#anyways. i had this idea and it feels rather cursed... like something is off...

[skeletinmoss]

The curse of the dark Phoenix

Chapter 17: Catching up

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Send some love to @lovelivingmydreams who's written this wonderful story!

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“Should we catch mister Remus up on what happened the past fifty years?” Patton wondered as they walked towards the nearest village.

Remus had reluctantly accepted a cloak from Virgil to hide his altered form from the villagers.

“Oh Virgin told me everything already. Gussy got a promotion. All it took was every other great mage and above to kick the bucket. Except the high mages probably aren’t actually dead. The great mages… I saw some of them before I got locked up. They looked very dead,” Remus stated casually. “We’d all be stuck where we were if you three didn’t want to play hero and go snoop in a missing mage’s tower. That’s gutsy I’ll give you that. And that’s where you found Virgin in a box!”

“Stop calling him that,” Roman insisted, feeling Virgil’s annoyance at that nickname.

Remus turned to him with a smirk. “When he gets some I’ll stop calling him that,” he promised.

That… Confused Roman. Virgil had boyfriends before. Many from the sound of it. He didn’t think Virgil would be inexperienced… Virgil seemed amused by that statement, so he probably wasn’t.

Not something Roman wanted to be thinking about too much actually.

“Didn’t…” Patton started, but Virgil interrupted him.

“Anyway. My love life aside. There is a chance that there are some allies around who will help us no questions asked. Thomas is king, I don’t worry about him. It’s the council I am not sure about and I’d rather have the gang complete and agree on our story to keep these three out of trouble on the off chance this whole thing goes belly up,” Virgil explained, indicating Roman and his friends.

Roman was about to interject, but Remus interrupted him.

“So we gotta nap,” he said, clearly annoyed by that part of the plan. “Eat, and then go find Janni without any clue where to find him?” he surmised.

“Well, we have some clue. We have an area within which we need to search. We can start from the center and then go from there. Which just so happens to be… Here,” Virgil announced as they came upon the village.

“Oooh, I remember this one!” Remus cackled. “Didn’t you have a cult here for a while?” he wondered.

“Not a cult. Just…” Virgil tried to correct.

“Dude they had tattoos. It was a cult,” Remus grinned.

Virgil sighed. “You stop one forest fire,” he muttered.

“How long is ‘a while’?” Logan wondered. Which was fair. A while for them might mean something entirely different to them than to the centuries old mages.

“A decade or two,” Virgil admitted.

“Dude, babies were born and raised on the idea that you were an actual god,” Remus chuckled.

“It was a very isolated town back then. Not many travelers going through, let alone mages. Few even knew it was there,” Virgil explained.

“And worrywart Virgin kept tabs on those wittle settlements like a good wittle high mage,” Remus teased.

“I wasn’t the only one,” Virgil pointed out. “You are more of an outlier than me in that regard.”

Remus shrugged. “Anyway, Virgie finally had enough of the worship every time he checked up on the wards and asked me for help setting things straight. I’m pretty sure they still thought we were something divine for a good while after that… I think that kid… Damian?” Remus mused.

Virgil nodded. “Once Damian was found to be gifted and he went to school, he managed to convince his family and neighbors that magic, while powerful, is not an indication of the divine,” he recalled. They made their way to one of the larger buildings. Not the inn though. “Ever since, I’ve been treated as a welcome guest,” Virgil mused.

“And I as a scary reminder to treat you as a person,” Remus grinned, elbowing his friend in the side.

Virgil chuckled and knocked on the door. “Here’s hoping for allies,” he mused.

Not much later, a woman in her early twenties opened the door.

Virgil relaxed. "Daughter of James, son of Adam?" he guessed, pulling his hood back just a bit.

The woman gasped. “You are here,” she breathed as she ushered them inside.

"Grandfather will be thrilled," she said in an excited tone as she led him onward to the living room where an elderly man in his seventies was seated along with a man in his late forties or early fifties. They both rose from their seats, the eldest a bit less fluently.

"Please, stay seated," Virgil bid, making the eldest gasp. "Virgil... it really is you," he whispered. Virgil pulled back his cloak, revealing his cursed appearance, the man seemed unphased.

"Hey, Adam. You look good," he smiled fondly.

"No need to lie," Adam chuckled, tears welling up in his eyes. "When we got the message... I didn't think I'd see you this soon. But I came here because I knew that if you did end up in the area, this was where you'd look for aid," he explained shakily. Virgil gently guided him back to his seat. "Well, I found Remus in the area, so I couldn't just pass you by. What message, though?" Virgil wondered. Adam pointed at the table. A messaging stone.

"The phoenix has risen," Adam said weightily. "That was the message," he said. Then he took in Roman and his friends. "Are we all allies of the high Mage?" he asked firmly.

"They are good, Adam. Man, you got serious while I was away. I remember you being much more fun," Virgil chided playfully.

Adam smiled fondly at him. "Well, what I am about to reveal could put my family and our allies at risk, so I have to be cautious,” he offered apologetically. “We are the guardians of the Phoenix secret. We shared information on your last years and those of other high mages that kept in contact with the common folk,” he explained. Then he leaned forward, looking Virgil in the eye. “There are wizards and mages the council has no knowledge about. No one knew what the ritual that would allow them to become great mages entailed exactly I'm afraid. And we didn't stumble upon it while we tried to educate free thinking magic wielders as we'd hoped. But still, you'll have plenty of students of varying ages eager for some more guidance. Many of them have lost a loved one to the plague and did not accept the official explanation for their passing. They eagerly await word from you," Adam explained.

Virgil chuckled. "I should have known you'd keep your trouble maker tendencies even after taking over as caretaker of the town," he mused.

"But it's good to know there will be mages around to help guide the official magic community." The cursed high mage decided. "I'll help them as soon as we know what happened to the other high mages. We already found the smoldering heart and the frozen tempest. I'm sure there will be more returning to help soon," he promised.

"How can we help?" The other man, James probably, wondered eagerly.

"We could use someplace to rest for an hour. Food. And information. Anything about where Janus silver tongue was last seen or anything about a basilisk in the area," Virgil summarized.

"We won’t need a big room," Remus assured them as he pulled a flustered Patton closer by the waist.

"I'll fit this one in my lap," he mused. To which Patton made a high pitched squeak.

"Don't make him uncomfortable Remus,” Virgil warned.

Remus let go of Patton. "Came Vigini!" He whined petulantly. Roman was at a complete loss as to what he just said. And then Virgil responded in kind.

Roman was pretty sure no one in the room knew what the heck they were saying.

Remus seemed to be on the defensive and Virgil seemed both skeptical and intrigued.

Roman felt a nudge. He looked beside him and saw that his friends were looking at him expectantly.

“What?” he whispered.

“What are they saying?” Logan asked, rolling his eyes as though that was obvious.

“I can’t read his mind. I need some more context and even then it’s an educated guest. Remus is trying to convince Virgil of something. Virgil is not impressed. That’s all I got,” he whispered back.

“Got on what?” Remus asked curiously. Roman glared at him, not willing to say anything if Virgil hadn’t.

“Oh, Roman and Virgil have a magic bond and they have this cool thing where they talk without talking now,” Patton summarized helpfully, glad that he wasn’t the topic anymore Roman assumed.

“Really?” Remus said intrigued.

“It was an accident,” Roman insisted. “When we found Virgil’s ashes I didn’t expect to be touching human remains, I panicked and tried a cleansing spell and then Virgil started to reform and my magic mixed with his and now here we are,” Roman insisted.

“It is probably for the best that it did happen though,” Logan pointed out. “We would likely not have been so quick to trust Virgil had it not been for Roman being so connected to Virgil’s emotions,” he pointed out.

“I might not have stuck around you guys for longer than necessary to grab some supplies and hand you a favor before getting home if I hadn’t felt your shock and worry. It alerted me that something was off and made me more cautious. Slowing down, as frustrating as it was at the time, probably was beneficial to preparing and planning the rescue mission,” Virgil admitted.

“Well, good that things turned out how they did,” the woman who’d initially opened the door for them said.

“My brother and his wife run the inn. They’ll have some space to spare and the resources to cook you a proper meal,” she offered.

“Thank you,” Virgil smiled before turning to Adam. “We’ll be on the move as soon as we have somewhere to go, but I’ll be back to catch up once things have settled,” he promised.

Adam nodded gratefully.

Logan offered their hostess the map. “The yellow circle is the area within which the high mage Janus should be found. This should help you in gathering relevant information,” he stated.

The woman nodded and then took them to a different building.

As they were guided outside, Roman gently touched Virgil's arm with his own to get his attention but not be noticed by someone else, specifically Remus.

Virgil glanced towards him, picking up on his attempt to be subtle.

Roman looked back at the house where the two elder men were watching them go to wave at them and then turned to Virgil curiously, already having his suspicions. Virgil smiled, fond accusation in his eyes. Roman turned away from him, embarrassed. Virgil subtly nudged him in comfort. Glanced back and showed his nostalgic affection for the young man Adam was when they knew one another. Then he looked at Roman, flooding him with the inferno of affection, completely consuming the embers of what remained of whatever once existed between him and Adam.

Roman felt a little silly for being jealous of an elderly person. But Virgil didn't seem to fault him for that.

"You weren't kidding. This is gonna be fun," Remus chuckled. Great. So he did catch on.

“Drop it Remus,” Virgil sighed.

“Aw come on V. You haven’t had a magic bond since school. It’s a little intriguing,” Remus shrugged.

“That you know off,” Virgil stated, making Remus gasp offended. “You bonded with someone other than me or J on purpose?” he asked. Virgil just smirked and walked on. Though Roman could tell he hadn’t just made that up to rile Remus up.

He wondered who he’d chosen to bond with.

"Jessica! Peter! Guests for Grandfather. They need rooms and a meal!" Their guide called out they entered the Inn. Behind the bar stood a young couple looking surprised at their arrival. Middle of the day was not exactly rush hour.

"We don't need to use the beds, and we only need the space for an hour," Virgil promised gently. His hood once again securely over his head. "And we got gold to pay," Remus added.

"Um. Well, the rooms are just cleaned out and I don't expect anyone till dinner. So uh... how many rooms?

"A single one if there is enough space for all of us to sit comfortably," Virgil offered. Tossing Remus a warning glance to which the high mage pouted.

Jessica nodded, grabbed a key, and led the way.

"Here you go. I'll have a stew and some bread ready when you get back," she offered as she opened the door for them and handed Virgil the key.

"Thank you," he bid before closing the door and turning to the group.

"Everyone knows the drill. Roman I want to try and see if I can teach you a few things about being a phoenix high Mage while resting. Are you okay with that?" Virgil asked.

Roman frowned, pretending to be confused for a moment before coming to a realization. "Like how you showed us your memory for clues," he guessed so no one would know there'd been a much more recent experience for Roman.

Virgil nodded though his emotions searched for confirmation. He wanted to know if Roman wanted it to be like last night or like the first time.

Roman pressed on with confidence, indicating his desire for them to be one again.

"Ooh first a magic bond, now sharing a dream? Virgil you always had favorites, but you're never so obvious about it," Remus teased.

"Shut it Remus," Virgil warned as he locked the door so they wouldn't be interrupted.

"I'm being serious!" Remus insisted, throwing an arm around Roman's shoulder. "Seriously, seriously though," he whispered in Roman's ear. "He is thick as a rock when it comes to guys liking him." Roman doubted that but Remus' ignorance seemed to be a source of amusement for Virgil so he didn’t correct him.

"But I'm pretty confident he likes you. So when you make your move, lay it on thick," he advised. Roman was taken aback. He hadn't expected to get Remus' approval. Not that he'd wanted it. Virgil's as the only approval that mattered.

Still. He appreciated the gesture, even if he was not going to admit that.

"Get of me," he huffed as he broke from his maybe great something uncle's grip. “I think I am currently a bit more aware of what he does and does not feel than you,” he pointed out dismissively before turning to Virgil.

"I'd love that. Thank you," he told Virgil. He could hear Remus sigh defeated. Thinking he'd failed to be a good guide for his 'nephew' probably.

"Alright. Come sit with me. We have an hour," Virgil reminded him. Roman nodded and joined Virgil, where he sat on the floor. They sat themselves back to back.

"Wanna cuddle?" Remus suggested to someone. Probably Patton. "No, thank you," Patton squeaked.

"Great, now there's four," Logan muttered. And then it went quiet, and Roman could focus.

He was five and looked up at his grandfather with big eyes. Under the wonder and excitement there was surprise that was not his own.

"Roman, my boy. I will tell you the tale of the birth of the marvelous town me, my father and your father grew up in," his grandfather said weightily. “It was my father’s first memory. They traveled through an icy storm to find a new home to live with his parents and everyone from their former village. A band of rogues with terrible magic means had ransacked their village, poisoned their lands.” Roman could vividly imagine it, though he hadn’t at the time. Those bands of rogue wizards specializing in weather magic, turning it against the kingdom to send everyone in disarray.

“And no aid was coming for them, so they packed up and tried their luck elsewhere.

They were forced to travel under terrible circumstances Roman, but they had to find shelter. So, they braved the storm,” grandfather said dramatically putting his grandchild on the edge of his seat. “And finally, the gods heard their prayers for mercy and the storm died down. Just as they found themselves in a valley near a forest, a river between them and predators, but not impossible for humans to cross so they could hunt for food in the forest. They stood a chance at survival.

But my father didn’t remember that day because of the storm or the miraculous appearance of the perfect valley to live in.” Grandfather leaned in closer. “Not even for the white-blue feline monsters that emerged from the forest, jumping over the river with ease, just as they had settled in.” Roman gasped in shock.

“No. He remember it for what happened right after his father covered his fear frozen body with his own. Through his embrace he saw a bird, black as night swoop in between them and the advancing monsters. They cowered away just as the majestic creature lit up in purple flames and turned into a man. With a mere gesture of his hand he sent the monsters back to the forest. He stood there a moment, light pouring from him and encircling what would become our town,” grandfather said. “And then he turned and knelt down to meet my father’s gaze. And you know what he told him Roman?” Roman shook his head, entirely enraptured.

“He told him that he’d sorted out the issues with the neighbors and that they should have pleasant weather for a long while. And they did. And we do. Only gentle snowfall and regular showers to water our crops, a rare late night thunderstorm to enjoy from the safety of our homes. It was, and still is, a magnificent place to live,” grandfather said wisely.

“I suppose that is a no to moving with us?” Roman’s father said from behind him. The memory shifted.

He was sat in his dorm room reading a bundle of poems.

"Roman," Logan's voice called. "Will you please put that down? This is important," he insisted.

"I'm not slacking," Roman insisted. "These are written before the plague and honor the great mages of that time. Uncensored " Roman pointed out.

"Really?" Patton gasped. Nervous and excited at the same time.

Logan was silent. Craving the hidden knowledge, but also well aware that if the Council knew about this book, they'd probably ban it. It had likely been overlooked due to it being poetry. They weren't supposed to learn anything about the magic of that time if it was not vetted and deemed safe by the arch mage...

"Listen to this," Roman said, encouraged by the fact that no one was stopping him. "The flame of night, endlessly bright upon the crowd. The sky had fallen, the stars were enraged, yet it did not phase the mage of night. And thus he tamed the blazing stars, docile the hellhound laid at his feet,” Roman cited gently.

“Wow… That’s kind of cool,” Patton breathed.

Logan hummed, not wanting to admit that he agreed.

“Too bad that such magics led to a plague,” he pointed out.

“Yes, but still… I wonder what it was like, to live like that. Not having to worry that you offended Her,” Roman mused.

They didn’t mention the goddess of magic out loud when they could help it. His friends knew which ‘Her’ he meant.

“We will likely never know…” Logan sighed, also not happy with having their magic so limited.

“In any case, I found something… Peculiar,” the diviner of their group stated, shifting topic.

“What’s that?” Roman asked.

“The arch mage. There is nothing to find about his death. Not the date, not the cause. Not even that he died. His death should have been a state affair. But there was no mention of it made ever. He just seems to, disappear,” he informed them.

“Wait… He might not be dead?” Patton asked confused. They’d all assumed he was dead. But Logan was right there should’ve been some sort of record for that. If there wasn’t then that meant…

“Who is searching for him?” Roman asked.

“I don’t know, but they aren’t successful, clearly,” he stated.

Roman grinned, he knew that glint in his friend’s eye. That was the same look he’d had when they made their pact to become mages.

“What do you say we offer some help?” Logan suggested.

“How?” Patton wondered.

“I have been doing some research, there is a ritual that can elevate us beyond ordinary mages. It is difficult and dangerous, as we have to connect with the very fabric of magic on a deeper level. Being rejected is extremely likely, and who knows what might happen if we are. But with ample preparation, I believe we might succeed,” he announced.

Roman looked to Patton and then to Logan. They were once again on the same page. They’d take on this challenge together.

Roman let go of his hold of the past and felt himself be gently pulled in another direction.

He was lying in a field under a starlit sky. Minding his breath. Stardust next to him. Staring up at the endless void of dark and light.

"What are you doing?"

His concentration broken, he glanced at the boy who'd managed to settle at his side without him noticing.

He looked back up to the stars. "I am trying to commune with Magic," he explained.

The young man gasped. "You can do that!?" he whispered incredulously.

"Sort off," he said. "It takes a lot of focus though," he explained.

"What are you saying to her?" His student wondered.

He was silent and looked at the 14 year old. He didn't need to know about his suspicions. "I asked for some guidance," he said simply.

That got him a long moment of silence.

"Why did she make you a phoenix and not a dragon?" The teenager asked suddenly.

"Because I'm not a dragon. I'd be a terrible king," he stated.

"You're a great teacher," the young man countered. He chuckled. "I'm alright, I suppose," he allowed. "I wouldn't give it up for the world," he mused. The young man nodded in understanding.

"Want to comune with me?" He offered. In answer his student laid down next to him.

He blinked and he was in a hallway looking at his student. Now a young adult. He was eying the doors nervously. It was a different room, a different building and a different city. But it had the same design and the same function as the one he’d entered for his ascension.

"You will be fine. I'll be here when you get back," he promised.

"Thank you," his pupil said. "For sneaking me in here," he added.

"No problem. I wish I'd gone behind everyone's back when I became a great mage. I hated the whole circus," he admitted, making a face. His student laughed. "Well, see you later," the young mage bid before walking in and closing the doors.

He took a deep breath and held out his hands, a little pouch with herbs on his wrist. He had prepared the room. Now, he just had to activate the bubble. The guide would break the circle when it was time.

A bright flash, a gust of wind blew the doors open, and he stared wide-eyed at the silhouette of a dragon in the smoke. Then he blinked, and it was all back to normal.

His protege standing in the center, shaking. He rushed forward and embraced him. "I've got you," he promised.

"Did you know?" The young man whimpered into his shoulder.

"I had suspicions. I didn’t want that burden to be put upon you any sooner than necessary. No one has to know until you are ready," he promised.

"But the people..." the future king protested.

"Are well looked after by all of us," he assured him. "You don't need to take the crown until you are ready," he swore.

He felt the embrace tighten.

And then he was in the forest in his phoenix form his student stood before him holding one of his feathers, focusing. And then there was a golden phoenix before him.

"Welcome to flying 101. Your first lesson in preparation of ascending," he announced.

His pupil shook his head disoriented. "The phoenix senses will take some getting used to. Now, shall we?" It took a few tries and some encouragement in the face of defeat, but they took to the sky and the future king was having the time of his life. As they flew all around the lands that would someday become their kingdom, he explained becoming a high mage to him.

"You will no longer be looking up at the stars but feel like you are part of them. Like they are old friends. Magic will bend for you more easily. Like you know it's language. Basically, the same changes after becoming a mage and a great mage. But more extreme. You won't notice right away. Only when using spells at first.

As if you subconsciously give yourself more time to process. It's a lot. But once you get comfortable in your new body, magic will be as natural as breathing." he explained.

"How do I ascend?"

"When you are ready, you focus like you did when you first connected, and this time, you let it consume you. You will not disappear. You will be one with magic. When you are ready to accept that, it will happen as it should."

They flew in silence. "You will be there, right?"

"Until you send me away," he promised. He angled his body to gain altitude above a forest and then he dove down again. Heading straight for a castle. A new castle. One that would survive several centuries of both peace and war. But now it was shiny and new, only a decade old, built as crown jewel of the chosen capitol.

He landed in the courtyard, human once more. His student stood before him, surrounded by curious, confused, mages.

“Do you have it?” the younger mage said nervously.

“All taken care off,” he promised with a bow of his head. “You’ll do great,” he promised before walking back to give the soon to be high mage his space.

The young almost king took a deep breath and in a blaze, spread his wings and took to the sky. Growing bigger and bigger until a fully grown, golden dragon flew loops around the castle, letting out a mighty roar and flying off.

Virgil smirked proudly and conjured a table on which he laid out the newly made golden crown and the ten swords that had left the fire only that morning, enchanted and made ready for their pledge an hour ago.

When the king came back from marking his territory, he would be crowned and nine mages would be chosen as his advisors and confidants. Together the ten of them would reflect the ten main gods. Remus would often be jokingly referred to as the unofficial eleventh representative of eclipse, only showing up when it pleased him.

He looked up and blinked against the sun.

And then he was standing in front of the inn earlier today looking at Roman slowly transforming, before his eyes. His hair growing longer his skin changing color and then suddenly he was blinding to look at, for a moment he thought he saw wings and half expected to see a Pegasus appear. But no. When he could see him again he was a gorgeous white horse with golden eyes, though he could swear there were some red and purple hues in his manes when he moved his head and the light hit it just right.

He blinked and he was flying through the temple. To his horror he saw Roman taunt Remus into attacking him. For a terrifying moment he thought he was watching one of his closest friends torch a man he’d come to care deeply for in a dazzling short amount of time.

But the yellow and green flames Remus produced turned golden and red and even a little purple as they bend around Roman as though protecting, no embracing him.

Roman started glowing himself becoming one with the flames, making it just one whirling storm of fire.

And then it became a silhouette of a phoenix, bursting from the wave of flames with grace and regal purpose. It actually intimidated the chimera for a moment. Then the fire phoenix closed its wings and shrank down, leaving behind a faintly glowing Roman. Who still stood his ground like nothing had happened.

That idiot.

“Hey! Love birds! Wake up!”

[zzrrbbitt]

alear hair (and eye) color swaps

[cursed-spirit-manipulation]

thinking Abt Suguru autism and struggling bc I have forgotten 1. Everything Suguru has ever done 2. Every symptom of autism ever and then I remembered Suguru fucking. Knows every curse he's swallowed. And it's like y'know what maybe I don't have to make an airtight case for this

[canthelpit0]

Bottom

Pairing: sub!Billie eilish x Dom!famous!reader

Wordcount: 670+

Summary: reader always insists that Billie is a bottom, wich she is, but Billie denies the claims with her life.

Warnings: 2nd pov, SMUT, strap, pet names (baby), cursing, twitter mentioned, use of y/n

(A/n: this is short af, and literally starts w/ the smut, so 🤷‍♀️)

“Fuck-“

You smirk to yourself at the sound of Billie’s sweet moans. You keep your hands firmly panted on Billie’s hips holding her in pace.

By this point Billie had given up on holding herself up. Now her face was pressed into a pillow as she tried not to be too loud out of instinct.

You and Billie obviously hook up. It’s not news to anyone. Because frankly, you two never tried to hide it. It felt like too much pointless work.

Billie lets out sharp breaths as your hips snap against hers in a harsher rhythm. “You good, baby?”

Billie lets out a strangled hum in agreement. Your hips start snapping into hers in a harsher, faster rhythm.

“Fuck, I can’t-“ she breaths out. Her thighs shake just slightly, but she keeps pushing back into you.

Billie is a total bottom. It’s not so obvious at first glance. Because Billie can be dominant, and she definitely gives off that vibe. However something you had quickly figured out was- the hornier she gets the more submissive she becomes.

Now you can’t unsee it.

Billie would tease and flirt shamelessly on an average day, she’s just blunt like that, but as soon as you made any move back, you could practically see her resolve crumbling.

Whenever she tried to be dominant, she gave up after a mere 10 minutes max. Because frankly she would much rather lay back and get her shit rocked.

“Yes, you can, keep going.” You encourage her as your hand rubs her ass.

“More” you hear her breathe out softly. She needs it. She’s so close. Once again on the edge waiting, anything to be pushed over.

Your eyes trail to her back, the way she arches it and works herself back on the strap even tho she is sensitive.

Your eyes rake over her back tattoo. The tattoo spans across her spine. Just chaotic scribbles spanning from the nape of her neck to her tailbone.

The seemingly random scribbles and lines don’t make sense to you, but they make perfect sense to Billie. That doesn’t matter tho, because it’s hot anyway.

“You got this Bils” you encourage as you speed up just slightly to push her over to the edge you knew she was on. Her breathing was fast and shallow.

Your hand snakes between your bodies to rub fast and tight circles on her clit. Billie lets out a strangled moan and she’s done for.

You slow down to help Billie ride out her high. When she’s calmed down, you gently pull out. Billie lets herself collapse on the bed.

“Billie” you hum sitting down next to her. She lets out a tired hum in response. “You did so well” you chuckle lightly while leaning down to press a soft kiss on her head.

Billie turns to her side, her eyes half lidded but her gaze sharp as she looks up at you. “Thank you” she presses her lips into an amused smile.

She is sore, she feels like death. She just took Orgasm after orgasm, but she loved it. Because no matter how much Billie denies it, she is a bottom at heart. That is like, her default setting or something.

★ ★

@ y/n

Billie eilish is a bottom

@ BillieEilish replied to @ y/n

You wish 💀💀

@ user69 replied to y/n

I can’t picture that 🤨

@ user97 replied to y/n

There she goes lying again

@ user144 replied to y/n

Too much information 😭

★ ★

Billie is on an interview with a nice woman in her mid-20s. This is a casual interview, the kind of interview that doesn’t feel like an interview, more like old friends catching up.

“So are you a bottom?” She asks letting out a small chuckle.

Billie comically lets her jaw drop. She huffs trying not to laugh out loud. “No” she shakes her head as if that idea was ridiculous.

“You know y/n is always out there, on Twitter, saying you are?” She chuckles, looking at Billie amused.

“Oh I’m aware.”

MASTERLIST

‼️please don’t copy my work/idea‼️

(A/n: since there isn’t enough sub!billie. I mean come on the woman is litterally 5’3)

Taglist: @muwapsturniolo , @sturnad , @iluvm4ttsturni0l0 , @evie-sturns , @me09love , @fratbrochrisgf , @spideylovin , @chrissgirlsstuff , @stunza , @whicked-hazlatwhore , @sturniooolos , @ecliphttlunar , @orangeypepsi , @klaus223492 , @char112244 , @sst7niolo , @slut4chriss , @mattsturniololoverr , @th3-3d3n-g4rd3n , @st7rnioioss , @t1llysblogs , @nonat-111 , @blahbel668 , @rockstarchr1s , @sturnsintrouble , @nayveetbhh , @tillies33ssss , @sturncakez , @strnilo , @somegirlfromasgard , @mattslovelygf , @sturnsmaeve , @sturnstvr , @lucianastrun , @jnkvivi , @jamiesturniolo , @chr1sgirl4life , @h3arts4harry , @whosthislyssbitch , @jamiesturniolo , @sturniololover-09 , @zayyluvz , @sturnzsblog , @jetaimevous , @imwetforyourmom , @yoongslvr69 , @ilovethesturnstriplets , @obsessionsarenotfortheweak , @mininishiriki , @bigbootyjudyyyy

[valerieisunavailable]

Simon uses a vibrating piercing for the first time

CW: nsfw, c*ck piercings, vibrating piercings, overstimulation, mutual overstimulation, d*ck riding, dom to sub Simon.

You were sitting down in bed, watching television. But you were getting worried, as Simon hasn't came back yet. It was getting rather late. Later than usual. You knew that sometimes he had other things he needed to do after completing one of his missions or doing paperwork and reports, or listening through debriefs. Despite all the times he's said not to worry, you couldn't help but let the doubts crawl into your mind.

   But after about two hours later, you heard the door unlock, followed by Simon's muffled cursing to himself about the things that went wrong or could've gone better. It was nights like these when he was stressed like this when you knew that he would fuck the tension out to relieve some stress. Although weirdly enough, he hasn't done that for about two weeks now. You could tell that he was stressed and wanted to fuck the absolute shit out of you on those nights, but didn't. So you knew that something was up. Simon walked into the bedroom, hanging up most of his military gear and uniform stuff up, letting out an exhausted sigh before slumping in the bed on top of you.

   "Another stressful day, huh?" You say jokingly, giving him a small smile.

"You have no idea." He replies. Simon goes on to mumble about how his soldiers didn't do what they were supposed to and how they messed up. As he does so, he's taking off his shirt. After a few moments he stops rambling on, and he looks at you with a lustful gaze.

   "I need to fuck you, love. Need to fuck this absolute beauty." He says. His husky voice makes it sound like it's a command, but the way he's saying it makes it come out as though he's begging.

   You let him anyways, no matter how you feel at the moment. You know that he needs this, and you know that he knows how to pound into you nice and hard when he's this stressed. It feels absolutely amazing when he does it. Simon leans into you, giving you a rough, passionate kiss. Besides, he's probably gone absolutely nuts. He hasn't fucked his stress out on you for two weeks straight, you could tell that he needed this. Part of you wanted to ask him about it, but you decided not to. He sat up on his knees, slowly removing his pants, but stopping at his boxers.

   "I got a surprise for you, love." He says, before pulling his boxers down. There, you saw his erect cock, standing straight up. But it was followed by a row of silver metal piercings going all the way up and down along it. You stared in surprise. He saw your reaction as he smirked.

   "They vibrate, too." He says.

So this is why he hasn't fucked you for two weeks. He had gotten vibrating piercings along his cock. But the only thing you were worried about were how thick the piercings were. There was no way you'd be able to have his cock AND his piercings inside you. He chuckles at your reaction, before quickly stripping you of your clothes and having you sit on his stomach as he laid down. He then positioned you above his cock, pushing slowly into your entrance. You let out a small gasp, feeling the first set of metal piercings along his cock stretching you out.

   "S-Simon, you're too thick…" you stammered. He chuckles at your response.

"Mmm, I know, love. I'm stretching this tight cunt of yours..~ It'll take some time to get used to.." He says, continuing to slowly push himself into your entrance. You gasp and shudder at each feeling of each new set of metal piercings stretching your pussy, hitting along your walls until you gasp from finally hitting the base of his cock. You can already feel a set of his piercings going along your cervix. You let out a small whine in response. Simon sits himself up, leaning over to your ear.

   "But I know that you'll be cumming all over this cock and these new piercings of mine once I'm done with you, love~" He chuckles. Simon firmly holds onto your thighs, before looking back at you.

   "Hope you're ready, love. 'Cause I plan to make up for those two weeks." He winks at you, before raising your thighs up and slamming them back down as he pounds into you at a steady pace. You moan in response. You can feel his metal piercings hitting your cervix.

   "Fuck…" He groans. He pounds into you a few more times before he stops. You moan in his ear, holding tightly onto his shoulders before you glance over at him. Simon takes out a remote.

    "Let's see how good these vibrations are." He says, clicking the button on the remote as the both of you jolt in response to the sudden vibrations.

   "Ohh fuuuckk…." He lets out a loud, guttural moan. His eyes go into his head for a split second, and he slumps back down into the bed, his cock slipping out of you.

"Oh, Simon..~" You moan, your thighs quivering in response from the vibrations, with it brushing your clit as his cock slips out of you. He squeezes your thighs. Simon definitely wasn't expecting for the vibrations to be this strong. His body shook, and his legs quivered. You could hear him beginning to whine and whimper.

   You grin as you watch him weakly reaching for the remote on the bed, before you move his hand away, grabbing his cock and slipping it back into you, once again feeling the piercings stretch your walls, your slick acting as lubricant. Once you reach the base of him, his eyes come back out of his head, looking at you.

   "No, no… Too much.. It's too much, love." He says in between gasps.

   You smirk, looking down at him. "I thought that you needed to fuck the stress out. Besides, you said that you were going to make up for those two weeks." You taunt him.

   Simon whimpers, before his eyes go back into his head again as you start to ride him, moving your hips at a slow pace. Simon lets out a loud moan, his breath hitching as you suddenly feel him coming inside of you. You look at him in surprise, but you could tell that the man was seeing absolute stars right now. You continue your pace, feeling the vibrating piercings repeatedly hitting your cervix. You let out a breathy moan, before letting out a loud moan in surprise from feeling your orgasm reach you.

   "Off.. Turn it off, please…" Simon begs, the feeling of the vibrations and your walls around his cock overstimulating him. As you sat down, rested on the base of his cock, you could also feel yourself getting overstimulated as you let out a few whimpers.

   You reached for the remote, trying to turn it off, although you didn't know how. Pressing a button, the both of you whimpered in response. Simon tightly holds onto your thighs as he instinctively bucked his hips.

   "Ah, Fuck!" He whimpers. Your loud whimpers could also be heard throughout the room. "Oh, fuck.. Sorry…" You apologized, trying to switch through the remote settings. Simon eventually grabbed your hand, hitting and holding onto the button, before the vibrations stopped. He let out a sigh of relief, his eyes rolling back out of his head.

   "It's alright love…" He says, before letting out a small chuckle. He catches his breath, slipping himself out of you as you laid against his chest. He gives you a passionate kiss, embracing you in his arms.

   "That was one hell of a vibrator…" He muttered, as the two of you stared at each other, passionately kissing each other until you both got tired and fell asleep. He might've not fucked the stress out of you like you had originally expected, but this felt just as good, if not better.

[bandgie]

Wish Upon a Genie

boypussy!han x girldick!reader

warnings! MDNI 18+, pussyjob, pussy play (m!), reader and han are virgins technically?, no penetration, handjob, domish reader, subby han, feminization (obvi he has a clit now), PIV implied

notes! intro is inspired by BIG. also im aware some people are uncomfortable with this type of writing and that's okay! just scroll :)

3.6k words

It stares back at you. Unblinking. Unmoving. Out of all the little gimmicks and arcade games at the carnival, it was this one, without a plug-in or light, that called to you. You’re not quite sure why. Maybe it was the silly hat with a feather poking out from it for extra effect. Maybe it was the fact that the machine lacked any sort of light to indicate that it was on. There isn’t a wrong or necessarily a right answer to the question, but the fact that you’re drawn to it remains. 

Jisung clings to your side, using your body as a shield from the animatronic that stares back at you two soullessly. “This is freaky. Can we check something else out?”

You roll your eyes, tilting your head to look at your beloved, but cowardly lover. “Don’t you wanna get your fortune read?” But Jisung shakes his head rapidly. “No! I wanna go on the Ferris wheel and eat funnel cake. Not get cursed by some…genie. That doesn’t even have an outlet, by the way.” Jisung points to the plug-in that isn’t connected to anything. “How are we even gonna play?”

Reaching into your pocket you take out your wallet and peer inside. It only takes a few seconds to find the shiny coin.

You hold it up in front of his face. “With this. It’s probably battery-operated anyway. The cord is just for show.” Jisung eyes the metal worriedly, his eyes widening in fear. “Baby! Don’t do that. Come on! I’ll buy you two snowcones.” Rather than taking his deal, you give him a wicked smile.

“Make a wish, baby.”

“I don’t want to!” His plump lips turn into a pout. Jisung fakes determination against your stare, but it takes less than ten seconds for him to cave into your sick joke. “Fine. I wish you weren’t such a dick sometimes.”

That sputters a chuckle from you, leaning down to insert the coin into the machine’s slot. “And I wish you weren’t such a pussy.”

Magic erupts from the machine. The genie comes to life, light shining from every space behind the glass. Its eyes glow yellow, smoke coming from its mouth as it booms with laughter. “Mwuahaha…”

Jisung squeals, rushing to hide behind your figure as the animatronic, not so fluidly, turns its head left and right before it settles on you two. Even you, who had the idea to play this game anyway, recoils in surprise. Jisung hugs you close to him, breathing heavily into your neck until goosebumps form on your skin.

Ding!

Both of you look down to see a single card sticking out, old and yellowed. You look back at Jisung who only looks back at you. His eyes say it all, don’t read it. But of course, being that pissing off your boyfriend is your favorite hobby, you do.

He whines when you quickly snatch the card from the machine’s card slot. Just as abruptly it lit with life, the animatronic shut down. You adjust yourself until Jisung’s chin is tucked into your shoulder, staring at the slip of paper until you turn it over.

Your wish is my command.

-

The first thing you feel when you blink your sleepy eyes open is pressure in areas you normally don’t feel pressure. You excuse the sensation as two things:

One: you’re still half-asleep and the sun’s not even up yet Two: the carnival was a bust

Jisung must have bought rotten funnel cakes. The moment you two got your dessert, a wave of pain coursed through your systems. It felt like a pounding headache through your limbs. The Uber back home was embarrassing. More than once did your driver think you two were frolicking in the backseat of his car, but every time he turned around, he was surprised to see you two hunched over groaning with pain.

The aching turned into tiredness as you struggled with the front door. You wanted to at least make it to your bed before you collapsed, but black spots began to appear in your vision that made you find comfort on the living room couch instead. Jisung was only a step behind you, whining and yawning before he finally found sleep squeezed beside you on the sofa. 

Now you’re waking up in arms, trying to figure out why your crotch is so stiff.

Fuck, did you piss yourself?

You reach downwards to feel for wetness, but you let out a squeak when you feel hardness. You snatch your hand away quickly as if you’ve burned yourself. No. No, that can’t be right. How can Jisung’s hard-on be on your side? That doesn’t make sense. And you’re sure that insane pressure is coming from you. 

Again, you snake your hand down, slow and steady. Using your stomach as a guide, you trail lower before you feel your pelvis, your thighs, and horrifyingly, a cock. 

Jisung startles awake to your frantic movements. He sees your blurry figure sitting up, staring down at your thighs with your shoulders shuddering as if you’re shaking. “Baby?” He croaks. “What’s up?”

Your dick. Your dick is what’s up. It stands proud, throbbing, and leaky. Even though you could feel your erection through the material of your pants, you still couldn’t believe it. You shrugged off your pants in a haste, uncaring how your flailing limbs woke up your sleeping boyfriend. It was when you saw the head of the cock- the head of your cock easily straining against your underwear that you realized how real this was.

Words are far from you now. All you can do is uselessly open and close your mouth. If you keep blinking, maybe it’ll go away. Maybe all that pre-cum staining your pretty, girly underwear will magically disappear and you’ll wake up from this strange dream. You feel a warm hand on your shoulder, making you jump. Jisung’s saying something. His words sound like static in your ears, but you manage to make out the worriedness in his voice. Then the static suddenly stops and you know he’s staring at the very thing you’re looking at. 

“Is it real?” You just have to make sure. Even if you can undeniably feel every vein and twitch, you just have to. 

Jisung doesn’t say anything. A beat of silence passes before the same hand that rested on your shoulder comes to the space between your thighs. He squeezes your cock, tugging it downwards and back up to cover the tip with the palm of his hand. 

You cry out, hips bucking and you moan pathetically. The pleasure that coursed through your body was so familiar, so used to what you already know, but it’s unexplainably different. You smack Jisung’s hand, hissing as you say, “What the fuck?! Don’t touch it!” But he doesn’t move his hand. Jisung doesn't as much as flinch when you lightly slap him. Instead, his grip tightens. You can’t help but lean down just a tiny bit to allow him access to your new organ, hand pumping you at a steady pace.

It’s been less than a minute, but you feel what you think is an impending orgasm. Your balls - holy shit you have a sack - tense and relax. The tip begins to leak so much more and you briefly think how Jisung was ever able to last more than a minute inside you. You moan, throwing your head back and curling your toes. Just a little longer, just a little tighter, and a little faster and you’ll cum all over your undies and Jisung’s hand. That doesn’t happen though, not when your boyfriend unwraps his fingers from you to reach for himself.

Jisung shrugs off his own pants as you whine, quickly shimmying down his boxers. You can’t help but scoff at him freeing himself, ignoring how much your cock aches from being accidentally edged. “Are you really about to compare dick sizes right now?” However, there’s no tent in his briefs that you’re sure would be there. Not even as he’s nude from the waist down do you see any indication of the cock you’ve sucked on, but a cunt. Between the lower lips, his clit peeks out cutely, shiny with arousal. 

“I woke up before you, just for a little bit.” His eyes are wide. “I…I thought it was just a dream. I went back to sleep and then you woke up and…” He doesn’t need to finish the rest. Turns out this swap of cock and cunt is mutual.

Worried. He’s worried. Even with his hand slick with your juices and his pussy glistening in the dim light of the TV, he’s scared. You brush your nose against his, pecking his cheek soothingly. “It’s okay. I’m scared too.” You take his soiled hand in your dry one. “But we’re together. And safe. We’re gonna be okay. Nothing a quick Google search can’t fix.” You and Jisung smile at your attempt to lighten the mood. He presses a sweet kiss to your lips, and despite seeing the tears in his eyes seconds ago, your cock twitches. 

“I know,” he whispers. “I’m just upset because it’s bigger than mine.”

His gummy smile shines in the shadows. You giggle with him and lean against his shoulder, hands intertwined. 

The sight of your dick quietens you and him. It’s still hard, leaky in all its cocky-ness. Jisung jerking you off was really the only thing that helped make you feel better, literally and figuratively. Biting your lip, you tilt your head up and bat your eyelashes prettily. “You were really good at…touching me.” 

He blinks at you almost innocently. “Yeah?”

You nod. “Yeah. Didn’t know a penis could feel that sensitive.”

Jisung hums, nodding with you. He doesn’t need to hear you say it to know what you want but asks anyway to make sure. “I-I can keep doing it. If you want me to.” He waits for your nod and it’s only a second it takes for you to agree. His hand unlaces from yours and he places it over your thigh.

Weirdly, it feels like you two are virgins all over again. The nervous touches, the uncontrollable moans, and the shy look you give him when he inches closer to your dick. It’s almost endearing but in the crudest way. 

Jisung starts at your shaft, hardly flicking his wrist up and down for friction. He’s warming you up, you realize. The thought makes you smile and you kiss his neck. “You’re so cute.”

With your cock in his hand, Jisung doesn’t understand how that can be so. He blushes anyway and tightens his grip just the slightest. “Am I?” You nod, kissing his throat again and again until he presses his thighs together. Your boyfriend always had a cute, but slightly irritating, habit of getting lost in pleasure. Sometimes forgetting that your pussy was in his mouth when he was too busy jerking himself off. Even with his cunt, he’s doing it all over again.

“You are,” you confirm. You trail your hand from the couch to his hip. Fingers caress his bare thigh until you dance on his pelvis, grazing the hair there. “Can I touch you too?” Jisung’s bottom lip is caught between his teeth. He knows what it feels like to have his dick ooze precum, to leak so much that it looks like he’s stained his boxers. You’ve made him do that countless times. But this feels insufferable. How he can rub rub rub without ever feeling like he’s getting anywhere. 

Shit. How do you deal with this?

He nods, bangs covering his eyes. You hear him sharply inhale when you finally come in contact with his wet cunt. Jisung isn’t sure what to do. He seems almost restless with you sliding one finger up and down his slit. It’s hard to do anything else with his legs closed, but you don’t tell him otherwise. You reason he must be nervous with everything going on.

That changes however when he spreads one of his legs until it hangs off the couch. You look at him for permission to do more and his response is a beautiful moan. 

Now with two fingers, it’s much easier to explore his folds. You ignore his clit for now; he doesn’t need to know how overwhelmingly good that can feel. Instead, you focus on the meaty part of cunt, swirling and flicking until his hand stops pumping you altogether.

“Hannie.” Not baby. Hannie. A little warning you usually give him when he’s being a little too selfish, but it’s hard to focus on anything else but the foreign pleasure. You finally swipe your fingers up until they catch his sensitive nub and his body jolts.

“Ah!” He squeals high-pitched. “S-sorry. ‘m trying but it feels so…so…good when you touch me there.” Those pleading eyes. You might have caved in like you always do and given your Hannie what he wants. However, you’re not feeling so generous at the moment. Especially when the raging hard-on only gives you pain when ignored. 

You use your free hand to swipe against his cheek, steadying his eyes on yours. “You think that’s fair, Hannie? That you get to use your new pussy and ignore my cock?” How foreign those words sound to you, but it feels so right to say them. He shakes his head, giving you a pouty look. “I didn’t think so. Here.” You place your hand on his chest and lean him back. You flip around until you’re facing him on the other side of the couch, pressing down until he’s flat on his back. 

You’re hovering over him like this. A perfect view to see his flushed face and exposed cunt. Jisung’s leg still hangs over the couch, but it allows you room to fit between his thighs. “I can do all the work, like always, but we’re gonna do it my way. Okay?”

A strap is the same thing as a dick right? At least you have some experience fucking your boyfriend, but you don’t know if you’ll be able to take it all the way. Your cock is already throbbing, aching, and begging for a release. You think you’d cum the moment you put it into his wet walls. But you can imagine.

Sliding your tip across his pussy lips, you imagine what it’d be like to slip inside. His hand felt soft and warm. Whenever he squeezed, it made every nerve on your cock jolt. Good, it felt really good. His cunt would be tight. It’s already so wet just letting you rub against his clit. You forget how wet pussy gets when they’re hardly touched. Virgin pussy is-

“Holy shit. You’re a virgin.” It’s a statement. The realization hit you far too late. You should have been more conscious. You shouldn’t have teased Jisung to the point of clawing your stomach and thighs. He’s breathing heavily, eyes hooded with lust as he whines. “O-oh. Are you gonna…” He trails off. Even without the hesitance in his voice, you can see it in his eyes. The arousal mixed with uncertainty. 

You lean down to kiss him. Your lips meet his sweetly, the complete opposite of the kiss your cock is giving is clit. “I won’t. We can stay just like this. Is that okay?”

Gently, you rock your hips. The head of your cock slips past his cunt until it reaches under his belly button. Your shaft grinds on his pussy and the grip on your stomach tightens. “Mmmm! Mhm mhm! Yes! I like it.” Jisung’s dazed look makes you smile. “Good.”

You sit yourself back up and grip your cock. Experimentally, you tap it on his fat clit. You only get two slaps in before he squeals, his hanging-off leg comes up until it bends in the air. Strings of arousal connect your bodies in the crudest way. 

Faster, faster, faster! You smack the head of your cock so quickly that you overestimate how much you can handle. Even with your tip now unbearably sensitive, you grit your teeth and dip lower until his lips wrap around your cock. 

Jisung’s cunt twitches. You can feel his hole fluttering against your tip, almost begging to be used. It takes immense control to ignore his beckoning, to slide up back and pretend that you weren’t thinking about just putting the tip in. 

God, he’s so wet. His juices drench your entire cock and leak onto the couch. You try not to, but you help but smear the arousal on his tummy every time you thrust against him. “Fuck, baby.” You moan. “Your pussy’s so wet.”

He whines, both from pleasure and embarrassment. “D-don’t say that.” 

But of course, it only makes you want to do it more. “Say what? How wet your pussy is? But it is, baby. Just keeps on leaking onto my cock and the couch. You’ve always been my dirty little boy, haven’t you?” Jisung can’t say anything to that even if he wanted to. Whether it’s his ass or cunt, he has a terrible habit of making such a mess.

Without warning, you grip the undersides of his thighs. You easily push them until they touch his chest, forcing his pussy to let you view it in all its glory. Jisung gasps and then tries to use his hands to push you away. You only hold onto him tighter, shaking your head condescendingly. “Nuh-uh. I wanna see what I'm playing with.”

Your words make his pussy clench around nothing. He mewls how he always does when he’s shy, but like the good boy he is, Jisung moves his hands until they’re on top of yours, helping you keep him spread.

You coo at him. “Ooo yes. So good for me.”

It’s easy to find a rhythm to grind in this position. Your cock slides against his pussy like butter, smooth and slick. The heaviness of your sack slaps against his ass with every thrust and the sound only grows louder when Jisung bounces back onto you. Looks like all those times he’s taken the strap paid off as well.

He’s warm, he’s wet, he’s a moaning mess, but you can’t feel the sweet, sweet tightness you once did when he was jerking you off. You look at Jisung and move one of your hands to your dick, a silent command to keep himself spread. He listens diligently, nodding and biting his lower lip as you use your now free hand to add pressure.

With your thumb, you press down just under your tip. It’s slight, but it still makes you two moan out loud. Now you can feel every crevice and crease on his cunt. You’re pleasantly surprised to be able to feel his swollen nub. Not that you should be too surprised, his cute clit is so chubby that it’s hard not to feel. 

Goosebumps cover your body every time you rut against it. Jisung pants at the sensation, head lifting up to see how your lower half moves together. You grin, “You got a cute pussy, huh?” Rather than shying away, Jisung blinks up at you. “You really like it?”

“I love it.” You purr. “Gonna cum all over it. Make it all pretty.”

That seems to do it for him. A loud moan tears through him. You apply more pressure on your cock as you continuously thrust against him. That orgasm builds again, starting just below your dick before your entire body contracts. Your cock feels like it hardens even more and judging by the repeatedly convulsing of Jisung under you, he must be close too. 

His fingers dig harshly on his thighs and his hips just won’t stop moving against yours. They speed up, they lift higher so you can hump against his sensitive spot again. You lean your weight forward and slap against his ass so hard that the sound echoes in the living room.

“Fuck!” You swear you see black dots. “Baby. I’m so close.”

Jisung speaks between his gasps. “Pleasepleaseplease! Give it to me!”

You groan again. Pre-cum oozes so much that you confuse it with your orgasm, but when you feel the tightening and releasing of your body, you know that this is your cum.

It spurts onto Jisung’s stomach, staining his smooth skin milky white. Your entire body shakes with your release. You don’t even notice the drool seeping through your lips even as it mixes with Jisung’s chest. It takes a few seconds to notice your lover trembling with you, tongue out in hopes of catching your drool in his mouth. With a hum, you lean down and capture his mouth in a heated kiss. It’s all tongue and spit, teeth clashing with muffled moans spilling out.

“I-I…I feel so empty.” You swear he looks like he’s about to cry. He speaks with your lips still brushing against his. “I just came. I know I just came but the pus- my pussy just feels so…so…” He doesn’t know the words yet. He can’t describe the restless feeling he’s experiencing. The urge to be full, to be stuffed, to be bred. 

Is he ovulating?

You pout with him, lifting your hips so you can play with his clit at your own leisure. Jisung moans in relief, eyes rolling to the back of his head while he babbles against your mouth. Carefully, you dip your fingers lower until you catch his entrance. The tips of your fingers barely push through his hole. Shit. He’s squeezing so hard that this time, you’re not sure if you can deny it much longer. 

“You want it inside real bad, huh?” You watch as he nods. Any fear he had felt before is gone. You sigh, looking down at your deflating cock. The sun isn’t up yet and you’re not sure how much longer you have with your new organs. You might as well make the most of it.

[covetyou]

when we begin again

ao3 ⋆ main masterlist ⋆ series masterlist

pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader rating: Explicit (18+ only!) warnings: dub-con (reader was paying a debt, less so now), oral (f receiving), fingering, masturbation, thigh slaps (three small ones), small description of a hand injury, cumplay/cumshot/cum marking, praise kink, maybe Joel has a bit of a pain kink idk, possessive slutty Joel, derogatory names ("whore"), drug reference, unspecified age gap word count: 4.1k summary: He wasn't one to lick his wounds, but after a deal gone wrong Joel finds something he'd much rather put his mouth on.

A/N: and here we be, the first of the SWAT oneshots that serves as a sort of bridge between the main series and the few ideas I have brewing and ready to go. This is a whole re-write in less than 24 hours because the original fic I was almost finished with felt too me and not enough SWAT. no one needs sad girl monologuing about life and death and grief with their porn. you're welcome.

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"Hrrrmph!"

Joel's lips crash into yours the moment you step inside. One moment he's running an anxious hand through his graying hair, and the next he's making quick work of the space between you, striding across the floor to grab you and plant his lips firmly on yours.

It's not what you'd come here for, funnily enough. You wanted to talk and, glorious as it was to have your lips against his, you couldn't talk like this.

Wretching yourself away is stupid. After everything you know it's stupid, yet you do it anyway.

"Joel -"

Cupping your head in his hands his lips find yours again before you can get another word out, teeth knocking together as he licks into your mouth, and you briefly lose yourself, turning to putty in his arms, ready to sculpt into whatever he sees fit that day. Before the bonelessness takes hold completely, you pull back once more.

Searching his face you look for the sudden need, the sudden rush, the desire to kiss you and have your face in his hands that hadn't been there any other time until now. You see nothing, his dark eyes refusing to meet yours as his hands find themselves at the front of your pants, deftly unbuttoning them before you can even question him. Before he can unzip them, your hands find his, holding him gently in place.

Joel freezes, hands stilling on your zipper, and he pulls a small, sharp breath of air in through his nose as if you hurt him, wounded him by daring to slow him down.

"You want me to stop?" he growls.

"No, I just -"

"Then quit your complainin'."

You do. Briefly. Until the zip snags as he pulls on it again and he curses in frustration.

"Let me do it." Until last time, which wasn't really like any other time, he'd always asked you to strip yourself, made you strip in front of him before he touched out. His clumsy hands on your clothes felt alien, and as it was he was being too slow, even in his desperation.

"You not want me to touch you or somethin'?" he snaps, frowning down at your pants now as he fiddles with the zipper, trying to get it to budge.

"I never said that."

"Then quit your fuckin' complainin'."

And this time you really do when you finally see the tremble in his hands and the blood on his knuckles, and it occurs to you that maybe you did hurt him, that grabbing his hand to stop his frantic movement caused him pain.

Joel hadn't been in a rush before you got here. He'd been the opposite, pacing the floor, willing himself to slow down, calm down. And it had been working - each turn he could feel himself relaxing, all the pent up energy from a deal gone to absolute shit steadily leaving his bones. But your delicate knock on the door had sent his blood boiling in a different way. He'd fought with himself to ignore it, to tell you through the door to fuck off for another day, but the idea of something warm and wet and compliant to soothe his aches and pains was too enticing to pass up. Making you in particular moan and writhe and give in to him was even more impossible to let go. In the end, the door had practically let you in all on its own.

So when his hands pull at your zipper again, yanking it in frustration, you will it down, beg with your mind for it to not snag again, and you sigh with relief when it doesn't.

In one fluid movement your pants are unceremoniously pulled to your knees, and Joel is crowding you back against his dining table, rough and aching hands on your hips to guide you. Your exposed ass collides with the solid wood, and he's pressing into you, the hardening lump in the front of his jeans poking into the softness of your belly. You can feel the frustration in him and how it twitches through his fingertips, swells in his cock, and each time you feel how the need wins out over frustration as he grinds into you, latching him onto you as his veins hunt for some kind of relief.

Another yank of your jeans and he's pulled them to your ankles, stepping on them as he pushes you to sit on the table. Your jeans stay behind, dragging your shoes from your feet with a dull thud, and Joel kicks them away. Winters in Boston are bitter, none moreso than this one, and your frozen ass barely registers the feeling of the wooden surface as you sit on it, still kitted out in your hat, coat and gloves. When you move to pull them off his hand pushes between your breasts, knocking you back onto the table. A second later there's a harsh scrape of a chair across the floor and, just as you manage to tug one glove off, he's yanking you down the table toward him.

You sit up and look down where he sits between your legs, enraptured by the softness of your skin beneath hands that glide up and down your thighs, gripping and squeezing the soft flesh more gently than the wounds on his knuckles suggest he's capable of. He's holding off, you realize then as you watch his hands, trying to slow himself from taking what he needs.

Tossing your hat to the side you lift your hips, shimmying your panties down just enough for Joel's fingers to work them down the rest of the way. Sitting back in his chair he looks between your legs, and you know that he can see what you've been feeling since you stepped onto his street. By this point, the response was Pavlovian. Each step closer to Joel's apartment you could feel yourself getting wetter and wetter, your cheeks feeling hotter and hotter. You wonder if one day he'd stop having this affect on you, or if he'd stop responding to it exactly how you knew he would, but with a knowing quirk in his brow, you know that day is not today.

"Fuck me, sweetheart. You sure no one else been down here today?"

Shaking your head, you manage one more look at him before he's pulling your legs up, hooking them over his shoulders and diving into your slick folds with a firm lick.

"N-no," you gasp, bucking slightly into his face with your legs spread over his broad shoulders. He should know that you haven't, that you wouldn't, but you think he just needs to hear the confirmation, needs to know that this thing in front of him right now is just his for the taking, and so you let him have it. "Haven't even touched myself today."

He moans into your cunt, cold nose pressing into the softness of your mound as his tongue laps and laves you. With a slurp, having cleaned up the arousal that had leaked out of you on your way here, he looks up at you, ticking his head to the side and nodding down to your bare pussy. "Well, shit, looks like all o' this is just for me, huh?"

There's no air left in your lungs for you to respond when his tongue circles your clit and makes you groan into the cold air. Whatever he needs, if this is how he was going to take it, you were damn well going to let him take everything you had.

And so, pinning you to the table he begins to devour your cunt, licking messily all over you, coating you in his saliva. He pulls you open with his arms hooked over your thighs, spreading your lips further for him. The chill hits you for just one second when you're fully spread to the cold air, but his mouth soon descends on you and all you can see are his eyes and the curve of his nose, his mouth hidden as he buries it into you.

You shuffle your jacket off, the room suddenly feeling much warmer than when you first entered it, and earn yourself a small slap to your thigh, making you squeak out a yelp of surprise, when Joel's mouth involuntarily pulls from your cunt.

"You gonna keep still? Or you gonna keep fuckin' wrigglin'?"

You shift again, biting your cheek as you test him. Channelling his energy into eating your cunt is working wonders for him and he seems calmer already, but that doesn't stop him lightly slapping your thigh again, shooting a warning look up at you.

"Got a way to keep you still if you can't fuckin' do it by yourself, sweetheart," he warns and, as if sensing you're about to test him again, he unhooks one arm from you and pushes a finger straight into your wet heat.

You moan, gasping again when he sucks your clit for good measure.

"Huh?" He's coaxing you, trying to get you to wiggle again and earn yourself another surprise. Not one to push your luck you simply moan, letting your back arch slightly when he begins to move his finger inside you. "What was that?"

"Fu-nothing. Just - fuck - so good."

You mind is liquid, seeping out of your ears and making a mess of your jacket when he licks you again, dancing the tip of two fingers around your entrance before sliding both into you. If it hurts him, he doesn't let on, but you can tell it does something to him by the groan he makes into your cunt as his fingers curl in you, making your walls clamp and twitch around his fingers.

"That's it," he murmurs. "Like gettin' this pussy ate, don't you?"

"Mm."

"Thought so. Needy fuckin' pussy. Not just your mouth that wants to be kissed is it, she needs it too?"

"Oh god, yes please, she needs it too."

And you can feel it, the moment he switches from eating your cunt to kissing it. You know the shapes, the trails he kisses, the way his tongue dances. You'd committed it to memory the past week, made yourself come at the thought of his mouth, the scratch of his beard, the feel of him beneath your fingertips, touching him as much as he was touching you. His mouth and the memory work together then, bringing you so impossibly close to coming you can feel as your moans leave you more high pitched, how you push into him, chasing and chasing that feeling that's right there -

"See," he says, stopping your orgasm in it's tracks when he pulls back, a knowing smile on his face. He pushes another finger into you too, watching as your legs twitch open wider to take him, the rim of your pussy spreading across his fingers with slicked up ease. "Don't even gotta stuff your mouth, just gotta keep this thing right here stuffed and suddenly you're actin' all nice and polite."

There's a brief hope in you that he'll go for a fourth finger, stretch you out across his sore knuckles and ready you for his hard cock, but the hope fizzles away, cast to the side and forgotten, the second his mouth joins his hand back between your thighs.

You're almost there again already, the crest of the orgasm he stole from you a moment ago barely behind you. His tongue laps rhythmically, never ceasing, and his breaths come in heavy, fanning across your folds as he feasts on you, fingers pumping so deep you're sloshing around them. You're hot, so impossibly hot in spite of the cold. You want to shed more layers, bare yourself for him, but you're so close and he's getting you there fast, goading you on with each satisfied groan into your cunt.

"That's it," he mumbles into your twitching pussy. "Fuck that's it sweetheart, come on my fingers."

You can feel it build, Joel's mouth engulfing you and lapping at everything you have to give. The beginnings of your orgasm start to shudder through you, your legs stuttering with every flick of his tongue. Your back arches from the table, toes curling in thick socks as your heels press into his back, pushing him into you. And then it hits you.

The coil in your belly snaps, letting loose an orgasm that swamps all your senses. Held down by Joel's muscular arm and pinned by the fingers hooked in you, you buck into his mouth. Quivering thighs have clamped around his ears, attempting to draw up and pull back as you squirm in his firm grip. You're screaming too, you think, a breathy high pitched shout of his name that you just can't hold back, that gets shakier and shakier the longer it goes on.

And it does go on. Joel doesn't stop, determined to wring from you as much as he can. His fingers are locked inside of you, forced to stillness by the pulsing in your pussy. Still, he can flex them, curling his pruning fingertips into you while he tongues your clit, groaning with each twitch of it beneath his tongue. You know that sound, how it's gotten deeper and more desperate as he's devoured you. It's a sound that tells you he's hard, that he needs relief and will be desperate for it the second he pulls away from you. That thought only makes you come harder, and by the time your cunt has stopped its erratic pulsing around Joel's fingers and you've fallen limp, deaf, and winded against his table, he's already standing, pushing the chair back and letting it crash to the floor.

Dragging his fingers from you he pushes between your legs, pulling his jeans open as best he can, wincing when he rasps his knuckles on the fabric a little too harshly. You reach for him, wanting to help, wanting to be a relief for him like he is for you.

"Let me -"

But he knocks your hand away, tugging down his jeans a moment later, his cock springing free and knocking into your thigh before he can capture it in his fist. It's hot against you, burning and dripping, likely feeling as achey as his knuckles do.

You expect him to plunge into you immediately, to take advantage of the position between your thighs and your pussy still fluttering with want at the sight of him, but he doesn't. Instead you watch for a moment as he strokes himself, the bloody scrapes on his knuckles contrasting harshly with the smooth, solid plains of his cock.

"Your hand, Joel, I can -"

"Fuck, my hand," he growls, resting his unmarred hand on your though to hold you still.

Your legs fall open further, his touch light on your thigh barely applying any pressure to open you up for him. Still, he doesn't take the clear route in, and you're rocking forward trying to notch his tip on your entrance just as the rough scrape of his knuckles drags across your sensitive inner thigh.

"Please put it in me," you finally beg, needing to feel the deep stretch of his cock as it pierces you.

"Nuh-uh, sweetheart, you get what you're given and you be grateful. You gonna take it?"

"Yes," you say quickly, following on with a small, "Please."

He groans at your eagerness to please. Making a man like Joel desire you so much he can't help but moan, just with small words and gasps of your own, makes you feel a power you've never had before and your eyes just about roll back in your head.

"Use your hands, show me that hole," he demands, giving you a little space to reach down and spread yourself for him. Your pussy is leaking, still, you can feel the slick spread on your fingers as you spread yourself for him. "That's it, hold yourself open. Fuck she's still twitchin'. Fuuuck. That's it."

His strokes become longer, more fluid, as he stares at your aching, empty cunt. You still want him inside, would do anything to get him there, but the desire in his eyes tells you he's getting exactly what he wants right now, and you almost want that more.

Tilting his head back as he strokes his cock with pussy drenched fingers, his bruised knuckles rub against your cunt with every stroke. Holding yourself open is easy, but keeping your legs from snapping shut each time his fist rubs your clit feels almost impossible. As if noticing, Joel pulls back, looking down where your cunt is spread open for it.

"That's it, keep it open. Good girl."

You know you're glistening for him, he'd eaten you so fiercely his saliva had been dripping from you, mixing with your own slick as you came on his tongue. He can see the evidence of it now, and the evidence of what his words do to you at the tell tale twitch of your cunt at his praise.

You can't take it any more and you beg in desperation again. "Please put it in, please."

It does nothing but earn you another soft slap to your thigh, which he rubs, grabbing the meat of you and squeezing in his large hand as his cock twitches and drips in his damaged one.

"No," he grunts, breath coming in more ragged now. "Want you to fuckin' wear me. Know who's pussy this is?"

"Yours."

"Fuck," he hisses. "Yeah it is. Pussy's mine, sweetheart. Mine."

Gripping your thigh tighter he moves in closer again, his hand bumping your sensitive nub as he jerks so closely you slick up his knuckles, soothing the soreness and jerking your clit in tandem.

"Oh fuck, that's it, sweetheart. Keep it just like that, show me that pussy. Show me," he's saying, over and over as he watches you.

A second later he's looking up, staring straight into your eyes and pinning you there on the table with them. You nod, words stuck in your throat when all you want to scream is for him to come, to cover you in it, to claim your pussy just like he needs, just like you want.

The sneer on his lips tells you he wants it too, and before you know it his tip is pressing firmly to your clit, jerking it with every frantic movement of his fist, his hips thrusting minutely into it like he can't control it, can't hold it back any more. And neither can you. The pressure and the movement on your clit is too much and you're coming again, so soon after the first it brings tears to your eyes.

"Ohhh, f-Joel, pleasecomeonme."

Looking down where he's pressed to you, he hisses a breath in through his teeth, holding it for just one second until it pushes out of him with a deep, shakey moan, cum exploding out of his tip and coating your folds, dripping through you until the last spurt coats your mound and he's left breathless.

You flop onto the table, grateful for the padding your coat offers your bones as you collapse into the wood. He's leaning over you, finally releasing his grip on your thigh and running a thumb across his mouth, cock still in his aching fist. Using the oversensitive tip, he smears the cum into your bare cunt and the insides of your thighs, catching your eyes just in time to watch them turn from glassy to rattling in your head, your mouth in a small O when he jerks your clit with his head, making you both gasp.

"You did say this pussy was mine," he says, letting a small wry smile tug at his cheeks. He pulls back then, letting go of his spent cock to run his fingers through your cum covered folds, scooping up a drop with his thumb.

Leaning leaning over you, he swipes his cum slicked thumb against your lips. You suck on it, tasting him, salty and bitter and sweet and Joel exploding on your tongue all at once. You want to thank him for it, but he pulls your mouth open with his thumb and pushes two fingers in, making you clean them with broad soothing strokes. You're careful not to catch him with your teeth, still aware of the wounds on his knuckles as you taste yourself off of his cum soaked fingers. If his hand looks like that, you wonder what the person on the receiving end looks like - the thought shouldn't make your cunt twitch, you know it shouldn't, that it's likely sick and twisted and wrong, but it does, and you moan around his fingers just has he pulls them from your mouth.

When your eyes flick to his lips, he smirks, knowing what you want without even asking. Cupping your face with his bruised, wet fingers, he makes you look at him, waits for the desperation in your eyes to ramp up to the point of frustration before he gives it to you.

Just a peck, that's all he gives, soft lips and the tickle of his facial hair so fleeting you could have blinked and missed it, before picking up the chair with a groan and settling back in it with a deep sigh, inspecting his wrinkled fingers. They'd spent so long buried in you the tips are starting to pucker, the ache that your warmth had soothed slowly crawling back down his knuckles.

Your mind is slowly pulling itself together, slowly crawling back into your ears and taking root in your skull again. Joel's eyes scan across you before finding something apparently considerably more interesting on the floor by his dining table.

"Where the fuck you shoppin' this late in the day?" he says with a frown, and you sit up, following his gaze to the floor.

Your pants are in a tangle, a sprawled mess on the floor with your shoes from where Joel had dragged them from your body and there, next to them in a messy pile, is a small stack of cards that you'd brought with you.

"Oh."

Right. You came here to talk to him, to renegotiate your arrangement, before Joel had needed more from you than a chat in that first moment through the door and pushed all thought of conversation from your mind. You clear your throat and square your shoulders, pushing away the last haze of orgasm and look back up at him. "I'm not. They're for you."

With a groan, he bends to pick them up, counting them as he stands and then raising them to you with a question on his lips.

"What're these for?"

"For the pills," you say, like it's obvious, like you hadn't been using your body as payment for months.

"I've already taken my payment," he says with a look to your cum coated cunt. "'n' if you wanna pay me for your daddies pills, you know it's more than this, right?"

"I can take 'em back if you don't want 'em. I just figured we can pay a bit now and, y'know... I wanna come here because I wanna come here, for me, not just for pills all the time." It sounded better when you rehearsed it in your head this morning, but coming out of your mouth now it sounds ridiculous.

He looks at you for a moment, taking you in, sat pantsless and dripping on his dining table.

"Y'know, there's a simpler solution to this than dumpin' cards on me without warnin', right?" If there is, you haven't thought of it. "Stop only comin' by when you need pills." Oh.

"If you want somethin' else, you know where I am. Now, if you don't wanna whore yourself for meds anymore, if you wanna be respectable, then that's fine. I'll take your cards. But I ain't takin' all of 'em. I'm keepin' these," he says raising a few cards up to you. "And you're takin' these," he pushes the remaining ones into your hand along with a small bag of pills he slips out of his pocket and you frown. You already weren't offering him enough.

"Now I get a nice respectable, good girl to fuck, and you get to pretend you're not a whore. Win-win."

"I'm not a whore," you insist, rolling your eyes, even though you know it's not exactly true.

Joel simply shrugs, shaking out your jeans and throwing them on the table next to you before placing his hand by your ass, thumb stroking delicately along the soft skin there, and leaning down toward you. He tilts your head up to face him, his nose catching yours as your eyes meet his.

"Whore or not, sweetheart," he smirks. "Pussy's still mine."

You weren't going to argue with him there.

taglist: @jupiter-soups @wannab-urs @bean-is-reading @not-a-unique-snowflake-blog @youandmeand5bucks-blog @bbyanarchist @vickywallace @kamcrazy123 @valkyreally @ashhlsstuff @a-literal-goblin @ariundercovers @iluvurfather @stevie75 @toxicanonymity @thesevi0lentdelights @sp00kymulderr

[thesmutsideblog]

Never Ever? - Spencer Reid x Reader

Summary: After a you and your long term ex breakup, some truths about your sex life come to light at the BAU and the idea that you've never had an orgasm, does not fly with Spencer Reid.

Reader is AFAB, and the story is using she/her pronouns, mostly because this one is really self indulgent and loosely based on me being pissed off about my ex.

Content warnings: dumbification of Spencer Reid, simp Spencer, shitty ex boyfriend, self indulgent writing, no beta or proof reading, cursing, smut, sexual worship, porn with plot I guess.

I have never written in second person before so I can only apologise for the shit quality of this, I havent written smut since 2018 and it's unedited, there is going to be spelling issues it's the dyslexia I'm sorry xx

GIF by comeandjointhebigboys

Spencer is doing everything in his power to look like he is minding his business, mostly because he really is trying to not eavesdrop. He came over to make a cup of coffee because he got barely any sleep last night and he wants to keep focused. But with no case directly at hand, there was something else the team were paying attention to and it was impossible for Spencer to completely ignore it.

"So he just, broke up with you?" Emily asks, dumbfounded.

"Over the phone," you say tilting your mug towards yourself, choosing to stare down at the small remainder of your coffee rather than to make eye contact with your team members.

"What an asshole," JJ says, lacing her arms together, until she looks like a disapproving mother. "Did he say why?"

"He said, we were going different places, and it would be a disservice to the time we spent together to pretend to be happy and keep lying to eachother," you say, sighing and putting the mug down, choosing to accept this caring interrogation about your breakup as your fate for the next twenty minutes.

"He used those words?" Emily asks, still trying to grapple the concept that your boyfriend, who she had met on a few occasions and had some thoughts she kept to herself about, had broken up with you.

"He used those words but what he really meant was 'I want to start sleeping with my twenty year old coworker and you spend too much time at work, so I'm ending things,' but he won't have the decency to admit that, despite the fact he was sleeping with her before the week was out," you roll your eyes as Emily and JJ continue to voice their disgust, loudly across the bullpen. You catch Spencer's eye for a moment and give him a small sad smile across the room, he nods and then looks away.

The guilt is eating Spencer alive. It's not like he actually had anything to do with the end of your relationship, he actively kept himself far away from it and even discussing it with you as possible. But the facts still remained the same, he likes you. He has liked you since your first day at the BAU and his feelings have never faltered. But you have always been in that relationship since long before he met you, and he knew that he didn't stand a chance, and he wouldn't want to mess around with that anyway. But he was unable to disagree with Prentiss, his own feelings for you aside, the simple fact of the matter was you have always been well out of your exes league. You are beautiful, and intelligent and charismatic, and your ex thought he was those things but more often than not fell short.

It's not like he even wished that your relationship would end and could blame it on the unlikely event of magical intervention. But the sheer fact that he was undeniably happier that you were no longer dating a man you were once very much in love with, that was enough to have him feeling guilty. Which is one of the many reasons he is really trying to not get involved in this conversation. One of the many reasons he is trying to keep a distance.

"How long were you two together again, like three years?" JJ asks. You shake your head.

"High school sweethearts," you correct her, "it's been a lot longer than three years."

"And he broke up with you over the phone, for a co-worker?" Emily emphasis each word in the sentence as she slowly sounds them out.

"He denies the last part but, yes," you nod.

"What are you beautiful ladies being so loud about?" Derek asks, approaching the three of you with some files in hand.

"The fact that men never fail to both disappoint and astound me," Emily states looking up at Derek from her seat, "no offence."

"None taken, but a little context wouldn't go a miss," he says looking at each of you in turn.

"My ex is a pig," you explain as nonchalantly as you can manage. You're trying really hard to be very collected about this. You've had a few days to process the breakup and you knew it was coming, even if you won't admit that to yourself. But being broken up with hurts, whether you see it coming or not. He was the only person you ever really dated, and having spent so much of your life with him this was a big adjustment. But deep down you weren't exactly mad about the situation, as much as it made you feel a lot better to complain about it. Things had not been right between the two of you for quite some time, and you find yourself almost relieved that it's over. But that still gave him no right to be as much of an asshole about it all as he has been.

"So he is the only guy you've ever really dated then, huh?" Emily asks. You give her a look as the thought crosses through her mind. "Wait, does that mean?"

"We started dating when we were barely more than kids Emily," you defend.

"So it's just been that guy, that guy?" Emily is struggling to be even the smallest part composed. "What is wrong with men?"

"You need some strange," Derek says casually.

"Morgan," JJ scolds him but Emily is slowly nodding her head. "Emily..."

"Best way to get over someone," Emily points out.

"Wow, I am not getting under anyone," you state, holding up your hands.

"Look, I understand the appeal of someone you've been with for a long time, they know you, they know what you like," Derek leans back on the table, "so new is risky, and some people really don't have a clue what they're doing I'll admit," he chuckles, "but trust me the longer you leave it-" Derek knows he isn't crossing a boundary, you and him have had plenty of conversations, but as soon as you give him the look to stop talking, he stops.

"I appreciate your concern but sex, is really not at the top of my priority list," you say.

"Please don't let a guy like that ruin it for you," Emily is staring up at the ceiling all types of distressed at the idea of your ex and his general existence.

"I don't think you need to worry about him ruining anything for me, more like just wasting my time," you say before realising that may be revealing too much. All three of them look at you instantly. "Do not read into that."

"Disinterest," Emily states looking you up and down. "And no immediate desire to release that usually comes with a breakup."

"We're not really doing this, are we?" JJ asks looking between the two profilers concerned.

"She's been distant the last few months, talking less and less about him, so the breakup wasn't unexpected, which means the sexlife probably wasn't up to scratch at the time," Derek adds.

"Oh you guys are doing this," JJ gives you an apologetic look as they start rattling off assumptions.

You try your best to ignore them until Derek says something which does tiptoe over the line- by a mile. "Pretty boy, what are the statistics on post breakup sex?" He is half joking but it pulls Spencer directly into a conversation he had been trying to avoid.

Spencer knows the answer, and that's obvious, but answering will only encourage them to get him involved in the conversation. But not answering is suspicious and could cause worse problems. He pushes his thumb into the centre of his palm as he speaks. "27% of adults report having sex with an ex within a two-year period," Spencer states knowing that's not what Derek meant but hoping he could get away with it.

"No, I mean rebound sex," Derek corrects.

"Studies show that thirty-five percent of those who are broken up with have sex to get over their ex, and twenty-five percent as a form of revenge," Spencer says giving in and stepping closer to the group.

"Look sixty five percent of rebound relationships fail within six months," you say. That's a safe thing to say you believe, as you know the team would likely assign that research as an attempt to make an educated guess how long the fling with the coworker would last. But Spencer knows better. He cannot help but wonder if that's what has been making you act differently the last few months. If you saw the end in sight and wondered what that means for you when it's over.

"You're not looking for a relationship though, you're just looking for some fun," JJ points out.

"You do remember how to have fun, don't you beautiful," Derek asks giving you a wink.

"Yeah," you say brushing him off.

"Do you?" Derek asks, unconvinced.

"I told you, I'm not interested in going out and getting laid, it's not worth the energy," you say.

"When was the last time you had an orgasm?" Emily asks. Spencer chokes on his coffee.

"Emily!" JJ chastises her.

"Someone had to ask," Emily says.

"No one had to," you tell her.

"Come on, six months?" Emily asks. "A year?"

"Emily," JJ warns.

"Shit..." Derek whispers and you feel his gaze on you intensifying. He has you all figured out.

"What?" Spencer asks, not meaning to.

Derek is keeping his eyes on you and you cannot meet his eye. "Tell me I'm wrong pretty girl," Derek says, wanting himself to be wrong.

"I... I don't know... You're a profiler, how am I supposed to lie to you?" You huff.

"Are you kidding me?" Derek asks.

"Derek you're not helping," you state.

"Sorry," he says, "I just don't understand how that can be the case."

"You said it yourself, some people really don't have a clue what they're doing," you say.

"So you've never?" Emily asks cottoning on.

"Can we please stop talking about this," you say.

Spencer's brain is ticking over trying to read between the lines and when it clicks he is struck with a similar dumbfounding as Morgan. How? How?

He cannot help but have one clear thought scrambling around his brain at a million miles per hour. If he had ever had the chance, he wouldn't have wanted anything more than to make sure you felt good. To know he had made you feel good.

How inconsiderate could your ex be? How little attention must he have been playing to not even notice that you were not getting what he was out of it? How had he never cared to make that better?

And why did you not feel cheated by that fact?

"I'm not eavesdropping," Garcia defends bringing Spencer out of his head and back into the room.

"Okay why don't we just fax everyone the stats on my sex life," you groan, resting your head in your hands.

"I'm just saying," Garcia tries.

"I appreciate all of the unnecessary concern," you say, "but my sex life isn't a BAU case." Emily smiles as she goes to speak but you catch her thought right before she opens her mouth. "And it's no ones problem to solve either."

"It's a little tragic," JJ confesses.

"JJ," you're surprised, JJ is normally the one you can count on to get the others back on track but she just shrugs.

"Let's leave it be, Garcia do we have a case," Spencer is talking with his hands even more than normal and you cannot help but notice. He is trying to come to your rescue and you appreciate that. You appreciate everything Spencer does.

"Maybe," Garcia explains, waving her tablet at the group. "Hotch wants us in the conference room, five minutes ago."

You're quick to get out of your seat and away from the grilling you are receiving from the team and everyone else is quick behind you. Hotch and Rossi are at the desk when you all enter.

Hotch frowns. "You took a while," he notes.

"Discussing the breakup?" Rossi asks, looking you up and down.

"I dont even want to know what has given that away," you admit taking a seat. Hotch nods a half apology which you silently shrug off in return.

You were trying your best to pay attention, giving Hotch the respect he deserves, but the case he was talking about didnt feel like it required the BAU's involvement and Emily is quick to voice that opinion. You managed to register a few words about consulting and favours, but nothing is really sinking in, not when you can feel Spencer's gaze on you as hot as a fever.

You raise your eyes to meet his and they dart away. You think back, and it occurs to you that maybe conversations about your sex life or anyone of the teams sex lives for that matter wasnt exactly what Spencer signed up for. You feel a little guilty, knowing you kind of indulged the others and let him get pulled into the conversation even if that wasnt your intention.

You catch him looking at you again but he doesnt see you looking back, it's like he is trapped in a thought, and in this moment you've never seen Spencer look so without a clue.

"Reid?" Hotch asks, repeating the question.

Spencer looks to Hotch, and he buffers. You know he knows the answer to the question, you know he always knows, but his brain seems to have frozen up on him. "I... sorry what?"

"This is statistics kid," Derek says, "are you sick or something?"

Emily gently pokes Spencers shoulder. "Maybe he is getting a software update," she jokes.

You lean forward and give Hotch the answer he is looking for, remembering from a conversation you and Spencer had a few weeks back about Ohio. Hotch gives a side eye to Rossi before continuing.

You look back at Spencer and he is watching you again, you offer him a small smile and he returns it. You've always been better at reading Spencer than most members of the team but you don't recognize this behaviour at all.

"Are you okay?" You ask him as you both make your way down the steps of the BAU.

"Of course, why do you ask?"

"You blanked back there, Spence, pretty hard," you say as gently as you can, "I havent seen you like that since..."

"Since when?" Spencer looks curious, and softer somehow.

"Since we worked that case in Illinois, with the models, you took one look at that girl Annie Grant was it, and your IQ dropped like a hundred points," you laugh gently.

"She was pretty," Spencer confesses.

"I think Morgan got her number," you recall.

"He did," Spencer agrees.

"So, what is it? Because it's not a pretty girl in lounge wear," you say.

"You dont know that for sure," you can tell he is trying to joke around the subject, and normally youd find that cute. Cute in the kind of way you havent been able to admit to yourself before. Because having a crush on a coworker is not convenient at the best of times.

"Okay, Dr Reid, keep your secrets," you give him gentle shove and his smile is disarming, soft and so happy to just be involved. "Got any fun evening plans?"

"There's this new study into cognitive dissonance in specific trauma patterns I have been meaning to read," he offers. You bite back a chuckle.

"You've got a date with science," you nod to yourself, "of course you do."

He looks around, thinking for a moment. "Are you going to walk?" He asks.

"I usually do," you admit, "it's only a few blocks after all."

"Can I," he pauses, "can I walk you?"

"You want to walk me home?" You ask, a little suprised at the offer.

"If that's okay, the study can wait," he says. There is a look in his eyes you can't quite pinpoint, somewhere between pleading and hopeful. You nod.

"I'd love that Spence."

The distance to your apartment door had never felt so short, and you hadn't realised until now quite how much you enjoyed the moments when you were with Spencer, and no one else was watching. Maybe because he paid less attention to making sure no one noticed him watching you, and he just keeps watching.

Spencer looks at his feet as you fumble with your keys, he has no idea what he is doing. He didn't think any of this through, he just kept thinking about you, and what you deserved and what you should've always been given and now he is stood at the doorstep of your place with no plan, no idea of what compelled him to think any of this was a good idea and no idea of what to do next.

You smile at him, and bite your lower lip just a small bit, the look is so demure that Spencer wonders if he imagined the entire conversation in the bullpen, wondering if maybe he was really so wrapped up in these months of conflicted feelings for you that he managed to lapse from reality so badly that he got himself here.

"Do you want to come in for coffee?" You offer and his heart damn near stops in his chest.

"Coffee is never coffee kid," Derek's voice rings in his head. "It's an invitation."

"Got decaf?" Spencer asks, and you laugh.

"Like anyone who works at the BAU knows what decaf is," you open the door wide and walk through. "You coming?"

He doesn't answer but follows you, closing the door behind him. Your apartment isn't a mess but it's clear things have been moved around since your breakup, there is clear empty spaces where things once collected dust, like so many things once filled a place and vanished. You weren't dwelling on the relationship, because there wasn't a point. You had loved and you had lost, and you knew it went like that sometimes.

"You better not be profiling me Dr Reid," you quip as you catch him looking around.

"I wouldn't dare," he says.

"So, are you going to explain why you're being so sheepish?" You ask, reaching for a mug, to actually make coffee.

"I'm being sheepish?" he asks. He had hoped he was hiding it better.

"Nervous at the very least," you say putting the kettle on. He says nothing and you sigh. "Did we make you uncomfortable earlier?"

"What?" Spencer asks, caught off guard by the question.

"Talking about my ex," you offer up. "I know that sort of gossip isn't exactly for everyone-,"

"No," he is quick to defend, "that's not what's bothering me."

You smirk and he sees the trap you laid for him that he walked right into. "So something is bothering you pretty boy," Morgan's nickname for him falls from your lips and it sounds so different. It burns every nerve ending, each fibre of his being and he forgets how to speak for a moment too long. "Spence?"

"I," he brings himself back.

"I don't mean to pry, you don't have to tell me anything," you explain quickly.

"How was your ex such an idiot?" he asks outright. You laugh, it's short and shallow because you're not expecting anything close to that from Spencer.

"What?" It's your turn to feel dumb now as you spiral trying to process what Spencer is suggesting. That the conversation had gotten to him, but not in the way you'd thought. His problem hadn't been with the topic but the content, the confession. The kettle brings itself to a boil but you're interest is elsewhere now.

"I don't mean to speak out of place here, but if I were him there are so many things I would've done differently," he fidgets with his tie but doesn't stop. This confession is coming out now or not at all and he wants it finished. He needs it finished. He does not want blurred lines. Not between the two of you. "Not even touching the subject of how your relationship ended. I wouldn't have left you in the rain last October, I wouldn't have held all the things I knew about you when we met as reasons to run years after I agreed to love you regardless. I wouldn't have let you go to work angry all those times. I wouldn't have lied about plans. I wouldn't have let you go to sleep sad or angry, and be gone in the morning. I wouldn't have left you wanting, for anything. Because if I was him I would understand what a beautiful rarity it is to find someone who does what you do, with your compassion and determination and dedication and is still kind, still hopeful, even when things are dark. There are not a lot of things I don't know much about, and maybe relationships, and romance and sex are in that limited list, and maybe he would argue that hypotheticals hold no ground when your experience is as limited as mine, but I frankly don't care what his opinion would be. Because he didn't see you for what you are and that means his thoughts are of no value to me. I don't tell you this because I am expecting you to say anything, it's just burning me up that you weren't treated, hell worshiped, in the way you deserved and I had to tell you that I can't think of anything more wrong." He steps back and you're still catching your breath. "I, I am sorry I shouldn't have... I will see you at work."

He turns and strides to the door, and your breath heaves in and out of your chest and you wonder if you can find your voice before his hand finds purchase on your doors lock. "Spencer," you breathe out. He pauses, hand hovering over the door handle.

"Yes?" his voice is so quiet, and he doesn't turn to look at you.

"Please don't leave," the request falls from your lips and Spencer has never felt more of a need to do something than to do anything you ask of him in this moment. But his doubt still hangs gently in the space between the two of you.

"What?" he asks again, searching in the word to find something to hold onto, looking for some guidance or instructions he missed. He didn't have a plan, and he doesn't know what to do with this.

"Please," you say again, voice sturdier now as you start to close the distance between the two of you, "Spence," his breath hitches as you place a hand gently on his shoulder, encouraging him to turn back to you, and he does, "don't leave."

His eyes stare into yours and you swear you feel all the months of unsaid things, of quiet wanting, of stolen thoughts in weak moments, bursting at the seams. You had told yourself in another world, another life time, had you met Spencer Reid and the timing had been different, if you had been different, he would've been everything. You told yourself from that first day that those brown eyes may plead into you with every moment you meet them but it was never going to be the right time.

His eyes stare into yours and he feels the weight of all the things he long tired to bury, crawling their way up from the depths and pushing against his skin, desperate to get out. Desperate to be known. Desperate to correct the wrongs and do right by you. Desperate.

His hand hovers touch's length away, scared to close the distance, scared to make the move, to change everything. You both know in this moment, that all it takes is one touch and you're going over the cliff.

This is a road you do not turn back from.

You whisper one last time, like a prayer, "Spence," and in a blink gravity turns back on, and everything blooms in bright technicolour.

It unfolds in a rush, his hand to your waist, pulling you that much closer, both of your hands gripping to the fabric of his shirt as he pulls you up to him, other hand moving gently under your chin to guide the tilt of your head. His lips crash onto yours and there's a hunger you've never seen in him, and a hunger you've never known inside yourself.

There's a gentleness, a caution in his desperation, in his need, one that you don't have in your own. He keeps kissing you and you back up, footing not very careful as you tighten your grip on his shirt. Your back finds support against the edge of your counter and you find yourself letting on of the hands slip from the fabric of his button down to tug at his tie, to keep him closer at first, and then in an attempt to remove it entirely.

He pulls back for a moment, not to catch breath as either of you would be happy to drown in this moment, but his eyes are scanning you, like he is looking for something else, something missing.

You pause, slowly tugging the tie from his collar and letting it fall to your floor. "Spencer?" you ask.

He looks lost as he breathes in. "I don't know what I am doing," he says.

"You're doing great is what you're doing," you say, not looking away.

"Is this okay?" he finally asks. Your heart starts running away from you as you try to remember to breathe.

"This is more than okay," you assure him, "please Spencer, don't stop kissing me."

That's all he needs to hear and his lips are back on yours and the kisses are feverish and starved and he presses his hands into your hips and the gentle moan that leaves your lips sends Spencer's mind spinning.

He pulls his lips from yours and starts kissing a trail down to your neck, you lean more into the support of the counter top and let a hand find it's way into a tangle of his brown hair.

His tongue against your skin, the gentle brush of teeth on that spot that makes the sound from before seem like a draft of a masterpiece. Spencer knows that now he has heard you, voice like honey, moan trembling from your lips, nails dug into his scalp gently tugging on his hair, barely able to keep your eyes open yet again your breathing steady, no sound will ever compare.

In the the times he had let himself think about you, imagine all the things, let his fantasies and dreams run away with him, he had never come close to this moment. How your fingers shake as you start to unbutton his shirt, needing to do something, needing something.

Needing him.

And you can feel his need in return, in the way he holds onto you, on the way he is listening to your body, hearing every response, feeling every movement, determined to do this right.

He feels the way you press your tights together, tight against the counter, the need for something more radiating off of you, and you don't give time for the doubt to creep in. "We should," you breathe out as you feel the blood rushing through you, knowing that there will be marks from where he is kissing you that you won't be able to hide tomorrow, not that you want to, "move this to the bedroom."

"Is now a bad time to point out that I have mostly just a conceptual understanding of what we are about to do?" Spencer asks between kisses.

"I think you're worrying too much, because if you're basing this on theory," you take his hand leading him towards your room, "so far you're giving nothing but hard evidence."

You let your own innuendo slide as you both fall back onto your bed, he looks down as he leans over you, and there's a softness, a patience in this moment, as he needs to soak it all in.

You reach up and continue to undo the buttons on his shirt until they are completely undone, and he watches you as you do, you give the fabric a gentle tug and he catches on, slipping the rest of the shirt and the jacket off and letting it fall back somewhere out of mind. You trace a hand gently up his arm and he leans down to kiss you again, your lips, your jaw, your neck.

He runs a thumb over the deep red mark he has left and you feel the fever rising again. You need out of these clothes, you need more.

You start to undo your own shirt buttons and as each button comes undone Spencer follows the trail of exposed skin and leaves hot kisses on each new place.

You can feel the hard outline of his cock against your thigh as you reach to unzip the side of your skirt. The nervousness is still fluttering in Spencer's face as he helps you slip out of it. His fingertips brushing over exposed skin, his hand creeping up the inside of your thigh and you buck up gently at the touch.

His lips trace kisses up your torso to your chest and like this, each kiss so intoxicating, each touch so electrifying, his hand inching further and further up your thigh, as his lips dance over the skin around the fabric of your bra there is nothing he could ask of you that you would not do.

Sex may never have been perfect before, but you'd always thought it was at least decent, passing, respectable. But this build up with Spencer, his hands on your skin, his lips leaving evidence on your body that he has been here, this was more than you'd ever felt. And he hadn't even really touched you yet.

You reach to undo his trousers, eager to get him in less clothing but he pulls back, out of your reach. "Not yet," he whispers against your skin, "you start doing that and this will be over way too soon." He brings his lips to yours again, stealing a deep kiss as he unclasps your bra. "And this is about you, all about you," he is mumbling again, almost incoherent against you. He is determined, his mind is focused on you and your pleasure and what you deserve.

You don't think you've ever wanted anything as much as you want this.

His thumb brushes against the your clothed skin, and sparks shoot through your body, nails digging into his shoulder as you gasp at the contact.

He nudges closer, his forehead pressed to yours, and you look at him. Spencer, your colleague, your friend. Spencer who never forgets your coffee order. Spencer who stayed all night to help with paperwork because you lost a bet. Spencer who has accompanied you to every movie you've ever asked him to. Spencer who bought an extra ticket to every convention just in case you would want to come.

"Please," you plead, like you need to, as if it was possible that he wouldn't do anything for you in this moment. As if you even needed to ask.

He kisses you, pulling you up and towards him, breathing you in as his hand finds its way between the elastic of your underwear and your skin.

Your nerves are as quick to respond to his touch as fire to a accelerant. Every movement makes you wonder if Spencer was given some map of your body that you didn't know existed, a guide to movement and pressure and timing that couldn't be more perfect.

You are nodding at his movements, keening at every increase of pace, every finger curl, every swipe of his thumb. Your body shuddering in anticipation and a pleasure you never knew courses through you.

Spencer is leaving compliments with every kiss across your body, so eager to please, so desperate to worship. When he hits the spot, your body gives you away at alarming speed, you buck, moving your arms to prop yourself up on elbows, leaning into him, into the movements, rutting against him. "Fuck," you manage in the haze.

Spencer responds to this approval with dedication and vigour and then you feel it, that hot white coil of pleasure pulling at you, like a tight chord. "Shit," you start breathing heavier, faster, "shit, shit."

"You're so incredibly beautiful," you hear Spencer whisper. You can't keep your eyes open as your knees begin to shake.

"Spencer," you whimper, not for any reason but to say his name. The need to say his name over and over, and over as the chord pulls tight and finally snaps.

The pleasure explodes through you, every nerve tingling, like fireworks cascading through you. You shake, riding the high through and fall back onto the bed, slumped with a laboured breath.

Spencer moves back up to be level with you, gently brushes some stray hairs from your face and he smiles down at you. "That is what it's supposed to feel like?" You ask.

If this was all he could have for the rest of his life, Spencer would be a happy man. He plants a kiss on your forehead, and that look of devotion has not left his eyes.

But he has been filled with a new sense of purpose, like he was made for this. For you.

He doesn't have time to debate internally if your ex was purely just that poor at what he did or if it feeling so easy, coming so naturally to him was something else entirely. He didn't really care which it was, maybe both. Right now all he cared about was making up for lost time, lost opportunities, all your disappointment.

He kisses you again and the force of it is more knowing, more sure, it's hot and messy and every moment it feels like you need to be closer, deeper, more entwined. The whole time he keeps his hand in your underwear, thumb running in soft, intensely accurate circles as his fingers do most of the work.

It crosses your mind that maybe it should be almost embarrassing that he is making it so easy. It should be embarrassing that Spencer barely needed any time to bring that second orgasm to precipice. It should be embarrassing that you're convinced this man could make you come by the way he kisses you alone, but you're not embarrassed. Not because you've never felt the pleasure like this before, not because you think pleasure it never something to be embarrassed about and not because after everything you deserve this. But because it's Spencer Reid, and everything with him has always felt like it is exactly as it should be, and him making you feel this way, is no exception.

He holds you in the kiss as your second orgasm pulses through you, just as intense as the first one, he feels you shake as it floods you. A moan escaping into the kiss, from your mouth to his and he groans against your lips.

He is so focused on you that he isn't paying any attention to how this is effecting him, how hard he is against you. How desperate he is for you. His need for your pleasure overtaking any need of his own.

You know if left to his own devices Spencer would stay as the two of you are, skin pressed to skin, lips on yours, trying to write years worth of wrongs in one night. But you do not want to give into exhaustion before you have let him ruin your expectations in all the ways you know.

He moves from your lips to your neck and before you can process much of his plans you feel the kisses trailing your hipbone, and with the third orgasm approaching you can see where his mind has wondered to. You lean forward, gasping in pleasure, but determined to get his attention, you place a hand on the side of his face, tilting up his chin to meet your eyes. "Wait," is all you manage to moan out before the pleasure tears into you, your head falls back and you grab a fistful of sheet, trying to keep yourself up through the pleasure.

Spencer does as you ask and waits until you manage to gather your words, eyes on you. "Please," you try. He runs his eyes over your body trying to understand your request.

You reach down, pulling once again at the edge of his trousers, fumbling to undo them, to get him out of them. You've never known Spencer to be so slow to catch on, but he is practically drunk on you.

"Oh," he manages. "Oh."

Before he can start to explain all the reasons he doesn't think that's important right now you look up at him with those eyes so pleading. "Please," you whisper again.

And he is putty in your hand, happy to do anything you ask of him, he nods and you finish undoing his trousers and push them down, he finishes discarding them.

Now it's your fingertips against his skin and he holds his breath as you move for his boxers. "Is this okay?" you ask quietly.

"You're everything I have ever wanted," the honey leaves his lips and you kiss him, his lips focused on you as you help him out of his boxers and pull him down and close.

"I need you," you whisper. "Right now, I need you."

"I am yours," he responds.

You keep your fingers threaded in his hair, and you tug a little harder as you become overwhelmed with him. "Fuck," Spencer's voice shudders in pleasure and you understand his desperation to please you instantly, because you want nothing more than to give him everything.

Everything becomes a mixture of moans and names, lips pressed to skin, and fabric scrunched with every thrust. You kiss Spencer's neck, finding his sweet spot with a similar precision to which he found yours. Leaving a collection of marks on his neck before her buries his face into yours, repeating your name over and over, becoming more and more wanting. His neediness matching your own and as he digs his fingers into your hips that now familiar feeling starts to rush you.

"Spencer, I am going to cum again," you whisper. Spencer cannot form words, he just keeps kissing, sucking, digging at your skin, even now he isn't close enough to you. "Fuck!" You scream out and the pleasure of your orgasm is almost too much for Spencer.

"Fuck, I," Spencer's brain is doing flips trying to figure out what to do, what he is supposed to do. "I am going to."

"Please," you beg in his ear.

"I should, I haven't," he is trying to piece the words together but they're not coming. You know what is trying to say, what is cannot find the words to ask.

"Please stay with me," you say, nudging his nose with your own, "please."

Your gentle request is his breaking point and he crashes his lips back onto yours as his own orgasm comes to fruition.

He collapses down next to you, both catching your breath. "Fuck," you repeat, for what might be the millionth time, as you long lost count.

You cannot help it, you let out a little laugh and Spencer glances at you, a smile breaking out on his face. "For the record, I hadn't planned that," he says.

"For the record, I really planned on drinking my coffee."

"I can make you a coffee," Spencer offers, turning to his side.

"We should, get cleaned up first," you smile.

"Then coffee?"

"Then coffee."

[mostly-marvel-musings]

Chapter 1 - An affair to remember

A/N: Here we have a new idea of mine, I thought I’d give it a shot. Leave a comment, heart or reblog if you enjoyed reading this! 

Pairing: Tony Stark x F! Reader 

Warning: 18+ age gap.

Word count: 2.8k

An affair to remember

.

You tiptoed around the foyer to head upstairs, being as silent as you could so as to not wake anybody. 

“Ah shit!”

You cursed under your breath as your elbow bumped into the wooden railing of the stairs, smarting a little as you rubbed it. You weren’t much of a rule-breaker but every now and then, you liked to let loose, especially since your best friend Isabelle was back in town. Her travel schedule was crazy and she spent months in remote jungles photographing the wildlife there. 

Tonight you, her and your friend Sebastian met up at Blarney Cove - your favourite pub for a much needed catch-up. One drink led to four and then escalated until you lost count, you danced and sang your heart out, shared gossip and avoided Sebastian’s drunken advances all night. You wished he would just give up, you practically grew up together and he was always a friend for you, but his feelings developed into something more, your didn’t. A part of you felt bad for having rejected him so many times, especially since he was quite the catch. He was tall, handsome, a smooth-talker plus his family was filthy rich and had the world at their feet. You two got along like a house on fire and it was always a good time with him but you just wished he would stay in his limits. 

Izzy had been a witness to it all, she was your sounding board, and someone who always knew the right things to say. Somewhere her heart went out to Sebastian since he was so evidently smitten but she never coaxed you to do or act on something you were never going to feel. Only a couple of years older, she was like the sister you never had. And with her gone most of the year, this meetup was extra special.  

You stumbled your way up to your room, closing the door quietly before rushing to the bathroom where you hurled the contents of your stomach down the toilet, cursing yourself for having made terrible choices of drinks. 

Who’s idea was it to down five tequila shots back to back anyways? Oh yeah, that was you. 

Not bothering to change, you threw yourself on your plush bed, falling asleep almost instantly, thinking of the absolute field day you’d have tomorrow. 

.

Faint music reached your ears as you roused from your slumber, a dull ache in your muscles and head made itself evident almost instantly as you sat up, rubbing sleep from your eyes. Letting out a groan at the sight of your runny mascara now stuck to the back of your hands, you threw the duvet off your legs and made your way to the bathroom to clean up.

The Advil you stashed in the mirror cabinet came in handy, you really were ready to sleep off that hangover but you realized it wouldn’t be possible since your parents were hosting a party today for a bunch of people you didn’t care about. Still, as a part of the Y/L/N family, you were expected to show up. 

Texting your friends to come over for a pool party, you got dressed in a cute summer dress and made yourself look less hungover with a little bit of makeup. With one last glance in the mirror, you made your way downstairs where polite chatter and terrible lounge music grew louder and louder. 

Plastering on a smile you greeted everybody, making polite conversation while looking out for your parents who were deep in conversation with one of their suit-clad friends who had his back to you. Your father beckoned you over with a wide grin on his face upon locating you, by the looks of it, the champagne had been popped rather early today. And your Dad was already on his third mimosa, chuckling loudly at a funny remark his friend made before wrapping you in a hug. 

“There you are, my love. Meet Mr. Stark, he’s a dear friend of mine. And Anthony, meet Y/N, my slightly hungover daughter.” 

“Dad!” you nudged him, not missing the eye-roll your mother threw your way. Nothing ever got past him, but still, he was the coolest Dad you could’ve asked for. You smiled at the man in front of you, offering your hand confidently. 

“In her defense Carl, Saturdays are officially meant for nursing hangovers. Nice to meet you, Miss Y/L/N.” he shook your hand with a friendly smile. As your hands touched, there was an unmistakable spark you felt, something warm, cozy and yet electric. You were sure he felt it too because he glanced down at the same time you did, releasing it with a deliberate chuckle. 

“Kids and their cliched habits.” your mother muttered, shaking her head disapprovingly. 

“Parents and their stereotypical beliefs.” you retaliated, grabbing a mimosa for yourself from one the trays the waiters were passing around. 

“Come on Jen, she’s visiting, play nice.” your father pulled her aside before you could react, not wanting the situation to escalate further. You saw them bicker in hushed whispers as they walked away, leaving you with Mr. Stark who raised his glass, waiting with a sympathetic smile. 

“Troubled childhood?” you asked, not exactly knowing how to make small talk with him.

“Oh you have no idea.” he flashed you a grin before downing the rest of his drink, raising his eyebrows in a challenge while you did the same. 

You couldn’t help but notice how very, very good-looking he was for his age. Neatly trimmed beard, sharp blue suit that looked tailormade for him, a charming smile that caused your tummy to flip. This man was definitely one of the best looking forty something year old you’d ever met. 

“So Miss Y/L/N, what do you do besides rage on a Friday night?” 

“I am a freelance photographer, mostly portraits. I work with fashion magazines and models for portfolios. And please, it’s Y/N, Mr. Stark.” 

“Interesting. And it’s Tony for you. You graduated three years ago, right? I remember Carl showing pictures some time ago.” 

You nodded, continuing to describe your line of work as he asked more questions, showing genuine interest. It made you realize he was quite easy to talk to, he had funny quips and anecdotes to share that had you in splits and you ended up chatting for a long time before your friends showed up and pulled you away.

You felt his lingering stare at the back of your head as you made your way inside, a part of you had not wanted the conversation to end so soon. 

Changing into a red bikini, you slathered waterproof sunscreen down your body and jumped in the pool with your friends while the ‘adults’ carried on with more booze. Izzy was sharing one of her stories about an encounter with a lioness in Tanzania when Sebastian dove in right next to you, making a big splash just to annoy you. 

“What are you twelve?” you grumbled, swimming away from him to let your friend continue her story. He got busy with getting cans of beer with the other guys soon, much to your relief. 

“Is he doing the whole ‘pushing you down the swing and pulling on your pigtails’ from kindergarten now?” Izzy giggled, handing you a bottle of your favourite beer. 

“I mean, ew!” you rolled your eyes, glancing over your shoulder at Sebastian who was smirking at you, giving you a wink. 

“Going out on a date with him wouldn’t do you any harm, Y/N. I’ve heard he’s great in bed and it’s about time you got your cherry popped.” your best friend suggested, yelping when you playfully kicked her so she slipped underwater. 

A couple of hours passed when Tony found himself standing near a window in the guest bedroom that overlooked the pool in the backyard, the dull buzz from the drinks that were had during the course now somewhat settled. His gaze trained on you as you lounged on your favourite flamingo floatie, legs on either side, a relaxed smile adorning your features.

There was something about you that drew him in from the first moment he laid eyes on you, you were intelligent, funny and simply gorgeous. The more you spoke, the more he realized how passionate you were about your work, the way you unconsciously played with your hair when he’d asked questions, the cute little frown as you thought about your answer, he found it all very endearing. 

What was happening to him? Was he attracted to a girl half his age? One he’d only met a few hours ago? The daughter of his business colleague…someone who was young enough to be his child…it was wrong on so many levels. 

Oblivious to his internal monologue, you were joking around with your buddies, Tony felt his pants getting tight at the sight of your wet bikini that did nothing to hide your pebbled nipples; it didn’t help his situation when you simulated riding someone by grabbing the head of the inflated flamingo and rolling your hips suggestively, before falling back in the water in a fit of laughter. 

Glancing down, he felt embarrassed to see his tented pants, running his hands over it, he slipped in the bathroom to take care of it. Lucky for him, the bathroom window also offered a view of the pool, thankful that you couldn’t see what he was up to, Tony freed himself and began steadily stroking his cock, imagining what it would feel like if it were your dainty hands instead, or those perfect lips wrapped around him, swallowing his length until you gagged. He imagined what your pussy would feel like, warm and tight for him to deflower. 

He came with a grunt after a few deliberate strokes, cleaning the mess he had made with tissues before heading back out. He wasn’t used to feeling like this. 

No. 

Nobody had ever evoked such carnal desires before. He certainly never believed he’d find himself masturbating in a bathroom like a horny teenager while watching a girl half his age enjoying herself in the pool. 

As he closed the bedroom door behind him, he collided into you. 

“Oh I’m so sorry, Mr. Stark! I–I mean Tony.” you steadied yourself against his arm, before letting out a nervous chuckle. 

“No harm done. Drink responsibly, kid.” he jested, his previous state of embarrassment washing over him once more as his eyes drank in your form. Still wet from the pool, now a white towel covered your shoulders, small droplets inching their way down the silky smooth skin between your breasts…

“Dad said you’re staying for dinner?”  

He cleared his throat and frowned at your question. 

“Didn’t know I was. But I guess it’s difficult to turn Carl down once he’s exceeded his whiskey limit so I guess I’ll see you.” He chuckled, scratching the back of his neck. 

You said your goodbyes and he excused himself to go downstairs, not before seeing you head to your room which happened to be right next to where he’d just come out of.

All through dinner, you could sense simmering tension between the two of you, or maybe you were just imagining it. He didn’t engage in much of a conversation with you, in fact he avoided eye contact for the most part but on a couple of occasions, you found his eyes on you, darting away quickly whenever you caught him.

“You should see Y/N’s work, Tony. She is incredibly talented.” your father bragged, giving you a proud smile. 

“Dad, stop! I don’t think Tony I mean, Mr. Stark’s interested in tha–”

“No. I’d love to see it actually. In fact I have an interview lined up with a magazine soon, I could recommend her if she’s interested.” Tony looked up at you expectantly, completely catching you off guard. 

“Really? I–I would love to! Wow! Thank you so much.” 

Your surprised expression made him smile before your Dad thanked him for giving you the opportunity. Your mother remained quiet as the conversation unfolded, eyeing you two with quiet suspicion. 

“Anyone up for a night cap?”

When Tony politely declined your father’s offer, you took the chance to invite him to your little home studio you had set up down in the basement. Your obsession with photography began in school when you were still living here, and with your Dad’s help, this room had quickly turned into a space where you would spend most of your teenage years.

Switching the light on, you gestured to the room where you had hung several of your previous works of photography up on the walls, a working station that housed all the chemicals that you used to develop them, especially ones with your old film camera that you still used. 

The walls are adorned with pictures you had taken over the years, some black and white portraits of your friends, a few candids of your father and a few others he didn’t recognise. 

“I didn’t know they still used these.” Tony murmured as he looked around, quite impressed with your work. All of the pictures you had up there had managed to capture raw emotion in them, something spontaneous and genuine about the expressions. 

“They probably don’t, but I do. My grandfather gifted me my first camera, I still use it to this day. I can’t ever think of giving it away. I don’t know, I still prefer the old school method of developing, I find it quite charming.” you explained, following him as he stopped to admire more of your photos. 

A faint smile played on your lips as you observed Tony walk around your space, his eyes trained on pictures in front of him, each one evoking a reaction from him as if he could read the true intent hidden behind them. 

You couldn’t pinpoint if it was the lighting in the room that made him look extra handsome or just his general charisma but you grabbed your old camera quietly and decided to photograph him. 

“This is very impressive work, Y/N. Truly, you are a talented indeed, I think–”

He saw a flash that cut him mid-sentence, taking him by surprise as he realized you had taken a picture of him. 

“Sorry. I had to. It’s a good one. Here.” you showed him what you’d captured, standing a little too close for him where he could breathe in the smell of your citrusy shampoo or was it berries? He wasn’t sure. It was enticing enough to become a fast favourite of his. 

Tony didn’t need to see the picture before decided he was going to have you as his photographer for the interview he had. Inhaling your scent, he brushed your hair aside with his fingers, making you look up at him, your heart racing at the simple gesture. 

“You’re hired.” he murmured, his brown eyes glancing at your lips, allowing himself to move just a little closer. You could smell his cologne mixed with a touch of whiskey from earlier, his warm breath unsteady against your own. 

You didn’t know what came over you, but you reached up to press your lips to his very lightly, almost apprehensive about your actions. It ended too quickly as realization of the moment washed over you and you stepped away. 

“I–I’m sorry. I don’t know why I did that.” 

You sprinted back upstairs without as much as a second glance at the man you left in your basement, feeling his lips that still lingered with your touch, with a mind that contemplated the moment that passed, rethinking if it did or it was all in his head. 

You had kissed him, and Tony’s uncertainties regarding that magnetic pull he felt towards you slowly dissolved into a desire for more. 

That night you lay awake in bed, replaying everything that happened throughout the day. All stray thoughts eventually led to the same thing.

You had kissed Tony Stark. Not an accident.

It was because you wanted to. It was an impulse you couldn’t shake off. Like you had to kiss him, your body was naturally drawn to the man who was twice your age, possibly older. A part of you was sure he had wanted you to do it, while the other part worried how inappropriate it must’ve been.

What if you’d screwed up your chance of that assignment he had offered? Surely he would have thought you had crossed a line? Oh God, what if he was married? As far as you remembered he wasn’t wearing a ring, or was he? It seemed like such a blur now. 

Covering your face with your hands, you groaned loudly before turning to your side, willing yourself to fall asleep. There was a familiar ding of a text message on your phone, when you opened it, it wasn’t from a number you recognized. But upon seeing the name of the sender, a smile made its way on your face. 

Come by Stark tower tomorrow to discuss the details of the photoshoot. And perhaps stay for a drink later? - T.S

[despairots]

#𝐀𝐍 𝐄𝐏𝐇𝐘𝐑𝐀 𝐁𝐋𝐎𝐎𝐌: YUTA OKKOTSU.

「 yuta okkotsu x male! reader 」

GENRE: fluff, just fluff :3 oh, and like a REALLY quick makeout but its really just fluff, i think a bit of angst tho?

CONTENT WARNING: swearing, violence, r! helps yuta with his injuries, i have no idea what the plot is anymore, r! is like kyouka from bsd and has her ability “demon snow”, rika doesnt like r! that much :,(, “demon snow” is somewhat like rika, so rika - yuta and “demon snow” - r!

AUTHORS: stop. changing. themes. *holds me by the throat and shakes me* no but seriously the more i change it the more i have to change my layout which i do NOT want anyways happy furina day!!! we luv u queen

there’s something that makes people believe you just lack emotions. maybe it’s the you didn’t react to people’s insult, or maybe it’s the way it looks like you’re always in a daze. yeah, you don’t exactly have anything going on in your head and yes, you’re always in a daze but somewhat, you’ve always gave off this rebellious energy, like something was attached to you that’s radiating this energy off.

so when yuta saw a curse behind you while assisting him, he wondered if that was the thing that was radiating off the rebellious energy from your “jellyfish aura” that his other friends would call it. just knowing you hid something below the facade you upheld was admirable, you always had this look that made people think your mind was somewhere else when you are aware.

and the way your voice shouted commands for your curse while you still held that alluring look before you switched your attention to him and helped him up when the enemy was being distracted by your curse, all he could do was stare when you asked if he was injured.

he knew rika didn’t like you holding him so carefully and— oh? you’re so close — making sure he didn’t fall to the ground while the both of you ran from the area. now, he’s watching you patch up his wounds so delicate that he’s convinced you’re afraid that you might hurt him.

yuta doesn’t know if he should speak, ask if you’re okay when he’s the one clearly injured, ask about the ring that’s on a necklace and dangling around your neck. he wonders if you were almost like him, that explains why he was so drawn to you. maki, inumaki and panda (plus gojo) already picked up that you caused him to be rather flustered.

the first time you two met was when yuta was first introduced to you. you had officially came back from your trip and his friends had wanted to throw you a party since they haven’t seen you in awhile. his friends often described you to be somewhat like a jellyfish, he was a tad bit confused by the wording but he understood when you walked into the classroom.

“welcome back, [name]!”

“kelp.”

you just had this look in your eyes when panda scooped you up and hugged you, the way one of your eyes closed when panda smushed your cheeks together and the small— and very unnoticeable — smile on your face when you realized you were missed made him blush.

“this is yuta, he’s new, so try not to overwhelm him. he’s delicate.” maybe when maki had said that, you started to treat him like some doll. always making sure your touches weren’t harming his already injured skin— and he could technically feel rika fuming — with the focused look on your face.

the one thing bugging him was the ring. were you already married or did you dedicate your life to someone else? although, he sounded awfully like a hypocrite right now. he was wearing the ring rika had given him.

“… what’re you thinking about?”

that was the first time he had heard you spoken in such a quiet, yet calm and alluring, tone towards him specifically. he was once told that you didn’t talk a lot and always kept to yourself, only allowing yourself to talk when on the battlefield.

he was shocked nonetheless, the tone of your face had caused him to jump a little and his cheeks to flare up. what should he say in this? should he tell the truth and ask if you were married? but you probably already figured that out by how hard he was staring at the ring.

“oh. um… are you married?” yuta asked timidly, averting his gaze to the ground, hearing the chair scrap and he’s wondering if the question was too insensitive. you only got up to dim the lights as a headache was starting to form before you sat back down infront of yuta.

you grabbed ahold of his cheek and turned to face it towards you, “are you?” you had shot the question back to him and let go of his cheeks, feeling his cheeks heat upon the hand on his cheek. yuta knew you were gesturing to the ring on his finger and he didn’t know how to respond.

he was married but at the same time he wasn’t, he’d seem unfaithful to rika but everytime you touched him, protected him, and now, talking to him, he blushed. and you had picked that up rather quickly.

you hummed, hands wrapping around the ring and looking down at your lap, “i was. he died though.” the way you said it so casually had caught him off guard, but your situation was similar to him aswell. yuta picked up the way your hand tightened around the ring as he stared down at his, fiddling it around his ring finger.

“the cursed spirit that’s always around you. what’s her name?” he looked back at you, blinking and suddenly, you just looked… too unrealistic? was that the right weird to describe you? “her name’s rika.” and you smiled. his heart started to pound against his rib cage when you held a soft smile, “you’d love her no matter what form, huh?”

he wondered if you were rika if she was a male and your sentence made sense to him. now, he wondered about your cursed spirit, “what about yours?” “yuta.” hearing his name come out your lips had him confused, were you trying to tell him that you didn’t wanna speak about it or—

“oh. oh!”

the cursed spirit was named yuta. you weren’t trying to call out his name, you were trying to tell him that the cursed spirt’s name was his name. you lightly smiled amusingly at his reactions, “i don’t think rika likes me very much… nor do i think yuta likes you.” it seemed that way. yuta could feel rika wanted to kill you and you could feel “yuta” glaring daggers at the boy infront of you.

turns out you two were the same.

you stood up from your chair before bending down to yuta’s height and placing a kiss on the corner of his lips. were you trying to die? did you want yuta to die?! no. honestly enough. like yuta, you would’ve loved your cursed spirit no matter the form aswell.

“i like you, yuta.” it was a simple confession yet yuta’s face blew up into red, hearing you walk away. “ah! w-wait!” he had grabbed your wrist and turned you around, wrapping his arms around you and buried his face into the crook of your neck before muttering words that made the tension from your shoulders to relax.

“i… i like you too, [name].” he pulled away and softly placed his lips onto yours. your hands reaching up to cradle his cheeks as yuta backed you up to a desk and helped you sit on top of it before going back to kissing you.

he was a good kisser considering the fact he has never kissed anyone before… well, technically, not a human being.

you pulled away, a string of saliva connecting the both of your lips until it disconnected when your hand was brought up to your mouth and oh, was that blush he saw? were blushing because of him? so cute.

“i don’t think they liked that very much..”

oh right!

[patrophthia]

attention is what i want! | theo. nott

pairing: theodore nott x fem!reader

genre: pining, one sided crushes, angst !!, complicated feelings, theo is a dick tbh, humor (my attempt at it), reader embarrasses herself (multiple time), girls girls pansy, reader are friends with the golden trio but isn’t a gryffindor, cursing, drinking, a bit suggestive in the end hehe

wc: 4.3k (idk how it got this long, i planned to write sth with like 2k at most but it kept going)

note: i wrote this while listening to attention by new jeans for two hours straight (yay pining!) i have very mixed feelings for this fic but here it is anyways!

summary: it’s no secret that you have a crush on theodore nott, theo knows it, hell the whole school knew it; maybe if they didn’t then it’d be easier for you to get over him after you embarrassed yourself in front of the whole school. at least you got a new friend because of it.

To say you had a crush on Theodore Nott would be an understatement. You never actually confessed to the Slytherin but it's as clear as days that you were into him. 

And when he was as good looking as he was, could anyone really blame you? 

Not really, not when most of Hogwarts found your attempt at shooting your shot with him the most amusing thing ever. 

"Good morning, Nott." Your hand shot upwards the second the Slytherin enters the classroom. His eyes settling on you whilst his friends bickers behind him. "I saved you a seat." 

There's snickering from behind you, hushed whispers as your classmate gossips about your pathetic attempt at getting with Theodore once more. 

His eyes scans the room, finally settling on one of the two empty seats behind the class and B-lining towards it. Zabini, having lost to Malfoy at grabbing the seat next to Theodore smiles at you kindly. Maybe even apologetically as he sits next to you. 

"Better luck next time?" He offers, trying to lighten your mood and you smile back, nodding. "You'll get him eventually." 

And though your voice is low, barely audible and muffled; Zabini still manages to hear you huff out a: "doubt it." 

"Do you think he'd pay attention to me if I dyed my hair green?" You ask, playing with your hair. 

Sure, your hair would end up damaged but if it meant Theodore would spare a glance your way then you'd take it. 

Harry looks at you as if you'd grown an extra head, green eyes enlarged as he tries to gauge whether you were serious or not. "Excuse me?" 

"I think I could pull of forest green hair." 

Hermione rolls her eyes. "No, you can't." She doesn't really mean it though, she does agree that you'd probably pull off forest green hair but she'd rather you do it for your own personal wants rather than to gain someone else's attention. "And you won't." 

You only huff at her words. "Why not?"

"Because, it's stupid. You'd look stupid doing so." Mione doesn't bother sugarcoating it, she doesn't need to when you've known her as long as you have. "If you need his attention so badly then ask him out, just drop the question and get it over with." 

"I'm trying to!" You groan, passing your plate with leftovers over to Ron who accepts it gladly. "I could walk naked in front of him and he wouldn't even bat an eyelash." 

Ron face scrunches at the idea, finding the prospect of a naked you disgusting. "You could put up a banner," he suggests through a mouthful of food. "I'd notice someone if they put up a banner with my name on it." 

And when Hermione's whacked Ron at him encouraging what she deemed was self destructive behavior, the conversation shifts to something else completely. 

You're huffing and puffing when you straighten up, showing your three closest friends what you'd been working on for the last two days. "What do you think?" 

Ron gasps loudly, eyes wide as he takes in the imagine in front of him. "You're crazy." 

"If you'd just—" Hermione, as if it was second nature, reaches up and smack at his arm. "—learnt how to shut up, this wouldn't have happened." 

It's only natural for you to frown at their reaction, brows knitted as you asked them. "Is it too much?" 

Harry, and his sweet sweet soul tries his best to not hurt your feelings as he nodded. "Maybe?" He tries to soften the blow, adding on: "I think it's brilliant, it's just ... a lot." 

You look over your masterpiece. Reading out the glittering paint, letter by letter and watching it as it takes shape into one of the biggest banner you've seen at Hogwarts by far. 

Written in shining green paint were the words: 

A-T-T-E-N-T-I-O-N, attention is what I want. Nott, go out with me? 

"I mean, if anything you'll definitely get his attention with that," Harry says, blinking rapidly at the banner. "It's pretty hard to miss." 

"Let's hope so." 

The dining hall is louder than normal, it has always been noisy; having seated thousands of teenagers who had little to none supervision during their breakfast, lunch, and dinner. 

But like Theodore has noted earlier, it's noisier than normal. And the drop of voices is significant when he steps through the large doors, loud gossips turns to hushed whispers; eyes roaming between him and a figure by the Gryffindor table. 

It doesn't take him long to notice why, a dust of glitter falling down on him from above. He glances up, eyes squinting as he reads out the banner before him. 

A-T-T-E-N-T-I-O-N, attention is what I want. Nott, go out with me? 

The letters are bright, glinting under the candle light as if it was taunting him, pushing at his buttons for a reaction. And though, there was no name written on the banner to indicate who'd made it; he knew that it was you. 

Dark eyes narrows as he zones in on you. You dressed up nicely, watching him with a pretty smile on your waiting face. 

And when all he did was roll his eyes and turn towards the Slytherin table, without sparing you another look. You all but deflated in front of everyone's eyes. 

You knew it was stupid, and that it was all your fault to make your love life so public for everyone to entertain themselves with, but you can't help but feel hurt at the laughter bubbling through out the hall. 

You're scrambling out of your seat, rushing out of the hall when a voice shouts out. "Serves you right, pick me!" 

Oddly enough, it's Pansy who speaks up; her voice loud and clearly irritated when she shouts back, telling them to go and: "Fuck yourself." 

Why the Slytherin threw a dirty glare at her friend and ran after you despite the two of you not being friends —let alone having been seen together before, was a mystery to everyone. 

And since Hermione loves you too much for her own good, she’s quick to scramble out of her seat, casting a spell to set the banner up in flames as she rushed after Pansy and you. 

There’s a sort of guilt that Hermione feels when she finds you hunched over with Pansy’s hand running up and down your back. The two of you weren’t friends, neither is Hermione and Pansy but when a girl’s in need of comfort, it’s only normal for them to be there for her. 

“I don’t get why you’re into him, honestly,” Pansy grits out, “out of all the boys in Slytherin you just had to choose the dickhead, didn’t you?” 

Hermione can hear you sniffle out a laugh as she takes a seat on your other side. “Out of all the boys in Hogwarts you just had to choose the dickhead, huh?” 

Pansy and Hermione are sharing a grin as you lift your head up slightly, a small smile tugging at your lips. “It’s not like I wanted to like him, you know?” You say with a small laugh. “I guess I’m just attracted to an asshole.” 

“You’re guessing this now?” Pansy says with a roll of her eyes, there’s no venom in her tone, only playful annoyance. “This isn’t the first time he’s treated you like this. I’ve heard all about your … attempts, you know?” 

“Really?” You’re laughing and the hurt in your tone is clearer than ever. “How embarrassing.” 

“It’s not,” Hermione reassured you, “if anything I think it’s endearing.” 

“Me making a fool of myself for a guy is endearing to you?” 

Pansy giggles at your words. “I’ve done worse, maybe just not so publicly.” Her voice is playful when she adds on, “but this should be the final nail in the coffin right? Finally getting over that asshole after this?” 

“That asshole is your best friend,” you remind her and she looks to her side bashfully. 

“That doesn’t excuse him for being horrible to you,” she mumbled. “And I thought Draco was bad.”

“Malfoy is bad,” Hermione chimes in. “He just didn’t humiliate you like Nott did her.” 

Pansy tilts her head to the side in thought. “Maybe. Or maybe we should just stop dating Slytherin guys over all.” 

Hermione only smiles fondly at her words. “Maybe.” 

You’re doing fine. Or as fine as one could be after a publicly humiliating confession. You’re still very you, smiling at Theodore every chance you get even though you’ve told your friends (now extended to Pansy) multiple times that you were getting over him. 

The only BIG difference that anyone noticed after your rejection was that you no longer attempted to get closer to Theodore. You don’t save him seats, you don’t tell him good morning, and they’d be lying if they said it wasn’t weird. 

“Is this seat taken?” 

You look up, eyes widening at the person in front of you and nodded. “I’m saving it for someone.” You pray to Merlin that he doesn’t hear the waver in your voice as you did so. “Is there something you needed?” 

He doesn’t answer you, instead placing his book bag on your desk. You try to control the butterflies caged in your stomach, fluttering at the sight of his forearm flexing as he did so. “You’re saving it for me? Like always?” 

You blink at him. “… no. I’m saving it for Blaise.” 

“Huh,” he hums thoughtfully, “you’re in first name basis now?” 

You move to your right when he takes his seat to your left, trying to distance yourself from him. “What do you want?” 

He looks at you and your pretense of being over him crumbles all over, tumbling as he nearly knocks you off your feet just how intense his gaze is. And though you’ve always wanted his attention, for him to look at you back like he’s doing now. You can’t help but feel sick to your stomach with how much you still liked him. 

“Attention is what you want, right?” 

What is he playing at? “Not anymore.” 

“Shame.” There’s a slight smile at your answer. “I was finally ready to give it to you.” 

“He said that?” Pansy repeats your words back to you, her hand moving away from your face as she dips it back into the face mask she’d mixed up. “That’s weird.” 

“That’s what I thought,” you murmur, feeling Hermione kick her feet into your lap. “I’m so confused right now.” 

“Maybe he’s playing hard to get?” Hermione suggests. “Even if he is I hope he knows the only hard thing he’s getting is a rock thrown at his face.” 

It’s clear that she’s taken your rejection harder than you did, grumbling at the thought of him. “A text book if he’s lucky.” 

Pansy finishes up your face mask and sets the bowl down. “I told him to apologise to you, not to go and bother you," she says, frowning slightly.

“You told him to apologise?” The tone of the conversation shifts, downing just the slightest bit. 

Pansy avoids your eyes as she nods, “I just wanted him to say sorry for how he treated you, you didn’t deserve that. But that fucker decided to go and do something weird, I’m sorry, lovely.” 

When she’s taken up the nickname lovely for you, you don’t know. But you’re too much into your head to say anything about it. “Please don’t do that. Don’t meddle with this just because you pity me. I can handle this by myself.” 

“I don’t—” Pansy pauses, realising the weight of her actions “—I’m sorry, I promise I’ll leave you be.” 

You’re nodding when you tell her: “thank you.” 

Trying to jot down notes does nothing to soothe your nerves, and it definitely doesn’t distract you from the fact that Theodore Nott is sitting so damn close to you. So close that your thighs were touching, and that with any small move you made, your shoulder brushes against his. 

Moving your chair to the right is no use, not when he’d move his just so he’d be closer to you. You’re so close you could practically hear him breathe. 

It’s when your quill slips off of your desk that you have to confront him about it. You nudge at his thigh with yours, forcing them to his left only for him to look at you curiously. “Can you move?” 

“Why?” He asks instead, planting his thighs where they’d been. 

“My quill fell, I need to get it.” You explain, avoiding his eyes as best as you could. His attention is not good for your heart, maybe it two weeks ago, but it definitely wasn’t now. 

Theodore is uninterested and unmoving when he quipped back. “And you can’t get like this?” 

Not if you didn’t want to plan your face on his lap and be so terribly close to his— yeah no. You sigh, leaning forward to tap at the person’s in front of you shoulder. “Would you mind getting my quill for me please? It’s bit hard for me to reach.” 

The person in front nods and leans down to get it for you with a smile. And when they hands it to you, their finger brushing against yours, you distinctly feel Theodore press himself closer to you. 

“You could’ve borrowed mine,” Theodore says lowly, eyeing you from above. 

He’s slightly taller than you, even when you’re both sat. Trying to prove to him (and yourself) that you were over him, and that this close proximity did not matter to you; you strain your neck up to glare at him. “You could’ve moved.” 

“Maybe,” he concurs. “And you could’ve just asked for me to get it for you.” 

“Like you’d do that,” you murmur with a roll of your eyes. “For me of all people.” 

“For you of all people,” he repeats. 

You hate how you instinctively break away from his gaze, looking at your notes as you try to calm your beating heart. Two weeks is nearly not enough to time to get over a crush you’ve been harboring for the longest time, not when you liked him so much you didn’t bother to keep it a secret to anyone and he knows it. 

He knows it and he’s using it as an advantage, for what exactly you don’t know. What you do know, is that you need to get away from Theodore Nott. Or kiss him. Whichever works. 

You sigh, glancing at your hands and hope that your voice doesn’t tremble when you quietly ask him. “What are you playing at Theodore?” You’re exasperated and he can hear it, he can hear the exhaustion in your voice and he tries his best not to let it get to him. “I know Pansy told you to apologize but you’re not apologizing, you’re just making things worse.” 

He doesn’t say anything, though you can still feel his eyes on you. “Excuse me, Professor,” he says suddenly, his shoulder knocking yours as he stood up, “I’m feeling a bit under the weather, would you mind letting me slip to the infirmary?” 

His hands are on you, holding firmly onto your wrist as he speaks. “It’s best if I had a friend to help me.” The professor doesn’t get a chance to respond before Theodore is pulling you away from the class. 

Your words are jumbled, flailing as you try to match up his pace; you’re confused and against your better judgement, you trust that he wouldn’t hurt you —even if he’d done so many times before. 

He comes to a halt by a hallway, it’s quiet still; students having yet left their classes. 

He looks at you, dark eyes clouding with emotion and tries to get you to look at him. Practically begging for you to give him your attention before speaking. “How am I making things worse? It’s what you wanted isn’t it?” 

“It is,” you say after a minute. “It’s just— this isn’t how I wanted it.

I like you, Theodore. A lot and I’ve made it so clear so many times and you always made it clear that you didn’t like me back. I finally try to get over you and you do this? What even is this? What are you trying to get at, Theo?” 

He doesn’t answer you, his hand finally releasing the grip on your wrist to rest by his side. 

You scoff, noting how he falls back to his pattern of not speaking to you when you’re practically pouring your heart out to him. 

“Why did never ask me out?” 

Your expression is puzzled, and he knows that he needs to explain himself, for him to tell you exactly what he meant but can’t bring himself to. Not when he wants to keep his pride in check.

“I did ask you out,” you tell him slowly. “In front of everyone.” 

“Exactly,” his reply is breathless as if he had been pondering over this for ages, “in front of everyone. Why didn’t you tell me you like me? Why didn’t you ask me when it’s just you and I?” 

“Are you serious?” You let out a ridiculing laugh. “You never wanted to step a single foot next to me and you expected me to ask you when it’s just me and you? Are you kidding me? 

Did you ever wonder why I wrote ‘attention is what I want’?” 

He’s speechless. And screwed. He can sense that you’re growing agitated with him, and he hates it. 

“Would it have changed anything if I had asked you out between you and I?” 

His silence is loud enough for you to understand his converted answer. 

“Merlin, why did you bring me out here, Theodore?” 

Theodore is bad at emotions. He’s bad at feelings, he’s bad at love and everything alike. He doesn’t like you and he’s pretty sure of it. Then why does it bother him so much to know that you no longer wanted anything to do with him. 

“I don’t know.” 

“Of course you don’t.” You meet his eyes and he knows that this is the end, you’re done with him for good. “Out of all the boys in Hogwarts you just had to be the one I liked, huh?”

“And that’s it?” Ron ask curiously. “You’re finally getting over him?” 

“Mhmm,” you hum, waving at Pansy who waved at you from the end of the dining hall, her Slytherin friends pointedly looking between you, Pansy, and Nott. “Finally am.” 

Ron doesn’t need to know that despite your mind being set on getting over Nott, your stomach still did somersault every time you see him —even in your peripheral vision. 

And when you smile at him, much like you did to everyone else and he doesn’t smile back at you; you feel your heart break all over again. 

It’s your own fault though, falling for a mere stranger who you’d only ever spoken to in classes —all of which having been conversations about school. 

“Do I get reward?” 

Hermione rolls her eyes. “A reward for doing something we’ve been telling you to do for ages? You wish.” 

“I’ve been wishing for something else.” The mischievous look on your face is enough to clue her in on where your mind as gone, scrunching her face as she scowls at you. “Gross.” 

“Are you okay though?” Harry asks you lowly. “I know it can be hard to get over crushes.” Take him and Chang for example. “So if you need anything we’re here for you.” 

“I’m okay,” you tell him. “Or at least I’ll be.” 

Harry offers you a smile, as kind as always. “That’s good then.” 

It’d only be weird for you to visit the Slytherin common room often (courtesy of Pansy) and for you to not run into Theodore at least once. 

You’re standing outside the common room, waiting for Pansy to come and get you when the door swings open and he stands there in front of you. He’s in his pajamas, an oversized sweater pooling at his hands. 

“What are you doing here?” 

Though you’re also in your pajamas, you feel slightly underdressed under his eyes. Only having worn a loose T-shirt and shorts for girls night. 

You want to ask him what he’s doing here but it is his house’s common room so you withheld your question to yourself. “Pansy.” 

He gives you a once over before glancing back into the common room, it’s roaring with laughters; a bunch of the Slytherin boys deciding to play card games as they indulge themselves with the alcohol they bought with their father’s money. 

“Let me walk you in,” he offers, already turning back into the common room; expecting for you to follow after him. 

“You don’t need to—” you don’t get to finish your words when Theodore throws you a sharp look. As if he was asking you to protest him on this. You sigh, following after him. 

Theodore stays a good distance away, hiding you and your bare legs from the other Slytherins. He doesn’t really have to though, most of them minding their own business until Blaise chirps up to say hi. 

“Hello,” you greeted him back, waving at him. Crabbe, now noticing your interaction lets out a low whistle at the sight of you. And Theodore moves closer to you, almost possessively. “I’ll see you in the morning?” 

“Mhmm,” Blaise says, humming before turning his attention back to Enzo. “Goodnight, princess.” 

There’s a snicker from Goyle, smirking as he says. “You’re stealing Nott’s girl now?” 

You only offer him a smile, feeling Theodore come in over closer to you as he hurries you up the stairs. There’s a thump! from behind and you knew, without seeing, that Blaise threw a pillow at the bastards face. 

Theodore doesn’t try to hide his amusement when you curse a hex in Crabbe and Goyle’s way, not when Mattheo’s laughter roared across the room at your spell. 

“Thank you,” you tell Theodore, and you noticed that his lips are curled; why exactly, you don’t want to know. “Goodnight, Theodore.” 

You’re halfway up the stairs when he calls your name, you turn to him. “Yes?” 

“Goodnight,” he says, turning on his heel to leave. 

You turn back up the stairs, only to pause and look back at him once, twice; before setting off to find Pansy. 

It’s two weeks later when Theodore bumps into you again, this time; quite literally. His hands are on you, stilling you so you wouldn’t fall flat on your ass. 

The dance floor is crowded, but it’s to be expected when one of the most popular students at Hogwarts (read: Blaise Zabini) is throwing a birthday party. 

You’re —by extension through Pansy, a friend of his which means you needed to be there or he’d be pretty (very) sad about it and pester you about it for the rest of your life. 

“Woah!” Your hands lay awkwardly on his chest, trying to push him away whilst trying to balance yourself still. “Watch where you’re going.” 

Theodore straightens you up, hands lingering a little too long before letting you go. “Sorry,” he murmurs, “I’m sorry.” 

And though you promised yourself to let go off Theodore months ago, you can’t help but feel your heart twist at his words. Skin burning where he’d touch you mere seconds ago. 

“It’s fine,” you wave him off, “just be more careful.” 

“Yeah.” His tone is breathless, blinking at you slowly as if he couldn’t believe you were so close to him. “You look nice.” 

You better hope so, it’s not like you spend an hour getting ready to look anything but nice. And despite your better judgment, you feel butterflies setting off in your stomach once more. But that could’ve also been caused by the mixed concoction you downed five minutes ago. 

“Thank you,” you murmur. “You too, Theo.” 

“Mhmm,” he hums nodding, his expression is hesitant. “Thank you,” he says, turning his head to the side and under the clubbing lights, you can easily spot the tinging redness at the top of his ears. “Do you want to get out of here?” 

“What?” It’s not that you didn’t hear him, it’s that you didn’t want to hear him. Because you knew, damn well, that if he’d just repeated himself you would agree within a heartbeat.

He gulps, and repeat himself. “Do you want to get out of here?” 

Maybe your heart is weak, maybe it’s the alcohol, or maybe it’s just Theodore that gets you out of there with him attached to your lips. 

His hand pressing into the small of your back as you leaned against the wall, a small groan slipping from his lips when you nipped on it. 

Theodore pulls back, eyes wide and roaming your face as he takes your features in; memorising the slope of your nose, the plumpness in your lips, and the apples of your cheeks as if this was the last time he’d be able to do so. And presses his lips to yours once more. 

He calls out your name, a free hand reaching up to cup your jaw so you’d look at him. For you to give him the attention he so desperately wanted from you. “I’m sorry,” he says, “I know you probably hate me and I’m so sorry but give me a chance, please.” 

His tone is desperate, almost begging as he did so and you wonder if he knew the impact he still had on you. He lets go of your jaw, arm wrapping around your waist, bringing you impossibly closer to him.

“Give me a chance to make it up to you,” he asks of you, mouth pressing wet kisses down your neck as he repeats himself. “Please, please, pretty girl.” 

“Theo.” His kisses doesn’t stop, much less falter at your words. “Theo.” 

“Mhmm?” He hums against your neck, pulling back to give you his full an undivided attention. “Yes?” 

He’s a bit taken aback when you kiss him quickly, chasing your lips as you pulled back. “You have a lot to make up for.” 

“I know.” The curled smile of his returns, dark eyes glinting as he looks at you. “But for now let me give you all my attention.”

— from bee: i guess reader got what she wished for at the end lol, feedbacks and reblogs are greatly appreciated!! (๑>���<๑)

p.s this pic of mingyu is so (my) bf i love him!!

[obsessedwrhys]

Aesthete

(adj.) Someone with a deep sensitivity to the beauty of art or nature

ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ where Abby let's you draw a portrait of her

c/w: fluff, reader is female because I refuse to believe she's straight 😡, abby being insecure (?), gun talk, some cursing, just two lesbos bickering like a married couple, kissing, did not proof read this!!

ᯓ★

Inside your shared room, you somehow found yourself painting on another canvas after just telling yourself you'd be done with your last one. Since you were a kid, you've always been drawn towards anything that had to do with brushes and colours. It was better spending your time painting rather than talking to people, they were always rude or just straight off insensitive. All except for someone...

Abby...

She always adored your skills. Everytime you were assigned to go on patrols together, she would just peek her head from behind your shoulder to see what you were doodling in your journal. Out of everyone you knew, she was the one constantly bragging about your drawings to her friends. And you guys aren't even dating!!

Yet... which you always liked to tell yourself.

With your brush applying another soft stroke on the canvas, you started to grow bored of it, another idea already crawling up from the back of your mind. Maybe you could try doing a portrait, you have the experience but you just don't have the subject. Almost out of instinct, you knew who to find. Pretty much the only person you'd figure would be fine with this.

Abandoning your brush and pallette on the round chair, you decided to leave and try to find Abby. It wasn't hard to find her since she would spend almost all of her time in the gym. Swinging open the glass door, you headed in and walked past several other WLFs who were also training, your eyes glued to one person.

There she was, doing bench presses as usual.

You decided to stop a few feet away from where she was, almost like you were in a trance from watching her biceps flex each time she lifted the heavy weight. Not wanting to be seen as a creep, which you already have, you walked closer to make your presence known. "Hey Abby" You said with a smile. Your voice startling her a bit.

"Oh, hey" She said before setting the weight back to its rightful place. She sits up on the bench as she looks at you with a friendly smile. "You need anything?" She said, always kind and polite towards you that it somehow made you feel all giddy inside.

"I was wondering if you'd liked to be the subject of a portrait I'm doing" You said and your words struck her a bit. She looked like she just received news of something big. "Uhh... if you're worried about the portrait turning out ugly, I promise I'll be extra focused on the details" You said, figuring if that was the reason behind her reaction.

"Huh? Ah no, I wasn't worried about that. I'm just surprised you'd pick me" She chuckles awkwardly as she stands up, her height scaring you a bit. "Did you expect me to pick someone else?" You asked, the two of you walking side by side.

"Well... maybe I figured you'd choose someone more... elegant" She said, holding the door open for you to go first. "Elegant?" You scoff out of amusement.

"Didn't you show me one of your books? Where all of the people drawn were wearing those tight dresses and having their hair up so high" Abby said, recalling the memory.

"Pssh, that's different, trust me, I know what I'm doing" You opened the door to your room, inviting her inside.

"Whatever you say" She responded with a playful smile. Once you closed the door, her eyes were already examining around the room that's messy from all of your art stuff.

"Seems like you didn't take my advice" She said, looking at the stack of books you had thrown along with the pile of discontinued drawings.

"I'll do that later" You said dismissively since you realised everytime you cleaned your supplies, you were always gonna use it and make a mess anyways, best to save it for a day where you have the energy to clean.

"Soo uhh... what do I...?" Abby walks over to where you're busy setting a brand new canvas.

"You can just sit at the sofa so you can be right in front of me" You said, putting everything in place and she just does what you instructed. She finds herself seated in front of you and it somehow made her shy. Does she pose or...? This is all new to her.

"You can move your body around a bit, just try not to move your head a lot, so uh... relax" You said, already picking up your brush. "Got it" She said as she leans back onto the cushion.

With your focus on the portrait, you failed to notice the way she was watching you, her gaze was full of warmth and admiration. She was eyeing your every move as if she was watching a film.

"I never got to ask, how did you learn to paint?" Abby said and it made you stop in your act to think it over. "Can't remember exactly when, I just knew it was fun to do so I kept doing it" You simply responded and she smiles softly at your answer. "Fun huh? Is that why you're doing a portrait of me?" She said and her playful tone made you almost freeze in place.

"I guess you could say that" You said, your hand carefully doing the shades of her face. The room remained quiet for a moment, just faint sounds of your brush mixing together different colours on your pallete. "Can you lift your head up a bit?" You asked and she does just that. "Perfect" You said and quickly press your brush back on the canvas.

Your eagerness had her struggle to contain a smile. "If only you were this passionate about your gun training" She said since this was a topic that you could care less about.

"I don’t really like guns, it's too violent for me"

"True... but its also the reason why you're still alive. C'mon, at least fix your aim" She said which had you turn to look at her.

"Whats wrong with my aim?"

"Errr..." She trails off, struggling to find the right words but you were well aware of what she was trying to say. "Just try not to have your bullets flying everywhere" She said, her response having you raise an eyebrow at her.

"... don't make me draw a hairy moustache on you" You threatened which had her laugh.

"Am I supposed to find that scary?" She asked to which you pointed the end of your paintbrush at her to warn her to be careful of her next words. This action just encouraging her even more but for her sake of not wanting a horrendous looking moustache on her portrait, she'll stop.

After a while, she let's out a soft sigh. "Getting tired?" You asked, your face hidden by the canvas so she couldn't see you.

"A bit" She admitted with an embarrassed chuckle. Your head peaks from the side of canvas, trying to mimic the sweat that was still present on her forehead due to her earlier workout.

Without even realising, you were basically staring at her face a little too hard. It was funnier from Abby's perspective cause all she could see was your pair of eyes staring at her so intensely. "Am I too far away? You're looking pretty hard" She joked, pointing out how your brows were slightly narrowed.

You ended up shushing her which she found amusing. "I'm thinking, don't disrupt my thoughts" You said.

"Yes ma'am"

After a couple of minutes, you managed to finish the portrait, just a few details here and there then you were finally satisfied with yourself. "You can get up now" You said as you carefully added some tiny dots or lines. Abby pushed herself off the sofa and stood beside you.

"Damn" She said, blown away by the portrait you had done of her. It was like a reflection in a mirror. "What are you gonna do with it?" Abby asked as you stepped back to finally admire your work. "I don't know... maybe I'll hang it up somewhere in my room" You said. This caught her interest almost immediately. "You want a portrait of me in your room?" She asked, seeming embarrassed.

"Well do you want it in your room?" You asked which made her go silent.

"It's fine, I really don't mind, you'd be surprised by how many scary things I've painted and displayed on my walls" You said, carefully picking up the canvas and moving it to the other side of the room. Abby simply follows you with her arms folded.

"Comparing my face to scary things doesn't make it sound any better" She said and you could sense a tiny hint of frustration in her tone which had you chuckle to yourself. "Stop being a baby and help me hang this up" You said after finding a open spot on the wall to put it.

"You.are.unbelievable" She shakes her head slightly with a defeated smile as she takes the canvas from your hand before standing on the chair to hang it on to the nail.

Once she was done, she stepped down from the chair to stand beside you. The two of you now staring at the portrait.

"I have to admit, you're really gifted" Abby said and it made you turn your head to look at her. "Thanks" You smiled at her compliment. The second she turns to look at you, you felt yourself melt at her stare as if her blue eyes were hypnotising you. You swore for a second you could see hearts popping up around her.

Why is she looking at you like that?

Like you're the single most beautiful thing she has ever seen

"If you uh don't mind... could I stay for a while?" She asked, her voice so soft it was intoxicating.

"Sure" You blurted out without even thinking twice.

Noticing how flustered you looked, Abby tilts her head with a grin. "You okay?" She asked but her tone was anything but concern, it was like she was teasing you, knowing the effect she had on you.

"Yeahh, I'm good" You turned around and began walking back to your supplies, feeling as though you needed to escape her presence quickly to be able to think straight.

"Are you sure? Cause you looked like you wanted to kiss me just now" She said and it stopped you from reaching out to your brushes. Your mind was short circuiting.

Fuck this woman...

"And what if I said I wanted to?" You managed to say since it was easier that you weren't looking at her.

Suddenly you could hear her footsteps approaching you from behind, almost like each step she took added a weight in your chest. The tension on you shoulders relaxed the moment you felt her hands placed on them, gently, she turned you around to have you face her.

"Then kiss me" She said, no, pleaded. Her face showing how much she also wanted this.

You leaned in closer to her, the two of you haven't even kissed yet but just from the feeling of your chests pressed together made you both breathless. Eventually you pressed your lips on hers, taking it slow as you wanted to savour this moment, but it didn't last long as the desperation started to grew.

Within seconds, you were kissing Abby hard and she did the same, her hand wrapped around the back of your neck while the other is placed on your hip. The kiss was messy. Your hands grabbing at whatever you could on her body as you were completely lost in the taste of her.

Your touch was driving her crazy as well, thinking back to the countless nights of how she much she wanted this. To have you this close, to have you melt just from her lips. Out of breath and feeling tired, you pulled away but Abby didn't let you and quickly pulled you back in for another kiss. Her action causing you to yelp and for a sec she felt her stomach flip. She chuckles.

"So pretty" She muttered before pressing her lips back on yours again and again, not wanting the moment to end.

"Abby..." You laid your hands on her arms and she pulled back to admire you. The mess she had made of you.

"Yes...?" She said, gently caressing your face.

"You keep kissing me and I'm gonna pass out" You said and your words had her chuckle softly.

"Sorry, can't help it when your lips are so sweet" She said, her thumb rubbing on your cheek affectionately.

"Did you think this would happen when you asked me to come over?" She asks.

"Ummm... maybe?" You said. You had a feeling something might happen but you never thought it'd turn out like this.

"I've just liked you for a very long time but I wasn't sure you felt the same" You confessed and her smile grew wider.

"Seriously? What, was me bragging about you to everyone not obvious enough? Should I have been starting a fan club for you so you'd find out better?" She teased and you smacked her on the shoulder playfully.

"Maybe you should, then I'd know that you actually liked me" She sighs, pretending to act like she's regretting this missed opportunity.

"You're right. Maybe if I did start a massive fan club dedicated to you, we would of had this kiss sooner" She said, leaning in closer to have her forehead rested on yours.

"Well we're here now aren't we?" You looked up at her, a smirk on your face.

"True" She then started to move and you couldn't help but let your eyes flutter close, waiting for her to kiss you again but somehow the feeling of her lips on yours never came.

You opened your eyes and found her actually moving her lips inches away from your ears instead. "How about we clean your room now, hm?" She said which had you in disbelief. She was now reminding you of how dirty your room is after just kissing you.

"If tidying up my things is so much fun then sure" You moved away from her but she was quick to follow you.

"If I get to spend more time with you, I don't see anything boring about it" Abby said, already on to arrange your stack of unorganised books. You watch her with a look of gratitude, knowing this mess is gonna take a very long time to clean.

"Thanks Abs"

"You can thank me with a kiss after we're done" She shoot you a cheeky smile which had you roll your eyes with the corner of your lips curving upwards.

"Fine" You stood beside her to help with putting your books in order. Seeing how focused you were, Abby couldn't help but have her hip nudging yours on purpose to get your attention. You chuckle, knowing this cleaning session is gonna take a while.

(Now I'm gonna do super duper angst Ellie, this plot has been stuck on my mind 😄)

[fictionlovingnerdgirl]

Can I request Scott summers x reader where he has a very intense infatuation with the reader

The Red Means I Love You

A/N: Hello there, this is my first time doing something like this so I hope it turns out okay, I couldn't think of a name so I decided to just do song lyrics. I hope that's okay, and if anyone has any better name ideas do tell me!! Oh and I'm tiptoeing around using "Y/N" cause I'd rather die 💀

Warnings: Cursing, intense infatuation over the reader, obsessive thoughts, etc.

Scott felt like he was going insane, he hadn't even properly met them yet but he was going crazy over them. The way their hair fell, the way they walked, the way they teased, oh God.

Jean was gonna have his head for this one, sure they broke up, but she got weird when others flirted with him. How would she react to him showing interest in someone else? At this point he barely cared, they were all in the kitchen together. Him, Jean, Logan, Storm, Hank, and you. Talking about stories from the field, near death experiences, missions gone wrong, all that fun stuff.

You were wearing a cute set of pajamas, the pants had their X logo on the side, and the shirt was a yellow that complimented your- Damn it this was gonna get him caught. He could already see Jean's eyes flicker to him and her face lacing in suspicion.

"So I was on my way back to the jet, right? And right before I got there I heard this noise, I looked behind me and- Scott do you remember this?" You look his way and it's like his whole world was shaking, and he was too if he was being honest.

"Uh- yeah, yeah I do." He says, trying to reel himself back into reality, but your eyes were dancing around his face and he felt like he couldn't breathe. But then you smile at him and he lets out a breath of air he didn't know he was holding. His hands are a bit shaky but he's crossing his arms so you don't notice. You won't notice.

"Yeah, I turn around and I go to attack and I see Scott-" they laugh, everyone in the room is listening intensely to you and Hank was leaning into the island across from you, too close. "And I swear I almost took his head off, I didn't know it was him I swear!" They laugh like an angel "Tell them Scott!" You smile, turning towards Scott and tilting your head. Scott could never ignore you, he would do anything for you.

"I believe you." he laughs and smiles back at you, he feels like someone spiked his drink but he knew it wasn't possible. You have that effect, he guesses. As the others start talking and taking their turns telling wild stories he realizes your eyes don't fall from him, you're still looking at him, taking him in.

His face heats up and he rearranges his stance under your gaze, swallowing and looking around at everyone else but his eyes fall back to you almost immediately. You're making little glances at everyone around you, but he can tell you're focused on him. And it's driving him crazy, do you know he's looking at you? Is he being weird?

"Scott, Scott are you listening?" Jean groans, making him jump a little, turning to look at her. "Yeah sorry, sorry. I just have a headache."

But Jean doesn't buy it, instead studying his face and reaching into his mind. "Whatever, Scott. Have fun with your little crush." She rolls her eyes and walks out of the room, giving an awkward feel to the air. Before he notices your eyes on him again, concerned, confused, and mesmerizing once again.

"Sorry, guys I- I don't know what that was about." he knew. "It's alright Scott, I should get going anyway, goodnight guys!" Hank nods and waves before walking away. After awhile a few others leave, obviously the mood was brought down. Damn it, you were probably next.

You watch Scott, and after a while you go to the fridge, bringing him a drink. "So, Summers." You take a drink from your drink, licking your lips after, he can't help but watch everything you do. "Wanna explain that?" Oh. No. He can't explain that, if he did she would be calling him a stalker or something.

"Uh, I don't know what you're talking about." Good one Scott, just play stupid. But then you do that thing, the small tilt of your head to signal your confusion. Pretty pretty pretty.

"Whatever you say, Summers. See you tomorrow." You sigh and look him up and down before turning to leave. And he just watches you through his red tinted glasses. Anything else would just end.. Badly for him.

[kasagia]

Can you give us a little sneak peak for the next part

My twodear anonymous and @hanadays1234, thank you so much! 😊🖤🩵

Yes, I can. And since I wrote all my exams, I only focus on writing. 🖤🩵🖤🩵🖤🩵🖤🩵

Nope 🤭🙈 🩵🖤🖤🩵

24.05 Friday or 27.05 Monday. (I have nothing written except what I will give you right now)

Also, who binge watched Bridgerton season 3 and now get inspiration for the new series (for Feyd, I showed you once) instead on focus on the Right Hand? 🤡🙈

Anyway... sneak peak:

Feyd rarely felt pain he didn't like. The years spent on Giedi Prime—or rather, years of enduring his uncle's methods of making him a true Harkonnen, his worthy successor—made Feyd love pain. He found pleasure in it—something he had to learn if he wanted to survive.

But it didn't bring him any satisfaction or pleasure when you pierced his chest with one of his swords. He feels pure pain. Anger, betrayal, and hurt.

He hates the way he falls limply to his knees in front of you. He hates that he still looks at you like you're a saint. He hates that he hopes you'll at least look him in the eyes, as if that would bring him some kind of salvation. He hates how lost he feels now and how he's slowly losing awareness of his surroundings. He hates that even though you stabbed him, all he can do is stare at you, clinging to the sight of you more than to his life.

"This will be the beginning of a wonderful alliance, Lady Y/N."

He feels you unhook your poisoned dagger from his arm. Feyd thinks you're doing it to finish him off. Poetically kill him with the weapon he gave you. He closes his eyes and waits for the final stab or throat slit. But nothing like that happens. He doesn't have the strength to turn around and see exactly what you're doing, but your words alone are enough for him to imagine the scene that is happening behind him.

"I may not be a Harkonnen, but I've picked up a few of their habits. If you want an agreement between us, show me your hand." After your words, he can hear a hiss from Atreides when you plunge the dagger into your joined hands, piercing them both through.

Feyd would have laughed mockingly if he hadn't spent all his energy on breathing slowly. He remembered explaining to you how contracts, such as arranged marriages, were sealed on Giedi Prime. The Harkonnens shook hands and pierced them with swords, thus signing a blood pact. This also applied to marriages and other such things. Blood bound them stronger than any words or signatures on paper. He cursed himself for the fact that, seeing your scared face at his words, he withdrew from this idea and decided to make a verbal agreement between you. He should be the one to bind you with his blood, not Atreides.

The steel in his body rubs against his lower ribs, but it does not damage any major organs. He tries to keep the sword in the exact same position you stuck it in, but he feels like he's going to faint from all the pain, the blood, and the fear for you that he feels now.

You made him so weak that even after you stabbed him, all he could think about was your safety and your well-being. Every shaky breath he took, every slow beat of his heart as he fought to stay conscious—it was all for you.

He just hoped like hell that you weren't lying a few moments ago, that this would all turn out to be just one of your games, and that you would soon end Atreides' life. But it's not like that.

"Let this blood be a symbol of our union." Your sweet, dangerous whisper reaches Feyd's ears.

He's raging with powerlessness and anger. That Atreides dog didn't deserve to mix his blood with yours. Only Feyd should be able to do this. Only his black blood should merge with your crimson, staining your joined hands as you swore allegiance to each other. His heart hurts more than the wound you gave him as he imagine how you and this desert rat are now echanging each other's blood.

If he hadn't been placed in such a vulnerable state by you, he would have ripped Atreides' heart out with his bare hands for daring to mix his blood with yours. A cold shiver runs down his spine at the thought of Atreides connecting with you in yet another way. A way Feyd was robbed too many times.

He tries to get up, but he doesn't have enough strength. All he can do is place his hands on the floor, trying to take the weight off his torso. The blade scratching his flesh bothers him much less than the fact that Atreides has the nerve to touch you or that you're blatantly ignoring him while playing whatever game you're playing right now.

"Leave him to me. I want… to repay him for all these years of fulfilling his wishes."

(...)

[glowstick-cafe]

♡Across the Spiderverse: Relationship Hc's♡

Hobie Brown x reader

Genre: Fluff(?)

Warning: Hobie is so cool and he knows it, black peepole(British rizz) being in love, as always reader is gender neutral.

Summary: You actully hated him at first, but the line between hate and love are often blurred.

A/n: You guys liked me being delulu with Pav so imma be delulu with Hobie. Also, leave a comment if you want. :]

_______________________________________

You are a part of the spider society, Miguel just picked you up and said, "You're coming with me, kid." And you've just been on it ever since.

Your often aided Margo with her work(not like she minded), mostly because talking to spiders other than her, Miguel, Jessica, and Lyla were scary.

That's when you met Hobie, you truly had no idea what the hell he was saying for a full hour into him talking becauseof his accent, and he probably picked up on that from your constant confused nodding.

Hobie was fine with you not wanting to talk, which you appreciated; the boy was always happy to carry the conversation, and he assumed you wanted to be friends because you've been following him around and listening to him attentively.

Your friendship with Hobie was great, you've even stayed over at his house a few times to watch a movie you never made it through because you always fell asleep.

That was when Gwen came into the picture. You didn't hate her, she was actully really sweet and you had a lot of fun with her, but Hobies' attention began to be more on Gwen rather than you.

When Hobie began to notice how distant you were becoming he confronted you when you both were watching a movie at his house again, for old time sake.

"You've been ignorin' me lately, why?" He asked bluntly, Hobie was laying on your lap looking straight up at you.

"I'm not ignoring you, you have Gwen to talk to, anyway." You quickly realized how you sounded and cursed yourself, you looked down to meet Hobie's gaze only to see him with an amused expression. "A bit jealous, are ye?" He jokingly questioned, then sat up from you lap.

You could feel the heat emanating from your face, "No! Not like that- I just....fuck off!" You retorted, before you could embarrass yourself futher, Hobie placed a finger under your chin and gave you a peck on the lips. "It was never like that with Gwen, you idiot."

Safe to say that you stayed awake for that whole movie.

When you and Hobie started dating, he became more touchy, in the sense that he has to be touching you in some way.

He loves showing you off, it's like Peter B. showing off his kid, he takes offense if they don't wanna see you.

Hobie likes to rest is head on yours, it happens everywhere, standing in a line, washing dishes, it great for him, not so much for your neck though.

He also likes to likes to hug you from behind, but since your a bit jumpy about hugs the alternative is using your head as a pillow, or using your shoulder.

"Mate, wha chu' mean you don't wanna see my partner?"

He's so soft for you, even with he doesn't want to be.

He absolutely melts when you lightly tugg on his pinky finger or his jacket when you want his attention for something.

You love to kiss all of his piercings individually when you notice he's not having a great day.

You can't do cornrows for the life if you, but Hobie got you covered. He sits you down between his legs and does your hair as you watch whatever.

God forbid you touch your cornrows while he's doing them, he will hit your hand with that comb and it will hurt. "Why you tryin' to mess up my work, nah?"

[justsomefluff]

Ateez as Types of Everyday Fluff

Hongjoong: the type to kiss something off of your lips rather than wipe it away with his hand

Joongieeee

I know that he is one of the members who hates kisses the most

but not with his partner

just thinks kissing the members is cringe

anyway if you two are eating together or maybe having a snack while sitting on the couch

doesn't care if it's in public or not

if you get something on the side of your mouth and dont notice it?

swoops in so fast to kiss it away

and you'll just kind of stare at him dumbfounded because he's not much for PDA

and he'll just smirk and shrug while licking his lips

"you had something there. but i got it for you :)"

Seonghwa: the type to say "but what about me" when you're cuddling a plushie

picture this

you're sitting on the couch waiting for Seonghwa to bring some snacks to the living room for movie night

and you got a squishmallow (lol my real life mixing with my delusions get me outttt)

and you're hugging it and stuff bc soft

and when he comes back he stops and stares at you

one because it's super cute, but two because... where he gon sit?

will literally drop all the snacks on the table and pout at you

if you ask what's wrong he's literally just gonna rip the plushie from your hands and fling it (lmao yk the video of him throwing the bean bag)

but then lowkey feels bad and brings it back to you

will allow the plushie to remain on the couch but it must watch as you snuggle him instead

Yunho: the type to pull you closer in his sleep

YUYU SWEET BOY

whenever you two share a bed he's gotta be touching you

swears he won't fall asleep if you don't snuggle

when he does fall asleep though, I feel like he's the type to roll around and fidget a lot

and if you move away or he moves away?

he might not wake up but he's gonna grope the bed until he finds you

just kind of flopping his hands and arms everywhere until they land where they should

he won't pull you to him though, he'll pull himself to you

and just nuzzles his lil nose in your neck and it tickles because he's snoring and letting out lil baby puffs of air

Yeosang: the type to bully you

bullies you in the cute, cringey way

like will take you to the aquarium and point at the wolf eel and be like omg your twin

or if you walk by a garbage can he's like omg it smells like your morning breath

omg this reminds me of you (hands you literally the ugliest shirt you've ever seen)

curses your own two ears with his insults

but he's also so giggly and cute about it

it's impossible to be mad

and he always makes sure you know he's joking

whether because he's scared he'll hurt your feelings, or because he's scared you'll hurt him

the world may never know

San: the type to give you his plushie to hold

polar opposite of Seonghwa

if you're sitting together playing a video game or watching a movie or just chilling

and he has to get up for some reason

he doesn't like the idea of leaving you by yourself even for one minute so he'll be like

baby i'll be right back hold Shiber

and when he first does this it's kind of like ???? lol ok????

but then you realize that he just wants you to have company

he always wants you to know that he's thinking of you even when you're apart

does that mean i have to think of you going to the bathroom rn

NO DONT THINK ABOUT THAT

WELL YOU SAID TO HOLD SHIBER WHILE YOU PEE

lmao

Mingi: the type to feed you the last bite of his food

you guys are getting to the end of a meal together

and he's noticed you eyeing his food the whole time as if you didn't have your own

he'll be super dramatic about it and be like

OH WOOWWW

IM SOOO FULLLLL

SO FULFILLING

I COULDNT POSSIBLY EAT ONE MORE BITE

and will look at you, and stretch and yawn and rub his tummy

and then offer you his fork

"finish it for me?"

Wooyoung: the type to do nothing with you

i know that sounds weird

but he just enjoys your company

does not care if theres an activity involved or not

just wants to be around you

you two could just lay together and talk

or even lay together and say nothing at all

i know he's our hyperactive boy

but since he runs a million miles a minute he really loves when he can savor the slow, peaceful moments with you

Jongho: the type to drop you off at work

wants to be there for you even when you don't need him

also enjoys the little time he can spend with you, even when you're half asleep in his passenger seat

likes to be the last person you see before you go into work

he likes to think that you'll have a better day that way

like he's some sort of good luck charm (he is)

also sees himself as an acts of service kind of guy

loves to do things for you

little things you'd never complain about, but still appreciate when they're done for you