#my second attempt at inking
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xehanortsreport · 4 months ago
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a commission for @king-of-heartless ! being given free rein to just drawn ansem was used as an excuse to draw something i've really wanted to for a while - a little get together with some color music heartless!
this was delightful to work on, and i'm thankful for the patronage~
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finngualart · 1 year ago
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sketch, lino block and test print i did yesterday evening
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ricoiscool · 9 months ago
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Finally give in, and smash your laptop against the staircase. Watch the rejected internship application spill out onto the carpet, and the home video of you and your cousin, and the poorly written love letter from two years ago. Look at all those big red lines, look at the one under your first name! Hey, that one looks like that kid your friend introduced you to in the park after school remember the one they said stabbed some guy in 2018? Don’t look too long, don’t let them ruin that precious precious carpet, and for their love of God don’t get any ideas. Put your most pretentious playlist on full blast. Vacuum your words up and throw them away before anybody finds them You’ve been too quiet for too long it’s too late to be vulnerable do us a favor and throw them away!!
T
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journey-to-the-attic · 2 years ago
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list of stupid things ik has successfully gotten lucifer to say (ongoing)
either ik went to lucifer and said "can you please say/read this", or he's hung out with her too much and her silly language patterns have brushed off on him
"swag"
"working hard or hardly working?" (to lucifer's dismay, this one has now entered his list of default small talk lines)
"bideo games"
[most deadpan delivery possible] "yahoo"
"he got... gonched"
"fish fear me" (he refused to say the women bit, but it's arguably funnier that he only said the fish part)
the opening of my immortal. he did (begrudgingly) agree to read the whole first chapter, but he shut down after the first paragraph and didn't finish it
"and is levi epic gaming right now?" (he said this one on his own, entirely unprompted, because ik has said the words 'epic gaming' around him so much that it's accidentally entered his vocabulary)
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inlovewithaspiderguy · 29 days ago
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Oc-tober 15!
Today’s prompt was Bravest OC.
I chose Maru from that one fanfiction I never wrote, about Robin Hood (2018) (Taron Egerton) (my white boy of the month). Post movie, they want to live in the woods but a mysterious archer lurks around. She doesn’t follow the rules of men but could be a powerful ally…
Pen and markers on paper, 40 min.
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tracle0 · 2 years ago
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!!!writing!!!
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ddejavvu · 4 months ago
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Could you do a criminal minds x reader where reader is viewed as super sweet and dresses brighter and stuff like Penelope but one day they have to come in like super late/by surprise so everyone is in their normal clothes and the bau sees that reader has a big ass, super cool tattoo? And they’re all surprised and stuff
You're looking less-than professional in your backless halter top when you take your seat at the round table, but no one bats an eye until you stand from the chair to leave. Hotch's call of 'Wheels up in 20' means that the room clears as everyone hunts for their gobags, and the second you turn your back to your coworkers a litany of reactions fill the space.
Of course, the most dramatic is from Garcia, but you hear enough to count all of your coworkers, except one. Hotch's brows are raised when you turn back to see them, though - apparently he's not above being startled.
"Woah, hot stuff," Prentiss calls, a grin spreading over her face, "You've got some nice ink back there!"
"I didn't know you had tattoos," JJ muses, staring at you with curious amusement like she's recalculating your image in her mind, "That's really intricate. I like it."
"Oh, it's-" You reach a hand up to stroke awkwardly over the inked skin, "I kind of forgot you'd never seen it before."
"Turn around again!" Garcia gushes, "I wanna look at it."
You spin on command, and Hotch and Rossi are kind enough not to gawp with the others, passing you on their way to the door.
"You've got guts, kid," Rossi grimaces, "I've been in a lot of pain before, but I don't know if I'd willingly sit there for all of that."
"I wouldn't," Hotch shakes his head with a good-natured smile, "Haley and I got small, matching ones in college, and I had a hard time with that one."
"Is that based off of Norse mythology?" Spencer pokes his head around your shoulder to stare bright-eyed at you, "Some of the symbols remind me of-"
"It's just a sick-ass tattoo, Reid." Morgan shoves at his shoulder. peering avidly at the art, "Don't ruin this for everyone."
Reid takes the shove like a champion, smiling kindly, albeit awkwardly at you as he moves for the door himself, "I like it."
"Thanks, Reid," You call, flinching slightly as a hand traces one of the symbols on your back.
"Ooh! Sorry, pumpkin," Garcia calls, the hand drawn away in a flash, "I got too grabby. I just think it's really cool," she takes your hand, leading you towards the door while the others follow to continue staring at your tattoo, "I'd show you my own body art, but it's not really in a spot that I can display in the workplace."
"Well this I've gotta see," Morgan teases, "Let's all huddle in the bathroom on the jet, babygirl, and see what you're hiding."
"It is not for your eyes, Derek Morgan," She huffs, though she's grinning at his attempt. The look in her eyes suggests that the tattoo is not for his eyes because it's something to do with him, and you're eager to giggle over whatever part of her body she's tatted 'babygirl' over later.
For now, though, you rifle through your gobag and shrug on a cardigan, effectively covering your back and its ink.
"It is a crying shame to cover up that artwork," Prentiss laments, "I bet it looks awesome peeking over tank tops."
"You'll see it again at the hotel," You laugh, "I have plans to use the jacuzzi before we leave."
"A jacuzzi sounds fantastic," JJ sighs, "But let's all of us agree that Morgan isn't invited - I wanna see Garcia's tattoo."
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buckyalpine · 25 days ago
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18+ Minors dni Enemies to lovers with some massage therapist Bucky. Breeding kinnk, aftercare, Bucky is a secret softie, all that.
Imagine Rival Biker Bucky x f reader. A smutty, slutty little concept while I add the finishing touches to another fic, just getting this out of my system first. I just love the idea of a sexy, bad boy Bucky getting his hands on the one girl who won't give him a second glance because she's too good for him and they're from opposite worlds. Since childhood. Now he's a biker. Covered in black ink. He works in an auto shop. Owns the bar that brings in chaos. He's smoke, whiskey and leather.
She, however, is soft, pretty, smart and does not have the time to entertain someone like him. She has her degree. Working on a second. She has a career. She does not associate with the likes of him, not as the police chiefs daughter. She'll be damned if she has to even breathe the same air, especially when his gang is the cause for half the problems in the town that her father has been trying to get rid of.
Now, imagine that hours of working on her notes and papers leave her with unbearable knots and kninks in her back. She doesn't want to take a break but the pain only gets worse as the week goes by. It doesn't take long for her to shoot her regular massage therapist a message to book the very first available appointment.
-
You unclasped your bra, folding and setting it off to the side while waiting for Wanda in the warmly lit room. You could have sworn she was a witch with the way she made pain disappear; she’d also become a good friend after your many visits.
The knock at the door interrupted you as you slid your shorts off, leaving you in your panties, not rushing to jump onto the table considering it was just Wanda anyway.
“Come in!” You smiled, making your way to the massage bed as the door clicked open- “Oh my God!!” You nearly shrieked seeing Bucky walk in, a shit eating from spreading across his face as you scrambled to grab the tiny towel to cover yourself though it was a futile attempt. “What the hell are you doing here?!”
"You have an appointment, don't you?" He quirked an eyebrow as if it was clear as day why he was there.
"Yeah, with Wanda, why are you here, did you get lost on the way to jail?" Your face scrunched in a mix of confusion and disgust ignoring the roll of his eyes while you snatched your shirt to better cover up.
"Well Wanda couldn't make it in but she sent me" He said with a shrug, sighing when he saw your less than impressed face, "Don't flatter yourself, I'm just training under her as part of my physiotherapy internship"
"I'm sorry, you're trying to tell me you of all people are learning how to give massages? Please"
"Physiotherapy" Bucky corrected, "You're not the only one who has a degree, princess" Bucky watched as you groaned realizing you hadn't put your bra on, opting to stuff it in your bag instead of putting it back on in front of him.
"You are NOT laying a finger on me-ow!" You hissed, feeling the knot in your back tug at the rest of your muscles.
"You're not gonna be able to do a whole lot with that much pain" Bucky smirked, only half joking. He wasn't wrong. The pain was worse than before and you needed this an you really didn't have the time to reschedule.
"Fine" You mumbled, turning away from him so you could take your shirt off again, glaring at him when you noticed he hadn't turned away. "Could you at least give me some privacy instead of lurking in the corner like a pervert"
"Whatever you want, princess" He bit his lip as he faced the wall, hearing your feet pad across the tile to lay down on the massage table.
"Alright" You huffed after covering your lower body with the towel, now laying face down, immediately second guessing yourself as he walked over.
"Let me know if anything's uncomfortable or if you want me to stop" His voice was no longer snarky; in fact he sounded professional. "Where do you feel the most tension?"
"Um-shoulders and-lower back" You mumbled out the last bit, he was going to massage you there anyway so there so no pointed hiding it. You tensed at the feeling of his oiled fingers starting to work at your muscles, he had no right to be that good. At all.
“Shit” you hissed trying to keep your voice down, ignoring the clench of your stomach feeling his rough fingers press down on the areas that were tight. Little did you know Bucky was struggling far more than you were.
It went against every bit of professionalism he had. Every moan you tried to silence went right to his cock, his hands making their way lower before trailing up again. Fuck, you sounded so pretty...
"Better stop making those sounds"
"Or what" You challenged back before you could even stop yourself.
"Princess..."
"Your attitude is what needs fixing" Bucky growled, professionalism be damned, "fuck this"
-
You have no idea how you ended up here. It didn't matter though, not when there wasn't a single cohesive thought in your brain as you wailed letting Bucky absolutely rail you. Your back didn't feel an ounce of pain as he took you on all fours, pulling your hips to slam back against him, gripping your ass with enough strength to leave you sore.
"Feel better now huh baby, not trying to stay quiet anymore, are ya" He let out a low chuckle which melted into a groan feeling you tighten on his dick, "Such a good little princess like you letting me put my dick in you, dirty girl"
You hate to admit it but the clench of your cunt betrays how much you love this. It was so wrong. You had no business fucking someone like him and yet where you were letting his precum paint all over the inside of your walls.
"What would your daddy say princess, if he knew where you were right now, what you were doin'? Thinking you're studying when you're actually all pretty and naked, letting me rub that gorgeous body up and down, bet you'd let me put my cum in you too, huh? Bet your dad would love that, his perfect little girl all knocked up with some bikers baby"
You could have said no, stayed silence, just about anything but nope. You screamed feeling his fingers reach around the massage your clit, your orgasm wasting no time hurling towards you.
"Ja-Ja-JAMESSS"
"MMMPHH I love the sound of that baby, could get used to hearing you sayin' my name, say it again princess, say my name with my cock in you, c'mon, that's it"
"Fuck-James-I-James" You were a mess and loving every bit of it, tears starting to flow down your cheeks, all the pent up stress you were feeling finally releasing. You felt your throat tighten, a sob escaping your lips as you let go, your arousal making a creamy mess on the dark curly hair on the base of his cock.
"God, you're milkin me, you want my cum that bad huh baby, want a little biker baby in that tummy of yours, I'll give it to you, give you so much I might even put twins in there-FUCKK"
-
"Shhhh" Bucky cooed, wrapping you up in a fluffy towel while cuddling up your limp body, wiping away any remnants of tears while you stayed floating in a subby, post sex haze. "I got you, you did so good princess" You only manage to let out a weak whimper, giving into his warm, thick arms that rock you.
"You alright angel?"
"Mph" you mumble against his chest and he reaches over for a glass of water that's nearby, bringing it up for you to take a sip. You're surprised at how sweet he's being, drinking up before snuggling into him again. Damn him for being so warm and comfy.
"Y'know, there might be a little Bucky in there" He whispers with a playful smirk in his voice, fingers tickling your lower belly, chuckling when you narrow your eyes at him.
"You wish" You sass back, ignoring the butterflies you feel.
"I do" He admits, biting his lip, his previous cocky demeanor replaced with a shy one, though he tries to mask it. Poorly. His cheeks are pinker than the time you threw paint on him for pulling your pigtails. When you were both 4. "I'd want Bucky jr. to have your brains though"
Imagine that incident sets off a very interesting chain of events. A confession of feelings. You both couldn't be happier, meanwhile your father is grumbling about how he knew this fuckin' day would come, God damn it.
"I never liked that boy" He struggles to keep a scowl on his face watching you giggle like you were 4 again, running to the door as soon as you hear the rumble of his bike.
"Shut up, you love him" Your mom chides, watching Bucky swoop you up for a loving kiss, heading you a bouquet of yellow flowers as he always does.
-
"I still don't like 'em" Your dad says while you roll your eyes, your arm linked with his as he walks you down the aisle.
"Is that why all the files you had to build a case against him all suddenly went missing?" You tease and your dad shugs.
"Wasn't me"
-
just an idea.
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angelfic · 1 year ago
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— THE WAY I LOVED YOU
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pairing: theodore nott x reader
summary: in which theodore nott will do anything to get you to go out with him, but you’re just as stubborn rejecting him
warnings: swearing, kissing, dangerous stunts and theo being stupid (ryan gosling in the notebook style), unedited since i wrote this in the middle of the night on no sleep again lol. enemies to lovers if you squint a bit
author’s note: since everyone loves theo i’ll pretend this isn’t just for my own selfish needs <3 (especially the notebook reference) also surprise surprise mc is a gryffindor as always, you’d never know i was a slytherin my bad guys… as always let me know what u think! enjoy, angels 💌
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The first time Theodore Nott asks you out, you spill a pot of ink directly into his lap.
It’s not like you meant to do it. But when there’s a Transfiguration worksheet to be getting on with, the Slytherin boy seated next to you by Professor McGonagall asking you out would surely take anyone by surprise.
The second you twist in your seat to look at him in shock, your arm slides the pot right off the desk and directly onto his grey trousers, instantly staining them with the black liquid before you have a chance to speak.
Your hands fly to your mouth to stifle your gasp and you look up at him, anticipating an angry glare in return. Instead, he looks mildly surprised at the ever-growing stain on his crotch, but mostly… amused?
“A simple ‘no’ would have sufficed, darling,” he says, raising an eyebrow and suppressing a smile.
You begin stuttering out an apology and scrambling for your wand to wave away the stain before you can do something stupid like attempting to rub it off with your sleeve. Your cheeks instantly heat up at the humiliating image now plaguing your mind and you barely contain a sigh of relief when you realise the lesson has finished.
It’s a miracle your shoes haven’t left scuff marks on the ground in a cartoonish trail with the speed at which you leave the classroom. Godric knows why Theo Nott of all people wants to ask you out, but since it can’t possibly be for any good reason, you’d rather not think about it too much. This, however, isn’t helped by Hermione pestering you about why you look so flustered for the entire walk to the Charms classroom.
Twenty minutes later, her attention is finally diverted. On the other hand, it’s because she’s berating you for accidentally burning the end of her left eyebrow off with a charm gone wrong.
The second time Theo asks you out, there are thankfully no ink pots around.
“Hey,” he whispers from behind you, making you jump within an inch of your life despite his low volume. You swivel in your chair to glare at him, incredulous. Seeing that he’s startled you, Theo grins. “Sorry. What are you doing?”
“Baking a cake,” you deadpan, once your heart has started beating at a normal pace again. Holding up your Potions book, you feel the annoyance start to seep in when Theo continues looking at you, undeterred. “What does it look like I’m doing?”
Apparently unfazed by your sarcasm, he drags out the chair next to you and spins it around to sit on it backwards. Settling his arms on top of the backrest, Theo rests his chin on them to look at you. “You never did answer my question.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you mumble, eyes scanning the page in front of you but taking in nothing. “If you’ll excuse me, I have to study-”
“Are you going to make me ask you again?” he sighs. You panic a little at his bluntness and continue pretending to read, not knowing what else to do. Theo takes your silence as encouragement and shuffles his chair closer to your own. “Go out with me.”
The arrogance practically drips off his voice, and the pit of anxiety in your stomach immediately turns into irritation instead. “No,” you grit out, slamming your potions book shut to scowl at him. “And I don’t hear you asking anything.”
“Okay,” Theo says slowly, nodding as though he understands. It’s clear that he doesn’t though, because the next words out of his mouth have you stunned. “Please, oh please, will you do me the absolute greatest honour of going out with me?”
”Merlin,” you exhale, pinching the bridge of your nose. Dropping your hands into your lap, you see no solution other than gathering your things to return to the common room. “You’re having me on…”
“I can assure you, I’m not,” Theo says quickly, stopping you from leaving by gently grabbing your elbow. You stop in your movements to catch him looking more unsure than you’ve ever seen, and you’ve never been more perplexed. “I’m completely serious right now. Go out with me?”
“Wh- I don’t even-” you sigh, cutting your senseless muttering off to cross your arms over your textbook. “Whatever happened to a simple ‘no’ sufficing, darling? Aren’t there a million other girls for you to go and pester? Godric knows you’ve got an entourage following you half the- What are you looking at?”
Amazingly, Theo’s expression has lost all trace of vulnerability and now displays a slightly faraway look, his signature lazy grin in full effect. “Sorry, I didn’t hear a word after you called me ‘darling’.”
Resisting the urge to hit him over the head with your textbook, you take a deep breath and grasp the potential weapon tighter in your hands before speaking. “As hard as it is for me to believe that girls actually fall for this rubbish, your history with them shows that they do. Don’t think for a second, I’m going to let you use me like they do.”
Theo considers your words for a few seconds, mulling them over as carefully as though he’s trying to solve a brain teaser. Eventually, he seems to come to a satisfying conclusion, because he tucks his hands into the pockets of his trousers and tilts his head. “So you need me to prove I’m serious about this… and then you’ll say yes?”
“Oh, for the love of-” Huffing, you turn on your heal without saying another word and storm out of the library. Theo doesn’t follow you, allowing you to clear your head and think about the incredibly odd interaction.
You’re climbing through the portrait hole into the Gryffindor common room when you realise you never actually refuted Theo and his theory to make you go out with him. Whether or not it was on purpose, you can’t quite decide.
Over the next few weeks, you start wishing you had stopped Theo before he could start trying to prove himself to you.
You can’t go a single day without the question of going out with him popping up. Much to your bewilderment, it isn’t always him asking. Sometimes it’s his friends, sometimes it’s students at the Gryffindor table who are sick of the multiple owls every morning flocking to your table with a note in their beaks. Sometimes it’s even your friends.
“I mean, really,” Hermione says at breakfast, huffy as always when reprimanding someone. “It’d be benefiting everyone if you just went out with him. Why don’t you, anyway?”
“He’s a Slytherin,” Ron butts in, talking to Hermione as though he’s explaining something to a child. He takes a gigantic bite of his toast before speaking, his next words coming out muffled. “Surely that’s reason enough.”
“No, that isn’t reason enough,” Hermione says sternly, furrowing her brows. “A good reason would have been all the girls he’s always with. Of course, that’s flown out the window recently. He’s also never given them as much attention now that I think about it.”
“He’s definitely not the worst of the group either,” Harry adds, leaning in as nosily as Ron. “Not like we’re talking about Malfoy…”
“Don’t you two have Quidditch tactics to be discussing?” you snap, exhausted by the subject already. The two boys hold up their hands in surrender, before shuffling down the bench. Whether that’s to be closer to the Quidditch team, or to get away from you before you start throwing hexes - you aren’t certain.
The fact you’re awake early in the morning on a Saturday isn’t helping your sour mood, and the Quidditch match being between Gryffindor and Slytherin only adds to this.
“We’d better go and get a good seat at the front, so we aren’t on our tiptoes for the whole game like last time,” Hermione says, already sliding off the bench. You give your cup of coffee one last longing look before you allow yourself to be dragged away.
You haven’t even made it onto the Quidditch pitch before you’re already wishing for that cup of coffee to give you strength, because you find none other than Theo standing outside the Great Hall in his green and silver Quidditch robes.
As soon as he spots you, Theo plasters on that charming smile of his and opens his mouth, no doubt to ask you if you could talk privately.
Hermione interjects before he gets the chance. “Don’t bother, I’m leaving.” She simply sighs when you look at her, betrayed. “He’d have convinced you anyway! I’ll save you a seat.”
You watch her leave, helplessly before turning to Theo and crossing your arms. “Yes?”
“I have a proposition for you,” he says simply, getting to the point. The proposition has, without a doubt, got something to do with you and him and a trip to Hogsmeade, but you gesture for him to continue nonetheless. You can’t deny it’s been entertaining watching Theo come up with new ways to ask you out these past few weeks. “I’ll throw the match and let your lot win if you go out with me.”
This startles a laugh out of you, something between a chortle and a gasp. “Oh, you cheeky bastard,” you exclaim, but you can’t help grinning. That was quite possibly the last thing you expected him to say. “First of all, I think my lot is perfectly capable of winning on their own. And secondly… as funny as it would be, I’d rather not have your death and Malfoy’s subsequent imprisonment in Azkaban be on my conscience.”
You only realise just how wide your smile is when it starts to fade under Theo’s unwavering gaze. His lips twitch up into a smile and you immediately frown as an automatic response. “Why are you looking at me like that?”
“You’re bantering with me,” Theo says, grinning as though he’s extremely pleased with himself. You realise with a jolt, that yes you were bantering. “One step closer to agreeing to go out with me.”
“That’s not happening,” you protest, but it sounds fairly weak, even to you. “Like I keep telling you, I’m not going to be one of those girls.”
Theo shrugs. “And I think you already know you’re not one of those girls. It’s fine, I can wait.”
The relaxed manner in which he says this has you flabbergasted to say the least. Truthfully, you aren’t completely sure why you haven’t just agreed at this point. No one in the whole school is used to witnessing such extravagant displays from Theodore Nott, so you’ve accepted the fact you’re an outlier in this particular subject area. You’re starting to think Hermione’s right, and it’s pure stubbornness that’s keeping you going.
“You’ll be waiting a long time then,” you say, giving Theo a bland smile.
“Nah,” is all he says, the smile still gracing his unperturbed face. “Keep an eye out for me in the Quidditch stands.”
Theo winks at you before walking away in the direction of the pitch and you linger in the castle for a good few minutes before snapping out of it and walking in the same direction.
You find Hermione quickly at the front of the Gryffindor stand and you’re about to ask how long until the game starts when Lee Jordan’s voice begins to boom from the commentator stand.
“Strong start for Gryffindor with Katie Bell taking the Quaffle and- nope, Vaisey’s taken it and passed it onto Urquhart, his fellow Chaser and the new Slytherin captain.” You’re thankful for Lee’s commentary as it’s easy to follow and you probably wouldn’t have a clue if it weren’t for him. Surprisingly, he keeps it professional enough for a while. “Ginny Weasley tries to take the Quaffle after a near hit there to Urquhart, thanks to new Gryffindor Beater Jimmy Peakes and that very solid Bludger over there. Unfortunately, he missed-”
“JORDAN.”
“Sorry, Professor McGonagall, I meant fortunately. Slytherin Chaser Mattheo Riddle now has the Quaffle and seems to be aiming to score and- oops! He’s missed, thanks to Gryffindor Keeper Ron Weasley. Good on you, Weasley,” Lee says, unable to be impartial as shown by McGonagall’s glare. “As for the Slytherin Keeper, Nott seems to be distracted by something in the Gryffindor stands. Or should I say someone.”
Laughter echoes in every stand, much to your utter humiliation and some people even start whooping and cheering in your direction. Theo’s antics are common knowledge at this point, but it doesn’t make the laughter any less embarrassing. You try and maintain a shred of dignity by standing still and glaring as hard as you can at Theo. Horrifyingly, he starts to fly in your direction.
Lee looks at McGonagall before speaking, but she merely shrugs helplessly, looking flustered herself. “Er, well it seems Slytherin are open for Gryffindor to score. No one seems to be taking advantage, however, as I think I can speak for everyone when I say we want to know what’s going on with Nott and Y/N.”
Glancing at the others, you realise Lee is right and all the players are hovering in place, making no move to continue the game. They look partly confused, but mostly nosy.
Theo stops just outside the Gryffindor stand, his attention focused wholly on you. You raise both eyebrows in question, waiting for him to speak. “Go out with me.”
“Unfortunately, I can’t quite hear what Nott is saying, but I think we can all guess he’s asking her out again,” Lee says, causing a few more cheers and even a couple groans. “Take the hint, mate.”
“Theo, get back to the game!” you hiss, wrapping your arms around you as if it’ll shield you from everyone’s eyes. “You’re embarrassing m- What the fuck are you doing!”
Theo swings a leg over the side of his broomstick so that he’s sitting completely facing you, legs dangling dangerously off one side. Lee sits up a little in his booth and McGonagall looks positively horrified. “For unknown reasons, Nott is balancing precariously in a position no Quidditch player wants to- Merlin, he’s hanging off his broomstick!”
Everyone in the crowd screams and shouts when Theo slips off his broomstick, but they quieten down and watch with fright when they see he’s still holding on with both hands. You think you’re going to faint.
“Theo,” you plead, with the same voice you’d use to coax a bloody kitten out of a tree. “Get back on your broomstick. Please.”
“Only if you go out with me,” Theo says, eyes determined despite breathing a little heavier. The broomstick is thin and despite his strength, it’d be hard for anyone to maintain a grip for long. “Say you’ll go out with me and I’ll get back on.”
“Just say it!” Hermione grabs you by the shoulder to shake you.
Professor McGonagall seems to have shaken out of her previous daze and begins scrambling around for her wand while Lee narrows his eyes to better assess the situation. “Godric, Y/N. Just say ‘yes’ and end everyone’s misery already.”
“But…” you trail off, hands shaking as you keep your eyes on Theo’s white knuckles still gripping the broom. “I don’t want to encourage this stupid behaviour.”
Theo rolls his eyes as though he can’t believe you’re still objecting. He shakes his head at you, though his chest is shaking with laughter. “Go out with me, and I swear I’ll never do anything stupid again. Fucking hell, I’ll quit Quidditch altogether if you want.”
You open your mouth to say something, you’re not sure what, but before you can get a word out, Seamus Finnigan pipes up from beside you. “Personally, I say let him fall off the bloody thing.”
Tutting, you turn to Theo just to find the idiot raising an eyebrow challengingly. His left hand begins to loosen on the broomstick, deliberately.
“Theo, don’t you dare.”
He drops his left hand completely and you scream, the noise drowned out by everyone else’s yells.
“OKAY!” you yelp, heart in throat as you watch Theo dangling from his broomstick with one hand, clearly struggling. “Okay, I’ll go out with you, you stubborn idiot!”
The Gryffindors that hear you, begin to cheer, setting off the other houses and once McGonagall sees Theo begin to pull himself up on his broomstick, she visibly relaxes, slumping in her seat as she clutches her chest. Lee soon gets the message. “Finally, after a good month of watching Nott pine pathetically, Y/N has agreed to go out with the poor bast- Er, beggar. Sorry, Professor. By the way Nott, you’ve got detention for a week.”
Now sitting normally on his broomstick, Theo grins at you like the cheeky bastard that he is, with elation clear as day on his face. You struggle to fight off your own grin and you can tell by his expression you’re not doing a very good job at it. “Pull something like that again and I’ll push you off your broomstick myself,” you warn him, though it lacks any real threat. You were more worried than angry, and it definitely shows. “Okay?”
“No more stupid behaviour,” Theo promises, sounding sincere as he nods, messy hair falling into his eyes. The wind blows it out of the way almost immediately and you find yourself wanting to do it with your fingers. “After this, though.”
You furrow your brows as Theo flies close enough to the Gryffindor stand to get off his broomstick and hop right into the crowd, landing next to you. Broomstick in hand, Theo doesn’t take his eyes off you when he holds it out to Hermione. “If you don’t mind, Granger.”
Clearly baffled, Hermione gingerly takes the broomstick from him and watches the two of you, as enraptured as the rest of the school.
You face Theo properly, looking up at his eyes to see them glittering with pride and achievement. You tilt your head in question, wondering why he hasn’t yet returned to the game.
Theo answers you by gripping your waist to pull you into a stupidly dramatic, dizzying, wonderful kiss. His lips are soft against your own and cold from the wind, but the shiver that runs down your spine has nothing to do with the temperature and everything to do with the way Theo is pressed against you.
You could go on forever, but the cheers and claps and hollering around you remind you that you’re surrounded by all your peers and, Godric, your teachers.
Pulling away, you clear your throat and attempt to gain back some of your dignity by keeping a serious face. Theo attempts nothing of the sort as he’s still wearing a silly grin. You try and avoid his eyes for the sake of your nerves and you mutter the first thing that comes to mind. “Erm, good luck then. I hope you win.”
This is the wrong thing to say surrounded by your fellow Gryffindors as a few of them boo at you.
Theo rolls his eyes at the dramatics, while you simply scowl, pointedly at Seamus who seems to have boo’ed the loudest. Hermione is beaming at you when she hands Theo back his broomstick, though she also gives a little frown directed at Seamus.
Getting back on his broomstick, Theo hovers near you outside the stand. You lower your voice to a whisper that only he can hear. “I still hope you win.”
Theo shrugs, looking more relaxed than you’ve ever seen him during a Quidditch game. “I’ve already won, darling.”
© angelfic 2023.
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thevillainswhore · 2 months ago
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Revenge Sweeter Than Honey
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Pairing: College!Bucky Barnes x MILF!Reader
Word Count: 9.2k
Summary: When Bucky’s professor unfairly grades his college assignment, ruining his perfect GPA, he finds a way to get revenge — And doesn’t his sweet little wife look delicious?
Warnings: Bucky POV, revenge plot, age gap, older!reader, flirting, cheating, kissing, smut, mommy kink, nipple play, oral sex (fem receiving), ass play, spanking, p in v sex, recording of sex, cum play.
Author’s Note: Unbeta’d. Dividers by @saradika. Hi, lovelies! It’s been a while 🤍 This is by far not my best work, but I started it at the beginning of the year and finally finished it and decided to let it go before I convince myself not to post it.
Also, I have little to no knowledge about the education system outside of the UK, since I’m British. So please excuse any facts I may have gotten wrong, this was purely for the smut 😅
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The arms of the leather chair Bucky was sitting on creaked, straining under the tense grip of his fingers. Fury coursed through every muscle of his body, boiling his blood until he was sure steam was blowing out of his ears. 
He had been sitting in his professor’s office for thirty whole minutes and not once had the man had the decency to look him in the eye and tell him a good enough reason for the C- marked on his most recent assignment. Thinking about it, he wasn’t even sure if his professor had ever made eye contact with him before; certain that he wouldn’t be able to recognise him if he ever looked at him. 
Bucky was a straight A student, working towards the perfect GPA to graduate with full honors and claim the job of his dreams. And yet, the second since his professor had licked his finger and slapped the stack of papers — stained with a ring of coffee that wasn’t there when he handed it in — on Bucky’s desk, his whole world had been turned upside down. 
He remembered his frenzy, the whirlwind of erratically flicking through each page and trying to find a single comment or suggestion that could help explain the low grade. But there was nothing. Only a forbidden red-inked C- that had taunted him ever since. 
Immediately, Bucky had booked an office session, since his professor was strict on the rules of when and where to discuss anything other than current class material. There must have been a mistake he reasoned with himself in the beginning — maybe a mix up with another student or maybe his professor had missed a chunk of his work because surely that godforsaken C- wasn’t right. 
However, Bucky soon came to realise in the thirty long minutes of his office session, that it wasn’t a mistake. In fact, it was the most generous grade received of the whole class. 
“Sir.” He attempted once again to get through to his professor. “With all due respect, I worked extremely hard on his assignment. Every variable is valid, I ran through each test multiple times to gain an accurate representation. My method has been executed perfectly.” He swallowed the dryness in his throat. “I can’t understand why I’ve been graded so low.” 
Dr Parker couldn’t have seemed less interested if he tried, the keys of his computer clicking away aimlessly as his brown eyes were glued to the screen. “For the last time, if you don’t understand what is wrong with your assignment, then I can’t help you.” 
Bucky discreetly gritted his teeth and squeezed his eyes shut in frustration. The logic his professor spewed made absolutely no sense. He took a calming breath before he responded. “I’m not sure I can understand what exactly is wrong with my work if there’s no feedback to go off, Sir.”  
Dr Parker sighed, seemingly fed up with the conversation. “It's not for me to serve you on a silver platter. If you want a mentor who gives you a free ride or has to hold your hand through a grade then it seems like college isn’t the place for you, James.”
The material of the chair almost ripped where Bucky’s nails began to furiously dig in. He never wanted a hand to hold or a free ride during his time in college; the bare minimum he expected was to at least have some kind of evaluation or support that offered more than a lousy grade that wasn’t fair. 
Out of options, he desperately pleaded with his professor once again. “Sir, all I’m asking for is a reason for my grade being low. My GPA has been perfect all year and this assignment has made it take a huge hit. Please understand.”
Still, Dr Parker continued uselessly typing away without looking at him. “There’s nothing I can do for you, Mr Barnes.”
Bucky’s words came out jumbled as he jumped to offer an alternative. “What about— What if I did something for extra credit! You know? Just for— to boost my GPA back up?”
“That won’t be necessary.”  
Bucky was at the end of his tether and his throat began to tighten. “Please, Sir—I need—“ 
“What you need to do is move on from this assignment and work harder on the next one.” Dr Parker interrupted him coldly as he suddenly stood, packing his papers into his satchel. “My office hours are over and I have somewhere to be, so if you wouldn’t mind shutting the door behind you when you leave that would be great. Goodbye.” With that, his professor walked around the desk and out of the door without a second glance. 
Tears sprung to Bucky’s eyes while he sat there, staring mindlessly at the now empty chair behind the desk in front of him. He forced the lump building in his chest down, never having felt so defeated in his life. Throughout his years of education, he had sacrificed, placed everything that wasn’t important on the back burner; holidays, parties, normal friendships, just to put his future career first and for what? For one complete asshole to decide he didn’t care enough about his job or students to fuck him over? 
He shot out of his seat and paced over the carpeted floor. All of his dedication to his studies had been pointless — the thought burned through his mind and wounded him. All his life he had worked hard and this is how he had been repaid. The soles of his shoes thudded heavily until he came to a stop, running his hands down his face in despair. 
When Bucky opened his eyes, he blinked until his blurred vision became clear, finding himself in front of the floor to ceiling bookcase that panned over the length of the full wall. Sighing at a complete loss on what to do, his eye flitted over the polished ornaments in front of him.
As he trailed over the neatly placed trophies and certificates, a scoff left his mouth — bitter and venomous. Every one of the awarded achievements built his resentment even more. The pretentiousness was aggravating. 
He was about to walk away, go for a stroll with some fresh air to try and cool himself down and think properly. But just as he was going to leave, his eagle eye caught a small wooden picture frame shoved to the very back corner of the shelf, hardly noticeable with everything else taking front and center and ultimately hiding it. 
Bucky glanced over his shoulder, making sure his professor had really left before stepping forward. His nosiness had gotten the better of him and now his interest was peaked. Careful not to knock over any ornaments, he plucked out the frame and blew off the dust that had accumulated over the picture for god knows how long. 
To his surprise, it was a photograph of Dr Parker, many years younger and dressed in a tuxedo. Next to him, a stunning woman with the biggest smile on her face, dressed in an ivory, white dress. 
Bucky’s eyes flew wide open while his jaw unhinged in shock. 
Dr Parker had a wife?
Now that he thought about it, his professor did wear a gold band around his finger; one that the sun caught during a lecture one time and blinded Bucky enough to choke while he was drinking his coffee. 
Studying the photo some more, Bucky only focused on the woman, one with kind eyes, pretty lips and a body to kill for; silhouetted in a gown that complimented her figure amazingly. He was utterly blown away. 
The picture was at least ten years old, he summarised. His professor looked way younger than he did now, with frown lines and dark circles underneath his eyes. But he couldn’t get over how beautiful his wife was and how the hell he had managed to snag her with his douchebag personality. His mind ran a million miles per hour. 
For all Bucky knew, you could have been just like your husband; just as dull and just as unbearable. It was only rational, because no one in their right mind would willingly be with a man like that. 
He stared at you through the glass and tilted his head in thought, until the cogs started to turn. What if? he asked himself. What if he got his comeuppance somehow? 
As soon as the thought presented itself, he batted it away, shaking his head and placing the photo frame back in its place. 
But as he stood the frame upon the shelf, his hand stayed with it, unable to let go of the nagging idea that had now taken root in his mind. 
What if you were his perfect route for revenge? 
Looking out towards the window of the office, the setting sun beamed in. Bucky followed the streams of light that shined through, one landing on another photograph, larger in size of a chocolate haired boy with bright eyes. While he resembled Dr Parker, the boy’s eyes were all yours, kind and filled with light. The kid looked around the same age as himself, in a lab coat that had the same emblem as Bucky’s college. 
A plan began to quickly form in his mind, each piece and detail intricately connected together to create the most beautiful retribution. The biggest fuck you to his professor for screwing him over. 
Bucky sheathed his hands into his front pockets, running his tongue over his teeth with the most evil grin on his face. Dr Parker was going to get what he rightfully deserved. 
Vengeance.
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Having met up after their last classes of the day, Bucky followed Peter into his home when he opened the door, the droolworthy aroma of a home cooked meal slinking into his senses and making his stomach grumble. 
It was now routine for him to come round to the Parker residence every week on a Friday afternoon. Once you found out your son had a new friend at college, you had extended the invitation to Bucky as Peter had recited. And of course, it would be rude of him to refuse. 
The execution of his plan had come together seamlessly, almost too perfectly. It was just his luck that a clumsy Peter Parker happened to bump into Bucky on campus in a rush to his next class, spilling his coffee onto the ground and offering to buy him a new one. 
Since then, he had made it his mission to become closer to Peter and soon enough, it was the night of his first dinner with you. 
Before that first meeting, he had drilled it into his head that his scheme of revenge was strictly business; to get in and out and call it a day. But that went down the drain when he rounded the corner to the kitchen to introduce himself and he choked on his words when you spun around on your heels. 
Bucky still remembered that moment, the first time he laid eyes on you in the cutest sundress, decorated with daisies that hugged your waist sinfully. The way your tits practically spilled out the damn thing stuck with him too. 
You were a vision, a sight for sore eyes — the photograph in his professor’s office did not do you justice even with ten years added on. Then, as soon as you bounced over to him and pulled him into a hug that made his dick hard, his initial intentions went out the window. He was a goner and he knew one time wouldn’t be enough of you.
However, when it came down to dinner, Bucky was admittedly nervous. It wasn’t only just meeting you in the flesh and having his expectations blown out of the water that threw him off balance, the inevitable of seeing his professor outside of college worried him. His plan for revenge could have fallen through as soon as he met him. They almost did. If that would have been the case, Bucky wasn’t sure what his next steps would be.  
But when he sat down at the dining table, his professor had only just noticed another guest in his home. Bucky remembered the slight sweat of his palms, the dryness of his throat as your husband looked at him over his newspaper and cocked his head; a familiarity brewing between them. Those couple of seconds lasted longer than he cared for. Then, unexpectedly, Dr Parker brushed him off and went straight back to reading his paper — evidently deeming Bucky unrecognisable and only a new friend of his son’s.  
That memory still offended him slightly. There wasn’t a hint of recognition, even though he had fucked Bucky’s chances of attaining his dream career. 
Snapping out of his memory, Bucky quickly shook his jacket off, taking care to hang it neatly on the coat rack and made a beeline to the kitchen. 
“Dude. I know you like my mom’s cooking but damn.” Peter shook his head with laughter but Bucky ignored him in favour of something of much higher importance. 
Stepping into the kitchen, he immediately found you balancing on your tiptoes, trying to reach the spice rack on the highest shelf. The skirt of your dress inched up your thighs and he couldn’t help but stare unabashedly at a sneak peak of your white g-string. 
Clearing his throat, Bucky held out his arms wide and acted casual with a wide smile. “Where’s my favourite girl?” 
His heart jumped as you snapped your head around, grinning wide once you saw who it was. “Bucky!” you cheerfully sang. “Hi, sweetie. I’m so happy you made it.” 
You have no idea how happy I am to see you too, he groaned internally. “What do you take me for? Like I would ever miss your cookin’, Mrs Parker,” he teased aloud. 
Raising an eyebrow playfully, you cocked your hip and crossed your arms over each other. “What have I told you about that, hm? Call me Honey, sweetheart. All my friends do.” 
Bucky held his arms up to placate you. “Forgive me. Your food is too damn good to pass up, Honey.” 
You rolled your eyes lightheartedly and turned back around to try and pluck the thyme from the top shelf. “You and that charm, boy. You’re gonna be the death of some poor college girl one day.” 
Noticing your struggle, Bucky took the opportunity to come up behind you and reach over your head. His lips perfectly aligned with your ear and so with a sly hand to your waist, he grabbed the jar of herbs and placed them onto the counter in front of you while he whispered, “What if I’m not into college girls?” 
Bucky heard the sharp inhale you tried so hard to smother, but it was useless with the proximity between you. It was instinct to then squeeze your hip, listening for your sweet whimper he lived to be the cause of. 
The moment lasted only a couple seconds longer until Peter called out for you from the hallway. “Hi, Mom. We’re home if you hadn’t already noticed.” 
Breaking away from Bucky sharply, you held a shaky hand to your chest. “H-Hey P, how was your week?” 
Small incidents as such repeated themselves every week. You and Bucky would find yourselves — or he would create them — in intimate, dangerous positions that wouldn’t be explainable to your son or your husband should they ever catch you. 
Which only made the game all the more exciting for him.
“Mom,” Peter whined while he walked into the kitchen. “Can you please not call me that when I have friends around?” 
Bucky held his laughter behind his hand when you passed your son by, pinching his cheek and putting on a baby voice. “Oh, but you’re just so cute!” 
However, that smile was soon wiped away from his face when the front door opened, immediately slamming shut with a loud bang. “I’m home, Honey,” your husband yelled. 
Your name on another man’s lips left a sour taste in Bucky’s mouth. He had come to learn that your nickname was born from your old college roommate who had affectionately bestowed it upon you after your love of baking dessert treats. 
The story was adorable, one he had soaked in with all the details you offered him. But your husband and his boring, monotonous tone turned even the sweetest name into something unpleasant. 
With his keen eye, Bucky had spotted the fake smile you plastered on your face to greet your husband, even when he walked straight past you without a hug or a kiss and into his usual chair at the dining table. 
“Glad your home safe, love,” you quickly offered him a half assed hello and headed back towards the kitchen to grab the meat out of the oven. 
“Hey.” Bucky shot forward before you could grab the handle and slid the oven mitts laying on the counter onto his hands. “I got this, don’t worry about it.” 
You paused to look at him like he had grown another head. “Bucky, I've done this a million times. I’m perfectly capable.” 
“I know you are, beautiful.” He didn’t miss the way your lips parted from his compliment, reserved for your moments alone. “Doesn’t mean you should have to. Lemme do it, please.” 
It didn’t take much for you to relent, already flustered enough to give in to him. Stepping aside, you made room for Bucky to take the dish out of the oven and place it on the worktop. 
“Smells fuckin’ delicious, Honey.” You gently swatted his arm for his colourful language, but he couldn’t help test the waters as he stared directly into your eyes. “Hopefully tastes as good as she looks.” 
What he didn’t expect was for you to retort back with a quick wit. “Oh, don’t worry about that. She’s as juicy as they get.” 
These interactions were just considered harmless flirting to you. Bucky knew you had no idea that he went home and fucked his fist, replaying these exact moments in his head. He licked his lips with a groan. “I bet she is.” 
“Where the hell is this damn food, woman? I’m eating away here!” your husband barked from the dining table. 
Bucky gritted his teeth while he watched you bow your head in embarrassment. “Just plating up now. It won’t be much longer, dear!” 
Turning back to Bucky, you smiled apologetically. “Sorry about that, he gets a little grumpy when he’s hungry.” 
He couldn’t believe you were apologising for that son of a bitch, though this was a regular occurrence by now; excusing your husband’s wrongdoings even if you were ashamed of it. 
Placing his hand over yours, Bucky told you firmly, “Don’t think for one second that you have to apologise to me, Honey.” The next words he grumbled under his breath. “Especially never on behalf of that fucker.”
Your free hand smoothed over the skirt of your dress, a nervous habit of yours when you were upset. 
Bucky recognised your unease and took initiative to derail the conversation. “What do you need me to take?” he asked while rolling the sleeves of his shirt up. 
You looked at him then, quick to protest and shake your head. “No, sweetheart. You’ve done enough, honestly. Go sit down and—”
“Honey.” Bucky held your hand, rubbing his thumb over your skin. “Just tell me what to do and I’ll help you. I’m all yours.”
Sighing defeatedly, you nodded your head to the foil covered dishes on top of the counter. “The vegetables and mashed potatoes could do with taking to the table.” 
Bucky grinned wide, all teeth and brought your hand up to place a kiss to the back of it. “Good girl.” 
A shudder ran down your spine that he didn’t miss, the hitch of your breath that blew the front strands of his hair giving you away. With a wink, he backed away to grab the dishes, piling them in his arms, along with a couple extra to take to the dining table. 
Soon enough, a full roast dinner was set out, steaming hot and ready to be eaten. 
Peter was already sitting on the chair by his Dad’s side, speaking animatedly about his recent discoveries on his science assignment for class. You always sat opposite your husband, which meant the only free seat that Bucky could take was opposite Peter and next to you. 
Not that he was complaining. 
He steadily pulled the chair out and sat down. It wasn’t exactly a coincidence that he brushed against you, not when he shuffled his chair as close as possible to you without raising suspicion. “Everything looks incredible,” he whispered as he leaned into you. 
The grip you had on your cutlery faltered. Bucky reveled in your bashfulness, always competing with himself to see how much he could make you squirm. So he smirked when you gulped, peeking at him from the corner of your eye. “T-Thank you, Bucky.” 
Your son‘s voice brought you out of your flustered state “—So I was right, Dad! My results actually confirmed my hypothesis.”
You cleared your throat and chimed in cheerfully when your husband only answered with an uninterested hum. “That’s amazing news, P!” With a stern tone, you addressed your husband this time. “Aren’t you proud of him, love?”  
But instead of congratulating him, your husband turned the page of his newspaper while shoveling food into his mouth. “Mhm. He did good, I guess.”
Luckily, Peter didn’t notice or bat an eye to his father. Bucky had witnessed over the few weeks he had been invited over for dinner that your son had enough support from you alone to keep his spirits uplifted. 
You decided not to bite and move on with the conversation, mouth open about to speak when your husband suddenly laid his newspaper down and spoke over you. “You know, I’ve had the worst week at work.” 
Frustrated, your fingers clenched tightly around your knife. “Oh yeah?”
Dr Parker blew out an irritating sigh. “The students this week—god—I had a flock of them at my door, complaining about their grades being too low.” 
Bucky felt the blood in his veins begin to boil. Normally he would tune out the grating voice of your husband, but he couldn’t help but listen to something that directly involved him — unknowingly to his professor. 
“I mean, I can’t help that their work isn’t up to par. What do they want me to do? Mollycoddle them?” he scoffed. “If they come crying to me for help all the time then they may as well cut their losses and drop out. They’re only wasting their own money.” 
The loud clink of your cutlery dropping against the plate cut through the tense atmosphere. “Are you serious right now?” 
“Dad,” Peter cringed, obviously uncomfortable. “You can’t say that.” 
“I’m not saying anything that’s not true.” Dr Parker shrugged. 
“It is your job to guide your students—who are paying thousands for their education by the way—and give them feedback to help them improve,” you shot back, heatedly.
Bucky’s chest puffed out in pride. Though he couldn’t outwardly say anything, he was proud of you for inadvertently defending him — even if you didn’t know it. 
Your husband’s tone turned biting towards you, however. “I’m not their babysitter, Honey.” 
But you stood your ground. “No you’re not. You’re their teacher and they look to you for guidance. It's the bare minimum your job requires.” 
A weighted silence fell over the dinner table while you and your husband glared at each other until the chime of a text cut through the awkwardness. 
Dr Parker retrieved his phone from his pocket and read his message. After a couple of seconds, he wiped his mouth with a napkin and threw it onto  his plate. “I’ve got to go back into the office. Emergency.”  
“What?” you asked in disbelief. “But you’ve only just come home.” 
“Well, unlike some, I can’t just slack off at home all day.” 
Bucky watched out of the corner of his eye as your mouth dropped open in shock at your husband’s barely hidden jab. Unrestrained anger filled his veins as he had to hold back. Though the urge to fly over the table at Dr Parker was hanging on by a thread. 
Is this what life was like at home for you? A husband who so obviously didn’t care for you while you made his life as comfortable as possible. And Peter, a son who held his tongue while he stiffly carried on eating his dinner and not defending his own mother?
Bucky looked to you as you quickly regathered yourself, blinking away the tears building over your waterline and pretending like you weren’t hurt. 
Your husband passed over his harmful statement as nonchalantly as he said it while lifting out of his seat. “Don’t wait up for me, I’ll be home late.” 
And just as rudely as he came home, he walked out, the slam of the door reverberating through the house. 
It wasn’t a minute after that when Peter also received a text. After reading the message, his eyes lit up with excitement. Bucky knew well enough what that face meant — Peter was getting lucky. “Hey mom, is it okay if I go out? Hang with my friends for the night?” 
The dinner you laboured over had already gone out the window once your husband had ruined it. Of course it didn’t bother you as much that your son wanted to leave too. “Of course, sweetie.” You stood up and collected the half empty plates from the table robotically. “Just be careful and let me know when you’re there.” 
With a dejected sigh that only Bucky noticed, you gathered the rest of the cutlery and took them to the kitchen, beginning to fill the sink to wash up. 
Peter waited until you were out of ear shot to whisper, “Dude, MJ asked me to come round tonight. I think she finally wants it!” Bucky held back a cringe. “You think it’s cool if I shoot off? You can make your own way home, right?” 
Bucky couldn’t have given a single fuck where Peter went or what he did right now. All he cared about, as he shot discreet glances of you in the kitchen washing the plates, was your wellbeing. “Sure, Parker. I can figure it out.” 
“Awesome!” Peter laughed before whipping out of his seat and running towards the door. “Catch you Monday, pal!” 
The house grew silent apart from the departing slam of the door, this time by your son. As soon as Peter was gone, Bucky instantly left his seat to join you. 
He leaned his shoulder against the archway of the kitchen. “You okay, Honey?” 
Looking towards him in surprise, your eyes held onto a last tendril of hope that someone hadn’t let you be alone. “Sweetheart, I thought you would have left with P.” 
Bucky shook his head with a fond smile, the curls at the top of his head bouncing with the movement. “Of course not. I’ve got nothing better to do with my Friday night than spend time with a gorgeous woman.” 
He caught the tightening of your lips, as though you were holding back your flustered smile. “Oh, stop that. You flatter me.” 
“I can’t help it. You make a man go weak. What can I say?” 
“Are you flirting with me?” you laughed incredulously. 
“And what if I was?” Bucky noticed the way your eyes latched onto the sight of his shirt, tightening over his arms as he crossed them over each other. “Would you like it?” 
Your eyes flicked up to his, holding his intense gaze for a few seconds before you huffed a breath and began cleaning the dishes again. “You’re cute, Bucky.” 
Bucky licked his lips and ravaged your form silhouetted in your fitted dress. “Wouldn’t exactly be the word I would use, but I’ll take it from you.” 
A rare giggle, only let out in his presence, escaped you. “Scram would you? You don’t want to be spending your Friday night with your friend’s mom, sweetie.” 
Testing the waters, Bucky let slip exactly what was on his mind. “Actually, there’s nowhere else I’d rather be.”  
Your hand stilled, chest rising and falling at a faster pace than before. “Oh, if only I was twenty years younger,” you chuckled quietly to yourself, not expecting for Bucky to overhear. 
Jackpot, he smirked to himself. 
Walking to the kitchen island, Bucky leaned his elbow on the counter beside you. “What would you do, Mrs Parker?” 
You jumped with a yelp, visibly surprised to have received a response so close; eyes blown wide as they flitted over Bucky’s face in panic. “E-Excuse me?” 
Bucky closed the distance between you even further. He leaned over the sink to turn the running water off. “I said,” he whispered huskily, keeping consistent eye contact with you. “What would you do if you were twenty years younger?”
“I—I um,” your breathing started to become heavy while Bucky stared shamelessly at you. “It’s just an expression, sweetie,” you laughed, shaking your head to try and brush the comment off. “I d-didn’t mean it like that—“ 
“No?” He watched carefully as your eyes darted around, trying so hard not to look at him. “How did you mean it then?” 
The spotlight Bucky was intentionally putting on you made you falter, even more so when he tucked your hair behind your ear and let his hand linger over your collarbone. 
“C’mon, tell me. I don’t bite.” A sadistic smirk adorned his face while you stared at his lips. “Unless you want me to, of course.” 
“I s-swear, Bucky.” Your voice was breathless with the heat of his stare. “There was nothing behind it, I—”
“I don’t believe you.” Bucky backed you against the sink, trapping you with his arms on each side of your waist. “I think,” he rasped, teasingly trailing his fingers up the bare skin of your arms. “That you would let me bend you over this counter right here and fuck you senseless.” 
The wind was audibly knocked from your lungs as you gasped. Words failed you, stuttering over yourself which was most amusing to Bucky.
Nonetheless, your eyes still followed him with a glaze, hooked onto every word that left his lips. “I think you’d let me take you from behind. Stuff your pretty pussy full with my fat cock.” He grabbed your hand and pressed it against the bulge in his trousers. “You feel that, huh? How good it would feel to take all a’me, pretty mama?” 
Bucky watched as your eyes fluttered and you bit your lip — the last of your reserve hanging by a thread. One more deadly blow to your empty head and you would be putty in his hands.
Any remaining distance between you disappeared as he placed wet kisses from the pulse of your neck up to the corner of your mouth. “I think—” he whispered against your lips, his next words uttered in his most seductive voice. “I think you’d let me do it. Right. Fuckin’. Now.” 
You placed your hands over the shirt on his chest to push him away; a mistake he imagined as you alternatively began bundling the material up with clenched fists. “Bucky—“ you painfully uttered with your eyes squeezed shut. You shook your head, as though that would help you. “This—this isn’t right. You’re my son’s friend and I n-need you to leave—“ 
“Look at me.” Bucky slid his hands over your neck, holding your jaw with his thumbs to tilt your head up. Slowly, your eyes squinted open and he saw the confliction clear as day in your glossy eyes, the battle you were facing in your mind. “You’re practically melting in my hands, Honey. You just gotta give in. We’ve been playin��� this game for far too long now, don’t you think?”
There was no escaping his blue eyes when you tried to look away once again and he firmly guided your gaze back to him. “None of that, now. Do as I say.” 
Your expression was tortured — torn between right and wrong, pleasure and sin. Bucky knew you were good, a dutiful housewife and loyal to a fault to a man who didn’t deserve it. 
Where had that gotten you? Whilst the revenge plan was hot on his mind — the very reason he had meticulously planned everything up to this exact moment — he wouldn’t look a gift horse in the mouth that he was getting something extra out of this. You.
“We shouldn’t do this,” you pleaded painfully, still with a wild spark in your eye. “We can’t do this.” 
“You know what I’m not hearing, Honey?” Bucky asked. “I’m not hearing that you don’t want to do it.” 
You shook your head frantically with wide eyes until he tightened his grip on your cheeks. “I’m gonna give you one chance to answer me.” He squeezed your cheeks until your lips puckered. “You want me to fuck you, baby?”
Desire rolled through your eyes as your thighs clenched together. Though you still tried to deny your need for him. “Bucky—”
“Ah, ah. I want an answer.” 
Bucky watched as your throat bobbed. Your nostrils flared with your harsh breaths and your breasts heaved up and down with exerted force. Seconds went by, the two of you staring at each other before you finally answered. “Yes.” 
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The two of you burst into the master bedroom — the one you shared with your husband, kissing erratically while your hands fumbled through Bucky’s hair. 
He moaned deeply, pushing you against the wall, and turning feral over the feel of you as he kneaded your body. “You’re so fuckin’ hot,” he hummed against your lips. 
Your head thumped back against the wall, chest heaving while you tried to catch your breath. All of Bucky’s attention was drawn to your chest. “Has anyone ever told you you’ve got the most perfect tits?” 
Choking on your spit, you stumbled over your words, so adorably oblivious to your own attraction. “I—I didn’t realise—um, t—thank you��”
Bucky laughed, shaking his head before quickly ripping down your dress to your waist with force. Your upper body was bare, free for him to roam his rabid eyes over your naked tits.
“Bucky!” Your squeal of shock was followed by you hastily trying to cover your chest with your hands. 
But a scowling Bucky immediately ripped them away; offended you would dare try to keep them from him. “Don’t you dare fuckin’ cover yourself up, Honey.” 
He could tell it was intense for you, to be so thoroughly desired and the thought that you had never received this much attention before made him angry once again. 
“It’s been a while,” you mumbled. The mousy confession only heightened Bucky’s fury towards your pathetic husband.
Delicately, he kissed you and began to trail his lips down the slope of your neck. “Ain’t gotta worry about that. I’ll take care of you.” 
Slowly descending, Bucky laved his tongue over your peaked nipple, sucking it into his mouth and letting it go with a pop. Your breast bounced with the motion and he squeezed his dick over his trousers with a groan. “Look at you, Honey. You’re a fuckin’ goddess.” 
Bucky’s tunnel vision made whatever you said next pointless. Grabbing your tits, he buried his head in between them, relishing in your softness. He peppered his kisses across to your other nipple and swirled his tongue around the peak. 
Your legs crumbled, the sensation overwhelming for you. The thought that Bucky could get you off by just playing with your tits made his cock even harder. But he had so much more in store for you.
“Why don’t you take off your dress, baby?” he murmured into your skin. “Want you to kneel on the bed for me, alright?” 
You nodded shakily. Bucky hovered over your breasts a couple of seconds more, savouring the feel of you before stepping backwards to give you space to move. 
With a deep breath, you walked on unsteady legs towards your bed, letting your dress shimmy down your body on your way. Your back was turned to Bucky and he salaciously eyed your figure, each and every curve of your body. He internally created a map of your stretch marks and imperfections that only made him more crazed for you. 
The mattress sank down while you knelt onto it carefully. Bucky watched the arch of your back intently, the flesh of your ass rounding out from your position. 
Forget the damn reason he plotted this very moment, he was just excited to finally get a taste of you. 
Your quiet murmur sounded over Bucky’s thoughts. “I’m ready.” 
Biting his lip, he strolled forward until he came to a stop behind you. Still fully clothed, Bucky desperately singed the picture in front of him into his mind. He held so much power in that moment, and it felt like a dream that he had you bent over solely for him. 
Bucky leaned over your form, beginning to place delicate kisses down your back. He basked in the goosebumps that arose on your skin. “How the fuck are you real?” he murmured to himself. 
With a shaky sigh, you whispered, “I still don’t know about this.” 
Chuckling, Bucky finally dropped down to his knees, ignoring your reluctance to eye the flimsy piece of material covering your pussy. Hooking a finger inside your underwear, he peeled it away and held it to the side. “Oh, fuck me.” 
You squirmed in place as the cold air hit you in your most vulnerable state. Your raw scent clogged Bucky’s nose and his eyes rolled to the back of his head in bliss. “Can’t fuckin’ wait any longer, Honey. Gotta know how you taste.” 
Surging forward, Bucky buried himself between your thighs. You screamed in retaliation to the feel of his tongue snaking its way through your folds and he was sure he hadn’t heard a better sound. 
He explored every inch of your cunt, unwilling to leave the heaven you so graciously granted him. But it was the sensation of Bucky’s tongue beginning to ease its way inside your hole that made you vocal once again. 
“My husband—“ you called out, obvious to Bucky  that you were trying to clear your conscience of guilt. But he knew you couldn’t care less about him — you didn’t even mention the fucker once while you were too busy feeling sorry for your son in the kitchen and making silly excuses to not let him have his way with you. 
Landing a harsh smack to the top of your thigh, Bucky savored your squeal of shock. “Don’t act like you give a fuck about him now, Honey. Who’s the one eating your pussy this good, hm?” He ran two fingers down the middle of your folds, biting his lip at the wetness coating them. When your only answer was a moan muffled by your pillow, he spanked you again in the same place with more force. “Answer me.”
“You, Bucky!” you instantly shouted out. “You’re the one eating my pussy so good!” 
“There we go. That wasn’t so hard was it?” He eased over the marks beginning to bloom on your skin and smiled to himself. “Call me James, though. I like it better.” 
Without letting you reply, Bucky dived back in, fucking your pussy with his tongue. You reached back to hold your asscheeks open with each hand, desperate to have him go deeper into your hole. The glint from the diamond of your wedding ring caught his attention and he smirked into your cunt; the reminder that you were married only fuelled his arousal even more. 
“Fuck, baby,” he spoke into your cunt. “You really are sweet, ain’t ya? Taste fuckin’ incredible.” 
The filthy sounds of slurps and moans filled the room. Bucky was a starved beast, held back and pushed to the edge for too long and every little bit of anger and resentment that had built in his body from your husband’s treatment was taken out on you. 
It only boosted his ego when you grinded your cunt back against him too. His cock jumped with excitement with how fucking dirty you truly were. You had been locked up too, he remembered. Stuck holding back your true self for a shitty excuse of a man. 
Bucky grunted deeply before licking a wide stripe from your clit, slowly running through your pussy lips and reaching higher towards the puckered hole that twitched with anticipation. 
“Oh!” you exclaimed aloud in surprise. Bucky thought he may have gone too far, then. But once you relaxed and backed yourself into his tongue, he smiled wickedly. 
“You like that, filthy girl?” he laughed, darkly. “Should’ve known you’d be a little freak.” 
Bucky circled the tip of his tongue teasingly around your asshole, moaning at your eagerness when you tried to reach further back with your hands and drag him closer. 
“Don’t tease,” you gasped, out of breath. “Please, I want more. Gimmie more.” 
Almost immediately, Bucky complied, ripping your hands away with vigor to replace them with his. He spreaded your asscheeks wide and lapped at your tight hole. 
“Fuck yes—oh my god, James—yes!” 
The depravity was obscene and disgusting and Bucky absolutely loved it. Never had he been more turned on and he decided then and there that this wasn’t going to be a one and done deal. He wanted you to be his. 
A string of saliva connected Bucky’s mouth to your ass as he reluctantly backed away. The slick that had poured out of you smothered his chin and cheeks and Bucky happily licked his lips with a groan. “Baby, as much as I wanna keep eating your ass, I need to feel your pretty little cunt wrapped around my cock.” 
You whimpered while your pussy clenched with a need to be filled. Bucky watched your cute little hole flutter. “Put it in me,” you slurred. “Need your cock.” 
He wasted no time unfastening his jeans to pull them down enough until his dick bobbed out of its confines. Bucky caught you peeking your head around, trying to catch a glimpse of his cock, but he spanked your ass and bit his lip with amusement at your scream. “Not yet, baby. You’ll get a chance to see it when I fuck your throat later.” 
You squirmed impatiently, needy moans escaping you and Bucky couldn’t hold back any longer. Grabbing his cock, he began to push the fat head of his length inside you. 
A loud gasp tore from your throat and your pussy instantly tried to suck him in deeper. Your walls, tight and warm, hugged his dick like a vice. “You’re—oh my fucking god—how are you so big?” 
The smirk that donned Bucky’s face was lethal. He had you right where he wanted you. And yet his eye rolled back all the same, savouring the flutter of your tight hole around him. 
“This is all for you, baby,” he breathily whispered, bullying his way deeper into your pussy. “Get me so fuckin’ hard everytime I see you. Cookin’ in them pretty little dresses. Just wanna lift your skirt up and fuck you wherever I want.” 
Your moans both fell into sync as Bucky finally slid his cock all the way to the hilt. You couldn’t stop squirming and it drove him crazy. 
“You need to move,” you begged in between pants. “Please, I can’t stay still.” 
Bucky licked his teeth with desire blazing through him. “Since you asked so nicely, Honey.” 
Without the decency to ease you into it, Bucky instantly set a brutal pace. He looked down, admiring the thick coating of your juices lathering his dick and he willed himself not to blow his load so fast. He tightly closed his eyes, adjusted his stance and began to fuck you. 
You were quick to grab ahold of whatever you could, scrambling for purchase within the sheets,  but you were useless to try to stop how your head buried into the bed. The force of Bucky’s thrusts were too violent and so you surrendered to what was inevitable, letting yourself drool over the cotton.
“Bu—CKY!” your cry of surprise when he lifted his foot onto the bed, allowing him a better angle to fuck you, was music to his ears. 
“What’s’a matter, baby?” Bucky mocked. “Thought you were a big girl, huh? Can’t handle me?” 
Your reply was instant. “I can! I can, I promise, I promise!” 
“Then shut the fuck up and take it.” 
Bucky didn’t know where to look, he was spoilt for choice. To watch your eyes roll back in ecstasy? To concentrate on the shlick shlick of your soaked cunt? Ultimately, his eyes were glued to the jiggle of your ass, his hands soon following as though he was hypnotised. How it so perfectly met his hips without a falt in rhythm.
“Fuck me—this ass is heaven, baby. You been hiding it from me all this time?” 
There was no answer this time, at least not a coherent one. Bucky was instead graced with your constant squeaks and groans — a woman too invested in a physical gratification she had so sadly been starved of. 
Bucky chuckled. “Ain’t gotta answer, Honey. The sounds comin’ outta that mouth are keeping my dick happy enough.” 
He almost forgot the end goal of his proposition in the midst of the delectable feel of your cunt. With a sudden bolt of clarification as he felt a vibration against his leg, Bucky kept one hand on your hip while he reached for his phone in his pocket with the other. Keeping up the pace of his thrusts, you were clueless as he unlocked it and opened the camera app. 
“Now, Honey, I want you to really scream my name, okay? Wanna hear how good I’m makin’ you feel. Can you do that for me?”
“Uh-huh.” You nodded, dumbly. “C-Can do that for you, James.” 
He grinned wickedly and threw his head back. “Just like that. Good fuckin’ girl.” Looking back down at you through the phone screen, he hovered his finger over the record button and brought his other hand down hard on your ass. “Go on then, baby. Put on a show for me.”
If Bucky thought you were a fucking treat before, his mind was blown once you began to take the reigns of your own pleasure. Bucky hardly had to move and you still plunged yourself onto his cock with an unmatched enthusiasm to anyone else he had fucked. He could hardly keep his hand that held the phone up from shaking. The combined sounds coming from the both of you were insane. 
None of his wet dreams could compare to his reality. “You—shit—you’re killing me, Honey.” 
You must not have heard him because you decided to torture him even more by arching your back just that little bit further. 
Bucky thought he was a goner, soon to approach his end. But he couldn’t let that happen. He was far from done with you yet. 
Propping one foot up onto the bed for better leverage, he gathered his restraint and began to drive forward once more. He felt high. 
“That husband of yours ever fuck you like this, huh?” Bucky demanded. “Can he make you leak all over his dick like a fuckin’ slut?”
You violently shook your head from side to side, like the thought of your husband left a sour taste in your mouth you wanted to get rid of. “Nuh-uh,” you whimpered, popping your ass up even more to take as much as you could. “O-Only you.” 
“Tell him, baby.” Bucky noticed too late that he had slipped up, too gone off the feel of your cunt wrapped snug around his dick. But you hadn’t seemed to realise his mistake either and the thought that you were too much of a wreck from his cock to comprehend who he was talking about made him even harder. “Let him know who’s balls deep in your tight, slutty pussy.” 
“Oh, fuck—please, please—you, James, it’s you.  Please, it’s you!” 
“Atta girl,” he cooed, hoarsely. “Look at the fuckin’ mess you’re makin’ on me.”
Bucky reached down to where the two of you were connected with his free hand, sweeping the copious amount of your slick gathered in a ring around the bottom of his cock. “Here.” He leant forward, one palm up towards you with his phone still in his other hand out of your view. “Open your mouth, pretty mama.” 
You slightly turned your head with your tongue sticking out wide and eagerly sucked the juices off his hand with a long moan. 
Managing to get all of it on camera, Bucky watched as you licked between his fingers, not wasting a drop. “Holy fuck,” he grunted deeply. “You’ll really do anything I say, won’t you?” 
You bobbed your head up and down, eventually letting his fingers go, clean as a whistle. 
“What a fuckin’ filthy whore. You’re perfect for me.” 
You backed yourself onto Bucky’s cock, meeting his thrusts perfectly while the meat of your ass clapped against his toned waist. “You’re a needy little thing, ain’t you baby?” 
“Anythin’ you want,” you slurred. “Can be whatever you need.” 
“Poor mommy hasn’t been treated this good in a long time I can tell.” Bucky gripped your ass harshly with his hand, jiggling the flesh for his own satisfaction. “Women like you, need putting in their place on a daily basis. Need a good fuckin’ to keep them happy.” 
“Yes!” you agreed, firmly. “Mommy needs to be fucked like this all the time.” 
Unbelievable. Bucky didn’t even have to try to add salt into the wound. He couldn’t help the continuous conspicuous messages that he could easily pass off to you. “This is what happens when you don’t take care of your wife.”
Harsh slaps echoed in your bedroom. The two of you could only share the raw sounds that left your mouths in your haze of the thrill as the string between you pulled tighter and tighter. 
“I’m—so—close,” you murmured with all your depleted energy. 
Bucky didn’t need the confirmation when he could feel the rapid pulses of your walls that squeezed him. He knew your orgasm was clutching at its straws and he was so close himself. The blood from his head had long since made its way to his dick and his composure was swiftly deflating. 
“Want that cum,” he garbled as his mouth hung open. “I’ve been such a good boy, mommy. Give it to me, please.”
You whined loudly, like a dog in heat. But your voices became lost on each other. That didn’t stop Bucky from losing his inhibitions out loud.  
Thrust. “I’ve been such,” thrust. “A good,” thrust. “Boy.” 
The wound up ball of tension in your lower stomach exploded in a series of screams and violent shivering that overtook your whole nervous system and the very sensation brought Bucky to his defeat. 
The muscles in his legs failed him as they turned to jelly. Bucky let out the sluttiest moan he’s ever experienced in his life and all but collapsed onto your sweat slicked body. He could feel his cock shooting a constant stream of cum into your cunt with seemingly no end in sight. 
“Fuck,” he whimpered into your ear. Slowly, his conscience came back to life and the flow of his load finally came to a stop. 
The two of you laid still, only the heavy panting serving to fill the silence. After a couple of minutes, Bucky kissed your shoulder blade, before lifting himself up. He gathered the strength to gently retrieve his length from your hole that still strangled him. 
Bucky was reminded of the phone that was still recording in his hand and he quickly made sure to get the winning money shot of his load dripping out of your pulsing hole while he wholly detached himself from you. 
He was only human to push his finger into your cunt, he thought, letting himself gather himself on his own fingers. 
Flipping the camera around to himself, Bucky put his coated finger in his mouth, sucking your combined juices and humming and letting it go with a pop. He laughed, out of breath, his red cheeks and mussed hair only adding to the depravity of the video. “Y’know some people should really keep an eye on their wives. You never know what they’re up to in their spare time. Ain’t that right, Honey?” 
Bucky knew you were out of it — he watched on while you buried your head in the sheets, rubbing your thighs together as aftershocks made your body twitch. Your needy, high pitched keens bounced off the walls. “Wan’ more of your cock, James—please—need you to fuck me again.” 
He licked his lips in delight, the sight of your ass wiggling with his cum leaking out of you and your unprompted addition to the recording filling him with glee. 
“Well,” he sighed, turning back to the camera and shrugging with no remorse. “You heard the wife. Duty calls.” With a cocky wink, he ended the recording with a final farewell. “See you in class, Professor.”  
Bucky exited his camera app and quickly brought up his emails, scouring through to a saved draft and attaching the video link. After pressing send, he shut off his phone, making sure any future notifications would be silenced before throwing it to the ground with a careless thump. 
“Baby,” you whimpered, looking behind you to search for him. “What are you doing? I said I wanna be fucked again.” 
Undressing the rest of his clothes, Bucky stalked towards you, kneeling onto the bed and effortlessly flipping you over to kiss you deeply to share your combined tastes. “Don’t worry, mommy,” he breathed into your mouth. “I’ll take care of you now.” 
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Meanwhile at his college, a new email popped up on Dr Parker’s computer screen, shrouding the dark office with a white glow in the late night. With an exhausted huff, he looked up from grading papers — all of them marked with a C or lower — and squinted his eyes at the bright screen. 
New Email from James Buchanan Barnes
He rolled his eyes with a sigh. The name was familiar as he thought back to the day the kid almost cried in his office, complaining about his poorly-graded assignment and his GPA; Dr Parker had gossiped with Professor Stark in his department on his dinner break, recounting the annoying way this particular student had whined like a baby. Though he couldn’t quite remember how James looked, unable to place him among the hundreds of pupils he taught.
Amused curiosity ran through him, wondering what his student had to moan about this time and so with a sadistic smirk, he clicked on the link, waiting until his message came up. 
Though that smirk was quickly replaced with a frown when the email finally loaded with an attachment. 
They say revenge is a dish best served cold. But I like mine warm, tight and sweet.
Just like Honey. 
1K notes · View notes
pynkfairyheart · 5 months ago
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pairings: ony x reader
warnings: violence...kinda (reader throws a phone at ony), smut 18+, mentions of infidelity,
a/n: did i proof read this? no. so squint if you see imperfections
Accusations & Apologies
“Onyyy, slow down” You cried, your hand behind your back in an attempt to slow his relentless thrusts.
“Nah, cause a minute ago it was ‘fuck you’ right? Now you wanna be a fuckin cry baby” He hissed.
You knew better. Ony was the love of your life, the one who stood beside you no matter the circumstance, even when times were rocky. You knew he'd never do anything to hurt you, yet all rational thinking left the building the moment you saw the notification.
“Who the fuck is Ayesha, Onyankopon?” His phone clattering to the floor as it bounced off his chest, the moment he stepped foot into the room. 
“Ow, did you just throw my fuckin phone?” Inked hand rubbing the area as he bent down, examining the device before tossing it back on the bed.
“You picked the shit up didn't you?” You huffed in annoyance.
Confused about your unusual behavior and attitude he walked over to you. His calloused hands gripping your jaw softly as he forced you to look at him. “The fuck going on, ma? Talk to me. We don't do this acting out shit"
A part of you knew your behavior was unnecessary, and irrational, but the other half was too afraid of being hurt to stop and truly think about the situation.
“What's going on is you got some bitch blowing up your phone talking bout she misses you. Are you cheating on me, Ony?" Voice raising to hide the growing anxiety in your chest as you pushed his hand away
“Are you serious? After everything we've been through, you gon accuse me of cheating?” His voice gradually raising to meet yours
“Then explain yourself. Who is she and why is she on your phone?” You shouted
He was trying his best to stay calm, aware that you were afraid, but he was getting frustrated. Anyone who knew you and Ony could easily tell he'd rather die than think of another woman the way he thought of you. So why couldn't you just stop for a second and think?
“Some girl from high school, we used to be cool but I cut her off when I met you.” The annoyance etched on his features was evident as he ran his hands over his face. 
“Then why is she texting you? How'd she get your number? You think I'm stupid or something?” You narrowed your eyes.
“Right now? Yeah. Cause clearly you done lost all your goddamn brain cells if you think I'm cheating.” He shrugged, tired of your accusations.
The nonchalant tone of his voice irritated the fuck out of you and made what he said ten times worse.
“Man, fuck you” You stood, hands pressed against his chest in an attempt to push him out of your way, anger wavering when he didn't move an inch, and instead, his large hands gripped your wrist, dark eyes glaring down into yours as he clenched his jaw.
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“Please, Ony” You whined, legs trembling as he tightened his grip on your hips, forcing you back onto him as he pounded into you.
“Why you like being mean to me, huh? What daddy do to deserve this?” He spat, thumbs kneading into the flesh of your lower back before delivering a heavy slap to your ass, groan emitting from his lips at the squeeze your pussy gave him.
“I don't mean to, daddy, I'm sorry, just- fuck slow down” You cried. Teary eyes looking back at him as you pleaded.
With a hand wrapped around your throat, he leaned down, pressing a sloppy kiss to your glossy lips, string of your mixed saliva connecting you two as he pulled away.
“You the only girl I want, ma. You ain't never gotta worry about that shit. I love you and only you, rather die than think about some other girl” He whispered in your ear, emphasizing each word with deep thrust as he made you look back at him, your big eyes staring into his as he kissed all over your face, pink muscle licking up the tears that raced down your cheeks.
“You hear me?” His teeth grazing your earlobe as his free hand rubbed figure eights on your throbbing clit.
“Mhmmm, y-yes, Ony” Your head bobbing up and down rapidly as a response.
“Yeah? Then tell me whose dick this is, mama?” Both hands back on your hips as he let you fall back onto the bed.
“I-It's mine, Ony” Nails gripping the sheets as his hips ricocheted off your ass at a rapid pace
“Mhm- fuck say that shit again” Quickly pulling out before he flipped you onto your back, giving you .5 seconds to recover before he was ramming back into you. The sticky white ring around his thick base and pelvis contributing to the pornographic sounds bouncing off the walls. 
“What I say, ma?” Pearly whites on display as he bit his lip.
“You're mine, baby. Fuck right there.” Legs closing around his waist as your hands searched for anything to grip on to.
“Y-yeah only yours, ma.” Shaky breath indicating he was close as his fingers interlocked with yours.
“Come on, nut on your dick, baby” He whispered, rocking his hips into yours as the tip of his tongue ran over the small purple marks along your neck from your earlier endeavors.
Low moans escaped you as you gushed around him, freshly done acrylics leaving welts along his chocolate skin.
“Shit, baby” He groaned, teeth sinking into your shoulder as he came, the twitching of his dick mimicking a heartbeat as he pumped out ropes of milky white cum into your walls.
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“I'm sorry, you know. For hitting you with your phone and accusing you.” Your whisper, breaking the silence of the room as you laid in each other's embrace under a thin blanket.
“Yeah?” The vibration of his deep voice contrasting yours as he repositioned your bodies so you were now straddling him.
“Mhm” Bottom lip trapped in between your teeth as you felt him growing against the soft flesh of your ass
“Prove it”
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nereidprinc3ss · 7 months ago
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strange perfections
in which spencer reid and fem!reader meet by accident at a coffee shop. and then they keep meeting there. they've really got to stop meeting like this. (no, seriously. hotch is pissed.) / do you believe me now? bonus chapter!
series masterlist
fluff! warnings/tags: meet cute:) some dark humor, romantically inexperienced reader, spencer reid graduated from caltech, mit, and the derek morgan school of rizz a/n: this can absolutely be read as a standalone BUT it was written as a prologue for my series do you believe me now? to explain how spencer and r met! completely optional, if you're only here for the smut no worries! reading this bonus chapter might make the next chapter better though as it contains discussions of how they met:) anyway, I LOVE YOU!! let me know if you like this silly little random thing! kisses
The café door opens again. A blustery wind raises goosebumps on your arms and makes your bones ache again. You look up at the latest intruder—a hobbling elderly man in a newsboy cap and a knit red scarf. 
Stupid scarf, you think. 
Stupid door. 
Stupid wind. 
Your mug is empty, and the table you’re sitting at is sort of sticky and rickety, and there are so many papers in front of you that you wonder why the hell you thought it’d be a good idea to print the PDF out and annotate it that way instead of just doing it on your laptop like a normal person in the 21st century. Nothing is going right today. It’s the third café you’ve tried in the past few weeks as you attempt to find some place that feels homey, lucky, but this one just feels… inconvenient. 
You look at the stack of papers and sigh. 
Stupid Lord Byron. 
Stupid cafe. 
Usually, cafés are relatively quiet and peaceful—a refuge for the overworked to bask in the luxury of quiet jazz and the smell of dark roast as they continue to overwork themselves. This particular establishment, however, today hosts a group of teenagers—presumably playing hooky—who have commandeered a big booth in the back and keep walking right past your table because apparently they couldn’t have just ordered their drinks at once and they all have to do it separately and loudly. 
One of them has an incredibly irritating, gratingly pubescent laugh, and they think everything is hilarious. This whole situation is unbearable. 
Just as you’re gearing up to go, of course the fucking door opens again. This time, it’s accompanied by a particularly strong gust. 
Strong enough that Lord Byron doesn’t stand a chance. 
Your printed copy of his works blows off the table, at first page by painstakingly annotated page and then before you can even process it, all at once. 
Yeah. This is definitely not your lucky café. 
As you curse and go to stand up, you run into one of those dumb kids. His huge ceramic mug goes flying, careening against the edge of your table and completely splattering you and all your stuff in 16 liquid ounces of scalding espresso and milk. 
It’s silent for a second, save for a few drips from the puddle on your table to the floor, before the kid is apologizing profusely and turning red as a tomato. You can’t even respond—you look down at your ruined favorite sweater, and then around at the pages of Byron littered with color-coded sticky notes, overflowing with angry and purposeful red ink that you spent so much time on, scattered all over the floor. 
Eventually the boy catches on that you’re not going to forgive him and he skitters away, back to his friends, who whisper and giggle profusely. Only a few of them get up to start gathering the fallen pages with you. Several other patrons end up helping as well, so the sheets of paper are gathered and returned into your sticky hands fairly quickly. You thank each person without looking up as they hand you their respective stack. All you want is to get out of here. 
“Here—I’m really sorry about this,” someone says—a tenor-ish male voice, distinctly sympathetic as he holds out a rather larger stack of papers than anyone else had bothered to pick up. 
“I’ll live,” you sigh, straightening up. “But thank… you.”
The man standing in front of you is the kind of man who makes you want to untuck your hair from its usual spot behind your ears, and to stand up straighter, and to try and not stare even though you want his attention. He’s gloriously beautiful in a way that repels and attracts you. He’s the type of man who wouldn’t have given you the time of day in high school and probably wouldn’t now. Instantly you feel both insecure and reduced to a former version of you who would simper and fawn over boys who wanted nothing to do with her. You feel like going to the other side of the café and sitting in the best light and staring out the window poetically and hoping he’s looking at you. 
“On the one hand, I feel bad for being the person who opened the door and let the wind in. On the other… I feel compelled to say at least they’re not covered in coffee like the rest of your table is?”
You laugh vacantly, a second too late, positively coveting the awkward smile on his angular face. Then you make eye contact, and his eyes are so the opposite of angular—they’re huge and inviting and the warmest golden-brown you’ve ever seen, and they’re looking right back at you—and you have to look down. Fuck. You hate when you do that. 
Think of something normal to say!
“Yeah, true. Now I just have to reorder 264 pages. That… that don’t have page numbers.”
You shuffle through the papers. They are hopelessly scrambled. Your heart sinks just a bit.
“Um… I might actually be able to help with that, if you want?”
You frown, glancing up. What kind of sex trafficking ploy is this?
“That’s okay. Might be easier with just one person.”
He laughs—it’s similarly awkward, similarly endearing. 
“Do you mind letting me just… try? It’ll only take a minute.”
Only take a minute? Is this beautiful man deranged? Why are the hot ones always crazy?
But, perhaps because you’re a pushover who can’t stand up to people, much less beautiful people, much less beautiful men who are paying you undue attention, you find yourself giving in. You hold the stack out. 
“Sure. Give it your best shot. I’ll be impressed if you can even figure out what page one is.”
He’s already flipping through the papers with a drawn brow, walking away with them, and barely looking over his shoulder as he mutters, “I have Byron memorized. It shouldn’t be too difficult.”
You follow him, because hello, he has all your annotations. He’s definitely insane, you think, as he sits down at a table and starts rapidly sorting the sheets into separate piles. 
All you can do is stand awkwardly behind him as he stacks papers seemingly at random, barely glancing at them before deciding where they go. 
Maybe a minute, maybe a few go by, each of which have you progressively more flabbergasted, before he’s tapping the edges of a stack of paper on the table and standing, handing them to you with his lips pressed into a thin pleasant line. There’s almost a glow about him—like he couldn’t be more in his comfort zone. 
“There you go. Should be in order now.” You sport a frown bordering on a grimace as you take the stack and flip through it a bit. Sure enough, it seems that everything is in order. You keep looking between the man in front of you and the papers, incredulous as you wait for something to be in the wrong spot. 
“How did you do that?” 
His cheeks turn slightly pink. 
“I know Byron really well. I know how each passage ends and begins so I put them together like puzzle pieces.”
“How did you read that fast?”
“Uh. I’m a speed-reader?”
You scoff, taking another look through the stack. 
“I think that may be underselling it.” A thought occurs to you as you’re grazing over one of your longer annotations—full of expletives and strong opinions. “Oh, god. You didn’t… you didn’t read my notes?”
The man’s eyebrows raise as if he was waiting for you to mention that and he smiles like he doesn’t quite know how to break it to you gently. 
“Maybe a few,” he eventually decides, laughing under his breath. “I appreciated the commentary on his relationship with Augusta. It was… colorful.”
Heat rises in your cheeks as you mumble. 
“Yeah, I had a hard time appreciating the romantic poems. They’re less cute when there’s like a fifty percent chance he’s writing about his sister.”
“Half sister,” he corrects. You give him a look. 
“Does that make it better?”
“… no,” he realizes. “Not even a little bit.”
You laugh, relieved that his face looks as warm as yours feels. 
“Well… thank you, for the help,” you say after a silent second. 
“Of course. Sorry, again. I, um—I hope your day gets better?”
“Yeah, well. I feel like statistically it has to, right? It’s kind of a low bar.”
He smiles, a perfect, perfect smile, and gives you a little wave as he leaves. Without coffee. Checking the clock on the wall, you realize it’s approaching one in the afternoon. If he’d been here on his lunch break, he sacrificed it to organize your stupid Byron texts. You smile to yourself. 
He was totally in love with me. 
And he can’t prove me wrong because I’ll probably never see him again. 
All things considered—this coffee shop does seem pretty lucky. Maybe you’ll stick with it for a while. 
The next time you see the mysterious sexy speed reader is four days later—though you’ve been here every day since. He catches your eye right as he walks in, and his brows jump in pleasant recognition. You smile. He smiles back, before going up to the counter and ordering a coffee with a ludicrous amount of sugar in it. 
I should take note for when I make him his coffee in the mornings, you think to yourself, and then you snort at your own delusions, shaking your head at your book. Obviously you’re not that divorced from reality, but you’ll entertain the fantasy forever until one of you stops showing up to this café. 
What you’re absolutely not expecting is for him to walk up to your table with his to-go cup. 
“Hi,” he says. 
“Hi!”
Jesus. Tone it down, girl scout. 
He gestures to your stack of papers: now secured in a three ring binder. The cup says Spencer. 
Spencer. Spencer. 
It feels important. 
“I see you’ve upgraded.”
“Yes! Yes, I did,” you laugh self-consciously, still struggling to meet his eyes. “Thank you for the help the other day. I would still be sorting through all of this if it weren’t for that, so… yeah. Thanks.”
“Of course! I’m glad I could be of use.”
“Spence!” Someone calls from the cafe door. You both look up to see a stunning blonde beckoning him away. 
Ah. Naturally. The girlfriend who is one trillion times prettier than you. 
Spence. 
Reality sets in. 
“Coming!” He replies, with all the eager compliance of a child, before turning back to you. “Um… well… I’ll see you?”
It’s an awkward way to say goodbye to a stranger, but you suddenly don’t care enough to dwell. Instead you nod once, less enthusiastic now that you know he has a 10 waiting for him on the sidewalk. 
“I am a creature of habit.”
Another wave as he walks away. 
The two disappear from the doorway, but the perpetual breeze seems to carry a snatched bit of conversation your way. 
“Who was that?” 
“Uh… I don’t actually know.”
Yeah. Reality definitely sets in. 
Over the next few days, you break your café streak. Life is busy. There’s not always time to artfully ponder Romantic poetry and drink a six dollar coffee while waiting around for certain people to show up. 
Okay, so… maybe it has more to do with him than you’re letting on. But you’re not going to do that thing you do again, where you become limerently obsessed with a man you don’t know and who is way out of your league just because you can’t form an actual attachment to anyone to save your life. Besides, you remind yourself; we probably wouldn’t be compatible anyway. He’s probably a huge loser. Or secretly a douche. Or chews with his mouth open. Obviously nobody that attractive can also have a good personality. 
Not to mention he has a girlfriend. That should put you off, too.
But you hadn’t been lying when you’d proclaimed to be a creature of habit—you return to the café once you feel sufficiently detached from this Spencer character. 
He’s there. Of course he’s there. Why had you been expecting for him to not be there? It’s not like he was a figment of your imagination. 
This time he’s accompanied by a different blonde woman—a bespectacled blonde with a big floral headband and a patterned dress and a red cardigan and tights and heels that look self-injurious. She’s quite eye-catching; you want to keep looking at her, but you seem to draw her attention, too. Her big eyes widen minutely and briefly you wonder if you’re supposed to know her, but certainly you’d remember meeting a person like that. She doesn’t seem easily forgettable. Both of you look to Spencer at the same time, who’s looking between you with an almost panicked expression. 
“Oh! Th—” the woman whispers, cutting herself off when she realizes how loud she’s being in the otherwise silent establishment. “Ah! Okay, right. Never mind.”
 Spencer sighs. You want to laugh, but you’re baffled by the whole thing. So you go back to reading. 
Ten minutes later, they draw your attention once more. 
“Go, go ahead! It’s more problematic for you to be late than me. I’ll be like, thirty seconds tops.”
You don’t look up as Spencer leaves the café—but are you supposed to gather that these two eccentric individuals are coworkers? And what of the first blonde woman, who you’d presumed to be his girlfriend? Where is she?
While you’re wondering all of this, the new blonde teeters her way over to your table. 
“Hi!” She says pleasantly, waving a purple-tipped hand and wearing the biggest grin. 
“Uh… hi?”
“I’m Penelope. You’ve met my friend Spencer. He just left.”
“Oh—sort of,” you smile weakly, closing your book. “Not formally. I didn’t know his name.”
That’s a lie, but maybe feigning non-chalance will make it real. 
“Well, I just wanted to come over and say I love your bag. And your jewelry and your coat. I love your whole look. I bet you’re a really cool person.”
“Um—thank you!” You perk up, smiling genuinely now. The compliment warms you—you didn’t think your look was all that interesting today. “You too. I love your outfit.”
“Great! You’re—you’re great. This is good information. Um… just out of, like, sheer curiosity, could I get your name, age, and occupation? Oh—and your zodiac sign?”
What kind of convoluted sex trafficking ploy—
“Garcia!”
Spencer is at the doorway again, looking adorably miffed. 
Adorable? Get a grip. 
“Wh—I’m just making a new friend! Is friendship illegal, now?”
“This is the kind of friend-making that gets you a restraining order,” he urges. 
You look up at Penelope Garcia, enamored by their whole dynamic. They clearly care for each other, despite the squabbling. What kind of job do they have where they talk to each other like this?
“It’s fine,” you smile, introducing yourself to her.
“That is such a good name!” She says, and you’re getting the sense she’s kind of always this enthusiastic. “So now we know each other’s names—we should probably definitely be friends, right?”
“Yeah! Um, definitely!”
“Yes? Oh my god! I love this! Okay, um—we work at Quantico, so, we’re like, 10 minutes away—but this is better than the coffee shop that’s closest to the building, so we come here all the time. Usually it’s just us and five grouchy old men, which makes this is really exciting.”
“Quantico… that’s the FBI academy, right?”
“Other stuff, too,” she nods, still smiley. 
Oh! Cool. So they’re FBI agents. 
So that’s cool. 
You’re cool with that. 
Her phone starts ringing—she locks eyes with Spencer. 
“Hotch?”
“Ooh, we are in trouble,” Penelope sing-songs, leaning down to write her number on your notebook without asking. Not that you mind, of course. She adds a little heart and a smiley face next to her name before capping your pen and toddling away. “Bye, new friend!” She calls over her shoulder, waving goodbye with just her fingers. 
“Bye,” you manage, though it’s probably too quiet. 
Spencer flattens his mouth into an approximation of a smile and waves again. 
You accidentally find yourself mirroring his goodbye, facial expression and all. Fuck. You hope he doesn’t notice. You hope he doesn’t read into it. 
Nah. Boys are dumb. 
You text Penelope later that afternoon—a simple greeting so that she can save your number—and then you forget about it. 
It’s not until five days go by without sign of any of them—the two blondes, Spencer, this mysterious and foreboding Hotch figure—that you start to seriously question your sanity. Did they drop off the face of the planet, or what?
But of course, just as you’re sitting at your usual table, Spencer walks in. Alone. 
He sees you immediately, but instead of the wave you’d come to expect, he immediately flushes, looks down at his shoes and hurries into the small lunch-rush line. 
Weird.
You corner him at the coffee bar, where he’s adding more sugar to his coffee. How are his teeth so nice if he does this to himself every single day?
“Hey,” you say, affecting casual confidence as you bus your empty mug. “… Spencer, right?”
It’s comical how you’re pretending you haven’t turned that name over and looked at it from every angle hundreds of times since the first time you heard it. 
He nods, only glancing up at you as he stirs. To your surprise, he knows your name, too. When you give him an odd look, he smiles almost apologetically, finally looking at your face for longer than half a second. 
“I heard you introducing yourself to Penelope. Sorry if that’s…”
“No, no! Is she around, today? I texted her last week, but she never responded...”
“Today is operating system update day, so I don’t even really have a way of knowing if she’s alive in her office.” It’s funny to him, but you just smile, baffled. He notices your silence and catches on, scrambling to explain himself. “She’s our tech analyst. There are 243 computers in our building and she has to update them all remotely, which requires getting every agent to agree to not touch their computer at the same time for an hour or so.”
“Oh… does the FBI not have, like… an IT guy, or something?”
He laughs again—the way his eyes crinkle when he does it makes you a little breathless. 
“You should say that to her. I think you would become her favorite person.”
It’s hard not to smile when he’s smiling because of you—however indirectly that may be. Quickly you realize you’ve both been standing in front of the coffee bar for too long. 
“Alright, well… tell her good luck, for me?”
“I would, but I’ve been kicked out for an hour while she does the updates.”
Your brow furrows and you laugh. 
“From the whole building? You just can’t keep your hands off your computer for an hour?”
“Not if I want to do my job, no. And I am kind of obsessive about my job. I’ve been the reason she had to start the whole process over again before and I’d rather not be that person again.”
You say it before you can think too hard. 
“Well, if you have an hour to kill… there’s an open seat at my table? No pressure, obviously.”
And that was the first of thousands of hours you would come to spend with Spencer Reid. 
After that, it sort of becomes a regular thing. He comes almost every day—except for occasional week or so long stretches, which you have discovered are a part of his absolutely fucking insane job—and sits with you, sometimes with Penelope, once with the other blonde, JJ, who you’ve since deduced is not his girlfriend, most often alone. Usually he can’t spare more than ten minutes, but he begins pushing it, little by little, until thirty minutes go by and you think surely his boss (the great and all-powerful Hotchner) must be beginning to notice. 
One day, during your usual lunchtime rendezvous, his phone rings. He talks right on through it, like it’s not happening.
It ceases. And then it starts again. 
Your head drops to your shoulder, something like pity or regret softening your features. He catches your eye and melts slightly, mid-sentence—like he knows you’re about to tell him to be responsible. 
“Do you think you should…”
His hands drop from where they’d been enthusiastically positioned mid-air. 
“They’ll be fine if I’m late from lunch one time. I’m usually more punctual than any of them.”
You roll your lip between your teeth—it’s not that you want to tell him to go; in fact, those delusions you’ve been harboring about your future life together are only getting worse with each inexplicable minute he entertains your company. 
But his job is important. 
“What if you have a case?”
“Then I would have gotten more calls from more people by now.”
Your head tips back as you laugh lightly at his unwavering insistence.   
“I’m flattered that you so enjoy my company that much. But I can’t with good conscience keep taking up your work hours like this.”
As the laughter fades, he just… watches you, lips slightly parted, eyes intense but not entirely present. 
“You’re probably right,” he finally breathes. “Maybe… you should start taking up my other hours, instead?”
Spencer Reid, you unexpected charmer. 
You balk.
“Like… we would hang out? At a different time of day? Not here?”
“Those are the basic premises, yes,” he chuckles, nodding affably. “I’ve never actually seen you anywhere else. For all I know you could be a ghost eternally tethered to this building.”
“Where would this hanging out take place?”
Fuck, you’re totally being weird. His brow knits. 
“I don’t know. Where else do people hang out?”
He’s not genuinely asking you, he’s gently turning you in the right direction. You charge forward blindly. 
“Restaurants.”
There’s that pretty smile of his again, the one that makes all the thoughts drain from your head like cold bathwater. Though, there’s a sort of mischievous edge to it now that you haven't seen before.
“That’s certainly an option. If I asked you to hang out with me at a restaurant... would you say yes?”
You look down. God, your face feels warm. 
“Would you be asking me out on a date? In this hypothetical scenario that we’ve constructed, I mean.”
Spencer seems to think about it for a moment, which fills you with unexpected panic. When you look back up anxiously, he has the same smile on his face, but his eyes are a little softer now. 
“I would.” 
More panic sets in—just a bit. But you don’t let what is undoubtedly a tidal wave of anxiety break through the emotional guard-dam. Keep it together. This is a good thing. This is what you wanted. 
Unfortunately, you are perhaps more transparent than you’d realized. Spencer begins to look slightly worried, leaning forward in his chair. 
“You don’t have to say yes. I know we don’t know each other very well, I just—”
“No!” You find yourself assuring him, though you curse yourself because you kind of want to know what he was going to say. “I would say yes. I’ve just, um—god,” you laugh gustily, self-consciously. “Sorry I’m being so weird. I’m out of my depth. Nobody’s asked me on a date before. I don’t really know the etiquette.”
Spencer chuckles. 
“You’re doing great. Don’t worry about it.”
Not, what?
Not, you’ve never been on a date before?
Not, that’s crazy, or that’s weird, or how have you gone your whole life without being asked out?
With the implication being, you’re odd. Different. Maybe not in a good way. 
He says none of that. 
“But I should probably actually ask you, huh?” His cheeks turn pink as his laughter is redirected inwards. 
“Sounds like a good first step.”
Spencer is still smiling as he says your name and it sounds so good from his mouth. It makes you sound so real. 
“Will you go on a date with me?”
Butterflies in your stomach doesn't begin to brush what you're experiencing—your entire abdominal cavity is like a Monarch sanctuary.
“I’d love to.”
He seems genuinely relieved as he beams, slumping back in his chair. 
“Oh, thank god. I was so nervous you’d say no. I never do that. Thank you for not saying no. Not that you couldn’t have said no—it would have been completely fine and obviously within your rights to—”
His phone rings again. Both of you are relieved that he was interrupted—but admittedly you thought his rambling was super cute. 
“I should—”
“You definitely need to go.”
“Yeah,” he agrees with a still-breathless smile. “Um—what’s your number?”
You look around fruitlessly for pen and paper. 
“I don’t—”
“Just tell me. I’ll remember.”
He’s so weird. 
A breeze hits your skin as he opens the door. You’re already writing your wedding vows in the back of your mind as you watch him go. 
-
part four
2K notes · View notes
mariasont · 5 months ago
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I Want It In Ink - S.R
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a/n: the tattoo in the pic obviously isn’t what the reader has but just imagine that ✨placement✨
masterlist
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pairings: spencer reid x fem!reader
summary: spencer finds your secret tattoo… with his initials
warnings: suggestive content, alcohol consumption, reader has a tat with spencers initials kinda delulu but also real, secret relationship, established relationship
wc: 0.7k
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You were blissfully unaware of the chaos you had caused Spencer. There you stood, not doing anything particularly special, yet you were making his head spin. It became glaringly clear why fraternizing within the office was frowned upon; concentrating on work proved to be a Herculean task when his gaze incessantly sought you out.
Currently, you were stretching upwards, fingertips grazing the spine of a book on a higher shelf, your shirt hitching up, revealing a sliver of your hip and stomach. But what captured his attention was not the skin—it was the ink he had never seen before. He had prided himself on seeing every inch of your body through an eidetic lens, yet here was a price of you he had somehow missed.
Spencer squinted, realizing he might need a new prescription for his contacts, but even with his questionable eyesight he was able to see just what was tattooed into your perfect skin.
Maybe it was temporary. But no, the subtle reddish halo encircling it and the inflammation most definitely indicated healing, and that it was, in fact, permanent.
Spencer stood so quickly that his mug nearly toppled over, coffee sloshing dangerously close to the edge. He closed the distance between you in seconds, his hand covering the tattooed area as if he could soak up the ink into his own hand, not that he’d necessarily want to.
He was startled by the reaction he had to it. The swirling warmth in his chest, the burning of his ears, the slight tightening of his pants.
“Christ,” he hissed, close enough for the word to brush against your ear. He stood at your side, affecting an interest in the printed words on the shelves as his palm stayed glued to your hip. “When did you get that?”
“Get what?” you asked, your focus elsewhere as you made another attempt at the book.
He intercepted, plucking it from the shelf and pressing it into your hands, his fingers discreetly pulling your shirt down just a fraction in the process.
You were surely going to send him into cardiac arrest.
Spencer casted a quick look over his shoulder, thanking the gods that the team was engrossed in a lively discussion about Morgan’s dating habits. “The sizable S.R on your hip.”
“Oh, that…,” you mumbled, peering down as though it were a mere afterthought, oblivious to the way his heart leapt out of his chest just to think about it. “I was kind of drunk, and—hey, Penelope, do you remember—,”
Spencer quickly covered your mouth with his hand, your words turning into a muted hum against his palm as he steered you into the break room.
“Do you realize the statistical improbability of keeping our relationship a secret if you announce my initials are on you to the whole team?”
You laugh, easing his hand away from your mouth, but not releasing it entirely, letting your entwined hands dangle at your sides.
"What? It's not like it says property of Dr. Reid."
"It might as well."
"That can be my next one." He didn’t hate the thought of that.
You were teasing him now and he could feel the smile creeping into his face. However, it quickly waned as he saw the unease on yours. Your voice was much quieter as you spoke, “are you mad?”
I could never be mad at you.
"No, I-well, I was just surprised is all," he clarified, his fingers instinctively adjusting his glasses before releasing they weren’t there and moving to his nose instead. He squeezed your hand. “I like it.”
"You like it?"
"I like it."
He wasn't lying. He liked it. A lot. Once the initial shock wore off he realized just how much he liked it. Did he mention he liked it?
His fingers moved from his nose, slipping under the hem of your shirt to trace the outline of the tattoo, already having it etched in memory. You winced.
"Does it hurt?"
"Just sore. Nothing I can't handle," you said, your shoulders rising in a dismissive shrug.
Your nose wrinkled slightly, and your gaze met his from beneath your lashes.
"Atta girl."
You licked your lips, pulling your bottom lip through your teeth as you shoved his shoulder just enough to make him clamp down harder on your hip.
"I can give you a better look at it, later tonight?"
He cleared his throat, eyes flickering to the door as his hand traveled from yours to your neck, squeezing slightly as a warning.
"Looking forward to it."
He gave your hip a small pat before walking back out the door. He had a tattoo appointment to make.
1K notes · View notes
randombush3 · 7 days ago
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recuérdame
alexia putellas x reader
summary: you wake up but you're not sure where
words: 1185 (treat this like a prologue ok x)
notes: i hope this actually takes off as a new series so i'm posting it now while i think about what comes next xx
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There’s something groggy about the darkness in your mind. It’s not an eyes-closed kind of black; not a piece of white paper doused in ink. 
It’s thick like smog. Grainy. 
And all of a sudden, you are awake. 
There’s an incessant pounding in your mind that is sharp and rhythmic. The lights are too harsh, too much. The bed is hard under your heavy bones. 
You blink and even that small movement is strange, harder than it should be. 
The ceiling is peppered with small, grey dots. It’s terribly ugly, but your eyes cling to it as you try to shake off the haze. 
Slowly, the rest of the room comes into focus: sterile whites, beeping machines, tubes splaying out across what must be your body but feels like deadweight. The steady noise draws your attention after a moment, the sound seeming to echo inside your head. You turn, neck stiff and crunching, to catch a glimpse of a monitor, green lines spiking across its screen. 
The tubes aren’t just on top of you. They must be inside you. 
Something twists in your stomach. 
“You’re… awake.” 
No one really knows what to say to Alexia when she receives the call. 
Training is running over, the sun is beginning to set, and the girls are getting restless. The drill is nothing special, and the boredom it brings infects their captain, too, despite her valiant attempts at maturity. 
Alexia wants to get home, tonight of all nights. 
Five days ago, a work trip left her alone with a daughter that isn’t quite hers. There has been an other-mother shaped hole in the family ever since. Madrid continues to be evil. Her Catalan pride is vindicated once more. 
So when Pere blows his whistle, she all but sprints into the changing room (much to her coach’s dismay, since training ended because he assumed no one could run at that speed anymore), image of picture-perfect leadership be damned. 
Her shower is fast, clothes are shoved on even faster, and she is just about to walk through the automatic exit doors when her phone rings. 
A location update, she assumes. Or a complaint from an impatient tweenager (god, they seem to be fountains of those). 
It’s to her horror that she is incorrect. 
The nurse on the other line is eerily calm, but does not waste time beating around the bush. Her instructions are clear: come to the hospital now. 
“I think my fiancée has just died,” Alexia tells no one in particular. 
The team isn't sure whether or not she is joking. 
That was a week ago, and now she is here, in the hospital. Her bum is accustomed to the hard plastic chairs, her schedule skewed until the doctors finally wake you up from a medically induced coma. Amaia, her stepdaughter, is at her friend’s house, the boy’s mother insisting she care for her while Alexia makes a rather practical visit to the hospital. 
Alexia’s hands shake as she brings them to her face, rubbing her temples. The past week has been wrapped around her like a noose, suffocating and taut. She’s holding herself together but she is doing an uncharacteristically catastrophic job at it. Her mind is still tangled up in the phone call she’d received – and the many others she’d had to make after the nurse had hung up. Although there has been a swarm of activity (flights landing, taxis to the hospital, meals arriving at her front door with well-meaning notes attached), life has felt still. Stagnant. 
She is stuck in something she doesn’t know how to deal with. 
She closes her eyes for a second and inhales with as much steadiness as she can muster, letting the beeping of your monitor anchor her back to the present. It’s a strange sound to feel grateful for, each pulse a reminder that you are still here. With her. 
They have been gradually reducing the sedatives administered to you, making the answer to her question always ‘she will wake up when she wakes up’. The twitches in your finger have grown old now, and she is becoming very impatient. 
“If you wanted a holiday, we could’ve taken time off,” she tells you with a forced chuckle. “You didn’t need to get yourself into a…” 
You shift slightly in the bed. Alexia’s eyes snap open, her body surging upwards in hope. 
“Come on…” she whispers, her voice barely audible. “Please…”
Your eyelids flutter, hesitant, like they’re testing the weight of the world behind them. She hopes: at least it’s something. 
And it could be more, surely? It should be any minute now, according to the doctors. The wait will be over and she can get you back.
It’s been fifteen days since Alexia saw the eyes she fell in love with. 
Words fall out of her mouth but she barely registers them, staring at you listlessly, unprepared for this moment. She had thought about it, of course, imagining how to go about updating you on what you’ve missed: how Amaia’s match yesterday ended in a draw; how her own was a sizable but unsatisfying win. 
She wants to say things she should say more. Reminders, confessions. She wants to let out the anger that you did this to her; that you left, that you didn’t come back. And how she wants to hold you, kiss you, love you even more.
But the first thing Alexia notices behind bleary eyes is terror. Confusion. And, what she had told herself would not happen: a lack of recognition. 
I’m in a hospital, you think, but I don’t know who is here with me. 
The moment stretches on, thin and frail, and Alexia feels the tautness in her stomach like a rope holding dead weight over a cliff. Her heart – bruised, aching, impatient – is pierced by the way you look at her with poorly-masked indifference. 
“Hi,” she tries, waiting for you to come back fully, wanting to skip the part where it hurts so much. Her hand reaches out, hovering above your own, fingers aching to touch you, but she holds back. “Do you know where we are?” 
She should really call the nurse in, but she can’t quite bring herself to disrupt this. 
Your eyes flicker, glancing at the tubes and machines. The mattress hasn’t gotten any softer, nor your body any lighter. “Hospital,” you whisper, throat scratchy and hoarse. The word appears in your mind as almost foreign, coming from somewhere deeper than the blankness of the surface. Then your gaze drifts back to her, the hopeful woman at your bedside, brows furrowing as you struggle to place her into a life you can’t quite recall. Not that you’ve tried; you’ve got a screaming headache. 
The question on your lips twists Alexia’s insides. She anticipates it, with an instinctiveness that almost frustrates you. “I’m Alexia,” she says. She doesn’t sound sure. 
You stare through her and the distance clutches at her neck. Her nightmare lands, cold and final. 
“I’m… sorry. I don’t,” and like how she knows the question, she is well aware of the end of that sentence. 
495 notes · View notes
luffington · 3 months ago
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nurse's office ♡
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➤ summary: Even doctors need check-ups, so you indulge your boyfriend and put on a sexy nurse costume. (18+)
➤ pairing: trafalgar law x afab!reader
➤ word count: 3.1k
➤ warnings: switch!law, modern AU, nurse-patient roleplay, praise kink, established relationship, fluff, silly porn dialogue, fem reader
➤ notes: i LOVE law with all my heart but i have such a hard time writing him.... hopefully this turned out okay and it's accurate to his character :')
NSFW under the break! minors dni thank uuu
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When you returned to your apartment after work, the lights were on and a familiar black trench coat hung in the entrance, but the coat’s owner was nowhere in sight. You called his name as you slipped off your shoes and received no response. 
A muffled noise coming from your shared bedroom caught your attention.
Curious, you crept through the living room and creaked open the door just enough to slip inside. Law sat at his desk in the dark with his back turned away from you. Completely focused on his dimmed laptop screen with headphones plugged in and unaware of your presence. A smile spread across your face when you noticed what he was watching.
A busty brunette woman in an incredibly cliché nurse outfit batted her fake eyelashes at the camera as she deep-throated her patient’s dick. Your boyfriend’s inked hand rose up and down his own cock, eyes half-lidded and biting his lip to attempt to stifle his throaty groans. When you were literally right behind him, you leaned over his shoulder to read the video title out loud. “‘The Best Prescription In Town Is A Dose Of This Naughty Nurse’s Pussy’?”
Law’s entire body went cold.
“I-It’s not what it looks like!” He panicked, whipping his head towards you and accidentally ripping his headphones cord out of the jack. Exaggerated and unrealistic slurping sounds, accompanied by the male actor’s moans, started playing at full volume. Law forgot how his typically agile fingers worked as he rushed to pause the video. He was ready to diagnose himself with a heart attack.
Your eyes flickered to the bottle of lube and box of tissues beside his laptop. “I think it’s exactly what it looks like.”
“No, I…” Embarrassment flooded his veins and he scrambled for a logical explanation. You were clearly amused instead of upset, but that didn’t deter him. Steeling his nerves, your boyfriend cleared his throat and prayed his voice didn’t shake. “I wanted to see how accurate this was, but it’s a disgusting mockery of nurses. This is completely inappropriate in a real hospital.”
“Well, duh,” you chuckled and rolled your eyes. You leaned closer to study the other tabs open in his incognito mode browser. One search for ‘hot nurse’ and another for ‘nurse fucks patient’. A second video titled ‘Nursing Student Gives Penis Exam’. A spark ignited in you. “Law, is this what you’re into?”
He stayed silent and let his head fall down in shame – which only directed your gaze to his quickly softening dick – as he mumbled a timid apology.
“Oh, baby, you have nothing to apologize for.” You wrapped your arms around his shoulders and nuzzled against his neck. “Please don’t be embarrassed, I genuinely wanna know what turns you on. I won’t judge, I promise.”
“You’re prettier than everyone in these videos,” was his only response. He was such a sweetheart without even trying. 
Even though you’d been together for quite a while, Law still had a hard time discussing his kinks. The man had a neurotic need to protect his innermost thoughts and thick iron walls guarding every part of his mind. It took a lot of time and patience, but you’d managed to break down most of his barriers. You wanted him to trust you and feel comfortable around you; having fun in the bedroom was just a bonus. 
Pressing your lips to his ear, you teasingly whispered, “I can buy a nurse costume, you know.”
“Huh? Are you serious?!” Wide gray eyes met yours, a flurry of emotions overtaking his stressed-out expression.
“Of course! I’ll look for a cute one right now.” You pulled out your phone, pausing before opening your browser to bat your eyelashes and say, “Only if you want me to.”
“I – I…” Law fumbled for words, unable to keep up with the thoughts racing through his brain. After a moment of hesitation, he licked his dry lips and hastily leaned over to look at your screen. “Let me see the options.”
The costume was set to arrive in 3-4 business days, which gave you and Law plenty of time to talk and plan. Both of you discussed what you wanted out of the scenario and what you each felt comfortable doing. You promised Law you’d do actual research by watching nurse pornos in order to imitate them, and he swore to never correct you mid-scene with his accurate medical knowledge. 
His steely eyes lit up when he spoke and made your heart flutter with love. As an accomplished surgeon, he took care of countless patients every day – of course he wanted someone to do the same for him. Nothing was sexier than seeing Law turn to putty in your hands, happily melting into your protection.
The fateful night arrived with a flimsy package at your front door.
Law sat on the couch in the ‘waiting room’ (also known as the living room), anxiously rubbing the letters tattooed on his knuckles and bouncing his legs. His throat was parched, his heart was racing, and his dick was already getting hard.
His jaw dropped when you opened the bedroom door – no, your office. The tight white dress hugged your body perfectly, accentuating all of your best features. Firetruck red stripes lined the sleeves and collar, and a prominent zipper ran all the way down the front. Your boobs were spilling out of the low-cut top and the skirt barely covered your upper thighs. A dainty white hat sat atop your head, sporting a white cross in a red circle that matched the one on your breast pocket. The look was complete with thigh-high white stockings, lacy crimson lingerie, Law’s real stethoscope around your neck, and a notebook and pen in your hand.
“Trafalgar Law?” You called out coquettishly.
His excited cock tried to answer for him, but he took a deep breath and nodded. “T-That’s me.”
With an overly sweet grin, you beckoned him into the room. “It’s time for your appointment. Follow me.” 
Previously arranged pillows on the bed mimicked the half-upright position of a medical chair. Law couldn’t look away from you as he shuffled towards his ‘exam table’, sitting down so his legs hung off the edge. You placed a gentle hand under his scruffy chin, his gaze flickering between your face and your tits. 
“Now, what seems to be the problem?”
Law didn’t have the confidence (nor the acting ability) to answer ‘my dick’ the way a pornstar would. So he settled for, “I’m not sure, miss. Maybe… give me a physical?”
“Ooh, a full body inspection,” you giggled, putting on a pair of hospital-grade latex gloves. “Please remove your shirt and lie on your back.”
He raised his eyebrows. “Only my shirt?”
Biting back a laugh, you responded, “Let’s take it one step at a time, okay?” 
Your boyfriend nodded obediently, neatly folding his canary yellow t-shirt beside him on the bed. It didn’t matter how often you saw his heavily tattooed chest – you were in awe of it every time. You opened your notebook, humming in mock contemplation and scribbling nonsense on a blank page in an imitation of Law’s terrible doctor handwriting. He tried to peek at what you were doing, but you quickly shut the cover. 
“Just relax, I’ll take care of you,” you cooed with a gentle smile and ruffled his hair.
He apologized curtly and settled back into a comfortable reclined position. Running your fingers along his jawline, you trailed your touch down the column of his throat and across his collarbones. Gently massaging his shoulders and feeling the tense muscles loosen as he let out a content sigh. You were unable to resist tracing the massive inked heart on his torso as you’d done so many times, lightly trailing your pointer finger across its flames and swirls and sending pleasant tingles throughout his body.
Repeating the action on his matching bicep tattoos, you cheekily stated, “Such strong muscles. Your girlfriend is a lucky woman.”
He chuckled, finally beginning to relax into his role. “You have no idea.”
“Let me check your heartbeat.” Not even bothering to put the stethoscope in your ears, you ran the cold chestpiece against Law’s nipples, forcing a pretty hiss from his lips. Rubbing circles atop them until both were stiff peaks, then teasingly rolling them between your fingertips until he was flushed and panting. 
Satisfied with his worked-up state, you pulled away to write more nonsense in the notebook. Your boyfriend furrowed his eyebrows. “Seriously, what the hell are you writing?”
“Please let me do my job, Mr. Trafalgar.” You firmly smacked the end of your pen against one of his nipples. The sudden display of authority made his cock twitch. 
You caressed his defined abdomen muscles, moving lower down his gorgeous body and brushed over his dark happy trail. 
“Your chest seems fine, which means…” You trailed off and tugged at the waistband of his sweatpants. Law’s adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed in anticipation, lifting his hips to help you slide down his sweats and boxers underneath. 
His rock-hard dick sprung free gratefully, angry red and twitching in excitement. You’d never seen him get this worked up so quickly – it made your cunt ache.
“Well, this is clearly the issue! Poor thing, you must feel so lightheaded from all the blood flowing down here.” You cooed, wiping his dark bangs away from his eyes in mock comfort. “I have to relieve this pressure or else the swelling won’t go down.”
“H-How will you–“ Law’s cheeky question was cut off by a groan when you curled your fingers around the thick base of his cock. Just one stroke pushed out several beads of pearly precum from his pretty tip. The synthetic softness of latex gloves felt strange against such a sensitive part of him, but it made the scenario extra immersive. 
“I need to milk you dry. Is that okay with you, Mr. Trafalgar?” 
Law nodded eagerly, too overstimulated to consent with words. He’d heard that phrase so many times in his videos. Your chest swelled with pride as you admired his submissive state. It wasn’t easy for your boyfriend to relinquish control to you during sex – no matter how much he wanted to – but he looked like he would die for you at that moment. 
You swung your leg over his body to straddle his upper thighs, cunt inches away from where he needed it. The movement caused your skirt to ride up and reveal a peek of your lacy panties. Law gulped when he noticed your soft thighs bulging around the elastic band of your stockings. 
Using both hands, you began to jerk him off with slow and deliberate movements. Dragging your palms from the base to the head with the perfect amount of pressure, making sure to trace the sensitive vein on the underside. A steady stream of translucent fluid dribbled out, the length pulsing and begging for more in your grasp. You paused to spit on his tip for added lubrication and rubbed it into his heated skin. 
Law was glad you were fixated on his cock rather than his face. He knew he looked pathetic. Barely three minutes had passed and he was embarrassingly close to cumming (though he was proud of himself for not bursting in his pants the moment you emerged in your costume). His abdomen muscles were wound tight and his chest rose and fell with heavy breaths. Steely gray eyes never left your body, your hands, almost too afraid to blink. 
When you fondled his heavy balls, his orgasm hit him like a truck. Law threw his head against the pillow and cried out, painting white streaks across your baby blue gloves. You grinned watching your boyfriend heaving for air, finally meeting his gaze when you swiped your tongue across a thick glob of cum on your thumb. He watched dazedly as you wiped the rest of his spend off on your skirt, then tossed your dirty gloves on the floor. 
“Perfect! The swelling went down,” you grinned slyly and added, “but it might come back.”
“Oh, it’s definitely coming back.” 
Law grabbed your waist and quickly flipped your positions, pinning you underneath him by sitting on your hips. Holding your wrists above your head in one hand and using the other to cup your jaw, he pressed his lips against yours in a wet and messy kiss. You whined as he shoved his tongue down your throat, eagerly devouring your mouth. 
“M-Mr. Trafalgar, this is very unprofessional…” Weakly faking a struggle against his grasp, whining when it only got tighter.
“I gotta self-medicate now, miss, or I’ll never get better.” Your boyfriend kissed his way down your sternum, tugging down the zipper of your costume just enough to reveal your chest. He groaned at the sight of your vivid red bra. “Fuck, what a uniform.”
While mouthing at the swell of your breasts, your boyfriend stroked himself to full hardness – which didn’t take long. Desire was overtaking his mind and turning his vision hazy. He might actually have a medical issue if he didn’t fuck you immediately. 
Law slipped his hand between your legs and snickered at the wetness soaked through your panties. Pushing the fabric to the side, he unceremoniously thrust his E and A fingers in your cunt. Those skilled digits pushed and prodded inside you, a grin spreading across his face when he heard the sinful squelch of your drenched walls. 
“Naughty nurse,” he chuckled teasingly, gray eyes burning holes into your own when he sucked his sticky fingers into his mouth, moaning at your taste.
“I’m not naughty,” you pouted. “My job is to make patients feel better, and this is helping, right?”
“Shit, yeah, you just might cure me.” 
Law tapped your inner thighs and you spread them willingly, unsurprised when he chose to shove your panties to the side and keep the costume intact. He pressed his swollen mushroom tip against your leaking entrance. With freed wrists, you gripped the bedsheets, heart racing and pussy throbbing. 
Rather than fulfilling both of your desires, your boyfriend paused in thought. “Hold on, what did you diagnose me with?”
You shrugged and defaulted to something you heard in a porno. “Big dick disorder?”
Law fought against every well-educated neuron in his brain begging to correct you. He took a deep breath and let out an exaggerated exhale, but smirked proudly. “I’ll accept it.”
His cock slammed into you and knocked all the air from your lungs. Bottoming out with a groan, he paused to lean back and admire your outfit, feeling his cock get impossibly harder inside your cunt. Fucking a fantasy nurse was a deep-rooted desire of his, and he was amazed and incredibly grateful that he was able to act it out with you. 
“Is this the right way to treat my illness?” Smugly punctuating his words with a sharp thrust, the head of his cock kissing the tip of your womb. You’d never seen him so talkative in bed.
“M-move faster… it’ll be more effective.”
“Okay. I trust you, miss nurse.” Law whispered seductively in your ear. His beard tickled your skin when he nipped at a soft spot of your neck. 
Setting a brutal pace, he pistoned his cock in and out, balls slapping against your skin with every thrust. Messy wet sounds filled the room – your cunt gushing and your tongues desperately sliding against each other. Law typically limited his vocal expressions of pleasure to grunts and soft groans, but something in him had clearly snapped. He had no issue throwing his head back and moaning unashamedly, interweaving spat curse words and praises of your body. 
He sucked on your tongue while switching his hip movements to a slow grind, his dick fully sheathed and rubbing against every delicate inch of your cunt. 
“T-Traf… oh, fuck, Law.” Your eyes rolled back into your head as you tangled your fingers in his messy black hair and held onto it for dear life. He swallowed the string of saliva connecting your lips with a playful grin.
Shifting your position into a mating press, you locked your stocking-clad knees around his shoulders. His rough pace resumed, cock reaching impossibly deeper inside you, bullying your cervix with every thrust. Your body rocked back and forth on the shaking mattress. Every movement caused your hat to press against the pillow and reminded you of your costume – no, your role.
“Good girl,” Law panted, pupils blown wide with pleasure. “Taking care of me so well with your pretty pussy.”
You whined needily, feeling your core tighten. “I’m s-so close, baby,” 
A sharp slap came down on your tit. Law’s eyes narrowed. “Be professional.” 
Despite his strict command, he rewarded you by pressing and flicking his thumb against your neglected clit. You bucked your hips into his touch desperately, grinding the sensitive nub on his calloused finger.
You threw your head backwards, arched off the bed and came with a cry of, “Mr. Trafalgar!” Arms wrapped around his back, legs pulling him in even tighter as your pleasure hit you like a tidal wave, flooding over you in a bright white light. 
“Naughty fucking nurse.” Your boyfriend growled with a pleased smirk. Hot cum coated your walls as Law let out a deep moan, your cunt eagerly milking every last drop. Your boyfriend kissed you deeply until the aftershocks of both of your orgasms had subsided.
He collapsed on top of you, both of your chests heaving against each other as you struggled to catch your breath. Releasing your tight grip on his shoulders, you lovingly rubbed the giant skull tattoo on his upper back. 
“Thank you, miss. I’m cured.” Law mumbled happily, kissing your cheek. 
You frowned. “You are? After one round?”
“Oh.” That certainly wouldn’t be a satisfying ending to his appointment. “Um… No, I’m still very, very sick.” He followed it up with a fake cough. Not exactly a symptom of having a big dick, but whatever. 
Deciding to give your overwhelmed boyfriend a break, you took control of the situation again.
“I’m not sure how much medical knowledge you have, Mr. Trafalgar, but I have an ache in my chest.” You reached between your bodies to innocently spread your unzipped dress even more, pushing out your tits. “Mind checking it out for me?”
Law pushed up the cups of your bra without a second thought, groping your soft flesh with large palms. “I’ll see what I can do.”
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748 notes · View notes
fanaticsnail · 7 months ago
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You're The Cure
Masterlist Here, Pollen Masterlist here
Word Count: 4,300+
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Synopsis: Law bought you a pretty flower from a port, wanting to impress you with it, and perhaps use it as a courting gift should you want him. As the Polar Tang's Herbalist, you know there is more to this flower than meets the eye. Trafalgar Law got more than what he bargained for with this little gift.
Themes: Pollen!Law x afab!reader, dubcon, desperate Law, Smut, mdni, NSFW, 18+ content, solo Law, edging, premature ejaculation, creampie, fluff
Notes: This little fic was brought to you by an incredibly recent ask that took control of my laptop. @sweetly-sicken, thank you for your ask - I hope you enjoy. @sordidmusings, @feral-artistry come get your man. He needs help (and thank you both for your help and your ears today while I wrote it).
Tag List: @sordidmusings @since-im-already-here @writingmysanity @feral-artistry @gingernut1314 @vespidphoenix @carrotsunshine @i-am-vita @mfreedomstuff @sexc-snail
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Hunched over the desk in the greenhouse aboard the Polar Tang, Trafalgar D Water-Law scrunched his eyes tightly shut and sucked his bottom lip into his mouth. His body was alight with a foreign passion he had never seen make it's equal. His clothes scratched and ignited his skin, the material of his heavy jacket weighing down his torso under the thick shroud of gray. 
Peeling his hat from his body and tearing at the iron zipper of his coat, his body began moving on instinct alone. His mind was screaming at him for his appalling behavior as his hands scorched hot trails along the glistening skin on his stomach. Sweat poured from his temples, his lips parting and huffing as his hands moved at a will of their own below the waistband of his pants. 
As his right hand gripped his achingly hard cock, he viciously began pistonning it within his fist, writhing and thrusting within it to match his brutal pace. His left hand snaked its way up his chest, pinching and circling the peaked bud of his right nipple as he mewled in desperation. He felt the approach of an impending orgasm stampede him towards release, the relief of the finish line almost within sight as he continued abusing his shiny knob and pummeling his shaft. 
Just as he felt his body begin to tip its way over the edge, it fell away just as hastily. Panic wrote itself over his face: his eyes wide, his mouth agape with a thin trail saliva trickling down his chin in stringy strands. 
“No, no, no, no,” he begged, pleading at his body to respond to the stimuli, picking up the pace and attempted to seek out his impending eruption for the second time, “No-... f-fuck-... Please.” 
Choking his shaft, a momentary clarity sifted in his mind as his eyes snapped to the single, innocent, pale flower poking out of an unsuspecting, ceramic pot. The top of the flowers danced within the aura of the puffs of breath he was panting, the yellow hue of pollen tinting the air with a tang on his tongue and a burn in his nose. 
“It’s that f-fucking flower, isn't i-it?” he chastised himself in a harsh whisper, laying his right hand flat over the desk as he thrust into his vice-like grip, “F-Fuck, it's the f-flower. Fuck.”
The sweetness of his release was once again in sight as he scrunched his eyes tightly shut. He released his nipple from his fingers, gripping the steel rim of the desk as he continued to writhe into his fist. 
“Oh shit, oh shit, oh sh-shit,” he choked on his words, desperately chasing an end that only rewarded him by sprinting away from within his reaching grasp. Again, the panic seared through his mind as he doubled down on his efforts, “No, no, no, no-o!” 
Without any further thoughts about his elusive orgasm, he immediately elevated his left hand and splayed out his fingers. He growled out a desperate roar, his ink-tainted digits shaking as he attempted to activate his devil-fruit ability to expel the pollen like a foul demon from claiming his soul. 
“R-Room- Ah fuck!” he exclaimed, his body immediately flopping over the desk as his body doubled its efforts against his iron-will. The intensity of the spouted dust increased it's crippling hold over his body, burrowing down deeper into every aspect of his body. 
“Sh-Sh-... Sh-...” he arched his back, his brows knit in a tight furrowed concentration. Glancing at the flower once more, a pool of saliva began spilling over his bottom lip as sweat poured from his temple, “Sh-Shambles- AH NO!” 
His cock danced with unresolved release, twitching within his fist as the intensity of his desire amplified. The devil-fruit abilities were doused by the fiery spray of the pollen in his respiratory system and blood stream. His body was not responding to his commands to expel it from himself by the supernatural means, nor the natural. 
“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he chanted, falling back into the chair behind him and gyrating his hips rhythmically upwards to continue to match the pace of his pistoning fist. 
As a final ditch effort to release himself from not only this spell, but to force himself to cum into his fist, he attempted to activate his Haki. Scrunching his eyes shut tightly before opening them once activated, the sparks of energy he intended on seeking fogged his mind with too frantic a stimuli. 
Suddenly, he was aware of every white-hot wave of lust coursing through his veins. Everything ignited into a bright wave of light, his eyes not able to adjust to the flashes of the augmented hue. He shook his head, immediately shaking off the use of Haki from his widening eyes. 
“H-Help,” he choked out a whimpered whisper, “I n-need help.” He mewled out a keening sob, desperately chasing his high within his right palm. He thrust his left hand into his hair, balling the sweat-damp strands into his fist and cried out for his release. 
The bob in his thigh, the lightning bliss within reach again within the coiling band in his abdomen, everything was right there. Right there, until it wasn't. 
“C’mon, Law!” He roared at himself, chasing his high. He focussed his ministrations on his frenulum, pinching and flicking his hand over the tight band of flesh, “You can do this. Gotta keep strong for the team. C-Can’t lettem’ know. You're better than th-this.” 
He whined as his left hand once again chased the channels of his inked art up his chest, swirling his nipples beneath his calloused fingertips. 
“F-fuck, fuck, fuck!” he cried in desperation, his cock refusing to spill over even the smallest amount of precum over the slit, no relief in his release being welcomed into his hand, “Why can't I do this? I-I need-... Shit-... I need-... Mmmfph-... I need help.”
-
“Anyone seen our captain?” You asked the crew gathered in the communal dining space. Downturned lips, shrugs and soft shakes of the heads from your crewmates unified in their puzzlement. 
“Why? What's going on?” Bepo asked, his pale fur reflecting the buzzing illumines of the artificial light. 
“Oh, he said he had something for me, is all,” you smiled at Bepo, clapping your hand over his shoulder with a polite smile, “Something about a flower he picked up from that strange port earlier today. Wanted me to have a look, see if I could extract anything of it.”
Bepo let out a small squeak of joy, stifling further joy from fleeing from his lips by clapping his paw over his muzzle. He sought out the corners of your face, gauging your emotions responding to a gift from the captain. You shook your head at the large, fuzzy bear with a small smirk. 
“That kinda makes sense,” Penguin smirked up at you, shoveling his food into his lips and chomping down on the crunchy texture, “Seeing as though you're the herbal remedy spooky witch, and all. He's likely in your office, maybe even the greenhouse.”
“Herbalist, Pen,” you corrected him with a soft smirk and the shake of your head, “I didn't go to study permaculture, horticulture, botanical remedies alongside my bloody medical degree for you to refer to me as ‘herbal remedy spooky witch'.” 
Cackles erupted from the table around you, your own chuckle joining with the crew as you rose to your feet. Discarding the contents from your tray, you then placed the empty tray atop the metal shelf for the cleaning crew to easily manage. 
“Alright, family,” you called to your crewmen with a smile, “I'm off to take a look at that flower. I'll see you all for dinner later.”
“Bye, spooky witch,” Penguin chuckled at you, “Don't forget your broom on the way out.”
“Penguin!” Bepo scolded your hat-wearing crewman, prompting you to laugh in response. Shaking your head, you approached Penguin from behind, leaning down to lean into his ear with utter seriousness. 
“Be sure not to test this witch’s patience,” you smirked, purring into his ear in a sultry whisper. Penguin's blood ran cold, feeling the warm heat cascading from your body as your cool breath met with the shell of his ear, “Or I may curse you with something as sinister as impotence.” 
You laughed to yourself, turning and exiting the dining room to make your way towards your office. Noticing a dim light beneath the door, you cocked your head to the side as you narrowed your eyes. 
A small wave of tinted dust swirled beneath the door, your eyes widening at the hue of the pollen particles. You immediately reached into your boiler suit, seeking out your personal mushi-shell and raising it to your lips. 
“Bepo, you there?” You called to your fuzz-covered crewmate, “Important, honey. You there?” your snail jumped, Bepo’s voice expelling from the box with a hasty confirmation of, “I'm here, what's going on?”
“I need you to open the vents in the greenhouse and pump the room with clean air,” you ordered him, reaching for the door of your office and knocking on the cloudy glass of the window. 
Rough panting, cursing and growling echoed from a masculine voice from within the room, your heartbeat increasing the longer you were standing outside the door. You had read about this pollen, recognised the hue immediately beneath the crack in the door, and you knew almost exactly what sight was going to meet with your eyes as soon as you turned the door handle. 
“Bepo, did you flush the room?” You hastily hissed into the shell, a curt, “yes!” was confirmed in response. 
“Good job, sweety,” you praised him, before knitting your brows up in concern with a very cautious question, “Bepo?”
“Yes, Herbalist?” Bepo asked into the shell, “Is there anything else I can do for you? You sound kinda panicked.”
“I just-... I don't know how to put it plainer than this at the moment…” You trailed off, unsure of how to pose this question without further questions being asked of yourself, “...You're the captain's closest confidant, Bepo. Do you know if he's taken a lover aboard the ship? Anyone he fancies that might reciprocate his-... Uhh-... Affections?” 
A lull in the crackle prompted your heart to skip a few beats, patiently waiting for Bepo to answer your question. You were likely certain there were a few, including yourself, that took a shine to the broody and serious captain that manned the Heart-Pirates. You were aware of the cure for this disease he'd likely inflicted on himself, truly desiring to give him the treatment he'd actually consent to adhere to. 
This was pollen from the pale-lust plant, a plant that only the smallest amount of dust could amplify and magnify the sexual experience of the person who inhales it. It was usually manufactured into perfumes and body oils for those who wanted to ‘spice up’ their love lives. And your Captain had likely doused himself in it. 
“I'm not sure if it's my place to say, but from your tone of panic…” the shell muttered in Bepo’s calming cadence after several moments of silence, “...H-He hasn't ever thought about buying anyone aside you a gift at port before. A-And he really thought you'd like that flower he brought back for you.”
“Okay, Bepo,” you managed to choke out a small squeaked order, “I need you to block off all access to the botanical bay for the rest of the day. Captain's orders, okay? You're in charge.”
“Is everything okay? Do you need help-?” He questioned over the shell, you halting his voice by speaking over him. 
“-The captain is likely experiencing some systemic shock at the moment,” you confessed, adjusting your uniform at your neck in an attempt to stifle your blush, “Judging from the hue of the dust, it's likely the plant he brought back had an effect that I doubt he would've prepared himself for.” You bit your lip, truly concerned for Law's wellbeing within your office, “I need you to take charge until either I, or Captain Law, tell you otherwise. Can you do that for me, sweetheart?”
“Aye, sir,” Bepo’s practiced reply barked into the speaker, you could almost visualize the salute on the other side of the transponder. 
“Good boy,” you praised him, your hand moving down to the door handle and beginning to turn it, “I'm going to be out of contact for a while. I might still make it to dinner, but if I can't - please save me and the captain a plate!”
“Aye, sir!” he uttered again into the speaker, with a final, “Good luck with the captain!” Clicking aside the portable transponder, you thrust it into your pocket and shook aside your nerves. 
Hastily, you flung wide the door, turning immediately upon entering and facing the door as you clicked it locked behind you. As soon as you entered the space, the sounds of rough slapping of hands meeting skin, huffs of exasperated panting, groans and pleads falling from your captain's panicked lips alongside his panting mewls of pleasure flung themselves loudly and carelessly into the air. 
“Captain,” you whispered, your hands holding firm to the cloudy glass of your office door, “I know you're likely out of your own mind right now, but I'm going to tell you this anyway-.”
“-Fuck, what's happening to me? T-Tell me, please. Know I'm h-here. My h-head is here, I-I just-... ngmmh-...” he whined for you, the taste of your name tainting his tongue with desire and lust, “...don't judge me, please. I don't want this to change the image of myself in your head.”
Anticipation and a shameful wave of desire spread itself through your chest and ignited a throbbing need for your captain in your core. You knew this wouldn't be happening without this douse of pollen coursing through his veins, the raw need to chase his ecstacy within his fist behind you. 
“All th-this because I wanted t’get you a-... f-fucking gift t’ court you-...” Law confessed with a whispered hiss, his eyes raking over your body with lust and need, “...M’guessing this's from that f-fucking flower I got for you. Is-s there a cure?” 
A gasp flew from your lips at his confession, prompting you to almost glance over your shoulder at him. Deciding to give your captain a further shroud of decency, you halted your movement and chose your next words carefully. 
“There's no cure I can manufacture here, Sir,” you whisper over your shoulder, “But there is one that I know of-.”
“-F-Fuck, please get it. Whatever it is. Get the fucking cure before I lose the final bit of control I h-have,” he roared your name, barking his orders as the skid of the iron legs of the chair backwards, raking against the steel floor. You jumped in shock, the shifting of material scattering prompted you to become more aware of his feral urges further.  
Just as you began to turn your body to face your captain, two inked hands slammed against your own on the cloudy glass, prying them apart with a vice-like grip. Fingers laced between yours, his face fell in the crook of your shoulder as he deeply inhaled the scent of your perfume. He groaned at the feeling of his bare cock grinding in between the divet in your ass above your boiler suit, a shocked gasp fell from your lips in response. 
“Fuck you smell good,” he moaned, his lips latching on your pulse as his tongue swirled against you, “Taste even fucking better.” You whined as his teeth sunk into your neck, his rhythmic grinding not easing against your clothed flesh. 
His mind was hazy, his body was reacting to every subtle change in your voice and wavering breaths. As soon as you entered the room, it took all of his strength and will to not enter a state of frenzy and fuck into you with the deep ferocity of a wild beast. He owed you better than that. He wanted you to want him too, and if that meant holding onto his sanity by tooth and nail: so be it. 
“Captain-,” you gasped as his right hand left yours to paw at the front zipper of your jumpsuit. 
“-Law,” he growled his correction at you, “It’s Law, or anything other than my title or ‘sir’. Y-You-... fuck, sweetheart-... I n-need you. Please let me? Let me have you? Please?”
Slotting his hand over your chest, his fingers eagerly sought your left breast beneath the cup of your uniformed lingerie. He hastily rolled the peaked nub within his thumb, index and middle fingers; a cry of pleasure emanating from your throat as you threw your head back onto his shoulder. 
“We can talk about it later,” he whispered into your ear, pinching at your nipple as he bit your earlobe, “Know that I wanted you before all this-... F-fuck-...but I need you now.”
He hastily turned you in his arms, splitting the top part of your boiler suit back and shedding it from your body as he claimed your lips beneath his. Allowing his primal desires to take the reins, he continued breaking you out of your clothes to match his own nudity: pinning you against the door with his rutting hips. 
“What do I need to do? Tell me,” he moaned into your skin, his teeth catching on your own as you reciprocated his touch, “Guide me, my north star. Show me wh-what I gotta do.”
“Law,” you moaned for him, his body immediately pulling to you like iron to a magnet. Shedding the last of your clothes over your ankles, he used his feet to kick off your shoes. Cupping your thighs, he hoisted you into the air and hooked your knees over his hips. 
“My north star,” he moaned into your skin, his lips clinging to every amount of flesh exposed to him, “You're the cure. You're the cure, aren't you? My body is telling me you are.” You moaned for him as he carried you over to your desk, lying you on the cool surface and hovering over your body. 
“Anyone can be the cure for this, Law,” you confessed to him in a whimpering whisper, “It's the joining of bodies together that ends the torment. It's not me-.”
“-It is you,” he growled at you, hovering his lips just above yours and shaking from the amount of stress he placed himself under by holding back, “It's only ever been you. I need you. Better yet…” he lines his cock up with your glistening opening, the tip rubbing against your core prompting a small sob to exit from his lips. 
“...I crave you,” his arms shook beneath his weight, the sheen of sweat pooling from his temple beneath his only hair down to his whiskered chin, “Always wanted you. Let me have you. Please say you'll let me have you.”
“You have me,” you confessed, tracing your arms over his quivering forearms down to his hips, clawing him to draw him nearer. Guiding his cock within your entrance, you angle his hips as his brow sets deep within its furrow. 
“I feel like I'm gonna explode,” he confessed in a strangled whisper, “I-I’m sorry. I'm so, so sorry.” 
“It's okay, it's okay,” you soothed him with your calming voice, your thumbs pressing circular motions against his hip bones as he slid his cock to the hilt within you, “Use me, it's okay.”
As soon as the length of Law's cock slid to the back of your walls, he entered into a bliss he never would've imagined. His vision struck white, electricity sparking the flames of his encumbering lust as he shot you deep with spurts of his sticky cum. 
Barely having time to adjust to his size, he was already crying out for you. He immediately burst with his passionate release painting your gummy walls white, praising you for your gift to him while sobbing in deep pleas of anguish. 
“Fuck, I'm c-cumming. I'm f-fucking cumming. I'm already-...” He mewled your name, huffing as he barely began moving within you, “...I'm s-sorry, I'm so sorry. I-I-... hhah, fuck-... I'm sorry-... nngh- s-so good.”
You pawed at his ass, clutching onto his checks and held him deep within you, hips flush with your own. The twitches of his muscles all rippled with the expulsion of the final waves of his cum deep within you. 
“I'm sorry,” he repeated in a whisper, alongside chanting your name like a prayer, “I'm so sorry.”
“It's okay, love, I know,” you hushed him, his body collapsing atop your own and caging you beneath him on your desk. You drew your hands up to his damp hair, fingers brushing away the strands and cradling him close. 
Finally collecting his breath, his heartbeat slowing to a more forgiving beat, he refused to tear his face away from the crease of your neck and shoulder. Embarrassment at, not only, the hasty release of his cum within you had a red hue illuminating Law’s face. He was also appalled at the fact his surprise gift for you was a toxic aphrodisiac, one he fell within the snare of with no known cure. 
“Law, look at me,” you cooed down at him, prompting him to nuzzle his pouting face deeper into your skin. You tried your best to stifle your giggle to no avail - your laughter aimed at his utter childishness. 
“Law,” you chastised him, angling the heels of your palms down to collect his cheeks, “C’mon, love. Let me see those pretty eyes of yours. Look at me.”
He huffed out a breath of exasperation, finally tearing his face away from your shoulder and bringing his pouty face up to meet yours. His eyebrows were knit in a single point in the middle of his face, his eyes wide and filled with shame. 
“I'm sorry, herbalist,” he acknowledged your formal rank, his cock still deeply held within you, “I am better than this. I-I promise I'm better than this.” You arched a single brow up with your growing smirk. 
“Herbalist?” you parroted back at him, brushing your nose against his, “What happened to my name, or ‘my North Star’? I quite liked that one,” his blush deepened, the dark dusting of vibrant red cascading over his nose, cheeks and tips of his ears. 
“Well, what happened to ‘love’, huh? Where'd that go?” he quipped back at you, gliding his reducing cock out of your walls, releasing the floodgates of his excessive load of cum expelling from your pussy. He shifted himself away, glancing down at the expulsion of his cum dripping onto your office floor. 
“Fuck,” he shuddered out in a small whispered groan, “That was a bit more than I thought there would be. Room…” he extended his left hand upwards, the spatter on the floor and still within you vanishing with a further utterance of, “...Shambles.”
A small splash of water fell onto the floor, and a small spurt against your groin. You shot Law a quizzical look, prompting a smirk to rise on his cheeks. 
“I tried washing my face in your sink as soon as I got a waft of the flower dust in my face,” he shrugged before nodding his head over to your herbalist station, “Water was still in it.”
Smiling, you leant up with your elbows behind your back, looking at the man who was priorly all consumed with feral lust. He looked accusingly at the pale flower in the small pot beside your naturopathic remedial herbs, eyes narrowed and lip snarling. 
“It's the last time I'm buying you a fucking plant,” he muttered, turning to meet his eyes with yours, “Without checking with you first, of course,” he reached down with his right hand, smiling as you accepted his hand, “I want to buy you all the plants you could ever want,” he aided you to rise to your feet, guiding your hands to lace behind his neck. 
“Thank you, love,” you smiled at him, prompting his eyes to crease with his own joy at the return of your name for him. 
“Anything for my north star,” he pressed a gentle kiss atop your head, “My guiding light,” his lips trailed down to brush against the apple of your cheek, “My pretty map spiriting me home to hold you in my arms again,” he snaked his forearms around your waist, his smiling lips collecting yours beneath his. 
Parting your lips, he angled his head to the side and pressed several waves of passionate caresses against your mouth. He sucked in a sharp breath through his nose, dipping his knees to elevate you within the air, his smile widening at the small squeak of surprise you released from your mouth to his. 
He placed you onto the floor again, chasing your retreating lips as you arched your back to press your exposed chest against his. The warmth of your skin spread from your body onto his, the heat radiating from his body engulfing your own with a warm infusion of radiant bliss. 
“You absolute sappy romantic,” you teased him as you broke from the kiss shared with him, “Didn't know you had all that in you. You must really like me.”
Scoffing back his laughter at your taunt, he squeezed your body against his. You laughed at his playful expression, leaning up to press a small kiss against his whiskered chin. 
“Alright. Fuck you, you brat,” he laughed, his eyes twinkling with a mischievous grin, “I was gonna let you top me, use me to get your own release from me, but now- ohhhh, now,” he shuddered a sinister whisper down at you, “Now you're gonna get it.”
“I'm absolutely shaking,” you taunted him further, your teeth nipping at his jaw, “Shaking, quivering and cowering.”
“Not now, you're not,” he growled at you, lifting you within his arms and hooking your knees over his hips once more, “But you fucking will be when I'm done with you.”
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