#message of second dose without taking

[amorre1989]

lovely love letters

pairing: Spencer Reid; reader

word count: 3,4k

content: after a shared night with your sweet boyfriend Spencer, you wake up alone at his apartment and allow yourself to snoop around his apartment

mornings in your boyfriend's apartment were different. The feeling of the soft and a little sweated bedsheets combined with the smell of his skin was the closest you've been to heaven.

You had just woken up at Spencer's apartment removing the Spencer's part.

He left early in the morning, two hours before you, leaving a sweet hot kiss on your lips while you were sleeping (something you've assured him you didn't mind at all when he confessed to you that you looked adorable when you were sleeping, and that he always had to control himself from kissing you on the lips).

Leaving the bed was easy, you finally, after a long time, woke up with energy. Sleeping with Spencer has always given you an amazing dose of oxytocin, a hormone of happiness that is released while having physical contact and is related to the relationships (explained by who else than the amazing Dr Reid).

You walked your way to the kitchen, where on the coffee machine a sticky note was in the front of it, with instructions of how to use it, you left it to the side making the wrong assumption that you knew how to use a coffee machine, to seconds later hold it between your fingers and read it with a smile on your lips.

When you finally made your coffee you took a selfie holding the sticky note along with a text saying "thank you baby, i underestimated your gesture", you drank your coffee while sitting on the floor next to the opened window you allowed yourself to touch. It felt embarrassing, almost wrong to be at someone's place and touching everything you needed for the day, but Spence had made sure of letting you know you were free to do as you pleased while he was absent.

"I'm glad it did. how's your morning going?" Spencer's voice sounded in your head while reading the 40 minute late message, it's alright, you thought.

"very good baby, I'm sitting on the floor while drinking coffee" you said, not even thinking it was forbidden or anything.

"on the floor? I have plenty of comfy chairs, you know? and a sofa, and a bed" he texted back almost immediately. "why are you on the floor? does your back hurt again? I'll give you a message with oils when I get back, yeah? :)" he says, you can only pay attention to your smile being attacked by your teeth and the tickle you felt lower from your tummy. All those things he would do would always make you feel grateful for being his, and the fact that you, a well educated girl, was having breakfast in a house where the host was missing, was something you had to share with someone; you needed to tell someone you felt grateful for it, and who else better than your best friend?.

"I'll accept the massage with pleasure, baby...thank you for letting me stay at your place without you here...maybe it's dumb, but I feel grateful for it" you press the button "send" followed by taking a final sip from the mug you had chosen as yours.

Twenty minutes had passed since you last texted your absent boyfriend, you were now focused on tidying the bed you shared last night and doing an examination of Spence's belongings.

You were about to leave the bedroom when you realized his light table had a little red something peeking out the cabinet, you opened it and your tensed eyebrows relaxed by realizing it was a lollipop wrapper you made him try from your natal country, followed by little pieces of paper and napkins where you had written things to him before and doodled dumb things like his name or spirals, even a not too successful attempt of making a cute Snoopy followed by a "I suck at drawing" from you.

You sat on the floor for god knows how long, examining everything that was in that sweet little drawer. From candy wrappers to used napkins with your brown lip liner that had stained his cheek uncountable times as well. With little pictures you've printed for him of you both, flowers you had given him that were now dry and pressed for a book (a tip you've taught him) and then paper sheets from a notebook you didn't recognize of him talking about...you!.

Your first meeting, your first date, your first dinner, your first "she's staying at my place tonight!", his first "I'm staying at her's tonight!" and more things you've marked as relevant as well.

When you finished looking through his drawer you couldn't help but feel bad about invading his privacy, but you were curious, and he knew it!.

You went to the kitchen and noticed he had texted you back with a "you know you're more than welcomed at my place princess, I'm glad you feel comfortable with staying with me at night and in the morning too, I'm happy to share my days with you" your heart started to feel bigger and your heartbeat feeling more present as well, why does he have to be so charming?.

When he got back home after a few hours that became days, you were already at your place, and your presence in his apartment a few days ago was easy to notice when he opened the door and saw it was tidy, along with your perfume that you probably (did) sprayed at his place. He left his bag and made himself comfortable before calling you to meet up to have a movie night, that was your thing, classical movies everyone should watch, and if not, were pointed as dumb.

When you got there minutes later, you greeted him with a smiling kiss while holding something in your hands.

"hello beautiful...what's that?" he says scrunching his eyebrows.

"it's my Spence box, I thought you had to see it" you say, smiling, and with peek of something else he couldn't describe instantly.

"Spence box?" he asks. You nod and sit on the floor next to the coffee table, next you start to show and explain to him all the little things you have saved from 'firsts'.

After a while, when both were already distracted with a movie and holding each other relaxed he says.

"did you peeked in my drawer?" while realizing pretty late that in fact, you did. His face addressed yours, with squinted eyebrows and eyes.

"no..." you mumbled silently while looking away from his face which was instantly replaced with the view of him above you, smiling demonically while attacking you with his slender fingers in your tummy, along with both of your laughs filing the air of his apartment which was already titled as your home.

[lettersoftheshygirl]

"when did you get so pretty?" caleb (l&ds) x fem!reader

part 2/3

derek

please tell your friend to stay away fron me this is gettingserisiu i BARLEY DID NAYTHING OTYOU sent 1:20am

you stared at the message on your phone with a frown on your face. this had to be an accident, right? this text felt like it was written in a drunken haze, high off the charts and probably half-asleep somewhere but something felt off about it. what did he mean by your "friend?"

derek was a good guy. nothing special. the two of you had classes together so obviously you guys met, but that was it. you were never too close with him or any boys at that. you had been like that since childhood. men sort of irked you, except for caleb. he was also very overprotective of you back then. and due to the two of you being a bit distant lately, it was hard to tell if he was still the same.

back in primary school. seven year old caleb got in trouble for pushing a guy in the playground who was being a bit too rough with you. your grandmother came to talk to the principal who was trying to soothe the other parents, who claimed caleb was dangerous and unlike all the other childred, and even called you names! of course, that was when you were kids. would he still do that? would he still be that reckless to intimidate someone because he just wants you all by himself?

it was hard to tell. you sighed softly as you began to form a text to reply to derek, who without a doubt was still writing some thing since he had been typing for a minute.

you

no idea what ur talking about u good? sent 8:03am

derek

NO IM NOT WHY DOSE EH THUNK WER'E GOING TO THE GALA TOGETHER??? I AVEH A GD FD GF read 8:06am

what? all of your thoughts suddenly made sense. of course this was caleb. of course he would intimidate the one guy you dared to interact with, of course he would get jealous over a stupid lie, of course he would be behind it all.

a part of you felt horrible for derek. his texts were.. frantic, and frankly quite funny without context but you still felt guilty for bringing him in between your messed up relationship with your best friend.

caleb loved you. he always said that. "maybe i love you a bit more than you realise," he always said that to you when you guys had a disagreement. he loved you more and more everyday, and that love made him do things that scared you. why would he do this about a gala he didn't even know was happening til you said it a couple nights ago? did it hurt him that bad? did you really stoop so low to annoy him that you potentially hurt a classmate of yours because of this love that you kept feeding and feeding.

what did you feel for him? caleb was everything to you. growning up when you would sit in class, lonely and afraid he would always console you. when you were in middle school and going through an 'emo' phase and refused to talk to anyone, he waited for you. he was there for you every day, every year, every second, every weak, every where with you. you couldn't imagine a life without him. but.. at the same time, your chest ached remembering all the missed dates from guys who liked you, all the guys you liked but never approached, all the missed opportunities for teen love, all the fun you could be having but sheltered for a love both of you killed each other to have and thrive.

you buried your hands in your hair, the feeling of pain slowly turning into anger. you were mad. it was caleb's fault. he was the one that caused all of this, caused you to miss so many things in life. this one incident was just the breaking point from his latest behaviour which stayed in the back of your mind.

taking your phone out once again, you checked your location app to see where caleb was; his apartment. you wasted no time to put your shoes on and grab a jacket as you walked out the door. it didn't matter to you what he wanted right now, you wanted to talk to him and tell him to back off your life. a sharp breath left your mouth as you felt the cold winds on your face, could you really do this?

as you arrived in front of caleb's penthouse appartment, it was too late to back down. you gripped your jacket tightly in an attempt to calm your nerves as you waited for him to open the door. the sound of calm footsteps occured and the a soft click sound of the lock.

the door opened to reveal your.. handsome best friend. whose hair was still wet from the shower he took prior, long bangs falling in front of his forehead, a blue t-shirt hugging the taut muscles in his body and his signature silver chain sitting pristine in his smooth, milky skin. damn it. despite his looks, your face remained neutral. it was difficult but you did it. he didn't say anything for a second, and neither did you, but he saw the look on your face.

"what's the matter, pip-?"

"no. i talk today." you said, putting your finger up which he thought was rather funny but just kept quiet, putting his hands up in a defenseless motion. you took in a deep breath and put your hands on your waist, trying to form your words in a way that did not seem outwardly aggressive. "how do you know derek?"

"i don't."

"don't lie."

"why don't you get inside?"

"why don't you stop lying?" his face went from sweet and caring to an angry frown within seconds. he looked at you with his bright blue eyes, jaws locked as he narrowed his eyes for a second at you and you scoffed. "coward." you mumbled, loud enough for him to hear it, and quiet enough for him to take it personally.

"i didn't do anything bad to him, okay?" caleb said, crossing his arms over his chest as he leaned against the doorframe and looked down at you. he was getting mad as well, and he did not like how you kept refusing to listen to him and get inside. "i just-"

"just what?" you interrupted him once again, "just threatened him, intimidated him, and what else? can you list all of them so we can get it over with?" you felt bad for berating him like this, and you felt worse that those puppy dog eyes were looking back at you but right now it didn't matter.

“y/n–”

"you know what it doesn't matter right now!' your voice a little louder than you anticipated, "you're always meddling with my life thinking that you're actually keeping me safe when you're making my life miserable!" caleb clenched his jaw as he kept his eyes on you, hands balling into a fist from anger and frustration, “i wish you were never my friend at all!"

you regretted the words as soon as soon as you said it, but which was it; never or friend? the two of you stood there for a second before he moved from the door and looked at you with a stern look. your pride told you to stand there but caleb's icy cold hand grabbed your arm and pulled you inside.

"hey-!" you couldn't even speak as he locked the door behind you, the sound echoing, foreshadowing the future.

an awkward air filled the room as his hand left yours, "i did threaten him. i did intimidate him and i did punch him, so what?" he spoke, his words matched with the calm tone that she spoke with made a shiver go down your spine as you looked up to match his gaze. "you were going to go out with that clown. do you think i was going to let that happen?

do you think that i have spent all these years of my life being next to you, protecting you, for nothing?" his hand came to your jaw, tilting your face higher as his eyes fell to your lips for a split second, quick enough to be missed if you blinked, "you have your right to be angry, but what about me? you turned yourself blind to me and my love, you turned yourself away from me when all i ever wanted was you." his thumb traced your bottom lip, making your breath hitch.

you felt like you were in a dream. was this really happening?

"caleb-"

"are we really just friends, y/n?" he asked, his eyes closing as he took a step closer to you, his forehead touching yours as his hot breath fanned against your face, "do friends cuddle together? do friends feel like they can't breathe when they see the other enter a room? do friends have to physically hold themselves back because of how they feel?" he whispered, his voice getting quieter with each and every word.

"no," your voice was quiet too, but your words were loud. "i don't think so," you felt his other hand slide down your waist and pull you closer, making a sigh leave your lips.

"i don't think so either." he whispered, his lips brushing against yours as he opened his eyes to look at your face up close. he had dreamt of this for ages. your pretty flushed face, big doe eyes and sweet pink lips waiting all for him. "we'll always be together," he said, "in life and in death."

his lips met yours both softly and hungrily. his mouth devouring yours as his other hand held the back of your head to keep you from moving. his tongue slipped inside yours, tasting the Red Bull and mints you had all day. teeth clashed against each other, hands ravaged on clothes and hearts synced up to the same beat. all you wanted to do was kiss him and kiss him and kiss him.

"please, y/n." he whispered, "don't leave now." he was almost whimpering, breathing heavy against your lips as he kept on kissing you like he needed air to breathe.

"i won't." you reassured him, hands going to his neck, "i promise." but you weren't sure.

you had just kissed your best friend, your childhood friend, a person who your grandmother said was like your brother, a person who had been with you every step of the way. a person who held your hand when you cried and stood behind you when you fell. would that still be the case now that things were.. different?

caleb's hand caressed your cheek as his forehead rest against yours. he smelled good - fresh, like soap and mint. the quaint remnants of his cologne made your head dizzy and thighs squeeze together.

he sighed against your face, "i want to.." he paused, his eyes meeting yours, "..live in the same world as you. i want to feel your warmth and hug you close." he said, his heart heavy with emotions that he had been bottling up since the first time he saw you.

it was hard to watch you be with other guys and like other guys when you were clearly the one for him and he for you! did he go to extreme measures sometimes? yes, but it never mattered because at the end of the day, the two of you were meant to be.

"i can't.. hold it any longer, y/n." his voice was a deep rumble, like a silent confession of the clouds by thunders from far away.

as his words finished his lips were back on yours, this time they were softer and more intimate. taking his time to devour you from the inside out. his hands wrapped around your waist as his legs stepped forward, pushing you back, gently guiding you back to his room but you hit the coffee table, making the two of you stop.

"i- uh.. sorry, i-"

"shush.. shh.." his lips barely moved away from yours as he stumbled the two of you into his bedroom. a room you had been to a thousand times, but never like this. never with your lips on his and his hands on your ass.

caleb was a very messy kisser. you did not expect that. of course, there were times when you imagined how your best friend would kiss you, and you always thought: professional. he seemed like he had a lot of experience right? and he appeared very dominant and no-nonsense, but that wasn't the case at all. his mouth took almost all of yours entirely, messily kissing you with teeth and tongue everywhere. he even tasted different; like gin and gum.

as you dropped to his bed, he looked down at you for a second, admiring you. the countess times he imagined having you in his bed; naked, clothed, in his clothes, however that was, it was now coming true. he leaned down slowly, maintaining eye contact as he brushed a few strands of your bangs away from your face to look at you better.

"are we really doing this?" he asked in a quiet murmury voice, his eyes moving from your lips to your eyes. his body was on top of yours, his legs in between yours and chest connected; hearts on top of one another. "we can stop if you want. we can watch a movie, cuddle, pretend like it never happened." he whispered.

"why?" you asked, confused and frustrated, "what.. what are we?"

"whatever you want me to be." he said, his face serious and lips forming a thin line, as if composing himself, "i can be your friend, your best friend. i can.. be your fuck-buddy. your boyfriend. your family." he paused, his finger trialing down from your jaw to the valley between your chest. "what do you want me to be, pip-squeak?"

your breath hitched as his index finger lowered to your chest, your cheeks turning a bright pink and lips parting as you sighed. "won't it be awkward if i say i want us to be family right about now?" you joked, making him smirk.

"don't say it, pip-squeak. i dare you." he laughed, making you sigh once again. it was too big of a decision to make at the heat of the moment, and your joke would only deflect it for so long.

"take your shirt off." he didn't need to be said twice. he moved to his side, taking his shirt off and revealing his toned six-pack abs and strong muscles. your hands came to his biceps, tracing down to his forearms before you leaned in for a kiss.

your thoughts were barely working as his hands slipped under your t-shirt and grabbed your breast over your bra, making a soft sigh leave your lips. your heartbeat had never been faster, and your stomach felt like it had been typing knots again and again and again. his lips stayed on yours as his hand slid down to your pants, going under them and tracing the hem of your panties before pushing your leg further open to have easier access.

he groaned softly from feeling how wet you were. your panties had a hard patch in the middle from you constantly squeezing your thighs, it wasn't the first time this had happened due to caleb's tactics. he leaned back once again, pulling your pants off of you as you took your shirt off.

"you look really pretty like this," he whispers so naturally, his hand grabbing your leg and kissing your ankles, slowly going higher and higher. everything he did to you, he did so effortlessly, like he had been doing it for years. maybe it's just the years of friendship talking, but either way, it felt good. really good. "so pretty." he whispered again as he reached your inner thighs, his puppy dog eyes looking up at yours in a way that made your stomach churn.

his nose pressed right against your panties, taking in a deep inhale of your scent as he exhaled. "fuck, you smell so good." he groaned, pulling your panties to the side. with his free hand he moved your slick around everywhere, spreading it over, and dipping his fingers inside. it felt too good. you tried to keep quiet, not embarras yourself but every now and then a small whimper would leave your lips which woud just make him hungrier for you.

caleb was also torturing himself by not tasting you. his dick was getting harder and harder to the point it hurt so bad. he needed to take it off his trousers right now but he kept his patience. "god, you're so wet." he laughed airily, "i barely touched you." he hummed, bringing his fingers to his lips to taste your sweetness. his hips grinded against the bed in a pathethic attempt to make himself feel better but he knew nothing would do justice in comparison your pussy.

his mouth was godsent to you. he devoured every inch of you like he was a starved man. he was desperate, pulling you closer to him, grabbing onto your hips and thighs and bitting into your flesh making you moan and grab onto his hair. "i need you to be louder, baby." he would whisper, "i have been waiting to hear you like this for so long. i want each of your whimpers, moans and screams engraved into my mind."

his fingers would tease as he ate you out. moving in and out in a slow pace compared to his mouth, his tongue is ruthless but his fingers are slow and soft. each groan would send a vibration against your clit that made your legs close up against his head, and god, did he love that feeling.. being trapped in between your legs. it was heaven to him.

"caleb, i-" your words would barely be coherent as you approached your climax. hips rising from the bed and whines leaving your mouth as tears formed at the corner of your eyes. you body twitched as he spit against your clit to lubricate it a bit more, three fingers entering inside of you and making you stretch so much.

"such a good girl." he whispers, crawling closer to you as his forehead rests against yours. his eyes bore into your face, taking in every expression; the closed eyes, the tears that roll down as your lips part and soft moans fill the room, everything was perfect to him. he would kiss your cheek and press his cheek against yours, "come for me, pip-squeak." he whispers, so sweetly and gently that you think it's a whole different person. "let me make you feel good."

your climax comes as he twists and curls his fingers inside of you, hitting that one spot over and over again that made you see colourful stars. and when you did finish, the two of you laid there for a second, your heavy breathing echoing throughout the room as his head pressed against your chest.

"did that feel good?" caleb's hands moved to your bra, pulling the straps slowly to send goosebumps along your body, "did that.." he paused, pulling you a bit closer to unhook the back of the bra, "satisfy.. you?" he threw the bra somewhere on the room, making you sigh as you threw your head back on the soft matress.

"yes." was all you could say. it felt too good to even put to words, perhaps you were too tired to do so right now, but either way, it felt really good. you felt caleb press short and wet kisses all over your chest before putting one of your nipples into his mouth. a soft moan escaped your lips, back arching from the lingering sensitivity as his hands caressed your sides and he bit into your nipples softly, making you gasp and your nails dig into his bicep.

dipping a bit down, your hands moved to the waist band of his pants. caleb wastes no time, he pushes his pants off him, kicking it of off him before pulling you closer once again.

he ogled at you, right? and now, you can't help but ogle at him. he had the most gorgeous.. dick. it was big, very big. big enough for you to wonder if it would even fit inside you or not. with veins on the side and it was so.. pink.

"what? you don't like it?" caleb joked, wrapping his arms around your waist as he began to kiss your neck and jaw. you felt your cheeks flush at that comment slightly. was your staring that obvious?

"shut up."

leaning over, he hovers over you for a second before leaning to kiss you. he spreads your legs with his and sighs softly when he feels your hands wrap around his neck to pull him closer. he takes his time here, he showers you in affection and kisses, almost as if he was stalling to do the very last step; but in reality, he was just scared. he always was. he relied on you to give him reassurance and encourage him and this was the same. and you could feel it.

"caleb.." you whispered his name softly, his lips moving from your collarbone to your jaw, "i need you.. please," you sighed. your hands came to caress the sides of his cheek as you brought him closer, your foreheads touching as his hands spread your legs further.

"i love you, y/n." he whispered, his tip grazing against your clit as he slowly began to slip it. the stretch was painful. not only was he big, but his girth was majestic. he was big in every way and it was both painful and heavenly. your back arched as he buried his head in your neck and slowly began to thrust in and out.

that rhythm only lasted a few seconds.

caleb could barely control himself as your gummy walls caved into him. his thrusts became faster, harsher, and rougher. one hand around your neck keeping you in place and another holding him up as he kept thrusting and thrusting and thrusting. he was not shy in the noise department either, he would whimper, moan and beg you in ways that made you clench and him groan.

"caleb- i.." you whined, "i'm close-" your words didn't even reach him. he just kept going and going. and he did so after you were finished as well. both of your juices were mixed and his bedsheets soaked, but he showed no signs of stopping.

he had you after so long and he just had to make it up. after a while, he switched you over, making you sit on top of him as his hands wrapped around your waist to hold you up. one of his hands came to the back of your neck and made you look up, "we fit right in together," he whispered, voice hoarse and rough, face coated in sweat but his eyes.. they were so filled with loved, it hurt to even look. "we were made from the same cloth. if there is no one for us, then we are both dead. we are meant to be together, in this lifetime or the next." he said, placing a soft kiss on your lips.

-

a/n:

repost cuz it lowk flopped and i will not accept that. hope u enjoyed it !!11!! love ya'llsss <333

[writingsoftarnishedsilver]

A story where MC is a scientist who discovers a permanent cure for a disease, threatening a powerful corporation's potion profits. As she prepares to reveal it, her life is in danger, and Sebastian is one of the Aurors assigned to be her bodyguard. Seb is broody and very much the guy that takes his job seriously, while MC is someone who sees his job as unnecessary and doesn’t believe anyone would attack her, so obviously their personalities clash.

Cure on the Run | Sebastian Sallow x Reader

Part One... of two. Or maybe three.

Next Chapter →

Words: ~4,000

Tags: No Hogwarts House, Post Hogwarts, Auror!Sebastian, Modern AU, Female Reader Insert, Enemies to Lovers, Forced Proximity, Mutual Pining, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Eventual Smut

Your POV

The car jolted over a pothole, and you barely managed to keep your phone balanced between your cheek and shoulder as you scrolled through your slides.

“No, the slides are finished,” you said into the phone, your voice calm despite the bump. “Yes, including the serum degradation curve and the immune cascade reversal. I even used the Ministry-approved font this time, so no one can accuse me of scientific anarchy.”

Across from you, Sebastian Sallow let out an audible exhale. You didn’t need to look up to know he was judging you. His perpetual scowl practically had its own gravitational field.

“Yes, Dr. Proulx, the original cultures are still under reinforced stasis at the Manchester site,” you continued. “No, I’m not worried. They’d be idiots to make a move now. The peer review is already underway.”

Sebastian shifted in his seat. You could feel the weight of his stare like a physical presence, but you didn’t flinch.

“Look, we’re two days out from publicly announcing the first viable cure for Veilrot ever,” you said, voice lower now. “By this time next month, people won’t need suppression potions every week just to stay on their feet. You really think anyone would dare sabotage that? I don’t think even Calvenne would be stupid enough.”

Another scoff from your Auror escort, because you were talking about Calvenne Pharmaceuticals. The gilded empire. The only sanctioned producer of Veilrot suppression potions. They’d made billions off the disease thanks to their monthly doses priced like liquid gold. No one had challenged their monopoly in decades.

Until now.

You’d spent five years in field clinics and labs, working to cure a disease that began as biological warfare in the last Wizarding War.

Veilrot was a hex-virus hybrid designed to sever magic from the soul, to rot a witch or wizard from the inside out without leaving a mark. The war ended, but Veilrot didn’t. It mutated. Spread.

But now you had a cure. And apparently, a price on your head.

“Yes,” you said, glancing briefly at Sebastian, “he’s with me, just like he has been for the past three days. Still hasn’t cracked a smile, so clearly I’m in excellent hands.”

Sebastian finally spoke, his voice low and clipped. “If you’re done treating this like a joke, you might want to remember what happened to the last scientist who got close to curing a disease Calvenne had a stranglehold on. You know, the scientist that disappeared?"

You held his gaze, unimpressed. “Maybe they just got tired of being micromanaged and moved to the Maldives.”

“Maybe they were silenced,” he snapped.

Then your supervisor’s voice came through the line, quiet and strained. “Just… stay close to him, alright? We’ll see you in Vienna. And don’t open any messages that aren't from me.”

You ended the call and tucked your phone away, glancing out the rain-streaked window at the sprawling Austrian countryside. The mood in the car settled into a heavy, loaded silence, until you broke it with a sigh.

“You know, you’re very good at glaring,” you said, tone deliberately light. “Ever considered a second career as a gargoyle?”

Sebastian didn’t even blink. “You’re very good at ignoring death threats. Ever considered a second career as a corpse?”

You laughed, and it annoyed him, which pleased you.

“I’m not ignoring anything,” you said. “I’m just not convinced skulking around in reinforced cars and hiding behind magical wards is the answer. If Calvenne is watching, we should be loud about it. Public. Visible. Let the world see what they’re trying to bury.”

“That’s the worst tactical decision I’ve heard all week,” Sebastian muttered. “And I spent half an hour last Tuesday listening to a junior Auror suggest we use a decoy made of polyjuiced ferrets to flush out a contract killer.”

You snorted before you could stop yourself. “Creative."

Sebastian didn’t smile. He never did. At least, not in your presence. "Look, you don’t win against companies like Calvenne by putting a target on your back. You win by staying alive long enough to deliver your cure, quietly, to the right people. Not by staging a bloody parade.”

You turned to face him fully. “The right people? You mean the Ministry? The same Ministry that approved Calvenne’s suppression monopoly in the first place? The same Ministry that ignored every flagged side effect and kept renewing their license year after year while people’s nervous systems eroded?"

He opened his mouth, but you didn’t let him speak.

“I’ve read the reports, Sallow. The memory decay. The organ failure. The suicides. But as long as people weren’t dying fast enough to raise alarms, Calvenne kept cashing their cheques. And the Ministry let it happen, so forgive me for not exactly trusting them to safeguard the cure now." You paused, narrowing your eyes at him. "...Offense intended."

Sebastian’s mouth flattened into a hard line. "Let's just get you there alive.”

You didn’t bother replying.

By the time the car rolled through Vienna’s inner ring, dusk had fallen, casting the city in warm amber hues that made the old-world buildings glow.

The conference was being held at the Margravine, a five-star hotel steeped in old magic and older money, its arched stone façade woven through with protective enchantments, some of which you recognized from field hospital wards.

The doorman opened the car door before the engine had even cooled. Sebastian stepped out first, casting a long, sweeping glance across the cobbled street, then up at the neighboring rooftops. Always scanning. Always tense. You emerged after him, bag slung over your shoulder.

A young attendant greeted you with a clipped smile and a floating luggage charm already at the ready. “Doctor, your suite is prepared. We’ve received your requested warding specifications.”

You opened your mouth to respond, but, as usual, Sebastian stepped in first, voice low and firm. “I’ll inspect the wards myself.”

The attendant blinked, clearly not used to being interrupted—or questioned. “Of course, sir. The enchantments were all placed under Ministry oversight—”

“That doesn’t mean they weren’t tampered with,” Sebastian said, already moving toward the entrance.

You glanced at the attendant and offered a tight, apologetic smile. “Don’t mind him. He’s allergic to hospitality.”

Sebastian didn’t look back. He was already sweeping through the Margravine’s arched threshold, wand in hand.

Inside, the lobby was cathedral-like, with soaring ceilings, flickering chandeliers, and columns made of marble.

Your heels clicked softly against the polished black stone as you followed him, trying not to gawk even though this was the sort of place most people in your field only saw in glossy funding brochures.

A long banner hung above the reception desk: INTERNATIONAL CONGRESS FOR MAGICAL DISEASE ERADICATION

You spotted your name on a placard near the roster, listed beneath Keynote: Breakthrough Therapies in Hybrid Pathologies

It felt surreal. Like all those nights in the lab, breathing in sterilized air and whispering to petri dishes, had finally meant something.

Sebastian paused outside the lift and gave you a look. “What’s the room number?”

“707,” you replied, handing over the key card.

The ride up was quiet, but not idle. Sebastian’s eyes flicked to the corners of the lift, eyeing the security cameras with suspicion.

You leaned against the brass handrail and watched him in the mirrored surface of the wall. Professional curiosity, you told yourself. Not interest. Certainly not attraction.

Tousled chestnut hair framed a face that looked carved from sharp intent, with high cheekbones, a strong jaw dusted with the faintest stubble, and full lips that probably hadn’t smiled in weeks.

His skin had the kind of tan that didn’t come from luxury vacations, but long hours in the field. Freckles spilled across the bridge of his nose and down his cheeks, and you had to look away before you counted them like some kind of idiot.

And yes, he was tall. And broad. And probably carved from stone, too.

It was... unfortunate. If his face weren’t permanently locked in a scowl, he might’ve actually been handsome... vexingly so.

The lift chimed.

Suite 707 was at the end of the hall with a reinforced door marked discreetly with Ministry glyphs. Sebastian approached first, murmuring a detection spell as he held the key card up to the lock.

Click.

The door swung open, and Sebastian stepped through like a soldier entering enemy territory. You stayed by the threshold while he made a full sweep. First the sitting room, then the bedrooms, then the en suite bathrooms. A dozen subtle spells trailed from the tip of his wand as he worked.

After several more minutes of silent scrutiny, he gave a single, tight nod. “Clear. For now.”

You stepped in, finally letting your shoulders relax as you took in the suite. It was elegant but sterile—marble floors, clean lines, and minimalist decor. The windows faced east, giving you a sweeping view of the Danube curling through the city like a silver ribbon.

You turned toward Sebastian, who was already adjusting the wards on the balcony door.

“Do you ever turn off?” you asked.

“No.”

The answer was flat, immediate—so blunt it almost made you laugh.

You crossed your arms, leaning a shoulder against the doorframe as you watched him cast a fresh locking charm.

“You know,” you said, “some people would call that a control issue.”

Sebastian turned then, seemingly weighing whether or not you were worth the breath it would take to argue. He sighed. “Some people don’t have corporations with hitmen and bribed reporters tracking their every move.”

You rolled your eyes. “You’re a real ray of sunshine, you know that?”

Sebastian didn’t reply. Just returned to his work.

You pushed away from the doorframe. “I’m going to shower. Try not to hex the housekeeping staff while I’m gone.”

Sebastian’s head turned slightly, as if to say something, but you were already halfway down the hall, barefoot and humming under your breath.

Stepping into your bedroom's adjoining bathroom, you flicked your wand to start the water and pulled off your clothes in slow, tired motions. The sound of the rainfall shower filled the marble bathroom, the warmth turning the glass to fog.

You stepped in and let the water pour over you.

It should have been calming. Reassuring. But your mind was still racing, endlessly circling your upcoming presentation.

You'd already presented preliminary findings in Paris and Berlin the past few days, but Vienna was different.

Vienna was where the real players would be.

Representatives from half the magical Ministries in Europe. Senior researchers from the International Guild. Pharmaceutical liaisons with smiling eyes and heavy wallets.

The stakes were high.

This wasn’t just another conference. This was the culmination of five years of data, collaborations across four countries, and trial stabilization work that had nearly killed two of your lab partners. It was your life’s work, condensed into a 40-minute presentation.

You found yourself whispering lines under your breath, trying out cadences. Rehearsing the moment when you’d reveal the results of the stabilization trials. The molecular unbinding. The documented reversal in magical degradation—

You barely heard the boom at first. Just a deep, low thud, like distant thunder cracking through the marble.

Then came the shockwave.

The whole building lurched with a hollow, teeth-rattling whump. The walls shuddered. The mirror cracked. The lights flickered in and out.

What the hell?

Then the fire alarms kicked in, screeching like banshees, and the floor vibrated beneath your feet.

You yanked open the shower door, water still streaming from your skin, and grabbed the nearest towel. Your hands shook as you wrapped it tightly around yourself and cracked the bathroom door open.

Smoke was already seeping through the hallway.

"Holy shit," you breathed.

The suite looked like it had been hit by an earthquake. One of the wall sconces had fallen and shattered on the tile. Somewhere in the distance, someone was screaming.

You staggered toward the dresser, slipping slightly on your wet feet, reaching blindly for your wand—

CRACK.

The sound of Apparition split the air like a whip. The world folded in on itself—hot, suffocating, a squeeze through a keyhole of pressure and rushing sound.

Then stone under your feet. Cold air. Silence.

You stumbled forward and nearly fell until a calloused hand closed around your arm, steadying you.

“Easy,” A deep voice muttered.

Your bare feet slid slightly on the cold stone floor, the towel barely holding together where your grip had loosened. You swallowed hard, blinking through the disorientation.

"Sebastian?" You croaked, voice thin with shock.

“I’ve got you,” he said, still holding your arm, firm and grounding. “You’re alright. We’re secure.”

Your surroundings slowly came into focus. Stone walls, low ceilings, no windows, and only one entrance.

"...Where are we?" You managed, goosebumps rising on your arms and legs as the cold gnawed at your damp skin.

Sebastian let go of your arm. “Ministry fallback shelter,” he said. “Untraceable, underground, and hex-sealed."

You nodded, more to yourself than him, and backed up until your legs hit a low stone bench built into the wall. You sank down heavily, the towel bunched awkwardly around you, water still trailing down your skin. You didn’t have the energy to be embarrassed. You were still in shock.

“They breached the hotel?” you finally asked.

“Two explosions,” he said without turning. “First one hit the lobby and cleared the main entrance. Second was targeting the upper floors."

Your breath caught.

“My work—”

Sebastian turned just as you shot to your feet. “My laptop’s in the suite. And the external drive with the trial logs. My tablet—fuck, the notes from the Zurich collaboration were still open. I left everything in there,” You began pacing the narrow length of the shelter, eyes wild. "I didn’t back up the trial replication data from Zurich yet—shit.”

Sebastian just stared at you. “Are you seriously panicking about your documents right now?”

You rounded on him. “It’s not just documents, Sallow, it’s five years of my life!"

His jaw worked. “You could have died,” he said. “You were one breath away from being vaporized and your first thought is your research?”

You blinked. “Yes.”

He looked at you like he was seeing something dangerous—or something noble. Maybe both. But then he lifted his hand and pointed wordlessly toward the far corner of the shelter.

You followed the line of his arm.

Your duffel bag. Scuffed at the seams and held together with an old stitch charm you’d applied in Singapore when the zipper jammed.

“I grabbed it,” Sebastian said simply. “Laptop, tablet, backup drives. Your wand was on the dresser.”

You stared at the bag. Then back at him. Then back at the bag.

“You—you got my stuff?”

“What do you think I was doing when the second blast hit? Picking up souvenirs?”

You didn’t even think. You just crossed the room in two ungraceful, dripping steps and flung your arms around him.

Sebastian froze, solid under your touch. You buried your face against his chest, relief hitting so hard it nearly knocked the breath from you. You weren’t sure if you were going to laugh or cry or collapse.

“Thank you,” you murmured, breathing in the scent of smoke and sweat and wool that clung to him. “Thank you, thank you, thank you—”

His hands hovered for a moment, uncertain, and then one settled against your back, steady and warm. The other pressed lightly to your shoulder.

Then you realized you weren’t holding the towel anymore.

You felt it slip fully from your body, pooling at your feet with a wet plop. Sebastian went absolutely still. You stiffened.

There was a beat. A very long beat.

Slowly, very slowly, you leaned back just enough to look up at him.

His jaw was clenched. His eyes—normally sharp, cool, calculating—were now locked very firmly on the stone wall behind you, like if he even glanced down, he might self-combust on the spot.

You blinked. “...Shit.”

“I’m not looking,” he said immediately, voice hoarse. “I swear to god, I’m not—”

"Close your eyes!" You screeched, diving for the towel and clutching it to your chest in horror. Your skin burned in a whole new way now—no fire, no cold, just sheer, nuclear embarrassment.

He turned fully around, facing the wall like his life depended on it.

“Just—fuck—just give me a second,” you muttered, scrambling for the corner of the room where your bag now rested, praying there were spare clothes in there.

There weren't.

Sebastian nodded once, still facing away, very obviously not turning around.

“I’ll conjure something for you,” he said stiffly. “Just… yell if you pass out or die or whatever.”

“Thanks,” you croaked, trying to remember how to breathe.

He muttered a spell and a folded bundle of soft cotton appeared beside the bag.

You yanked the conjured t-shirt over your head, grateful for anything to cover your skin, even if it hung off you like a makeshift nightdress. The hem brushed halfway down your thighs, and the collar was stretched just enough to slouch off one shoulder. It was soft, worn-in, the kind that only came from years of use.

And it reeked of him.

Musk and cedar. The faint, sharp edge of something like clove. You hadn’t even realized he had a scent until now, but suddenly it was everywhere—around your shoulders, against your skin, filling your lungs with every breath.

The shirt weren’t just conjured. It was his.

There was no bra, of course. No underwear. Just you, damp and exhausted under the borrowed shirt of a man who had just dragged you out of a burning building and saved your entire research archive without hesitation.

You sat back down on the edge of the bench, pressing your hands between your knees.

Behind you, Sebastian cleared his throat. “You decent?”

“As I’ll ever be,” you said, voice low.

He turned around slowly. And beneath all the terror and adrenaline, something else simmered to the surface now, something inconvenient, unwelcome, and impossible to ignore.

His shirt was soaked through, clinging to every inch of the body beneath it. And you had, unfortunately, just discovered that under all the brooding tension and tactical stoicism… Sebastian Sallow was built.

Not carved from stone, as you might have assumed. But from something softer. Something lived-in.

Broad shoulders, yes, and strong arms that spoke of training, of fieldwork, of dueling and dragging people out of burning rooms—but his back wasn’t cut from marble. His waist wasn’t carved from granite.

There was softness there, the kind that came from late nights and long missions, from skipped workouts and meals eaten standing. A body made for enduring, not for showing off. Strong, steady, and undeniably human.

Sebastian Sallow was not a machine. Not a monument. He was a man. A very, very, very attractive man.

You turned away quickly, cheeks burning hot.

God, this was humiliating.

“I’m sorry,” you said, voice too loud in the small space. “About the… towel. And the… everything.”

He didn’t look at you. Just let out a slow breath, his mouth tugging into something that might’ve been a smile if it weren’t so resigned.

“I’ve seen worse,” he said dryly.

You turned slowly to look at him, one hand still clutching the oversized shirt at the hem, a spark of indignation rising above your still-simmering embarrassment.

“Worse?” you echoed. “As in 'yeah it was pretty bad but not the worst thing I've seen'?"

Sebastian’s eyes widened the second the words left your mouth. “No! I didn’t—I didn’t mean it like that.”

You tilted your head, watching him flounder. It helped. Just a little.

“I meant, like, battlefield injuries,” he rambled. “Cursed wounds. Exploding boils. I once had to carry a guy who’d been hexed so badly his skin turned inside out—that’s what I meant.”

You blinked. Slowly. “So you’re saying I’m not worse than a man with inside-out skin. Wow, Sebastian. Flattering.”

“No! You looked fine! Not that I was looking,” he said quickly. “I mean, I looked, but not like—looked looked. Not in a creepy way. Just in a—‘oh no, she’s naked, better not look’ way. Which I didn’t. Look. At you.”

Your lips twitched. Traitorously.

He looked like he wanted the floor to swallow him whole. Any trace of the intimidating, unflinching Auror was gone, replaced with a man actively trying to reverse time with sheer willpower.

“I should probably stop talking,” he muttered, rubbing a hand over his face.

“That might be for the best,” you said, almost kindly.

A pause.

“...So," you began again." Where even are we, anyway?”

“Lassee,” he replied, gaze fixed somewhere distinctly not you. “East of Vienna."

“Okay... and now what?”

“There’s a proper Ministry safe house not far from here," he replied. "I didn’t risk apparating straight to it in case you were injured and we needed somewhere hyperconcealed. But it’s warded, secure. Basic amenities. Bathroom. Bed. Less concrete."

“So... only one bed?”

Sebastian visibly tensed.

“Yes,” he said, clipped. “One bed. I'll take the floor."

You raised an eyebrow. “Wow. Chivalry isn’t dead after all.”

Sebastian exhaled sharply through his nose. “I’ve slept in worse conditions.”

“Oh, I believe you,” you said. “Still, that sounds like a terrible way to thank the man who just apparated me out of a literal explosion.”

He turned, arching a brow as if trying to gauge your angle. “You’re suggesting I take the bed.”

“I’m suggesting,” you said, already reaching for your bag, “that we’re both exhausted and not in the mood to play noble sacrifice. So, if you don’t snore and don’t steal the blankets... we can share.”

Terrible idea. Really, really terrible.

Sebastian went very still. “Share.”

“Yes. You’re familiar with the concept, right?” You gestured vaguely, pretending the thought didn’t already make your skin feel too warm under his oversized shirt. “Two people. One mattress. Reasonable boundary line. Mutual agreement not to make it weird.”

He looked like he was doing mental calculus. “No funny business.”

“From me or from you?” you asked.

His eyes narrowed.

You grinned. “Relax, Auror. You’re not my type.”

Lie. Big, big lie.

Sebastian didn’t respond. Just stared at you for a long moment, like he was trying to figure out whether you were fucking with him.

“Right,” he muttered, turning back toward the center of the room. “Let’s just get out of here."

He extended his arm, professional again. But when you stepped close and your fingers brushed his, something in his jaw twitched—like the tension hadn’t gone anywhere, just shifted.

“Ready?” he asked.

“Nope,” you said. “But do it anyway.”

CRACK.

The air twisted around you, tight and breathless, and the stone bunker vanished.

You reappeared in the middle of a small, dimly lit room. It smelled like clean linens and fresh wood polish—nondescript, Ministry-leased anonymity at its finest.

A single bed sat against the far wall. A fireplace crackled to life in the hearth the second you arrived.

Sebastian dropped your arm immediately and moved toward the perimeter, scanning with the same sharp efficiency as before. You stood awkwardly by the bed, suddenly far too aware of the fact that you had, in fact, come up with and agreed to the stupid idea to share.

He finished a diagnostic pass, then turned to you. “It’s clear.”

“Good,” you said, voice too casual. “Because if I’d just agreed to get murdered in a different bunker tonight, I’d be annoyed.”

Sebastian didn’t smile, but the edge of his mouth twitched. “Noted.”

You moved to one side of the bed and sat, folding your legs beneath you. The mattress creaked but didn’t collapse, which counted as a win.

Sebastian stood at the foot of the bed like he was debating whether this was actually happening. Then, slowly, he began unbuttoning his soaked shirt.

You froze. “What are you doing?”

He blinked. “Trying not to freeze to death in a wet shirt?”

“Oh. Right. Okay. That’s… fair.”

You looked away very deliberately. But it didn’t help. You could still hear him, fabric dragging over skin, the soft rustle of movement, the faint thump of boots being kicked off.

The silence that followed stretched, not quite uncomfortable, but charged.

“So,” you said, scooting under the blanket, facing away, “reasonable boundary line?”

“Center of the bed,” he confirmed. “No crossing.”

You nodded. “No funny business.”

He paused. “From me or from you?”

You smiled into the pillow. “Goodnight, Sebastian.”

A beat passed.

Then his voice, quieter this time: “Goodnight.”

Next Part→

Banner Credit

[dee-writes-anime]

do you have any headcanons with soft yandere hawks?

Obsessed? No, Baby, this is Love

FEATURING Keigo 'Hawks' Takami x Reader

SUMMARY He's not crazy and he means well, that's all! OR yandere hawks headcannons

CONTENT WARNINGS Hawks being overprotective, stalker tendencies, obsessions, and stuff like that!

AUTHORS NOTE I love making headcannons! They're pretty stress free and it's nice to take a break once and a while from plotting and writing and instead just being able to yap. Thanks for the request anon! <3

Constantly checking in

Hawks texts you more than a grandma on Facebook. It starts with a simple “Hey, how’s your day going?” but quickly spirals into 57 messages asking if you’re eating, sleeping, and possibly getting your required dose of love for the day. “I know you're fine, but just wanted to check—are you still breathing? Have you drank enough water, or should I remind you again?” You almost feel like you’re his pet, except, you know, way cuter.

He’ll “protect” you (a.k.a. hover over you)

His wings? They’re not just for flying, no. They’re like a personal shield that always shows up at the worst possible moments. You’ll be minding your business, and suddenly, there’s Hawks, hovering two inches behind you like a warm, feathery cloud. “Just here to keep an eye on you,” he says. And you’re like, Can I breathe though?

Who doesn't love surpise gifts?! (that double as surveillance devices)

Hawks loves to surprise you with thoughtful little trinkets, but they always come with just a touch of paranoia. “I saw this keychain and thought it’d be cute for you!” Sure, it’s cute… until you notice the tiny GPS tracker hidden inside it. “It’s for your safety,” he says with a wink. Right, Hawks. We all know it’s just in case someone tries to get too close to you. How sweet… and creepy.

Oh! Funny running into you here! ^.^

You think you’ve got your life together, doing errands, living your best independent life, but oh wait—here’s Hawks, just happening to be at the same café as you. “What a coincidence! I was just nearby!” Uh-huh, right. And I’m just shocked you also happened to bring coffee for both of us. It’s fine, though—he’s just making sure you’re not plotting to run off into the sunset with someone who doesn’t know your coffee order by heart.

He hides his jealousy so well! (can you hear his eye twitching?)

You ever see someone try to hide a full-on mental breakdown with a forced smile? Yeah, that’s Hawks when anyone looks at you for more than a second. Someone says “hi” to you at the grocery store? Expect a dramatic, almost cinematic shift in his vibe. His wing stiffens, the smile freezes, and you can practically hear the internal scream. “Oh, hey, did you want to buy something from their cart? I’m sure they don’t mind…” Sure, Hawks. Totally not possessive.

He's so sweet!... why is it almost scary?

At first, you think it’s sweet when Hawks remembers that you prefer a certain type of tea. Then you realize he’s tracking everything. “Remember when you said you liked that red dress from last summer? I got you a matching scarf!” And you're just standing there like, “Thanks? Are you trying to get me to fall in love with you or just lock me down forever?” His answer? “Both. But mostly the first one.”

Overprotective in the most (un)subtle way!

If you ever think you're going out for a “normal” night, you’re so wrong. “You don’t have to go out tonight, do you? It’s really cold out, and I’d hate for you to catch a cold.” Translation: “I’d prefer if you just stayed here and let me watch over you like a hawk (pun intended).” You try to resist, but then he hits you with the puppy eyes, and suddenly, you’re canceling plans to stay in and binge-watch Netflix with him… because clearly, you’re too important to be out in the world without him.

He's obsessed in love with the little things!

Hawks is obsessed with every single part of you, even the things you don’t notice. He’ll bring up the exact way you tap your foot when you’re anxious or how you always hum that one song when you’re about to do something important. “I thought you’d like these earrings because you always wear that shade of blue.” He’s scarily good at remembering everything. And you’d be a little worried if you weren’t so flattered by the fact that this man can’t get enough of you.

Bottom line? Hawks is like the perfect mix of sweet and “don’t you dare leave me alone for more than five minutes” obsession. But hey, at least you don’t have to worry about losing your keys, right? Because he’s got a tracker on everything—including your heart.

TAGLIST

@surielstea

[swrkn]

𝐒𝐅𝐖 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐂𝐀𝐍𝐎𝐍𝐒

Owen x g/n reader

Genre ; sfw , fluff

Author note ; english is not my first language so i apologise if they are any mistakes !!

⇨ Attention

Owen memorizes everything about you—the way you take your coffee, your favorite songs, even your sizes for gifts. He notices the smallest details, from the way your eyes light up at certain things to the exact words you use when you’re excited. It’s like he keeps a mental catalog just to make you feel special.

One day, you casually mention that you love a specific brand of chocolate, but it’s hard to find. Days later, on a random Tuesday, he shows up with it, saying, “I saw this and thought of you.” Or maybe it’s your birthday, and he surprises you with a perfectly fitting jacket in your favorite color. You ask how he knew your size, and he just shrugs, “You mentioned it once when we were shopping months ago.” It’s the little things, like texting you good luck before a big meeting because he remembers the exact date you told him about it, or knowing which toppings to leave off your pizza without asking.

⇨ Clothes thief

Owen is the type of guy who will let you steal his clothes without a second thought. You grab his hoodie one day, and instead of asking for it back, he just smiles and says, “It looks better on you anyway.”But deep down, he loves seeing you wrapped up in something of his, it’s his way of keeping you close, even when he’s not around.

It’s a chilly evening, and you’re at Owen’s place, shivering slightly as the two of you watch a movie. Without a word, he gets up, grabs his oversized hoodie from the chair, and hands it to you. “Here, wear this,” he says, and you pull it on, immediately feeling warmer. A few days later, you’re heading out, still wearing the hoodie. “You know, i’m kind of stealing this,” you tease. He grins. “It’s not stealing if I’m letting you keep it,” he replies. The next time you see him, you’re wearing his favorite T-shirt. He raises an eyebrow and laughs. “At this rate, I’ll have to start borrowing my own clothes from you.”

⇨ Adorable

He’s the type of guy who finds every single thing you do cute. You could be struggling to open a jar, your face scrunched up in concentration, and he’d chuckle, saying, “Adorable.”Even when you’re just sitting there, minding your own business, he’ll look over and smile. “You’re so cute when you’re focused,” he’ll say, like it’s the most natural observation in the world. No matter what you’re doing,laughing, ranting, or even sneezing, Owen somehow manages to see the charm in it all.

You’re standing in the kitchen, hair in a messy bun, wearing his hoodie, and struggling to reach a jar on the top shelf. You’re on your tiptoes, stretching as far as you can, when Owen walks in and leans against the doorway, grinning. “Need some help?” he asks, but he doesn’t move. You give him a playful glare. “Are you just going to stand there?” He laughs. “Sorry, you’re just so cute when you’re determined.” Later, you’re sitting on the couch, scrolling through your phone with a concentrated frown. He plops down next to you and says, “You’re even cute when you’re serious.” You roll your eyes. “Is there anything I do that isn’t cute to you?” He pretends to think for a second, then smirks. “Nope, not a thing.”

⇨ Nighty Night

Owen is a drama queen who won’t sleep without your goodnight—he’s very dramatic about it. If you forget to text, he’ll send messages like, “So I guess this is how I go…alone, in the dark, without a goodnight from you.” If you call him out, he’ll laugh and say, “What? I can’t sleep knowing you’ve abandoned me like this.”

It’s late, and you’re about to drift off to sleep when you realize you haven’t sent Owen his goodnight text yet. Before you can grab your phone, it vibrates. It’s a message from him: “How could you? I’m just here, alone in the dark, waiting for my nightly dose of affection. I guess I’ll never sleep again…” You roll your eyes and quickly type back, “Goodnight, Owen. Sleep well.” A second later, he responds with a dramatic voice note: “Ah, sweet relief! I can now rest in peace, knowing you didn’t forget me. Sweet dreams, my love.” You laugh, shaking your head, but secretly, you kind of love how much he cares.

⇨ Always Spoils You

Owen will buy everything you want without any complaints, and money will never be a problem. Whether it’s that cute pair of shoes you’ve been eyeing for weeks or a random gadget you mentioned in passing, he’ll pull out his card without hesitation.

You’re window shopping together, casually glancing at items you can’t quite justify buying. You stop in front of a boutique display, eyeing a handbag that’s way out of your budget but still so perfect. Owen notices and nudges you. “Go ahead,” he says with a grin. “You’ve been talking about that bag for weeks. Just get it.” You laugh nervously. “I don’t know… it’s kind of expensive.” Without hesitation, Owen pulls out his wallet and hands you the cash. “If you love it, why wait?” he says, completely unbothered. You try to protest, but he simply winks. “It’s nothing. I just want you to have what you want.” A few days later, the bag arrives at your door, and he just shrugs when you thank him. “I told you,if you want it, it’s yours.”

⇨ The family favourite

Your parents love Owen so much. From the moment they meet him, he charms them with his easygoing nature and thoughtful gestures. He remembers to ask how they’re doing, listens when they talk, and always pitches in when it comes to family events or dinners. When your parents ask about your relationship, they’re all smiles. “We love Owen,” they say. “He’s just so kind, and he makes you happy.” You can’t help but agree.

It’s a Sunday afternoon, and you’re having dinner with your family when Owen arrives, holding a bouquet of fresh flowers for your mom. He gives her a warm hug, and she smiles, clearly pleased. “I thought you might like these,” he says, offering the flowers. “I remembered you mentioned you loved peonies.” Your mom’s eyes light up. “Oh, Owen, you’re such a thoughtful young man.” Later, as you’re sitting on the couch, your dad leans over and says quietly, “We really like him, you know. He’s got a good heart.” You smile, feeling grateful. Owen has a way of making everyone feel special, and today, it’s clear your parents are completely smitten.

✵

[act-nat-ural]

g’day! i saw that you're receiving requests: so is it OK to request osamu with his significant other who calls him "ochamu" instead of "osamu" just to get a reaction out of him? sort of like baby talking his name if that makes sense??? i think it's super funny that he might look at you like you're crazy at first then get used to it overtime (atsumu gives him the side eye every single time) 😭

but ofc, this is more of a suggestion if anything ^^ feel free to delete/ignore if it doesn't spark any inspo or you don't have any thoughts on it! ++ i know you wrote abt samu recently so maybe he should wait a little longer to get his turn PFFT. thanks for your time btw! i love your workssss ✨

Baby Talk

note: I love your brain omg- this was so fun to write lol. Hope you like it!!!

“Ochamuuu, pay attention to me.”

The moment the word ‘Ochamu’ was uttered from your lips, Osamu did not react positively. Sitting on the other side of the sofa, you see his lip curl in disgust. The side eye directed towards you was lethal.

 “What. Was. That.” 

 It was hard, but you managed to hold your giggles in. You pull the most innocent face you can and say, “What do you mean, Ochamu?”

He immediately gags and puts his hand out at you. “Oh my god. No. Babe, what the fuck.” He's looking at you like you grew a second head. You laugh and punch his arm. 

“What? What did I do?” He raises his brows and laughs, perplexed.

 “What did ya do? Ya sound stupid. Don't do that again, it was creepy.” 

You giggle again and respond, “I love you, ‘chamu.” His frown gets even deeper as he stands up from the couch and walks away shaking his head.

 “I love you too, but no. Just no.”

–

“Ochamu, pass the salt please.” You ask sweetly. He stops mid bite and turns to you unimpressed.

 “Really? This again?” You hum and shrug your shoulders. “I have no idea what you are referring to, my dear husband.” He gives a small smile and resumes eating. 

“Now that's a nickname I can get behind. The other one, not so much. How the hell did ya come up with that anyway?” He questions, finally handing you what you asked for. 

“I honestly don’t know. I think it came to me in a dream or something.” You gasp. “It was a message from a higher power. Ochamu is your destined nickname, I'm sure of it.” He lets out a little chuckle at that and places a kiss on your cheek.

 “Sure, whatever. If it keeps you entertained, I'll allow it.”

–

“Ochamu, have you seen my brush?” You inquire as you pop your head out of the bathroom. He's sitting on your bed, scrolling through his phone. 

Without looking up, he answers, “It's on the dresser, baby.” You bite back a smile. 

“Not a single comment this time, huh?” He blinks and glances up at you. 

“What do ya mean?”

You let out a shocked laugh. “Wha- you didn’t even notice?! I used that nickname you hate.” He groans and throws a pillow at you. “Yer usin’ it too damn much! Messin’ with my head!” He huffs and crosses his arms. You roll your eyes and move to sit down next to him. 

“Admit you like the baby talk.” He gives you another dose of side eye.

 “I’d rather not.”

–

You, Osamu, and Atsumu had all decided to go grocery shopping for dinner ingredients. Rather, you and Osamu were, and Atsumu tagged along because he was bored. Osamu was in charge of the list, Atsumu was pushing the cart, and you were the one grabbing the ingredients. You were walking aisle to aisle, taking your time, while Atsumu was grumbling like a bored child.

“Ochamu, what's next on the list?” He opens his mouth to respond but gets cut off.

“Ew, what the hell?” Atsumu makes a grossed out face and does a barfing motion. “Yer such a weirdo! ‘Samu, ya let her call ya that?!” Osamu scoffs and takes your hand, leaving Atsumu behind. 

“Yer just jealous yer single. Scrub.” You can still hear Atsumu squawking when you get to the next aisle.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Paradigm Shift 3

Warnings: this fic will include elements, some dark, such noncon/dubcon, and other untagged triggers. Please take this into account before proceeding. It is up to curate your online consumption safely.

Summary: you get transferred to a new position but it’s hardly a breath of fresh air. (plus!reader)

Characters: Loki, Bucky Barnes, this reader is known as Billie.

Author’s Note: Please feel free to leave some feedback, reblog, and jump into my asks. I’m always happy to discuss with you and riff on idea. As always, you are cherished and adored! Stay safe, be kind, and treat yourself💜

💼Part of the Bad Bosses AU💼

Dark roast, black. You're tempted to order one for yourself but the extra dose of caffeine might unhinge you after the morning you've had. Transfer, no desk, a firing, a stolen desk, and two painfully aloof bosses.  

You go back up to the office, the short reprieve offering some clarity but not solutions. There has to be some way to get more than a grunt and a closed door from these men. Geez, if you wanted to work with children you would've done so. 

You knock on Mr. Barnes' door. The one next to it opens first. Laufeyson considers you from head to toe and Barnes appears not a second after. He takes his cup without a thanks. 

"Mm, and where is mine then?" Laufeyson challenges. 

You blink, long and hard. Of course. Of course! You let out a slow breath, "what would you like, Mr. Laufeyson?" 

You don't miss the quiet snort from the other door and it closes before you can glance Barnes' expression. You have a suspicion he expected this. It's like your first job when you worked with a bunch of men in stocks. Their numbers were as bloated as their egos. 

“Matcha.” 

The door shuts in your face. Again. You bite down and stretch your fingers wide. It’s fine. It’s fine. Growing pains. 

Matcha... what? Iced? Latte? Hot tea? Smoothie? Wonderful, a guessing game. 

You will be getting yourself another coffee for the trouble. Another trip to Roasters and you settle on the simplest option; just tea. You’re certain if you’re wrong, he’ll let you know.  

You stand at the two office doors and contemplate your life decisions. Is this worth it? Can you beg Odinson to take you back? To send down another poor soul? You almost feel bad doing that to someone else. You’re about to give when that innate stubborn ticks in your jaw. It’s only been a few hours. You don’t just give up that easy. 

Knock, knock. There’s a delay before Laufeyson answers. You’re not put off by it. You know the tactic. It won’t work on you. If his tea is cold, it won’t be your fault. 

“Matcha, sir,” you hold out the cup. 

He accepts it and reads the sticker on the side. He narrows his green eyes and looks at you, “note for next time, I prefer Garcon’s to Roasters.” 

Click. Another shut door. You’re really starting to get angry. You laugh out the flurry of agitation and turn away. What else can you do but think of it as a joke? It has to be. It’s just that absurd. 

You sit at the desk and open your laptop. You get it hooked up to the monitor and refinagle the cords. That’s an accomplishment at least. A tiny morsel of victory. You glance around and frown. It’s like the waiting room in Beetlejuice; everyone looks miserable. Well, can you blame them? 

Your phone buzzes and you check the messages. Girl nights hangs like bait at the end of your day, keeping you swimming through dark waters. It’s a bit ridiculous. Your friends are all like you in one way but all vastly different in many other ways. You all spend your days taking care of men who couldn’t give a shit about any of you. 

You can already taste the Paloma; bitter grapefruit with the burn of tequila. You are dying to drink away this day. You look at the clock and nearly whimper. It’s not even one o’clock. Ugh. 

You plug away at your desk. You get the daily agendas templated then spend time scouring the web. You have something in mind. You’re pretty sure you can make it work. As long as those grumps can do the simplest of tasks. 

You customize the survey and send the link. You doubt you’ll get a response today or even at all. It’s a hail mary, really. Barnes’ door opens, then Laufeysons. Your chest fills with dread. Great. 

“Hello, sir and... sir,” you sit up as they approach. 

“What is the meaning of that quiz?” Laufeyson demands. 

“It’s not-- 

“Asking a lot, aren’t you?” Barnes crosses his arms. 

“No, I just--” 

“What business do you have about my dry cleaning?” Laufeyson hisses. 

“I have lunch when I have lunch. I'm not a child at grade school,” Barnes sneers.

“Okay, woah,” you put your palms out, “first, there’s an n/a column, you can choose not to disclose the information. Two, I need to know what to do. What do you want from me?” 

Both men frown and look at each other, then back to you. 

“I can think of one,” Laufeyson raises a finger, “don’t treat us as children who need you to put our socks on.” 

“Good one,” Barnes scoffs, “also, you could stop with calendar reminders.” 

“Those are automatic,” you mutter. 

“And the arguing,” Laufeyson points at you. 

You sputter, dizzy at their onslaught of criticism. They can tell you exactly what they don’t want but they can’t give you a clear answer as to why you are there. You calm yourself with a breath and sip of coffee. 

“Mr. Laufeyson, Mr. Barnes--” 

“Why him first? My name’s first alphabetically,” Barnes says. 

“I--” you stop yourself and take another taste of your coffee, “if my presence is getting in the way of your work, I will go back upstairs and talk to Mr. Odinson--” 

“Mr. Odinson? Thor?” Laufeyson says, “no, you won’t do that. In fact, that is another item for your list, no talking to my brother. Especially of me.” 

You could tear your hair out. You could hit your head on the wall. You could gauge your eyes out and drown yourself in your coffee. Instead, you smile. 

“Got it,” you say, “well, sirs, good luck with your meeting this afternoon.” 

“Yes, thank you,” Laufeyson intones. 

“Mm, sure,” Barnes says and they both turn on their heels then stop at once. They face you in sync with each other. 

“Meeting?” They ask. 

“Mmhm,” you nod, “it’s in your calendars.” 

They stare at you. 

“If that’s something you’d like me to brief you on,” you say tritely, “you can submit that in the survey.” 

Laufeyson hums dryly and Barnes growls. Neither says anything further as they retreat. You keep your eyes on the screen as your heartbeat races. You can’t believe you said that. 

[genderqueerdykes]

hey i am a gay transgender man and i am also intersex. i have been on testosterone for five years and i'm considering going back on estrogen because of hair loss. I just feel weird because it feels like i am giving up. I don't know anyone else who would understand this except for you and i feel scared. i'm still trans and i know that but i don't know how the rest of the world will look at me especially the men I am attracted to.

hello there, thanks for taking the time to send a message! i'm sorry you're feeling scared, but it's alright to feel that way. when we start HRT, a lot of changes start happening, some that we ask for, and some that we don't. after a few years on HRT, my blood pressure became Borderline high, not actually high, but close, so my provider decided preventative medicine would be best, so put me on a low dose of a blood pressure medication. now, my blood pressure is very well within the "healthy" range, sometimes dipping too low sometimes, but this can be easily dealt with. it was really scary when i heard that my blood pressure was borderline high. i was actually terrified i might have to stop testosterone, as that can be a cause for it.

you may not have to take estrogen in order to help your hair- you may be able to use some prescription hair loss medications in conjunction with your testosterone. you may also be able to decrease your dose a bit and see less hair loss while not having to stop T. it actually is possible to take both T and E at the same time, as well, this actually isn't unheard of at all! a lot of people who get hysterectomies and up having to take estrogen afterwards, even those who take testosterone. you may be able to add a dose of estrogen alongside your T and see if that clears things up

finestride and minoxidil are common options for hair loss treatment and work very well for a lot of people!

if you have to stop T, it doesn't make you any less of a trans man. also, let me go off for a second, but i can guarantee you that gay men LOVE a bald/balding man. hair loss is a common occurrence in the gay community, it's not something that's looked down upon, or anything like that! the last few times I was at the gay bar, i saw many, many bald and balding people flirting, cruising and dancing together. a lot of gay men love a bald daddy or bear. trust me, when it comes to the gay community, baldness is very common and it's not something that's looked down upon. it's super common! you would not be seen as inherently unattractive for balding or being bald, gays are no strangers to finding bald dudes hot LOL

i wish you the best of luck. balding can be scary, but fortunately, we do have medications to help with it, and your HRT provider should be very open to a conversation about seeing what your options are without having to totally stop testosterone. it's okay to be scared, but you're not without options, at least! best of luck to you! feel free to stop by again at any po int

[virahaus]

Here I am as promised with the second part of my murder mystery post! I'm glad so many of you already liked the first concept thank you very much🥰

Now let's jump into....

There's a murder in the Senate

Since the last murder mystery idea was set before AOTC, this one instead is set right in the middle of the Clone Wars, just so things get more complicated eheheh.

Anakin and Obi-Wan are staying on leave in the Temple to recuperate after the last battle, hard won. There's sparks between them because of a disagreement they had in the field and so they are quite mulishly avoiding each other.

The council, fed up with their behaviour, and since they can't deploy them just yet, assign them of what they'd thought would be a boring mission: helping out the protective entourage of a senator (not Padme) since two of their guards were out with the intergalactic flu (I think I just made that up but anyway). Things go smoothly for some days, and the Senate is particularly lively since they are deciding on a big vote.

And then, tragedy strikes.

In the middle of his own speech to endorse the new decree, a Senator starts to convulse horribly and dies on his stand.

Pandemonium ensures.

Anakin and Obi-Wan rush towards the Senator but it's already too late. He's dead. Medic and police arrive and take away the body to determine the cause of death. Anakin and Obi-Wan both think there's something fishy going on, not believing the medic initial assessment that it could be a natural death. The motion in the Senate is paused, pending on possible investigation... And a few hours later the verdict is up:

The Senator was poisoned.

Medic state that the poison was ingested, and took effect quickly. The Senator was also one of Palpatine's closest allies and was rallying to pass the motions.

Anakin and Obi-Wan, since they basically saw the murder take effect, are assigned by the council to help out the police's investigation. However they are not quite welcome and are also interrogated as witnesses.

After some digging it is clear that the poison was placed in heavy doses in the Senator's own flask which was quite well known for his habit of taking a drink before going on the stand. The staff of the Senator is then interrogated quite harshly but without any progress. It comes to light that the Senator wasn't particularly liked, or tolerated in the Senate. He had plenty of disagreements even the day prior to his death and in fact he almost prided himself by being an asshole.

Anakin and Obi-Wan meanwhile are dogging the investigations and also trying not to snap at each other every two seconds. Tempers are at an all time high. They snipe at each other, mock each other theories, they try to not be alone in the room if possible which also hinders their investigation. Their own poor assigned senator is one argument from locking them into the cells under the senate and leave them there either to fuck it out or fight it out.

Eventually they put aside their squabbles when one maid from the senator entourage comes forth to talk to them. She doesn't want to talk to the police and is visibly terrified. She doesn't explain herself very well but manages to get the message across: she's the one who put the poison into the Senator's flask but she wasn't aware it was actually poison. And then she drops another bomb: it was the Senator himself who told her to add it to the drink. Why? Because it was a gift from a "friend" who swore by it. The maid explains that the Senator was being led to believe the substance would enhance his enjoyment of the drink. She's completely adamant that the Senator didn't know what the substance really was and was not planning a suicide. She also mentions that he had a meeting planned with said "friend" but he never specified when or where or with who. She leads Anakin and Obi-Wan where she was the late Senator put the flask and.... They discover that it has vanished.

Obi-Wan instructs the maid not the breath of this story to another soul and to find one of them immediately if she remembers anything else or finds a clue. Anakin is quite irritated by Obi-Wan's cavalier attitude towards the girls and tells him that for all they know she might have lied to them. Obi-Wan dismisses Anakin's worries because they both didn't sense any deception in her words. Still Anakin is quite irritated by Obi-Wan's quick defense of the girl.

They then start digging into the Senator's private life trying to find this "friend" but without success. Anakin even goes to talk to Palpatine about it (much to Obi-Wan's consternation) but is rebuffed since Palpatine tells him that he didn't know the senator that well.

The next day, the maid is found dead in her quarters... Shot in the head.

Anakin is particularly gutted about this since he doubted the girl's innocence and he and Obi-Wan finally find a way to reconcile.

The mystery however is getting more obscure. How did the killer know about the maid? Did the girl talk to someone else? Did she let something slip that clued in the killer of her knowledge? And where is the weapon used to kill the poor girl?

Anakin and Obi-Wan try to view the hall recordings but they have been scrapped by the killer. It really does seem like they are not going to catch him. The police are also not getting any closer to solving the case and the Senators are getting increasingly scared and belligerent about staying on Coruscant.

Eventually they find a clue that reveals the killer identity and they go to apprehend him. A vicious fight ensures but this time Anakin and Obi-Wan are in perfect sync and the killer is captured.

It all ofc ends well and Anakin and Obi-Wan also manage to open up about their feelings after seeing the maid's poor husband thank them for finding the killer.

To end it all on a brighter note, it'll please you to know Obi-Wan railed Anakin lovingly all-night and some of the next morning too 🫶🏻 the council doesn't know if they should be relieved or horrified by the team newfound harmony. Yoda is already planning on sending them far enough from the temple he doesn't have to get assaulted by their mixed pleasure lmao

And that's it! I mean. I've got some other murder mystery ideas but I think two back to back are already enough for now. If you however want to get another one or want more details about either one of those I already posted just hit me with an ask or a comment 🫶🏻

Hole you enjoyed this! And thanks for reading this long asf post lmao

[vi-for-vendetta]

Anonymous asked:

if youre still taking requests, id love to see something written about some smug rich girl being turned into a milky cow

This isn't much to go off, so I'm gonna do my best lol. I wrote kinda bitchy wlw hucow transformation. Again, I wrote this in second person, I am sorry lol:

She wasn't always this way. When the two of you were younger, she had no desire to shove her closet the size of your house, or the designer purses, or the sports cars in your face. But the second you two went to college, she became a whole new person. Her whole personality revolved around her wealth. You assumed it was just because she wanted attention, but you always felt that it was the wrong kind of attention.

You hadn't spoken to her since orientation, now you were entering your senior year and you two managed to get stuck in a class together. Unfortunately, this was one of those seminar classes where you're made to work on the same project for the whole year with the same partner.

You've heard from some of the other people in your major that she's a notorious slacker, the kind of person who always just skates by, a real "C's get degrees" kind of gal. Normally, you wouldn't care about this, but because you're grade is on the line here, too, you were fuming at the thought of her just making you do the whole assignment by yourself.

You were going to set her straight. One way or another, she was going to pull her weight in this project.

You decided to invite her back to your dorm to brainstorm ideas, but you already had one. You just needed to wait for the inevitable.

The two of you sat down at your too small kitchen table and stared at your laptop screens.

You both affixed your gaze on a blank Google Doc simply titled "Ideas."

Well, you did. She just had it open and was instead focused on her phone. Now was your chance:

"So, any ideas you think could be interesting for the-"

She raises a finger to you, "I'm gonna stop you there. I know you're, like, way smarter than me, so you can just do it and I'll, like, make the PowerPoint pretty in the end. Okay? Just do whatever you want, we can, like, meet up for 15, or like 20 minutes every couple of days to make it look like we're working, but beyond that I don't care."

"Okay, but why do you have to look like you're working? It's not like we're being checked on."

"You might not be, but I am. These stupid professors have me on academic probation, so they need to know where I am all the time," she groaned.

"Got it." You knew the answer already, of course. Gossip is common throughout the school about the pretty little rich girl who always manages to come out on top.

"Yeah, so just do whatever you want," she said with a dismissing wave.

You nodded, covering your mouth with your hand, hiding a grin that cartoon supervillains would be jealous of. You clicked open a new tab with a fully set up paper outline and data collection page. This was going to be the perfect paper. You called it, "Creating a Hucow: How Lactation Supplements and Subliminal Messaging Can Turn Anyone into a Ditzy Cow."

Of course you needed IRB approval for this, but based on your partner's nonchalance and overall dismissive nature, you could surely get her to sign all the papers you needed without her ever noticing what she was agreeing to.

So, off you went. For months, you slowly dosed her up with lactation supplements, offering to pick up her Starbucks and spiking it before each 20 minute meeting. You'd talk to her about how gorgeous she'd look in cow print, how soft her skin looked. After a month, she was letting you give her hand and shoulder massages. After two months, you were able to comment to her about how heavy her breasts looked, how tight her clothes had gotten, and how the cow print would help to hide it well. She started to let you grope her under the guise of "just holding them up to help her back." Each time she let you do this, you slowly introduced nipple stimulation. Then the day came.

It was month three and she was practically putty in your hands. But there was still work to do, and you knew just how to get the next phase started:

"Hey, you know, during some of my research for this stupid paper, I found that breast pumping, like the stuff new moms do, can really help ease the pain in your tits."

"Really? I never, like, ever heard that before."

"No, it's true! Here, I knew you were having a rough time, and I don't wanna see you suffer, so I bought you one," you say presenting the best pump to her, "Wanna try it out? I can get it hooked up for you."

She looked at you, puzzled, maybe moreso tentative. There was a long pause as she examined the device, "Okay. What not."

Success.

You peeled off her shirt, and hooked her up to the little pump. After only a few seconds, milk started to leak from her nipples into the machine.

"Oh my god! What the hell? Why am I-"

You shush her, cutting her off, "Don't worry, it's normal. Sometimes this just happens to girls with big tits like yours. It's the price to pay for beauty like that. But don't worry, I'm here to help."

"Okay, if you say so," her voice trailed off, it's the most concerned she's sounded throughout this whole process. You'd be sure to note that down. "But okay, I trust you. Thank you for helping me."

"Any time."

With that, you convinced her to come over more often, twice a day for an hour each session. Each time you'd pump her, you'd touch her breasts, rub her thighs. She moaned at the mear sight of your hands now.

By month four, she would come to your dorm and stop down to nothing but a micro cow-print bikini, which she now wore under her ensemble of cow-print clothes each day, and her cow bell collar. She'd then let you rip off her top and pump her. You'd run your pussy and your own breasts as you touched her, and she would beg for your touch all the time now.

It was month five now, and the semester was drawing to a close. She was a wet, milky mess the second she laid eyes on you. She would walk around on all fours, pumping her tits as she slurped up your wetness. Her favorite activity was rubbing your tits together.

She was the prettiest little experiment you ever saw.

And today was the day you'd tell her what you'd done to her. In front of the whole seminar class.

Your class' collective jaw dropped the second you walked in with her on a leash, walking on all fours in her micro bikini, leaking milk down her swollen tits.

You began your presentation:

"This semester, I turned my partner, with her consent, of course, into a hucow. Here's how I did it."

You spent your presentation detailing every step in your manipulative process, and not once did her face drop that ditzy smile it had. All she did was nod, smile and beg to be touched by you throughout your presentation.

As your presentation drew to a close, now was the time to ask your coveted question: "Alright, cow, here's my final question for this study, okay?"

She nodded fast.

"Knowing what you do now about what I did to you and how, are you mad, and do you regret what you've become?"

Without missing a beat, she chirps, "Absolutely not! I'm so happy being your dumb cow! I just wanna be your little milky toy forever! Please may I be your toy?"

You look at your classmates and smile, "Why yes, yes you can."

She jumps up from the floor and kisses you, groping your tits in front of the class.

You had made the perfect bimbo cow and proved that it was a more than satisfactory existence. This was the life.

[lynethpearce]

AU: Agent John Juniper

"If all the world's a stage, let's set it on fire."

In the early stages of his acting career, John Juniper joined one of the Agency's espionage and counterintelligence units in the United States, with the goal of finally putting an end to Zor's global monopoly. Operating as an undercover agent, he specialized in information theft, infiltration, decrypting Zoraxis's communication channels, and manipulating them. This more subtle and "civilized" approach allowed him to dismantle Zor's plans without resorting to overly invasive methods or putting more agents or the operation at risk—beyond himself, of course. His role was to provide valuable information to the field team, including profiles, plans, files, and encrypted messages, thereby facilitating the work of those responsible for direct action.

At the beginning of his career as a spy, he was assigned to an Agency handler to be trained in the craft of espionage and receive continuous guidance throughout his missions. The unfortunate choice was former agent Gibson.

One of the few remnants of the Agency’s golden age in the fight against undercover operations and illicit activities during the Cold War (assuming the events of EYTD took place between 1960 and 1990), alongside Reginald Crane, though with a decade’s difference. Unlike Juniper, Gibson specialized in fieldwork, excelling in raiding enemy bases and dismantling operations from within, adopting a more aggressive approach. However, his career as a field agent ended after a severe injury during a failed operation against Zor. Since then, he had been relegated to handling duties, overseeing the Agency’s new recruits.

It wasn't necessary to mention that Gibson wasn't particularly thrilled about having to shape the Agency's new "guinea pig." Aside from his dissatisfaction with the way the Agency treated its personnel, the idea of supervising a rising Hollywood star led to more than a few preconceived judgments about the name "John Juniper." And most of them turned out to be spot on.

John was a character in himself. Charismatic, charming, sociable, and with a sharp wit... but, in Gibson's opinion, also a complete headache. Overconfident, arrogant, whiny, and egocentric. He talked incessantly, almost always slipping in references to his movies or contradicting Gibson during missions, challenging his authority on nearly everything. He didn't take his job as a spy seriously. Always grinning, always flashing a charming smile, or, more often, oozing an unbearable dose of sarcasm.

"This reminds me of the time I worked on the 'Masque of Red—"

"Focus on your mission, Juniper."

Until things got complicated, and that’s when Gibson finally understood why the Agency had set its sights on this second-rate actor in the first place. John Juniper's despotic and narcissistic personality would almost completely fade, giving way to the objectivity and composure of Agent Clover as soon as the objective came into play. He learned quickly, very quickly, and maintained the same efficiency in decision-making under pressure that he did in keeping a smile on his face for the public. His desire to stand out seemed to fuel his courage (or his lack of common sense) when facing imminent danger. John’s theatrical skills were his greatest asset in the field. Even in his humbler beginnings, with no technological support from the Agency, his ability to act and blend in was what propelled him to become a standout spy, earning more than one enemy in Zoraxis.

Although, in hand-to-hand combat, he left a lot to be desired.

"It was just luck—oh, oh, oh. Okay, Gibs. I admit it. You win. I was wrong. Ouch—Gibs, Gibs, Gibs, I give up, I give up, I GIVE UP!"

With the addition of smart masks to his repertoire, the balance seemed to tip even further in his favor, just as the telekinetic implant project was gaining momentum. These masks were designed to record, scan, store, and accurately replicate both the voices and appearances of those Juniper interacted with (individually, of course, but it was something). The rest depended on his acting, and with Juniper’s flawless performance, it became nearly impossible to distinguish the real person from the imposter. A true doppelgänger. This made it almost impossible for his enemies to identify him through his civilian identity.

He went on to adopt several identities to infiltrate Zoraxis: from workers and guards to allies, and even high-ranking members, such as The Fabricator (a role that earned her immediate hatred), and he even impersonated Gibson.

"Well, for starters, I DON'T sound like that."

"Of course you do."

As a result of these small successes, his relationship with Gibson improves exponentially. Gibson starts to value John’s strengths over his insufferable and idiotic attitude, becoming a sort of voice of reason—the only person in the Agency capable of tolerating him or bringing him to his senses. For his part, John views Gibson as his equal, someone capable enough to share the stage and bask in the spotlight. After all, what would an actor be without his loyal co-star, who accompanies him through every one of his adventures?

There would be no Clover without Gibson, that much is certain.

Things are going smoothly for both the Agency and the duo, until one afternoon, a letter bearing the Zoraxis logo arrives at John Juniper’s office, with a special invitation from Dr. Zor.

[beepboprobotsnot]

A little under a year ago, I stumbled across the anime "Frieren: Beyond Journey's End" and it very quickly became a contender for my favorite anime of all time. It is beautiful, and cozy, and packed with meaning in every episode, and I love it. So, since the depth of Frieren's story could use some more attention, I've decided to do a little something that I'm going to call "Frieren-bruary." Every day for the month of February, I'm going to talk about one episode of Frieren, of which there are exactly twenty-eight, so it works out quite well. So, without further ado:

Episode Seventeen: Take Care

This episode is about maturity. Sorta. The focus of the second half is on Fern getting a fever, and Frieren demonstrating that head-pats aren't the only form of showing affection she understands, she can also comfortingly hold someone's hand. Fern gets embarrased by the gesture, and remarks that she isn't a child, and Stark points out that Frieren doesn't usually treat Fern like a child. Frieren's response is that she wasn't, and "I simply held her hand because it looked like she was hurting." She wasn't treating Fern like a kid, she was just trying to help in any way that she could. As Himmel says in the past, "It isn't just children who need the occasional dose of emotional support."

But the funny thing is, this theme is foreshadowed in the first half of the episode as well. Shortly before Sein leaves the party, Frieren praises him for mediating between Fern and Stark, being very clear and explicit with her praise because she's not good with social subtelties. Sein then remarks that "You're the only one who still praises me like I'm a kid." Frieren's response is that he is a kid, at least compared to her, but there's more to the moment than that, after all, as previously mentioned, praise is an incredibly important concept in Frieren. A few episodes back, Heiter talked about how children need praise, and how he "pretends" to be an adult in order to give them that praise. Frieren's response is to ask who will praise him for his good job "pretending" and offers to do it, giving him the very childlike praise of patting his head. This moment is a continuation of that, where Frieren makes sure to properly praise the child hiding behind the "pretend" adult that is Sein.

Put together, these two moments from the two halves of the episode have an interesting message of adulthood. If adults need comfort like children, and also need praise like children, they it would seem that adults aren't that different from children at all. And perhaps Frieren, compared to whom all adults are basically children, is just in a better position to realize that than anyone else.

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[xsoftxintoxlovex]

You wanna hear how I'd use you? This is just a teaser. And it's only a realistic scenario. It could be way more wild and extreme with heightened or fantasy elements, and I know you'd like that, too.

I'd invite you over to have some drinks and hang out, maybe with vague plans to go out, but I'd drug your second or third mixed drink with a trippy depressant like K without you knowing. Then I'll challenge you to drink a lineup of four shotglasses, saying I'll go next, and then we'll head out. But by the time you get those down, you'll start to notice something else hitting you. As your higher level thinking rapidly begins to fade, I'll start videoing it happening in real time.

"Wait, what'd you doo? Why'rr yoo record'nn?" you'll ask, as you suddenly stumble a bit and I guide you to a couch. We'll both notice you slurring a bit more and more even as you speak. It might be one of the last things you remember with certainty.

"I just wanna show you what a good girl you are, later. How do you feel?"

"Yoo gabe me sumt'n.. Id'no wut you... i fill....."

You'll be getting slack and wide-eyed on the couch, losing all tension in your body. Just trying to even make sense of what you're feeling.

"I fill... fuggin.. wow...."

"Here baby, hit this," I'll say, holding a weed pen to your lips, which you'll instinctually do. And you'll instinctually grope at your own udder while you do. But your hand will fall limp at your side after barely making contact.

"Be a good intox slut, and have a drink," I'll say, lifting the vodka to your lips as you placidly comply, and as I grope your udders for you.

"Does that feel good?"

"Mm...? Yaahhh."

"Have a bit more."

I'll repeat both several times, while undressjng you.

"Mmmm... Fuhh..."

I'll find your panties soaked. And I'll see how you respond to a little tease of a vibrator on your clit through your panties.

"Mmm!! Unnnh!" you might say, so eloquently. I'm inclined to kiss you there, you may be too cute to resist. And I bet you'll try to kiss back.

I'm going to enjoy taking my time to play with my fuck toy and give you a wild ride to. I'm going to tease you and edge you for hours. Keep you fucked up, balancing low doses of uppers and downers to keep you blacked out but just barely conscious. Forcing you to drink and smoke weed, mouth to mouth if necessary. Give you so many impact bruises. Using your throat as a you pussy, making you puke on my dick, and giving you more booze and drugs to make up for it. Cum buckets in you, knowing you're ovulating, hoping you get pregnant. I'll make sure to leave my cum dripping out of you and your thighs sticky for when you wake up. And yes, you will cum, a lot, when I'm ready for you to.

And we're both free the next day, so I'm going to help you, sore and hungover, to the shower in the morning, with my hand on your soon-to-be milky udder, a bottle of vodka in the other, and a blunt waiting on the nightstand. And the whole night's the video for us to watch highlights of, as I get you drunk and high and horny all over again.

ttosd drunk to transcribe- reim=nd me in the morning????

[pertinax--loculos]

Heads Up Seven Up

Tagged by the wonderful @oh-no-another-idea for my last seven lines. ^_^ Thanks so much for the tag! Even though I only respond erratically oftentimes these tags keep me plugging away at WIPs in the background to give me something to share, so I'm always grateful. :D

I'm gonna tag you back, plus @kd-holloman, @thegreatobsesso, @winterandwords, @tragedycoded, @isherwoodj, @keeping-writing-frosty, and @sarahlizziewrites.

Taking some lines from the Old WIP -- not quite the last ones I wrote, but pretty close. Also going through the old tags for this WIP I've been oddly militant about not sharing spoilers, so in keeping with that, don't mind the little bit of [redacted] in this. 😅

CW for drug use/withdrawal.

Getting clean had never been his intention. It was the last thing Dash wanted, actually, after he’d learned that [Redacted] was-- gone. Facing life without the crutch of the oxy sounded awful, and facing life without [Redacted] while entirely sober was anathema. The first few days he'd spent high out of his mind, dosing with far too many pills, refusing to think how he'd replenish them after they were gone. Evelyn came by on the first day, and the second, but by the fourth she got the message that he didn’t want to fucking see anybody. On the fifth he ran out of pills, frantically searching all his old hidey holes and coming up empty, still slightly buzzed but not enough he couldn’t imagine the effects of withdrawal beginning to tug at his limbs. By daybreak on the sixth day he was jonesing hard and the despair started to slide into anger.

[joelswritingmistress]

You Scare Me, Professor: Chapter 22

Summary: The reader is taking graduate classes at a local university in the wooded upstate New York. She is drawn to her professor, Dr. Joel Miller, though she is also inherently aware that he has something dark about him that she can't quite put her finger on. As the reader's attraction grows deeper, she has to decide whether to endure the danger or run away as fast as possible.

Pairing: Professor Joel Miller x f!reader

I had gotten through Dr. Stevenson’s class with flickering eyes in the dim lighting. Knowing that Dr. Miller was right next door teaching his other course had me thinking about him.

Was he making people laugh? What material was he teaching? And the question I tried not to let creep into my jealous, little mind - is he attracted to anyone in that class? I don't know why I did that to myself, but I couldn't help my inner baseless insecurities. Still, I didn't let it consume me. I was the one who had a key to his house. I was the one who was attending his sister’s wedding in a few weeks. I was the one sleeping beside him on a nightly basis.

Be cool, I told myself. Our romance was too hot and steamy for me to attempt, or even pretend, to be cool.

When I wandered out into the hallway in the crowd of other students, I glanced down toward the closed door near the end of the hall and smiled to myself. I then whipped out my phone to find text messages from both Dr. Miller and James - who had been walking me to my car regularly on Wednesday nights.

Before clicking on Dr. Miller’s, I expected his typical racy text that made the extra hour without him feel ten times as long. I smiled to myself when it read: Please be careful. Let me know when you get home. I still don't trust the campus security.

I had to admit I enjoyed Dr. Miller’s healthy dose of jealousy towards James. It made me feel less guilty for having my own insecure thoughts. I guess it was just human nature, to some degree.

I wrote him back, promising I would text him when I arrived at my car and then again at home. I added a heart emoji and hit send before moving on to James’s text, which let me know he’d see me in the parking lot. A part of me felt just a bit needy for asking him to come by every Wednesday at this time; but I knew Dr. Miller’s concerns for my safety wouldn't allow for me to be alone after dark on campus - even for just a minute or two. I didn’t particularly think I needed James, but I know, despite his distaste for another male to come to my aid, it made Dr. Miller feel better. That was enough for me.

Gotta pee, long ride home! I texted back to James, adding, See ya in a second. Thanks!!

I stuffed my phone back into my bag and wandered into the women's bathroom in a nook by the elevators.

When I hung my bag and sat in the stall, my phone buzzed again. Tori.

Her text came through: Hey, thanks for the two months in advance. You didn’t have to! Btw, I have a huge question. Nothing bad. Call when you can.

Big question? What could it be? And I certainly didn’t pay two months in advance.

Dr. Miller. It had to be him.

I quickly tapped her name and hit the little phone icon and put the receiver up to my ear.

“Hey!” My friend answered in a cheery voice, “Didn’t think you’d call back so quickly!”

“What’s up?” I asked.

“Ahh…” She breathed the word and I knew she was hesitant to ask whatever it was she was about to. “So.. um.. Derek.”

I smiled to myself, thinking I had an inclination of what this was about. And I actually thought it would solve a few of my inner monologue issues, especially since Dr. Miller insisted on having me at his place every night.

“You want him to move in,” I speculated. It caused a long pause on the other end and I finally asked, “Tori?” Maybe I was wrong. Maybe they broke up. Maybe-

“Yeah. I feel like a dirtbag for asking-”

“Why?” I practically shouted, and then put a hand over my mouth with a little laugh when I heard the door open to the restroom.

“Because it’s our place and I know adding a dude to the mix could make it awkward.”

“Well.. honestly.. Dr.-” I caught myself and stopped for a second.

“Doctor?”

“I.. well.. Hmm..” I reset. “Joel gave me a key to his place.”

“What!?” Tori exclaimed.

“I know I've been staying there a lot,” I went on.

“(Y/N) it's totally okay.” She laughed. “So, is he like your hot sugar daddy?”

I laughed again and glanced to the side when I heard someone shuffling around. “No. I am falling for him pretty hard though.” And then I added, “I think it's great if Derek moves in.”

“Really?” Tori squeaked.

“Really.”

“I feel like we haven't seen each other. We need to meet up this week and really talk.”

“Definitely. How about Friday after work?”

“Yes!”

“Okay. Congrats on Derek.”

“Congrats on your hot old man.”

I laughed. “Alright. I'll see you soon.”

“Bye.”

The door handle turned and I cleared my throat. “Oh, someone’s in here.” A knock followed. “Be right out.”

I got myself together and felt the muscles in my stomach tense when there was another, louder knock. This time I didn’t answer right away. And then came a loud bang that caused me to jump back a few inches. I almost shrieked but I held it in.

“I’ll be right out!” I shouted now, beginning to use my phone. When the door handle twisted again, I used the best verbal defense I could think of. “I’m calling campus security!”

The pounding stopped. The door handle twisting stopped. I breathed heavily a few times and swallowed hard as I heard the faintest sound of footsteps. As badly as I wanted to peek out of the crack in the door, fear had me pinned against the wall of the bathroom stall.

I heard the creak of the door and then there was silence. I began texting Dr. Miller, though before I hit send I stopped myself. He was teaching a class. I didn’t want to bother him and pull him out of class. Not to mention there was no good reason why, according to the university, I should be phoning my professor.

“Fuck.” I whispered the word to myself. I wanted to call him, but I knew it wouldn’t be a good look. On the same note, I knew when I told him about this later, he’d be pissed that I didn’t call him.

I went with my next best option. James.

Until I heard the door crack open again, and my friend’s familiar voice called hesitantly into the women’s bathroom, I remained behind the locked door - not that someone couldn’t have gotten under the bottom of it if they really wanted to. Still, I wasn’t about to tiptoe out, only to be ambushed.

“(Y/N),” James called, “It’s me. Are you okay?”

“Yeah.” I cleared my throat and finally managed to open the door. I quickly washed my hands and then hurried back out into the civilization - which at the moment was only James and I.

“Are you okay?” He asked, placing a hand on my shoulder.

“Yeah.” I took a deep breath and brushed my hair back. “I don’t even know what happened. I was.. I don’t know if someone was just being impatient, or..” My eyes met his, “I don’t know.”

“Did it seem like a threat?”

I shrugged. “They tried opening the door, and I told them I was in there. And then they just kept knocking and pounding at the door and twisting the handle.” I shook my head, “It was probably someone just having a bad day, or.. I don’t know.”

“Let’s make it a formal complaint,” James suggested, but I shook my head.

“No. No, I’m sure it was nothing.”

“You have to,” he insisted, “You can’t be too careful. With everything that’s happened here, it needs to be reported.” James pulled out a small notebook from his shirt pocket.

I scrunched my nose. “Do you have to include my name?”

He shook his head. “I’ll keep that part to myself.” James made a face, “Unless they really need it for some reason.”

“Okay.” I agreed. He took the details of what had happened and then proceeded to walk me the rest of the way to my car, flashing his light in my back seat just before I hopped in.

“Thank you, James.” I gave him a hug. “I appreciate your help.”

“You’re welcome.” He gave a small grin. “Any time you need someone, I’m here. I know you take a few night classes here so just make sure you don’t walk alone.”

“I won’t.”

“Be careful.”

I nodded and began to duck into the driver’s seat.

“Hey, (Y/N).”

“Yeah?” I glanced up at him as I settled in.

“Do you still live on that dead end street with Tori?”

I nodded. “Yeah.”

“Oh, okay.”

“Why?”

James shrugged. “You just said you had a long ride home. I didn’t know if you moved, or if you were staying with your parents or something.”

“Oh.” Shit, I had slipped. “Yeah, tonight I’m actually.. Staying somewhere else.”

“Oh.” His eyebrows rose and fell and it appeared as though he was waiting for an explanation. When I failed to elaborate James cleared his throat. “Well, stay safe.”

“Thanks for helping me out.”

“No problem.”

I waved goodbye and closed the door, locking it as I started it up. Before I put it in drive, Dr. Miller’s text came through, asking if I was on my way home.

How much do I tell him right now?

I hesitated before leaving it at: Pulling out of the parking lot now.

Are you okay to be in that big house alone? He asked.

The thought did freak me out a bit. But I knew it was probably the safest place for me to be. If it wasn’t, Dr. MIller wouldn’t be comfortable sending me off there alone.

I wrote back: If I say no will you hurry home?

I’ll hurry home anyway.

I smiled to myself and began the drive back up the desolate highway into the heart of the Catskills. After weeks of spending the night at Dr. MIller’s mansion, I couldn’t imagine not staying there.

The longer I drove with my music playing, the less I thought of the incident in the bathroom. It was when I finally reached the tall, steel gates surrounded by nothing but woods that my anxiousness grew. I had to physically get out of the car to do the code. That was when all thoughts of the bathroom came rushing back.

Dr. Miller was over a half hour away. He wasn’t here to protect me. What if that was some psycho killer? What if someone was here now? My mind rushed to all the worst case scenarios now that I was forced with the task of getting out of the car to open the gates. It was dark. It was scary - at least without Dr. Miller it was.

“Grow up,” I whispered to myself. I knew if I was going to be living there, or kind of living there, that I would have to do this.

I opened the door and hugged my body, glancing around at the swaying trees all around me. Snow still sat in patches around the area from the small storms and the pavement was dark and damp.

2003. It was four numbers, and then I could get back in the car, drive up, get comfortable and wait for my knight in shining armor.

I left the car door open and clutched my keys as I slowly paced the uphill pathway toward the key pad. A whistle from the wind made me whip around in all directions and I had to catch my breath and remind myself that I was fine. It was just the desolate surroundings and the murders on campus that had me jumpy.

Very valid reasons, I reminded myself.

I reached for the keypad and punched in 2-0 as a set of headlights rolled up the drive, illuminating trees off to the left as it rounded a bend before was in the crosshairs of the beams.

That was the last straw. I didn't know whether to keep typing or run back to my car. I did neither. I froze.

CLICK HERE FOR THE NEXT CHAPTER

@untamedheart81 @suttonspuds @cesspitoflove @michilandcof @grogusmum @morallyinept @akah565 @brittmb115 @magpiepills @poodlebae @gobaaby-blog-blog @mermaidgirl30 @mandijo17 @jiminstinypinky @itscatrodriguez-thepearl @macaroni676

[lirational]

Gazania

Alpha!Coquelicot x Omega!Reader

Warnings: Dark content, Omegaverse, dubious consent, (minor) dehumanization. DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT.

Disclaimer: Written before release with minimal information. OOC abound. You have been warned!

Additional message: I promise I am working on the requests I am sorry RUSJDUDJSHSB

SMUT UNDER THE CUT. MINORS DO NOT INTERACT.

If, back then, you were told that one day you would be snatched up on the streets while taking a shortcut, you would’ve laughed in their face and tell them to stop watching too many movies.

Now, you would laugh without mirth, for such an event became your reality.

Fearmongers would claim that it was unsafe for an unclaimed Omega to roam freely without suppresants, even in short trips, and you were just an hour late for your next dose. You left your pills at home that day, figuring that the dose you took should give you enough time for the trip home.

A mistake you would come to regret.

When you came to, you were greeted by a woman clad in white, naked with your hands tied up in lace, laid sideways on a plush bed. Were you able to see yourself, you would realize that the ropes binding you created such a beautiful sight, an artful display meant for the woman now sitting on the sofa in front of you.

“Ah, I see you are awake.”

Her movements ooze elegance, from the way her dress wrapped around her lithe, pale body, down to the splotches of ruby jewels that gleamed like stark droplets of blood under the light. Her smile was terrifying, claiming, and as she stepped closer, you caught a whiff of her scent. Sweet, with something metallic hidden underneath that captivated your senses in a dance with the macabre. She was nothing short of beautiful, and you half wondered, in the start of your lust-inflicted haze.

Do your scent affect her even half as much as hers did?

A pointless question, and you gulped as you saw the bulge barely hidden by her short dress, the outline of a piercing visible at the end.

One hand grasped your cheek, the other tilting your chin up, forcing you to look at her ruby pupils that shimmered like blood. Her lips curled into a scimitar smile, and a shiver went down your spine, her touch setting your skin alight as your body started to submit in her presence—

The unmistakable presence of an Alpha.

“An unclaimed Omega, passing in such a secluded place… One would wonder whether you were trying to invite rabid mutts on yourself,” she shook her head, her gaze filled with a mocking compassion, tinged with unmistakable lust as her pheromones started to fill the room, spreading much like black coloring drops in pristine water. Desire was coiling in your body, preparing yourself for a potential mate, and you start to fidget, sweat dampening your skin while moisture gathered down below, likely forming a puddle with each passing second.

Despite that, the Alpha woman caressing you still seemed as if she was unaffected.

“As for my name… call me Coquelicot. Shorten it as you like, I only want to hear you scream it later,” she accentuated her threat with a rough twist on your nipples, drawing a groan that escaped your lips before you could think to even stop it, “My dear flowers have been keeping an eye on you. To think the chance to take you away arrived this soon…”

“Y, you can’t do this,” you reply, your trembling, high-pitched voice undermining any attempts at loading your voice with a semblance of authority, “My roommates will be looking for me if I don’t reach home before ten, and, I attend the—“

“They have been taken care of, my little Omega,” she cut you off, hand reaching for the ribbon on your back. With that, just like unwrapping a present, your bonds unraveled, dropping into strips of ribbons on the bed. She took one end of the ribbon and lifted your wrists up, binding your hands together, then pulled the end of the knot with her teeth, forming a tight seal that did not even allow even the slightest movement.

Her fingers glide down the sides of your body, gripping your waist in a vice-grip strength. In a contrast to your state, as you get messier from sheer desperation with each tick of the seconds, she was the epitome of patience. Her other hand cupped your dripping folds, and in a contrast to her projected grace and beauty, the way she presses on your entrance almost screams out her desire, before slipping the tip of one digit in. In a teasing motion, she wriggled her finger, and it was enough to make your toes curl, the end of a choked moan slipping through pursed lips.

“That’s no good,” she tutted, then slipped a second finger in, curling her digits before she spread them apart, drawing out a high-pitched noise that slipped out before you could stop it.

“I want to hear you.”

Even if what was left of your thoughts could muster a fight, your body had long recognized it was futile. White was creeping at the edges of your vision, while your body bucked in response to any form of stimulation. Coquelicot’s movements conveyed impatience that was not visible from how calm and languid she sounded, delicate fingers massaging your walls and mapping each reaction that spilled from your lips.

Coquelicot smelled of blood and roses, distinct metallic tang fading into sweetness at the end, the scent potent enough that with a whiff, you felt like metallic sweetness had swirled on your tongue and coated your insides. She kept up the scissoring motion of her fingers, undeterred in her quest to split you apart, to truly stake her claim on you. With a shuddering breath and a mockery of an attempt to call out her name, you spilled on her fingers, coating her pale hand with your slick.

Under the throes of your still burning lust, only slightly alleviated by coming once, you beg for her.

“Please… Coque— no, please, more—,” finally, finally a plea slipped from your lips, your earlier hiss and bite all but gone as your whole being yearned, screamed for her. You try to buck your hips, to meet the base of her fingers in hopes of feeling her touch on that sweet, sweet spot once more, yet she was too quick, a confident smirk gracing her face. It was a stark contrast to the twitching member hidden beneath her short dress, its length tenting the white garment enough that if you look just a bit lower, you would have seen everything she has down there.

“Ah, now you are finally begging! Show me, show me then, my little Omega, show me how desperate you are.”

Coquelicot stopped moving her fingers, though she kept them inside you.

“Use those hips of yours, let me hear you call my name, my blooming Gazania, my beautiful Omega. Give me unshakable proof of your loyalty for me.”

You have all but thrown your dignity to the wind, allowing yourself to be consumed by this blood-coated promise of pleasure. Though you were pinned down, restricting your movement, you still obeyed the best you could, rolling your hips in an attempt to meet the base of her fingers.

If only you could see your own expression, wanton with lust and eyes no longer reflecting any coherent thoughts. Your skin shined with sweat, evidence of the furnace burning inside, and yet you still wanted - no, needed - more. Your attempts were futile, and from the amusement dancing in Coquelicot’s gaze, she was fully aware of it.

“What happened, my little Omega? Don’t you want release?”

There was mocking glee in her voice.

“I need— I need you inside me,” you admitted with trembling lips. As an afterthought, you added, “Please.”

To your surprise, she smiled, and with an embarassing, wet sound, she pulled her fingers out, leaving you with a gaping ache bigger than you have expected.

Then, sheshoved her sullied fingers into your mouth.

“Clean this up first, then.”

Her command was accentuated as the pheromones swirling in the room intensified, turning your emptiness into clawing, unending, torturous desire. Evidence of your need had long since dripped onto your inner thighs and sullied the luxurious bed you were on, sheer need driving your thoughts to nothing else but the alpha in front of you.

You obeyed, swirling your tongue on her digits, tasting yourself on her skin.

Satisfied, she pulled her fingers out, then you saw a glimpse, her elegance almost discarded out the window as she pulled down her own panties, ruined and sullied with her own juices. As she pulled her dress aside, you saw her member in all seven inches of its full glory. The gleam of metal gave away its pierced tip and sides, with a short ornament hanging on its very tip, close to the bead of precum already forming. A spiked cock ring could be seen at the base, its look reminiscent of rose thorns.

She did not give you a chance to admire it.

She aligned her pelvis with yours, looking at you with a gaze so loving, so deep in a wave of obsession that threatens to sweep you under. The tip of her cock pressed against your entrance, then it slipped in all too easily, your clenched walls allowing you to feel each bump at the side pressing against you.

Her slow entrance kept you at edge, even as the grip of her fingers tightened on your shoulders, a sign that she, too, was impatient and close to ramming everything inside. As she slid down slowly, savoring the feeling, you felt more complete. Euphoria washed over you as she finally slid everything inside you, her cock now pressing so deep you could feel it threatening to truly, finally split you apart and bind you to her in vines full of thorns and deceit.

“Try to stay awake, dear Gazania,” Coquelicot warned, the mockery made clear with her laugh.

That was not your name, but you could not find it to protest - perhaps, more like you were not given a chance to as her thrusts became faster, more erratic, a sign that she has truly let go of her restraints. Her ruby eyes almost shined with the intensity of it all, and her breaths became ragged, though you only saw that glimpse for a second before she lunged for your exposed skin, kissing marks that would paint your skin in smudged red and dark blue bruises later on. From your shoulders, the column of your neck, to your breasts, she kept you aware and able to feel everything she did, both as she rearranged your insides with each thrust, and the way her tongue swirled patterns on your stiff nipples.

Her groans became more stilted, louder, and so were your moans, spilling unbidden without care of who or what might hear the two of you tangled in twisted, bloodied passion. She pumped faster, caressing that sweet, sweet spot, her movements desperate for her own release, while you saw stars at the edge of your vision as you tipped over the edge, adding to the mess that was already pooling beneath you. Her cock twitched, once, twice inside you, then she came, her girth swelling, filling you up with both the scalding hot proof of your passionate tangle, and her dick that now acted as a plug, keeping you two in each other’s embrace.

You could feel that a little bit almost spilled out, yet it remained there, as if Coquelicot did not want any of it to go to waste.

“Haah, my flower… you are finally mine,” she muttered, warm tongue licking the spot near your neck, her breaths fanning the spot and causing you to shudder, but you were already too full, the craving of your body satisfied, and you wanted nothing more than to curl up, perhaps from the mix of shame and satisfaction. Thankfully, she seemed to understand, and helped shift your position, allowing you to sleep on your side, though still tangled. The last thing you heard, before she drifted off and left you to ponder your fate alone, was her sweet whisper.

“Let’s do it again when you are rested, my dear flower.”