#it's messed up that this is something they do

[plainclothesdisaster]

DPxDC Mechanical Engineer Danny

Danny caught the attention of Batman while studying at Gotham University for his alternative energy projects. He’s hired right out of college to work on the Watchtower.

He shows absolutely no tell of his abilities till there’s a dire situation- Flash’s electric discharge messes with one of his projects in progress and the whole base would have lost air pressure if he hadn’t done a quick fix using telekinesis and ice.

Of course Batman notices.

Batman assumes the worst- he suspects Danny’s a rogue of some kind, someone who has infiltrated the Justice League with an ulterior motive. But he can’t just fire Danny now- he’s the only one who knows how the new Watchtower energy source works. Plus, he’s not letting Danny go anywhere until he’s figured out his true motives.

Cue Batman subtly testing Danny- tossing things at him to trigger inhuman fast reflexes, having him lift too-heavy machinery, setting up convenient opportunities to steal or snoop or otherwise be up to no good. Danny does take advantage but only once, to use a computer terminal with unlocked clearance. He didn’t plant any bugs that Barman could find, and he otherwise kept up his powerless civilian act perfectly.

Still, Batman’s not satisfied. He brings an infrasonic sound emitter to Danny’s lab one day, and that, of all things, is what gets Danny to break.

“I know what you’re doing,” Danny admits with a sigh, finally. “If you’re really that suspicious of me, I can leave, but I kinda like my job so I’d prefer not to. The benefits are insane compared to what’s standard.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Sure. yeah. How about you turn off the freaking noise generator and we can talk?”

“Hm.” Batman obliges, and he takes the stool next to Danny at his gesture.

“Number one, I’m not a meta. Despite all the data and conclusions you’ve probably drawn otherwise. Number two, I’m on your side. I’m here to work on the base, that’s it. I follow your rules to the letter.”

“The-“

“The classified files I looked at? Yeah that was the one exception. You already know what I looked at, I’m sure, but maybe you haven’t figured out why. It goes back to point one- I may not be a meta, but I am something that organization, the GIW, cares about. I looked at your files on them to sus out your relations. Seeing as I don’t particularly love being the victim to twelve degrees of human rights violations if I can avoid it.”

“Hm.” The Ghost Intelligence Ward was one of many government agencies that the Justice League hadn’t worked closely with. But they also hadn’t been flagged for Justice League investigation. Danny’s comments made him doubt that call.

“Any other questions?”

“If you’re not a meta, what are you?”

“I’m an engineer. A pretty decent one. And I’d really, really like it to stay that way.”

Batman considers, and ultimately lets him stay. He likes Danny (everyone likes Danny), and it would be a massive pain in the ass to replace him. He really is a good engineer.

It’s only much later that his faith in Danny is repaid in spades.

Batman finds Danny on the Watchtower command bridge. Alarms are blaring, the station has been knocked out of orbit, out the window there’s shrapnel floating everywhere as a space battle rages around them.

On the station it’s chaos. Technicians run around, shouts from the med bay, sparks from the walls.

Batman and Danny stand at the main controls, watching the battle outside, stoic, unmoving.

Wonder Woman’s harried voice crackles through on coms: “We need backup.”

“There is no more backup.” Batman replies, while looking pointedly at Danny.

“What?”

Batman doesn’t move.

“What.”

“The impact from Darkseid’s initial attack should have sent this station on a terminal trajectory toward the planet.”

“Well. We aren’t currently plummeting to our deaths, so turns out it didn’t do that.”

“You did something.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You’re lying.”

“Maybe Superman nudged us back on course in all the chaos.”

“I’ve been watching the trackers. No one else with the capability has come near the station.”

“Can’t you just be grateful we got lucky?”

Sounds of peril screech over the coms. Danny’s face scrunches.

“Luck had nothing to do with it. As it is now, we are going to lose this fight.”

“Isn’t there anyone else you can call?”

“I’m asking you. You can help, can’t you?”

The glare-off lasts a long moment more before Danny breaks.

“Fuck. Fuckity fuck.” Danny runs his hands through his hair. “Shit. You don’t know what you’re asking.”

“I’m asking you to save this and countless other worlds from a genocide. I’m also asking you to save my friends.”

Danny looks at him, hard, weary, and with a kind of deep resolve that feels far too ancient to be on the face of a supposed twenty-something.

“Fine. Fine. Okay.” He steps back and transforms. If Batman is surprised when he shakes off his human appearance like an old coat, he doesn’t show it. But what’s undeniable is the being in Danny’s place has the unmistakable presence of power.

“No one else can know.” His voice echoes in a way that’s sonically impossible, both sounding closer and further away than he should be.

He pulls a gear-shaped medallion seemingly out of thin air and puts it over his head in one motion.

“If I get in trouble for this, I’m blaming you.”

He vanishes. Outside, the shape of the battle changes instantly. The stars seem to glow brighter as the arms of the galaxy flash with the colors of the aurora. Then it’s like the void of space itself comes alive. It moves the spaceships back like they’re toys, plucking them from one side of the field to the other. It finds Darkseid at the heart of the chaos and massive arms of nothingness and darkness wrap around him. He’s screaming as it swallows him whole.

His armies scatter. The battle turns. The JL deal with the stragglers, but the air of relief is palpable.

Danny reappears next to Batman, once again donning his grease-stained coveralls. Arms folded.

“Happy?”

It took all of five minutes. Less, probably. Batman tamps down a thousand questions.

“Thank you.”

“I’m gonna need two weeks off minimum.” Danny snaps. “One to deal with the bureaucratic nightmare you’ve just caused me, and another to recover from the headache.”

Batman blanks. “Granted.”

Danny sighs. “And I’m not fixing the station until I’m back. It won’t fall out of the sky as is. Make up whatever excuse you want.”

“Done.” He considers. “I would prefer to tell them the truth. That you saved us.”

Danny glares. “I’m not supposed to save you. I made a pact not to use my power to influence the mortal realm.”

“A pact with who?”

Danny rolls his eyes. “The embodiment of Time. The concept of Justice. Among others.” He smirks at Batman’s confusion.

“And what, exactly, does that make you?”

He stands, framed by the space window, haloed by the stars. “I’ll give you three guesses.”

Batman frowns.

“Look. I like you guys. I like working on your base. I like supporting the work you do. But you can not go factoring me in to any of your plans or contingencies. This was a one time thing.

“So to answer your question again: I’m an engineer.”

[yougavememyopia]

Here's the result from the poll! Sorry, it took long. I lost my progress and had to write it over T-T. Longer than usual to make it up to my lovely peeps. Anyway, here is the confident, popular yandere who becomes a desperate pathetic mess for you.

Popular yandere, who was never alone. Circled with adored gazes and loud chatters, people gathered around him like he was some kind of celebrity. His overstretched smile full of fake glee. Crinkled eyes masking a hollow emptiness. No one would care enough to truly look at him, all too busy talking nineteen to the dozen.

It was so easy to predict them. The mundane topics boring him to death. Nothing exciting ever happened. Gritting his teeth, he endured their ramblings. Endured their dullness. Their stupid problems.

Taps of his pencil slapped the wooden desk rapidly. A practiced, charming grin when he greeted you— his new project partner. The invisible loser at the background whose face he rather recognized.

"Hey there, guess we're partners, huh? What a total unplanned coincidence! Uhh, anyway, you can pick the topic. Nono, please, go ahead. I'll just follow your lead."

His crew strolled passed you in the fields. Always sinked down on the grass with your back against the concrete wall. Blue light reflected on your face, nose buried deep in your phone.

Your lack of a life amused him. Fascinated at how isolated you were, and yet you were beaming. Giggling at your screen while your posture got worse. Not seeming a bit sad about being alone or wasting your time playing on a machine.

Simple enquiring quickly led to obsessive stalking. Justified by stating how he was merely observing you. Interested in your name and your hobbies, what you ate for the day, where you walked when you had no school, how the interior of your home looked like. A bit of curiosity, that was all!

The school project was the key to getting closer to you. Instant refusal to every person coming his way, sweet talking them into grouping together by pointing out their strengths. No objections were made. His judgment very well-trusted. Now you had the idolized annoyance as your group member, exactly like he planned.

FINALLY, he could talk to the nobody persistently invading his mind. The endless thoughts of you giving him heartache. He couldn't get his beauty sleep at night, and when he did, the dreams were all about you. He wasn't normally the type to approach people, not like he had the time to. Every waking moment of his day was stuffed with zealous yet shallow admirers. Everyone loved him. Gawking at his good looks, adoring his style, praising his intelligence.

You didn't even bat an eye.

He was nonexistent to you. Eyes boring into indifference. Frustrated, at how you treated him like he was someone insignificant. People already began to question his strange, out of the blue behaviour. How he stared at the wall without blinking. You were getting the best of him— he couldn't keep his mask on, uncontrollably snapping at people, apologizing as if he was having a bad day. Every day was a bad day. A torturous wait for you to just look his way.

If you didn't notice him anytime soon, he was going to do something crazy.

Thanks to the project, you finally spoke to him. Irritated, sure. But you saw him, a dopey grin on his face when you repeated back his name. Even getting away with patting your shoulder. He greeted you in the hallways the day after, approached you during lunch the next week, and then started to text you like crazy the following month. No idea how clingy he was acting until you pointed it out. Falling more in love with your weirdness and hidden personality.

You acted uncertain towards him. Hesitant that this was a prank. Afraid that you'd become a laughing stock if this progressed any further. So you built a metaphorical wall between you.

Questions after questions overwhelmingly flooded his brain. Your behaviour much different than the way he was used to being treated. Sarcastic remarks and harsh dismissals hurt his poor, sad heart.

He started to crave even the slightest approval from those around him— what did they think of his carefully picked outfit? Or his light makeup and shiny hair? He needed you to drool over him like the rest of the school did, yet you still didn't trust him. Accusing him of being fake, when all he wanted was to befriend you.

"B-but I swear, I genuinely want to be your friend. Please, listen. I can be myself around you. I don't have to be perfect, y'know? I thought you'd understand..."

As you grew more doubtful of his intentions, he became more hopeless. Desperate to change your mind while fighting the insecurity that loomed over him.

You pushed him to completely give in to the urge to follow you home and watch over you from a distance. He'd ask his many connections to keep an idea on you when he couldn't, but since their questions and teasing and judgement would get on his nerves, he settled for a tracking device instead. The digital dot always beeping in the same, familiar spots on the map.

His mind jumbled into a chaotic mess. Your dislike for him beyond his comprehension. All he ever did was be nice, so why did you not give him the time of day? Gifts nor compliments, nothing was good enough for you. He had never did anything like this before. Chase after someone. Love, actually love someone.

For your attention, he was willing to do whatever.He longed to be useful to you. Be at your beck and call at any time like a loyal dog. Everything from your terrible posture to your poor diet to your sleep schedule, he could take care of it. He could take care of you.

In the end, he had no patience, he couldn't stand the wait— he had to ask you out. A spontaneous minute that he wished he could take back. Stutters left his lips while he tried to make the date sound super romantic. Roses, candle lit dinner, moonlight. A perfected plan delivered with anxious jitter. Red face burning hotter than glowing coals and big, round eyes awaited the response.

"Eh... no thanks."

His eyes twitched. You were a loser! A common known label that he hated to use. But how could you turn down the first guy who pursued you? Choosing fictional anime crushes over a live flawless boy pleading for a date. How long were you going to stay in your lonely shell as a kissless virgin?

His determination didn't waver. He was willing to do anything to win you over. Countless attempts turned down due to excuses. Weeks after weeks of him chasing after you. You were driving him insane. Like you were doing this on purpose. "No?!? W-Wha... Why not? You don't want to go outside, you don't want to come to my place, why... Why can't I come to yours? I-I don't care if it's messy or if it s-smells. I actually love it. Um, I just need a chance, please. I need to prove to you that my love is real."

How did he end up being the one begging at your feet? Fingers clenching around your calves, while he looked up with a shameful blush on his face. Embarrassing himself in front of everyone he knew. Their gasps and murmurs ringing through his ears. Humiliation turning his body weak. Hot unwanted tears flooding his vision. He didn't care— he couldn't take the rejection anymore.

"Please believe me, please. It hurts so bad. Ah, I can't breathe. I love you so much. Pleasepleaseplease don't push me away. Don't cast me aside. I want to be with you. I want to be with you..."

He could barely make out your face with the fat tears rolling down his cheeks. His forehead rested on your knee, his head down as if waiting a death sentence. It was getting more awkward the longer he stayed on his knees. Yet he stayed glued to the harsh, cold floor. He'd never felt emotions to this level of intensity before you came. The hurt tightening his chest. A vice grip clamping down to crush his lungs.

Rubbing the back of your neck, you sighed. Feeling bad about the dishevelled flawed mess he turned into. Sweat worked up on your skin from the many eyes staring at the scene.

"You won't stop until I say yes, huh? I guess you proved you were telling the truth. So, fine. Let's get going now... You brought quite the audience here."

"..." His head remained stuck against your knees. Hands shaking against your legs while he exhaled. Not budging at all. The hushed whispers exchanged in the background making your blood boil. "What are you guys staring at? Scram! Go away! Leave him alone."

And they slowly faded one by one. You ran a hand through the soft, silky hair of the needy boy. More attentive to the mess on the floor to care about your surroundings anymore. Sitting on the floor beside him, you lazily wrapped his arms around your neck. A finger pressing his chin up so you could take a good look at him. He sniffed. Eyes all puffy and red. A deprived beg escaping his glossy lips.

"Please... I—"

You cut him off with a small smile. "You can hug me until you're satisfied. I'll be here."

Arms tangled tighter around you. Head tilted in, and you realized what this meant. A hint of anxiety bursted butterflies your stomach. But you went for it. Suppressing the flinch and moving in. Eyes half-lidded when velvety flesh met. Low hum buzzing from him. He pulled you closer and closer. Lips parted while you snaked your tongue into his mouth. A loud moan met your eardrums. Your little theory of him wanting you to take charge confirmed correct.

He melted like butter despite how you barely knew what you were doing. Uneven movements and unsure licks were just met with pathetic whimpers. Each stroke of saliva making him hot and dizzy. You had a way of making him unbelievably sensitive. No clue to why he felt like this was his first real kiss too. Never understanding the fuss about this pleasant feeling until now.

He pulled back for breathe much too soon, and panted against your face. "I'm so glad we found each other, darling. C-can I call you that? Since I'm your b-boyfriend now... Right?"

You didn't answer. He didn't give you a chance to. Another peck was placed on your lips. Desperate tongue reaching to wet your lips while you cupped his face. Hands grabbing your wrists to ensure you keep them there. Determination ran through him; He was going to plead and plead until you finally gave in.

[muniimyg]

ੈ εつ‧₊˚° ♡ ༘ ctrl+alt+delete // jjk ༘ ♡ °˚₊‧ εつ ੈ*

25 // next // series m. list

note: the reveal !

warnings: kissing, grinding, missionary, ummm.. one leg on headboard position idk, doggy, and riding ! dirty talk (daddy, fanboy, fucktoy, whore, etc) idk what else but that's the vibe ! enj <3

//

the past month with jungkook has been nothing short of fun and comfort. all you’ve felt with him is this kind of warmth that sneaks up on you when you least expect it.

jungkook is playful in ways that make your stomach ache from laughter and patient in ways that make your heart swell. he’s always giving in, always biting into you—whether it’s your words, your antics, or the way you press your fingers into his jaw when he teases you too much. he’s funny and charming in ways that are overbearing—smothering—if it weren’t for the fact that you love every second of it. 

and god… 

it’s been so hard not to slip out the words. 

you love him. 

it’s only been a month, but what the fuck does time has to do with the kind of certainty he makes you feel? the kind of love he makes you believe in? 

because this is… this is it. this is love. there is nothing else it could be. 

jungkoook is a gentleman in ways you never expected. 

not just in the hold-the-door-open-for-you way, but in the way he holds it open for the people behind you, too. to him, it’s second nature. it’s the same way it’s second nature for him to shrug off his hoodie and tug it over your shoulders before you even realize you’re cold. it’s in the way he loves everything you are, everything you wear, but still, when you lean in to take a bite of food, his hand finds your chest, shielding you from prying eyes like it’s instinct.

“baby,” you laugh, mid-bite, muffled. “you don’t have to do that.”

he just shrugs, nonchalant. “they don’t deserve the view.”

even at the movies, as he walks behind you, it’s the way his hand is placed at your lower back, guiding and protective. in crowded spaces, he pulls you into his side and tucks you against him like a secret. at dinners, he doesn’t just push your chair in—he makes sure your drink is within reach, makes sure you get the first bite of his food before he even digs into his own.

it’s so strange. 

to feel such passion for someone in a short amount of time—but who are you to reject such goodness? such satisfaction? 

so you don’t. 

for the past month, you have let yourself be loved the way you deserve to be. for the past month, you have been loving him the way he deserves to be loved… except, through sex. 

oh god. 

sex. 

you haven’t had sex with anyone since your ex-boyfriend. it’s always just been you and your vibrators… so, when you met jungkook—fuck. 

you were excited. 

but after the first time you met and he didn’t kiss you… you had a gut feeling sex with him would take time. which is fine. he’s a loser anyway, what did you expect? 

but time (and ovulation) catches up. your lips want to kiss something that isn’t his lips. in fact, you want his lips to be kissing your lips—the ones in between your legs. 

the frustration has been eating you up for days. so, you give in to your cravings at your one month mark. it was a joke—at least, it was meant to be one… instead, you find yourself scrambling through your closet for lingerie you think he’ll like best. 

you choose black. 

simple, classy, and sexy. perfect for him. 

once you get yourself dressed, you put on a silk robe and spray your favourite perfume. you touch up your make-up (yes, we’re wearing makeup and sweating it off) and eagerly wait for him. for a moment, you stare at yourself in the mirror and tilt your head. 

wow, you’re so pretty. 

you hope he lasts longer than 5 minutes—

just then, there’s a knock on the door

hurriedly, you let out a little squeal before heading to the front door. 

as you open the door, you find jungkook standing there, a cake box balanced in one hand, the other shoved into the pocket of his hoodie. his hair is a mess—like he’s been running his fingers through it over and over, the way he always does when he’s nervous. but the smirk tugging at his lips betrays him.

without a word, he lifts the lid of the box, revealing the cake inside. in bright, obnoxious frosting, the words;

best dick ever 

… stare back at you.

you blink. 

then snort. 

then burst into laughter, covering your mouth with your hand. 

“aren’t you getting ahead of yourself?”

“oh… right. sorry,” he says, feigning innocence as he tilts his head. “should i make it up to you?”

you narrow your eyes. “yeah.”

his brows lift, playful. “yeah? like how?”

you don’t answer. instead, you grab a fistful of his hoodie and pull him in, catching his mouth in a kiss. he hums against your lips, the corners of his mouth quirking up. mid-kiss, he murmurs, “happy one month, baby.”

you laugh into him, harder this time, shaking your head as your arms slip around his neck. and when he tugs at the knot of your robe, letting it slip from your shoulders, he throws his head back with a groan—boyish, excited, so very him.

“fuck,” he grins, placing the cake down on the coffee table without looking, hands already reaching for you. but you’re already a step ahead, fisting his hoodie again, tugging him toward your room.

he follows without hesitation.

 the hottest thing anyone can do is want you.

like, all of you. 

jungkook is sure to do just that. 

the minute jungkook steps into your bedroom, he tugs his hoodie over his head, tossing it somewhere behind him without a second thought. his hands move to his pocket, pulling out his phone. at first, you think he’s checking something—maybe a text, maybe the time—but instead, he holds it up so you can see.

the screen goes black as he shuts it off.

for a second, you’re confused. he’s always on his phone, always checking something, scrolling absentmindedly even in the middle of conversations. but then, it clicks.

jungkook wants all of you.

this isn’t about notifications ruining the mood, not about avoiding distractions or the buzz of the outside world. it’s a quiet declaration—he doesn’t need a screen, doesn’t need to record, doesn’t need anything but this. he doesn’t need proof. 

he just needs you.

his eyes flicker up to meet yours, searching, waiting.

your chest tightens, warmth blooming in your stomach. you swallow, stepping closer, fingers skimming over his wrist before you take the phone from his hand, placing it on your nightstand.

“just us?” you murmur.

his lips twitch. 

“just us.”

and then he’s kissing you, slow and deep, like he’s savoring the moment already. like he’s making sure you feel it, too.

for someone who has been salivating, craving, and whining for his dick—you sure have a funny way of showing him just how bad you want it. 

as jungkook’s toned and slightly sweaty body towers of you, you bite your lip and watch the way his chain dangles above. you’re sweating a bit, a little overstimulated from the way he just finished eating you out. 

of course, he edged you. he didn’t let you finish on his tongue, but you were so fucking close. your pussy is currently throbbing and so sore from the agonizing pain of clenching. 

jungkook smirks, watching you regulate your breathing. you aren’t panting or anything, but he can tell you’re trying to play it cool. he leans in, kissing your lips ever so slightly. 

“it’s okay to cum.”

“says you.”

he chuckles and mocks you. “says you.”

“shut up and put it in.”

jungkook raises a brow at you. “i’d watch your mouth if i were you.”

“why’s that, daddy? am i being naughty? we’re not even doing this raw. if anything, i’m not being naughty enough.”

he rolls his eyes. 

“you and your fucking attitude.” 

“what attitude?”

“shut up.”

“you shut up—oh…”

jungkook holds his length and glides it around your entrance. you feel his head enter for a millisecond before he uses his hard cock to split through your wet folds. he hums, taking the feeling in. you let out little whimpers, needy and ever so lewd.

it’s music to his ears. in fact, it’s his favourite melody. 

“gonna put it in,” jungkook prepares you. “okay, baby?”

“o-okay,” you breathe. “mhmmmm…”

then, jungkook hisses. 

he feels himself harden even more as he pushes himself inside you. your cunt is so fucking tight, it sends shivers throughout his body. you’re so warm and so fucking pretty as he watches the way you shift, adjusting to his size. you roll your shoulders back, your chin is slightly tilted as you whimper his name. 

“jungkook…”

“mhmm?” 

he moves in more, and then entirely. jungkook buries his long, hard, thick, and veiny cock inside you. it slips in easily, all thanks to your precious wetness. jungkook shifts his position, lowering his body more and places kisses around your neck to your ear. 

for a moment, he blanks. 

this is all he has ever wanted. he wanted to wait for a month because of everything you were dealing with but also because… he knew it would be worth the wait. the tension, the built connection, and the yearning… oh god, does this feel so fucking good. 

to put it into perspective; you’re home and he’s been homesick. 

“nghhh… jungkook?”

“yes, baby?”

“can you put it in?”

jungkook’s eyes shoot up at you. 

his pleasurable expression changes into a death glare. 

instantly, you throw your head back and laugh. you mumble an apology and cup his cheeks to kiss him. he bites your bottom lip as he pulls away. pouting, he huffs at you. 

“that wasn’t funny.”

“it was so funny.”

“you’re the worst, actually.”

“i know,” you agree. “i’m sorry. you’re actually really big.”

his glare stills. 

“how big?”

you sigh and give in to what he’s leading you to. 

“you’re too big daddy,” you begin to praise him. “never felt cock like this. feel you in my guts… god, are you gonna rearrange them? gonna slut me out? bet watching me all this time made you so horny. did i make you horny? was waiting out one month worth it? do i feel good, baby? how does your giant monster cock feel good inside me? or… are you just gonna be a little bitch and make me do all the work? make me fuck you like the good little fanboy you are?”

“not a fucking fanboy.”

“but you are my stupid fanboy… you must’ve loved watching me get myself off. how does it feel, daddy? how does it feel to fuck the pussy you’ve been dreaming of?”

jungkook moans in response. 

“so good..”

“how good?”

“too good…”

he places one forearm down beside you as the other reaches for your breasts. squeezing it, he begins to thrust in and out of you. 

“ohhh.. oh my god… yes, yes, yes! y-yeah, that’s it…” you moan. “just like that, daddy… fucking me so gently… come on, daddy—i know i’m your favourite toy. use me, okay? promise to use me like a little bitch?”

jungkook hisses through his teeth. 

“don’t talk about yourself like that, baby. you know how much i—”

“how much you… what?”

love you. 

“how much i… god, you’re so pretty. have you always been this pretty? feel like you got prettier.” 

with that, he fucks you harder and faster. the switch-up is so crazy that you hit your head on your headboard. 

“shit, you okay?”

you can’t help but laugh. 

“i’m fine,” you reassure him. “come on, daddy… keep going.” 

as he fucks you, your breasts move in unison and he can’t help but drool at the sight. for a split second, you feel him tremble. 

it’s like he’s about to give in. 

so, you do the only logical thing you can. 

you gasp, eyes widening, mouth hanging open in exaggerated shock. then, slowly—dramatically—you stick your arm out, turning your thumb downward like you’ve just witnessed the most tragic disappointment of your life.

“boooooo!” 

“w-what the fuck?” jungkook rolls his eyes. 

without hesitation, he roughly places his hand over your neck. tightening his grip, he fucks you harder. you gasp for air and roll your eyes back. 

you take the feeling it. 

how rough and fast he’s pumping himself inside you. how you feel yourself climaxing soon… how wet you are and how it’s spilling into your sheets. how his dick feels inside you—like it belongs inside you. 

the curve of his tip hits specific spots inside you that has never been reached before. his length, girth, and motion compliment each other—making him fucking you easily your favourite feeling in the world. 

perhaps, he was right about waiting for a month. 

the yearning and tension makes all of this feel a million times more worth it. 

“nghhh,” you croak. “yes, yes yes… that’s it, daddy… f-fuck me harder! fuck me so hard!”

“you want me to fuck you harder, baby?” 

“mhmm. fuck me so good, please… wanna more.”

jungkook nods and takes his hand off of your throat. he lets you catch your breath before he pulls himself out of you. jungkook places his hands on your waist and pulls you down. without hesitation, he kneels and lifts you. both of your ears ring from how fast your hearts are beating as he takes one and places it on the headboard and leaves the other on the mattress. 

“look down,” jungkook spits. 

obediently, you do. 

he hisses, jerks himself off, and then shoves his cock inside you. 

you watch as his balls smack into your ass. you watch as he moves his hips, dragging his dick in and out of you. you hear the sound of your wet pussy, sucking his length as he pulls out. before you know it, jungkook is smacking your ass. you see his hand flying to your cheeks and you let out a whimper as his palms make contact with your ass. 

“nghh…. feels so—”

“you wanna be treated like a fucking whore? look at your pussy right now. look at how much it needs my stupid cock. do you see it, baby? do you see how desperate your pussy needs my cock?”

“yeah,” you choke out a sob. “need you so much… my pussy is yours, daddy. so fucking yours—ahh! oh my god, oh my god—j-jungkook!”

he grabs a handful of your hair and pulls you back up. roughly, he tugs your hair and kisses you. you let out a moan as he takes your leg off your headboard and brings you to the edge of your bed. naturally, you get on all fours and arch your back. he gets off the bed and stands behind you. he licks his fingers and explores your folds before placing his dick back inside. 

as expected, he fucks you like an absolute dog. 

“this is what you wanted, right?”

“m-mhmm,” you moan. “so good. you fuck me so good, daddy..”

“that’s right, baby… only me. god, your ass is so pretty. your tits are so perfect. you’re so… holy fuck, you’re my dream girl.”

“yeah?” you blush, fighting the urge to cum. 

“yeah,” jungkook whimpers. “my dream girl.”

with that, he pulls himself out. you crawl back to the middle of your bed and wait for him to join you. when he does, he crashes his lips onto yours and gives you this deep and passionate kiss. like he’s never kissed you before… it feels so new. 

without exchanging words, you grab him by his shoulders and have him lie down. you get on top and begin to grind on him. jungkook watches with his brows knitted together and his throat dries as you hump his cock. then, he loses it when you lift your hips and take a hold of his cock. 

“can we… can i?”

jungkook nods. 

no hesitation.

not a thought behind his doe eyes.

nothing. 

of course, he’d do it raw with you. 

anything you want. 

with loving eyes, jungkook watches as you peel the condom off his angry cock. you twist the plastic around your fingers and gather it all up before dangling it in front of him. 

“you have to cum inside me.”

“okay.”

“promise?”

“promise.”

happily, you toss the condom to the side and giggle.

planting your legs on either side of him, you sit on top of his raw cock and rub yourself on it. you move your hips up and down, taking the feeling of how the curves of his dick feel against your swollen pussy. jungkook watches his dick’s tip grow angrier and angrier. 

and just when he feels like it’s about to explore—

“ohhh,” you shiver as you sink into his cock. “holy shit…”

jungkook lets out a relieved moan. you hum as he throws his head back and shuts his eyes. you feel him harden even more inside of you. as a reaction, your walls tighten. 

“feel so good, baby…”

“yeah? open your eyes, daddy… don’t you wanna watch me fuck you?”

jungkook doesn’t know if he’ll last if he sees this. if he watches your tits bounce or if he watches the way your pussy eats his dick up… he can’t. he’s not strong enough. 

“might cum if i do.”

you laugh and hit his chest. 

“okay… cum then.” 

suddenly, you grab his hand and place it on your breast.

jungkook lifts his head and opens his eyes. he watches as you bounce on his dick shamelessly. you throw your head back. your hips move fast and slow—dragging the consuming feeling of climaxing out. 

then, jungkook feels his hips about to buck. 

“___,” he huffs. “gonna cum…’

“me too,” you pant.

jungkook winces, feeling his toes curl. he feels like he’s just been hit by lightening as this sense of electricity rushes throughout his body. jungkook cums inside you, spilling as you continue to ride him. 

shortly after, you cum. 

then, you get off him.

you fit yourself into jungkook’s arms without a second thought, tucking yourself against his chest like you belong there—because you do. his warmth wraps around you instantly, familiar and safe, and he presses a kiss to your lips, then your forehead, lingering just long enough to make your heart stutter.

then, he murmurs, “so… best dick ever?”

you groan, smacking his chest, but you’re already laughing. you’re already pulling him in for another kiss. he’s already kissing you back. 

“best dick ever.”

the room is quiet. 

your breathing is even, soft against the pillow, completely knocked out. jungkook lays there for a moment, staring at the ceiling before sighing, pushing the covers off. he’s thirsty.

jungkook rubs a hand over his face as he makes his way to the kitchen, feet padding softly against the floor. he’s thirsty.

but when he gets there, he stops.

hoseok is at the sink, sleeves rolled up, hands submerged in soapy water. his hair is slightly damp, like he’s just gotten home and taken a quick shower. the fridge door is still cracked open from when he shoved the cake inside.

jungkook leans against the counter, watching him. "you just get back?"

hoseok doesn’t look up. 

"yeah. figured i’d clean up a bit."

jungkook hums, grabbing a glass. he watches as hoseok rinses a plate, setting it neatly in the drying rack. his movements are methodical, familiar.

"you always do this?" jungkook asks, filling his glass with water. “wash dishes at 3am?”

hoseok shrugs. "she’s sensitive to smell. hates waking up to dirty dishes."

there’s something about the way he says it, like he’s done this a thousand times before, like it’s second nature. jungkook doesn’t like the way that sits in his chest.

jungkook takes a sip of water, trying to figure out the vibe right now. he’s never really had any issues with hoseok before but for some reason… right now… something feels off. 

hoseok finishes up, wiping his hands on a towel before tossing it onto the counter.

"you should get some sleep," he says, already heading towards his room.

jungkook swallows the last of his water. "i’ll wash my cup."

hoseok raises a brow. "you don’t have to."

"i want to."

there’s a brief pause before hoseok nods, drying his hands one last time before disappearing down the hall. jungkook turns back to the sink, rinsing out his cup. then, just as he reaches for the faucet, something buzzes.

he glances over. hoseok’s phone, left carelessly on the counter, screen lighting up with a notification.

jungkook shouldn’t look. he knows that.

but he does anyway.

@ donotdisturb: hobi idc if you gave me the video ffs @ donotdisturb: u gave that to me all on ur own. i never asked for that shit. i tweeted it, but u supplied it. get that thru ur fucking head. it’s ur fault.  @ donotdisturb: u’ve stalled her enough. she’s pushing thru with the fucking lawsuit thanks to that fucking jungkook guy. do u get that?  @ donotdisturb: i’m getting sued and it’s all ur fault @ donotdisturb: shit, what kind of a best friend are u to her anyway? going thru her shit and stealing her fucking sex tape to send to a hater like me when the gag is that u’re her biggest hater. what is that?  @ donotdisturb: thought u liked her lol. turns out u’re the worst wannabe boyfriend  @ donotdisturb: stop the lawsuit or send me fucking money to pay the settlement. this is ur last warning before i expose u. 

jungkook freezes as he reads the notifications. 

his grip tightens around the cup. his jaw clenches. the words sit heavy in his stomach, stirring something ugly.

before he can think, before he can stop himself, he picks up the phone and storms down the hall, shoving open hoseok’s door without knocking.

hoseok barely has time to react before jungkook is in his face, voice sharp. 

"what the fuck did you do?"

hoseok freezes for half a second, then instantly goes on the defensive. "who the fuck do you think you are barging into my room like this?" he snaps. "why do you have my fucking phone? give me that—”

“it was you.”

“what the fuck are you on? holy shit, you’re so fucking irritating, you know that? i get you’re her boyfriend, but this is my fucking room, that’s my fucking phone, and she’s my fucking best friend—"

"that’s all she is to you," jungkook bites. "right?"

silence.

before hoseok can even open his mouth to say anything, you appear in the doorway, rubbing sleep from your eyes. you don’t even think twice before stepping into jungkook’s side, arms looping around his waist as you nuzzle into him.

"why are you guys so loud?" you mumble, half awake. "what’s going on?"

jungkook doesn’t look away from hoseok. yet, his arm tightens around you.

“___…” hoseok begins. “jungkook… it’s late. we can talk about this tomorrow—”

“no,” jungkook spits. “explain yourself now.”

hoseok steps forward, attempting to grab his phone. jungkook doesn’t move back. instead, he offers the phone to you. 

you stare at it blankly. 

with worried eyes, hoseok shakes his head. “please, jungkook. i’m begging you. don’t—”

“tell her," jungkook deadpans. his tone is steady and leaves no room for argument. he means it with all his heart when he threatens hoseok; "right now… tell her or i will."

[sunsburns]

clark kent, who just loves to stare at you (18+)

he just thinks you’re so pretty. a view worth risking everything for.

and you think he’s pretty too—especially like this. his lashes flutter, eyes lidded but never closing, even as they well up, clouded with heat and desperation. his brows knit together, a deep crease forming between them, like he’s struggling to make sense of the pleasure, to keep himself tethered when all he really wants is to fall apart for you. his lips part on soft, shuddering moans, the kind he doesn’t bother holding back, doesn’t want to—he wants you to hear him, to know exactly what you’re doing to him.

his fingers thread into your hair, holding you there, tugging just a little whenever you take him deeper. you can feel the tension in his grip, the barely-there restraint as he fights the urge to pull you down, to chase the wet heat of your mouth. and then—

he whimpers.

a grown man, six-foot-whatever, broad and powerful in every sense of the word, whimpers at the sight of you gagging around his cock. and fuck, it makes something in you tighten, makes heat pool low in your stomach. you let him slip from your mouth, just enough to catch your breath, and watch how his eyes go wide, unfocused, his chest rising and falling like he’s forgetting how to breathe. you press a kiss to the flushed, sensitive tip, slow and deliberate, and he shudders—actually shudders—his grip tightening in your hair.

your lips trail down, tracing every thick vein along his length, your tongue flicking out to taste him before you work your way back up. never breaking eye contact. never letting him look away.

shit, you’re so pretty like this. he doesn’t want to look away.

and you don’t want him to, either. but you do love those fleeting moments when the pleasure overtakes him—when his head tips back suddenly, baring the length of his neck and throat, every muscle tensing under his flushed skin. you see the mess of bruises you’d left there, dark and blooming against his fair complexion. his jaw clenches, stomach going tight as his hips jerk forward, uncontrolled, needy.

yeah, you love to see him like that. that split-second loss of control before he drags his head back down again, like he physically can’t stand not looking at you.

there’s a tear slipping down his cheek now, his glasses fogged and slipping down his nose. his bottom lip trembles, wet and kiss-swollen, and then he’s muttering your name, voice thick with devotion and wrecked with pleasure. soft, sweet nothings spill from his mouth, each one punctuated by a moan, a whimper, a stuttered plea—

and then, breathless, ruined, he warns you he’s close.

[secretidentie]

Bruce: Oh shit

Clark: What's wrong

Bruce: I've only got a month til my birthday and I forgot to "accidentally" drop hints for gift ideas my kids could get me

Clark: You don't think the kids can find you a good gift? I'm sure you don't need to worry

Bruce: Oh I do. When I don't drop hints they start making "educated guesses"

Clark: That doesn't sound so bad

Bruce: Last time I was busy with a case that whole week so instead of a cake, Jason brought me the severed head of the guy I was looking for.

Clark:

Bruce: Another time Damian offered to go on a quest to "avenge" me for something. Literally anything. He tried to fight a pizza guy for messing up my order

Clark: that's....

Bruce: And I don't even want to talk about what Tim did

Clark: WHAT DO YOU MEAN--

Bruce: Look that doesn't matter right now

Clark: I'D ARGUE THAT IT MATTERS ALOT

Bruce: --what matters is how I'm going to convince them for the 3rd year in a row that I have a deep unfulfilled yearning for coffee mugs. And then I need to update my birthday mug spreadsheet

Clark: everything I learn about your family makes me glad they're on our side

[traveler-at-heart]

Sister, wife?

Summary: The team mistakes you for Natasha's sister when you first meet.

Request by @lynattyx

Loki again.

Thor seemed more annoyed than anyone else, but that was only logical. He had spent centuries putting up with his brother.

“Hey, don’t sweat it. Siblings can be a pain” Natasha tried to comfort him, while he looked ready to release a storm over Loki outsmarting him and escaping.

“Speaking from experience, Red?” Stark asked with a curious stare.

“Got a sister” Natasha shrugged her shoulders, looking out the window of the Quinjet as if she hadn’t said anything interesting.

“Really? What’s her name?” Steve said, intrigued.

“I won’t tell you, because if I say it three times you’ll summon her. That’s a reference from…”

“Yeah, I got it” Steve nodded. “I didn’t really like that Beetlejuice”

“That’s because you hate fun” Tony said, stepping forward. “Alright, we have a signal. Anyone up for a cigar? Loki’s close to Cuba”

—

“Lay low. That’s pretty much all you can do now” Maria said with a somber tone over the comms.

Loki had gone a little too far this time, almost getting half of Havana blown up.

Needless to say, the US wasn’t happy with the diplomatic mess the Avengers had created. Maybe that was Loki’s plan all along; make it impossible for them to go after him with the American government on their backs.

Well, he got what he wished for.

“I don’t suppose we can go to the Compound, then” Tony mumbled. “Barton, Red? Any ideas?”

“Coordinates are set. We’ll be there in a few hours. Try to get some sleep. All of you”

No one was in the mood to ask questions. If Natasha said it was a safe place, then they’d take her word for it and be done with the matter.

“You sure about this?” Clint said, looking at her from the copilot seat.

“Yeah. She’ll just give me a hard time for not telling her in advance. You know how she likes to have everything extra clean when there are guests”

“How did you manage to score such a gal?” he joked and Natasha glared at him.

“Hey, I’m a catch. My mac and cheese is delicious”

“Whatever you say, Tasha”

—

The Quinjet landed, and the only way you could tell was by the tree branches moving with a sudden gust of wind.

“Hey” Natasha said with a coy smile, going up the steps as the rest of the team got off the jet, looking around curiously.

“Welcome home” you pulled her into a hug. “Should have told me they were coming, and I could have cleaned up a bit”

“I missed you too” she joked against your ear, and as she was about to lean and kiss you, Tony interrupted the moment.

“Hey, Romanoff and Romanoff”

“You must be Tony. I’ve heard a lot about you”

“Have you? Because Natasha here didn’t tell us much about you”

“She was probably worried about you running your mouth” you joked, making him smirk.

“You have heard about me”

As Steve walked in, Natasha waited for Clint to show him something she wanted to fix in the garage.

The house was big and in the middle of a little wooded area.

“You’re gonna have to share rooms. And someone will sleep on the couch” you warned them.

“Not it” Tony said, as you pulled out a pillow and a blanket from the closet.

“I’ll take the couch” Steve offered, which of course he did. “Thank you…”

“Y/N” you nodded, waiting for Tony to follow you.

“Barton? Thor?” he looked around.

“Oh, Clint’s probably scolding Natasha because she didn’t fix the ceiling like he told her to” you laughed. “Thor flew away like thirty seconds after landing. And burned part of my lawn in the process”

“So sorry about that. It’s quite the thing to hang out with these brutes. So, uh, what do you do?”

“I’m a Psychiatrist” you answered, opening the door to the guest room.

“Get to see Natasha a lot?”

“Not as much as I’d like”

“Come by the Compound anytime you like. I’ll send you a pass or shall I just say your name three times?”

“What?” you tilted your head in confusion.

“Nothing. Thanks for letting us crash” he rubbed his neck.

“Sure. Get some rest”

You ran into Clint as he went upstairs, knowing his way around the house.

“She’s outside”

“Is she… is she ok?” you said, sighing. It was one thing to see it in the news, and another one to know she was out there risking her life against literal Gods and aliens.

“Just tired” he assured you. “Seeing you will help. Have a good night”

“You too. Sorry to say you’re sharing a room with Tony”

“Ah, jeez” he groaned, making you laugh.

Steve was lying in the couch, restless. He waved at you shyly as you walked out, knowing Natasha was waiting in the porch.

Honestly? They were a nice bunch.

“Hey” you said, stepping out.

“Hi, detka”

“You ok?” you said, leaning your chin against her shoulder, with your arms around her waist.

“Just tired”

“Funny, that’s exactly what Clint said”

Natasha chuckled at that, squeezing your hands.

“He knows me”

“I know you better”

“Do you, now?” she turned around, quirking up an eyebrow and smiling at you. “So, what do you think I want right now?”

“Cuddles with your wife and then tomorrow morning I think you’ll be in the mood for blueberry pancakes and hot cocoa”

“Damn, you do know me well” she laughed, kissing your temple. “Come on, let’s go to bed”

—

You were up next morning, and unsurprisingly, Steve had already been out and running a good ten miles.

“The rest?” he said after greeting you.

“Clint got up early to fix what Natasha broke trying to fix the other thing that broke, God bless his soul. Tony’s asleep and so is Nat”

“Really? Even Romanoff? She’s up at break of dawn”

“Nah, not when she’s home. Now clean yourself up, breakfast is almost done”

“Yes, Ma’am”

Natasha was the first one down, as your room had a private bathroom. By the sounds from upstairs, you suspected the boys were arguing over who go to use the other restroom first.

“Hear that sound? Children. Ready for all that?” Natasha said.

“Yeah, but ours will be cute. And we’ll make Clint build another bathroom” you said, getting a pancake out of the pan.

“You’re so smart, that’s why I love you”

“Only that?” you said, laughing as you felt her hands go around your waist.

“Among other things”

You turned around to protest, but her lips stopped you from saying anything.

“I did miss this” she said, pulling you closer to deepen the kiss. You moaned against her mouth, forgetting there were more people in the house until you heard Tony slam the door to the bathroom. Natasha went to get some coffee, and you wished she’d kept kissing you.

But the teasing would be endless if they caught you in the middle of it.

“Bathroom's all yours, Cap! Morning, Romanoffs”

“Morning, Tony” you said. “Help yourself to some pancakes and coffee”

“Delicious, thank you”

Steve came down a few minutes later, at the same time Clint walked in, announcing that he had fixed the thing.

“You’re a hero” you said, grateful. “Don’t worry, darling, you’ll get it right next time” you added as Natasha pouted.

“Mean”

“It comes with the territory, doesn’t it?” Tony said. “Including all the hair pulling and slapping and fighting for bras”

“Ah, what?” you said, confused.

“Hey, don’t speak to my wife that way, asshole” Natasha slapped the back of his head, making him choke on his coffee.

“Did you just say wife?” he turned to look between the two of you.

“Yes, Y/N is my wife. Who did you think she was?”

“The maid?” you joked.

“The sister!” Tony looked at Steve for backup.

“Well, to be fair… yeah”

“My sister’s name is Yelena” Natasha said, massaging her temples. “Y/N and I have been married for almost two years now. And I didn’t want you to know because you’ll be insufferable about it”

“Babe, they’ve been good so far” you chuckled, squeezing her hand.

“We can behave, honey boo” Tony said.

“Ok, yeah. I get it now” you rolled your eyes.

“Either way, you’re coming to our party” Tony said, poruing himself more coffee.

“When is it?”

“Whenever we get our hands on that Asgardian bastard”

“Language” you said at the same time as Steve.

“This is gonna be fun” Tony laughed, looking at you over his cup of coffee. “Welcome to the family, Mrs. Romanoff”

[mariasont]

hey girlie, first of all absolutely adore all of your hotchie fics no one writes him as well as you do!! second of all i am dying to read bimbo!assistant! x hotch smuuuutt (only if ur comfortable, pls ignore if not!!) i feel like that would be the only time hotch would have her completely and utterly speechless (idk why but i literally cannot get hotch w a breeding kink out of my goddamn mind!!!!!!) anyways hope ur having a fab day, and thank u for feeding us over the last few days 😘

Space Between Distraction & Indulgence - A.H

summary: bimbo!assistant!reader want’s aaron’s attention. aaron wants to finish his case notes. too bad for him, you always get what you want

masterlist

pairings: aaron hotchner x bimbo!assistant!reader

warnings: 18+ MDNI, explicit stuff going on here, fingering, p in v, no condom (bc we trust hotch is responsible but you shouldn’t be), dirty talk, hotch is a boob man sorry not sorry, after care with a side of psychoanalysis bc he can’t help himself

wc: 6k (got a little carried away my b)

a/n: thank u sm for requesting ugh!!!! u all r going to give me a god complex if you keep talking about how i write hotch LOLOL i love u sm hope u like the fic!!

Saturdays with Aaron had a way of making time feel like something slippery and golden, something you could almost touch before it vanished between your fingers. The mornings stretched long and languid, a lazy kind of indulgence that should have felt endless, but somehow, with him, it never was.

You woke up late. Very late. The kind of late that made you blink at the clock in mild disbelief before flopping back against the pillows. And then there was the warmth. Not just the heat of the blankets, but something deeper, something winding low in your belly.

Oh. Right. The dream. You swallowed, biting your lip as if that might make the memory dissipate. It wasn't outright filthy, but it had been suggestive enough. Annoying. Frustrating. Embarrassing. It was the kind of thing that made you wish Aaron was still in bed.

He wasn't, of course. That would require Aaron Hotchner to do something reckless and irresponsible, like relax. If he wasn't keeping the country from total collapse, he was finding something equally as urgent to fix, probably buried in reports right now, coffee in hand, eyes scanning the page like national security depended on it. And maybe it did. You didn't know.

What you did know was that you'd been circling him all afternoon, orbiting like some needy little planet trapped in his gravitational pull, and he still hadn't acknowledged you. A small part of you—one you didn't want to name—had hoped he'd notice you by now. That he'd glance up, see you, reach for you. But he hadn't. And that was okay. Really. You weren't needy. You weren't desperate.

But you noticed him. You always noticed him. And this version of him, the weekend version, was particularly hard to ignore. The casual clothes, casual for him, anyway, stomped all over your ability to think straight (not that you had much to concentrate on in the first place).

The grey crewneck he had on stretched across his shoulders, molding to the shape of him like it had been made for him. His jeans, worn in all the right places, settled on his hips in a way that made you feel like a pervert just by looking.

Even his hair had you practically drooling. Not messy, of course—Aaron Hotchner didn't do messy—but it was softer than usual, a little mussed, like he'd dragged his fingers through it one too many times without bothering to fix it.

It made him look almost touchable, like someone who should have been stretched out next to you on the couch, letting you mess it up even more, not hunched over a pile of paperwork like the case files were going to disappear if he blinked.

His forearms flexed every time he turned a page, his muscles shifting subtly every time he moved. You didn't even realize how blatantly you were staring until his fingers skimmed up to his jaw, scratching absently at the stubble there. Because now all you could think about was how it would feel under your fingertips, under your lips, under—okay. Enough.

The magazine in your lap was technically open, fingers flipping through glossy pages filled with designer gowns and scandalous headlines. Normally, you'd be all over it, sipping coffee as you devoured the who wore what and who was caught with who. But today, you weren't really reading, you were just holding it, turning pages for the sake of it. Something to occupy your hands while you definitely didn't stare at Aaron.

He had started keeping these around after you mentioned, offhandedly, how much you loved them. You hadn't even meant it as a suggestion, but the next time you visited, there it was—sitting on the coffee table like it had always been there.

He hadn't spared you so much as a glance since you walked in—not even when you'd practically drifted past his desk, close enough that he should've felt you there. He had mumbled a good morning, sure, but his eyes never left the page, his attention locked onto whatever was in that file.

You sigh—loudly. Pointedly. The kind of exaggerated little huff that normally earns you at least a glance, maybe even a what's the matter, sweetheart?  There was no reaction today. He just flipped another page, one hand smoothing over the text, the other tapping against the desk like you were completely invisible.

You toss the magazine onto the table—just a little too hard. Then you stretch out on the couch, shifting just enough that his button-down rides up, baring more of your thighs than should be considered decent. The air against your skin makes you hyperaware of what isn't there—only your favorite panties. The tiniest scrap of fabric between you and absolute obscenity. If he so much as glanced in your direction, he'd have the perfect view. But he doesn't.

You sigh again, softer this time, just enough to sound absentminded, like you're not trying to get his attention (even though you absolutely are). As you push yourself off the couch, you stretch a little, giving yourself an extra moment to watch him. You make your way toward him, steps slow, letting the hem of his shirt brush against the tops of your thighs as you move. His fingers flex against the page.

You settle against the edge of his desk, bracing yourself on your elbows, making a very intentional point of pressing your tits together. It's the kind of thing that should be subtle—just a natural consequence of your posture.

Months of Aaron have taught you more than just the way he takes his coffee or how he organizes his files. You've studied him—memorized him even. And one thing has become crystal clear:

He's absolutely a boob man.

You realized it gradually—the subtle stiffening of his posture whenever you leaned a little too close in the office, the way his fingers flexed when your blouse had just a bit too much give.

Then, when you started dating, it became even clearer. His hands never just grabbed—they claimed, like he was making up for all the times he couldn't touch.

His voice would go low, reverent, when he murmured, so pretty, sweetheart, his thumb brushing over your skin like he needed to feel it. And your bras—he had thoughts about those, much to your surprise. Which ones were his favorite. Which ones he hated because they got in the way.

But it wasn't until months later—when he had you spread out beneath him, his mouth hot and urgent against your skin—that he admitted it. His voice was rough, breathless, his grip tightening as he groaned, been trying so fucking hard not to look at these for years. And then, just to prove it, his mouth sealed over you like he had years to make up for.

"Do you need anything? Water? Coffee? Maybe lunch?"

His eyes lift—quick, practiced, almost indifferent.

Almost.

Because before they settle back down, they pause, just for a fraction of a second, right there. Right at the collar of his button-down, where the top buttons are hanging loose, where your skin is warm and soft and practically begging for attention.

But then, before you can revel in it, he's already looking back down. "No, I'm fine, sweetheart."

You bite your lip, actually contemplating throwing his stupid case file out the window. He's either knows what you're trying to accomplish and ignoring you on purpose or he's just that focused. You weren't sure which was worse.

You shove off the desk, but you don't step away. Instead, you step closer. Your hands find his shoulders first, sliding down to his chest as you lean into him, pressing against his back. The shift is immediate. He goes still, his spine going ramrod straight, like his brain has just caught up to what's happening.

Your shirt is paper-thin, your nipples are pressed right against him, and unless he's suddenly gone completely numb, he feels it.

You sink against him, letting your chin rest on his shoulder, breathing him in. Gods, he smells good. Clean, sharp, like something expensive.

You recognized it as the cologne you bought him. The one you picked, the one you dabbed on his wrist in the middle of a department store and grinned, telling him, This. This smells like you. This is the one.

Your fingers skim over his collar, your nails just barely catching against the heat of his skin.

"What are you working on?" You let the question drip from your lips, your voice all honey, sweet, but not innocent.

Aaron hums low in his throat. "Case notes."

"That's boring. Is there anything I can do to help? Your assistant is very willing to be of service."

His fingers pause and your stomach flips. But then, before you can savor it, he moves. His hand finds yours, slow, gentle, lifting it with patience. He presses a kiss to your knuckles, featherlight, frustratingly chaste, before setting your hand back down like you're some good little thing that's been successfully pacified. And then you catch it, the tiniest twitch of his lips.

"Thank you, honey, but I've got it under control."

You make a noise, half scoff, half petulant whine, and shift your chin against his shoulder, angling yourself just enough to shoot him a pointed glare. "You always say that. What's the point of having such a capable assistant if you're not going to use her?"

"Hmm. So that's what you want? For me to use you?"

"I don't know. Is that an option?"

Aaron's laugh is low, the kind that rumbles through his chest without much warning. It's never loud—it doesn't have to be—but it still manages to send your stomach into a ridiculous free-fall.

"There's just some stuff I need to finish up."

You groan, letting your forehead drop to his shoulder, arms squeezing around him like you can physically hold his attention. Like you can will it away from the pages in front of him and back to you where it belongs.

"Is that your way of telling me I just have to sit here and be patient?"

Aaron's pen doesn't pause. "Mhm."

You huff. "And you think I'll be able to do that?"

His answer is immediate. Too immediate.

"You've survived this long," he says, and you swear you can hear the smirk in his voice. "I think you'll manage."

"Fine," you say after a moment, stepping around the chair before sinking into his lap, giving him plenty of time to stop you, but he doesn't. He never does.

You shift until you're settled, one leg draped over his, chest brushing his. His breath stutters—just a little, just enough to tell you that he feels you. His fingers flex against the desk, pressing harder into the wood, tension rolling through his back as he goes perfectly still beneath you, like he's waiting to see what you'll do next.

"What are you doing?"

"Nothing," you hum, arms draping easily over his shoulders as you sink against him. Your cheek brushes his, lips just close enough that if he turned his head, just a little, you'd be right there. "You said you had to finish working. Don't let me stop you."

A slow inhale, a slight tilt of his head, then—his pen moves again, like nothing's changed. Like you haven't changed anything. You exhale against his skin, hiding your smirk in the crook of his neck, fingers idly tracing slow, featherlight circles along the nape of it. He's humoring you, and that's fine.

You let him pretend for a while, content to exist in the space between distraction and indulgence. You shift in his lap, weight pressing into his just enough.

His body reacts before he does, muscles tightening, his breath slowing like he's thinking too hard about not reacting.

"Sit still."

"I am still," you reply, the words light on your tongue, but the slow curve of your hips tells another story.

"Sweetheart."

You lean in, close enough that your noses brush, your forehead pressing to his as your lips part ever so slightly. "What? I'm not doing anything."

Aaron's breath comes out sharp, ragged, the sound scraping its way from his throat like he's been holding onto it for too long. His chest pushes against yours, every inhale pressing you closer, every exhale heating the space between you. He leans back, just enough to create the smallest sliver of distance.

You roll your hips again, slower this time, savoring the friction that sends a shudder through you, tightening every muscle in your body with anticipation. The feeling sparks through you, sharp and intoxicating, sending heat pooling in your stomach. His reaction was subtle, the shift of his jaw, his hand brushing against the desk, like he doesn't trust himself to touch you yet.

His gaze drops, heavy-lidded, to where your bodies fit together, the rise and fall of your breath syncing with his.

His hands land on your hips, thumbs pressing in, not enough to stop you, just enough to remind you he could if he wanted to. When his eyes meet yours again, there's no rush, no immediate reaction. You knew exactly what it meant and what usually followed, he was just waiting for the moment you tip the scales too far.

"Do you want to tell me what exactly it is you're trying to do?" he asks, his voice low, the kind of tone that makes you forget your own name for a second.

You push against him again, grinding just enough to feel the press of him, the heat of him, and god. His fingers dig in—tight—like he's trying to stop you, but you don't miss the way his breath catches, the way his grip falters for half a second. Your fingers curl into his shirt, and suddenly, you can't remember what your original plan was.

You shift forward, your body molding to his, your breath fanning against his skin as your lips brush his ear. Your teeth scrape, light, but not accidental.

"I'm just feel a little... overlooked." Your fingers tighten where they rest, nails digging in just enough to make sure he feels it. "Is it so bad that I want your attention?"

His grip tightens, harder this time, his fingers digging into your hips with a kind of warning you'd be stupid to ignore. The heat of his palms seeps through the thin fabric of his shirt, scorching into your skin like a brand.

"You have my attention." You don't believe him. Not really. You press your lips into a pout, brow furrowing just slightly. "But if you keep moving like that, I might now be so nice about it."

Your hips shift, an instinctive little squirm, testing to see if you can push past his hold. You can't. "I can't help it."

"You can't help it?" he repeats, almost thoughtful, like he's turning the idea over in his mind. "I think you can. You just don't want to."

You want to argue, you really do, but nothing comes out, only a sharp inhale that never quite makes it into words. Because he's right. He knows he's right.

The little noise that escapes your throat is purely instinctual, frustrated but breathy, like your body is already conceding before your mind catches up.

"I told you to stop," he murmurs, but the way it sinks into you, the way it wraps around your ribs like something stretched too tight, tells you exactly what kind of trouble you're in.

He mirrors you, crowding in, his breath skimming your ear. His palm presses into the small of your back, slotting you back into place. "But you don't listen, do you?"

You shake your head without even meaning to, the deafening roar of your pulse making it impossible to think clearly.

"No, you don't," he murmurs, his tone dipping lower, turning darker, more intimate. His hands flex as if to remind you of the control he holds. Then his lips graze your jaw, his breath fanning over your skin. "You push. You test the boundaries. And then you pretend to be shocked when I hold you to them."

His fingers slide down, dragging over your thigh with an almost excruciating slowness. He pauses to squeeze there.

"First, you sprawled out on the couch—" his thumb sweeps over your skin, "like you didn't know exactly how that would look."

Your breath stutters, catches, knots itself into something tangled and messy as his hand moves, sliding higher, pressing firmer, stopping just shy of where the ache blooms.

His eyes darken, the heat behind them smoldering with something deep, something that settles like fire in the pit of your stomach.

"Then you leaned over my desk, practically shoving these—" His hand moves before the words fully land, cupping the curve of your breast. His thumb rolls over your nipple. "—right in my face."

Your breath catches, your hips lifting, your thighs parting like you're meant to be touched. Like you need him there. But he doesn't give in. He just moves lower, slow and taunting, until his palm covers the heat between your legs, pressing lightly over the thin fabric of your panties.

His fingers flex, testing. Feeling.

"And now this," he murmurs, and gods, his voice, his voice, is like a razor wrapped in velvet, smooth and cutting all at once. "You squirm and pout like you don't know exactly what you're doing. But I know better, don't I?"

The words settle in your spine, and suddenly, you don't feel like you know what you're doing. Like you're the one pulling at a thread you don't quite understand, but it's already too late to stop. A shiver rolls through you, bone-deep, leaving your muscles lax, your body melting into his like you were always meant to be here.

"I'm sorry," you murmur so quietly, you're not even sure if he hears it. "I just... I wanted you to notice me."

Aaron's hum is low, deep, almost amused. His thumb finds your jaw, sweeping along the curve of it as he tilts your chin up, forcing you to meet his eyes.

"Oh, I noticed you. I always notice you. In fact, you're all I ever notice." His hand slips away from where you want it most. "But if this is the only way you know how to ask for my attention, sweetheart, then I think we have a problem."

Your grip on his shirt is useless, you're clinging to him, to anything, but he's the one in control. His hands settle on your hips, demanding, guiding you over the hard line of his cock, forcing you to take the friction, to feel every inch of him through the layers still between you.

The friction is blinding, sending heat licking up your spine, setting every nerve in your body on fire. Your legs tremble, a sharp, choked sound escaping before you can stop it, and you clutch at his shoulders, nails sinking deep into muscle as pleasure coils tight and insistent in your belly.

"Aaron," his name slips from your lips, high and uneven, like it costs something to say it. Your head bows, forehead pressing into his shoulder, hands trembling against his chest. "I wasn't trying to be bad. I just... I didn't know what else to do."

"No, sweetheart," he murmurs. "You didn't think, did you? And now look where that's gotten you."

His words should sting, but they don't, not when his hands are so gentle, smoothing down your spine like he's soothing something raw inside you. And then his voice, warm and promising, settles over you, "But I'll take care of you now."

And gods, you need him to. He's so hard, the thick length of him pressing against you through denim and cotton, teasing, tormenting. Everything burns—your skin, your stomach, that deep, pulsing ache between your thighs. Your head swims, feverish, your mind caught between more and please and I can't take this. But he knows. Of course, he knows.

"Do you feel that?"

"Yes."

"Good. If you want to keep going, you'll take care of it. Go ahead."

Your hands move with the kind of urgency that betrays just how badly you need this, need him. Your fingers trail down, brushing over the tight muscles of his stomach, and it's almost enough to make you dizzy, just touching him, just knowing what's waiting for you beneath layers of fabric.

The button of his jeans fumbles beneath your fingers before finally popping open. And then you're pulling him free. He's thick in your hand, burning hot against your palm, and something about that, about feeling him like this, for you, makes something feral sink its teeth into you.

And then he finds you.

His fingers slip under your panties, gliding through the obscene slickness there, and you don't mean to react so violently, don't mean to moan so loud, but it rips out of you before you can stop it.

"Oh, honey," Aaron murmurs, almost thoughtful, like he's just now realizing the full extent of your undoing. "I didn't realize you'd gotten this worked up."

Like it's an observation. Like it's fascinating.

His fingers push, stretching you open, teasing just the right spot, and you jerk against him with a sharp, strangled moan. Your grip around him tightens, your strokes turning sloppy, uneven, desperate.

"Aaron—" His name tumbles out high and needy, your head tipping back, eyes fluttering shut.

"I didn't mean to—" Your voice shakes, a hitched little gasp tangled between syllables. "I just—" Your breath stutters, heat climbing, overwhelming. "I didn't know what to do."

"You don't have to know what to do." His fingers slow just enough to let you catch his breath as he murmurs. "You just have to let me take over. That's what you wanted, wasn't it?"

Your nod is frantic, almost mindless, as his words echo in your ears.

"Please." It falls from your lips like a confession, like you'd say anything if it means he'll give you what you want.

His fingers thrust deeper, and the shock of it rips a gasp from your lips, straight into his kiss. It's messy, frantic, all clashing mouths and stolen air, your breaths coming too fast to match his, like you're afraid if you let him go for even a second, he'll pull away.

Your grip on him tightens without thinking, your fingers flexing around his cock, but the sensation barely registers now, drowned out by the wetness pooling between your thighs, the slick drag of his fingers against your walls.

You can't keep up. You're chasing something that feels just out of reach, your hands leaving his cock, fumbling for something solid, something real. They find his face, fingertips brushing over the rough stubble of his jaw, trying to find yourself in him, in the way he's ruining you.

You kiss him like you can tell him everything that way, like he might understand the ache better through lips and tongues and the way your body trembles under his hands.

And then—he stops. His fingers slip free, and the sound you make is a whine, a protest, your hips tilting, seeking, trying to drag him back in. But he doesn't move, doesn't give you what you need, just smirks against your lips like he enjoys watching you squirm.

"You're so impatient," he murmurs against your lips.

But before you can protest, before you can tell him that yes, yes, you am impatient, please just give it to me, his hands tighten on your hips. And then—oh.

He lifts you, positioning you just right, and then, lowers you down.

The head of his cock pushes inside, and your breath catches, lips parting in a broken gasp. The stretch is devastating, inch by inch forcing your body to open, to yield to him. He's so deep, impossibly deep, and for a second, you forget how to breathe, how to think, your only thought being how does he even fit?

It feels endless, your thighs shaking against his as he takes his time, forcing you to feel every slow, torturous inch. Your body clenches around him, your nails dragging over his scalp as you bury your face against his neck.

"Breathe," he murmurs, voice thick, lips grazing your temple. "That's it. Let me take care of you. You just have to let me in, sweetheart."

"Okay, okay," you whisper, voice shaky as you bury your face against his neck, arms wrapping tighter around him.

His other hand moves, dragging up your spine before wrapping around your waist. And then—he presses deeper.

The air leaves your lungs in a sharp, punched-out gasp. He doesn't stop, doesn't let you breathe, just sinks in, stretching you open until he's fully seated inside you. Until there's nowhere left to go.

"That's it," he groans, voice tight, his mouth ghosting along your jaw. "So tight. So warm. Fuck, sweetheart, you know this is what you were made for, don't you?"

You try to think of something, something teasing, something bratty, something that might tip him over the edge, but your body betrays you, trembling around him, squeezing down so tight you feel him shudder.

"God, you're tight," he mutters, his fingers pressing into your hips, hard enough to leave bruises. "I can feel every little tremble, every squeeze. You feel that, sweetheart? How perfectly you fit around me?"

"It's like you don't want to let me go. Is that what you want, honey? To keep me right here?"

Your body clenches down instinctively, like you're answering him without meaning to, and his breath catches for just a second before his lips curve against your skin. You nod, frantic, a little dazed, a little wrecked, and his chuckle is pure sin.

"Good. Because I'm not going anywhere."

He pulls back just enough to create the kind of unbearable friction that makes your breath catch, your body tightening like a bowstring.

"Every little sound you make drives me insane." His breath drags over your cheek, his lips just shy of touching, like he's teasing himself as much as he is you. "Do you even realize what you do to me?"

You try to answer, you really do, but your lungs don't work properly anymore, your body focused on the pleasure threatening to snap at any second. Your fingertips tremble against his shoulders, your thighs quiver, and Aaron knows exactly what that means.

"That's it. I can feel you trembling, sweetheart. You're so close, aren't you?"

His words strike something deep, something primal, and the fire curling between your thighs roars in response. Your head tips back, your breath breaking apart as your hands scramble for purchase, fingers sliding to his face, thumbs brushing over the roughness of his jaw. You pull him into a kiss that's all hunger, all desperation, your lips parting to let him devour you.

He groans into your mouth, a sound that vibrates through your chest, and then his hips snap up into you. The stretch is suffocating, the sheer fullness of him sending sharp pulses of pleasure up your body with every deep thrust.

"I've got you," he murmurs against your lips. "You don't have to hold back. Just let go for me, sweetheart."

It crashes into you harder than you expected, knocking the breath straight from your lungs. Your moan catches halfway, tumbling out in pieces as your body convulses, clenches tight, gripping him in a way that makes him hiss through his teeth.

He thrusts deep, brutal, final, and then he's gone, his head dropping back as a groan tears from his chest.

He fills you in thick, pulsing waves, each pulse making your thighs tighten around him, making you gasp at how deep it settles. The feeling is overwhelming—the heat of him, the weight, the way his cock still twitches inside you, like he’s unwilling to let a single drop go to waste.

You're not sure where your body ends and his begins, your limbs heavy, useless, boneless as you slump against him. Your breath stutters, still uneven, every exhale pushing against his chest as the last waves of pleasure roll through you.

"You take every drop so fucking well," he murmurs. "Meant to keep you full."

His fingers press into your hips, just a little tighter, just enough to make you feel how deep he still is.

"Don’t move yet."

Your breath stutters, the words landing deep, something fluttering tight in your stomach.

"Just a little longer," he murmurs, his hands absently smoothing up and down your spine. His voice drops, lower, rougher—

"I want to make sure it sticks."

You shudder, pressing closer, your face tucking against his neck as everything—the fullness, every drop of his cum—settles in.

Aaron exhales, his chest rising beneath you, and suddenly, he shifts. His grip on your hips soften and slide up, like he can feel the way you're trembling against him. 

"Breathe, sweetheart," he murmurs. "You can do that for me, can't you?"

You try, you really do, but when you inhale, it's a stuttering, gasping thing, barely controlled. Your thighs still shake, your body still throbs around him, and you can feel the way he exhales, like he enjoys this—enjoys feeling you like this, soft and trembling in his arms.

"Easy," he murmurs. One hand slides up your spine, cupping the back of your head, fingers threading into your hair. "That was a lot."

You nod—or, at least, you think you do. Everything feels floaty, light, warm. Your head feels like it's filled with pink clouds. Your limbs feel soft, useless, like you're some well-loved doll that's been played with for hours.

He tilts your chin up, catching your gaze.

"You okay?" His brow furrows slightly, his thumb brushing over your cheekbone.

You blink slowly at him, lips parting, trying to focus.

"Mhm," you hum, then pause, frowning just slightly. "Wait, no—hold on."

His jaw tenses immediately, but you reach up, poking his cheek with a weak, clumsy finger.

"You didn't kiss me," you mumble, like it's the most important fact in the universe. "You're supposed to kiss me after, 'cause, like, you love me and all that."

Hotch lets out a slow breath, like he's holding something back. His head tilts, just barely shaking, like he's in mild disbelief of you. And okay, fine, maybe you do say a lot of dumb things. But this wasn't dumb. It was valid. It was scientifically proven that post-sex cuddles should include at least one (1) I love you and one (1) kiss, and you were simply holding him accountable.

"Of course I love you," he murmurs, like the answer is so obvious, so unquestionable, that it almost makes you feel silly for asking. And then he kisses you.

It's deep, drawn-out, the kind of kiss that makes you forget where you are. 

You're still in his lap, still tangled in the ridiculous, oversized leather chair, but you don't feel like you're anywhere. Not in his apartment, not even in your own body. Just floating, existing in between his lips and yours.

When you finally pull back, it's not even voluntary—just the sad, unfortunate reality of needing air.

"Wow," you murmur, your fingers lazily brushing over his jaw.

"Wow?"

"Mhm." Your tongue darts out, sweeping over the kiss-swollen curve of your bottom lip, like you're trying to catch what's left of him there, trying to savor it. "Like... I feel very wow."

A smirk tugs at his lips, but his hands don't stop moving, don't stop tracing, don't stop feeling. His fingers smoothed absently over your hips, up your spine, his palms blending into your skin. Like he's checking for something. Like he's making sure you're here with him.

And for a second, you think he's about to kiss you again. He looks like he wants to, his gaze flickers to your lips, his hands flex just slightly, his body leans in just a hair. But then his gaze flickers, his lips part slightly as if he'd just remembered something.

"You said something earlier."

You blink again, brain lagging behind slightly as reality creeps back in, still floating somewhere in bliss. Which you felt was a more pressing topic than whatever he's about to say.

Your face scrunches up immediately, like maybe if you look cute enough, he'd drop it. 

"I said a lot of things earlier," you rush out, voice a little too high, a little too hasty, your hand flapping vaguely in the air. "So many things. A real stream of nonsense, actually. I was just saying words, you know, as one does—"

You shift slightly, suddenly painfully aware of the position you're in, and he doesn't even blink.

"Aaron," you say, narrowing your eyes. "You're literally still inside me and you want to have a conversation right now?"

"Yes," he says simply, like of course he does, like this is completely reasonable, like you aren't still wrapped around him, skin warm and sticky from what you just did.

His brows furrow slightly, and his head tilts in that very specific way that means he's already pulling apart the words, unraveling them like a thread, and working through them with that brain of his before you can even begin to take it back. 

"You said you felt overlooked," he states plainly, like a fact, which you guessed it was. "If that was something you just said in the moment, we can drop it."

His eyes narrow, studying you like he already knows the answer. "But if you meant it, then I want to understand why."

Your mouth parts, ready to push out something easy, something light, something that won't lead to the very real, very terrifying act of actually admitting things.

He was serious. Not angry or annoyed. Just serious. And concerned.

You exhale, suddenly very invested in dragging your nails lightly over his chest, watching the way they disappear into the fabric of his shirt, how his muscles shift slightly beneath your touch.

"I mean... it's not a thing," you mumble, barely glancing up. "More like a thing-adjacent."

"Sweetheart." The firmness in his voice made your stomach flip. It's not a scolding or a warning, just his way of making you hear him. "I'm not interested in whether you think it's a thing or not. I'm interested in whether it's true."

"I mean, I guess... maybe a little."

His fingers flex, like he's taking that in. He nods once, slowly. "That makes sense."

Your brows furrow. "It does?"

"Yes," he states plainly, like it's obvious. "You pick up on subtle changes—even the ones I don't intend to project. And when I get hyper focused on something, I shut everything else out. Not just you. Everyone."

"It's a defense mechanism. A way to compartmentalize. It doesn't mean I don't notice you. It means my brain assigns the highest level of urgency to the task at hand, and everything else—everything outside of that—is temporarily shut out."

"When I do that, it makes sense that you would feel like I'm not paying attention to you," he continues. "Because in those moments I'm not."

Your breath catches. He says it so matter-of-factly, so plainly, that it almost doesn't sting at first, it just lands.

His grip tightens ever so slightly where his hands rest on your like he already knows how you're taking it.

"But that doesn't mean I don't want to be paying attention," he murmurs, fingers brushing slow, absentminded circles against your skin. "It doesn't mean you don't exist in the back of my mind, even when I'm caught up in something else."

Aaron leans in a fraction, his eyes holding yours.

"Do you know what I did last night after you fell asleep?" he asks.

You blink. "Uh... sleep?"

He smirks. "Eventually. But first, I checked the thermostat. You always get cold at night, even when you say you won't."

Your face warms. "That's just—,"

"And before I left for work last week, I moved your car closer to the building because I saw you left your umbrella at my place."

"I—,"

"And when I'm out of town, do you know what I do every morning?"

You swallow.

"No."

"I think about what you're having for breakfast," he murmurs. "Not consciously. It's not something I try to do. It just... happens."

"You always eat something sweet," he continues, his thumb brushing over your jaw. "It's usually a pastry or something covered in chocolate. Sometimes cake, if we're being honest."

Your scrunch your nose again and he smiles.

"So, tell me," he murmurs, tilting your chin up. "Does that sound like someone who overlooks you?"

Your lips part but nothing comes out. Your heart aches—not the bad kind, but the kind that makes your chest feel too small for everything inside it. Because he's right. He notices everything. Not in the big, showy romance-movie ways but in the little things. In ways that matter.

You inhale a little too hard, blinking quickly, but the stinging in your eyes isn't going anywhere.

Aaron sees it immediately. "Sweetheart."

You shake your head quickly, sniffling.

"I'm not crying," you announce, even though your voice cracks on the last word, which kind of ruins the effect.

He smirks. "Are you sure?"

"Yes," you say firmly, poking his chest. "I just—I feel very loved and now I have to process that."

"Okay," he murmured, pressing a kiss to your forehead. "Do you need time to process, or should I just assume you're going to be attached to me for the foreseeable future?"

Your smile is instant, automatic, the kind that takes over your whole face before you can even think about stopping it. Your arms tighten around his neck, fingers curling into his shirt like you have any intention of letting go.

"Oh no, you're definitely stuck with me," you declare. "Like, you might need to call someone if you ever actually want me to let go."

His smirk is instant. "You're saying I should alert the authorities?"

You nod sagely. "I mean, that would be the responsible thing to do. But by the time they arrive, I'll have already made a compelling argument about how you should just let it happen."

Aaron huffs a quiet laugh, shaking his head. "I'm sure you would."

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[beloveds-embrace]

Anymore thoughts on your Emotional Support Omega?

Yeah i gotchu 🙂‍↕️ here are more thoughts before I write them jumping reader bc they can’t hold back anymore… or do I :3

Part One | Thoughts

When you first arrived, you were hopeful.

It was a quiet sort of hope- not naïve, not desperate- just a steady belief that, given time, they would let you in. Like watching a sand hourglass patiently.

You had been transferred specifically to support them, after all. 141 was an elite unit, but even the best soldiers carried their own burdens, and command had decided they needed someone like you. An Omega trained in psychological support, someone who could ease the mental and emotional strain that came with their line of work.

At first, they were polite. Cordial, even.

Price welcomed you with a firm handshake, his voice steady as he laid out his expectations and the rules. “You’ll have access to everything you need,” he had said. “If the lads need you, you’ll be there. But don’t push.”

Ghost was unreadable, distant even through the mask. He had given you a silent nod in welcome, and that was that. He didn’t scorn you, but he didn’t welcome you that vocally either.

Soap had been friendlier, but there was still an invisible wall between the two of you- one you’d thought you’d be able to scale, yet… you felt as if you’d failed at that. “It’s nothing personal, lass,” he had said after training one day, offering you a small grin after they’d refused your offered comfort once more. “We’re just… a tight bunch. Takes time to get in.”

Gaz was polite and charming as well, if a little reserved. “You’re good at what you do,” he admitted after your first week. “I see why command brought you in.” But there was an unspoken but at the end of that sentence- one that never left his lips but lingered in the space between you.

And so, you waited. You waited, and held out hope regardless.

You gave them space, but you were there when they needed you- which was frankly never. You listened, helped where you could, made sure they knew your door was always open.

But it never went beyond that.

There were no casual invitations to sit with them in the mess hall. No late-night conversations when missions ran long. No easy touches, no pack-scented comfort, no real inclusion. You were there, part of the team, but left to linger in the distant shadows left by their pack-soaked warmth.

You weren’t unwanted, exactly. They were never unkind.

But you weren’t theirs. It stung, even if you knew you should’ve expected better.

And slowly, that hope- the quiet, patient belief that they would one day accept you- began to wither like leaves in winter.

The first time you realized it wouldn’t happen, it was something small.

You had walked into a room to find them talking, their voices low but easy, a quiet camaraderie woven between them, easy laughter and shared ribbing at each other. When they noticed you, the shift was subtle but unmistakable. The conversation tapered off, the atmosphere cooling just slightly.

Soap had thrown you a quick smile. “Just mission talk,” he had said, waving a hand. “Nothing exciting, lass.”

You had nodded, pretending not to notice the way Ghost’s posture had stiffened, the way Price had only given you a brief glance before turning away, and Gaz had focused back on his phone. Silently, you’d left and pretended you didn’t hear the conversations pick up again.

The second time, it was worse.

It had been another rough mission, leaving the whole team exhausted and tense. You had tried- offered a quiet presence, a listening ear- but the walls had stayed up, firm and unyielding and you far too soft compared to them.

“You don’t need to worry about us, love,” Gaz had said, a little too lighthearted- effort needed. “We’ve been through worse. We’ve got each other.”

We’ve got each other.

And that was it: the message was clear.

You weren’t part of them.

You had spent years training for this work. You knew better than to take it personally- but it still hurt.

Yet, even as your hope for a place in their pack faded, something else began to take root.

You left your own imprint on the rest of the base, and for one who craved something social and close? You could almost weep from relief and happiness.

It started very small, because a whole base wouldn’t change on the whims of your wants and wishes, even if it was known what you were there for. A rookie, fresh from training, approached you hesitantly after a briefing, shifting on his feet as he asked for advice. You listened, reassured him, nuzzled his cheek with a chirp, and he had left looking lighter than before and just a touch dazed.

Then, a medic- one who’d patched you up multiple times by then- sought you out, quiet and weary after a brutal shift. She hadn’t said much- just sat beside you, resting in your warmth as your quiet purring filled the space.

Word spread; you were exactly what you were supposed to be, and damn good at it (even if for whatever reason, they rarely saw you with your own unit).

Alphas, Betas, Omegas- no difference. One particularly stiff-necked operator had come to you late one night, clearly wrestling with something unspoken. You had simply reached out, placed a comforting hand on his arm, and let the warmth of your presence do the rest. He had exhaled slowly, tension bleeding from his shoulders as he allowed himself, just for a moment, to lean into the comfort you offered.

By the time he left, there had been something lighter in his step; quite the common sight by then.

The mess hall- a place you dreaded when it become clear they wouldn’t invite you to join them- became a place where someone always sought you out. The common areas shifted, soldiers drifting toward you whenever you were around. Your quarters, once quiet and barely used, turned into an unspoken sanctuary for those who needed it.

And after that snowy mission, they began watching. Though they didn’t say anything at first.

Didn’t acknowledge the way it seemed the rest of the base was orbiting around you, how your presence had become something steady, trusted, for everyone but them.

But they still noticed, nonetheless, and something took root, green and gnawing.

You felt it in the way Price’s eyes lingered when he saw you talking with others, his jaw tight- tighter when it was with other Captains. In the way Ghost, who never cared for small talk, started hovering just a little closer, as if trying to understand why.

In the way Soap, once so casual, began inserting himself into your conversations, his usual grin just a touch strained when someone else got too close. His fingers would twitch, a shadow over his face.

Gaz, too, had started seeking you out- not in the open, not obviously, but in little moments. A lingering glance. A question that wasn’t really necessary. An excuse to be there.

They were watching, waiting, yet did not try to fully, flat out tell you that they want you.

And though you didn’t let yourself hope, not anymore- You wondered how long it would take before they finally gave in.

Omegaverse Masterlist

[gojosprettyprincess]

TOJI FUCKING YOU WITH HIS GUN ૮꒰ྀི⊃´ ꒳ `⊂ྀི꒱ა

Tw - gun play, dubcon. Don’t take this seriously, I was like half asleep while writing it :( Not proofread.

“You’re so disgusting baby, can’t believe you’re getting off from this” Toji scoffs in a condescending tone. He callously digs the nuzzle of his gun further into your bare cunt with brutal force that made your legs tremble.

The foreign sensation had your toes instinctively curling in the air because of the startling touch of the cool metal pressing into your delicate core.

“N-no, g-get it out!” You pleaded fearfully, your voice quivering as you desperately tried to wiggle yourself off his lap. His strong grip on your thighs only tightened, preventing your escape. You could feel the warm pool of slick gradually welling up around his gun as it slowly sank deeper into your drooling cunt.

“No? Then why’s this pussy so wet, you’re soaking up my gun like a pathetic little slut, baby” he chuckled wickedly at the irony as he peered down to where you’re seated on his lap, your back is flushed against his taut abs— feeling the warmth of his body enveloping yours.

He unawarely licks his scarred lips at the pretty mess encircling between your plush thighs. An evident wet patch is forming around his gun and he can’t help but coo at how messy you are, despite how dangerous it is.

Or maybe that’s why you’re so messy to begin with.

“You know I can pull the fucking trigger right now and you’ll die but I bet that didn’t cross your mind, did it?”. He taunts mockingly, starting a slow pace in your cunny and watching how the inviting little hole happily swallows the gun deeper in. “As long as you have something stuffed in this greedy pussy, that’s all you care about, huh?”.

You immediately released a delicious moan when the gun’s trigger brushes against your throbbing clit, rubbing against it and creating a new wave of pleasure. You felt a rush of embarrassment as your body betrayed your own resistance.

Toji’s eyes lit up with pure satisfaction, taking pleasure in your helplessness.

“Fuck— you’re so sick Toji!” You exclaimed before thrashing your head back against his hard chest, a shuddering sigh escaping your lips as your eyes clenched shut tightly. Your heart thundering in your chest as the cool metal invaded your most intimate part.

“Awe but you love it, don’t you baby. s’why your little cunt is drooling everywhere”. His breath is hot against your ear, sending shivers down your spine because of how it gave you goosebumps.

You wanted to deny it, to fight against the forbidden pleasure he was forcing upon you but the way your eager core was clenching with need around the unfamiliar object wasn’t making it even slightly possible.

He pressed his gun further, inch by inch until you were fully impaled by the steel. The metal widened the entrance of your cunny, forcibly stretching it open as he fucks in and out. The sight of his muscular forearm tensing and bulging with his motions didn’t help your cunt from soaking the object one bit.

He deftly maneuvers the arm that had been holding your thighs, positioning it underneath to allow him to bring his hand up to delicately tease your hard nipples, gently rolling it between his rough fingertips. You arched against his touch, a soft moan escaping your lips. “Need you to cum f’me baby, cum on daddy’s gun yeah? You can do it”.

His words are like fuel to the fire, igniting a need deep within you. You can feel the tension coiling tighter, the gun’s trigger teasing your sensitive bud with every thrust and working against your favor.

“N-no…I..fuck!” You struggled to form coherent words as Toji’s skilled movements pushed you closer to the edge. You can feel the way his clothed erection is throbbing underneath your ass, poking against you like it’s trying to bore a hole into your body.

“Come on baby, y’can do it, cream on it f’me” his voice is commanding, leaving no room for refusal. The gun was repeatedly hitting your sweet spot, prodding and poking against it for your arousal. It made your resistance crumble, your body surrendering to the overwhelming pleasure.

“Mmph! Toji— stop–fuckk!” You cried out, your nails digging into his hefty forearm as you rode the wave of ecstasy. Your juices was steeping out and soaking both him and the weapon. The sticky cream decorating his gun and leaking onto his lap. He licks a long stripe of your face with a proud grin as he keeps plunging it in and out of you.

“Fuck yes, that’s a good girl, baby. Look at that fucking mess, shit” he groans as his hardened cock twitches with desperate need to be buried inside of you.

He quickly pulled the gun out of your soppy pussy and brought it up to your face for you to witness. Your essence was leaking everywhere as he showed you the mess. “See that? You’re nothing but a fucking whore that wants always something buried up your cunt. But s’okay baby, that’s why I love you”. He hummed contentedly with a warm kiss on your temple.

“Clean it” that was all you heard before he stuffed the gun into your mouth, making you gag around it as you tasted the sweet remnants of your own essence. The taste melts on your tastebuds, making you whimper. You swirled your tongue around the metal, sucking off your cum.

“That's it, baby,” he growled in a hoarse tone, thick with desire, urging you to continue. “Keep sucking it, get it all wet, and soak f’me so I can bury it in your other hole next”.

[webbluvrsugar]

earlyseasons!spencer making you squirt.

cw: doesn’t mean sub!spencer, it’s more like eager Spencer experimenting on reader, written mostly for funsies.

Every since you and Spencer have been messing — fucking — around, you’ve noticed that he’s been a little shy, at least at first, his touch has been gentle but also… experimental, the way he looks at you when you’re under him and pushes you just a little harder almost makes you feel like like he’s studying you, testing something on you. But he’s a profiler, he’s learned that you don’t mind, so when he comes with the proposition of trying to make you squirt, you’re doubtful, specially as he pushes you down on your bed — already naked.

“Spencer, you don’t really need to do this, I —“ you try to speak but he’s quick to interrupt you, his hands running down your thighs.

“I know, I just.. I just want to try something new, just for a bit,” he hushes, eyes looking up to you for approval as he puts away his glasses and when Spencer says ‘just for a bit’ he is indeed just… lying, lying to your face.

His tongue licks a fat strip up your folds, it’s bold, something that he’d at first would hesitate to do, gently circling your clit before he attaches his lips onto it, gently sucks and his fingers go up to spread you further.

Spencer’s tongue feels good, but by now, you know that he would’ve already tried to stick a finger or two in you, but he doesn’t, it almost seems like he’s trying to reach this personal goal of his all with his mouth, and he’s doing a good job at it, because his tongue prods at your entrance and you arch your back, softly moaning, head throwing back and meeting your pillow.

“How does that feel?” He questions as if you need to answer for him to know it.

But still, you nod again, “Good,” you whisper, hand going down to grab at the sheets.

“Yeah, I can tell.” He grins, cocky, before his mouth latches onto your cunt again.

He devours you, nose bumping into your clit as his tongue precisely chooses where to run through, your breath being taken from your lungs when it caresses your insides one more time, the warm tip of the muscle moving within you.

“Spence,” you whimper, your knees struggling to keep themselves in place as he pulls back and pays attention to your swollen pearl one more time.

“Close?” He asks, tongue licking up a few more times through your folds, trying to get all up in there.

“Mh — Mhm,” you moan, a pleased sigh following suit.

“Did you know that —“ he pauses, “statistically, only thirty-five to fifty percent of women have experienced squirting mid sex—“ he presses an open mouthed kiss to your cunt. “But it depends on the method, I’ve read about it, we can try and see if this will be the one for you.”

And for someone who’s so used to talking, Spencer finally goes to quiet after a while and focus on your pussy, paying extra attention to what you like, guiding himself with your moans and gentle curses.

“Spence—“ with that, he thinks this really might be his chance of getting you to do it the first try, so his lips wrap around your clit one last time, only letting go when he hears a hushed cry of his name escape your lips— “Spencer!” A stream of fluid expels from you, and he watches in awe, slightly tilting his head as your body shivers and writhes right before him.

His hands gently caress your thighs, fingers letting go of your folds, his eyes finally meeting yours when you take a breath and before you can speak, he notes;

“Let’s do it again, maybe you’ll do it quicker if I actually use my fingers…”

[y3sterdaysproblem]

the catalyst - c.s.

this takes place prior to the two final screenshots in part ten

cw: (almost) cheating, suggestive implications, chris being an asshole

wc: 4k

part of the fwb!chris series

no doubt about it, you had to be drunk if you were going to this party.

normally you would pull up to parties with chris, have him pick you up or at least meet you there and wait outside until you showed up so you could walk in together, but now with him talking to this new girl (lia, you found out), you had to show up by yourself. it wasn’t a problem, you were pretty independent in your every day life, but something about showing up to a party by yourself felt embarrassing when it’s been so long since you’ve had to. despite your feelings, you didn’t want to appear too affected by chris’s new situation he had going on, so you were still going to go, just after pregaming a little harder than usual.

on the ride over there, you almost found yourself wanting to ask the driver to turn around and go back home, not wanting to stumble into somebody’s house an hour after everyone had already shown up and draw attention to yourself and your obvious loneliness. you talked yourself out of it, though, continuing on the short drive until you had pulled up to the typical hang out spot, thanking your driver and getting out.

the door was unlocked as usual, and you pushed it open and went inside as quietly as you could, doing your best to walk past people you didn’t really know to make your way to the kitchen to grab another drink. you were barely two seconds into pouring a mixer into a plastic cup when you feel somebody step up next to you, and you don’t have to tear your gaze away from what you’re doing to know who it is.

“when did you get here?” he questions, standing so close to you your arms are brushing together. you don’t answer him until your drink is made, bringing it up to your lips to take a sip. once it’s swallowed, you turn your body to face him, eyes landing on his that are already watching you. “a few minutes ago,” you answer. “why, were you waiting for me?”

chris rolls his eyes and reaches forward to grab your cup from your hand, bringing it up to his own lips for a taste. he hands it back to you, grimacing at the sweet flavor. “god, you make the worst drinks,” he scoffs. “and no, I wasn’t waiting for you, was just surprised that you came so late, that’s all.” you take the cup back and let your fingers brush over his at the transfer, body already thrumming from how close you were, the feeling of pure want intensified by the alcohol already in your system.

your eyes hide nothing, giving away just how badly you wanted chris in the moment. you thought you’d be able to keep it under control, but with him standing so close and looking so good, the scent of his cologne wafting through your nostrils and infiltrating your senses. maybe it wasn’t such a good idea to drink so much before coming. “chris,” you say in a soft tone, one that always makes him melt, but tonight he just shakes his head at you and reaches up to place both hands on either one of your shoulders. “not tonight. please behave yourself tonight. I have lia here and I really don’t want to mess this up. I promise i’ll make it up to you,” he begs, and he really sounds like he means it.

you always hated not getting what you wanted.

“but, chris,” you pout, dropping your head down a bit to give your eyes a wider appearance, bringing your hand up to rest on his chest. you’re about to speak again when he grabs your hand and pulls it away from him, pushing it back towards you. “i’m serious,” he says lowly. “not tonight.”

you groan and narrow your eyes at chris frustratedly, annoyed at his determination. “fine,” you agree. you take your hand that he pushed away from you and reach between your bodies, cupping chris’s dick through the black jeans he wore, keeping your eyes lock on his. “just know i’ll be thinking about you all night and wishing you would have your way with me.”

chris sucked in a sharp breath at your touch, knowing he should pull away but not having the willpower to. one of his hands leans against the counter for support, the other itching to grab you and pull you closer. you can feel him twitching under your hand, a hint of an erection forming as you groped him. he was about to give into your touch, about to pull you somewhere more private, but an unfamiliar voice pulled you both from the moment. your pulled your hand away from him and tucked it into the back pocket of your jeans that hugged your ass perfectly, other hand bringing your cup up to your lips.

“here you are!” a girl’s voice calls from the doorway of the kitchen, stepping up to chris’s side with a wide grin on her face, oblivious to the tension in the room. chris slings an arm around her waist loosely, now refusing to make eye contact with you, afraid this girl would see right through him if he looked at you. “here I am,” he says with a forced smile, turning his head to face her. she turns and looks up at him, naive adoration painted on her features. “is this the friend you were telling me about?”

he told her about me? you think to yourself, raising an eyebrow suspiciously. “yeah,” chris says, clearing his throat as he turned back to look at you. “this is lia, the girl i’ve been seeing,” he introduces awkwardly and you tilt your head at her, smiling sweetly. “lia,” you hum, nodding your head. her hand comes out to greet you and all you can do is stare down at it, judging the way her acrylics were grown out and an ugly color. “i’m gonna go find your brother,” you tell chris, looking back up at him with a smirk, sending him a knowing wink before turning on your heel and heading towards the living room, hearing chris apologizing for your attitude quietly.

you did exactly as you promised, finding matt sitting on the floor with his back leaned up against the front of a couch and his legs crossed in front of him, laughing at something a friend had said. “hi, matt,” you greet sweetly, sitting directly next to him. his attention is grabbed by you immediately, lifting his arm to drape it around your shoulder as he smiled over at you. “hi, pretty girl,” he replied.

you made conversation with him for a few minutes before chris and lia came into the room, him looking uncomfortable and her looking happy as ever. she couldn’t even pick up on his emotions yet and he was so willing to drop everything for her. how could he be so infatuated with a girl that was so fucking dumb she couldn’t tell when she broke up a moment filled with sexual tension?

there isn’t much time to dwell on her lack of social awareness before somebody grabs your attention again, sitting across from you and matt. “okay, are we playing truth or dare or spin the bottle?” he asks drunkenly. chris audibly groans, lowering himself to the floor in a makeshift circle, lia sitting so close she should’ve just sat on top of him. “can we not do some childish shit, please?” he asks, tone laced with annoyance.

“what, scared you’re gonna have to kiss somebody, chris?” matt teases from next to you and you’re unable to contain the small giggle that leaves your lips. “or are you scared i’m gonna kiss your girl?”

matt’s arm squeezes around you when he says this and it takes you a moment to realize he’s not talking about the girl tucked into chris’s side, but rather about you. “i’m not scared of shit, asshole, I just don’t think we should be playing some fucking little kid games.” chris shoots back with a dramatic eye roll. “it’ll be fun!” lia says enthusiastically, wrapping both hands around chris’s bicep and shaking him lightly. he looks over at her and sends a tight lipped smile her way, his hand gently rubbing over her arm. “alright, whatever,” he concedes.

that’s how you all ended up playing truth or dare, spinning a bottle to decide who goes first. after a few rounds of stupid dares and pussy cop outs with people choosing truth, it’s matt’s turn to ask somebody a question. his attention turns to you, and a lazy smirk finds its way onto his lips. “truth or dare,” he asks you quietly and you can’t help but feel nervous at his tone. “dare,” you say instantly.

matt shifts a bit next to you before looking around the room, eyes landing on his brother for a moment before flitting back to you. “I dare you to make out with me for at least a minute,” he says after a few moments of thought. you’re a bit shocked at this, but quickly snap out of it and swing your leg over his lap, sitting atop his thighs happily. matt’s grinning up at you like a sick freak and you feel clued in on his intentions with the way he stares at you, so to bounce off of his energy, you turn your head to chris who’s staring at the two of you with dark, intense eyes, clearly not a fan of what was going on. “hey, chris?” you ask sweetly, tilting your head a bit. “can you start a timer, please?”

chris narrows his eyes at you, not liking the game you decided to play with him. he already wasn’t a big fan of your relationship with matt, but having to sit here and witness it himself was another level of fucked up. after he doesn’t answer, refusing to take his eyes off of you, the stupid, clueless girl next to him whips out her phone. “i’ll do it!” she says with a smile, holding up the timer. you roll your eyes and turn back to face matt, resting your forearms on his shoulders. “she’s so fucking stupid,” you whisper so only he can hear and he laughs at your comment before reaching up to rest his hand on the back of your head, pulling you down to meet his lips.

you’re instantly melting into the kiss, lips slotting together effortlessly, the taste of alcohol and juice on both of your tongues mingling. matt’s touch was so much gentler than chris’s, the way his hands slid up under your shirt to hold onto your waist and the way he took his time kissing you instead of rushing through it. between the way he felt holding you against him and the liquor running through your veins, you felt yourself getting carried away in the kiss, hips subtly grinding down on him as your hands found themselves in his hair, holding him close to you as you made out.

“minute’s up,” chris informs you both, but matt’s hands move down from your waist to your ass, fingers digging into the denim covering your skin, willing you even closer. “hello?” chris says again, louder this time, infuriated at the way you both seemed to get more into it. it’s not fully surprising when chris’s hand lands on your shoulder and roughly pulls you away from matt, almost ripping you off his lap. “enough,” he snaps, hand instinctively moving towards your jaw to turn your head to face him. your eyebrows immediately furrow together at his rough touch, hand pulling away from matt to shove into chris’s chest roughly. “back the fuck up, chris.”

he surprisingly listens, not wanting to cause an unnecessary scene in front of everybody, including lia, sitting back in his original position next to her. she seems slightly unnerved at his reaction, waiting a few moments before she places her hand back on his arm. “are you okay?” lia questions in her soft voice and chris doesn’t even glance her way, eyes locked on you as you climb off of matt’s lap and settle next to him again. “he’s fine, he’s just a little possessive,” matt snarks, his arm coming back around your shoulder. “a little?” you scoff, eyes trailing over chris’s tense frame. “hey, matt, when do you think we should tell chris that I lied about hooking up with you to make him jealous?”

you wish you had a camera to record the way chris’s expression dropped, the way his jaw visibly tensed from his teeth clenching together, the way his chest expanded from the breath he pulled in. “what does she mean?” lia questions from next to chris, turning her body towards him. “nothing,” he immediately answers. “it’s my turn!” you say enthusiastically, clapping your hands together and letting them fall in your lap. “lia, truth or dare?” you ask her, sending a smile her way. she’s shifting uncomfortably at your words, turning her attention to you apprehensively. “um…” her eyes flit to chris’s face for a moment, but they look back at you when she realizes he’s still staring at you. “dare,” she finally answers, sitting up straighter. you can tell that she only picks dare to impress chris, but he’s focused on anything but her right now.

you hum and tap your index finger on your chin a few times as you think of what to say. “I dare you… to go through chris’s phone!” is what you land on, and chris immediately moves to stand up, brushing lia off of his arm. “can I talk to you?” he directs towards you, not waiting for an answer before he grabs you by your arm and lifts you off the ground, dragging you towards a bedroom down the hall. “you’re hurting me,” you tell him bluntly, trying to pull away, but he just tightens his fingers around you as he shoves you into a room and slams the door shut behind you.

“what the fuck are you doing?” he sneers, finally releasing you. you huff and try to fix your clothes, glaring at the fuming man in front of you. “what are you talking about?” you ask him, raising your eyebrows at him. “i’m not doing this little back and forth. stop fucking with her. I mean it, dude, i’m not playing. don’t drag her into your mean girl bullshit. she’s too nice for you and your bitchy behavior.”

you scoff at his words, unable to believe he’s trying to defend this girl from you. “she’s fine,” you drawl, waving a hand at him dismissively. “god, chris, you’re so hot when you’re mad.” you take a small step closer to him, trying to close the distance between you two. “don’t,” he says sternly, bringing his hands up to stop you. you take another step closer, bringing your hands up to rest on his outstretched arms, dragging them up until they were placed on his shoulders. “don’t what?” you ask him, peering up at him through your lash extensions, eyes boring into him shamelessly. “don’t be slutty right now, i’m trying to have a serious conversation with you.”

you laugh and step even further until your chests are pressed together, bringing your arms up to wrap around him. you rested your chin on his sternum and gazed up at him, smiling at the way he stared across the room behind you, refusing to look down at you in fear of giving in. despite his unwillingness to look at you, his arms come up and wrap around your shoulders, a loud sigh escaping his nostrils. “look at me,” you say softly, squeezing your arms around him gently. you can feel his heart pounding from where you rested against him and you knew it was only a matter of time before he gave in.

when chris finally looked down and met your eyes, you felt the energy in the room shift. his expression softened as he inspected your face and the way that you looked back at him, like you were patiently waiting for him to crack and give you attention. “you’re incredibly rude,” is the first thing he says after locking eyes with you and you can’t help but grin at his statement. “you like how rude I am,” you retort.

chris rolls his eyes and looks past you for a moment before refocusing his gaze on you. “I tolerate how rude you are to me, not to girls I like. it’s not cute, it’s just pissing me off.” his tone is quiet, but you can tell he’s serious with the way he speaks. “i’m sorry,” you say honestly, pouring your bottom lip out subtly. “can I kiss it better?” he laughs at this and tightens his arms around your shoulders, shaking his head. “no, i’m not rewarding your awful behavior. go kiss matt about it,” he tells you, then pauses. “were you serious about what you said? that you lied about sleeping with him?”

you suck in a sharp breath at his words, feeling cornered despite you admitting exactly that only a few minutes prior. “I do think he’s hot,” you start. “but that was the first time we’ve ever kissed. he thinks you’re kind of an asshole when it comes to women so he wanted to see how mad you could get if we both made you believe we were fucking.”

chris purses his lips and nods, almost like he’s impressed by your scheme. “too bad you’re not important enough to make me jealous,” he teases and it makes you crack a smile. “sure, that’s why you ripped me off of him like that.”

“I was just playing by the rules,” chris defends, refusing to be pegged as the jealous type. “can you please just stop being weird and rude? i’m not asking for a lot.” you sigh and press your forehead into his chest for a couple of beats before looking back up at him, nodding your head. “yeah, alright,” you concede. “if you kiss me all nasty right now.”

“oh my god,” chris groans, but he couldn’t fight the closeness between you two any longer, bringing his hand up to the back of your head and leaning down to press his lips against yours roughly, both of your eyes fluttering shut as you made contact. your hands around him gripped at the back of his shirt to hold him closer as his tongue slipped into your mouth, a soft whine slipping out of your nose. the kiss only lasted maybe thirty seconds before he pulled away and stared down at you, soaking in your wide eyes and needy pout. “enough. let’s go.”

you nod and let go of him, but not before leaning forward and placing a soft kiss on the skin of his neck, pulling away to smile up at him. “i’m right behind you,” you tell him and he steps away from you, not so subtly waistbanding his dick before opening the bedroom door and stepping out, making his way back into the living room.

you both take your respective places back next to lia and matt, looking as inconspicuous as you could after a slightly heated make-out that left you both craving more. matt sent you a knowing smirk, pulling you back into his side once you settled back down, and lia just smiled at chris, completely missing the way he used the collar of his shirt to wipe off his lips from where your lip gloss was smeared along them.

what she didn’t miss, noticing it only seconds later, was the tinged lip print pressed perfectly against his neck, right above his collarbone where you could reach. she stared at it for what seemed like forever, and your heart dropped when you saw what she saw. “fuck,” you breathe out, catching matt’s attention. he’s not even able to question you when he sees lia scooting away from chris, a hurt expression painted on her face.

“what is that?” she asks, voice strained as it comes out. chris is clueless, looking over at her with a raised eyebrow. “what is what?” he asks her, annoyance lacing his tone. lia only reaches up and touches his neck, dragging her finger through the sticky gloss on his skin before holding it up for him to see. you can tell he feels the same stomach-sinking dread when he notices what he’s being shown, mouth opening to speak, then closing again when he can’t think of a way to defend himself.

you’re scooting away from matt nervously, feeling like you were about to throw up, not because you were worried about this girl’s feelings, but because you were terrified of chris’s reaction. he practically begged you to behave, and you fucked up with a stupid fucking kiss. “oh my god,” you choke out, standing up from the floor. chris’s attention is drawn to you at your movement, pushing himself off the floor as well. “you are so fucking stupid,” he spits, pointing a finger at you accusingly. “I ask you to back the fuck off for one night! you can never fucking listen!”

you flinch at his words, taking a few steps back until you slam into the wall behind you, eyes welling with tears as he nears closer. “it was an accident,” you mumble, using the back of your hand to wipe the remaining lip gloss off of your lips haphazardly, even though it didn’t matter anymore. “you are such a fucking whore. always have to ruin everything, don’t you?” he’s in your face now, glaring down at you with an expression you’ve never seen before. “you kissed me, too, this isn’t my fault!” you yell back, voice pinched as you start to get worked up, heart pounding in your chest. “you don’t get to blame all your fuck ups on me!”

“chris,” matt warns from behind him, placing a hand on his shoulder cautiously, which chris instantly brushes off, eyes locked on you. “i’m sorry that nobody wants you, i’m sorry nobody wants to deal with how fucking exhausting you are, but that doesn’t mean you can go around and fuck with me and my life.” chris doesn’t even bat an eye at the tear that slips down your cheek or the way your lip wobbles, only rolling his eyes before turning around and walking back towards lia, helping her up off the floor.

you can hear your heartbeat in your ears as you watch him leave, unable to hear matt as he speaks to you, only focusing on chris as he guides his girlfriend-not-girlfriend out of the house, presumably to explain and try to put back the pieces of what little relationship they had. the second he’s out of your line of sight, you release a breath you didn’t even know you were holding, turning to look at matt. “can you take me home?” you ask him, and he instantly nods, guiding you towards the door.

the ride home is silent, and you feel like you’re on autopilot when you walk into your apartment and kick off your shoes, only letting yourself process what had happened when you were wrapped up in your blankets twenty minutes later. you tried calling chris, and all of your calls were instantly sent to voicemail.

that’s when you texted him, feeling a new sense of rage at his accusations through the messages he sent, deciding that this wasn’t all your fault and you weren’t the only bad guy here. chris made his bed, too, and you would make sure he suffered as he laid in it.

taglist

@liiixsturniolos @madelinesturn @ifwdominicfike @sophand4n4 @chris-hallelujah @sophsturns @rafesapprentice @045696 @scorpioosworld @byhrxb @vickytaa @taelovesmattsturniolo @secret-sturniolo @theboredknightcat-blog @slvtf0rchr1s @gabri3la-sturns @delilahsturniolo @starstrucktyrantinfluencer @vanillsstuff @sturnlsstuff @imjusthereforthesturniolosmut @mattsbratt333 @mattsfavoritestar @dominicfikeenthusiast @certified-sturniolo @mattsside @sofiaaguilaxx @idrk2292 @dylansfavwife @sturnl0ve @sturnioloangelxoxo @sofia-is-a-sturniolo-triplet-fan @milasturniolo @mattsdillion @birkinbratsworld @aria003 @poppingmypussy4chris @annsx03 @ouchywow @pasteldreams @sweetshuga @pip4444chris @chriss-slut @yourebeautifulqueen @watercolorskyy @courta13 @craftycrafter26 @meg4-matt44 @colorthecosmos444

[g1rld1ary]

heart shaped doodles - james potter x reader

wc: 836

summary: you accidentally get given james' essay, covered in doodles with your intials together

me: wrote this in one sitting i love loverboy james!!!!!

════ ⋆★⋆ ════

you were in agonies waiting for your latest potions essay. usually, you had a pretty good grasp of how you were doing academically, but this last project just had you muddled and confused.

the confusion you felt about your essay, though, was completely overshadowed by the utter bewilderment you experienced as you looked down at the piece of paper slughorn had handed you.

all over the heading and through the margins laid doodled hearts, slightly smudged from carelessness. even stranger than the hearts was that your initials sat right in the middle of them, paired with the unmistakable ‘j.p.’.

you quickly paged through the rest of the essay, face draining of colour at the characteristic chicken scratch — and even more so at the clearly accidental inclusion of a page in the middle, filled with doodles and the repeated mantra of ‘mr james’ followed by your last name.

before you could process what you’d just read slughorn snatched the essay out of your hands, booming laugh echoing through the potions classroom.

“sorry about that,” he shook his head as if to reprimand himself, “i must have gotten confused with your initials being all over it.” that got the class’ attention, and several gryffindors craned their necks to catch a glance of the paper as the professor passed.

when slughorn finally made it to james’ desk, dropping the essay down silently, the class erupted into chaos. teasing and heckling ensued as both you and james sunk into your seats, and you were sure your face was the same shade of red as his.

slughorn failed spectacularly at controlling the class after the revelation that the james potter had a crush on you. and not just any crush, a doodle-your-names-together-in-the-margins, down-bad kind of crush. knowing that no more learning was going to happen slughorn dismissed you all, and you had plans to run straight to your dorm and hide there until everyone stopped caring about the whole incident.

remus lupin was immediately at your side, chatting to you about something you weren’t particularly interested in, but you were too polite to tell him of your hibernation plans. you nodded and agreed with him until you were the only ones left in the classroom. apart from james.

you froze, panic overtaking you as you stumbled to put the last of your things in your bag and run when a voice called your name. you knew instantly it was james and turned slowly to face him, forcing yourself to reluctantly make eye contact.

there was still a light dusting of blush above his cheekbones, and the way he was rubbing the back of his neck betrayed his own nervousness.

“hey,” he said, hand clutching the single strap of his bag.

“hi,” you replied, trying to stop your hands from shaking.

“so you, uh, saw my paper?”

“yeah,” you breathed, “um, congrats on the ‘o’ by the way. wish it really was my essay.” james laughed softly at your joke, messing up his hair for something to do.

“i could help you sometime! if you need it, of course.” james cringed at his own reply, the instant realisation that it maybe wasn’t the right thing to say at the moment.

“right,” you trailed off, “well, i’m gonna—”

“wait!” james reached out, a hand catching your bicep lightly. it sent goosebumps up and down the length of your arm. you looked at james expectantly, heart hammering in your chest.

“look, i — fuck. there’s no point pretending we both don’t know now. i really like you. like, an embarrassing amount, as everyone’s discovered today. and i wasn’t gonna do anything about it because i figured you’re so out of my league and aren’t interested, but i suppose i’ve already made a fool out of myself today, might as well full send it. so, what do you say? can i take you out to hogsmeade sometime?”

you pretended to mull it over to give your internal voice time to scream. james potter was without a doubt the hottest guy in school, not to mention smart and funny and good at everything he tried. and he wanted to go out with you! if he wasn’t watching you with anxious interest you thought you might’ve passed out. instead, you played it cool.

“yeah,” you said, smile creeping out despite your best efforts, “yeah, that sounds like fun.”

you almost had to shield your eyes when james beamed, practically its own light source.

“cool!” he said, too loud and fast, “next weekend?” you nodded with almost equal enthusiasm, the two of you sharing the same giggly grins.

behind james you caught a glance of slughorn through the crack in his office door, smiling fondly at the both of you. maybe his slip-up wasn’t so accidental.

“so,” james said, intertwining your fingers boldly as you both turned to leave, “you need me to be your tutor?”

[lemonlover1110]

Pairing: Caleb x f!Reader

Warnings: MINORS DO NOT INTERACT! Panty sniffing, panty stealing

Twitter - Ko-Fi

“Hey–” Caleb enters your room, only to find it empty. A frown comes to his face, curious about your whereabouts until the sound reaches his ears. You’re taking a shower.

He looks around the place for a moment, noting how messy your room is. He clicks his tongue before a low chuckle leaves his lips. It’s a good thing that you won’t be staying for a long time, or else he’ll find the guest room upside down.

“Always so damn messy.” He mutters under his breath, walking to the bed and folding the clothes that you’ve messily tossed onto the bed. It’s just like when you were kids: You make a mess while Caleb cleans up after you.

His breath hitches as his eyes land on a cherry colored fabric. He feels his cheeks turn pink, averting his gaze from it. It’s just panties, he shouldn’t be embarrassed by them. He repeats the thought in his head.

It’s just panties.

He knows it’s not the panties that embarrass him, but the thoughts that creep into his head as he looks at them. His lifelong friend… Someone that would never want something more with him. Yet he’s picturing you in nothing but the cherry panties, practically begging for him. 

Just you with your pretty little mouth wrapped around his cock, taking everything that you can take. Your sweet eyes looking up at him, needing his praise. Then he’d get you on the bed, and put those same panties to the side so he can– Lewd thoughts about someone that sees him as nothing more than a friend.

His eyes land on the panties again, before looking back at the bathroom door. His hand begins to move on its own, nothing he can do will stop it. The soft fabric is trapped within his fingers, and he brings it up to his nose.

He begins to sniff your panties, all of his blood rushing to his dick– Oh it’s so wrong, but he can’t stop himself. The sweet smell of you on them, all that he’s ever dreamed of.

He hurriedly stuffs your panties into his pocket as the shower stops, quickly getting out of your room.

He’ll pretend like nothing ever happened… Because nothing did. It’s just panties, right?

[g00d1uckch4rm]

Fuck it, it's been years since everything in my life fell apart and things are getting better!

Fuck it, the state of my mental health is doing better than it has my whole life, and things will keep getting better so long as I try!

Fuck it, I'm not punishing myself for things I didn't do. I'll only take responsibility for what I DID do!

Fuck it, my younger self tried and messed up and broke down more times than I can count. I'm not putting myself in shackles over it, I know my mistakes, it's okay to grow from them!

Fuck it, I have people in my life that care and support me, I can ask for help!

Fuck it, I am worthy of nice things and tasty treats!

Fuck it, I'm allowing myself to enjoy writing again, I can start something new without finishing another! I can pick up whatever I want, whenever I want!

Fuck it, I'm going to get back into 3D animation and make a video game! Two! Maybe four!

Fuck it, I'm going to enjoy myself, because I can!

Feelings tonight

[fanzou]

Here's an idea? The OP guys. Sanji, Zoro, Law, (separately, of course) with a reader who has a crush on them, and they KNOW IT. (But nobody else does) So he just messes with her and gets her to blush, as his was of saying that he likes her too.🤭

Big, Fat, Crush

✗ Pairing(s): Zoro Roronoa x Fem!Reader, Sanji Vinsmoke x Fem!Reader, Law Trafalgar x Fem!Reader

✗ Summary: What do they do knowing you have a crush on them?

✗ CW: Reader is wearing a dress in Zoro's first half, Teasing... and it's RUTHLESS, Law makes reader cry but he makes up for it, it gets a little suggestive at the of Sanji's part [Let me know if I missed any]

✗ Total WC: Zoro’s Ver. (1.8K), Law’s Ver. (2.3K), Sanji’s Ver. (1.3K)

✗ A/N: Wow. If you couldn't tell I loved writing this. I didn't intend for it to get so long but here it is! Enjoy love.

ZORO RORONOA

“You want me to get you any more sake, Zoro?”

“Yeah sure, thanks.”

The bar is crowded, but not so much that it was unbearable. You and Zoro found yourselves at the little table across from each other in the very back of the room catching up and debriefing about today’s events. But the day wasn’t so very eventful, otherwise he’d probably be drunk by this point to alleviate and level himself. He liked to really enjoy the end of his day like this. It was a good day.

You were tipsy, but he on the other hand, always held his alcohol well.

“What do you wanna do tomorrow before we leave the island?” You ask him, he liked the silence between you two, even in a rowdy bar, but he didn’t hate when you talked to him either. You asked all the right questions, you weren’t obnoxiously dumb like the rest of the crew, even when you were under the influence.

“Not too sure yet. I didn’t get the time to check out what they had with your excessive clothes shopping.” He says so nonchalantly, taking a sip of the drink you got him.

You pout with your brows furrowed, cute, “I did not buy that many clothes!”

“It probably felt that way ‘cause I was carryin’ the bags all damn day.” He grinned at you, a mischievous one.

You roll your eyes at him, but then giggle into your own drink, “You’re insufferable.”

He doesn’t miss the way you blush at his harmless teasing.

He never does.

-

So…

You end up a little more drunk than anticipated.

And you can’t for the life of you remember what you did last night. Your head was pounding, like, real life pounding through your skull almost like it was angry for you being so reckless just a few hours ago.

But to your relief, your back on the ship, clothes from last night still on and somewhat in tact— a little wrinkled, and your dress was ridden up a bit more than you were comfortable with. You pull it down immediately in embarrassment. Hopefully Zoro didn’t see that. Anyway, you scope out the girl’s quarters to see that Nami and Robin weren’t anywhere to be seen, and there was none of the usual liveliness in the ship that you knew and loved, no running footsteps, bangs, booms, nothing. Assuming that the green-haired man probably took you back to the ship in your drunken state and took his own personal stroll into the small town at the island, you relaxed.

But you were probably gonna get an earful from the crew since Zoro had a tendency to get lost.

Your shame settles in, and you mentally curse at yourself for being so reckless when the team counted on you for being the more careful one of the two. But something about his energy was so comforting, and you felt so safe around him. The fact that he safely took you back to the ship was living proof of that and you got a little flustered at the thought.

How did he carry you back? Bridal? On top his shoulder? Were you faced forwards or back? Maybe not even carried at all, just arm slung around his shoulder— Whatever the case, the thought of the close proximity made you nervous to think about.

To your astonishment you hear a knock on the door to the shared room. “Come in!” You say, your head immediately punishing you for it.

To your surprise, Zoro opens the door, and comes in. He closes the door before he faces you. “You feelin’ alright? You kinda got a little ahead of yourself.”

“Ugh, don’t remind me. I have the worst head ache of all time.” Your head is in your hands and your hair looks ten times more disheveled than it did when you woke up. You fight the feeling of discomfort and look up at him through messy stands of hair, “What, you’re not going back to enjoy your time with out me? I wouldn’t be so offended.”

He thinks to himself for a moment,

“I was waiting for you to get up.” His arms are crossed onto his chest now. His words are so effortless when he makes your heart jump.

“Zoro, it’s gonna take me a long time to get ready, how ‘bout you just go on ahead?”

You push away the hair covering your face to get a good look at his; his expression is borderline unreadable. It looks foreign on him.

It was all-knowing, it was up to no good. And you can only imagine what that meant.

“I’ll wait.”

-

So, Zoro waited the hour and a half for you to get ready, even though it meant that most of the day was already wasted. He insisted on taking you with him to the town you guys went to only yesterday, stating that it was simply because the crew wouldn’t let him hear the end of it had you both separated. It’s funny though, because you could swear that he was moving a bit differently than he was just yesterday. Whether good or bad, it was off-putting nonetheless. You’ve never seen him act this way.

After dabbling in his fair share of store-visiting to try to tie with yours (Spoiler: he did not.), it was already sunset, and he wanted to go to the bar, but you insisted that you didn’t want a repeat of last night. In his surprising obedience, he listened. You did, however, both meet in the middle for a late night food-grab and settled on a little hole-in-the-wall restaurant. You and Zoro quickly ordered and waited for the delicious meals that you knew you both were going to absolutely demolish.

You finally relaxed your form into the seat, taking advantage of the comfort you felt after walking around all day. You hardly exchanged a few words since you got into the restaurant, presumably because of how much time you spent together all day, so it was a surprise when Zoro opened his mouth to finally speak.

“Y’know, you talk a lot when you’re drunk.”

You halt in your comfort, God, you thought he was gonna forget about this already. Zoro teased you a lot but since you got on this island, it’s easily become relentless. And whatever your shenanigans were about last night were ground for it now.

In an effort to move away from the topic, “Hmm… yeah, don’t we all? Amirite? I’ve heard you say some crazy stuff when you were black-out drunk!” You laughed, lightly slapping the table to emphasize how “funny” it was. He seemed unfazed though, if anything, a little more confident in the words he would utter. His head was resting on his on the palm of his hand now, and that same smirk from earlier returned.

“Guessing none of them were love declarations, huh?”

Time stopped, save for your heart dropping down to your asshole.

Your eyes were wide, and you were praying to God that you misinterpreted the insinuation of what he just said.

“W-What do you mean?” He seemed so fascinated by the situation unraveling between the two of you, his grin never faltering. It was shocking, Zoro never really talked this much about nonsense, if you could call it that.

He chuckles at your shock almost sadistically, “You tried kissing my face the entire night and kept telling me how handsome I was, and how much you lo—”

“STOP!” Your hand not so subtly smacks his mouth shut, and the staff gives you both a weird look.

Great, now I’m making it everyone’s business!

You slowly remove your hand and try to avert your gaze elsewhere, while still fending for yourself. “I’m j-just a loving drunk... I-I guess…” The embarrassment is getting to be too much now, and whatever what you say at this point is just going to look like a lie, a big fat lie. And you wanna crawl into the nearest hole and die there. How can you even face the crew anymore? How can you look at him in the eye? Where’s the nearest exit so you can just run far, far away from him?! It seems like you’re plotting for the rest of how your life is gonna be from this point on, until he puts an end to your thoughts.

“C’mon woman. Get real. Why don’t you just face up to it? I see the way you look at me all the time. Drunk or not.” Zoro is leaned all the way back in his chair when you look up, his arms are crossed just how they were this morning. And you just want to melt into your chair at this point. Get away from anything and every thing that exists. Especially Zoro, if it wasn’t obvious. “God, you're naive, naive as hell.”

Embarrassment subsided for a moment, you sit there with your brows furrowed, now trying to piece together his new and probably much more embarrassing revelation. “…What? Why do you say that?”

He scoffs at you, “Y’Really gonna make me say it?”

What?

Zoro was never the articulate type and you respected that, but if there was an instance where you really hated his lack of speech; It was now.

For a split second, he looks a little conflicted on what he was going to say next. Like he was fighting the next words to come out of his mouth, his arms twitch a bit and he lets out a little sigh, shaking his head in what looks like defeat. But before you can say anymore; he gets out of his comfortable position, leans toward you and over the small table, grabs your shirt and…

Kisses you.

It was short, but Zoro thought he was going to die inside trying to build up the courage to say I love you instead. And this, this was so much better.

He would’ve mistook you for a tomato across from him when you sit back from his attack on your lips. He’s a little flustered himself, he does well to mask it, but it was worth your reaction. And since it was late at night the restaurant was almost dead at that point, with you both once again, sitting in the very back. So he wasn’t too crazy about who was watching.

“I’m… I… Um…” you’re trying so hard to get your words together. What the hell just happened. “I…”

Before you can say anything, you eat your words again. The server comes with your long anticipated dinner. He chooses to disregard the absolute mess you look, and some of your lipstick on Zoro’s mouth— and puts your food down onto the table.

“Enjoy you two lovebirds! My, what a beautiful couple you both make!”

LAW TRAFALGAR

The Polar Tang was full of energy today. In the dining hall, the crew sat down and talked the night away.

Penguin and Shachi were laughing it up and finding comfort in their drinks, you and Ikkaku talked about personal affairs over the amazing meal you shared, then Bepo joined in and you three all got a little too into some dumb gossip amongst another pair in the crew.

Safe to say everyone was having the night of their life. Something the Heart Pirates couldn’t do a lot.

All except your captain.

Always buried in his books and studies, Law claims that he wish he could have time to spend with you all, blasé blasé bla, but there was always an excuse that was thrown in your faces. Always. You respected his time and effort, it was something that not a lot of people could do.

So that’s why after your conversation with your friends was drawn to an end and they either resorted to drinking with the rest of the crew or just enjoying more talk, you decided to slip away for a moment. You didn’t know what possessed you to do this, (you did, you just wanted an excuse) but you fix up another plate and swiftly make your way towards your captains room. The food was delicious so, why not? What’s the harm?

The closer you got to his door is the more an anxiety rose in your chest, and your hands were getting a little shaky. There was nothing to be nervous about!

Just maybe seeing his handsome face focused so strongly on a certain text, the way his rough, calloused hand grips the pen so gently, or your favorite part— his parted and unbuttoned shirt, where you can see a window of his chest, not a lot but just enough to leave some imagination to how the rest of his tattooed body might look... And you stop yourself for a second, physically and mentally.

I’m being such a pervert right now.

You resume your slow and anything but steady walk to his quarters and you finally meet face to face with the door.

You pull your first up to knock after taking a very deep breath, but before your skin could touch the surface his voice is already urging you to step inside. And so you obey.

Once inside you immediately start to scan the sight before you, and it wasn’t much different from the one you had in your imagination. Of course this meant that you were a bit flustered coming to him, but you manage, “‘Just wanted to drop off some food for you, in case you couldn’t join us tonight.” You say with a little softness in your tone.

“Thank you. You can put it down on my desk.”

And you obey, again. Walking up to his desk full of papers and books/ You realize that it was a little messy and not clean enough to set the plate just anywhere, and his hands scramble through the paper to find a place for you to set the plate down until you finally do. Then, another thought emerges from your fantasy world.

“Do you need help organizing your desk, cap? I have some time and I don’t really feel like going to sleep anyways.”

He smiles softly at you and calls your name in a way that you wish you could hear over and over and over again, and he thanks you once more, “You’ve done enough for me tonight. I appreciate it.” You hide your disappointment in his words, but nod and make your way to the door anyway.

You exchanged your good night’s and make your way to your room. And when you fall back on your bed, you take your pillow and scream into it like a crazed schoolgirl in love.

-

The next morning comes, and you can guarantee that the crew has already started on breakfast. You rub your eyes and start to get cleaned up and fetch a new pair of clothes for the day.

Once you’re all freshen up, you make your way to the dining hall, surprised to hear no ruffling and noise. Maybe everyone was suffering the consequences of last nights drinking challenges, you thought. But even so, it wouldn’t be this quiet.

Your met with Law’s figure in the dining hall and he’s making tea for himself. He notices you, “You’re up really early.”

“Did you even get a wink of sleep?” You say in concern.

He’s silent for a few seconds, and he makes his way to the table to enjoy his freshly brewed drink. “I couldn’t.” Or more like he wouldn't.

You sigh, yup, that was your captain. You thought for a second, thinking about what you could do in order for him to feel better about his own consequences from a lack of sleep. But you know he would just decline most of your suggestions. Instead, you plop yourself in the seat across from him. You both sit in a comfortable silence while you waited for your coffee to be made, and you take a second to scan his tired features.

He does well to hide it in his mannerism, but his face betrays him. You can tell he's deathly tired, and if he let's his eyes close for more than a second you're sure he'd plop right onto the table.

“Take a picture, maybe it’ll last longer.”

You blink, and you blink again. “O-Oh, sorry…” he’s not offended, if anything his face is smug. You’re quick to defend yourself with a little scoff, “Can’t a woman be worried for her captain? You don’t look the best anyway.” You quickly cover your mouth, seriously, how dumb did you have to be?

But he only laughs at your remark, he shakes his head and his smug expression does not leave his face. “It’s a little hard to not point out when you do it all the time.”

“I do not!”

“Do too.”

“I don’t!”

“Don’t what?” Shachi comes into the room completely oblivious to what you guys were bickering childishly about. He’s rubbing his eyes, “Why are you both up so early? Especially you,” he points at you, “You drank a lot.”

You roll your eyes, you hardly drank. And now you were a little embarrassed at his public revelation, (though it was a secret to nobody but Law,) and your face grows a little red.

The rest of the crew gets up one by one and soon enough breakfast is served. You barely pick up your head anymore out of shame of your earlier dispute, if you could even call it that, with your captain. Bepo is talking about something he encountered a while back while on an adventure with Law, usually you’d be invested, but you were far too in your zone.

And so you get up and make your way to your room, the gloominess practically radiating off of you. Your absence is barely noticed due to the focus everyone had on Bepo’s story.

Law notices, though.

He excuses himself and Bepo gets a little upset, but he understands and respects his captain, so he resumes his dramatic story that keeps everyone on the edge of their seat. You, on the other hand, were now face flat on your pillow mumbling self-deprecating comments to yourself after the terrible situation you were just in.

That was so embarrassing. My captain hates me. It’s so obvious. Why do I do this to myself. Why did I think that was okay. I’m going to escape. (You were under water) This is dumb. I’m du—

*Knock Knock*

You lift your head up even though you didn’t want to, “No.” is all you could manage.

“It’s your captain.”

As much as you wanted to tell him to piss off and let yourself drown in the shame you felt, you couldn’t. Because at the end of the day, it was as your captain proclaimed, though you wanted it to be much more, there was nothing you could do. Nothing, especially after today's consequences.

After a bit of hesitance and a lot of hurt in your voice, you tell him, “You can come inside.”

He cracks the door open a smidge to further observe your well-kept room and there you were, lying on your stomach with your arms crossed, face laying against them and your eyes away from his. It wasn’t the most appropriate sight for your captain to walk in on, but you two were close enough for him to get comfortable enough to let the door open and let himself all the way into your room.

He walks towards you and pulls a chair over, turns it around and manspreads against it to take his seat-- and you really wanted to take in the sight completely, but even that wasn’t enough to get your mood back up and running.

“You left.”

“Why do you care?” You turn your head the opposite way facing the wall beside you. Law doesn’t say anything for quite some time and you can almost bet on your tears slipping soon. He was making this so much more worse than it had to be.

He calls your name, and you just wanna melt into the soft fabric beneath you. “Look at me.”

You disobey.

After your reluctance to his order, he draws out a sigh. You always were the most stubborn of the crew. So with this, he thinks long and hard on his next words or actions, and finally lands on one possible outcome.

“You leave me no choice.”

“Wha— Law!” He turns you around by your waist and forces you up with just one hand. Then, before you know it, your body is slung across his broad shoulder while he finds his bicep tight around your thighs. You were facing backwards while he carried you. “Now you’re calling me by name, no captain anymore?" he laughs, "I think I’ve gone too soft on you.”

“What are you doing!?” You say, trying to get out of his grasp, but even with all of your strength, he was no match for you. “Someone will see!”

“No they won’t. I’m taking you to my room.” He opens the door in one swift motion and kicks it in another.

“And you’re not explaining why!” You hit his back in defiance. You were halfway through the corridor to meet his room already, so you just give up.

He takes no time in entering his room, finally putting you down and ordering you to sit on a spare seat in the grand environment. You were insanely nervous at this point, taken aback by his sudden action and the intimacy of it all. He’s peering down at you with a seriousness in his gaze that makes you put your head down in the worst shame you’ve felt since you’ve woken up.

You always thought that maybe, you might have had a chance with him one day. All that was thrown out the window now.

And it's time to swallow your pride. You take a deep breath, and build a whole lot of courage, and:

“I’m sorry, for saying that about you in the dining hall. And getting smart with you. And calling you by your first na—”

“You’re really stubborn, did you know that?”

And there it is, you feel the tears build up once again, and it hurts. Because the firmness in his voice is always the same. So demanding and... so difficult for you.

“And I don’t know why I’m attracted to you. I don’t understand why I tolerate the things you do.”

You start crying now, because you don’t know what else to do. You don’t know the sincerity of his words, and you hold yourself in the chair that you sat on, trying your best to look away from him.

He walks towards you and gets on his knees in front of you, It was a little bit of a blow to his own pride, and it wasn’t something he would do for anyone else at all. But you were different. You’re still crying and you weakly try pushing him away and looking to the side and the new guilt starts to form itself inside of him, but he insists that he stays where he is. He’s whispers an I’m sorry before his hands find solace on your jaw while both of his thumbs wipe your tears away. You look down at him with the most beautiful eyes he’s seen, your gaze softens at him and your crying calms down a little bit seeing that he wasn't so serious anymore, but instead his expression was a little desperate.

-- He’s still got a lot to make up for, and he knows now was not the time to press you on anything else— there was nothing to press anyways. You were perfect, in every aspect of the word. He just enjoyed the idea of teasing you, not anyone else, but he took it too far.

When he was sure that you were more comfortable in his arms, he pulled you down and pushed the chair away. He takes you in his embrace and whispers his apologies into your ear so genuinely.

“This wasn’t the way I thought this would go.” He lets the thousandth sigh out of his mouth today. You look into his eyes with a questioning expression, “I mean that, I fucked it up.”

It was your turn to feel guilty again, but you were tired of words.

You just take his face in your hands just as he did not so long ago, and you both look at each other for a moment. His eyes look to your lips for a second, and if you didn’t know any better you would’ve thought he was just as eager as you, maybe he was. His lips inch towards yours and they take no time in meeting.

It’s slow, soft, sensual. And it takes a while for your mouths to part. When they do, all you can do is stare at each other.

You finally breathe, “Okay,” you face turns to the side to escape his beautiful one.

“Maybe all of that was pretty worth it.”

SANJI VINSMOKE

You’ve been avoiding Sanji all week.

And he can’t decide if he should talk to you about it or not, he’s leaning more towards the latter, just because he’s too into the nervousness that suddenly appears on your face when you’re in close proximity. Then; you’re scrambling to the nearest door and half-assing an excuse about where you need to be or what you need to do.

He personally loves when it’s breakfast, lunch, or dinner and he gets to not only cook your favorite meals and you can’t escape him, otherwise the crew would immediately worry for your absence. He also enjoys how embarrassed you get when you can feel him staring at you. Alas, he can’t stand the inability to talk to you and be in your unwanted presence anymore, he needed to make his move on you quick.

You see, earlier this week a battle occurred between you, Sanji, and an enemy that threatened the Thousand Sunny.

You and Sanji had both agreed to guard the ship while the rest of the crew had prepared their own duties on the foreign land, he insisted that there would be no good food supply and there was already enough stocked up from the last. It was a no-good devil fruit user, who wielded the ability to make its opponent confess a super big secret, to then throw them off completely, and defeat them. It was like a weak spot-- psychological warfare more so. And… he got you.

Can you guess what your secret was?

For certain, the devil fruit did its magic. And Sanji was surely taken aback, but adamant on defending the ship and more importantly, you, he did his part and tried with all his might to fight the bad guy off and made a mental note to immediately come find you afterwards.

You were close to passing out from shock after the bewildering confession, but when you came to, the blonde sat right beside you in a shit-eating grin, “So… you’re crushin’ on me, princess?” And you wanted to pass out again, but instead you just run for the ship and locking yourself in your room, ignoring his pleas to come back and talk about it.

Ever since that day, the atmosphere between you two had been a bit awkward. Conversations weren't as light and smooth, you tried finishing your food as fast as possible and managing a quick thank you before making a bee line to the girls room, and most importantly— everyone took notice of how distant you got from Sanji.

Usopp fell victim to the awkward encounters more often than the rest, and it was safe to say they were getting on his last nerve now. "Whatever you did, you should apologize, man!" He pats his back as a sign of encouragement. And for a second it almost felt like you and him were a married couple having problems, it brought a smile to his face.

Not to worry, he had a plan.

-

You joined Robin in a comfortable silence below the deck, praying to the heavens you wouldn’t hear from the blonde cook while the sun set so beautifully. Your original ploy was to just act like it never happened, but anytime you saw him it was like re-imagining the entire scenario over and over again.

Your head is hanging off the chair while you doze off and Robin is reading her book— appreciating your silence, the weather was just a little windy and the sky had a nice orange and red gradient to it. The waves were crashing against the boat but it wasn’t overbearing, it was just fine.

You asked Robin to read her book out loud, even though you weren’t following the storyline, you found comfort in her melodic voice and how softly she read it and sure enough she would be lulling you to sleep soon.

But before you could finally reach sleep like you intended, there’s a presence you can sense, and Robin puts her beautiful voice to a halt. You don’t want to open your eyes but it almost seems like you have to.

And you immediately regretted it.

Above you was Sanji. “Hi.”

“Sanji!” He moves a little back from you, and you straighten your posture, wide awake. “I was just leaving actually, I have to clean the girls room! I lost a bet a while back. So… I’m gonna go do that.”

“I don’t think that bet ever happened but, I’m not entirely opposed to you doing that for us.” Robin says smugly. You loved her but the betrayal on your face spoke volumes in that moment.

You’re already defeated and you’re trying to muster up another shitty excuse, “We can’t delay this anymore than we have.” He takes your hand and you can only burn eyes at the skinship. You’re lightheaded again, just like that day you confessed.

And he drags you into the kitchen with him before you can defy him a hundred times over, he locks the door to slow down your escape, and if anyone came in on the two of you.

He finally turns around to look at you with the most frustrated expression littered all over his face.

“Why are you avoiding me?” He asks you in desperation, and you kinda wanted to slap him out of your own mixed emotions, because it was pretty obvious as to why. He catches on shortly after, “Okay, scratch that. Why is it necessarily a bad thing that you have feelings for me?”

“Please Sanji, let’s just forget about i—”

“How do I forget something like that? Why are we holding this off? Are we just never gonna talk about it?” You sense some repressed anger boiling up inside of him, and to tell the truth you’ve never seen him speak to any woman like this, so raw and nothing to hold back. “Listen, the cat’s out the bag, right? What’s the point in hiding it if we both feel this way about each other?”

…

…

…

“You… felt the same way… and you’re just now telling me this?” You walk towards him, he looks away in shame.

“It’s not about how you feel towards me, I’m just not worthy of you. I don’t deserve you.” You push him out of sheer frustration, and he just lets you.

Sanji assumes you’ll just use him as your personal punching bag at this point with the amount of self-deprecating thoughts he’s already throwing at himself in his head, but all of them were replaced once you took him by the shoulders and pulled him into a powerful kiss. He was in shock, but he quickly melted into it, grabbing you by both sides of your face, and you pull away.

“All you did was tease me and taunt me and put me over the edge these past few days, for what? Just to reveal that you wanted me too?” You scoff, but your lips betray you. You lean back into the kiss and it’s so much more passionate than before. His hands find comfort in your hips.

After the kiss got a little too passionate, and Sanji already making his move on your neck, you all but gave into him. So willingly.

“You locked the door, right?” You ask.

He grins into the quick kiss, excited by your insinuation, “Yeah.”

meanwhile, on the deck

Chopper quickly becomes your replacement for Robin, although not as quiet, she does equally enjoy her time with you both.

Choppers stomach gives him away, “Robin, I’m hungry. Do you know if Sanji’s making dinner soon?”

Robin smirks, and pats Chopper on the head.

“He’s busy with something right now, I think it would be best if we didn’t bother him, either.”

[unintentionalseductress]

What do you think would be the reaction of the Love and deepspace men to finding the Mc reading spicy books (the very spicy ones)? I would love to see what you think!

Spicy Secrets

Warnings: suggestive dialogue A/n: sorry for the wait anon!

Zayne watches you reproachingly. It’s rare for you not to engage with him when he’s over and he’s beginning to lose his patience at your lack of attention. You’re curled up on the side of the sofa, a book resting on the arm and you’re utterly engrossed. He notices the slight dusting of pink across your cheeks and with a sigh, gets off the chair he’s on and sits as close as he can next to you. You make a noise of surprise as he does so but allow him to cuddle. 

“I see you’ve entered a committed relationship—with paper and ink," Zayne quips with a touch of humor, but it’s obvious you’re being chastised. “What are you reading anyway?” Zayne brushes past your shoulder to read the page you’re on and you hurriedly snap the book shut.

Zayne’s eyebrows knit together in confusion. “What’s the matter?”

You’re blushing furiously as you place your hand over the top of the book, determined to hide the cover. “It’s nothing!”

“Your face looks like a tomato.” Zayne tugs at your hand and you struggle, picking up the book and pressing it against your chest to keep it out of his view. There’s a playful tug-of-war before he gives you a forceful yank, and he falls onto the sofa cushions with you landing on top of him.

From this angle, he reads the reviews on the back of the dust jacket. 

“A tantalizing piece of fiction. If you’re looking for a steamy romance look no further. Guaranteed to make your panties drop-” He’s cut off as you abruptly toss the book away over your shoulder. 

“Ohhh, so that’s why you’ve been blushing at random times. Should I be jealous or take notes?” He teases, enjoying the way you avert your eyes. You suppress a gasp as he puts his ear to your chest. “Your heart’s racing,” he murmurs, his eyes darkening at the sight of your sweetly red face. 

“Perhaps we should do something to alleviate it?”

“No luck finding that high school yearbook pipsqueak?” Caleb wanders back into the attic as you rummage through some old boxes. You shake your head no, then reach up to pull down another box on a high shelf.

“Careful,” Caleb warns as he approaches you to help get the box down. 

“I’ve got it!” You insist and give the box a hard tug. It wobbles and then tips off the shelf, landing with a loud thud on the wooden floor. You squeak and cover your head with your arms right before it goes crashing down. The contents spill everywhere, soft paperback books flying in all directions. 

“I told you to be careful! Now we have to clean this up too.” Caleb squats and starts gathering up the books. “Looks like all those old storybooks you used to read ended up in here.” 

You glance down at the mess and, with a jolt, see a familiar cover with a woman gazing at a half-dressed man, before scrambling and trying to cram as many books as you can back into the box. 

“It’s not a competition pipsqueak.” Caleb watches you perplexedly before he picks up a random book with a black dust jacket and flicks to a random page. His eyes widen, then a sly grin forms on his lips. You freeze, books stacked haphazardly in your arms, heart thumping in your chest as he starts to read out loud. 

“You’re mine, understood? He asks as he bites into my neck. His large hand grips the back of my hair as his fingers sinfully slip between my legs-”

Caleb lets out a bark of laughter as you interrupt him, lunging in a panic and sending the gathered books cascading back onto the floor. He’s still shaking with mirth as you both hit the ground. 

“My my pipsqueak,” Caleb says teasingly as your face flushes. You try to punch his shoulder but he catches your fist, grinning. “Be honest… have you been imagining me as the male lead in these stories? And if not, how do I get the part?"

You groan and try to escape but Caleb only tugs you more firmly against him. 

“You know…if you told me…I might just do it.”

“Sweetie…I thought perhaps you’d be interested in wearing this later tonight.”

You glance at Sylus over the rim of the glass you’re drinking from, then give him a perplexed look as he dangles a silk blindfold from one of his fingers. You swallow your water and frown. 

“What makes you think that?” 

“Well, because I think it might be fun. And also because-” he pulls out a small, red, paperback book that was hidden behind the sofa pillow, “-you seem to enjoy reading what happens to the protagonist while she’s wearing one.”

You splutter, water filling your nose as you try to recover from what you just saw. “Where did you get that from?! Were you snooping through my things?”

“Not at all.” Sylus grins wickedly. “Mephisto saw it lying open on the couch last night. Of course, he brought it to my attention. I was going to put it away…until some interesting words caught my eye.” 

You turn away, trying not to melt into a puddle of embarrassment. 

“Why so embarrassed kitten? The things in this book are tame.” Before you can reply, Sylus has already closed the distance between you, your back coming into contact with his chest. “If you had told me you wanted to experiment,” he purrs into your ear, “Do you think I wouldn’t have said yes?” 

The little silken object brushes against your skin, creating sensitivity that hadn’t been there a moment ago, and you shiver in his embrace. Triumphantly, Sylus chuckles in your ear. 

“Remember your safe word kitten. I know exactly what I want to do with you tonight.” 

“Are you…happy?” Xavier asks the question carefully as you snuggle into him lazily, ready to enjoy an afternoon nap.

You regard his expression and cup his face between your hands. “Yes, Xavi. Why?”

He shakes his head sheepishly. “I meant…you know. In the bedroom.” 

Your lips part but no sound comes out as you regard his question. This was unexpected. You rack your brain trying to think of something that had happened the last time you’d made love to bring on this question. Nothing comes to mind and you kiss the tip of his nose.

“Of course I am. Why?”

Xavier’s adorable blue eyes are looking at you with a strange expression. “Are you sure?”

You sigh and snuggle into him. “Yes, Xavier. I’m very sure.”

Silence fills the room before Xavier speaks again. “It’s just that…the book you’re reading. It seems like the couple do a lot of…risque stuff.”

Your eyes widen and you bury your face into his chest to hide your embarrassment. 

“Did I say something wrong?” You shake your head no, further pushing yourself into his chest. Xavier gently disengages, putting space between your body and his. “You’ll run out of air.” 

“Nothing is going on in that book that would make me unhappy with what we’re doing.” 

“But I’ve seen how your face gets when you read it.”

Xavier’s eyes seem to change, something primal coming into them as he rolls and pins you under him. You gaze up at him slightly breathlessly as his hands stroke your sides.

“Maybe…we can try them?” His hand slips along your thigh, and it’s obvious where he’s going. You nod shyly and a smirk comes onto Xavier’s face before he brings his lips to yours and into a sensual kiss.

He’s positively pouting as you tell him you don’t want to go out tonight. It was the third time that week. His lower lip is quivering as he watches you put your favorite chips into a bowl and getting ready to slip into bed.

You’re reading again?” he asks exasperatedly. “There’s no way a book can be that good.”

You smile and pat his cheek. “We’ll plan something for next time Raf. Promise.”

He rolls his eyes but relents and watches you walk away to the bedroom. It takes a half an hour before he gets bored and he listlessly wanders around the studio. It wasn’t fair, he reasoned with himself. He deserved your attention more than the characters in your book. 

He reaches the bedroom and cracks open the door. You’re engrossed, leaning comfortably on the pillows with the book in hand, munching on your chips. You glance up at him as he approaches the bed. 

“Thought you’d be painting!” 

“I miss you.” Rafayel dramatically flops down on the bed, his eyes narrowing as he looks at the dark and romantic book cover. “Why does this guy have his nipples out?”

“He’s the hero.” 

"Wait, wait, wait. You mean to tell me that I have competition… and it’s a fictional man with a six-pack and a dark past?" He glares at you and you stifle a laugh. 

“No one compares to you.” You reassuringly pat his head but it only worsens his neediness. He crawls up towards the headboard and snuggles against you.

"I think it’s only fair that you read me a passage or two. For research purposes, of course."

© unintentionalseductress original work | no copying, plagiarizing or translating

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