#i haven’t decided on a working title for this yet

[notlongtolove]

in eternal lines

spencer’s mind—brilliant and boundless—was one of the reasons you fell for him in the first place. but when the deadlines are looming, it takes everything in you not to snap. because while you’re good at literature because you have to be, spencer's great at it because, well, he’s spencer. 

pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader (second person, no y/n)

genre: angst, comfort, fluff... i don't know anymore

content: student!reader gets kinda pissy and snappy but she has a 3000 word essay due and a fever so go easy on her. and spencer is spencer, so patient, so kind :'

word count: 5.2k

note: as a literature major this was extremely self-indulgent... i'm sorry. i love lit student reader and i hope you guys do too! also aptly titled after the one and only sonnet 18 because it was the first poem we were given read in uni <3 (reader is basing her essay on george macdonald's 'the princess and the goblin' and isaac watts' 'divine songs' if anyone is curious; but don't read too deeply into her lines about it because i submitted that essay weeks ago and it's been relinquished it from my mind oops)

a line: You’d decided then and there that if you couldn't break the glass ceiling, you'd make a comfortable home just beneath it. Always looking up, never quite breaking through.

When in eternal lines to time thou grow’st: So long as men can breathe or eyes can see, So long lives this, and this gives life to thee. - william shakespeare

You love your boyfriend. Truly, you do. After all, who else would sift through pages of Whitman’s dense poetry with you or debate whether Rossetti was really referencing Eve’s bite of the apple in Goblin Market? Nobody else ever cared enough to try. Spencer’s mind—brilliant and boundless—was one of the reasons you fell for him in the first place.

So yes, you love your boyfriend. But when deadlines are looming, and submission dates are bearing down on you, it takes everything in you not to snap. Because while Spencer can dissect poetry and prose with an ease that seems almost otherworldly, you sometimes feel the weight of comparison pressing on you. You’re good at it too—of course you are, you have to be. You’re pursuing a degree in it forgodsakes. But Spencer? He’s great at it because, well, he’s Spencer.

And while you can hold your own most days, a fair challenger when you come back from a particularly intriguing lecture too layered to dissect by yourself, there are times you feel like you’re running to keep up. Spencer will pull references from texts and obscure sources you haven’t even heard of, leaving you struggling to connect the dots. And that’s just literature. When he dives into his other passions—you don’t even bother to compete. Instead, you resign yourself to the couch, nodding and asking questions during the rare moments you can sort of follow the thread of his thoughts.

Having an IQ of 187 and an eidetic memory does have its perks. Everyone knows that.

Your friends see it too. Like today when one of them stopped by between classes to return an essay you’d been stressing over for days.

“Well, don’t you look fantastic,” she teased, smirking. “Guessing those leftovers weren’t as ‘fine’ as you thought?”

​​“Don’t even start,” you mutter, weakly grabbing the paper from her hands as you lean on the doorframe. You flip through the pages marked in red ink quickly with the little strength you have, eyes scanning briefly through the comments before you’re on to the next page, next page, next page. They’re not what you’re looking for. 

And then you see it. There on the last page, a definite red circle around it: B+. 

You’d expected it of course. B+—your ever-reliable benchmark. It's a mark of consistency you've been forced to be contented with. It wasn’t horrendous. It wasn’t amazing. It was fine. But you’d worked hard on this one. You’d hoped, maybe, for something more. You’d expected it, and yet, you don’t know why you still feel a pinch of disappointment.

“How’d you do?” you ask grimly, fighting the nausea creeping up your throat.

“Same,” she replies nonchalantly, scrolling through her phone.

You nod, trying not to dwell on the fact that she’d seen your grade before you did.

“Oh, you know it’s always the same,” she adds with a wry smile. “Solidly subpar, as per tradition.” 

The phrase stung a little more now than it had when you’d coined it back in your first year. Back when, after a string of middle-of-the-road grades, you’d decided then and there that if you couldn't break the glass ceiling, you'd make a comfortable home just beneath it. Always looking up, never quite breaking through. 

“Whatever, it was only 20% anyway,” she shrugs.

“Yeah…” you reply weakly, though the disappointment still gnaws at you. You can’t quite shake it. Maybe it’s because deep down, you know you do care—no matter how often you tell yourself you’ve accepted the fate of being perpetually average. You still want, so quietly, so desperately, to be something more. You’ve always had a love for literature: the way words flow across a page, imbuing meaning into simple phrases, transforming them into art. You’ve always admired the beauty of it. But passion doesn’t translate to academic brilliance, and appreciation doesn’t equal A grades. It’s a hard truth you’ve come to learn.

“How was class?” you ask, trying to steer your mind away from its current spiral. “We still on Faerie Queene?”

“Mhmm,” she hums, rolling her eyes. “Kristoff’s still rambling on and on about virtue and chastity. Ha. Imagine me living in those times—at the rate I ghost men, I’d be a certified whore.”

“Well, actually, they’d probably get to you first,” Spencer interrupts as he steps out of the bedroom, his tone slipping into that familiar, matter-of-fact cadence. “Virtue and chastity were considered to be absolute truths in the 16th century. A woman’s value was intrinsically tied to her perceived purity, which of course, was a reflection of her family’s honor.” 

If you weren’t so ill, you would’ve laughed at her face—eyes wide, mouth slightly open in disbelief.

“And then there’s the public shaming,” he continues, leaning casually against the doorframe with his hands tucked into his pockets already miles deep into his thoughts. “In fact, the entire allegory of Book III revolves around chastity as a cornerstone of moral virtue. Witch trials in the late 16th and 17th centuries often targeted women who were thought as sexually deviant or independent, framing their ‘sins’ as some sort of evidence that they were consorting with the devil—”

He pauses, glancing between you and your friend. “So yeah… considering all that, if you’d ‘ghosted’ a few men back then, they probably would’ve gone straight to accusations of witchcraft or worse.”

Your friend stares at him, “...Right. Good to know,” she says, blinking slowly.

“But you know, Edmund Spenser intended The Faerie Queene to be a moral guide for young men,” he adds as an afterthought, realizing he’s just indirectly affirmed your friend’s self-deprecating joke. Spencer shifts awkwardly but can’t help himself by continuing, “It was meant to instil chivalric virtues to shape a model English gentleman. So technically, your interpretation is, um, modern at best.”

Her expression—equal parts baffled, impressed, maybe even a little scared—almost makes you forget how sick you feel.

“So…” she says after a pause, “I’m guessing you’re Spencer?”

“I am,” he replies simply.

“Well,” she says, drawing the word out, “It’s nice to finally put a face to the name.” 

Spencer offers a smile, “Likewise.” 

“Anyway… I’m off.” She slings her bag over her shoulder, “Essay’s not gonna write itself. This one’s 30% by the way. God, I hate Kristoff but Burton’s a close second for sure.”

You wince at the reminder, the weight of your unfinished work pressing on you. The brief called for at least three secondary sources, and you’ve barely scratched the surface.

“Feel better soon, sweetie,” she says, offering you a sympathetic look. You manage a weak smile in return.

“Bye Spencer,” she says, her voice taking on a teasing lilt. “Take care of her for me, will ya?”

“Will do,” he says curtly, giving a small wave as you close the door behind her.

A moment later, your phone buzzes. He’s cute, her text reads. Another follows immediately: And basically a walking Wikipedia.

You start typing a response, but another text pops up before you can send it: Don’t dog on us for using ChatGPT now. You huff and click your phone off instead, tossing it aside. 

Therein lies another source of stress. Spencer is always happy to help you untangle a difficult text or interpret a dense poem, but he draws the line when it comes to your academic work. He never interferes directly. You’ve seen it yourself—The first time you handed him your laptop to review an essay, he’d made his comments verbally, pointing at sections on the screen while explaining his critiques in detail, but never actually touching the keyboard. You’d brought it up during an argument once, after a particularly crushing grade. Your frustration had spilled over: You’re smarter. You type faster. Why can’t you just fix it? But Spencer had only responded with something about “academic integrity” and the importance of maintaining the “code of conduct.” The conversation ended there, and after that, you stopped asking. 

Even yesterday, when you managed to scrape together 300 words for a draft, you’d handed your laptop to him, and again, he was careful to keep his boundaries. Too drained to make edits in real-time, you’d expected—maybe hoped—that he might step in more directly. Instead, Spencer quietly switched the document to “suggesting” mode, marking up your draft with precise yet detached annotations, never infiltrating or overstepping your own words. Spencer Reid is and always will be a stickler for rules. You try to hold yourself to the same standard. You steer clear of AI, no matter how tempting it might be. You know better. Well, that and because Spencer would never let it slide. 

But now it’s late and the thought of letting some website churn out polished, perfectly phrased sentences for you in seconds has never felt more tempting. The nausea has faded, leaving behind a fever in its place. Spencer’s in the living room, reading. You’d banished him to the couch—even the faint sound of pages turning, not to mention the speed at which he reads, was enough to derail your already fragile train of thought. You’d felt bad of course; he’d made soup for you earlier, fed it to you and everything. But with this essay worth 30% of your grade and your 300 words barely scratching the surface of the 3,000-word requirement, you don’t have it in you to be oh-so-sweet and ever-so-grateful. Not right now. You’ve nailed down the introduction—a quick overview of historical context, a sweeping statement on the authors’ intents. But now, the real challenge looms: The thesis. And you’re utterly stuck.

This essay argues that…  that…

You groan in frustration, flopping back against the pillows. So much for children’s literature. You’d chosen this class thinking it’d be an easy ride—fairy tales and picture books, how hard could it be? Yet here you are, being tasked with dissecting the significance of form and language. Now, the simple language and pretty pictures are anything but your friend, doing nothing to help further your argument. Your head throbs, your mouth feels like sandpaper, and the brilliant points you’d thought of in last week’s class are nowhere to be found, lost in the haziness of your mind. With a defeated sigh, you peel back the sheets and shuffle out of the bedroom, laptop in hand, every joint aching in protest. Spencer looks up from his book as the rustle of sheets catches his attention. His heart aches slightly when he sees you in the doorway, clutching your laptop and looking every bit as pitiful as you feel. He sets his book to the side. 

“How’s it going, honey?” he asks sympathetically, even though he already knows the answer from the state of you. 

“It’s barely going,” you admit with a yawn, tears prickling at your eyes from the force of it. They only add to your overall air of defeat as you cross the room and crawl into his lap, laptop balanced precariously on the armrest. “Brain’s foggy, can’t think straight,” you murmur in incomplete sentences. 

“Finalized your thesis yet?” he asks again, his voice gentle but patient. You shake your head, sinking deeper into his chest—It’s a silent surrender, as if giving in to the exhaustion and frustration that’s been building up. Spencer notices, brushing your hair gently away from your face, his hand cool against your hot skin. He presses the back of his hand to your forehead. “You’re burning up, hon,” he says softly, voice full of concern. “Why don’t we get you to bed, take a break for tonight, hm? You can work on this tomorrow.”

Tomorrow. The thought of putting everything off feels like both a relief and a burden. The idea of sleep has never seemed more appealing. But then, the thought of letting this drag on for another day—of pushing the finish line even further out of your reach fills you with dread. But you know you’re not in any state to be working on anything right now, let alone something worth 30% of your final grade. You know that you can’t focus, not when your body feels like it’s ready to give up and when your mind can barely hold onto a coherent thought. “Tomorrow, okay?” Spencer prompts again, calm and gentle. You know he’s right, so, despite the gnawing anxiety in the back of your mind, you nod. “Okay.” 

Spencer doesn’t push, just gives you a small, reassuring smile as he stands. Every movement feels like a chore as he guides you back to bed but the warmth of the blankets and the prospect of rest is more than enough motivation. He tucks you in, his touch comforting and steady. You feel like a weight has been lifted, albeit temporarily. Either way, it’s enough for now. You close your eyes, the thought of picking up where you left off tomorrow seeming almost bearable. 

You wake to the sunlight filtering through the curtains. It takes a moment for your brain to adjust to the new day, the stress of yesterday not entirely gone. But as you sit up, stretching slowly, mind less hazy and joints less achy, you feel a renewed determination, a flicker of focus that was nowhere to be found last night. Your mind is still whirling with fragments of ideas, half-formed arguments, and theoretical connections when Spencer strolls in with a cup of something warm for you.

“Tea.” he announces, handing it to you with a small, triumphant smile. “Decaffeinated.”

You frown, rubbing sleep from your eyes. “Need coffee.”

“Studies say caffeinated beverages stimulate the colon,” he counters matter-of-factly.

“Eww,” you groan, wrinkling your nose at him. “Why’d you have to say it like that?” 

“Exactly like that,” he replies without missing a beat, his tone precise and measured. “You’ve just recovered, and everyone knows caffeine is a gastrointestinal irritant.’

You huff, taking the mug from him. “Fine, but if I don’t finish this essay, it’s on you.” Spencer raises an eyebrow, completely unbothered by your protest. “Somehow, I think you’ll survive.”

You grumble under your breath but take a tentative sip of the tea anyway. It’s not what you wanted, but you can’t deny that he’s probably right—he usually is. The warmth seeps through the mug into your hands, grounding you just enough to pull your laptop over from the bedside table. Its practically empty screen blinks back up at you, as though it’s been waiting patiently all night. Hi again. Still here. Still empty. 

Spencer takes a peek at your screen and you can’t help but glare half-heartedly at the mug in his hands. Of course, it’s coffee. He’d get to enjoy caffeine while insisting you couldn’t. Typical.

“So, I was thinking…” you start, deciding to let the injustice slide for now as you scroll through your document.

“Hmm?” He looks up, his gaze meeting yours over the rim of his cup.

“What if I say that MacDonald’s pedagogy was more effective for children because Watts’s text was too directive. That works, right?” You look up, scanning his face for some form of agreement.

“That’s hardly arguable honey,” his words land softly, but you still feel your shoulders sag. “It’s an observation.”

"But—look at the words they use! It's so different. Here, look at the tone," you insist, nudging your laptop toward him. "There has to be something to be said about that, right?"

Spencer leans in, glancing at your screen before looking back at you. His expression is calm, composed, and maddeningly reasonable. "Watts’s text was meant to be read as a textbook. Of course it’s directive. You know that." 

Do you? You think you don't know much at this point. You don’t know what you know, and you don’t know what you don’t know. You groan, dragging your hands down your face as if you could physically scrape the frustration away. Darn you, Isaac Watts. Darn you, pedagogical learning. Darn you, whoever had the audacity to name this course a simple exploration into the history of children’s literature. 

Before you can wallow further, Spencer slides your laptop away. “How about we brush our teeth before crying over educational theories for children in the 18th century?” he suggests, his voice light. You sigh dramatically, dragging yourself to your feet like it’s some Herculean effort. When you shuffle back from the bathroom, hair slightly damp from washing your face, Spencer has taken over your spot on the bed, laptop resting on his legs as he scrolls through some article. He glances up when you flop down beside him with an exaggerated sigh.

"Feel better?" he asks, the faintest trace of a smirk on his lips.

"Not at all," you grumble. You don’t let him know that the brief pause in frustration has given your head just enough space to try again. 

It’s been hours, but you’ve finally narrowed down your thesis. It’s not amazing—far from it—but it’s something. It’s arguable, at least. Spencer’s been relegated back to the living room, his presence a vague hum in the background as you attempt to focus. You’d claimed you worked better in bed, though Spencer’s tried (and failed) to prove with statistics and studies that it’s just a placebo effect, a lie your brain insists on believing.

But right now, none of that matters. You have a thesis and on that note, an essay to begin. Or, at least, the faintest glimmer of one. And that’s when you hit a wall. Again. You sit cross-legged, laptop perched on your knees as you stare at the cursor, blinking like it knows you’re stuck. You wish it would stop judging you. You drag yourself—and your laptop thats become an extension of your body at this point—into the living room like a child seeking comfort. Spencer barely looks up from his article when you slump into the couch next to him.

“What about this?” You straighten your back, determined to sound confident this time, even if you're not sure where you're going with it. “What if I say that MacDonald’s use of fantasy is critical because it creates like, an emotional bridge and that makes it more effective for moral teaching and—”

“Well, yes," he says, like it's the most obvious thing in the world. Spencer doesn’t even look up from his article. "But that’s kind of a subpoint, honey.”

You stiffen, irritation rising like bile in your throat. “It’s not a subpoint. It’s a point.”

He shifts in his seat, eyes flicking up, finally meeting yours. His tone isn’t dismissive, but it might as well be. “How is that significant? What does it build toward?”

You grit your teeth. “Ugh, you sound like Kristoff.” You mutter, more to yourself than to him. You know it’s not fair to snap, but your patience is paper thin. You can feel the fever creeping back into your skin, and you’re not sure if it's the heat or the mounting pressure, but suddenly everything feels like a little too much. 

“Fine,” you say, swallowing your frustration, trying again. “What if I say that MacDonald’s narrative style is more progressive because it like, engages the reader’s emotions directly? And that’s why Watts’ text feels scarier?”

Spencer pauses. For a moment, you think you’ve finally hit something solid, his eyes narrowing just enough to show he’s intrigued. “And how are you planning to argue that?”

“Well, um… um—I… I don’t know!” You exhale sharply, throwing your hands up in exasperation. You sink back against the cushions, frustration seeping into your bones. “Something about how MacDonald’s vibe is all nice and charming while Watts is all like, ‘learn this or else’. 

“Sure I guess…” Spencer acknowledges, nodding slightly, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “But you’ll need more than vibes and a strong dislike of Watts to support it sweetheart.”

“Gee, thanks,” you say bitterly, rolling your eyes.

He chuckles softly, a sound that’s too calm, too collected, and somehow that makes it worse. He’s not wrong, but you’re still pissed off. You take a breath, steeling yourself for the next round of dissection. “Okay, then what if I say that MacDonald lets kids think for themselves, and Watts... doesn’t. Because of his moral authority and intellectual agency and whatever.”

Spencer’s eyebrows rise, just a fraction, but it’s enough. You feel a flicker of something—relief, maybe? It’s hard to say. His voice has shifted, just slightly, less detached now, more engaged. “You can build on that.”

“Really?” you ask, suddenly more hopeful than you’d like to admit.

“Really,” he confirms, leaning back in his chair. But then he tilts his head and furrows his brows in a way that makes you want to throw your laptop at him. “But you’ll need to define those terms and back it up with examples. Otherwise, it’s just a claim.” Of course. 

“God, you’re making this so much harder than it needs to be!” you snap, the irritation rising in your throat. “I get it, okay? I need examples. But you’re not even letting me work out a point before you just, I don’t know, shit all over it.” Spencer’s eyes widen, and for a second, you almost feel bad for snapping at him. 

“I’m just trying to help,” he says gently, but there's something in the way he says it—just a little too patient—that makes you bristle. You hate how right he always is, how calm he always looks, how much care he always has in his eyes even when you’re acting out. 

“You’re trying to help?” you repeat incredulously, shaking your head. “You’re poking holes in everything!” Even in your feverish haze, you know you’re being cruel—but you just can’t help it. All you can think about is how everything is slipping away, how your thoughts won’t line up, how your head is starting to hurt again. You’re not even sure if you’re angry at him anymore, or just angry at everything else. 

Spencer doesn’t answer right away. He glances at your screen again, a mess of quotes and bulletpoints. “I just want to make sure it’s solid, honey,” he says finally, his tone softer.

You scoff. “Yeah, well, you tore apart whatever solid lead I thought I had after two hours of work in just about five minutes, so thanks for that,” words tumbling out before you can stop them. Spencer’s silence hangs heavy in the air, and for a moment, neither of you speak. “Just… just let me get through this.” 

Spencer sits there for a moment, just enough for you to feel the weight of the tension shift in the room. “I’m not saying you can’t get through it. I just want you to get through it right,” he says carefully, his voice quiet but insistent. “That’s all.” There’s no judgment in his voice, just care.

But the heat, the fever, it’s all swirling inside you, and you can’t hold it together much longer. “Of course you are…” you mutter bitterly, already regretting everything you’ve said. It feels like every step forward just leads you straight into another wall, and you’re just too tired to keep going. It’s not that you want to push him away or that you don’t appreciate his help. You’re just too irritable, too exhausted. You just want the whole damn essay to be done—and you wish you didn’t need his help to make it happen. You want to yell, to throw something, to demand that the world stop spinning long enough for you to catch your breath. But all that comes out is a hollow, defeated sigh. 

You feel like you're drowning and you don’t want to drag him under with you. “I’m just…” You stop yourself, swallowing hard, trying to gather whatever little strength you have left. “I’m just so tired.” 

Spencer looks at you, eyes full of concern, but it doesn’t help. You don’t want sympathy. You want to be better—to be able handle all of this. You want to be able to write this damn essay on goddamn children’s books without falling apart. And it doesn’t help that you’re falling apart in front of Spencer. The same Spencer who can recite verses from Paradise Lost at the drop of a hat. You’d almost burst into tears the last time he did it after it had taken you an entire week just to decipher and analyze a single chapter with any real confidence. You can’t help but feel that pang of inadequacy every time he breezes through something you’ve struggled with, even if he doesn’t mean to make it look so effortless. You hate yourself for it. You can’t find a way to shake the feeling that you’re not doing enough, not good enough. Not for yourself, not for him. You feel the sting of it, it’s pressing on your chest, suffocating.

“I just… just feel like I can’t keep up with any of it.” You don’t say it with any anger, just exhaustion. It’s not even directed at him anymore—it’s just the fact that you feel so stuck, so far behind where you should be, where you so badly want to be. “Like I can’t keep up with you.” 

Oh. Spencer feels his heart sink. He’s always prided himself on being able to read people. He should’ve known better. He’d been so focused on helping, so intent on pushing you to reach the level he knows you’re capable of, the level he knows you want to be at—even if you keep telling yourself you don’t. The fever, the deadlines, the constant pushing—he should’ve known that it was all too much. 

“You don’t have to keep up with me honey, I’m right here with you,” he says, trying to get you to look up at him. You can’t meet his gaze. You feel guilty for snapping, for letting the frustration slip out, but you’re not rational enough right now to pull yourself out from this spiral of self-pity. It’s easier to stay here, in the anger, the frustration, than to face the embarrassment of it all. 

“I’m sorry,” he says quietly, his voice tinged with regret. “I didn’t mean to make things harder for you.” Spencer takes your hand, cautiously, testing the waters. He knows you don’t exactly want to be touched right now. He knows it makes you feel coddled. He pauses, waiting for your reaction. When you don’t push him away, he gains the confidence to cradle your face gently. You don’t resist, your tired eyes meeting his, heavy with sadness and Spencer thinks he can actually feel his heart break.

“You’re doing just fine sweetheart. You’re not falling behind. You’re just stressed. And sick.” He knows you’re feeling fragile, like any comfort might smother you so he threads forward lightly. “This essay? You’ll get it done. I promise.” It sounds right, and yet it doesn’t really help. It doesn’t stop the doubt that’s eating at you, the sense that you’re just not measuring up to everything you want to be. You feel like you’re barely treading water, no matter how hard you swim, the shore never gets any closer.

But for now, Spencer’s words are enough to quiet the panic—a buoy in your sea of sadness threatening to pull you under. You cling to it, knowing you’ll have to start swimming again soon. But for this moment, you allow yourself to stop. A beat. A pause. A breath—Just for now.

It’s only the next day that you manage to get the words on the page, not in any smooth, brilliant way, but they’re there. The sentences form, sometimes haltingly, sometimes with more confidence, until the essay is painfully but finally done. Not perfect, but it’s done. Relief washes over you, even as exhaustion lingers. 

The moment you hear the front door open, you practically leap up, laptop in hand, meeting Spencer before he can even take his shoes off. He raises an eyebrow, setting his bag down as you both settle onto the couch. Without a word, you hand over the laptop, nerves bubbling beneath the surface. You wait with bated breath as he begins to scroll, your laborious effort displayed in black and white. The sound of the touchpad clicking feels louder than it should in the quiet room. He asks a few questions, here and there—clarifications, mostly. Questions you answer with ease, surprising even yourself with the confidence in your responses. He nods along, his expression thoughtful, but not critical. Finally, after what feels like an eternity, Spencer looks up, eyes bright, a proud smile on his face. “It looks great, honey. You did a really good job.” 

You can’t help the grin that spreads across your face at his praise. “Really?” Spencer leans in, cupping your cheek gently, and presses a soft kiss to your lips. “Really.” When he pulls back, his forehead rests lightly against yours for a moment, his hand still cradling your cheek. “You worked so hard on this,” he murmurs. “So proud of you.”

Your chest tightens, but in a good way, and you can’t stop yourself from leaning forward to kiss him again, this time slower, savoring the comfort he always seems to bring. “Now," he pulls away just enough to smirk, "can I have my bedroom back, or should I just start setting up camp on the couch?” You laugh, rolling your eyes, but it’s full of affection. “Don’t even start.” Spencer chuckles, his arm slipping around your waist as he pulls you closer, the tension of yesterday long forgotten.

When you get your paper back, you flip through the pages, one after the other, looking for the feedback, waiting for the corrections, the marks that tell you where you inevitably went wrong.

Next page. Next page. Next page.

And then, there it is. On the last page, in a definitive red circle, unmistakable: A.

It’s an A. 

A goddamn A.

It doesn’t feel like a one-time fluke, not exactly, but you can’t shake the thought that this might be the only time you break through the glass ceiling you’ve spent so long looking up at. And who knows, maybe you’ll never push past it again. But for now, you allow yourself to relish in this singular moment of triumph. It’s enough. It’s more than enough. 

Because now you know that the other side is real, and that you can get there. But Spencer, the genius, the enigma, who’s always been a step ahead of everyone in everything academic, has always known.

And while everyone knows that an A in an essay that’s only a partial percentage of your overall grade isn’t anything compared to what he’s achieved, nothing compared to the academic milestones he’s already crossed—Still, he’s here, celebrating with you. You can see it in his eyes, even if he knows you’re not one to make a big deal of these kinds of things. His quiet joy is evident in the way he grins that little grin of his, the one that’s only for you. 

So, in summary, in essence, in all the words and ways you could possibly use to phrase a conclusion—You love your boyfriend. Truly, you do. After all, who else would read through your entire syllabus for the semester (frustratingly quickly), just because he knows you understand better when you can talk things out? Who else would patiently stick around, exiled to the couch in their own home, while you’re exhausted, irritable, and buried in deadlines? Nobody else ever cared enough to try. Spencer’s mind—though brilliant and boundless—isn’t the only reason why you fell for him. 

Because when the world feels too heavy, when the never ending lines of poetry and prose become too difficult to untangle by yourself, Spencer’s there reminding you—ever so gently, ever so steadily—that you can make it through, one word at a time.

⋆✴︎˚｡⋆ hi if you're here! thank you for reading! feel free to like or reblog or comment or reply!

[otomehonyaku]

DIABOLIK LOVERS More,Blood Stellaworth Complete Set Tokuten Short Stories ☽ Kanato ver.

Original title: DIABOLIK LOVERS MORE,BLOOD ステラワース全巻連動購入特典ショートストーリ English translation by @otomehonyaku Scans can be found here (courtesy of @karleksmumskladdkaka!)

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

SUMMARY | This short story provides a slice of Kanato's and Yui's daily life after the events of More,Blood. Kanato suffers from a bout of nausea, but Yui knows exactly how to make him feel better.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Please do not reuse or repost my translations elsewhere or translate my work into other languages without my permission.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

A vampire feeling under the weather, just like a lowly human? I had never heard of such a thing, and yet here I was, laying in bed while waves of nausea rolled over me.

“Ugh… It hurts, Teddy… What on Earth is happening to me…?!” The low groans of pain that left my mouth sounded as if I were chanting curses.

A carefree voice suddenly carried through the air. “Kanato, are you okay?!”

“Does it… look like I’m okay?!” I yelled, agitated, but my throat soon started hurting and I nearly choked on my breath.

The girl anxiously rushed to my side and rubbed my back.

“Ugh… Where is… Where is Reiji…?!”

“About that… I think he’s gone to the castle…”

I clicked my tongue at her bewildered expression.

When it comes to vampires feeling under the weather, only a vampire could know how to make it better. Because vampire doctors do not exist, though, I had no choice but to rely on Reiji.

“Go… fetch Reiji already! If you don’t… you must do something about this immediately…!”

A defeated expression appeared on her face as she shrunk in on herself at the shrillness of my voice. I knew full well that it was no use asking such a thing of her, but I had never felt this unwell before. My irritation only grew.

“Ugh…” I buried my face in my pillow, trying desperately to fight off the nausea.

“U-um, Kanato…! You’re only making it worse by acting this way…” Even as restless as she seemed, she gently took out a plate from behind her back and held it out to me.

When I saw what was on the plate, I clicked my tongue again.

What on Earth was she even thinking, offering me pudding of all things in a situation like this?

“You’ve turned into a full-fledged idiot, haven’t you…?!”

“I… suppose so…? I’m sorry. Kanato, I know you love sweets, so I figured… maybe if you eat this…”

Though I appreciated that she had truly racked her brain for a solution, it would be better if she thought nothing at all if she came up with foolish ideas like this.

“I’m sorry—I’ll eat it myself, then.”

“What?!” I retorted, watching as she started to raise the pudding to her mouth. Before I realised it, I had jumped upright. “Hold on a second! Why would you eat it?!”

”Huh? B-but…”

“I never said I wouldn’t eat it,” I spat. Truthfully, while I was in no shape to be eating pudding, I could not restrain myself when someone was eating it right in front of me.

“Will you eat some, then?”

“I shall. Come… hurry up and feed it to me,” I grumbled.

In response, she timidly scooped up a spoonful of pudding and held it out to me. I decided to put up with it and opened my mouth. I had no idea if I was going to be able to keep it down, but I simply could not bear to watch her eat it, either.

Gingerly, I beckoned for her to put the spoon in my mouth. “Ugh…”

“T-this is not going to work, is it?” she said, fidgeting.

I ignored her and swallowed the pudding in my mouth in one big gulp.

“Mm.. it’s delicious…” It actually took me off-guard how smoothly the pudding went down. It was as though it instantly alleviated the nausea in doing so. I found myself thinking sweets might have been the cure to my condition all along…

“So it’s just like Reiji said…” she whispered.

“What?” I blurted out.

A look that screamed oops! passed over her features for a brief moment, but she swiftly regained her composure. “Well, Reiji said…”

“What? What about Reiji?” I thought she had said that Reiji was away earlier.

“Um… actually, Reiji told me that you would instantly feel better if I fed you something sweet…”

“What?!” I called out brazenly, unthinking. “I knew I’d be healed if I ate something sweet, but… what does feeding me have to do with that?!” Maybe Reiji had only pretended to leave the house. So be it, then, I thought as I got up and drew closer to her.

”Yeah, I suppose it might have nothing to do with it… If you understand, won’t you please eat this pudding? Keep your head up, alright?”

After I hurried to take the bite of pudding she held out to me, she offered me another spoonful.

“I understand… If that’s what you want me to do, then keep feeding me until there’s nothing left!” I finally declared.

[arionaleilani]

this week my nanowrimo prep is gonna be focused on world building. currently writing out a potential backstory for the Big Villain of the trilogy(:<

[thenewtitans60page22]

Back on my Lance Bruner bullshit (creating a reverse-robins Redhood Lance AU because if I don’t, who will)

[neon-danger]

I think on an alien planet it shouldn’t matter what season they are in because I feel like the aliens might be able to control the climate somehow and any hints to the reward chapter or your idea? I’m so invested 👀

Technically time works differently on other planets so for them what might be like a month or so it could’ve been like six months

[artist-issues]

If you haven’t seen Wish yet and you love Disney, do not go see it. I am telling you now. It is ripping out the hearts of the Disney movies you love and then waving their corpses around as if celebrating those hearts.

I’ll explain why, again: the message of Wish? Awful. Anti-Disney.

But they've been doing this for a long time. Saying one thing with their movies, and saying another with their PR and Disney Parks Soundtracks.

I'll explain.

Main Idea of Disney's Wish (and the You Are the Magic theme park song and merch): "The power to make your wishes come true is in you."

≠

Most Disney Movies' Idea on How to Have Wishes: "Do what's right, (trust a higher power) and something even more wonderful than what you wished will happen."

Don't try to argue with me about this. You have to look underneath the slogans and the sweater designs and the song titles to what the stories actually support to acknowledge this.

Because you can’t say “do what’s right” has power unless you answer the question “who gets to decide ‘what’s right?’” (Which, coincidentally, is a question Wish brings up and then doesn’t answer.)

Audiences of Disney used to accept that wishing on a star was much like prayer; there’s something you long for, and it’s out of your hands, but you wish for it and you do what you know is right in the meantime. And you’re not crushed, you’re not downhearted, because somewhere in your mind you trust that the combo of those two things—wishing on a higher power and diligence to do what’s good—will be what makes your wish come true.

Trust in a higher power—COMBINED WITH:

—diligence to do what’s good.

The Blue Fairy (higher power) gave Geppetto his wish specifically because he had demonstrated commitment to do good, whether he got what he wanted or not. The Fairy Godmother (higher power) gave Cinderella her wish specifically because she kept on being kind and good to low creatures like mice and wicked stepsisters, whether she got what she wanted or not.

Do you know why that combo (higher power + diligence to do good) is impactful? Timeless? Important?

Because it’s selfless. You want something, but you’re not going to sacrifice doing the right thing to get it. You’re not going to focus so hard on making what you want a reality, on your own, that you miss out on things that could be more important than what you want. And, you’re not so self-focused as to believe that if you don’t do it, it won’t get done.

Jeez, that’s the whole point of The Princess and the Frog!

Tiana wishes to have her own restaurant, and she believes that only her own hard work will grant that wish. She misunderstands her dad’s advice before he dies. She isn’t willing to trust a higher power combined with her own diligence to do good—she only trusts her own ability.

It’s not until she realizes that Ray, the character of faith, was right all along that she learns—what she wished for was too self-focused. It wasn’t complete without love. Something bigger than herself. And getting that was never going to happen just based on her own hard work.

But you know what? It was never going to happen just by a “higher-power” flavored shortcut, either. Because Facilier offers her her wish if she’ll just trust him, no hard work needed. But what does she say?

Trust in a higher power + diligence to do what’s right = selflessness, and getting more than you could have ever wished for. And if your wish is selfish, doing those two things will change your wish into something selfless.

More examples? Get ‘em while they’re hot, in case Wish made you forget, just like the current #NotMyDisney executives have forgotten, what real Disney wishes are for.

Belle wishes to have adventures in the great wide somewhere--but when she's imprisoned and that chance is taken from her it's not reversed because she worked hard to make her wish come true. It's granted because she gave up her wish for her father: she just did the right thing, regardless of her wish. And in the end, she does get what she wished for, which is adventure in an enchanted castle...and much more, because she gets true love, a throne, and a castle full of friends.

How about the One Who Started It All? The one Wish is failing to pay genuine tribute to?

Snow White wishes for someone to love her, and he does--but when they're separated, she does not exercise power to make The Prince come back to her. Instead, she loves who she can where she’s at—the Dwarfs. In the meantime, she has faith that he will keep his promise, and that pure trust in a higher power outside of her control is a big contributing factor to why the Dwarfs come to love her, and learn from her...and in the end, even more than she could've wished happens. He does take her to his castle, but she also has seven new friends who also love her, and the Queen is dead. And she didn’t need to use “the power in her” to work harder and get it done. She just needed to not focus so much on herself at all.

How about a male main character? One who’s wish starts out selfish, but after learning to wish on a higher power and be diligent to do the right thing, gets more than he could wish for?

Aladdin wishes to be somebody different (somebody he believes Jasmine could love, somebody who lives in a palace and is respected and “never has any troubles at all.”)—but doing everything in his own power for that wish proves that it was selfish all along; so he switches to doing the right thing, regardless of if his wish comes true, and he gets even more than he could’ve wished. He gets real love with Jasmine, he gets his friend Genie, and he gets to be free from feeling “trapped” because he doesn’t have to hide who he is anymore.

Or Simba?

Simba wishes to get to do whatever he wants as King—but when Mufasa dies and he’s convinced it’s his fault, it isn’t for that wish that he goes back to Pride Rock to confront his past and his Uncle. It’s because he had an encounter with a higher power—his father—that helped him to realize his wish was selfish all along. He gives up the selfish wish, and he goes back to take his place as king, not so he can do whatever he wants, but so that he can take self-sacrificial responsibility that comes with ruling. And because he just does the right thing, finally, he gets more than what he wished for.

How about something more recent? Zootopia.

Judy wishes to make the world a better place by proving she can be what she wants to be and catching bad guys—but when she tries to make her wish happen on her own, in her own abilities, she fails and is forced to realize that she should’ve been looking for help by understanding “bad guys,” like Nick. It’s only after she humbled herself, admits she’s wrong, and changes her wish from “proving I can be what I want and catching bad guys” to “proving that understanding each other makes the world a better place” (much less self-focused) that her wish comes true—and so much more. She does make the world a better place, and she does get to catch bad guys, but she also gets to befriend one who was a good guy all along, and become all-around more effective at her dream job.

This is how Disney always has been. Because it’s at the heart of good storytelling, and even life (not to get too dramatic.)

The power is not in you. Because it’s not about you. Self-sacrifice, faith, and doing the next right thing regardless of if you get your heart’s fondest desire is what makes more than just your wishes come true. And there has to be belief in a higher power to make that message powerful.

But Wish?

Not only is it bad at showing instead of telling. Not only is it lazy and soulless.

But it’s characters rip the Star out of the sky and say “don’t wish on this. Wish on yourself, to get what you wish for. You don’t need a higher power. You don’t even need to sacrifice to do what’s good—whatever you do is good, because you are the one doing it.”

That is wrong. That is not true, and it is not powerful. There’s no sacrifice in focusing on or placing your trust totally in yourself, and it undoes every good thing Disney has done up until now.

And it undoes it on the 100th anniversary, and it flaunts Easter eggs of the very things it’s undoing.

[bestofmultiverse]

Between the pages

Aubrey plaza x fem!reader

"People think that intimacy is about sex. But intimacy is about truth. When you realize you can tell someone your truth, when you can show yourself to them, when you stand in front of them bare and their response is 'you're safe with me'- that's intimacy."

- Taylor Jenkins Reid, The Seven Husbands of Evelyn Hugo

Y/n couldn’t shake the feeling she might be hallucinating.

One drink had turned into three, and it wasn’t even 9 p.m. yet. She’d slipped away from her friends at the bar near her office, brushing off their nagging with a vague excuse. Her first instinct had been to stumble into the little bookstore around the corner—a place she’d been meaning to check out since she started her job at the publishing house.

Half an hour later, she was wandering the aisles, muttering sarcastic comments under her breath about the uninspired titles her boss had decided to publish. That’s when she noticed someone standing nearby: a tall brunette who was watching her with an amused smile, eyes sparkling as if she’d overheard every word.

Something about this woman seemed familiar, but in her tipsy haze, y/n couldn’t quite place why. She was fairly certain they hadn’t hooked up before… probably. She figured she’d remember someone with a face like that.

The brunette noticed her staring and grinned. “That book’s terrible,” she said, gesturing to the one in y/n’s hand.

“Oh, you don’t even know the half of it. The author’s an ass, too,” y/n replied without thinking, the alcohol giving her a boldness she usually lacked.

The woman laughed, a sound that was low and warm. “Sounds like you’ve got stories.”

“Not to be weird, but… do we know each other?” y/n asked, squinting as if that might help her remember.

The brunette chuckled. “I just have one of those faces. Don’t sweat it, baby.”

The pet name made y/n’s heart skip a beat. This woman was gorgeous, and her presence was disarming. Not to mention, y/n was tipsy in a bookstore—probably not the best state to be meeting someone like this.

The woman nodded toward the shelves. “Got any recommendations? You look like someone who knows good books.”

Y/n smirked, feeling a little more at ease. “Well, now you sound like my boss.” She glanced at the shelves. “What are you looking for? A certain genre?”

The brunette’s gaze lingered on her a moment longer than expected. “Something captivating. Sapphic.”

Her smirk didn’t go unnoticed, and y/n felt her cheeks warm. “Evelyn Hugo, then,” she managed, trying not to sound flustered.

The woman picked up the book, barely glancing at the cover. “Good enough for me,” she said with a grin.

“You’re not even going to read the back?” y/n asked, amused.

“Nope.” The brunette’s lips popped on the ‘p,’ and y/n’s eyes lingered there for a second too long.

The woman’s gaze didn’t waver. “Want to grab a bite and tell me about it?”

A short while later, they were seated in a booth at y/n’s favorite low-key bar.

“So you really don’t recognize me?” the woman asked, a teasing glint in her eye.

Y/n stammered, laughing nervously. “Should I?”

The woman chuckled. “Relax. We haven’t hooked up or anything like that.”

“Oh,” y/n replied, a blush creeping up her cheeks.

“I’m an actress,” the woman explained with a smirk, watching y/n’s face as recognition started to dawn.

“Oh… oh my god,” y/n breathed, eyes wide. “You’re Aubrey Plaza.”

Aubrey smiled, raising an eyebrow. “Yep. You finally got there.”

“I am so sorry. I’m just… a little starstruck,” y/n admitted, cheeks burning.

“It’s cute,” Aubrey said with a shrug. “So… you’re a Marvel fan?”

Y/n laughed. “Guilty. Also a dumbass, apparently.”

Aubrey leaned back, amused. “Maybe, but it’s working for you.”

A blush stole over y/n’s face, and she changed the subject before Aubrey could tease her any further. “So, what are you drinking?” she asked.

Aubrey considered for a moment. “An Old Fashioned, I think.”

Y/n nodded and called over the waitress, who looked mildly amused as she took their order, including a pepperoni pizza to share. As the waitress walked away, Aubrey observed, “She seems to know you well.”

“Yeah, she’s used to my friends coming in here every other day,” y/n explained.

Conversation flowed easily, becoming more relaxed with each passing minute. Y/n found herself laughing at Aubrey’s dry humor, and as her initial anxiety faded, she realized she genuinely enjoyed Aubrey’s company. Hours flew by, and as midnight approached, they decided on a late-night walk in the nearby park.

Bundled up against the night chill, their cheeks flushed from the drinks, they walked side by side, laughing about random topics and sharing stories. Eventually, they called a cab, squeezing into the back seat, Aubrey’s arm casually resting around y/n’s shoulder.

At y/n’s door, she hesitated, nerves starting to creep back in. Aubrey seemed to notice and gave her a soft smile.

“I can feel you overthinking from here. Relax,” she teased, sinking into the couch as soon as they walked in.

Y/n laughed, joining her. Aubrey pulled out the book she’d bought. “Wanna read it together?”

Y/n grinned. “I’ll make us some tea.”

They settled into the couch, Aubrey reading aloud while y/n curled up beside her, head resting in Aubrey’s lap. There was a quiet, comfortable intimacy between them that didn’t need words. Aubrey’s fingers absentmindedly played with y/n’s hair as she read the love story of Evelyn Hugo, and gradually, both of them drifted into a peaceful sleep.

Part 2 • part 3 • 4 • 5

[grimmsbride]

HABITS [ curly / reader ]

when it comes to picking coworkers, curly isn’t the most dependable. but.. the same could be said about keeping his feelings in check.

tags / ex - friends with benefits to lovers(?) | bittersweet | oral sex ( fem. receiving ) | slight praise kink | porn without plot | canon-divergence | chubby coded reader | curly isn’t 100% accurate & i am sorry this is my first time writing for him | curly is lowkey a liar but it’s okay | curly is big ( based off fanart mostly but also game ) | pet names | etc. if i forgot something please alert me.

notes / it has been like.. months since i last posted on tumblr. but i am slowly getting my spark back. this has also been cross posted on archive so if you see it there do not be alarmed. my writing is rusty, so please be nice with criticisms i’m quite sensitive 😭 but please do enjoy <3

“You look like shit.” You murmured softly, eyes carrying up the man’s form. You hadn’t expected anyone to be awake at this hour, let alone outside of their quarters. But whether to your dismay or pleasure someone had joined your little excursion, that someone being your beloved Captain; Curly.

Who looked to be teetering between the land of the dead and living. Bags lined those pretty eyes, a little red— surely from strain. When was the last time he got enough sleep? Was a thought that quickly passed your mind. Regardless you decided against asking, seeing as you were positive he wouldn’t have an answer for you anyway.

The Captain— Curly, allowed the corner of his mouth to lift; a humorous sigh escaping him. “Do I? Hadn’t noticed..”

“And here I thought Mr. Handsome prided himself on his vanity and dignity.”

The man shook his head at your usual flirty remarks, glancing about your own form. He took in the makeshift wrap of blankets you held around your pajama-clad body, noticing your feet covered in slippers. Not the proper attire obviously, but reprimanding you just didn’t seem worth it at the moment.

“Couldn’t sleep?”

You shrugged, eyes shifting away to glance at a wall. “More like didn’t want to. With so much work to be done I rarely get any time to my thoughts.”

“Maybe that’s a good thing.”

“For you.. maybe. I quite enjoy my mind.”

You smiled at the soft chuckle that escaped him, taking the moment to move just a bit closer. Again, your eyes landed upon those dreaded bags; hand rising slowly to his face. You watched as his eyes focused quite quickly, clearly puzzled by your sudden attention. Regardless he didn’t move, instead allowing your palm to press against his cheek— your thumb then moving to trace a bag.

“I’m serious though. It looks like you haven’t gotten sleep in days. Is something wrong?”

A flicker.. just a slight glint, drifted through his gaze. An emotion you couldn’t quite place but didn’t like regardless. You stood silently, watching as his hand rose before your own. Gentle fingers wrapped around your wrist, dragging your hand down his cheek — the abrasion of his facial hair tickling your palm — before pulling it away from him.

“It’s nothing for you to worry about [Name].”

Curly spoke, trying to keep his voice as level as possible. But you knew him. All, too, well. The man could hold water but there were times it spilled over just a little. Even if he didn’t explicitly say it, you knew his concern was something big— something that definitely affected you.

“Captain stuff, huh?” You said slowly, hand pulling away from his own in a dejected fashion. You couldn’t help but feel that way, eyes drifting away almost stubbornly.

“I thought our relationship was above such titles.”

“[Name]—“

You shook your head, Curly clamming up in response. Times like these were exactly why you regretted taking the man up on his offer. The promise of lines not being crossed was a discussion made in the same breath, yet here you were; questioning why exactly your past relations meant little to his decision to be secretive.

But it was just relations.. right? Just sex, a way to blow off steam. People that sleep together with no love shouldn’t act like this anyway.

Your eyes finally lifted from its stubborn gaze on the wall and back to the blonde before you, attempting to seem unfazed by the intense stare he was delivering you.

You forced a smile. “I’m just messing with you, Captain. Lighten up a bit.”

Curly continued to stare before coming close, a single footstep that pressed against the metal beneath the two of you. You nearly forgot how large the male was; broad and tall, staring down at you with those bag lined.. beautiful eyes. He reached over, fingers ghosting the back of your hand for a moment before grabbing it.

This caused you to shiver, eyes widening slowly as you watched the man bring it back to its previous place; right at his cheek. He used his own appendage to assure you cupped his face.

“I know you well enough to know when you’re joking or not, [Name].” Curly spoke lowly, eyes flickering between multiple spots on your face. “Right now.. I don’t want to worry you. It’s something I’ll figure out, but I will let you know soon.. I promise.”

That’s what you hated most about Curly. Even if you were clearly worried about him, he just loved to spin it so he could worry about you. All while easing such worries with the prettiest words. a master of the tongue. In more ways than one.

The flush of warmth that broached your cheeks was hard to ignore, eyes fluttering to the ground as his gaze grew intense. You allowed your thumb to trace his skin, teeth grazing the inside of your cheek. You promised yourself you wouldn’t let such thoughts or feelings resurface. Strictly professional was your own personal mantra.

Yet here you were, holding the cheek of the man you’ve been pining for— desperately wanting to touch more.

And that you did.

Against better judgement, head clear of thinking— you pressed forward, allowing your lips to brush against his own. You felt his breath stutter, body growing still at your bold action. This allowed your eyes to rise, batting thick eyelashes at the man as you spoke:

“Then.. until then, why don’t I take your mind off of it?”

You solidified your words in a single kiss, free hand clutching your blanket that threatened to slip. You felt the hand on your own slowly fall, clearly from shock. You couldn’t blame him. This was going against everything the two of you decided on. Everything the two of you have built since being onboard of this ship.

Even so, you didn’t mind destroying it— nor did your beloved captain.

Large hands slid under your blanket, finding the small of your back. With a pull you were flush against his form, the kiss deepening. Soft lips collided in a gentle battle, that slowly became fierce as time passed. Feelings buried deep began to bubble over, creating that haze that left you breathless. You could only moan as his tongue slid across your lips, effectively parting them. There, Curly took his time to claim your mouth as his once again, coating each and every inch with his saliva.

Your hand slid from his cheek to a large shoulder, gripping him so tightly as your knees began to buckle. Any longer and you were sure you would topple over right then and there.

Desperate for air Curly reluctantly pulled away, staring at that little string that connected the two of you. Heavy breaths escaped you, causing the want developing deep in his stomach to just burn even more. His eyes lifted away from you for a moment, an inner turmoil playing behind his eyes.

He was the Captain. He didn’t have time to play hooky and hook up with an old fling. Curly had duties.. responsibilities and expectations. And yet, as his flicked back to your form; so wanton and palpable— any thought of being the revered Captain of Tulpar escaped quite quickly.

Leaving behind Curly. A man who couldn’t quite help his desires. And a man who wasn’t the best at picking his coworkers.

“Come here.” Curly spoke softly, tugging you close before leaning; slipping his hands under your legs and lifting you easily.

The butterflies in your stomach tumbled and tumbled, threatening to spill from your mouth the moment he stepped towards his room. Effortlessly, as if your body meant completely nothing. Oh how you loved whenever he showed off his strength.

The door slid open routinely, revealing the simple quarters. A bed, desk, and dresser— surely filled with underwear and extra uniforms. The air was cool, perfect yet you couldn’t help but shiver the moment the man laid you across his sheets. A breath caught in your throat as he climbed over you, a hulking mass covering your line of vision only allowing you to see him.

Curly’s hands pressed against the mattress beneath you, leaning down to steal your lips once again. His light beard brushed against your skin, a feeling that caused you to chuckle, a feeling you missed.. feeling. Your hands rose, collecting his face into your palms as you deepened the kiss. Soft smacks of passion passed throughout the room as lips tangled in a secret conversation.

A hand rose from the mattress, treading down your plump form to find the edge of your shirt. His fingers, ever so gentle, slid under the fabric to spread across the span of your warm stomach. You sighed into his mouth, reeling into his touch as it grew higher and higher— soon skimming the bottom of your breasts.

“Curly..don’t tease.” You pulled back to speak, eyes focused on his features. You couldn’t help the pulse between your thighs the moment an impish smile crossed his features.

“I’m not, just.. remembering.”

With his soft murmur Curly was lifting your shirt off your body, placing it somewhere on the bed. Lowering, his breath fanned across your warm skin, gentle kisses pressing against your neck.

You hissed, eyes pinching closed, as your hands lowered to grasp his arms. Your lips parted as a large hand soon covered one of your breasts, gently squeezing whilst his thumb brushed against your hardening nipple.

As much as you wished to beg for more you knew better than to do so. Curly wasn’t a person that rushed when it came to these things. He enjoyed taking his time, building your pleasure bit by bit so when the main event happened you were completely lost in ecstasy. And as annoying as it was to admit, you couldn’t help but love his attention to detail.

The kisses lowered to the valley of your chest, tongue gliding across the hot skin, sliding to your untouched nipple. The man mumbled against your flesh, licking and sucking; delivering such sweet attention you couldn’t help the bated breaths beginning to form.

Should you be worried? The others weren’t close but weren’t far. And you highly doubt any of them would want to be waken by your less than professional “activities”.

Unfortunately, as Curly’s other hand traveled low concern for their sleep slowly drifted away.

You whimpered softly as his hand breached your pants and panties, fingers gliding across your slick slit for a moment before using two to spread you gently. Fuck.. was the simple sigh that escaped you as his middle finger easily found your swelling bud, rubbing it into slow circles.

“Fu..fuck Curly, I’m supposed to be taking your mind off work.”

Curly lifted from your breast, nipple red and slick from his constant attention. “Oh don’t worry, you are.” The man confirmed, allowing a finger to slide lower— pressing against your entrance. With ease it was slipping in, velvety walls swallowing the thick digit greedily.

“Now all I can think about is you, your body, your reactions.. how much I missed when you’d…—“ As another finger of his slid in, the Captain curled them ever so slightly, watching intently as your lips parted wider, a breathy moan escaping your throat.

“— did that.”

His lips curled, clearly delighted. Would it be cocky to admit he loved the way you didn’t change? How he still remembered every single button to press? It was if.. you were made perfectly, just for him.

That, or Curly ruined you for every other man.

The man released your breast for a moment to tug your bottoms down, allowing him to watch his fingers appear and disappear into your wet snatch. Soft plaps escaped from between your pretty thighs, arousal trickling down his appendages and surely to your taint.

His mouth couldn’t help but water, and without thinking the man was lowering closer. Curly’s lips parted above your cunt, breath fanning across the wet heat for a moment before covering your sweet little bud. His free hand quickly came to rest on your lower stomach, only to then decide to hold you down with his forearm.

There; unable to move, his lips sucked your swollen clit, beard brushing across you so deliciously.

A swear dropped from your lips, hands flying to your mouth to cover more sounds that threatened to spill. Your legs fluttered, a warmth brewing deep in your tummy— one you haven’t felt in months. Sure, when you could you rubbed one out — unfortunately without your beloved vibrator that hadn’t made it on Tulpar with you — but this was different. A feeling you couldn’t quite replicate with your own fingers or imagination.

His fingers were just so much longer, bigger; filling and stretching you perfectly. Pushing against your warm walls, curling to press against spots you couldn’t achieve. And even as your clit began to sting at the sensitivity, the pleasure was far more overwhelming.

Tears sprung at your eyes and through a glossy gaze you were taking Curly in. His own eyes were closed, heated breaths and groans fanning against your cunt as he devoured you effortlessly. Such a fucking messy eater. And you loved it.

As the pleasure brewed, forming into a band bound to snap you allowed a hand to lower to his hair, fluffy blonde locks sliding through the gaps of your fingers as you clung to him. Your legs shook, body arching off the bed as your other hand held your mouth so harshly you were sure there were scratches on your cheek.

“Fuck..!” Slammed against your palm in a muffled cry, body clenching as you came undone. You heard an all too familiar groan of pure delight as Curly gently lapped you up, withdrawing his fingers but refusing to remove his arm.

Whimpers of overstimulation did nothing to him, the man continuing to clean you up until he was satisfied. And when he finally was, he rose, the bottom half of his face coated with your mess.

Your hand lowered from your mouth, soft pants escaping. “I hate you.”

“Do you?” Curly was quick to answer, moving his arm to instead grasp your thighs. He lifted you a bit, pulling your bottom closer to him. Once you nodded the man chuckled, thumbs gliding across the marks that were painted across your hips.

“I don’t believe that. Not one bit.”

You opened your mouth to retaliate, but was left silently searching for snarky banter as you watched the captain’s hands move towards his slacks. There, his thumbs caught the waist band of his bottoms, tugging them down to reveal that sharp v-line and much more. Curly was a large man, everywhere. His length was thick, a round tip— bulging red with an angry vein traveling down his pale shaft.

You wondered if a pillow would be better than your hands at this point.

“Thought you were gonna say something..”

Curly teased, pulling his bottoms down the rest of the way and tossing them with your pile of clothes. He could only chuckle as you shook your head, crawling over your form to hover a breath’s away from you.

“Good.”

The man was smart to capture your lips as the moment you felt his length prod and push, you couldn’t help the little cry escaping you— perfectly muffled by his own mouth.

The stretch burned, burned so damn good you could have came again just from that. Curly was a gentleman of course, pushing in slowly, allowing you to grow accustomed to his size after so many months.

About halfway you were pulling away from his lips, head pressed against the pillow beneath you as sharp pants escaped you. Curly’s hand brushed your hip whilst the other cradled your face.

“That’s good.. breathe, you can take it all— can’t you?” His voice was sweet, soothing as his hips continued to push— plunging deep inside of you.

Your eyes were struggling to stay open, pretty groans falling from your tongue, easing into a sigh the moment you felt his hips stop; now fully seated within you. The feeling was mildly uncomfortable, even with his loving preparation, but you could make do.

You have before.

Curly leaned down, pressing his lips to your face, peppering them across his skin. Your forehead, under your eye, your nose, lips, and chin— everywhere he could reach. Attempting to soothe you even more.

Your hands rose gliding under his shirt to instead press against his broad, muscular back. Your finger tips traced little shapes across his skin, soon curling to allow your nails to scrape the moment he moved his hips.

Curly began to pull them back slowly, allowing only the tip inside before pushing forward. A single motion that caused the both of you to shudder, pleasure quickly brewing once more.

Soon enough with little restraint, Curly started a gentle pace. Back and forth, a hand on your waist whilst the other kept him upright. His length pressed into you deeply, pushing against a spongy spot that caused stars to invade your vision.

Your eyes were screwed shut, mouth lax as whimpers of passion escaped you sharply. Your nails dug and dragged into his back, an ache forming in your hips as his simple thrust became drills.

Curly couldn’t help himself at this point. He’s been holding back for far too long. Every interaction, every playful banter, every secret exchange of the eyes— played within in his mind. The man was smart enough to acknowledge how stupid he was. Playing with yours and his feelings, pretending your past didn’t matter; that coworkers were a status that you could achieve.

But no. He was fooling himself. There’s no way in hell, especially after this, was the man going to be able to go back to just being coworkers.

“Curly.. fuck, fuck— they’re gonna hear—!” You cried, legs shaky and wrapped tight around his waist. In the midst of his haze had suddenly increased his speed, ferocity; placing nearly his entire weight behind each thrust. Your eyes were rolling back at this point, nearly lost to the pleasure if it wasn’t for the sudden banging of the bed against the wall.

That fear of being discovered nearly killed your high.

Fortunately, Curly heeded your concerns, his hand lifting from the bed to instead grip the metal railing. You nearly gushed on the spot, watching his eyebrows pressed close, focusing so intently on your pleasure. His grip on your hip nearly mirrored the bed, refusing to release you. Every thrust you took, pushing you deep into the mattress as your breath threatened to leave.

“Mi..missed you.. I missed you so much.” Curly huffed, pants escaping his open mouth as his thrusts never faltered. The wet sounds of skin on skin filled the room, a steady rhythm to accompany his thrusts.

You tugged him closer by his back, shoving your face into his neck with your mouth directly against his ear. You wished to reply, expressing you felt the same exact way— even more. But of course you were left to only moan and gasp, his name coming out in struggled cries that only stirred him up even more.

Moments of your intense passion continued until your peaks grew closer, the two of you struggling even harder to keep your voices level. Maybe you two truly didn’t give a damn who heard.

“Curly!—“ His lips were colliding with yours in moments, sealing the deal as you came undone for the second time that night. You gushed around him, coating his dick with your thick essence— trickling to his sheets.

The man, releasing a final groan right into your mouth, pushing deep; releasing inside of you. Filling you to the brim.

The captain’s hips slowly settled, yet his lips continued to cover your own; moving slowly and lovingly. Curly released the bed frame to instead cup your face, cool fingers an ease to your hot skin.

Soon enough the two of you pulled away, a soft groan escaping you as the man slowly slid out of you. You tried to ignore the rather unpleasant feeling of his release slowly trickling out of you, instead focusing on the man above you— who was currently smiling.

Your swollen lips flattened into a pout, hands rising from his back to instead rising to his face.

“Don’t smile at me, Captain.”

Curly chuckled, hands sliding under you to lift whilst he sat up. Pulling you onto his lap, the man cradled your waist, thumbs brushing across your skin.

“It’s habit at this point, my love.”

You couldn’t help your own smile, arms wrapping around his neck, leaning to give him a small peck.

“Mhm..” You only hummed, eyes closing in a blissful manner as his forehead pressed against your own.

“No matter what, I’ll always be here to support. You know that, right?”

“I know, [Name]. I know.”

[bluejutdae]

“Oh, let there be hotel complaints” | Chan x you

warnings: nsfw, D/s dynamics, face and pussy slapping, overstimulation, mention of safewords, Daddy kink.

This is just Chan brain rot and my mind gently suggested me the image of first time inexperienced Dom Chan who wants to try some BDSM but he’s too scared to hurt you so he decides he’a going to try on himself all that he’s gonna do to you…

Title from Dinner & Diatribes by Hozier

Chan has had plenty of vanilla sex, but then you introduced him to BDSM, and especially the concepts of Doms and Subs, and something switched in him. He started reading online forums and blogs. And when the topic arose again, he clearly told you he’s interested, but he won’t do it yet. Because the thing is: despite how hard even just reading stuff about it makes him, he has no experience, and he won’t risk hurting you.

So, he does what any good Dom should do in his eyes, he tries things on himself.

One day you turn home to find his face red and a bit swollen, but when you ask about it, he just distracts you with filthy kisses. What you don’t know is that he slapped and slapped and slapped himself until he deemed he had found the right strength to use.

Another day he disappears for the whole afternoon and, when you see him in the living room, he looks flushed and a little exhausted, but giddy. Just like Changbin when he maxes out at the gym and he’s incredibly tired but proud of himself. What you don’t know is that he spent the afternoon edging himself with a vibrator on his shaft and his tip and, after hours of denying himself, he came and proceeded to overstimulate himself, because it’s only logical to pair up the two experiences, right?

What you noticed though, is that there’s a change in him. He’s more assertive with you on some days, makes sure you eat and doesn’t let you go to sleep if you haven’t removed your makeup. Pushes you to sleep more when he knows you have had a bad day at work, and every time you comply and thank him for taking care of you, he kisses a little filthier, holds you a little firmer.

It’s months later when he asks if you can try something kinkier. You’re excited and happy and you start to mentally prepare yourself to be a good teacher without forgetting this is about pleasure. But then Chan shows you exactly how deep the still water runs deep.

“You’re gonna sit there” he says and he’s so commanding yet sexy you melt instantly. “And we’re gonna have a quick talk. Nothing too extreme is going to happen today, but I need to establish some rules”. You nod in response, and he looks at you with his arms crossed and an eyebrow raised. “You’re gonna use your pretty words, baby girl.” That’s it. Not a suggestion, not an option, a rule. Fuck, you knew he would be good at this.

“I understand.”

He’s quick with the rules: you must verbally answer, you’re gonna use the traffic light system for now, you must use the safe word if you need to, and the moment you think something’s wrong he’s gonna stop. You also must ask for what you want, not just take it.

Not too long later you’re on the bed, shirt previously discarded and clad only in your panties. And Chan is completely dressed, hovering over you. He’s been kissing you deeply and touching you just enough to make you want so much more. You’re embarrassingly wet and you’re sure you’ll have to throw away your panties. He’s holding your crossed arms at the wrists and, in doing so, he’s holding you down. You try to buck and raise your ass to relieve some of the dull aching you’re feeling in your core. “C’mon Channie, touch me.”

“But I am touching you…” he replies with a smirk on his lips. His free hand caresses your face, and he tests the gives of your lower lip with his thumb. When you suck on it, though, he takes it away and shakes his head. “What did I say?” You are lost, what happened? Did he say something?

“You’re just a cockhungry whore, uh? You can’t even wait for me to give you something, you’re so greedy you just want to take and take.”

Oh.

The realization in your face makes Chan smile. “There it is… tell me what you did wrong, and I might consider going easy on you.”

“I didn’t ask to suck your thumb-” he knows there’s something you want to add, he knows about your Daddy kink. And it turns him so fucking on, but he’s not gonna press about it. He considers your words and considers just letting it slide, but there’s flames licking at his insides.

“Too bad you didn’t ask, uh?”

Sudden, sharp pain irradiates on your left cheek and it’s less the pain and more the surprise that makes you gasp and, less than a second later, moan. Chan wants to apologize, years of conditioning making him feel guilty and mean and abusive, but he can’t deny what he feels.

He grabs your face, fingers splayed where he slapped mere seconds ago, wet thumb digging into the opposite cheek and kisses you messy and filthy, sucking your tongue in his mouth. Chan removes the last piece of clothing you have on and sits on his knees, with his thighs slightly spread apart. He holds your legs open with firm hands, one on your calf and the other clamped around your knee. He’s just… staring at your pussy. You try to squirm away and close your legs, but his eyes are suddenly on you. There’s a warning in his face that accompanies a displeased sound. “Sorry, sorry, I’m sorry” you blurt out trying to repair something before you do too much damage. You can feel wetness dripping down your folds, and Chan can too. “You’re so wet. Fuck, you love being on display for me…” He has never felt this. There’s a power rush, a shiver starting from his spine and moving towards opposite endings: towards his brain, making him lose words and making him want to act up, want to deliciously destroy you, making a mess of you and then put you back together; and on the other ending, traveling south towards his cock and balls. He’s been ready to cum the moment he sat you down and you agreed to do this.

“Love, are you just going to stare at me?” You ask when you grow too impatient to keep sitting still, a bit embarrassed too by his too focused staring. He shakes his head, and there is a quiet chuckle that can be heard in the room. His lips raise in a slow smirk, like he’s just been made aware of a secret, and you didn’t. And maybe he did.

Chan made plans for tonight. Plural. You told him you like not knowing everything in advance, so he planned different plans based on your responses to his actions. It was harder than organizing recording sessions. But since he saw your reactions earlier, he decides to stick to a precise plan. So, he acts in it.

Quickly and hard he delivers a slap on your inner thigh, the pain is a delicious sensation, hot and cold at the same time. A moment later the skin reddens to show Chan’s handprint and if possible, his cock gets ever harder. It twitches a little from where it’s hidden, head flushed and red, slowly but constantly leaking precum, forming a wet stain on his slacks .

“Fuck Chan!” You cry to his direction, eyes closed shut and brows knit in pleasure. You can feel heat where he hit you, and you want to press your fingers into it, wanting to feel the warmth and the pain and the pleasure. The moment you are ready to ask him for something, he delivers another slap in the same place. This time, though, Chan doesn’t let you breathe it out, doesn’t let you take your time to recover from it, no. He rakes his nails on your hot skin, watches as the skin quickly goes from red to white and to an even redder red where he scratched you. Digs his digits into your skin and revels in your gasps, feeling hot and ready to lose control, if a wind would blow in the room, he would cum in an instant. He’s ready for your next moan, your next gasp, but you’re quiet and your legs are trembling, and he’s scared he’s gone too far. He’s on the verge of apologizing, carrying you to the bathroom for a warm bath and cuddles and more apologies when he realizes he read you wrong. He didn’t give you too much, he gave you exactly what you needed, because -unbelievably so, for him- you’re coming. Clit untouched and your sopping hole twitching and throbbing around nothing, but you’re clearly coming. This is a different one, though. You’ve never been quiet while having an orgasm, but watching you with more attention calms him down, you look fine. He kisses you from your thigh to your cheekbone, stopping to nibble at your nipples, tongue lapping at your skin and sucking quick marks on you. “My pretty slut” a kiss on the nose, “you’re so greedy” a kiss on the right cheek, “your little pussy came untouched” a kiss on the forehead, “now I must give it some attention” a kiss on your chin. “Tell me your color?” He adds, tone sweeter and a hand caressing your face like you’re made of the finest glass.

“Green”. A smile appears on his face and he manhandles you to straddle his slacks covered thigh. Your wetness is seeping through the fabric, you squirm and he can see you’re embarrassed. “I told you I was gonna give it some attention. I want my baby girl to feel good.” He grabs you by your hips and forces you to move and grind your pussy on the fabric of his slacks. One of his hands sneaks into your hair and he pulls, stopping you from hiding into his neck. “No hiding. And stop hiding all your pretty sounds from me.”

The pleasure mixed with the overstimulation are overwhelming, and Chan’s new role is playing a big role in the moment and your arousal. His fingers are probably going to leave bruises in your skin, and you can’t wait to stand in front of a mirror to see them. Chan hands guide you back and forth and soon you’re clenching around nothing, “m’close Channie”, too desperate to control your movements.

“It’s okay, my baby. Just ask for it.” His hard cock is begging to be touched, still in the confines of his underwear and trousers. Yet, he has never been this hard and close to coming untouched. Your moans, the redness on your cheeks, the sweat matting your hair to your forehead and your incessant moans and cries of pleasure are making him lose his mind.

“Please Channie, can I cum?” You pant. “Let me cum, Daddy.” The last word is whispered, muffled into his shoulder but he hears it anyway. And he understands why you like it, the name giving him power, giving him a specific role, giving him the chance to give you exactly what you need.

“Then cum for Daddy.”

He watches you as cum, hands guiding your movements and his muscles flexing to give you as much pleasure as he can. He loves you like this, unabashed and free, vulnerable just for him.

But having you moaning and screaming his name is not enough. He doesn’t stop when you try to take a moment to collect yourself, he fixes his hold on your hips and forces your movements again. Back and forth, back and forth, again and again and it doesn’t matter how loud you whine, it doesn't matter your overstimulation, what matters now is making you cum another time. Anytime he pushes you towards him, he also pushes you down, setting an unforgiving pace that is torture on your sensitive clit. He’s relentless, but after just a few minutes you’re both rewarded with your legs clamping down on his thigh as you cum again. Unbelievably so, watching your second orgasm triggers his own orgasm and he moans your name loudly. He kisses you, messy and hungry, lips demanding and tongue insistent, claiming even your breath.

You’re gripping his shirt so hard, your fingers hurt. He delicately lays you down onto the bed and kisses you softly. As soon as his breathing comes back to normal, his worries come back too.

“Are you okay, baby? Did I hurt you? Was it too much? What do yo-“ you interrupt him with silly, quick kisses, trying to diminish his worries.

“I am more than okay.” A kiss. “I feel perfect.” A kiss. “You were perfect.” A kiss. “You’re always perfect, love.” A kiss. “I love you.” A kiss.

You kiss some more and he insists on showering together so he can take care of you and make sure you drink water and eat some fruit and chocolate. He tells you all about trying on himself what he did to you, and you’ve never loved him more.

[guardianofnightmares]

Sunrise

Faint beam of artificial light from a surface danced off yellow armor of an Autobot, giving it a color of a newborn star. Bumblebee graced the Decepticon with a broad smile, its warmth making the hostile gloom around his facial features to dissipate.

To Blitzwing a minibot reminded a stray ray of hope which arrived to safe lost souls from a long dead and forgotten world.

A true rising sun in the realm of darkness.

----------

Alright, fellas, next entry to the @blitzbee-week event is finally here)). The prompt of the second day was "Sunrise" and I decided to go more figuratively with it rather then depicting a literal "appearance of the sky" at a particular part of a day. As you can guess by a provided description, Bee basically becomes a "leading star" for a brooding Blitzwing, who, as it seems, is not that thrilled by discovery of his partner.

Just as a previous entry to a mentioned event, this picture is dedicated to my fanfic called "TFA: Icarus". Here's a [link] for the series "folder" which also includes an existing teaser (future prologue) for a story if anyone wants to give it a try. Again, can not thank you enough for all the support you've shown for it so far, I will try my best to come up with updates soon enough.

As it usually goes with such works of mine, I will provide the full snippet of one of chapters, which a depicted scene is taken from, under a cut line for anyone wishing to read more about the scene. Hope you'll enjoy it)

To the surprise of many comrades he’d worked with, the Triplechanger proved to be the most patient mech on a team when it came to long lasting missions. Usually he didn’t find it difficult to lay low and wait for orders to come, even if it meant to stay idle for several solar cycles. It was a useful trait of character which Decepticon rightfully prided himself of. 

Yet, even a seemingly boundless patience had its limits. 

“Can you see anything of use out there?” Blitzwing finally asked his unfortunate “partner in crime”.

A brightly colored mech slipped on the spot upon hearing Con’s voice but managed to regain his balance. 

“Not yet, Blitzwing, give me a klik!” A minibot shouted over his shoulder, holding on the steel bar for dear life. “Climbing is not as easy as I’m surely making it look in your optics.”

If Bumblebee planed to cheer up a Warframe with such a comment, he failed miserably, for it only seemed to sour up an already bad mood of a tall mech. 

To a Decepticon, it felt like forever since the minibot began his ascend up a steep scarp of a crumbled wall. One would think that, thanks to his light frame, he’d manage to reach the top level in no time. But even this uneven terrain, made of torn sheets of metal and broken cables, proved to be a challenge to an agile Autobot. 

The damned energy chain, which linked limbs of both mechs to each other, clearly was the greatest obstacle for Bumblebee, barely giving him a chance to move as far away from a somber mech as possible. Not to mention that a Decepticon was forced to stand on one pede in order to accommodate his companion’s slow conquest of new heights. 

Admittedly, a Triplechanger considered an option of tearing the bug’s pede he’s bound to off. But that type of cuffs always latched onto anything in their vicinity (while being activated). Meaning, the chances of getting tied to a nearby wall, as a result of said actions, reached more than 90%. 

Tearing his own pede off was not part of a Warframe’s plans. 

“If you haven’t noticed it yet, Bumblebee Prime, we don’t have plenty of time left to hide in these tunnels,” A “former” convict grumbled in response while surveying his surroundings for an up-tenth time. He didn’t notice how a Bot winced at the mention of his new title.

Minibot knew he deserved that snide remark. But it did not make him feel better about his recent promotion to an Elite Guard. Or about a decision to become one for that matter. The decision which led to a situation where an Autobot and a Decepticon got lost under an Iacon city. 

They had to hide in maintenance tunnels from the times prior to a Great War. Tunnels built by Decepticons for Autobots’ use, and left by them to slowly rot in an utter disrepair after the said War was officially ended. Sealed off since the banishment of Warframes from Cybertron, eventually the structure turned into an urban myth not many of currently living mechs remember or even know about.

An old complex Blitzwing and Bumblbee were currently navigating in was once part of the major supportive structure. Meant to protect veins and tubes once full of energon, that section was made of sturdy materials which stoically passed the test of time. 

The Decepticon would’ve lied if he’d said he’s not pleasantly surprised by that discovery. 

But it did not bright up his mood by much - they still needed to find a way to the surface level of a planet. 

“Foolish of me to expect a scout with no field experience to do a Warframe’s job,” the mech muttered under his breath, words bitter on his glossa. “Perhaps I should have been the one to search for an exit after all”.

Blitzwing had no intent for the last sentence to be heard by his peer, but an aforementioned scout, apparently, had nicely tuned audials. 

Figures. 

“And to risk exposing your Decepticon signature to raging authorities? No, thanks!” Bumblebee chirped after successfully reaching for a rod sticking out of a long abandoned structure. “It was already enough of me putting everything at risk by making stupid decisions - I don’t want to see you following my lead.”

Somehow the fact that a minibot admitted his mistakes helped to somewhat cool Blitzwing down. He said nothing in return but did glance at him once prior returning to surveying desolated surroundings. 

Bumbler’s changed since the promotion to the ranks of an Elite Guard. He seemed to act more mature, even if he’s still naive about most things happening around him. For strangers it’d be an unexpected change of character for such an optimistic and energetic Bot as Bumblebee. But Blitzwing was no random outsider, whether he liked to be on closer terms with a current companion of his or not. 

Death of a teammate has effected the minibot on a much deeper level then he’d ever admit to anybody, even to himself. Yet, despite how horrible it might’ve sounded, the Decepticon thought that that was an important lesson every soldier had to live through. And as a mech, who’s witnessed deaths of many of his comrades throughout the Great War, he had to agree that Bumbler was holding up pretty well for someone so inexperienced in mentioned matters. 

Even Blitzwing, who did not know Prowl as well as a yellow Bot did, felt the loss of a mech effecting him as well to a certain degree. No matter how secluded and cold the cyber-ninja seemed to be, he always had a special aura around him, the one that made people feel at ease in his presence. Though how he could so freely speak to a Con about importance of life and probability of peace among Cybertronians remained a mystery to him to that solar cycle.  

What was that thing black and golden Autobot’s talking about during the last conversation of theirs? 

“To have Faith not in Primus, not in The Allspark, but in each other”?

What exactly made him see it being possible back then and, especially, at a current stage of the reignited conflict between factions? Triplechanger had no answer to that question either. He didn’t view how the world should work the same way Prowl did. Could not fully comprehend the intricacies of a philosophy of an Autobot, but, at least, did not lack the courage to make it very clear during a mentioned discussion of theirs.

Blitzwing didn’t have Faith in anyone anymore, and he surely wouldn't in a foreseen future. 

For who could remain being supportive of their unhelpful, unwanted partn-… Autobot, while being lost in Allspark forsaken place with no means of escape?

…

“… -es! I see the gap in a wall!.. Blitzwing, I actually see it!”

The joyful voice tore Triplechanger from a deep melancholy state he slipped into while looking down a dark tunnel to his left. He raised his ruby optics, their faint glow barely lighting sharp features of his blue faceplates.

“Right where you’ve predicted it to be,” The Autobot added after turning around in order to face his unfortunate companion, unintentionally giving him quite a peculiar view of his small form.

Faint beam of artificial light from a surface danced off yellow armor of an Autobot, giving it a color of a newborn star. Bumblebee graced the Decepticon with a broad smile, its warmth making the hostile gloom around his facial features to dissipate.

To Blitzwing a minibot reminded a stray ray of hope which arrived to safe lost souls from a long dead and forgotten world.

A true rising sun in the realm of darkness.

...

Blitzwing huffed in mild annoyance at himself and his artistic side of a processor - it was not the right moment for poetic comparisons. Hope and Faith had no place in a situation he was stuck in, only cold calculations. He and Bumbler had to get out of that place, no matter the cost. And the sooner they’d get rid of an energy chain, the better.

[1117feverlessdreams]

* ੈ✩‧₊˚* ੈ✩‧₊˚* ੈ✩‧₊˚ * ੈ✩‧₊˚* ੈ✩‧₊˚* ੈ✩‧₊˚ * ੈ✩‧₊˚*

* ੈ✩‧₊˚* ੈ✩‧₊˚* ੈ✩‧₊˚ * ੈ✩‧₊˚* ੈ✩‧₊˚* ੈ✩‧₊˚ * ੈ✩‧₊˚*

PAIRING: OnlineSeonghwa! x CollegeFemReader!

🐰📍SUMMARY: We all get pent up in sexual stress time and time again, and you’re no different. The measures you resort to however may be unusual. You decide to take your issue to the internet and masturbate with a stranger online. A stranger you haven’t met yet.

🐰📍WARNINGS: masturbating obvi, p in v penetration, sadism, cursing, fingering, code names, safe word, reader gets called bunny and darling, and during the deed, slut.

🐰📍WORD COUNT: 8.2k

🐰📍A/N: This story is literally a years work in progress, and by that I mean it’s been sitting in the drafts a quarter of the way done. I don’t know where this was headed a year ago, but these things may happen for a reason…

If you’re being honest…

you have been overly horny, and out of your mind lately!

In the midst of a history essay that is due very soon, you ignorantly minimize the web tab to look for ’free internet accessed relief.’

It was the period of your ovulating phase, so your hormones were shot up so high that you’d do anything to deescalate the throbbing pain between your legs.

It’s only been an half hour of working, and your rolling desktop chair’s leather began to feel gummy underneath your sweltered thighs.

The whole concept of piling on homework before finals week is something you could never comprehend with professors. Not only did it provide you a heavy workload, but them as well, and you’re not their only student.

You wish your roommate was here to tough things out with you. But she had told you on a consistent basis for the past month about this business presenting competition she’s in. She had religiously met up with her group everyday to perfect each element in their project, and deservingly made it to finals.

As this would be her last night before the final presentation against other students from other states in your country, she decided it would be best for the team to spend the night together.

Even though it didn’t comfort you in your solidarity-your body is grateful for her decision.

‘Maybe a YouTube boyfriend audio would do the trick.’ a recurring thought voiced inside your head. A soothing, deep, and attractive voice to guide you while he instructs to touch yourself when he wanted, and in the way he wanted.

A multitude of many minutes pass with your hand dove deep into your underwear, and onto your mound. You recognize your frustration only began to build as none of the videos you played online truly turned you on.

In fact you found it better when you turned the video off, and went at it yourself in the eerie silence of your apartment. Nevertheless, the awkward silence just make you feel more…awkward.

‘Maybe a video of a guy masturbating on any random porn site could help?’ I just have to find the right size, someone who’s my type, a pretty enough looking dick, and most importantly…a guy who moans melodiously through my headset.

You were beginning to think you were being picky when you couldn’t find a single video through twenty three pages. Although, you did manage to find your perfect guy at one point through it all-

You were wet and nearing the very edge, until you heard his climax- the sounds of what you heard to echo a dying horse.

Your persistent inability to relieve yourself made you think going to bed high and dry was a reasonable option. You just hoped the throbbing sensation would be gone when morning came.

It was plenty enough that you were overwhelmed and exhausted by all the work that’s consuming you, and you didn’t want to exert more energy in your poor findings.

You backslide in your chair from your pc setup, analyzing the screen and eye boggling through all the oddly named titles in a random porn site. The longer you looked the more you grew disgusted at the bothering mass of female degradation, and vulgar images of the most kinkiest kinks.

It’s something you’re used to when you visit these sites, and you hate it…yet you keep coming back.

You push your mouse toward the red x in painful shame to finish the last page of your essay off. It was simply a conclusion of what you said in previous pages.

There is apathy in the way you take your time dragging the cursor to the right corner. Just as your nearing its edge, a box grows in a highlighted beam. Like a miraculous messenger that greets you before you give up on your last hope.

It was ad feature on the website that you hadn't exactly explored yet. The ad banner read: ‘Click here to meet sexy hot masturbating adults near you!’ 18+ flashes on the side of the words with neon LED lights, and in GIF media, a man and woman on webcam rubbing themselves off with gaping mouths and wide eyes.

It would be something you would’ve previously consider if it weren’t for the fact that the strangers were near you. The local area was your college campus, a second home, and recognizing familiar faces is something you wouldn’t be able to come back from.

You’ve clicked it before just out of pure curiosity, and the link sent you to the site as promised, but the downfall for you was the requirement to make an account.

The old you from an half hour ago would’ve click the left arrow in the upper left corner and keep searching in disparity. Yet the you now is in deep contemplation, shivering at the slick beneath you on your gaming chair.

You had been grinding back and forth, and even rolling your hips for a deeper arousal. The sensation made it easy to direct your self to the the sign up page and create a profile for user StrawberryBunny1024.

Luckily for you, you’d been given the option of how close the strangers could be. It was a fairly broad spectrum you personally selected from surrounding states and regions. You’d imagine it’d be anyone’s nightmare to match with a former classmate.

With one disadvantage displaced you were thrilled to match with someone who’d shared some fiery electric orgasms with you tonight.

That was until you realized…you actually are required to turn your camera on.

You look at the screen mocking your distraught state with a, “video on please!” In honesty, you aren’t the camera shy type. However what would be captured frightened you…your bare body in all its entirety. In addition to your flustered face.

It’s the internet after all, and digital footprint is a real thing. You wouldn’t want to sabotage your chances of reaching graduation in your senior year.

Besides that point, you turned your camera on because it wouldn’t let you forth without it. A green dotted oval scans your face and a check mark approves of your identity.

Once you are let in, boxes with summarized profiles flash in your face, and a randomized match is made with someone in your selected areas. You’re quick to put on a sexy pink kitsune mask you sported in with your friends on Halloween last year.

Several minutes pass by and you already been put through the wringer. It was either you got skipped, or the guys you matched with were so forceful, and explicitly demanded you to show your pussy right then and there.

There is, once again, a pause in the randomizing. The video buffers to retain quality, but then it fully loads. The audio pitches in right after you scramble to hide further beside your chair. You find that to be the best strategy to elevate suspense. That way you could analyze the person in secret to find out what if you like them, and then you’d reveal yourself.

To your utter disbelief, the most etheral-magical- androgynous, gorgeous, princely being you’ve seen in your many days of living gave your knees a reason to not ache anymore. The prized guy to your desire’s name was…marsskywalker8.

“Hello darling, why are you hiding from me?” A masculine and soothing voice inquires, “I can’t get off to a gaming chair.” He smiles as he finds you peeking on the ground. There was nothing better in this world than a good looking man with a nice set of teeth. “I would do that in my own privacy if that was the case.”

You peer in closer with both eyes, fascinated by the way he just sits there with his face zoomed in, dapper in a black tank top-pleasantly relaxed-seated back fully in his seat-smiling as he notices your hesitation.

“Sorry... this is my first time. I never clicked on one of those…”, your voice drops in volume when you think of the right term to call this online masturbating FaceTime. “Ad thingies.”

“Ah, I see.” He smirks at the innocent nickname you've given your- ‘cyber interaction’.

He falls slightly forward to laugh playfully in a moment of silence which tears you in two. The blissful sound only made you want to cower more and hide. When he rises up again he combs his curtain bangs through his fingers, and what remains is a smile that never fell.

Suddenly a mic is brought down from his right side of the screen. In which his slender fingers engulf so tenderly. “Well…because you are new to this-the first thing you’d do is to show that you are actually human by placing yourself in the camera frame.”

Incidentally, you wave your finger up and center in the cameras view out of annoyance. You yank it down and became frightsome until you realized you’ve proved that you are in fact real, and human. “I know that! I just- it’s weird staring at myself doing…that.”

“Who says you have to put your face in the camera darling? All you have to do is drag your video to the side so you can’t see.” A lower grade of his voice in octave with the mic accessory sprinkled tingles down your spine. “Just be sure to point it down to your pussy. That’s all I need to get off.”

“O-okay.” You place the pad of your thumb over the camera, and rise above the rolling chair slowly. “I’m getting in frame now.” You continue covering the camera while you point it down to your soiled underwear.

He leans into his mic set up. “I’m sorry.” he chuckles, smoothing his hand over his face so he doesn’t smile. The man holds his face in his hand, purely amused about the whole situation. “Where are my manners? My alias name is Mars. Do you have a name you like to be called-Mrs.StrawberryBunny?”

“Yes…I do.” You look between the miffy doll by your desktop and strawberry themed set up you’ve decorated. “Bunny will work just fine.”

“Sounds perfect Bunny. It’s suits you.”

As does mars for you, because you look so otherworldly.

As you intake a deep breath, the pad of your thumb peels off the camera lens. Mars irises darken, and his eyelids lower with lust. “Are you ready for me Bunny?”

“Yes. I am now.”

He wets his plump lips, pulling out his frame to be larger and revealing his skin tight black boxers. “Just watch what I do, and listen to what I say. Mars is gonna help you cum Bunny, is that okay?”

“Yes, it’s okay Mars. I’m ready.”

You began to think submission is something Mars is into as he smirks in delight. “She likes what she sees. Does she have a name?”

“My name, again? it’s-

“No, her. Your friend covered in pink silk.”

Your body heats up when you realize he’s referring to your vagina. “I-I haven’t really thought about it.”

“Awe…what a shame. I have a friend here named Saber that’s very excited to meet her. If she’s willing to introduce herself of course.”

“Yes of course, um, I just came up with a badge it’s…” you look upon the mask you held to your face previously. “Kitsune.”

“Like the sly majestic japanese fox?”, he says intrigued. You nod slowly, regretting your top-of-the-dome thinking. “Oh my… she’s gorgeous.” He leans back and nibbles on his finger between his pretty teeth. Even more so, he gives you a nice view of his semi hard cock.

“I think Saber here thinks so too. Perhaps they should get aquatinted with one another? What do you say Bunny? Would you like to meet him as well?”

“Yes…I would love to.” Your eagerness makes Mars-or rather Saber twitch in his boxers, hardening his erection.

Mars lightly gestures the in between of his thighs. “As usual, he’s a very stand up guy.” An accidental burst of giggles come out of you mouth, and causes your visible lower half to shake. “How charming…Bunny has a sense of humor?”

“Of course I do. I told you, I’m not a robot.” You look at the screen as you wait for a response, but he just continues his mischievous smirking.

“Ice breakers help past the awkward phases. As do play dates. Let’s play with one another Bunny.”

Your breathing grows heavy in anticipation, willing to put keen effort to get what you needed. You clear your throat, preparing it to communicate in a seductive, sex-ridden voice. “What would you like to play Mars?”

“I think it’s a game we all know very well. The one you and I play with our friends here when it’s just you and them. Are you familiar Bunny?”

“…” You nod your head until you realize he can’t see your upper half at all. A thumbs up is what you provide for affirmation.

“I thought so.”

“I’d like to add a twist with Simon says. But it will be Mars says of course, and Bunny says. Does that sound fun darling?”

“Indeed it does. Would you like to do the honors of going first?”

His smile stretches and he tilts his head, chuckling in amusement. “Well of course. I have yet to teach you how it’s done after all.” He grabs his microphone from the right side again. “Mars says, rub your hands up and down your inner thighs.”

In the direct following of his command, you trace your hands up and down, breathing heavily from the small stimulation as you gain close to your heat.

“Good girl. Now, it’s your turn, and you can’t stop what you’re doing until it is your turn again, and I give you different directions. Understood?”

“Yes mars.” Your voice nearly whimpers in the end. It’s so strange how being told to touch yourself feels different than touching yourself at will. “Bunny says… lean back…lift your shirt…and touch all over your torso.”

He of course is best at his own game. Following your command without a world of trouble. His face remains neutral.

“Nicely done Bunny, I see you understand the rules of the game.”

He leans over on his desk, his lips brushing over the head of the microphone. “Mars says…set the crotch of your panties to the side, and rub onto Kitsune’s outer lips.”

You’re relieved to not torture yourself anymore, but now you were revealing a more intimate part of yourself full on. You began to rub softly, and even so it still makes you quiver. You had to get him back.

“Bunny says…massage into Sabers sack, and only through your underwear.”

He does so and throws his head back softly as it lands on a cushion. “How cruel of you Bunny.” He tilts his head back at the camera, and wet strands of dark hair falls over his face. “Mars says rub onto your clit… and do it quickly.”

Your hips buck up in the air from the instant contact. “F-fuck.” You muttered. But you keep your sportsmanship in tact. Obeying the rules of the game. “B-bunny says…bunny says….”

“What does Bunny say darling?” His voice becomes deeper and torturous. Hauling you in further into pleasure.

“Bunny says to reach inside of your underwear…touch onto Saber’s head…a-and rub your thumb up and down the middle. Quickly!”

A grunt sounds out as soon as he began to put his ministrations to action. There’s nothing but a mix of moans, whimpers, and groans between the both of you.

“Ungggh…Bunny, darling I-“

You flutter your eyes open and whine when your legs began to quake, nearing the long awaited ending. “Yes, Mars?”

“Does your friend have any toys you like to share together?”

“You mean like…augh…my dildo?”

“Yes. That’s perfect bunny. Mars says go get your dildo, and wait for my next command.”

“Fuck, Mars please. I need to cum.”

“You will darling I promise, I’m close too. Just do I say, and I’ll get you there.”

“Let me just cover the camera first.” He nods in approval painfully continuing your cruel command. You press your thumb over the lens and lean over to toss your thrown oversized tee onto the camera.

You rummage through the shoe box under your bed, flinging out your clear toy dildo.

You sit back down in your chair unto the sweat that has gone cold, but it soon warmed up again with what was pouring from you now. Mars tucked his lips releasing them from time to time and pant short breaths of air.“I’m back Mars…are you alright?”

“Yes but, just… please! He beckons with a weakening voice. “Do your Simon says.”

“Oh right, Sorry! Bunny says you can take a rest.”

He throws his hand in the air, twitching from an approaching orgasm. “Mars says we can take a rest from this game as well. There’s something else I want to try with you darling.” He turns his chair to face front again, making unmoving eye contact.

“With this being your first time, I’m guessing you got so sexually frustrated that you resorted to this as a last choice…and you want to cum so badly right now right?”

“I’ve tried everything mars, and nothing I did made me as wet as I am now. Thanks to you.”

“I wouldn’t thank me just yet. There’s plenty more to come.” He gives you a small smile before moving out of frame. A few seconds later he comes back with a pocket pussy in hand.

“The prices I would pay just to feel you right now.” He grabs a bottle of lube which was growing sticky in his pre-cum with every touch. “Hold that for just a minute darling.” Mars pours the small remainder in the bottle on his cockhead. He hitches his breath as it twitches from the cool contact.

You can only watch there stunned, sitting there, hand limp in carrying the clear dildo.

“We can see each other right? But there’s limitations on what we can feel.” Mars rubs his hand over himself thouroughly from the base, then the shaft, and to the tip. He even treated you a bit, adding the gloss to his lower abdomen. “So let’s just pretend hmm? Your soaking wet pussy, and my long hard dick.”

He begins to hover the pocket pussy over his cock, and you do the same with your dildo. You had a natural lube good enough that sticky webs formed between your fingers.

You use some of it to cover the dildo, providing yourself as much slip as possible. “You are so hard hwa, I don’t think you can bear it any longer, just fuck me.”

“Fuck, you’re such a slut Bunny. Talking to me like you’re in control.” He hovers the pocket pussy over himself closer, waiting for your cue.

“Push my cock all the way in, and put that pussy juice to good use for me darling, I know you can take it.”

You push it in with no time wasted, and your toes curl within every hilt. It slipped so deep you felt it nearly bypass your cervix. “You’re so deep, and you feel so good.” A long drop of your cream spills from your hole to the underside of the dildo.

Mars’s adam apple bobs hardly as he watches it cascades down on the sides, coming to a full shiver when it hits your floor. “Mars?” He tilts his head up and smiles when he sees you obediently trying to keep the dildo inside you as it began to lose friction against your slick.

“Yes darling I’m here, go on, fuck on your dildo like good little slut.” He begins to play pump his his toy halfway down his girth, twisting it in a 180 degree motion and back.

As soon as you began to follow, you fall apart easily. Whining and crying for your dear life. “More. Call me more names Mars, I love it. I love being your good little slut.”

“Who knew you had a thing for being degraded from how shyly you spoke when I tried to get you into a camera. Now look at you, crying over dick as you beg to be called a slur. What a dumb little toy you are.” he grunts.

You take the pleasure from that as an opportunity to twist the tip of the dildo into your hole, shuddering as it grazes over your sweet spot. “Please keep talking, I’m so close hwa!”

“Fuck your naughty. Let me shut you up. Go faster darling- all I want to hear is you cry for mercy.”

He begins to speed up his fist, tip to base. He tries to maintain contact with you to elevate your high, but it looks like he’s fighting sleep from how often his eyes roll in the back of his head from the overwhelming pleasure.

“Ah fuck, fuck fuck. I can’t- hwa, it’s too fast, I can’t keep up.”

Mars laughs loudly without hesitation-right in your face. “Oh shut up, you whore. You could keep up with your dirty talk. Don’t act like you didn’t do this to yourself dear. Now, I want you to go even faster.”

“Yes sir, m’sorry sir.” You proceed to go even faster, squirming and squinting in your chair as you resist the urge to pull out from the too good feeling of overstimulation.

Mars is on the other side of the camera breaking out heaves of sweat from his head to the curved v lines on his hips. He finally submits to closing his eyes and smiles widely like he’s passing into the next promised paradise of life.

“Wait, oh Mars-fuck!” The camera heightens from you slipping in the chair, then the tip of your toe kicks it further upward.

You had no clue however that your entire body was in frame. Your webcam wasn’t even in your view. With your eyes cloudy from tears and your back arched, you were more focused into making this experience worth your time.

“Holy fuck, you’re gorgeous. Why would you try to hide such a blessing from me?”

You thought in that moment he was praising the beauty of your pussy in which has become well acquainted with, and so you just plead your case. “M’sorry, I’m so sorry Mars.”

He whines with a small shriek, faltering in his ministrations of taking himself all the way. He shivers everytime he takes glances at your adoring features in which you still have no clue are unconcealed.

“Fuck, you’re getting wetter with every thrust darling. Let’s finish this off together and go all the way. My obedient little slut deserves it anyhow.”

He grins wickedly as he watches you plunge the dildo in you without any wasted time.

“Are you fucking close baby? Please tell me you are, because I can’t hold it for another fucking second!”

“Yes Mars I’m- I’m so, aughhh!” You release the cum covered dildo from your heat and fall backwards-limp in your chair. You’d allow yourself to rest as you were still shaking in aftershock.

Mars cums spurts like a water gun onto the meat of thighs. If you weren’t so high right now, you’d see the tear drop that could be mistaken as sweat, but really, that’s how much you’d affected him.

A unexpected knock on the door causes Mars to stumble in his chair, immediately turning off his video and throwing everything into a safe space. “Give me just a minute!”

“Mars!?” You breath out, dropping the dildo in hand to click out of the live chat. ‘Your call with marsskywalker8 was ended.’

…

‘Of course’, you thought. You’re not sure what you were expecting from a site where people use each other to get off. Who in their right mind would have casual conversation after cumming online with a stranger?

You hit x and shut your desktop down to clean yourself in shame. As you got up your ass stuck up the seat from your sticky orgasm, the best you ever had- which is why it’s a shame things ended so abruptly.

With the random select of strangers in your country, it probably take a billion masturbation sessions, to reach him again. Not that you would want to do it again with anyone else though.

* ੈ✩‧₊˚* ੈ✩‧₊˚* ੈ✩‧₊˚ * ੈ✩‧₊˚* ੈ✩‧₊˚* ੈ✩‧₊˚ * ੈ✩‧₊˚*

THAT VERY NEXT MORNING…

“Good Afternoon, sleepyhead! Wakey wakey!”

Your eyes flicker open rapidly when you hear your roommate's familiar voice. You click the power button on the side of your phone and it’s 2PM. A flash memory record of Mars and your homework creeps in your head. Your homework that you think you submitted with a conclusion.

“Hmm?” You say groggily, looking tiredly disgusted at the slob stain wetted on your sheets.

“Look at me, straight one.” Your roommate says while snapping.

“Why is it that you make fun of me in my sexuality as the gay one?” When you throw your cover off and sit up on the ledge, your eyes dart toward a golden trophy she places on your lap. “You fucking got 1st place?”

“This bitch and her incredible team got first place! Whoop whoop!” Your roommate prances around your dorm doing the gagnam style of all dances in victory.

You cover your mouth in surprise from her ridiculous bust-a-move, but also from the relieving news. “Oh my god congratulations Dixie. I told you, sometimes being stress gets you blessed.”

She smiles widely and jumps on your bed to cuddle you in a comforting hug.“You’ve been so supportive honestly, even while I was a deadbeat roommate.”

“Oh please, you had your reasons. You caught up on finals?”

“One more this week and I’m through, statistics.”

“Hmm remind me to retake that class in our next and final semester.”

“Fucking A-men….Oh that reminds me!” In excitement she pulls apart from you and gets on her knees to grasp your hands. “The team and I are going out for dinner later to celebrate, and I wanted to bring you with me…as a plus one.

You groan heavily, drained from the thought of going out. “Dixieeeeee. You know my social skills are at an all time low right now.”

“Nora will be there.” She looks at your slight smile but you don’t fully give in. “Food will be there?”

“You and Nora…” you say lowly. “will be the cuntiess business woman of all time. You both know how to plead your case with someone, and always win.”

“Fuck yes!” She gets on her feet quickly to give your forehead a kiss. “I love you girlie!”, she squeals.

“Please stop, that’s so out of character!”

Later in the day you both dress casual for the occasion. Dixie picks up her girlfriend Nora in the way who gives you a French greeting in the car, and right after, her and Dixie move into a French kiss.

You loved their love. You felt like a child riding in the backseat, admiring the way your parents love another, and wish for the same.

On the way to the restaurant you were informed of the two males that complete their business team. You were very eager to meet them. You were eager to meet anyone who tolerated Dixie.

“Okay this is the place. Hongjoong and Seongwha are waiting at the table inside.” Dixie says to you, smiling to ease your nervousness.

When you walk in you immediately feel the calm, yet bustling excitement of the restaurant. For the most part the people that are seated are a gathering of friends-celebrating or hanging out.

You were mindfully following Dixie and Nora as she directed you to the table, and that’s when you heard her say, “Wassup business team #1 champions!”

A small uproar of cheers and claps sound throughout the group. It hardly brought little to no disturbance to the other guests.

“I hope you guys don’t mind but I brought an extra out tonight. This is my roommate and the best goddamn friend I could ever ask for, Y/n.”

Your heart beat grows faster as you look at the men you’ll be accompanying this evening. There was Hongjoong and….FUCKING Mars?

Or as your friend like to call him, ‘Seonghwa’.

“Nice to meet you both.”

Hongjoong says the same and formally introduced himself. Seonghwa nods at him casually, and then smirks over to you.

“We’ve heard a lot about you.” He finally spoke. “I’m glad we have the chance to finally meet one another.” You nod and Blink thrice at Dixie, giving her your friendly signal. Code red.

“Hey-uh, we’re gonna use the ladies room real fast. It was a long ride. We’ll catch up with you guys in a few!”

Dixie grabs your arm and arm as Nora was on the other side. As a team they cornered you on a sink from both sides.

“Just tell me now” Dixie complained. “Do you wanna fuck him?”

“Dixie!” Nora lightly slaps her on the wrist as they were still united arm in arm. “Damn, why do you have to be so forward?”

“Well?” Dixie relentlessly imposes.

“It’s not like that! I was just looking at Seongwha because he was looking at me!”

Dixie’s brow raises up in amusement and he squints her berating eyes right into your face. “Who said anything about Seongwha?”

You look to her partner in arms, your other best friend. Who also happened to be the scapegoat to Dixie’s interrogations. “Noraaaaa?” you whined.

She looks to Dixie and shrugs her shoulders. “It’s a reasonable question that should be given a reasonable answer.”

You deflate your cheeks with a defeated breath, scoffing with a shattered heart of betrayal. “I saw the look in your eyes before you introduced me. I knew you were plotting something.”

“Well then let me just get straight to it then”, Dixie admits. “Why are you giving him the fuck me eyes?”

“Fuck you Dixie, stop it.”

“We could make it happen…just saying.”

“You guys. You point to them both with a lowered peace sign. Can help me. You point to yourself. Sway a- male species?”

Dixie scoffs and lightly pushes your shoulder upheld by your hand pressing into the sink. “I wasn’t gay all my goddamn life d-lover.”

“I’m pansexual, you know that.” Nora added.

“I do have a few cards up my sleeve still…never forget it.”

“Fine. I have the fuck me eyes,” you mutter with a small grunt. I would like your guys help.”

“What was that? I’m sorry…”

You flip up your middle finger. “Dickhead Dixie.” You run off right after, knowing she was more of a heavy weight champ than you were.

“Nuh uh! Come here, you little shit.” You feel a strong hug from bundle you from behind, and another pair of arms hugging you both. “We got you. Don’t worry.”

…

“Alright sorry fellas, the scissoring convention is over now”, Dixie privately announces, pulling out a chair for Nora.

“How the hell did you manage to maintain your professionalism during that presentation again?” Hongjoong asks, truly wondering in his genuine curiosity.

“Well it’s just like before I came out the closet. Fake it till you make it man.”

“Alright what are we having for dinner?”, Seongwha intercepted, clearly unamused. “The chicken parm sounds appetizing.”

“Yeah that and the garlic cheesy bread.”, you unknowingly added.

“Mmmm okay, we’re being bombarded by the Italians.” Dixie suddenly joked. She wouldn’t allow a moment of uncomfortable silence for you to bear, and that’s why she was your best friend.

“What will you be having Nora dear?” Dixie throws her arm casually around her girlfriend, giving the side of her temple a kiss as they go over the menu.

“I’m going with…the chicken tenders and fries basket.”

“Sounds great”, Dixie agreed. “Simplicity is best.”

“Looks like we’re being bombarded by sticky finger tablet kids now.”, you snickered in retort.

“Cocomelon! Seongwha chirped followed by the xylophone instrumental played after in the intro.

“You’ve got that down to a T, Mr.Park.” Dixie jived with a grin.

“You know Seonghwa likes to be a baby with legos and animal crossing in his free time.” Hongjoong added in.

Seongwha’s jaw shifted sides. You cover a smile under your hand, You didn’t say anything but you found it adorable. Every bad boy has a soft side.“Can a baby throw a baby sized man’s laptop overboard in the river?”

“Yeah, okay.” Hongjoong scoffs, seeming just a little visibly upset. “Like you can even throw that far.” Hongjoong folds in his arms at his sides, flailing his arms to intimate Seongwha’s throwing skills.

Seongwha’s stirring up his next comeback and ready to pounce, well, until Dixie had her words to share.

“Boys, boys, settle down. Save some testerone for the gays hmm?”

“Next thing you know they’ll be having a dick sword fight on the table.” Nora taunted, speaking loud enough for the two men to hear.

Hongjoong and Seonghwa groan and end their bantering right then and there. Nora and Dixie fist bump, you hear a “works every time” in whispers.

“Waiter, over here please!”, Hongjoong calls aloud.

…

You guys get some dessert after more gay jokes, poking fun at Seonghwa, and Dixie throwing random shots of spotlight on you so you can get familiar.

Little did you tell her how familiar you were already. Seonghwa had kept his mouth shut, he believed it was a matter you talk about some other time, or maybe never at all again.

As soon as their raspberry cheesecake cake arrives for dessert, Nora and Dixie head out for the night.

“It’s been a pleasure dude and dudettes, but me and this fine babe are heading to her place for the night.” A padded smack from Dixie causes Nora to jolt forward. She maintains her composure, unlike Dixie, she doesn’t like public attention.

“Let’s hang out like this more often, all together. Tonight was fun guys, see ya.” Nora chirped.

The two went to leave, playing on an act to their mischievous plan.

“Oh, uh Seongwha!” Dixie sputtered. “You mind taking Y/n back home- or your place is cool too. Just please make sure she safe, alright?”

“Yeah, of course. She’ll be safe with me whatever she decides. For the first time that night he initiates eye contact. “If that’s fine with you too…”

“Mhmm, yeah, that’s fine.” You nod throughout each word.

“Okay then, it’s settled! Hasta luego mi amigos, and buena noches!”

“That’ll be it for me too!” Hongjoong says while throwing on his jacket. “I think I’ll go home and play with some beats to wind down for the night. Nice to meet you again y/n.” He gives you a small small wave and pushes in his chair. “I hope to see you sometime soon.”

“Later, baby.” He sneaks in, balling his fist and wiping his eyes at Seongwha.

Seonghwa scoffs as he judges his friends childish behavior. “Enjoy making those beats tonight, it’ll be the last track you ever hear. Man baby.”

When you’re alone, you and Seongwha pick at your dessert in silence. His slice of strawberry shortcake, and your square of tiramisu.

“You wanna head out now too?”, he firstly speaks.

You look to him through your lashes, pausing with a piece of dessert on your fork. “Yeah, let’s do that.”

“My place is cool?”

“Yeah, um, sounds cool.”

* ੈ✩‧₊˚* ੈ✩‧₊˚* ੈ✩‧₊˚ * ੈ✩‧₊˚* ੈ✩‧₊˚* ੈ✩‧₊˚ * ੈ✩‧₊˚*

LATER ON THAT NIGHT…

Thankfully Seonghwa’s place was reachable in walking distance. You had plentiful ideas in mind, but not a single plan that seemed successful.

“You know…” Seongwha mutters. “Dixie talks about you a lot. If I hadn’t known Nora, I’d think you were her girlfriend.”

You cackled at the thought, and even if you found that noise a bit embarrassing, Seonghwa had been all ears. “In what universe? She pokes fun at me for being straight all the damn time. Me and Nora though…we’d have a better chance.”

“Oh? Wouldn’t Dixie be enthused to hear that shit.” You give him a slight elbow jab, leaning into his part of the sidewalk. “The both of you are like her diamond in a rock. I’d imagine she’d hate choosing between you two.”

“It’ll never happen, she doesn’t have to worry. She’s like that for Nora and I too, you know?” Seongwha actively listens with a hum. “Say um…”your voice trembles, “do you live on campus?”

“No I don’t actually. I attend the university here, but they don’t offer as good of business courses as they do on your guys campus. So I signed up for dual enrollment, and that’s why I was in the competition.”

“So you’re a business major too huh? I swear it’s like you guys are some sort of zodiac sign or something. “You all behave...” you pretend to think as you see Seongwha avert his powerful gaze towards you. “Strangely.” You say slowly.

“Wow…that kinda hurts to hear. He sulks, holding his hand where his heart is. You haven’t even met me until today, and now I’m strange?”

Your smile falls and you blink away because you began to feel bad. (In both ways) “Don’t take it too hard, I love a good sense of humor. It breaks the ice when talking to someone new.”

Holy fuck you sounded just like him from the other night. And you didn’t even realize it until it slipped your mouth.

“Dixie’s got it worse than you, so I’ll live,” he chucked. What are you majoring in anyhow?”

“Gen Arts.” You say sheepishly, holding back a chuckle of your own.

“Wait, wait, wait. You give me shit for being a business major but your in general arts? Do you know how moody you guys are!”

“Oh screw you! But no, seriously, that’s like a complete contrast from a business major. We actually have empathy for others.”

“Okay…you know what?”

“Mhm?”

“You’ve might’ve got me on that one! But I for one, am not like all the others.”

You push him into the street without the oncoming traffic, a tired groan spills from your mouth. You walk ahead of him, smiling as you swing your arms.

“Okay see, now you and Dixie are on the same level!”

…

Once you enter Seonghwa’s apartment, you fall to silence after all the heavy-felt chitter chatter.

Seongwha puts up his coat, takes off his shoes, and wanders off as he keeps talking about a new subject with upmost excitement.

You’re frozen and too entranced in the exact detail of his pc set up across the room. The microphone on the right side, along with many cute action figures of legos and animal crossing figures on the wall. Hongjoong wasn’t joking about that part after all.

“Hey y/n…you okay?!” Seonghwa yells from another part of the apartment in concern.

“Yeah, yeah I’m good.” You slowly inch closer to his desktop, smoothing your hands on the top of the mic where his soft lips purred the most filthiest words.

“Oh. Did you hear what I said?”

“No uh, sorry I was checking out your collection. Wha’cha say again?”

You hear rummaging and stumble just when you thought Seonghwa was close by. “Did you want anything to drink? A water maybe?”

“Nah I’m stuffed. Thanks though.” You slowly slip your fingers off one by one. You were afraid even the slightest move could trigger your clumsiness , and have to face Seonghwa running in here to save his precious belongings.

“Could you come here real fast? I need your help with something!”

“Uh yeah? ‘m comin.”

You search in every room until you found him which didn’t take long. Of all places you’d thought he be the bedroom would be the last you would want .“Hey…what’s up?”

“Hey”, he says with a blatant tone. His face looked even more blatant which made you feel uneasy. “I know this might sound crazy but, I think we have some unfinished business."

“That does sound crazy. I’ll definitely need some elaboration.”

Could it be?

“Of course, I understand. Let me start by saying that I've never stopped thinking about you since we last spoke."

No, it couldn’t be.

“I’m sorry. what the hell are we talking about again? We just met a few hours ago. Like tonight.”

"Okay!” Seonghwa exclaims, cranking out his neck to prepare for what he was going to say, and carefully. “I guess we need a recap-we first met online, exchanged more than a few words. We introduced our crotches, played games, and oh-we came so hard, and then I got really busy, and never followed up.”

But it could be…

“How the fuck did you know it was me?” You cower in a panic. “I never even showed you my fucking face.” You fall to your knees and breathes deeply in your hands. You truly thought you were being careful.

Being the observant person he is, Seonghwa senses your sudden panic, reacting swiftly by getting down on one knee so that he is face-to-face with you. “Well, there's no need to panic. Darling…don't worry. I could just tell.”

You seperate your fingers and take a good look at Seonghwa’s detail features. He takes it as an opportunity to look in between to what he though was the most captivating eyes in the universe.

“Well how easy for you to say. I had video sex with my friends classmate, and then ate dinner with him knowing he’s the guy I had video sex with. W-what did you mean you could tell?”

His smile widens as he sees you peeking further at him. He leans in a little closer, maintaining eye contact. "Well, first off, I think it's quite an intriguing coincidence, and let me assure you that I won't tell anyone about our little secret, okay?" He waits until your small nod before continuing.

"As for how I knew it was you. I saw your face when the camera got kicked up by your legs. I know it’s a major dick move but, I couldn’t- I didn’t want to tell you. I wanted to go all the way with you. You were just too fucking beautiful to be dispensed out of my memory forever.”

You slowly uncover your face and your eyesight immediately goes to his lips. “Fucking hell.” Shit, I knew it was too risky.” You look at his eyes again, which are now on your lips. “I can’t believe I’m saying this fucking bullshit but I’m glad it was you.”

Seonghwa’s eyes light up and he makes the hesitant move of putting his palms on your redden cheeks. He leans in even closer, his gaze filled with warmth, and understanding. "You know what?"

“Yeah…?” He grins mischievously, before leaning in slowly, giving you ample time to pull back if you wanted to. "I'm glad it was me too. And you know what else? I think we should make up for lost time."

“You mean-you mean you wanna-

“Yeah, I wanna. I want to have sex with you. I want to feel you completely, and for real this time.”

“You promise to treat me like a good little slut?”, you whisper, gaining proximity to his lips like they were a love spell.

“Only if you behave like one.”

You move to smash your lips shirt his in a sloppy tongue kiss. Although touch was a firsthand experience, your feelings weren’t. He taps your thighs, urging you to wrap your arms around what you found to be a very slender waistline.

He was caught off guard by the sudden kiss, but he quickly adapts, wrapping his arms around you and kissing you back with enthusiasm. As the two of you pull apart, he smiles against your lips, gently the apples of your cheeks. "Okay my good little slut”, he murmurs.

Seonghwa lifts you both up on his feet and tosses you on the bed. He grabs onto the hem of your boyfriend fitted jeans, unfastening them and taking them swift off your body.

“It’s been a while since I checked on kitsune hm?” He takes off your jeans and undergarments swiftly. “As gorgeous as she was before. Looks like I didn’t get catfished.”

You found it amusing, snickering under his chest. ‘So much for being real and human,’ you thought.“How’s Saber? Standing up like usual?” You raise your bare feet, smoothing it over the tightness in his jeans.

He tsk, taking your wrist in his hold and throwing your arm to the side. “Now we’re not off to a good start now are we? I really wanted to take it easy with you, but it seems like you like to do things the hard way.” He leans into your ear and teasingly takes a nibble. “What’s your safe word?”, he whispers.

“Strawberry,” you playfully whispered with a giggle.

Seongwha bites his lip as he nods in with a groan pulling away from your ear.

He inserts and curls his finger inside the cunt. At first it started with a few strokes, but then he full fledged fucked you on them as he pulls and pushes them in and out.

You whine loudly the pleasure, but you stay obedient, unwavering your wide open thighs from his head.

Seongwha notices your loyal submissions and gives you a mischievous grin. “There she is. The little slut I directed about a week ago.“What’s your safe word?”, he repeats.

You shake your head. You’re not ready to say it, you know it’s a trick. A test. You don’t want this to end.

“Good fucking girl.” He attaches his mouth onto your clit with his fingers now slowly dragging in the top of your walls. You feel the tip of his tongue flick your bean- causing your hips to jerk in immediate response.

As your moans grow louder his tongue swivels faster like a snake on the hunt. Accumulating all the slick ‘til the peak of your shaking orgasm.“That feel good my little tasty slut?”

“M-mhmm. It felt-fucking great.” You try to sit up but Seonghwa climbs to meet your face with his. “It would be dishonorable of me to not return the favor.”

He takes his cum covered fingers and shove them in your mouth. “Be quiet now, my sweet darling. Your debts have already been paid.” He pulls his fingers out slowly, slicking them down his torso until it reaches the cum outside his boxers.

“Shit. That’s so hot.”

“It is getting a bit warm in here hm? Maybe I should lighten up a little on the garments. Saber is in need of some air way.” Seongwha races in his pants to grab a condom in his wallet.

You watch the whole showcase of him slipping it on slowly so he wouldn’t grow tender from the simulating pain. When he’s finished, you reach to him like it was the first real piece of gold you’ve ever seen. His cockhead twitches.

“In sorry but…” he smacks away your eager hand, “kitsune gets first dibs. After all, they have yet to formally meet. So therefore Saber…Kitsune. Kitsune…he pushes your legs back aligning himself with your heat as he smiles at your genitals…Saber.”

Your toes spread from his insertion, and they close in from when he pulls back in and practice his penetrations. He was searching your face for discomfort, he wanted to take you there, and you were smiling widely giving him a positive sign that it was all okay.

He leans into you until your pelvis’s touch. He then begans thrusting at a lethal angle, killing your from the inside.

You began to feel every nerve in your thighs in legs tremble to uphold themselves in good strength. Seongwha was taking it all out of you, and it didn’t help when he separated your legs to get closer to your core.

Added ecstasy was released as he grabbed your jaw and claimed your lips for his taking. He was such a good fucking kisser. Even if you weren’t kissing back it would feel so passionate.

His hand begans to slip behind your neck and he lunges your body forward. Unknowingly doing damage to himself as you as your pussy clamps onto his dick, and your walls suction to be immovable and tightening.

“Fuck. I’m so fucked, darling. I don’t want to upset you but, I’m gonna cum, and it’s gonna be fast and hard.

“Do it hwa. Do it while you’re inside me, i’m beat there with you.”

He follows your direction like a game of Simon says. He adds the intense pleasure of massaging your overly stimulated clitoris, making it bloom in arousal.

Soon enough you came with more shakes and shivers to your nerves. So the extra movement and clamping didn’t leave Seongwha too far behind. He was whining and his arms were weak from being used and upheld for some time.

He twist his body so he fell next to you, discarding his condom into his trash as you both caught your breaths.

He rolls over and analyzes you with pure admiration, and your eyes had easily met with his because you were both thinking the same thing.

“You’re so fucking beautiful. I want to take you with me, and carry you everywhere in my pocket.”

“Dual enrollment is good of you wanna take a few extra classes you might need”, you tease with a wink.

“I have a degree in sexology if you need a few credits. We also offer private lessons free of cost. Seongwha swiped his thumb on your bottom lip. “I suggest Brat Taming 101.”

Your bottom lip stretches slightly downward as you openly smile. “Would that make me a teacher’s pet if I get any specialized treatment?”

“Well you are bunny after all. What choice would I have not to?”

* ੈ✩‧₊˚* ੈ✩‧₊˚* ੈ✩‧₊˚ * ੈ✩‧₊˚* ੈ✩‧₊˚* ੈ✩‧₊˚ * ੈ✩‧₊˚*

A/N: Pheeewww how ya’ll feelin…it’s hot.

Thank you for reading,

Much love

xoxo

PLEASE DO NOT COPY MY ORIGINAL WORKS, reblogs are appreciated and accepted. Stealing and modifying my work or publishing out on other platforms is not.

©️1117feverlessdreams, 2024

[clementine-thedestroyer]

Miguel O’Hara x reader - Sew cute

Warnings/tags: Miguel getting lowkey horny over his girlfriend knowing how to sew. Also, mentions of marriage.

Part two

I have this head cannon of rich bf Miguel finding his girlfriend’s hobbies adorable and taking every possible opportunity to fule her passion- I might make this a loosely related series, where it’d be the same concept but different hobbies.

I’m so sorry for the pun as the title.

It all started when a line of stitching on your pants began to loosen. The top stitching under the fly, specifically.

You complained offhandedly about it to Miguel, leaning against his side and pouting slightly as you whined about your favorite pair of pants starting to give out. Miguel chuckled softly at your dramatics, scrolling through his phone with one hand and rubbing your shoulder sympathetically with his other, eventually pressing a kiss to your forehead and promising to buy you a new pair next time you two went shopping.

Except, he never gets a chance. Because the next night, he comes home to the sight of you hunched over on the couch, your tongue bitten in concentration as a movie you’re not paying attention too plays on the TV, your head turned to something in your lap instead.

Miguel can’t help his curiosity- coming up behind you and peaking over your shoulder.

Looking down, he sees what you’re focused so intensely on, and it catches him off guard.

You held a thread and needle in one hand and what he assumed to be your pants in the other, carefully sewing a line of stitching into the fabric. Except, you weren’t working on your pants- your pants were sitting to the side of you- the stitching already repaired. Now, you had one of Miguel’s shirts- one he recognized as one he had planned on getting rid of because of a seam coming undone.

“¿Qué haces?” Miguel asks, placing his hands on your shoulders and rubbing loving circles into the tense muscles as watched you work.

You can’t help but shudder as Miguel’s fingers dig into your back, easing the pain from sitting hunched over for so long. You try to keep the shakiness out of your voice as you look up at him to answer his question.

“I’m fixing my pants. The ones that were coming apart- I told you about that yesterday, remember?”

“Love, that’s my shirt. Not your pants.”

“O-oh yeah.” You felt yourself flush in embarrassment, looking back down at the shirt you had stolen from Miguel. “Well- yeah- I finished the pants earlier. Then I found this shirt in with the rest of the clothes while I was putting away laundry. I-I hope you don’t mind that I’m fixing it-”

Miguel smiled, leaning down to kiss the top of your head as he continued rubbing your shoulders. “Of course I don’t mind. But, I’m more than happy to buy us both new clothes. You don’t need to worry about pinching pennies.”

You turn to him, a grin spread across your still warm cheeks as you respond. “Miguel, there’s no reason to replace something so easy to repair! Plus, I’m enjoying myself!”

Miguel nodded, looking down to admire the stitching you had done on the shirt so far. “Hm… I didn’t know you could sew, mi amor.”

“It’s not exactly hard, just moving the needle through the fabric, you know? I haven’t done it in a good while, I forgot how much I liked doing this kinda stuff.”

Miguel was enamored by this new revelation. Before this, he had always seen sewing as more of an old person thing, but he couldn’t deny the warm, fuzzy feeling of domesticity he got from watching you lay in his lap as you delicately maneuvered the needle and thread through the torn fabric of his shirt. He couldn’t help but feel a hint of pride at the sight, it was like you were his little house wife.

Or…house girlfriend? Because he hasn’t married you yet…. But that’s really just a technicality. You’re his house wife, Miguel has decided it.

The next morning, when you handed him the repaired shirt with a proud grin, Miguel couldn’t help but feel treasured and loved from the simple gesture. Before this, Miguel would never have considered wearing something that had ripped them been repaired. He had the money to replace things, so why wouldn’t he? But from that day on, that shirt became his favorite, and he wore it every chance he had.

After that, Miguel started coming home with little handicraft and embroidery kits for you. Whenever he’d get see a kit he knew you’d like- maybe it had your favorite animal or something- he’d toss it in the cart and save it for a rainy day, whether that be a metaphorical or literal one.

And it all stayed like that for a while: Miguel bringing you small hand sewing and embroidery kits, you lighting up and getting started on them right away- usually spending the rest of the night on the couch next to Miguel with a movie or show on in the background.

Until one of your friends asked that you sign up for a sewing workshop with them. It was a relatively basic class, held at one of the local chain fabric/craft stores, but you had agreed to go, mostly for your friends sake.

The workshop was fun. You learned a bit about sewing machine tension and using patterns, and the sewing project given was simple and doable within the time period.

You didn’t realize that Miguel had come early, or that he was standing in the doorway of the classroom, watching you sew with a smile. He would deny it if you asked him, but he had arrived early on purpose to watch the last few minutes of the class. He had assumed the class was hand sewing, like everything else he had seen you do up till that point, and he was surprised to see you hunched over a sewing machine instead of your usual needle and thread.

It was like the first time he saw you sewing all over again: he was fucking smitten, and was going to make you his wife. That was all he could think about, because god help him, you already looked and acted the part.

Miguel was mesmerized by how focused you were as you moved the fabric through the machine. The way you bit your lip and furrowed your brow in concentration- it was precious, and Miguel wanted nothing more than to melt at how domestic you seemed while doing it.

And when you finished and came up to him? With a wide grin as you proudly presented the stuffed animal you had made during the workshop, insisting that you made it for him? His heart melted, right then and there. He squeezed that stuffed animal so tight and looked down at you with so much love, you were half worried he’d either pounce on you or make the poor stuffed animal’s head pop off (which Miguel might have cried about, at this point).

After the workshop, Miguel didn’t take you home. You and him stayed at the fabric store, him loading your arms up with fabric, patterns, and whatever else he decided you needed. “You like this one? No? You don’t? Well I think it’s just a good basic- like a black shirt, so we should just get it anyways.”

Oh god. And then he found the baby clothes patterns. You could’ve sworn you spent hours at that craft store.

[bubbbii]

Silence

title : Silence

pairing : Jungkook x Reader

genre : smut, jungkook smut, kpop smut

warning : spanking, multiple orgasms, dirty talk, degrading, choking, fingering, spitting, daddy kink, very dirty content

summary : 5 days…and you’ve been ignoring your fiancée, Jungkook, since he’s been so busy it wouldn’t occur to you that Jungkook would notice the treatment you were giving him. But after coming back from a dinner full of friends, he decides to finally giving you his full attention..and more.

[REQUESTED]

!PURELY FICTION! !NOT REAL!

do not steal story or idea without permission please thank uu :))

Let’s go <3

_________________________________________________________

I sighed, running my hands through my hair at the long night we’ve had as my fiancée closed the door behind us. I put my purse on the glass table in the living room, kicking off my heels and made my way to the kitchen to get a water. It is true, that i’ve been ignoring Jungkook all week because he decided to put his work before me…

So why not put my needs as a whole before him :).

I mean it’s not like i haven’t been doing that for the last 4 years, it’s just i’m doing things that i will do when i’m single. And he hates that. I’m not going overboard, never, but you wanna put work before your love than fuck it. And I won’t hesitate to go, overboard.

I felt his presence in the room as i gulped half of the bottle to wash down the 3 glasses of wine I had throughout the night. I turned around, putting the bottle on the big marble counter and saw that he leaned against it as well, resting his arms. I felt his eyes on me, but I wasn’t gonna say or do anything..it’s not my job to yet. “So..they will be coming over for the weekend. They’re just gonna stop by and grab a couple of things” I hummed, nodding in agreement as i dunked the rest of the water down and threw it in the trash can.

“Y/N, talk” I looked at him with an eyebrow raised as he raised one also. “What?” “Oh don’t get like that” “Get like what?” “How you’re acting” “Oh shut up you weren’t saying that shit when you were locked up in that godamn office all week AND last week” I snapped, going toward the living room with him following me. “So this is what this about?!” “THIS IS EXACTLY WHAT THIS IS ABOUT!” I yelled at him, crossing my arms. “You go low i go lower” “By ignoring me!?” “Bingo” He huffed at my smartness, going towards the cabinet to get coasters for our friends.

As he stood there, I put them on the table, then finally looked up to meet him in the eye. “So?” “So? What - what do you want me to do? You love your work I’ve noticed!” “Y/n don’t be like that-“ “OH WELL IM BEING LIKE THAT-“ “JEON Y/N!” I got token back at Jungkook’s raw voice that filled the room. We were inches away from each other as irritation showed on his face. “Don’t yell at me” He said, bringing his voice down. He never yells…like never.

And not gonna lie..it turns me on.

I gulped, clearing my throat as I looked at him. “..my bad” He sighed, cracking his neck side to side before slowly snaking his tatted hand around my neck. “What do you want hm? What do you want- you want dick? Are you craving dick is that what you want? I know exactly what you want i’ve known you long enough to know what your desires are - you want dick. Yes or no” I sighed shakily as he got a good grip around my throat.

“Y-Yes..Yes I want it-“ “You want what?” “I want dick! I want your cock…please” He got closer, closing the space between us. “My greedy girl, my greedy fucking bitch..she thinks she can just ignore me the whole week and expect me to give her whatever the fuck she wants but guess what i don’t roll like that and she knows it” He said softly, making me huff at him playing around. “Daddy…no-“ “awh no? You don’t like this do you, you don’t like it when I fucking tease you and treat you like a fucking bitch but guess what you’re my fucking bitch and i’m gonna treat you like it understand?”

I whined, nodding as his grip got tighter. “I’m gonna ruin you doll, i’m gonna fucking ruin you and everyone’s gonna know - not to ever fucking ignore me ever again you understand?” “Yes yes I understand” “Good..you know what to do” I stripped every single clothing off my body, looking at him but I stopped, my energy changing. And Jungkook immediately noticed.

“What’s wrong?” “I’m just..insecure” He furrowed his eyebrows, looking around him. “About..?” “I may have put on..a pound. Or two. I just took a break from my pilates class and, me and Hobi haven’t been dancing for a while I just..I felt like I needed to take a break” “Oh no baby no” Jungkook said, holding her close. “You are still - so beautiful I mean…I haven’t even noticed! You don’t look different at all! Don’t feel insecure about it, you needed a break and that’s fine - there’s no judgement in that. You still look like…y/n” I smiled, feeling his kisses on my forehead.

“And when you’re ready just - go back to classes! But..don’t feel obligated to stay one size and be that one size forever. You are still beautiful. Your clothes still fits the same I couldn’t even tell!” I laughed, seeing him laugh with me. “But until you go back…let me worship, y/n 2.0” I chuckled, feeling him kiss me as he picked me up and put me on the couch, him hovering over me. He got rough, kissing down my jaw and neck and collarbone, all the way down until he got to my pussy.

“Let’s just - be considerate? Yea? I mean look..you don’t have to-FUCK! Ok!” he sucked me out dry, wrapping my legs around his neck as he sucked me like a wild animal. “Oh my - Oh my god fuck! Just like that, just like that! Fuck!” He moaned on it, giving my clit some love and lapped his tongue around my folds. “She tastes so good, my bitch tastes so good” I moaned at the nicknames, feeling his tongue insert me. “Mmh fuck i’m not gonna last, oh my - i feel like i’m getting close” Jungkook backed away, licking his lips as my toes curled in denial.

“Why..just why” “Because I said any other questions?” i kept my mouth shut, not wanting to get him upset any faster. “Glad to know” he took off his clothes and his cock sprung out, and my eyes popped out of my eye sockets at the length. “No - hell no WHAT ARE YOU TAKING!?” “Oh hush it’s not that bad” he stroked it before lining him up and slowly entered.

“Jungkook - jungkook slow…slow, please” I moaned out, digging my acrylics into his muscles as he stuck the whole thing inside me. Now he was balls deep. “You’re gonna take this shit,” he thrusted forcefully making me yelp at the sudden action. “Like the bitch you know you are,” he thrusted again, making me moan and glare at the smirking fiancée on top of me. “And i’m gonna fuck you until I say it’s time to release you understand?” “Y-Yes” “Yes what?” “Yes daddy” “Good girl” he grabbed my ankles with a grip before fucking into me, his pace subtle but his thrusts were powerful, making my moans reach the whole house.

“Fuuuuckk yessss fuck me like that - OH! SHIT!” “Yea you like that shit? You dirty fucking bitch huh? Let them hear you, let the world hear how much of a bitch you are yea?” his pace quickened, the skin snap being immaculate as he tore up my pussy from the jump. This man..is a literal animal. I’m not kidding. “I’m getting close, you d—didn’t let me come from last time” “You’re right i didn’t, and i’ll do it again” the words went straight to my throbbing hood that was already throbbing from before and for me close to my high. “I’m close im close i’m close - I’m gonna come! Daddy-“ He stopped, making my eyes widened at the denied orgasm, my toes curling.

“Nooo no no no - Jungkook why!?” “If you heard what I said I never said you could cum, so, I didn’t let you” I groaned, throwing my head back making him smirk as he turned me over on my stomach. “Face down ass up let’s go” I did it with a quickness, my head on the arm of the couch as my back arched for him. “Ooh look at that oh my” he chuckled as he smacked the cheeks, not giving a damn if it hurt or not.

And it sure did hurt.

“Well then, round two” “oh shit- OH!” he started to fuck me again, grabbing my hips as he roughly rammed my pussy over and over and over again. “fuck oh my - daddy!” “suck it up” that went to my pussy immediately, making it throb once more. “H-Hit my spot daddy please, you kn-know where it’s at” “Oh trust me I know…but i’ll hit it when I want to” I whined at hard he was fucking me, gripping anything that was close to me. “That pussy is tight fuck, clenching on me like that like a fucking slut huh, you wanna come huh don’t you baby” “I do! I d-do daddy please don’t deny me again, don’t deny me again please”

He grabbed my hair and yanked my head back, making my back arch even more and he met my eyes upside down. “You wanna come me, you wanna come like a little bitch yea? My bitch, you wanna come like that?” “I do —fuck! — I do, I do please make me come please make me come” I moaned out, his eyes looking into my weak and desperate ones as he fucked me harder. “But i don’t know, you were..doing so good I’m just not ready for this moment to be over” “No no daddy please I can’t take it - I can’t take it please!” He chuckled, quickening his pace.

“Ok i’m close - I’m close-“ he stopped, making my roll. “You fucker!” “Thank you princess” I glared at him making him chuckle as he took his cock out. “You wanna cum? Earn it” He sat on the couch and I got on my knees, licking the tip before sucking the tip only. I rolled my tongue, did everything I could to get him worked up. “Ooh fuck there you go, there you fucking go - shit” I sucked him roughly, rolling my tongue around and about as I sucked all of the right spots. I deep throated him, which sent his moans on another level. “Fucking shit- like that, like that doll fuck i’m close” he bucked his hips keeping my head down.

“Yes yes yes yes yes yes fuck fuck - i’m gonna come. I’m gonna come” I rolled my tongue around the head and that had him, painting my throat white as his moans got louder at the orgasm. “Fuckkk yes yes yes take it all sweetheart, fuck” i swallowed before taking his cock out, and smirked at him. “You’re still hard kook” “I’m aware of that” I chuckled, crawling on top of him and kissed him, feeling his cock linger onto my pussy, smushing the tip at my entrance. “You wanna cum? Wanna come for daddy” “Yes yes I do” “Sink down and show me how much a bitch you are” I sunk down on his cock, my eyes fluttering shut at the big thing fitting right in.

“Ooh slid on down there didn’t it, that cock fitted right there - my cock size only, nothing less” “yes daddy” “good girl” I bounced up and down, moaning and whimpering at his cock hitting all of the right places. “Yes daddy - i feel like i’m getting close already” he grabbed my throat, choking me and bucked his hips up, making my mouth hang open and my eyes shut at the dominance he was pulling off. “Yea you fucking slut you’re a whore. You’re a whore for cock and that’s all you want huh, that’s all you fucking want huh you little bitch. You wanna coat my cock white huh? You wanna fucking squirt like a bitch yea?”

“Daddy - daddy fuck - RIGHT THERE! FUCK OH MY-“ “Told you I gotchu” I moaned over and over and over again, my pussy throbbing like crazy as he hit my spot over and over again. “YES YES - DADDY! I’m gonna cum! I’m gonna -“ “Say ‘I will never ignore daddy again’” “I will n-never ignore daddy again” “Ever” “E—Ever! Fuck! I won’t do it again” “Good girl. Go ahead and cum doll” I looked at him, his grip on my throat tightening as my moans turned out into choked out ones and clenched, painting his cock white. “Yeaaa squirt all over, squirt for me baby” I squirted all over the place, my eyes rolled at the back of my head at the powerful orgasm since he continued to keep fucking his hips up into me.

“Yea im gonna cum - fuck” He went faster and soon came inside me, hissing as he painted my walls white. “Fucking - fuck. shit!” I whimpered quietly, my eyes fluttering shut at everything that happened at once. He pulled it out and we both breathed heavily at the fuck we had. I laid my head on his shoulder, him holding me close with one arm as we laid in the mix of sex and sweat between each other.

“Don’t ever..ignore me again” I smiled, looking at him. “You know what..I might just do it again” he glared at me making me laugh. “You wouldn’t”

“Oh trust and believe”

[muiitoloko]

Hi, first of anything I love and ate up every single thing you wrote. That said I NEED a story where Sev is about to be a dad, they are both in the last week of pregnancy just waiting for the moment the little girl (why do we all see him as a baby girl dad tho?) and he's just reflexive on how his life is right now after suffering so much and thinking he would die alone. If you want to add the birth and baby birth that's even better 💔 thanks.

Title: The Twin Stars in Snape's World

Summary: Severus's world shifts entirely with the birth of his daughters, filling the shadows of his past with light and love that he never thought he’d experience.

Pairing: Severus Snape × Fem! Reader

Warnings: None

Author's Notes: It’s not exactly what you asked for, but I was already working on a third chapter for my fanfic Daddy Snape's Dilemma, and your request totally nudged me to finish it up and post it! Hope you enjoy it as much as I did writing it!

First, Second and Third part here.

Also read on Ao3

The final week of your pregnancy arrived, and Severus Snape was, without a doubt, more nervous than you had ever seen him. Over the past months, his protectiveness had gradually intensified, but now, as you neared the end, it had reached an almost comical extreme. He refused to let you out of his sight, shadowing your every move with the intensity of a hawk, his tall, lean figure looming close no matter where you went.

At Hogwarts, his vigilance took on a new form. Snape had all but bullied Dumbledore into hiring a temporary teacher to cover your Ancient Runes classes. You could tell Dumbledore found the whole thing rather amusing, indulging Snape’s demands with a patient, almost fatherly tolerance. As for Snape, there was no humor in it—his determination was fueled by what seemed to be genuine, bone-deep fear.

Instead of teaching, you were relegated to a bedroom at the back of the Potions classroom, with Snape popping in between his own lessons to check on you. You had never seen him so anxious, his usual stoic facade cracking more with each passing day. He would pace outside your quarters, shoulders tense, the dark circles under his eyes deepening. Despite his best efforts to hide it, he was deeply stressed, behaving as if he were the one about to give birth.

You noticed that this worry manifested in another unexpected way: the matter of naming your daughters. Every day he would bring you lists, scrolls of parchment filled with options he had painstakingly compiled, poring over the names with the same scrutiny he’d apply to brewing a delicate, dangerous potion. Each name had to be perfect, meaningful, and worthy.

He had presented you with everything from mythological names to obscure, poetic words he’d found in ancient texts. You, however, had a different approach. “Severus,” you said one evening as he handed you yet another list, his expression serious, “I know you want to have everything planned, but… we’ll know their names when we see them. Don’t you think?”

Snape’s gaze turned sharp, his dark eyes narrowing slightly as if the suggestion was almost sacrilegious. “And what if we don’t?” he retorted, his voice low and pointed. “What if we look at them and realize we’ve failed to give them names that reflect who they are meant to be?”

You bit back a smile, reaching out to touch his hand, feeling the tension radiate from his slender, calloused fingers. “Severus, we won’t fail them just because we haven’t decided on names yet. They’re our daughters—they’ll be extraordinary no matter what we call them.”

He sighed, his shoulders relaxing a fraction as he looked down at you, the intensity in his gaze softening. “I’m merely trying to… prepare. It is my responsibility as their father to see to it that they have everything they need—even a name that will protect them from the start.”

His protectiveness tugged at your heart, and you squeezed his hand. “You’re already giving them everything they need, Severus. They’ll have you.”

Snape’s expression shifted, a rare vulnerability flickering across his angular face, though he quickly hid it. “Yes, well…” he muttered, glancing away. “I still believe we should at least shortlist a few options.”

Over the next few days, you managed to narrow down the lists together, though every time you thought you’d settled on something, he’d return with yet another alternative he deemed equally worthy. It became almost endearing, watching him struggle with his need for control over something as uncontrollable as birth.

You chuckled one evening, teasing him, “You do realize, Severus, that the girls might decide their names for us? They could arrive and look nothing like any of these.”

His frown deepened, though a hint of amusement flickered in his dark eyes. “They will look like you,” he replied, his voice almost possessive, as though that was an immutable fact. “And if they resemble you, then any name I choose will be worthy.”

In the quiet moments, you could see past his impatience, his need for everything to be just so. He was terrified. The great, imposing Severus Snape, who had faced dangers most wizards could scarcely imagine, was terrified of this unknown journey. And though he hid it behind his meticulous planning, his anxiety was evident in every line he wrote, every name he researched.

One night, as he sat beside you, poring over yet another scroll, you couldn’t help but place your hand over his, stilling his movements. “Severus,” you said softly, your voice gentle, “it’s all right to be scared.”

He didn’t pull his hand away, but he didn’t meet your eyes, his jaw tight. “I am not afraid,” he replied, though his tone lacked conviction. His voice was softer, almost strained. “I simply… cannot afford any mistakes. Not with them. Not with you.”

You placed a hand on your belly, feeling a gentle kick as if one of the babies could sense his unease. You guided his hand to the spot, letting him feel the movement.

“They’re already telling us they’re fine,” you whispered, smiling as his eyes softened, a faint blush creeping up his pale cheeks. “And you’re going to be an incredible father.”

For a brief moment, the tension melted from his face, replaced by a rare, unguarded expression. He watched you, his hand lingering on your belly, his thumb tracing small, soothing circles over the spot where he’d felt the kick.

“Two girls,” he murmured, almost to himself, his voice filled with a strange mixture of awe and dread. “I don’t know if I’m prepared for this.”

You leaned forward, pressing a soft kiss to his cheek, your heart swelling with love for this man who had, against all odds, become so much more than you’d ever dreamed possible. “You’ll be ready, Severus,” you assured him, your voice full of conviction. “They’re already lucky to have you.”

In that moment, as he held you close, his face buried in your shoulder, you knew that no matter what names were chosen, no matter how unprepared he felt, your daughters would be loved beyond measure. And for Severus, that was the truest magic of all.

Snape sat at his desk, his gaze flickering over the rows of students carefully attempting the day’s potion. A faint curl of distaste tugged at his lips as he caught sight of Potter, who, as usual, seemed perilously close to ruining his cauldron’s contents. Snape had already reprimanded him once that morning, his words slicing through the dungeon air with the sharpness he reserved for the boy. Yet now, as he sat in silence, the other students barely daring to breathe, his attention drifted elsewhere, pulled toward thoughts far removed from the dungeons of Hogwarts.

Just behind him, a faint rustle and creak filtered through the door to your shared quarters. The faint sounds of movement as you stirred from sleep. A warmth crept into his chest, breaking through the stoic shell he maintained with such precision.

As his gaze returned to the students before him, he felt the familiar, bittersweet pang of Lily’s memory—his first love, and his greatest regret. For so long, her shadow had been his constant companion, filling him with a cold, unrelenting ache. Protecting her son had become his purpose, his penance. And after her death, he had accepted that this mission would likely be the only meaning his life would ever have. There had been a time when he thought he might die carrying it out—perhaps even hoped for it.

But then you had entered his life.

A sigh escaped his lips, almost inaudible beneath the simmering of potions and the scratch of quills. The world had shifted when you came into it, and now, with the prospect of your daughters’ arrival in only three days, he felt that shift more acutely than ever. A sense of purpose, something wholly separate from his debt to Lily, had taken root within him.

You had given him a reason to live that went beyond atonement. The life growing within you, two delicate lives entwined with his own, felt like a redemption he had never believed possible. For the first time, he could imagine a future not defined by sacrifice and solitude, but by something richer, something gentler.

Snape’s hand tightened briefly around the edge of his desk, and he watched his students, their heads bent over their cauldrons, oblivious to his thoughts. He had spent years mastering his emotions, transforming them into weapons, shields, armor against the outside world. But now, he realized that he could no longer afford to wield that armor so thoughtlessly.

These children, his daughters—they would be born into a world fractured by war, a world where he had a role to play in the coming darkness. Yet for them, he could not allow himself the luxury of despair or surrender. For the first time, he couldn’t imagine simply fading away into the shadows after Voldemort’s defeat. It was no longer an option to leave this life without knowing that his daughters would grow up strong, safe, and surrounded by the kind of love he had never known.

As the thought took root, Snape’s jaw tightened, a new resolve settling over him like a cloak. He would survive this war. He would survive, not because of some duty to the past, but because of a responsibility to the future—to his family. He would see his daughters grow up; he would teach them, protect them, stand by their side as they learned about the world and perhaps even found their own places in it.

For once, the prospect of living beyond the war held something other than pain. A faint vision of two young girls, with bright eyes and curious minds, drifted through his mind. His daughters, growing up, asking questions about the stars, about potions, perhaps even about love. And you—by his side, guiding them with the warmth he could only hope to echo.

The shrill sound of a student’s cauldron hissing sharply brought him back to the present. He narrowed his eyes at the offending student, who paled under his glare and quickly adjusted the heat, stammering an apology. Snape stood up abruptly, his dark eyes narrowing as he prepared to address the room. But before he could say a word, a loud crash echoed through the dungeons as the door to his quarters burst open.

He whipped around, dark eyes narrowing, but whatever sharp retort had been on his lips vanished as he took in the sight before him.

There you stood, gripping the doorway, your face flushed, one hand braced against your lower back and the other cradling your rounded belly. The look on your face was equal parts determination and alarm, but it was the words that followed that sent his heart racing.

“It’s happening,” you gasped, your voice shaky but clear.

For a moment, Snape stood frozen, your words echoing in his mind, the meaning of them almost surreal. Happening? He glanced down, his mind racing. Surely not—

His thoughts halted abruptly as Ron Weasley’s voice, loud and tactless, filled the silence. “Why’s she peeing herself in front of everyone?”

Hermione’s horrified gasp quickly followed, and she smacked him on the arm, whispering furiously, “She’s not peeing herself, Ron! Her water’s broken! She’s giving birth!”

That was all it took to snap Snape out of his stunned stupor. The babies were coming—now. Much earlier than planned. His eyes widened, and he lunged from behind his desk, moving to your side in an instant, his usual composure nowhere in sight.

“Merlin,” he muttered under his breath, one hand hovering awkwardly near you, unsure whether to support you or hold back in case he only made things worse. “You… you’re sure?” he stammered, though he immediately realized how absurd that question was.

You managed a small, pained laugh. “Quite sure, Severus.”

His mind raced as he attempted to regain his bearings. The portkey to St. Mungo’s—they’d had it prepared weeks ago, but it had seemed more like an overcautious precaution at the time. Now, with the urgency of the situation hitting him, he felt his calm shatter.

He shot a look around the classroom, and his gaze landed on the nearest student—Hermione Granger, who was watching with wide eyes, clearly understanding the seriousness of the situation. “Miss Granger,” he barked, his voice laced with barely concealed panic, “fetch Professor McGonagall. Tell her to cover this class immediately.”

Hermione jumped to her feet, nodding fervently as she dashed from the room, her own nervous energy amplifying the urgency. Meanwhile, Snape turned back to you, his heart racing as he tried to mask his worry.

“Severus,” you breathed, clutching his arm. “The portkey—”

He nodded quickly, releasing a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding. “Yes, of course.” His hand moved to his robes, fingers fumbling as he retrieved the small, inconspicuous glass vial enchanted to transport you both directly to St. Mungo’s.

He held the vial up to you, and you grabbed it, your other hand gripping his arm tightly as the room around you vanished in a whirl of colors. The bustling noise of Hogwarts faded, replaced by the sterile quiet of the St. Mungo’s ward as you both landed in the reception area, nearly stumbling from the sudden shift in location.

A Healer rushed toward you both, her eyes widening as she took in the scene. “Mrs. Snape—oh my, it’s early!” she exclaimed, gesturing to an available stretcher as she signaled to her colleagues. “Let’s get you to a delivery room.”

Snape’s hands hovered near you, his face a mixture of worry and focus as he helped you onto the stretcher. As the Healers moved you down the hallway, he kept pace beside you, his long strides easily matching their quick pace. He reached out to take your hand, gripping it tightly as you squeezed back, the intensity of the contractions beginning to set in.

“You’re doing fine,” he murmured, his deep voice steadier than he felt. “Just breathe.”

A faint smile crossed your face despite the pain. “Severus Snape, giving breathing advice. Now I’ve seen everything.”

He quirked an eyebrow, though his expression softened. “Mock me all you like, but keep breathing.”

The Healers moved efficiently, ushering you into the delivery room and setting you up as Snape hovered close, his dark gaze flicking anxiously between you and the medical staff. He could feel the old fear surfacing—the fear of the unknown, the helplessness of standing by while others took over. But your hand in his grounded him, your presence reminding him that he was exactly where he needed to be.

A Healer turned to him, her expression calm and reassuring. “It may take a few hours, Professor. These things are rarely quick, and with twins…”

Snape’s jaw tightened, but he nodded, settling into a chair beside you, his hand never leaving yours.

Hours passed, though they felt like mere minutes to him. He was acutely aware of every moment—the sound of your breathing, the tightening of your grip during contractions, the reassuring words from the Healers. He remained silent, his face a mask of concentration, his own discomfort forgotten in his focus on you.

The hours stretched, each contraction increasing the tension in the room. Severus remained by your side, his hand firmly gripping yours, his dark eyes watching every move the Healers made with suspicion. But the moment the lead Healer suggested you get up and walk to help progress the labor, his calm snapped.

“Walk?” His voice, usually controlled and low, rose sharply, filled with uncharacteristic alarm. “You expect her to walk in this state? Are you out of your minds?”

The Healer, a kindly-looking witch with graying hair, gave Severus a reassuring smile, accustomed to nervous fathers. “Professor Snape,” she began gently, “encouraging movement can help speed things along. It’s quite common, especially with twins.”

Severus’s mouth opened and closed a few times, his face paling even more. “Common?” he echoed incredulously, his gaze darting from you to the Healer. “My wife is in labor, Madam, with twins, and you want her to walk about like she’s merely out for a stroll?”

Despite the contractions, you couldn’t help but chuckle at his outburst. “Severus,” you managed between breaths, reaching out to squeeze his hand. “It’s fine. I can walk a little.”

He looked at you, his dark eyes wide with concern, clearly torn. The thought of you enduring even the smallest discomfort was driving him nearly mad. “If—if you’re certain…” he muttered, though his grip on your arm was firm as he helped you out of bed, as if preparing to catch you at the slightest misstep.

The Healer guided you both down the hall for a short, careful walk, Severus muttering under his breath with every step, shooting fierce looks at any Healer who dared suggest you keep moving. When you paused, wincing as another contraction hit, he practically growled at the Healer. “If there’s any risk to my wife or our daughters…” He let the threat linger, his face a mask of furious protectiveness.

Finally, you were able to return to the bed, and though the labor continued slowly, Severus remained at your side, holding your hand and murmuring soft reassurances. His fingers trembled slightly as he brushed back your hair, the love and worry in his gaze evident even as he tried to keep his composure.

It was nearly dawn when the sound of footsteps echoed down the hall, followed by a cheerful voice that could only belong to Albus Dumbledore. The headmaster entered, his arms laden with trinkets, including tiny stuffed owls, a miniature cauldron, and a set of rattles that jingled softly. He looked as though he had raided the entire children’s section of Diagon Alley.

“Severus, my boy!” he called warmly, his blue eyes twinkling as he approached. “I heard there was a new arrival or two on the way. Ah, and Minerva!” He turned, gesturing as Professor McGonagall entered, a faintly amused smile on her face as she took in Severus’s tense form by your bedside.

Dumbledore began to hand out trinkets, placing the little toys on the table near your bed, each accompanied by a soft hum and a lemon drop he popped into his mouth with relish. “The finest wares from Diagon Alley,” he declared, his tone bright. “Only the best for the future Misses Snape!”

Minerva moved closer to you, her expression softening as she reached for your hand. “How are you holding up, dear?” she asked, her Scottish accent laced with warmth. “Severus here has kept us all quite informed on your progress. I daresay I’ve never seen him in such a state.”

“Nor has anyone else, I assure you,” you replied, managing a tired smile. Severus shot Minerva a look that could have melted cauldrons, though his hand never left yours.

Dumbledore continued to rummage through his collection, holding up a small toy wand that emitted a shower of harmless sparks. “I thought this might suit,” he said with a wink. “We must start their magical education early.”

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the Healers gave the signal. Severus held your hand tightly, his face a mix of awe and terror as the final stage of labor began. You saw a single tear slip down his usually composed face, his grip tightening as he whispered, “You’re incredible. I— I am so proud of you.”

The Healers wheeled you down a quiet, dimly lit corridor, Severus’s tall, shadowy form looming beside you, never letting you out of his sight. His dark eyes, usually hardened and calculating, were softened with a mixture of awe and profound vulnerability as he took in every detail of the room being prepared for the birth of your daughters.

The faint echoes of magical murmurs from the Healers filled the room as they adjusted the equipment and spells needed. Severus moved to your side, his long, slender fingers brushing against your hand with a tentative gentleness. You could feel his nervous energy, the intense worry that he tried so desperately to mask beneath his stoic exterior.

As the contractions intensified, he bent down, his pale, angular face close to yours, his hair falling forward to shield his expression. His deep voice, usually sharp and guarded, softened as he whispered, “I’m here. You’re not alone, amore.”

The Healers instructed him to step back slightly, readying themselves for the delivery. Though he complied, his piercing gaze never left you, as if he were willing every ounce of his strength to help you through this moment.

Moments later, the room filled with a powerful, almost sacred silence as the first cry rang out—a thin, wailing sound that sent a tremor through Severus. One of the Healers approached, cradling a tiny, wriggling form swaddled in soft white fabric, and extended her towards Severus. His expression froze, and for a split second, he seemed almost paralyzed by fear.

The Healer’s voice was gentle. “Would you like to hold your daughter, Professor Snape?”

He nodded, though his hands trembled as he reached out. Carefully, she placed the baby in his arms, her tiny face peeking out from the blanket, her features so delicate and small they seemed otherworldly. Severus looked down at her, his dark eyes filled with a mixture of wonder and disbelief. His usually cold demeanor melted away, replaced by an intense, overwhelming tenderness that softened every line of his face.

“She’s…” His voice faltered, thick with emotion. His eyes glistened, and he swallowed hard, blinking back tears as he took in every detail—the soft curve of her cheeks, her tiny fingers curling into fists, her miniature nose. She was perfect, and in that moment, he realized he would do anything to protect her. He bent his head, his deep voice a reverent whisper. “You’re perfect.”

Just as Severus seemed to settle into the awe of holding his daughter, your voice cut through, strained yet filled with strength as the next contraction began. He looked up, his dark gaze flickering between you and the tiny life cradled in his arms, torn between staying with his newborn daughter and being by your side.

“Severus,” you managed, breathless, a smile breaking through the exhaustion, “go on… be there for her.”

He nodded, his gaze lingering on you for a beat, his expression raw with admiration, before he gently passed the baby to a nearby Healer, ensuring she would be safe. He crossed the room quickly, his dark robes sweeping behind him as he returned to your side, his long fingers slipping back into yours. You felt his grip, firm and unyielding, grounding you, as he whispered encouragements, his voice unsteady yet filled with pride.

Minutes later, a second cry filled the room, high and clear, and you saw Severus’s shoulders tremble with relief and elation. One of the Healers brought over the second newborn, a twin as delicate and perfect as her sister, and Severus stared at her, his heart swelling in his chest.

“She’s beautiful,” he murmured, almost to himself, his voice choked with a depth of feeling he rarely revealed. He took her into his arms, his slender fingers cradling her small head, his thumb gently tracing her cheek. His usually cold, intimidating face softened into something unrecognizable, a fierce love that lit his dark eyes with an intensity that left you breathless.

As he held her, the first Healer approached, bringing the other twin over to you, her tiny face nestled in the blanket. Your heart filled as you looked down at her, at the small, precious life you had brought into the world. In that moment, the room felt full of magic, not the kind that could be taught or brewed, but the kind that was born out of love, pure and unconditional.

Severus looked over at you, his expression softened beyond recognition, his piercing gaze filled with an almost painful tenderness as he watched you holding your daughter. For once, his stoic mask was gone, replaced by the vulnerability of a man who had finally found something worth living—and dying—for.

“They have your eyes,” you whispered, noting the dark lashes and tiny features, a hint of his unmistakable presence in them already.

He nodded, speechless, his voice catching as he tried to speak. When he finally found his words, they were barely above a whisper, his voice thick with emotion. “They’ll have your spirit… your kindness. And they’ll know they are loved.” His gaze met yours, a profound, unspoken promise shimmering in his eyes.

He reached out, his long fingers gently touching your cheek, and for the first time, you saw the walls he had so carefully built around his heart crumble, replaced by the love he had tried so hard to hide. Here, in this room, with his daughters in his arms and you by his side, Severus Snape had found his redemption. And it was more beautiful than he could have ever imagined.

[wannab-urs]

Title: Something Sweet

Pairing: Javier Peña x f!reader

Summary: You’re new to the team in Colombia and all alone on your birthday. Your partner, Javier Peña, decides to do something sweet for you. 

Tags: Set vaguely during season 1 before Javi gets extra angsty, canon compliant-ish, reader feeling lonely, sassy!reader, flirty!javi, alcohol (wine), brief mention of a gun bc I feel like a DEA agent wouldn’t just answer the door all willy nilly, kissing, javi asking for consent, but y’all did share a bottle of wine, kissing, fingering f receiving, marking, unprotected PinV, cuddling. I always write angsty Javi, but this is FLUFF, so sorry if it’s OOC, I’m slightly out of my element here. 

WC: 2107

A/N: This fic is a birthday gift for @psychedelic-ink. Sil, you’re a wonderful friend and you do so much for the Pedro Pascal Fandom community on top of being an incredible writer. So, with some help from @pedrorascal with the beautiful gifs, I schemed up a little fic for you. I hope you love it! Happy Birthday and Happy Holidays AHHHH. 

Moving to a new country two weeks before your birthday, which also happens to be Christmas Eve, is not ideal. You moved to Colombia from Miami after a promotion, earning a spot on the elite team working to catch Pablo Escobar. 

The last two weeks have been a whirlwind, trying to catch up on all the facts of the case. You have to learn every sicario by sight and all of their names, aliases, and frequent hang outs. You have to learn about everything Escobar has done in Colombia, all the cartels and how they connect, it’s all extremely exhausting and time consuming. 

Which is why you have no friends yet, unless you count your new partners Javier Peña and Steve Murphy. Which you don’t. You barely know them, and from what you’ve seen so far, Peña is an asshole. Steve might be okay, but you just haven’t had time to get to know him yet. 

You take off your windbreaker and hang it on the back of your chair. It’s kind of ridiculous that you have to work on Christmas Eve, but there’s no rest for the wicked and therefore no rest for you either. You sit down and open the first file on your desk, immediately getting down to business without so much as a greeting for your partners. 

A couple hours into the work day, a shadow darkens your desk. “What do you want, Peña?” 

“God damn, hermosa. Touchy today? I brought you a coffee.” Peña sets the cup of lukewarm black slop on your desk and leans further into your space, peeking at the files you’re reading. 

“Yes, actually. Did you need something or did you just come over here to bother me?” 

“I just came over here to compliment your nails, actually,” he takes your hand in his, inspecting your nails, and then looks into your eyes. “I like the color. Suits you.” 

You feel heat rise to your cheeks. Peña is cute. Gorgeous, really, but you don’t make a habit of flirting with your coworkers. “Thanks… They were my birthday gift to myself.” You tug your hand away from him and place it in your lap. 

“It’s your birthday?” He asks, still leaning much too far into your personal space. You nod and look back down at the file. 

“I have to get back to work now,” you almost whisper to him, all your bitter snark from earlier replaced by a sense of melancholy. There’s not a soul in this entire country who knows it’s your birthday today. Aside from Javier, now, you guess. Javier lingers for another moment before pushing off your desk and leaving you to your work. 

You’re starting to pack up for the day when Peña comes up to your desk again, sitting on the corner. 

 “So what are your plans tonight?” he asks. 

“Huh?” You don’t have any plans. A phone call from your friend in Miami and a bottle of Chilean wine maybe. 

“Your plans? For your birthday?” 

“Oh. I don’t have any. Don’t really know anyone yet so…” you trail off. You feel kind of pathetic, even though you know it’s completely reasonable to not have a group of friends yet. 

“Me and Murphy could take you out?” 

“Oh um–”

“Actually, Jav,”  Steve calls out from his desk. “Me and Connie have plans tonight. Christmas Eve and all,” he gives you an apologetic look. 

“It’s fine really. I’m gonna have a nice relaxing night in. Thanks though.” You put on the best smile you can and head for the door. 

You hang up the phone after your short call with your friend. It’s expensive to call long distance, but she stayed on with you as long as she could. She told you all about her new boyfriend and that everyone had wished you a Happy Birthday and Happy Holidays. You’re grateful she didn’t ask about your job or your love life. 

As you pop the cork on a bottle of wine, there’s a knock on your door. You stare at the door questioningly, as if it will tell you who’s there. Who on earth could be knocking at your door at 8pm on Christmas Eve? 

You grab your gun and sneak over to the door, peeking through the peephole. Broad shoulders and a dark head of hair are all you can make out through the tiny lens. Javier? You set your gun on the side table and pull open the door. 

“Peña? What are you doing here?” 

He turns around and holds his hands out to you. “Brought you something.” He’s holding a birthday cake, clearly store bought, decorated with a generic “Feliz cumpleaños” scrawled on top. A bright smile lights up your face. 

“Oh Javi, you didn’t have to!” 

“I wanted to. You gonna invite me in for some cake?” He raises his eyebrows at you. 

“Oh! Yeah sure. Come in!” You step to the side to let him through and close and lock the door behind him. “Sorry about the mess. I’m not fully unpacked yet.” 

“I’ve been here for 7 years and I’m not fully unpacked. It’s fine.” Javi reassures you. He sets the cake down on your kitchen counter and starts rifling around for plates and silverware. 

“I can do that,” you try to move him out of the way, but he’s having none of it. 

“No, it’s your birthday. Let me. You pour yourself a glass of wine and go sit on the couch.” 

“Fine… thank you.” 

“You’re welcome.” 

You grab a couple glasses and the bottle of wine and carry it to the living room with you. You’re kind of shocked he’s here. He’s always flirty in the office, but he’s like that with everyone. He’s not what you’d call friendly otherwise. Maybe he just feels bad for you. 

Javier drops down onto the couch beside you holding two plates with hefty slices of chocolate cake. He hands you one of the plates and a fork. “Happy birthday. I’m not going to make you do the whole candle thing.”

“Thank you, Javier. This is really, really nice.” You feel like you might cry. It’s just cake, but you felt so alone, and it’s like he really saw you. He saw through whatever exterior shell you were wearing and decided to try to make your day better. 

“Just Javi is fine. And it’s not a big deal, really. You deserve something sweet on your birthday,” he says looking down at the cake in his hands.

“It is to me. A big deal, I mean,” you say softly before taking a bite of the cake. It’s nothing special, just a plain chocolate cake, but it means so much to you. 

You and Javier, Javi, chat about where you’re from and how you came to work for the DEA. You tell him about living in Miami, about the promotion that brought you here. You finish the bottle of wine and a couple more pieces of cake and the conversation doesn’t stop for a long time.

Late in the evening, you finish a story about your 6th birthday, one your aunt always told to the whole family every single year at your birthday dinner. He’s sitting close to you, his thigh pressed against yours despite there being plenty of room on the couch to sit without touching. It makes your heart flutter a little. 

You don’t know if it’s the wine or what, but the little crush you have on him is getting pretty hard to ignore. Javi smirks at you, reaches up, and brushes his thumb over the corner of your lip. 

“Got a little icing there, cariño,” he says, his voice lower and huskier than it has been all night. He brings the icing smeared thumb to his mouth and sucks it between his lips. Your eyes track the movement, pupils blowing wide. He really is pretty. 

You feel yourself lean in toward him, almost unconsciously chasing that thumb to his mouth. He brings his hand up to your cheek and searches your eyes for a moment. He must see what he was looking for because he pulls you closer and presses his lips to yours. 

His lips are soft, warm, gentle on yours. You grab his face in your hands, not wanting him to pull away yet. He slips his tongue along the seam of your lips and you part them, letting him in. You’re not sure who makes the move, but slowly, your back is lowered to the couch, Javi a comfortable weight on top of you. Your hands explore his broad shoulders, the muscles of his back, his trim waist, as he plunders your mouth with his tongue. 

“Can I touch you?” He rasps against your lips. 

“You already are,” you giggle. “Sorry. Yes, Javi.” 

He huffs a laugh into your mouth and slips a hand into your lounge pants, fingers finding your dripping seam. “Wet for me already, hermosa?” 

Your cheeks heat up in slight embarrassment, but you nod. You’re soaked just from kissing him. By the feel of him against your thigh, he’s not better off. He pushes two fingers inside you and presses his lips back to yours. You gasp into his mouth, hands fisting in the back of his shirt. 

His fingers immediately find the spongy spot deep in your core. He curls them, dragging the pads of his fingers along your g-spot with every pump of them inside you. You cling tightly to him, burying your face in his shoulder. 

“Come for me, baby.” 

Your body responds to his command instantly, the tension in your belly releasing into waves of pleasure. Your cunt flutters around his fingers and you whine into his neck as he works you through it. You collapse back onto the couch, and he wastes no time dragging your pants off you. 

You hear the clink of his belt opening, the sound of it hitting the floor. You sit up on your elbows to watch him as he strips off the rest of his clothes. You bite your lip, drinking in the sight of the gorgeous man before you. 

He takes your hands in his and pulls you to your feet before pulling your tank top off you. “Shit, hermosa,” he whispers almost reverently as he takes one of your tits in his large hand, rolling the nipple between two fingers. “Gorgeous.” 

 He kisses you again, wrapping his strong arms around your body and pushing his chest flush with yours. “Bedroom, cariño?” 

You walk him back to your room, barely separating your lips from his for the entire journey. You fall back on your bed and he follows, settling between your legs. His lips drag down your jaw line to your neck as he lines himself up with your entrance. Javi sucks a mark just below your collarbone as he slowly thrusts inside you. 

You wrap your legs around his hips and pull him deeper into you, whining at the stretch. “Fuck, Javi.” 

“Working on it, cariño,” he teases as he bottoms out inside you. He pushes himself up on his elbows and stares into your eyes as he pulls out and thrusts back in smoothly. Your mouth falls open, a little huff spilling out as he bottoms out again. He feels so fucking good inside you. 

Javi sets a steady pace, thrusting into you hard and slow, eyes never leaving yours. When your eyes flutter shut and your back starts to arch in pleasure, he slips his arm under your back, pulling your hips higher on his thighs. The new angle is everything. You gasp out a moan every time his cock punches deep inside you.

Javi is everything in this moment. Your world narrowed to the feeling of his cock pounding into you at that same maddeningly slow, hard rhythm. You feel yourself tightening around him, feel a coil winding in your belly tighter and tighter. 

Javi’s lips find yours again with a kiss that’s more a clash of teeth and tongues than anything as you come hard on his cock. Javi lets out a low groan into your mouth at the way you squeeze him. He thrusts into you a few more times, fucking you through your high, before he quickly pulls out and spills all over your belly. 

He rests his forehead on yours for a moment, catching his breath. He kisses you deeply one more time before falling to the bed beside you. Javi pulls you into his arms, not paying any mind to the mess he made on your stomach. He holds you close, kissing the top of your head. 

“Happy Birthday, cariño.”

[kiss-me-cill-me]

Follow Me Down

Pairing: Robert Fischer x Reader

Word Count: 5.3k

Summary: Dealing with Robert's advances feels like a full time job in itself. When he finally pushes you past your breaking point at a company party, you decide that it's time to teach him a lesson.

Warnings: Smut, hate sex, semi-public sex, mean reader, pushy/bratty Robert, kind of switch!Robert, S&M themes, oral (f receiving), face sitting, high heel kink, spit kink, choking, non-consensual creampie, name calling (including one use of "bitch"), workplace harassment, degradation, misogyny, mentions of drinking/alcohol, reader insults Robert by suggesting that he would spike her drink (but it does not actually happen)

A/N: Are New Year's Eve fics a thing? If not, they should be haha. I love New Year's Eve, so as a little early present, please enjoy this piece of absolute filth. Title was inspired by George Taylor's song Come Follow Me Down, which I listened to on repeat while writing the smut portion of this. Thank you for reading, and I'm wishing you all a great start to 2024!

***Please read the warnings before continuing. Minors DNI***

Robert Fischer was the kind of man who had everything handed to him in life, and it showed. He was petulant, unserious, and thoughtless. Or at least, mostly thoughtless; he did possess the very annoying ability to badger the living hell out of someone in order to get what he wanted. And tonight, as was so unfortunately often the case, the focus of his one-track mind was you.

He was trailing after you now, either oblivious to or willfully ignorant of the look of annoyance plastered over your face as you tried to lose him. He barely had to hurry to keep up.

“Don’t be shy asking for my help with closing that big merger if you need it,” he told you.

You grimaced. You knew how to do your job.

“Robert, let’s not talk about work while we’re off the clock,” you said shortly, trying to make your voice as sweet as possible so that he wouldn’t have an excuse to comment on your tone.

You were at the company’s New Year’s Eve party. Ostensibly, this was the last of (too many) excuses littered throughout the year for the big wig executives to drink expensive booze and make fools of themselves on the company dime. And, annoyingly, it was also yet another opportunity for Fischer to try and sleep with you. 

“Okay. Let me get you a drink then,” he offered.

You decided you were done being sweet. You stopped and turned on your heel to face him.

“I wouldn’t leave you alone with my drink for two seconds, much less accept one you’d gotten your grubby little mitts on,” you hissed.

Robert made no indication that he understood what you were insinuating. Instead, he rested a hand on your waist, tugging you just a bit closer to him.

“Then I’ll escort you to the bar,” he said. “And I’ll even keep my hands on you, so you’ll know that I haven’t touched your drink.”

He was disgusting. 

“Why don’t you escort yourself?” you shot back, shaking out of his grip.

You were abstaining from drinks tonight, wanting to keep your wits about you just in case Robert tried to get too handsy. Or, handsier than he usually was. This was a fairly frequent occurrence, and although you were used to it, it still pissed you off. Robert was nothing you couldn’t handle, but the arrogant rich boy attitude got old quick. It annoyed you that you couldn’t say anything without risking the job you had worked so hard for. Unlike him, you hadn’t been born into a world that put you automatically on a pedestal. On the contrary, it often felt like people were trying to kick you off the ledge.

Robert was walking behind you again, thankfully keeping his hands to himself even as he hovered at your heels, and you walked deeper into the party. All around you, drunken coworkers reveled and laughed. There was only about one hour left in the year, and by god the company was going to spend it drinking enough champagne to kill an elephant.

“Come on,” Robert called behind you, still trailing. “Don’t you know how to take a joke?”

You ignored him, refusing to give him the satisfaction of a response. As you wove your way through the crowd, one of the higher-ups signaled to you. 

You jumped at the opportunity, hoping that Robert would at least have the common decency to leave you be while you were talking to a man who was essentially your boss. But of course, rules and manners didn’t apply to Robert Fischer like they would to anyone else. As you talked with the executive about mergers and acquisitions, Robert stood directly behind you. Practically breathing down your neck. You had to bite your tongue when he placed a hand on the small of your back again. What the hell did he think he was doing?

After a few minutes, the higher-up - slightly intoxicated - excused himself and wandered off, leaving you alone again with the man who was quickly becoming the bane of your existence.

“Robert-” you started to bark.

“God, you’re sexy when you talk business,” Robert interrupted.

You were facing him again, his arm still wrapped around you possessively. You caught a whiff of bourbon on his breath. He certainly wasn’t drunk, but the alcohol had clearly loosened his tongue. Usually he wasn’t this forward. You frowned.

“And you’re an unprofessional prick.”

Your outburst almost seemed to shock you more than it did Robert. His expression never faltered, except to allow a small smirk to spread across his lips.

“Sweetheart, don’t flatter me like that,” he teased. “A pretty girl like you could give a guy like me ideas.”

He raised his eyebrows at you as he said “ideas,” lowering his voice a bit. You got the message.

“I’m sorry if I was unclear,” you said, trying not to speak through clenched teeth. “But the only idea I want to give you is to leave me the hell alone.”

Robert put his hands up, pretending to look wounded. Or maybe he was going for shocked. As if you hadn’t made it abundantly clear already just how uninterested you were. He took a step back, to your relief.

“Okay, I can see you need some time to cool off,” he relented. Finally, you were getting somewhere. “But can you really blame me for getting mixed signals?”

You had no idea what Robert was talking about, until he started pointing above him. Your eyes trailed up, and you saw for the first time a little sprig of mistletoe, hanging in the hallway. A leftover from the company’s Christmas decorations. Of all the places you could have been standing… When you looked back at Robert, your mouth was a thin line.

“What are you, twelve?” you asked. 

He just smiled. 

“Christmas is over, Robert,” you said coldly.

As you started to walk away, he called after you.

“Can’t blame a guy for trying!”

Fischer was right about one thing - you did need some time to cool off. Being around him made your skin crawl. It made you feel like you needed a shower and a guzzle of holy water, just to exorcize any lingering traces of him from your system. A gin and tonic would probably have at least some of the same effects. And you were craving one, but you reminded yourself that you needed to stay sharp. Robert had left you alone for now, but it was only a matter of time before he would be back. You settled for just the tonic.

Rubbing your head as you walked through the party, horribly bitter drink in hand, you wondered why you had even bothered to come. So much of what you did was for the sake of appearances. Anything to claw your way ahead. Though of course, even you had limits. Sleeping with Fischer would, ironically, probably end in a boon to your career. But you definitely weren’t about to let yourself sink to that level. 

You looked down at your gin-less tonic, twist of lime bobbing lazily in the bubbles. Why were you even drinking this? It certainly wasn’t for the taste. You dumped the rest of your drink in a potted plant, and set the empty glass down on a table.

This party was a total drag. But, you figured, at least you wouldn’t have to go far to find a little solitude. One of the benefits of working for an insanely wealthy company like Fischer Morrow was that even mid-level employees like you got extravagant offices. Your high heels clicked against the tile as you strode off, eager to leave the maddening din - and Robert Fischer - behind.

You reached your office door, and instantly knew that something was off. Behind the frosted windows, you could tell that the lights were on. The party was on the floor below yours; there should have been nobody up here, much less in your private office. Maybe it was just one of the cleaners, working late. Well, no problem. They would be easy enough to get rid of, and then you could regroup and prepare yourself for the remainder of a night full of fending off Robert’s advances. You pushed open the door.

Really, you should have seen this coming. Of course it wasn’t going to be this easy to get rid of him.

“Robert,” you sighed. You took in the sight of him, sitting in your swivel chair and looking very pleased with himself. “Do I really have to ask you to get out of my office?”

“Not if you don’t want me to,” he taunted, effortlessly throwing your own words back at you. He winked, and you narrowed your eyes.

You walked over to your desk, large and shiny with a stained walnut finish. It was an expensive piece of furniture, and one that Robert somehow managed to look right at home sitting behind. As if he owned the place. Which was closer to the truth than you particularly liked to think about. 

“Why do you enjoy doing this?” you asked, not expecting a real answer.

“I just like getting a rise out of you,” Robert said.

It sounded strangely honest. You leaned over your desk, staring down at him. Trying to size him up.

“You’re very mean when you want to be,” Robert continued, almost observationally.

You weren’t sure where he was going with this. Sure, you could be mean. It was part of the reason why you’d achieved the position you were in now; you didn’t advance in business by being a pushover.

Robert, you noticed, was currently staring down the front of your dress. You scrambled to stand up, and crossed your arms over your chest. The little pervert wasn’t even trying to hide it. You circled the desk, coming to rest on the side where Robert still sat, watching you calmly. You silently willed him to get out of your chair; to leave your office and give you twenty seconds of peace. He didn’t, of course, and so you took a seat on the desk, crossing your legs and tapping one foot in the air.

“So, what? Do you get off on me being mean to you or something?” you pressed.

Robert shrugged, neither confirming nor denying. For some reason, that infuriated you even more. You hated his smug face; that little smirk he was wearing right now that meant he was getting what he wanted. You had the sudden urge to slap him. Maybe that would teach him a lesson.

“And what about you?” Robert asked. “What do you get out of this?”

“Me?!” You were incredulous. “Christ. What could I possibly be getting out of putting up with you constantly bothering me?”

Robert shrugged again, and your desire to slap him grew.

“Maybe you get off on it too,” he guessed. “Being mean, that is.”

“You think I get off on doing this?” you scoffed. “Do you ever think about anything besides sex?”

“You’re the one who brought up getting off; not me.”

You were really going to lose it. You could barely see Fischer sitting in front of you now for all of the angry red that was swirling through your vision. He thought he could walk in here, sit at your desk, and then tell you you got off on being mean to him? He didn’t know how mean you could be.

“What’s your end goal with all this, Robert? You really think you’re gonna get to live out whatever twisted fantasy you’ve made me a part of in that sick little head of yours?”

“Maybe,” Robert said nonchalantly. You could feel him undressing you with his eyes.

“Yeah? What are you hoping to do to me?” you prodded. You didn’t care what you were saying anymore; you were way past the point of professionalism. “Probably tie me up and watch me try to fight you off, right?”

Robert looked up at you very calmly, holding your angry gaze as he answered you.

“I’d rather have you step on me with those heels,” he said.

You were taken aback.

“Excuse me?”

“I said: I want you to step on me with those slutty little stilettos you keep waving in my face,” he repeated.

You froze. One foot was braced against the drawers of your desk, and the other was poised in the air, hovering just in front of Robert’s knee as he sat in your chair.

“What’s the matter?” Robert asked. “I warned you you’d give a guy like me ideas, didn’t I?”

Part of you was in shock. This was not how you had expected this interaction to go. But another part of you - a corner of your mind that you didn’t even want to acknowledge - really was turned on by the idea of putting him in his place. You grinned.

“What makes you think I’d do that for you?” you hummed, mocking him.

Before he had a chance to respond, you lifted your foot and pressed the sharp point of your heel against the fleshy part of Robert’s shoulder. His expensive suit jacket started to crease. You pushed your heel in a little more, pushing him back just an inch.

Robert’s eyes started to wander, trying to sneak a look under your dress as you sat in front of him, your leg lifted up to press into his shoulder. 

“You’re a pig,” you told him, shifting your foot so that it was in the middle of his chest. 

The new angle made it a little harder for him to get a peek, with your legs more pressed together. Robert’s eyes drifted back to your face, a look of restrained amusement dancing across his own features. He was trying to play it cool, but you noticed the way his fingers dug into the chair’s leather armrests.

“Just another pretty boy in a suit,” you continued, inching the toe of your shoe up toward his collar. 

The point of your heel was right over his sternum, and Robert started to smile. He really was enjoying this, and the realization both repulsed and aroused you.

“Think you can take whatever you want. You need to be put in your place.”

You pushed back with your foot, making Robert’s chair roll a few inches so that you had space to stand up between him and the desk. You planted one foot on the floor, and the other directly over his crotch, pressing in with the dull toe of your shoe. The point of your heel rested on the chair in front of him, between his slightly parted legs. You weren’t trying to impale the poor man, but the devious look that Robert fixed on you as you towered over him almost made it look like he would have preferred if you did.

“Told you y’get off on being mean,” he teased.

You grabbed hold of his tie and pulled his face closer to yours as you looked down at him.

“Robert, if you think this is what a woman looks like when she gets off, I have some very bad news for you. Why don’t you show me what that pretty mouth is good for?”

You pushed away from him, climbing back up on the desk and spreading your legs. The tight black dress you wore rode up your thighs, and Robert instantly dropped to his knees in front of you. He hooked a finger into the crotch of your panties, using it to drag them to the side until you were on display for him.

“You can deny all you want,” he mocked, “but you wouldn’t be this wet if you really didn’t enjoy it.”

“Jesus. Stop talking,” you ordered.

You shoved his face between your legs, and his tongue eagerly came out to lick at you. You were wet - there really wasn’t any denying it - but you didn’t need him pointing out that fact as if he weren’t the one desperately lapping at your cunt. Robert was the pathetic one here; you were really just going along with things to teach him a lesson. If he wanted you to walk all over him, you would make sure he regretted ever crossing paths with you. And if you happened to get off while doing it - well,  you'd just chalk that down as some much-needed stress relief. Dealing with Robert was exhausting.

You hooked your legs over his arms, pinning him in place as he balanced himself against the desk. As much as you hated to admit it, he was good at this. Very good. His tongue was lavishing you; his blue eyes never breaking contact with yours as he ate you out. The way he was looking up at you felt dirty and yet dangerously addicting, all at the same time. Your hand tangled in his hair, pulling him even closer as your breath hissed through your teeth. Abruptly, you pulled him away.

“Get on the desk,” you commanded, a little out of breath.

Robert stood up, wiped his smug face, and started to climb up onto the desk.

“On your back.”

He laid down, swinging his feet up so that he was fully spread out across the hard surface. You reached up under your dress to remove your panties. Having him hold them to the side was only getting in the way.

You carefully got up on the desk with him, knees resting on either side of his face.

“I can’t believe I’m doing this,” you scoffed, half for your own benefit.

“Think of it this way,” Robert smirked beneath you. “Isn’t it gonna make you happy to wipe this smile off my face?”

“I thought I told you to shut up.”

You sat down, putting almost your full weight on his face. Robert reached up to grab hold of your thighs, supporting you, and you were actually grateful for it even though it gave him an opportunity to grope at your ass. Your legs were getting weaker every second, and you could feel yourself tipping over the edge.

Part of the thrill was from being in such a compromising position. Before, if someone had walked in, there was a chance that Robert could stand up and you would be able to smooth down your dress in time to avoid getting caught. But now… well, riding a man’s face as he was splayed out on the desk beneath you was a little harder to recover from, logistically.

You ground your hips down, so tantalizingly close to coating his face in your release. Robert seemed to sense your urgency, and dug his fingers into your flesh, practically begging for it. His tongue dragged roughly across your clit, sucking with just the right pressure.

Your mouth hung open as you came, at first frozen in a silent scream and then moaning, sinfully, as an orgasm rolled over you. You seemed to shake from your shoulders down into your knees, and Robert’s tongue lapped up all of your arousal. He pressed his lips to your clit one final time as you slid off of him. 

When your hips were straddling his, Robert sat up to hold you. His hands were hungry, grabbing at your waist as he tried to pull you closer and into a kiss.

“No kissing,” you choked out, putting a hand on his chest to stop him.

Robert didn't try to push past you, just paused and looked up at you with light, teasing eyes.

“Come on, sweetheart. It's New Year's Eve. You're not gonna give me a kiss at midnight?” 

You swallowed, not trusting your shaky voice to respond without giving him more fuel to taunt you with. He didn't need it.

“Even after you already let me wrap my lips around your pretty cunt?” 

Your hand on his chest pressed down, pushing him back onto the hard wood. Robert smiled again, proud of himself for getting to you. He really did know how to wind you up.

“You’re such a typical rich boy,” you spat. “So used to getting anything you ask for.”

“Usually I don’t even have to ask,” Robert corrected.

“Right. Other women just throw themselves at you?” You felt your hatred flare.

He gave you that knowing look again, but kept his smirking mouth shut. You noticed the way your arousal still glistened against his lips. The whole lower half of his face, actually, was drenched, and the sight of it sent a pang of renewed desire all through you.

Suddenly, Robert’s grip tightened at your waist. He bunched up the fabric of your dress, exposing you a little more, and forced you down onto his leg. 

“Use me to get yourself off.”

Already impatient, his hands had started to pull at your hips, making you rock back and forth. The cloth of his suit pants brushed roughly against your exposed clit, still sensitive from his earlier treatment. But still, it felt good. Too good.

“Robert-”

You had opened your mouth to protest, but he cut you off.

“Mm, say my name, baby.”

He was so full of himself. Something snapped in you, and your hand flew up to his neck. As your grip tightened, Robert only threw his head back.

“Honestly, do you ever shut up?” you spat.

Despite yourself, your hips started to stutter against him, desperate to rub harder as the pressure started to build in you again. For whatever reason, you found yourself going along with Robert’s demands once more. Your hand on his neck squeezed.

“You really do get everything you want,” you hissed, teeth clenching against the ache that was rapidly growing between your legs.

“Not true,” Robert choked out beneath you. His voice was straining from your grip, but you could still hear the hint of satisfaction. “I haven’t gotten to stick it in you yet.”

Your walls clenched around nothing, and you hated how his words could affect you. You angrily took it out on him, pressing the hand on his neck down even harder. Robert hissed out through his teeth, then dissolved into a rough cry of pleasure. 

“Fuck," you gasped.

Your grip loosened, suddenly, as a wave of ecstasy came crashing over you for the second time. It was unexpected and fast, taking you by such surprise that you fell forward on the desk a little, caging Robert’s face with your arms. Your stomach churned with embarrassment as the feeling faded, and you realized that just the sound of his voice had been enough to push you over the edge.

You looked down, and saw Robert’s eyes full of mirth. His face was flushed, blood rushing back now that your hand was off him. A few strands of hair stood out of place against his forehead. Honestly, he was a mess; clothes all wrinkled and normally-neat red tie knocked askew. You could feel yourself dripping. His very expensive suit pants were probably ruined. Although, that was really his problem.

“Tell me again how you don’t get off on being mean?” Robert rasped below you.

You were panting, and clearly in no position to answer him. But even if you had been able to speak, you certainly weren’t about to tell him that it had been his animalistic moan that really made you come. Robert started to sit up a little, keeping one arm around your waist.

“You hate me so much.” Robert’s voice was still slightly hoarse, but there was that tone of amusement, as usual. 

“Poor little rich boy.”

It was all you could think to say, still trying to recover from two orgasms back to back. Robert gave you a look that was almost pitying.

“When are you gonna admit that you’re just jealous?” Robert purred.

You gave him a look of disgust, hoping your scowl would communicate everything that you couldn’t verbalize. Your head was still reeling, dizzy from the rush.

“You think you’re better than everyone else just because you have to scramble to get ahead? Please. You wish you had it as easy as me.” Robert’s hands came up to grasp at your wrists, holding you in place as he brought his lips close to yours. “But lucky for me, you’re not above sleeping your way to the top.”

Is that really what he thought this was? No. That wasn’t the reason for this. Inch by inch, Robert was bringing his lips closer to you. This bastard, thinking he understood you. Infuriated, you did the only thing you could think to do, and spit on him.

He stopped, but didn’t look particularly surprised. The trail of spit started to drip down his face, mixing on his cheek with the leftover sheen of your arousal. Calmly, Robert brought a hand up to his face and wiped off the efforts of your rebellion.

“I knew there was a reason I liked you, sweetheart.”

In the next instant, Robert’s hands were at his belt, nimble fingers working the buckle. You noticed for the first time how painfully stretched his pants were. He had to be in agony. But, you thought bitterly, that was probably exactly how he wanted it.

“Here - why don’t you spit on my cock?” he goaded, pulling himself out of his briefs.

Your eyes blew wide at the sight of him. That certainly explained the amount of confidence he had. You struggled to shoot back a response.

“In your dreams,” you muttered.

“Don’t be like that,” Robert chided, pouting a little bit.

As much as he liked to act, you could tell that he wasn’t really hurt. Someone as arrogant as Robert Fischer could never be truly bothered by anything. This was merely an inconvenience. He pinched your cheeks between his rough fingers, forcing you to look down at his dick with your mouth open. A long, wet rope of saliva fell from your lips.

“There, was that so hard?”

Robert’s pinching hand left your face as he brought it down to rub at his length, hastily working your spit over himself.

“This is for your benefit anyway,” he winked. “Don’t want it to hurt you too much.”

You watched, almost mesmerized, as he pumped himself a few more times. Satisfied, he stood up, taking you with him. Standing in your heels, you were almost as tall as him, and he looked directly into your eyes.

“Now, do you want me to fuck you over the desk, or up against the wall?”

You almost couldn’t believe his audacity. You glared at him, a heavy, electrical silence hanging between you.

“Tick-tock, sweetheart.”

“Go to hell, Robert,” you answered. 

“Well, then I guess we’re doing what I want.” He smiled. “How ironic.”

He lifted you up in one swift motion, and then your back was against the wall. The head of his cock was pressing into you, and the stretch was almost painful.

“So fuckin’ tight,” he hissed. “Just what I would expect from a stuck-up little bitch.”

His words stung, but not as much as the snap of his hips as he thrust into you, forcing a little whine out of your lips. You grit your teeth, trying to muffle your reaction.

“You squeeze me so good when you’re angry,” Robert laughed. “Fuck.”

His hands were digging into you, holding you up as he pulled out and then pressed greedily back in. Your head pushed back against the wall, overwhelmed by his size. 

“What’s wrong, baby? Too much for you?” he teased.

“You- wish-”

Your words cut off as Robert fucked sharply into you again, then paused. You wrapped your legs tighter around him, pulling his hips against you as you tried to hold yourself up. It only made him push deeper. 

“Fuck, Robert-!”

You cried out, interrupting yourself again, and felt his lips brush against your neck.

“I didn’t even move that time, baby,” he smirked. 

You couldn’t stand to see him so smug. Somewhere deep inside yourself, you found strength.

“W-what are you waiting for, then? Get to work, pretty boy.”

Robert grinned as he thrust into you, even more powerfully than before. You wanted to whimper, but bit your tongue. You wouldn’t give him the satisfaction.

“You really are something else,” Robert chuckled.

His pace had started to speed up, and now he was pumping in and out of you relentlessly, each thrust pushing you back against the wall. Your body had finally adjusted to his girth, and you were almost starting to enjoy the stretch. Not to mention the way that his head hit a certain spot inside of you, nearly making you fall apart every time he brushed against it.

You were finding it harder and harder to suppress your moans, and every now and then one would slip out of your tightly-pressed lips. Robert seemed to speed up every time he heard you whimper.

“Fuck!” you swore, as he hit a particularly deep spot.

“You take my cock so well,” he grunted. Even trying to keep his cool, it was clear that he was only seconds away from release. “Now let’s see how you take my cum.”

“Not… not inside,” you panted.

“Don’t- fucking- tell me what to do.”

“Don't fucking come in me!”

Pressed against the wall, your options for retaliation were limited. Your legs could do nothing but wrap around him; his hands stopping you from putting your feet on the floor. Your own hands were occupied gripping at the lapels of his suit, hanging on for dear life as he split you open. Really, the only available part of you was your mouth.

Your lips bruised hard against his, taking his bottom lip between your teeth and biting hard enough that you hoped it hurt. Robert let out a muffled growl against you, and you sank your teeth in more.

Somewhere far away, a clock chimed and the party below you surged drunkenly. Robert thrust his hips into you one last time, and then you felt him painting your walls; cum leaking out of you as he held you, still suspended in the air. As the buzzing in your head started to fade, you realized he was smiling against your lips.

You jaw relaxed just enough for Robert to pull himself away. His lip was bruised; angry red from where your teeth had scraped him. He was even more disheveled than he had been, and, somehow, even more satisfied with himself.

“Ended up giving me that kiss anyway,” he rasped, voice still heavy from exertion and lust. “And right at midnight, too.”

You felt your hatred surge again, weakly. You were exhausted; barely able to keep yourself upright when Robert finally set you on your feet. He stepped away, leaving you to tug down your dress and try to make yourself presentable. A very difficult task, considering you still had fresh cum leaking out of you. Your eyes quickly scanned the floor for your panties. You would not stoop to searching on your hands and knees for them. Not until Robert left your office, at least.

Robert finished zipping his pants and replacing his belt, shiny silver buckle clicking under his fingers. He tugged at his suit, barely making a dent in the wrinkles, and smoothed a hand over his hair.

“Well, I would say ‘same time next week,’ but I think it would be easier to pencil you in at lunch,” Robert joked. “Maybe we can finally have that drink before I take you back to my office. You’ll have a really nice view of the city while I fuck you against the window.”

You really couldn’t believe the nerve. Although, by now, it should have been easy to expect no less from Robert. You walked right up to him and planted a finger in the center of his chest.

“If you think I’m ever having sex with you again, you’re twice as delusional as I thought you were,” you huffed. 

Robert took one more long look at you, and shrugged.

“Can’t blame a guy for trying.”