangrfrnd@wolfo2027 @kayleefriedchicken @leamueller920 @borahae-reads @jennibahng @cookiesandcreammy @jutdwae-flower @danceonmyheyday @jc003 @hpnsfwaddict @linocz @maggicotton @jellymochii @itzreetal987 @jennibahng @vampkittenb82 @catlove83 @thatgirlangelb @pixie0627 @hyunmikim @skzdreamer13 @liv1sworld @upsidedownchaire @jutdwae-flower @danceonmyheyday @tsunderelintz @notevenheretbh1 @catlove83 @h0rnyp0t @hash2013 @emi-han @iknow-uknow-leeknow @jigglypuff3000 @aalexyuuuhm @missseoulite @ihrtlix @estella-novella @xxeiraxx @fr34k4c1dr41n

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teddy06writes · 3 days ago

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Take Care of You

Fiyero Tigelaar x gn!reader

Prompt(s): "I’ve been taking care of myself for a long time. I don’t need your help, and I definitely don’t need your pity. Fuck off.” / "You don’t have to go through this alone. I’m right here for you if you’ll just let me in.”

Trigger Warnings: Swearing, general descriptions of sickness, stress, something in readers background makes them not want to depend on people, out of character fiyero? (idk man I've only seen the movie and read a lot of gilyeraba fics}

Summary: You and Fiyero have been going out for a few weeks, but you're still hesitant to let yourself get too near him. When you come down with the mysterious illness that's been working its way through Shiz, Fiyero's determined to nurse you through it, despite your reservations.

The harder you tried to focus on the words before you, the more your head swam. The library was quiet, and the lights were dim, so there shouldn't have been any chances of your headache getting worse. Yet pain still thundered at your temples.

Of course, after dodging this sickness for weeks, you caught it just in time for Dr. Dillamond to assign a very important project. It was just your luck.

You dropped your pen to the side, letting your head drop down onto your arms, heaving in a deep breath. No matter what you took or how much you tried to shake it, you could lose the bone tiredness that had been plaguing you for days now.

"You alright, darling? How long have you been holed up in here for?"

You nearly jumped out of your skin at the sound of Fiyero's voice, dragging your head up so quickly you swore you saw spots, "Uh-"

"Woah, hey," He quickly sat down in the chair next to you, reaching out like he needed to steady you, "What's going on?"

You blinked, trying to clear your vision, "Sorry- sorry, I'm just- tired."

"No need to apologize, darling. Are you sure you're alright?"

Clearing your throat, you nodded, "Yeah, I'm fine. Just have a bit of a headache."

Fiyero frowned, glancing at the textbook in front of you, "Well how long have you been working? Maybe it's time for a break."

"Only an hour. I'm fine."

He watched you with concern as you turned back to your work. You could practically feel him watching you, surely taking stock of the dark bags under your eyes, the unusual paleness of your skin, the way you suddenly couldn't seem to warm up.

"Have you taken medicine-"

"Yes. I do know how to take care of myself, Fiyero." There's a sharpness to your voice even you don't expect.

Even out of the corner of your eye you can see him frown, "I know that, darling, I know. You just don't look too good."

You let out a sigh, starting turn toward him again, "Fiyero-"

Before you could stop him, he was reaching out to press the back of his hand to your forehead, his frown deepening, "Darling, your burning up, what on earth are you doing studying?"

"The new assignment from Dr. Dillamond-"

"Isn't due for a week and a half! I mean honestly- Darling you should be resting-"

You stood up abruptly, even as it made stars dance in your vision, "I've been taking care of myself for a long time. I don't need your help, and I certainly don't need your pity, so please, fuck off."

Fiyero had stood and managed to catch your wrist before you could even make it three steps away, pulling you to turn back to him with a strange, desperate look on his face, "Who said this was pity?"

"Fiyero--"

"Who said this was pity?" He repeated, letting go of your wrist only to cup your cheek, his voice dropping, "I happen to genuinely care about your wellbeing, because believe it or not, I care about you, darling."

You closed your eyes for a long moment, trying desperately to turn away, "Fiyero..."

"You don't have to go through this, or anything else alone. Not anymore, not while I'm here," His hand drifted back to the back of your neck, gently turning your face back to him, "I'm right here if you'll just let me in."

Just like that, something in you seemed to break, and you were suddenly trying to blink away tears.

"Oh- Darling-"

"I'm sorry- I'm sorry-"

Fiyero began gently wiping away he few tears that had escaped and were trailing down your cheeks, "Hey, hey, don't apologize..."

"I'm just so tired- I can't shake this no matter what I do."

"Well, forcing yourself to be out and about certainly isn't helping," Fiyero turned, beginning to gather up your books and tuck everything away into your bag, "Come on, let's get you back to your dorm so you can get some rest."

When he took your hand, you didn't fight it, instead allowing yourself to be led along, out of the library. Outside, the cool air only seemed to worsen your chill, and Fiyero was quick to shrug off his jacket, tucking it around your shoulders.

The walk back to the dorms felt twice as long as your original journey to the library had taken, but eventually, you'd made it. Fiyero had coaxed you to lie down, and after all but forcing you to take another dose of medicine, tucked you into bed as if it were his life's mission.

You managed to catch hold of his hand as he turned to leave, whispering hoarsely, "Thank you, 'yero."

"Of course, darling," He smiled softly, leaning in to press a quick kiss to your forehead, "I'll come by and check on you in the morning, yeah?"

But the only response he got was the sound of your soft snores. Chuckling to himself, Fiyero pressed another kiss to your forehead, before backing out of your room.

~~~

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strawbeerossi · 1 year ago

Text

A Helping Hand

Pairing: Gender Neutral!Reader x Spencer Reid

Description: You have an issue with staring at your professors hands.

Content/Warnings: Course language, Reader has some perverted thoughts, hand kink, finger sucking, sexual tension, fade to black sex.

Word Count: 0.9K

Kinktober Day Sixteen: Quirofilia

Navigation || Kinktober Masterlist || AO3

Spencer Reid had sexy hands. That was a given. The prominent veins in his hands made you drool, wanting nothing more than to suck on his fingers or have that same hand wrapped tight around your throat.

It was easy to discreetly stare, mainly telling your professor you tended to zone out quite a lot. It wasn;t exactly a lie, yet you didn’t describe the fantasies of having him shove two fingers in your mouth to keep you quiet while brutally assaulting your sex in his office after class. The vivid thoughts of feeling those large hands gripping your hips or bringing it to cover your mouth had you in a spiral.

You didn’t ever expect to feel these feelings towards a man who was old enough to be your father, however you weren’t going to complain. He was an attractive man and he knew that, carrying himself with a form of confidence that didn’t make him arrogant but made him self aware as to why so many people audited his class over the thousands of others that were probably more aligned with their interests.

You liked how patient he was, even despite his time in prison. He always had a smile on his face when discussing lesson plans, talking with his hands and it was truly the cutest thing you’d seen. He always enjoyed when he was rambling during his lectures, dumping every ounce of information on the subject with everyone else.

Today was no different, Dr. Reid going into the intricacies of triggers in budding unsubs as well as what could be a trigger and what wouldn’t be. It was admittedly a boring lesson but thankfully, he was excited about the topic to ramble for the full hour of the lecture.

You’d been ‘zoning out’ the whole lesson, practically drooling over the sight of his hands as he did many gestures for his talking points. You could only imagine the trigger it would take to have those hands gripping your body, pulling you flush against him in the front of the empty classroom while he wandered your body with care, wanting to feel every dip and curve.

You were staying after class today, mainly to discuss a research paper that he’d given at the beginning of the week. As soon as the class was being wrapped up and you got the opportunity to catch your sexy professor alone, you jumped to it. “Dr. Reid,”

Most of the girls in the class looked at you with annoyance, having similar ideas to you in order to have a fraction of the man’s attention.

“I was wondering if I could discuss my paper with you, I’m struggling to differentiate between triggers and stressors.” You didn’t really have trouble with it but he didn’t have to know that. With his million dollar smile, Spencer was gesturing for the page in your hand, which was essentially just a layout. “I can help you with that, you know, I figured you would have no trouble with the assignment. You know you are one of my best students.” He spoke as he was letting his eyes glance over the handwritten notes you’d had.

His eyebrow raised, looking back up at you. “You’re confused? These notes are perfect and you have a clear layout for your paper. Why would you pretend like you had no idea what you were doing?”

Fuck. You handed him the wrong paper, it was supposed to be the one filled with mixed information.

“O-oh, I..” You paused while looking over in his direction while your cheeks were heating up from embarrassment. Spencer seemed to catch on though, chuckling. “You know you could’ve just asked to speak to me. I would’ve accepted it. Now, why are you really here?”

“I, uh, well I wanted to just talk to you about the assignment.” You let your shoulders sink.

“You are a horrible liar. Let’s not forget that I am a profiler. Seriously, is everything okay?” The paper in his hand was being handed back to you, a soft squeak leaving your lips as his hand brushed against yours. “It’s nothing! I should go!” You panicked, ready to run out of the lecture hall before Spencer was grounding you by wrapping his hand around your wrist. “I notice the way you stare at me. Was this just an excuse to talk to me?” Instead of seeming uncomfortable, he looked intrigued. “Come here. Please.” He spoke while letting go of you.

Now you could run, however his voice was luring you closer, now standing on the other side of his desk. Your gaze trailed to his hands briefly, making your professor lift his hands up, almost as if he was giving you a better look at the large, veiny hands. “Quirofilia, or the attraction to hands, is actually fairly common in terms of attraction.” He caught you. Fuck.

“I-is it?” You asked, the male nodding as he offered a smile and brought his hand up to cup your cheek. “Very. Some people like being scratched, others like being caressed, sucking fingers is also another very popular method.” He listed off his facts, his thumb running alongside your jaw. This wasn’t real, was it? No, it couldn’t be. It sure as hell felt real, especially when the pad of his thumb was swiping over your lower lip.

You didn’t see a point in denying such an open invitation, your lips closing around his thumb once you’d taken it into your mouth. “You’re a finger sucker.” Spencer concluded, chuckling as your cheeks hollowed as you sucked and swirled your tongue around his thumb. “And a very eager one at that. Come here.” He murmured, now pushing the things on his desk out of his way, gesturing for you to perch your body on the desk as he was moving to run his hands over your clothed thighs.

“Let’s explore this kink together, shall we?”

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kngrose · 26 days ago

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hiii can u pls make yandere jinx reacting to somebody trying 2 ask out the reader

(feel free 2 ignore!!💗💗)

𝐘𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐄 𝐉𝐈𝐍𝐗

when someone asks out her partner

WARNINGS: implied mental illness, violence, implied murder, coercion, manipulation. be safe, heed warnings!

from roselí. ᡣ𐭩 : i tried to make this as realistic and in character as i possibly could. i rlly wish people would study characters more often </3

It’s not like you were going to say yes, Jinx just never lets you get the chance to handle these situations on your own. She’s so impulsive; a loose canon just ready to shoot at the smallest spark.

Bless the poor thing, pretty little painter you usually catch making murals on buildings and alleys— you could tell they’d spent a lot of time working up the courage to ask. There’s a telling flush on their cheeks that spreads to their ears, their shuffling nervously on their feet— they can’t seem to keep their lip from under their teeth. They’re actually cute.

But you weren’t going to say yes.

Jinx had been leaning lazily against a crumbling wall when it all took place, her bright pink eyes tracking you and the stranger near a rusty vending machine. She twirled her zap-gun idly, the manic energy simmering just beneath the surface of her carefree façade.

Her ears pricked at the stranger’s words.

“So, uh, I was wondering if you’d like to grab a drink sometime? Just you and me.”

Her heart skipped. Then it dropped. The world tilted, her vision blurring for a moment before splitting into two: one part cold fury, one part trembling vulnerability. A clawing void of rejection surged in her chest.

They want to take her from you.

Her hands stopped their idle twirl, gripping her weapon tightly. She was all jagged edges now, sauntering toward the scene with a growing, unhinged smile plastered across her face.

“Well, well, well! What do we have here? Little paint shop loser thinks they can steal my baby, huh?” she cooed dryly. The stranger held their hands up defensively, stammering, “N-no, I didn’t know she was—”

“LIAR!” Jinx’s voice cracked, her finger twitching on the trigger of the zapper. She wavered between hysterical rage and a crushing sense of inadequacy, her bipolar emotions splitting her perception into black and white. You are hers—all hers—and this person was a threat. The idea of losing you gripped her like a vice, her mind screaming.

She’ll leave you. She’ll leave because you’re not enough.

“You thought you could just waltz right up, and take her— right? She cackled dryly, “WRONG!” You could see the whirlwind of thought manifesting on her face— snarls turning into grins turning into scowls. You stepped forward, raising a hand to try and calm her. “Jinx, it’s not—”

“Quiet, cupcake,” she snapped, her voice suddenly sharp. But the moment she looked at you, her tone softened into something sickeningly sweet. “I’ll take care of this, okay? You just stand there looking all cute and perfect for me.”

The poor thing tried to back away, mumbling apologies, but Jinx was already there, her speed unnervingly quick. She was inches from their face now, her gun’s barrel resting lightly against their chest. “You know,” she whispered, her voice dangerously low and leveled, “I don’t like sharing. In fact, I hate it.” She trailed the gun upwards, letting it rise under their chin. “Of all the canvases you chose mine…” She meets their gaze with a stone cold glare, “Wanna paint the walls with your insides? Hmm?”

“Jinx!” You blurt frantically— she’s taking this way too far. “it’s fine! You don’t have to do this— I wasn’t even going to say yes—”

"No, it's NOT fine!" Jinx snapped, her voice cracking as she turned toward her you, her expression twisting in anguish. Her manic energy flipped into desperation in an instant. "Why would you even talk to someone like them?! Am I not enough? You're not— you're not gonna leave me, right? RIGHT?!" Her breathing grew ragged, and tears pricked the corners of her eyes. The admirer took a nervous step back, clearly reconsidering every life decision that had led to this moment.

“No— you’re enough. I’m not going anywhere,” you assured her softly, taking small measured steps towards her. Jinx’s wild gaze flickered to you, the raw emotion on her face breaking through the chaos. Tears welled in her eyes, but the anger didn’t leave, not fully. Her breathing was ragged as her your steady voice seemingly pulled her back from the brink.

Abruptly, she embraced you, making you flinch. She buried her face into you shoulder, her voice muffled, “I don’t want to lose you,” she whispered, raw and vulnerable. You took the opportunity to motion to the painter still standing still in fear. ‘Leave’, you mouthed frantically, still trying to pacify Jinx by rubbing her back softly.

“You won’t, Jinx. I love you.”

Jinx's head whipped rapidly up toward you, leveling your eyes. Her expression was… darkening. She was splitting again, now so suddenly, her emotions cycling too fast for anyone to keep up. “You mean that?” She asked, raising a sharp brow. She traced your face meticulously.

“What? Of course I mean that.” You stare at her bewilderingly, eyebrows furrowing. You could only watch as she processed something internally, but you could never guess what goes on in her sick mind. “Good.” She smiled, a sweet smile. She grabbed your hand gently, placing her gun into your palm, “Shoot them.”

“W-what—! Jinx— you can’t be serious?” Your mind swirled, you were so taken aback by her statement you physically reeled your head, the gun slipping in your palm. Her hand moved to your shoulder, fingers digging into your skin with possessive force, her grip tightening as she leaned in, her lips brushing your neck. "Didn't you hear them? They want you, not me. I'm the one who's supposed to be with you," she hissed, a manic fury flickering in her wide, unblinking eyes.

The sound of your heart hammering in your chest was deafening. You wanted to argue, to protest, to deny this madness, but the words caught in your throat. The way she looked at you— possessive, desperate, almost like a starving animal ready to pounce-made it clear there was no room for dissent.

"You have to choose," Jinx cooed, a twisted smile playing at the edges of her lips. She gestured toward the figure standing helplessly in the distance, "Either you choose me... or you choose them." Her voice dropped lower, darker, her breath coming in ragged bursts. "But if you choose them... you know what will happen. Don't you?"

You tried to pull away, but her grip on you was ironclad. Her fingers tightened, forcing your arm to aim at the person who'd dared to look at you with affection. Jinx's hand hovered over yours, guiding the gun slowly, insistently, until the barrel was trained on their chest.

"You're going to make them sorry, right? You're going to show them who you really belong to." The gun felt like a lead weight, too heavy for your trembling hands. But Jinx's eyes were on you, her gaze cold and calculating, burning with obsession. She moved closer, her body almost pressed against yours now, her voice dropping into a low, seductive whisper. "Don't make me do it for you. I want to see you do it. I want you to prove your loyalty. You don't want to disappoint me, do you?"

"They're waiting for you. Waiting for you to make your choice. Show them how much you care about me, darling. Show them who's the real threat here."

You could feel her breath against your ear as she leaned in, her voice almost sweet now, laced with madness. "It's simple, really. One pull of the trigger— POW! And it's all over. You and me. Forever. No one else. Ever." She snarled noticing your hesitation, ever the big heart you had.

"You know I won't let them have you," she whispered, her voice laced with a mix of fear and obsession. “Jinx—” You murmur painfully, biting back scared tears, but she hushes you instantly. "You're mine, and I won't share you."

Her smile returned, but there was no joy in it. Only the chilling certainty of someone who had already made up their mind. "Do it. Or I will," she dared, her eyes narrowing as her grip on you tightened. The world narrowed down to that single moment— the gun in your hand, the silent figure before you, and Jinx, her eyes gleaming with a terrifying expectation. There was no escape, no way out.

Only the grim reality of her twisted love, a love that demanded everything-and if you didn't comply, it would take everything away. Her voice was the last thing you heard before you were forced to make the decision.

"Choose. Me or them."

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