#none is directly a prompt

[chs-miraculous-prompts]

Oh, that’s valid. It’s just that I always saw Sabrina more of a writer than an athlete (which is probably self-projection). The season 5 finale also made me think that they should have been the comic maker duos (they could sit together and plan stories all day when the teacher isn’t looking), but, it’s just my opinion.

Either way, they should have just given her a hobby by now. She could be a cook, a dancer, a singer, an acrobat… she could have basically being anything.. (now, I can’t help but think an AU where she starts to work for the Dupain-Chengs and eventually inherit the bakery, since Mari wants to pursue fashion),

They also should have explained what the heck happened to her mother. Even Mylene’s mother’s absence has an explanation, and not Sabrina’s.

While I am at complaining about the supporting characters treatment in the show, may I speak about Sabrina.

Sabrina who is forced by the show to stay stagnant in abused and toxic position without revaluating her situation for 4,5 seasons,

after the protagonist attempts reaching out to her and explain she deserves a healthy friendship ("Evillustrator");

after her father loses his job on Chloe's whim ("Rogercop");

after Chloe repays her with open ingratitude and cruelty, breaking her heart, causing her akumatization ("Antibug"), and after it happens again ("Miraculer");

(And in both these cases her return to Chloe is framed as POSITIVE thing)

after she becomes a superhero ("Penalteam");

after she is akumatized because of Chloe's cruelty again but this time as purposeful manipulation by Chloe to force her akumatized self to participate in a crime of framing a person ("Adoration");

and then decided to rebel only when she is being forced to ruin 10 teens' career, but mostly because the plot demanded it ("Confrontation")... still better than nothing I guess.

Sabrina the only kid in the class whose first "akuma episode" is just an opening of another person's akuma episode (Chloe's, to be precise) and not even named after her;

(And whose second akuma episode is a Chloe-centric episode again, and whose third akuma episode is kind of Chloe-centric and kind of Zoe-centric)

Sabrina who has, like, several minutes of screen time in her superhero debut episode (that is, through, a misfortune she shares in "Penalteam" with Ivan, Nath, Marc, and also Kim in "Party Crasher");

Sabrina the only hero in the team who is replaced after one outing despite not even doing anything wrong as a hero or any explanation (in Season 4 finale Ladybug introduces Flairmidable as PERMANENT new Dog);

(And it remains completely unnoticed. Care to compare with the infamous Queen Bee retirement drama?)

Sabrina on whose personality the story cannot decide other than "she is Chloe's underling"(how willing to be a petty nuisance is she? What are her beliefs and values? Depends on the episode. What are her skills? Whatever the episode demands. Interests?...I suppose football was mentioned once).

Whose father's personality is retconned from protecting justice and people's rights despite corruption of superiors ("Rogercop") to approving of his daughter's rightless position and humiliation ("Startrain").

And whom being abused the story's deuteragonist (himself an abuse victim, mind you) is watching in enjoyment ("Lies").

And about whom the author has the gut to accuse VIEWERS of not caring about her enough.

[ceilidho]

prompt: you and Price get in an accident (1.6k)

-

He comes into your life like nothing less than divine intervention.

A fender bender, of all things. It’s a bad day and you’re distracted, too busy thinking about your dad calling to tell you that he lost ten thousand from his retirement fund when the stock he’d invested in crashed and how you’re supposed to help him out of this mess, and the roads are slick with that last snowfall of early spring, still unsalted even hours after the snow started. 

So when you slam on the brakes at the last second after noticing the car in front of you stopped at a red light, your car slips on the ice and slides forward, hitting the back of the stopped car and sending it forward a foot. It’s quick and sudden, and though you stepped on the brakes early enough to avoid a worse collision, your head snaps forward with the jolt and the seatbelt yanks you back violently, winding you. 

Your hands go tight around the wheel, eyes so wide that they nearly pop out of your head as you stare at the car directly in front of you. All of the dread in the world pools in your mouth and then down your throat when you swallow, heart galloping in your chest. You almost can’t believe it for a second.

Then the car in front of you—a big, fuck-you SUV that only worsens your anxiety because of all cars to hit, it had to be someone with a fancy, brand new car that probably has a lawyer on speed dial—puts their hazards on and the driver’s side doors opens and reality snaps like a rubberband back into you. With shaky hands, you put your car into park and put your hazards on as well. 

“Oh shit,” you whisper under your breath. An understatement.

A tall man in a brown parka steps out of the car and stares at you through the windshield, a stern expression on his face. He has a beanie pulled down over his head and a full beard, and for a second, the mental image of a bear emerging out of its den flickers in your imagination, all snow-dusted and irritable. 

He’s grizzled and older than you. The only consolation is that he doesn’t match the image of the driver that you had in your head—no seven thousand dollar suit or bluetooth earpiece; instead, he seems like the kind of man who’d drive an old pickup or a schooner, wearing an Aran sweater and a skipper's cap, with a pipe hanging from the corner of his mouth. He seems out of place in the middle of the road in your small town. 

But he is real, and even though you watch him march over to you, you flinch when he raps on the window with his knuckles. 

“Roll the window down,” he instructs, voice muffled through the glass, and you do because the command cuts through the buzzing in your ear. When you do, he reaches into your car with one hand and pops the lock, then takes a step back to open the door. You’d freak out if the situation were different, but you must be in shock because all you can do is stare at him dumbly as he leans into the car and undoes your seatbelt. “C’mon, sweetheart. Out.”

It doesn’t take much coaxing to get you to step out of the car. All he has to do is step back and you get out, knees nearly buckling, like jelly under you. He holds your elbow to steady you. Your elbow feels delicate and tiny in the width of his palm. 

“You alright, sweetheart?” he asks, looking all over your face.

You want to answer him, but all you can do is whimper, “I’m so sorry.”

“Hey, none of that. It was an accident. You alright though? Anything hurt?”

“Uh…I don’t…I don’t know.” It hasn’t really sunk in yet, you think. Maybe tomorrow you’ll be sore all over, but right now you feel fine. On the verge of shaking out of your skin, teeth nearly clattering together, but more or less okay. 

“Nothing too bad then. Wanna give me your insurance so we can deal with this, sweetheart?” 

“Oh. Yeah. Sorry. Let me just—” You move to reach back into your car to fetch your purse, but he stops you, insisting on getting it for you. 

And you let him, docile like a doll, watching as he leans into your car and across the seats to grab your purse, big frame looking comically large in your little car. Looking like he’d barely fit in the front seat if he tried to get in. 

He comes back out with your little purse in hand and opens it, handing you your wallet and purse by its strap. Your fingers are still shaking when you pull out your insurance information and hand it to him. Everything feels surreal and muted, and the tears are going to flow at any minute now if you don’t get a handle on it. 

He must notice because a knuckle fits under your chin and lifts your head up. “Hey, what’s wrong? 

“No, no,” you say, reaching up to swipe your fingers over your eyes. “I’m just—I’m really embarrassed. I’ve never been in an accident before.”

“Nothing to be embarrassed about.” His voice is much softer now, pitched low in the way handlers talk to spooked animals. He puts his thumb to your chin, holding you in place. “No one got hurt. Could’ve been worse than it was, and we’ve both got insurance, so what’s done is done. I don’t look mad, do I?”

Trapped between his thumb and knuckle, you can only give a slight shake of your head. “No.” 

“Then let’s just take it one step at a time and no tears. Okay?”

You sniff. “Okay.”

“Okay. I’m going to call the insurance, so you get back in the car and sit tight, alright?” 

You nod. 

“Good girl,” he says, a hint of praise in his voice. “Put the heat on too. It’s too cold for that jacket.”

That makes you go warm all over, flustered and tongue-tied. Thankfully, he doesn’t seem to expect a response out of you. The only thing he expects you to do is get back in the car and turn the heat back on, the warm air billowing into your face when he leans in to crank it up all the way. 

Though most of the sound is muffled from inside the car, you turn down the heat and crack the window open slightly to hear him give his name to his insurance company. John Price. Even his name evokes the image of him somewhere else in the world, settled into the nooks and crannies of history. 

John handles everything for you while you sit in the car like he told you to, settling everything with the insurance companies and calling for a tow truck right after that. You don’t realize that, of course, until the tow truck pulls up in front of his car and he comes back to usher you out of your car. 

“How am I supposed to get home?” you croak. The tow truck driver hitches your car to the bed of the lift and pulls it up, your little car looking pathetic all alone up there. 

“I’ll drive you home then bring mine in later.”

“Why can’t I drive my car to the garage too?” You’re petulant now that you’ve learned that he won’t bite, and you know it’s petulance because you don’t actually put up much of a fight to get your car taken off the tow truck. 

That petulance trembles when his expression grows stern again. “You’re getting it checked by a mechanic before you get behind the wheel again,” he tells you in no uncertain terms, eyes daring you to contradict him.

You don’t. It’s hard to argue with someone so adamant on your wellbeing. A mechanic in later days will tell John, with you by his side, that your car was mostly fine apart from some slight damage to the bumper, but that you made the right call to bring it in just in case the frame cracked during the accident.

John’s arm will be around your waist at the time and he’ll pull you tighter into his side when the mechanic says that. And what do you do but go with it, curling into his side like it’s natural. You’ll have already fucked him by then anyway. It’ll be no less forward than letting him take you for coffee and then back home, following you up to your apartment and into your bed. 

Now though, you let him usher you into the passenger seat of his car and shut the door behind you, the wind cutting off abruptly. It only comes back when the door opens on his side. 

You rattle off your address and watch bemusedly as he programs it into his GPS and hits save. You don’t have the temerity to question him, to poke a hole in the bubble of familiarity ballooning around the two of you. The real world seems far away in his car, like you’re in limbo, the rules different here somehow. 

“How about a coffee?” he asks at the next light, putting his hand on your thigh and shaking when you don’t respond right away. “Does a hot drink sound good right about now?”

“I guess?” you say. In truth, it sounds great, but you’re losing the thread of this conversation, your old preoccupations getting further and further away from you. 

John gives your thigh a squeeze, lingering for a beat before pulling away. “Good. It’ll be a nice little pick me up before we go home. My treat.”

All you can do is nod, your throat dry.

[formulaonecrumbs]

making space for you 🧡

Lando Norris x gf!reader (though gender isn’t specified and reader is set as a model idk)

summary: Lando Norris wants his girlfriend to move in but doesn’t have the nerve to ask directly, so he starts dropping subtle (and not-so-subtle) hints. She starts catching on.

warnings: none that i can think of. it’s just pure tooth-rotting fluff.

A/N: FIRST WRITTEN FIIICC RAAHHH!!! i’ve had this in my drafts (off tumblr) for weeks. i don’t put my writing many places so this is special 😇 i hope y’all don’t hate it because i kind of love it errmmmm ANYWAYS enjoy! happy reading 🫶 p.s. can one of y’all give me prompts, i’m so lost rn. my asks are always open ♡︎ LOVE U BABIES MWAH 💋

Lando was acting suspicious again.

Not in a cheating way. No—he was still very much the golden retriever boyfriend who texted goodnight with a heart and a photo of his feet hanging off the hotel bed. But suspicious in the “I’m clearly hiding something but I think I’m being slick about it” kind of way.

You first noticed it when you came back from Milan. You’d just wrapped a runway show and all you wanted was to crawl into Lando’s ridiculously oversized bed and not speak to another human for at least twelve hours.

Instead, you walked into his closet to steal one his hoodies, as you usually did, and found your clothes—folded. Color-coded. Already in there.

“You reorganize now?” you asked, raising a brow as he leaned against the doorframe, looking entirely too pleased with himself.

“Don’t look at me like that,” he grinned. “It’s practical.”

“Is it?”

“You’re here, like, half the time,” he shrugged. “Makes sense.”

“Except I have a place five minutes from here.”

“Which you barely use.”

He wasn’t wrong. Still. Weird.

—————————————————————————

The next time, it was the bathroom.

A whole drawer. Toothbrush, hairbrush, your favorite moisturizer, that one serum you can never find in the UK—he’d somehow gotten it shipped from Paris. Though, he was Lando Norris, you should’ve expected it.

You squinted at him when you found it.

He shrugged again. “I know your skin freaks out if you switch products. Thought I’d help.”

“I could’ve brought it myself.”

“Yeah, but this way, you don’t have to.” His grin widened. “Aren’t I the best boyfriend ever?”

“You’re something,” you muttered, though your cheeks flushed all the same.

—————————————————————————

But then there were his socks in your designated drawer. Your shampoo replaced by full-sized bottles of his favorites. His phone charger always “accidentally” ending up in your purse. A second key to his flat mysteriously showing up in your handbag, like it walked there itself.

You weren’t dumb. He was doing something. Slowly. Subtly.

But he wouldn’t say it.

Not once did the words “move in” pass his lips. You knew because you’d started counting how many days he danced around it.

Seventeen.

Seventeen days of hints and nudges and one very suspicious IKEA receipt.

So naturally, you decided to make him squirm.

—————————————————————————

“Baby,” you called one afternoon, holding up a pair of his boxers from your laundry basket. “Why is your underwear here?”

Lando peeked up from his phone, lying on the sofa with his feet draped over the armrest. “We share laundry now. Efficient, no?”

“You’re not even here half the week.”

He smirked. “Yet my socks keep ending up in your drawer. Funny, that.”

“Funny…” You narrowed your eyes. “You planning on invading more drawers, Mr. Norris?”

“Just testing the waters,” he said smoothly, like it wasn’t a completely weird thing to say.

You sat beside him, kicking his legs off so you could steal his spot. “You know, normal people ask their girlfriends to move in with them.”

“Is that so?”

“Mhm. It’s this crazy concept called communication. You should try it.”

Lando turned his head, giving you that boyish smile—the one that got him out of trouble and into most people’s hearts. “And if I were to ask you… what would you say?”

You tilted your head, pretending to think. “Depends.”

“On what?”

“On whether I get full control of the bathroom cabinet or not.”

“You already have it!”

“Then maybe I’d say yes.”

He grinned, looking relieved. “So, hypothetically… if I didn’t want to ask because it’s terrifying and what if you say no and break my poor fragile heart—”

“You’re so dramatic.”

“—hypothetically, would it be okay if I just kept sneakily merging our lives until one day you wake up and realize we already live together?”

You bit your lip, trying not to laugh. “That’s literally what you’re doing.”

“Subtlety is a skill.”

“No, it’s avoidance.”

He poked your knee. “It’s a love language.”

“Yours is physical touch and being annoying.”

“And yours is pretending you don’t like when I’m annoying.”

You smiled then, small and soft. The look in your eyes not less amused, but now accompanied by complete fondness and love. “You’re right.”

“I usually am,” he said, full of himself.

You nudged his shoulder. “Fine. Let’s do it.”

He blinked. “Do what?”

“Move in.”

His mouth dropped open for a second. “Wait—you’re serious?”

You shrugged. “You said it, didn’t you? I already basically live here. Might as well make it official.”

Lando stared, like he didn’t believe you. “You want to move in with me? Like… permanently?”

“I’ve tolerated your snoring for over a year. I think I can handle the rest.”

He laughed, pulling you into his arms, half crushing you in a hug, peppering every inch of your face with kisses. “You have no idea how happy you just made me.”

“I think I do,” you said against his chest. “You’ve been plotting this since December.”

“Okay, maybe I’ve had a Pinterest board since November—don’t judge.”

You groaned. “Oh my god. You’re ridiculous.”

“I just wanted it to feel like home. Like ours. Not just mine.”

You pulled back to look at him, my expression softened. It always seemed soften with him. “It already does, Lando.”

His eyes softened, voice gentler. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Good,” he said, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “Because I already ordered us a matching towel set.”

You laughed into his hoodie, shaking your head.

Of course he did.

[grandline-fics]

Hot Off The Press

DESCRIPTION: Their reaction when you end up in the newspaper unexpectedly

WARNINGS:  none, implications of crushes

CHARACTERS: Law, Smoker

WORDS: 1,730

A/N: Just a silly idea that came to mind that I wanted to explore with a couple of the One Piece guys. I had fun doing this and may do more at some stage with other characters in this scenario. Hope you all enjoy what I came up with

*REQUESTS ARE OPEN*

DIRECTORY | PROMPT LIST

————————

LAW

Unlike some of the other pirates around, Law kept up with the news and goings on in the world regardless of if there was an inkling his or the crews bounties would go up or not. He needed to be aware of everything going on at all times in order to plan the best course of action and leave very little room for surprises should the next island he came to be already in the middle of some drama that could be either avoided or exploited. One morning he walked into the dining room of the Polar Tang to join the rest of the crew for breakfast. Grabbing his morning coffee he took his usual seat and flicked open the paper, beginning to leisurely read through it while enjoying idle conversation with the rest of the crew. 

“Hey Captain can I-” Penguin’s question was cut off immediately when Law was already pulling out the so-called ‘entertainment' section of the paper and passed it across the table. That was the one section he felt was an entire waste of paper and ink and only glanced at just incase something of note had slipped through. Most of the time though? Even the barest glance felt like a handful of seconds he’d never get back due to the pointless garbage written on the pages. “Thank Cap!” Law gave a non-committal grunt in acknowledgement to his subordinate’s thanks and trained his attention instead into a story about political unrest affecting two neighbouring islands. 

Unfortunately his focus was interrupted when Penguin suddenly let out a gasp just as he was taking a bite of his breakfast causing him to choke. Law set his paper down and rose sharply, making his way directly to his friend. It was a relief that in that time Law approached, Penguin had managed to dislodge the food and caught his breath. “Oi, why didn’t you chew? Nearly gave us a heart attack!” Law lectured, using his relief to fuel his panicked lecture. Penguin nervously shifted in his seat and with another clearing of his throat he shakily turned over the entertainment section to show Law and the others what had caused his mishap. Law’s eyes dropped to the print and they widened, sharply snatching it from the table just as you walked in with a long yawn breaking from your lips. “Mornin’ guys…”

When no-one answered you blinked and frowned at the group in confusion. Stepping closer you looked over Law’s shoulder to see what had gotten his and everyone else’s attention. Similar to Law, your eyes bugged and you pulled his arm towards you so you could get a better look, as iff the extra inch of space would make the page change from what you couldn’t believe you were seeing. First was the eye-popping headline “HOT PIRATE OF THE WEEK: HEART PIRATES’ HEARTBREAKER!” Filling the page were images of you standing on the dock of the Polar Tang on one of the occasions the sub had surfaced and you were performing maintenance on the vessel. 

Slowly you remembered that day. It had been so hot that you had to undo the top of your boiler suit and tie the sleeves around your waist to reveal the tank top you'd been wearing underneath. Your skin was lightly sheened with sweat and cheek smeared with a small streak of oil. Nervously you rubbed the back of your neck as you looked over the images, you were just doing your job but somehow the photographer had managed to take countless photos, all of them very flattering. It did unnerve you slightly to think that everyone would see you like this along with cheesy one-liners of ‘they can perform maintenance on me any day,’ ‘tune me up,’ ‘let’s let off some steam,’ and your favourite ‘Captain Law, can we join your crew?’

Nervously you chewed your lip and looked away to finally see your Captain’s reaction, fearing he would lecture you. Instead it surprised you to see the back of his neck and his cheeks were tinged a very noticeable pink as his eyes were glued to your pictures. Unable to help yourself you couldn’t help but smile slightly, pleased and a little giddy that he was looking appreciatively. Still you needed to break the silent tension. “I’m surprised they got my good side.”

“You stupid? Every side is your good side.” Law asked suddenly, his mouth acting while his brain was still distracted. Your eyes widened and lit in shock at Law’s words, your smile growing when realisation hit your usually serious Captain that he’d said it aloud. Flustered and unable to recover, Law swiftly turned and left the room to the safety of his office and you grinned wider to notice he’d kept a firm hold on the paper as he left.

SMOKER

Something strange was happening at G5 and it was pissing Smoker off to no end. Every few minutes calls and missives came through, the influx a lot more than normal. The usual missions and reports were overwhelmed with transfer requests coming from all sections of the world’s seas. Part of him thought it was a well co-ordinated prank being pulled on him from the different divisions by very bored and motivated Marines that he must have angered in some way. This had to have been a prank or revenge it had to. There was no way all these requests to come to G5 was genuine. 

It hadn’t even reached mid-morning yet and what little patience he had was gone when the next transfer request came through. Angrily Smoker slammed his hand down on his desk and rose from his desk, having had more than enough nonsense to last him a lifetime. If he stayed in his office for much longer, he’d be driven to making his own transfer request to get away from it all. Needing a distraction to clear his head, Smoker began to walk aimlessly in search of what seemed like the quietest section of the base. In his mind he thought if it was quiet then that meant there would be no-one around to pester him. 

“Smoker!” Smoker came to an abrupt halt and turned his head sharply to see you approach him, your pace quickened and expression just as frustrated and annoyed as he was. Your own sour mood was probably why you weren’t trying to stay out of his way. Now finding his distraction, Smoker faced you properly. You huffed out a sharp breath, relieved that the commander had finally snapped out of whatever he was thinking about and stopped long enough for you to catch up and stop in front of him. “Didn’t you hear me calling you?”

“Wasn’t paying attention to anything really.” Smoker explained, only now noticing his cigars had burned to nothing. Grabbing two more from his jacket he lit them and placed them into his mouth, taking a fresh inhale of the nicotine helping to make him more grounded. Releasing the breath of smoke, he used his ability to direct it away from your face as he focussed his attention on you. “So what did you need?”

“Just a general inquiry.” You began while trying to control your anger while it was still fresh. In a base full of short fuses you at least tried to stay levelheaded around your commander. You took a slow breath and looked to him, still unable to keep the scowl from your face. “How much trouble would I get in for beating up a newspaper employee?”

“Not like you to get so hotheaded about journalists…” You let out a bitter scoff at the word ‘journalist’ and your hand holding the rolled up paper tightened to the point the paper crinkled loud enough to make Smoker’s gaze drop from your face. “What’s been reported?”

“You haven’t seen it?” You asked, momentarily confused. You thought everyone else had. Or was he acting dumb on purpose so you would have to relive your embarrassment in realtime in front of him. Deep down you knew that wasn't Smoker’s nature, and his mirrored look of confusion confirmed that. With a sigh you lifted your hand, offering the rolled up paper to him. 

Smoker lightly tugged the paper out of your reluctant grip and let it unfurl. Knowing this had to be personal for you he flicked through the pages in search of the cause for your wish to cause harm to a civilian. Finally he found it, or rather it practically jumped out at him when he turned the page. Your image filled the page, the photo capturing you mid-battle. One foot had connected with the blurred shape of a pirate while your body was arched, your weapon in hand and aimed at another enemy. Smoker took in your form, eyebrows raised at how poised and strong you were. What got him the most was the fearsome, intense edge lighting your eyes, your focus entirely on stopping the pirates that had tried to ransack a village. All in all it was an extremely flattering story about your heroism and undeniable strength. Yes, there were some comments about your attractiveness but Smoker couldn’t exactly argue, not when the facts were so clearly staring him in the face-both on paper and in person. 

Finally Smoker’s eyes zeroed in on how the story piece stated you were a part of the G5 base and he let out a huff of frustration and amusement. So this was the reason for his morning-long headache. “You just have to live with it. There’ll be a different story by tomorrow.” Smoker shrugged calmly and handed the paper back to you. “Don’t let something like this bother you. Okay?”

“It’s embarrassing.” You grumbled. “Why did they have to fill a page with my picture? Why even use my picture at all?”

“Why not? It looks good.” Your head snapped up at Smoker’s murmured comment, eyes widened and heat prickling the back of your neck. He looked completely composed and stoic, acting as if he hadn’t said anything at all but you knew what you heard. Instead he lightly tapped your shoulder and started to head back towards his office, idly calling after you as he went. “If you’ll excuse me I have transfer requests to formally reject. Just keep up the good work.”

——————————————-

TAG LIST (If I’ve missed anyone or if you want to be added just let me know) @3v37773, @tsaaps , @i-am-all-love-puns-and-lazy , @sanemisnonexistenteyebrow , @fiery-captain-spider-santa@kabloswrld , @atanukileaf , @ane5e , @stuckinthewrongworld , @deathsmajestysworld , @cloudysunset04 , @chillerkiller , @extremely-ashtridic , @decayingpizza , @liesatemyocean , @ace-for-ace , @nerium-lil , @destynelseclipsa , @dreamcastgirl99 , @my-name-is-heartache , @iamn1ya ,  @yunho-leeknow , @hinata7346 , @h0oouwlss , @missrandomdreamer , @sleepykittycx , @ddawn111 , @jaygrl22 , @sylum , @acehyacinth , @resident-cryptid , @treelogirl , @maellem , @its-a-dam-blue-brick , @thulhu , @appalost

[taintedtort]

https://www.tumblr.com/taintedtort/742994409435594752/hello-i-was-wondering-if-you-can-do-a-haikyu?source=share

Hello!!! Can you do this request with kenma, tsukishima and suna pls???? 🥺🥺

" WIPING KISSES! "

summary. you wipe their kisses off (pt2)

characters. kenma, tsukishima, suna

warnings. gn!reader, none!

a/n. i love this prompt, it’s so easy to write :P (link to pt1) (link to pt3)

KENMA

☆ kenma isn’t usually very physically affectionate, but he likes to kiss your hands a lot. it’s simple and quick, and not that noticeable to other people. however, this particular time he kissed the back of your hand, you wiped it on your sweater directly after. he noticed, but didn’t really say anything because he hadn’t thought much of it at the time. but as the day went on, he realized that you were doing it every single time he kissed your hand. he knows you though, and he’s quick to catch on that you’re messing with him. he’s mildly amused at best, but doesn’t really get the point. you’re trying to provoke him, right? it kinda worked… he‘s not necessarily annoyed, but he doesn’t like that you’re wiping them off.

"quit it."

TSUKISHIMA

☆ he notices and instantly scowls at you. it was kind of your fault for making it so obvious though. he kissed your forehead and you immediately wiped it off with your hoodie sleeve, a disgusted look on your face. it was clearly fake and all a joke, seeing as you laughed right after, but he got petty nonetheless. you apologize through giggles when you see his annoyed expression, but he only rolls his eyes. he eventually gives in, like he always does, but you have to make it up to him by kissing him literally everywhere.

"fine then, wipe my kiss off. see if you get another one."

SUNA

☆ he was taking some selfies with you, and he gave your cheek a kiss for one of them. he was sort of rapid fire clicking, so he actually got a picture of you wiping the kiss off directly after. he looks at you with a confused expression, saying something like "the fuck was that?" you wave him off, but he just pulls up the picture he got and starts examining in. he doesn’t say anything else, just looking at you with an expecting look, silently telling you to explain yourself. you crack and tell him it was a prank, just to rile him up and see what’d he do. he rolls his eyes and places another kiss to your cheek, watching to make sure you don’t wipe this one off too.

"you trying to be cute?"

[pillow-coded]

Recording In Progress

Summary: A private investigator goes undercover to expose Spencer Reid’s secrets—but when he catches on, things far more personal than she ever intended.

prompts used: A thinks they've successfully tricked B... when B leans forward and speaks directly into their wire. — “Did you really think this was going to work on me?”

Couple: Spencer Reid/Fem!Reader

Category: Smut (NSFW, 18+) MDNI!!!!!

Content Warning: strong language, first person POV, penetrative sex, semi-public sex, dirty talk, power play, unprotected sex, light dom!Spencer, mentions of betrayal and emotional manipulation, semi-consensual dynamics/dubcon, Kinda angsty.

A/N: This is my entry for @imagining-in-the-margins Criminal Minds Undercover Challenge (Also my first second attempt ever for writing smut, hopefully it’s not like bad or cringy)!!

Word Count: 6.3K

I’ve done worse jobs for better pay.

Political smear jobs, corporate leaks, scumbag CEOs cheating on their fourth wives. I’ve worn heels into strip clubs and smiled through dinner with men who thought I didn’t know what a burner phone was. I’ve been called a bitch, a genius, and a ghost, depending on who was signing the check.

I was hired to investigate Dr. Spencer Reid. No reason given, no name offered. Just a large sum wired to my account and a single note: Find out what he’s hiding.

Simple enough.

Except… Spencer Reid doesn’t have a digital footprint. He’s like a ghost in the machine. No scandals, no secrets, not even a hint of skeletons in his closet. And believe me, I looked.

And now here I am—three weeks into my “trial run” as the Bureau’s newest PR-friendly face. The temporary Media Liaison job I got thanks to me pulling some strings. I talk to the news reporters, fetch coffee. Pretend not to notice how agents avoid eye contact when they think I’m listening.

But Spencer?

Spencer doesn’t avoid anything.

He looks right at me when he speaks—slow, deliberate, almost too polite, like he’s weighing every word before he lets it leave his mouth. Like he’s watching for a reaction, waiting to see what sticks. It should’ve made him easy to read. But he wasn’t. If anything, he made me feel like the one under observation.

At first, I told myself he was just awkward. A little too smart, a little too soft. All anxious fingers and mismatched socks, like some deer that wandered too far from the herd and was just hoping someone might keep him company.

Innocent, I thought.

Innocent my ass.

Because there’s something behind those eyes—something that doesn’t flinch. Something that sees everything and stays quiet anyway. And now that I’ve gotten too close, I’m starting to wonder if I’m the one being hunted.

And maybe I should’ve been more careful—should’ve kept my distance.

Because it’s getting harder to tell which parts of this are pretend. The way my hand lingers on his arm when I laugh. The way he says my name like it’s always surprised him.

The wire beneath my shirt itches when I lean forward. I pretend it’s nothing, cross my arms to cover the mic. But he keeps talking.

Stories. Facts. Soft opinions. I record all of it. Hours of audio. Dozens of little truths. And yet none of it sounds like a secret.

It started with coffee.

Not because I actually wanted it—God knows the Bureau’s idea of caffeine tastes like it was filtered through a floor mop—but because he always had one. Every morning. Same cup, same lid, same little paper napkin wrapped around it like he didn’t want his fingers touching the surface.

So I started bringing him one. A peace offering. An excuse. A way in.

“No cream, four sugars,” I’d say, like I didn’t already have it memorized from the second day.

“You don’t have to keep bringing me coffee,” he’d murmur, almost shy. “But thank you.”

Then he’d take it anyway. Every time. Like it was a favor he wasn’t sure he deserved.

It disarmed me.

The first few days I kept things casual—too casual. Just enough charm to keep the agents from digging into my file, just enough polish to look useful in a crisis. And Spencer? Spencer was easy to hover near. Everyone else gave him a wide berth. Not because they didn’t like him, I realized. Because they didn’t understand him.

But I did.

Or I acted like I did, which, honestly, wasn’t hard. He talks when you let him. Especially about things most people pretend to care about but don’t. String theory. Linguistics. Microexpressions. Magic tricks.

“The trick isn’t in the sleight of hand,” he told me once, while shuffling a deck between his fingers. “It’s in where you make people look instead.”

“Is that what you’re doing to me?” I’d asked. “Misdirection?”

He didn’t answer.

Just smiled without showing his teeth.

And it messed me up more than I expected.

Because here’s the thing: Spencer Reid doesn’t flirt. Not really. He observes. He listens, catalogues, memorizes. And he gives you just enough of himself to make you want more. That’s the part I wasn’t prepared for.

Like yesterday—he’d asked about my family. Out of nowhere. Soft and curious.

“You mentioned your dad’s a journalist,” he said, halfway through a case debrief. “Is that what made you want to work in media?”

He had no idea how deep that question could’ve cut. But he asked it like he already suspected the answer and just wanted to see if I’d lie.

I did.

“Yeah. Something like that.”

He nodded. Didn’t press.

But something shifted.

He started watching me more closely after that. Saying my name more often. Brushing past me in the hallway, close enough for the hem of his sweater to ghost over my knuckles. A lesser man would’ve tried something by now. Spencer just... lingered.

And then today. God, today.

The bullpen was nearly empty. Just the two of us, caught in that odd hour between too-late and not-late-enough. I made a joke—light, harmless.

“You know, I’m starting to think you don’t actually like coffee,” I said. “You just like holding something in your hands so you don’t have to look busy.”

I waited for that soft half-smile he always gives when he’s amused. The one that makes his eyes crease, just barely.

It didn’t come.

Instead, he looked at me.

Really looked at me.

“You ask a lot of questions,” he said quietly. Not accusing. Just… observing.

I felt it before he even moved—this creeping heat behind my ribs. I tried to keep still, tried not to let the sudden tension show.

“So do you,” I replied, aiming for playful. It landed a little too breathy.

He took a step forward.

Then another.

I could’ve backed up. I didn’t.

He was close now. Closer than protocol allows, closer than he’s ever been. My pulse ticked loud in my ears. I swallowed. I waited for him to speak.

He didn’t. Not at first.

His eyes flicked to my chest, and for a moment, I thought—

But no. He wasn’t looking at my lips. He was looking lower.

Right where the mic was taped beneath my shirt.

“You wore that all day?” he asked, voice low. No heat in it—just something sharp and calm and terrifying.

“I don’t know what you—”

“Don’t lie to me,” he said.

My mouth shut. The weight of his gaze was like gravity, dragging me down into silence.

And then he leaned in. His mouth hovered just beside my ear, breath warm, voice so low it barely stirred the air between us.

“Did you really think this was going to work on me?”

I stopped breathing. My spine locked. My mouth went dry.

“You’ve been recording me.” It wasn’t a question. He tilted his head slightly, studying me the way you’d study a fracture—trying to guess where the break began.

He didn’t pull away.

“You’ve been careful,” he murmured, “I’ll give you that. The questions were subtle. The charm? Believable. The coffee orders were a nice touch. But I don’t trust people who learn too fast.”

I wanted to speak. I really did. But my throat wouldn’t work.

“Especially not people who ask about things I’ve never told anyone.”

And just like that, he stepped back.

My heart was in my mouth. The wire burned under my shirt like a brand. I felt exposed in a way I never had before—caught not just in a lie, but in something deeper. Something personal. He didn’t sound angry. He sounded disappointed. Maybe even hurt.

“Who sent you?” he asked, softer now. Not demanding. Just… tired. Like he already knew.

“It’s not what you think,” I said.

A small smile tugged at his mouth. But there was nothing warm in it.

“Then tell me what it is. Because I’m trying really hard to believe this wasn’t just some elaborate… game.”

I didn’t say anything.

I wanted to. I think I even opened my mouth. But there was no defense I could give that wouldn’t sound like another lie. Another twist of the knife.

So I just stood there, heart thudding against the wire, pulse loud in my ears, and let him look at me.

He waited.

And when I didn’t give him anything—not an apology, not an excuse—something in his face changed.

Not anger. Not disgust.

Something quieter.

Like disappointment. Like resignation. Like he’d already filed me away under lost cause.

“Tell whoever sent you they won’t find what they’re looking for.”

He paused.

“And if they want to try again,” he says, eyes still on mine, “tell them next time… they should send someone I won’t miss when they leave.”

He turns to walk away, and I should let him.

But I don’t.

“Wait,” I say—sharper than I mean to.

He stops. Doesn’t turn around right away.

When he does, it’s slow. Controlled. Every part of him unreadable. Except his eyes—they're sharper now. Sadder too. Like I’d cut him without knowing where the blade was.

“You think I wanted this to happen?” I ask. “You think I planned to care?”

He just looks at me. Long and hard.

“You didn’t plan anything,” he says. “That’s the problem.”

He steps closer. The space between us evaporates. My pulse flutters. His eyes fall to my chest—where the wire sits taped beneath my shirt. His jaw clenches.

“I should report you,” he says. “Walk you out of here myself and forget this ever happened.”

“You should,” I whisper.

He exhales slowly through his nose. Like he's trying to talk himself down from something.

“I knew something was off,” he says. “But you—you looked at me like…”

He stops. Closes his eyes for just a second. Opens them again.

“I was doing my job,” I say.

“You were lying.”

We’re close enough now that I can feel the tension roll off him like heat. His hand lifts—hesitates—then brushes the edge of my collar. Just two fingers. Just enough to press gently over the place where the wire sits.

His voice is low, and it trembles with something between fury and want.

“I’m going to give you five seconds to walk away before I do something we’ll both regret.”

He doesn’t count.

Neither do I.

Because I don’t move.

And neither does he.

Not until the pretending breaks—soft and sudden, like the snap of a wire pulled too tight for too long.

His breath stutters, and I see it—right there in his eyes—that flicker of recognition. That I’m not going anywhere. That whatever this is between us, it’s no longer something we can ignore.

Then he moves.

Slow at first, like he’s giving me time to pull away. Like he’s testing the current between us.

But I don’t flinch. I can’t.

Without a word, he closes the remaining distance, seizing my chin gently between his fingers. His touch is deliberate—measured—there's heat in it, too. His thumb traces the curve of my lower lip, slow and careful, brushing against the sensitive skin just beneath.

His other hand finds my hip—strong, sure—as he pulls me flush against him. I feel the heat of his body through the fabric of my clothes, the hard planes of his chest and abdomen molding against the softer lines of mine like they were made to fit.

He leans in slowly, giving me time to pull away. I don’t.

His lips hover just above mine, a hairsbreadth of space between us. I can feel his breath mingling with mine, warm and unsteady. The scent of him fills my lungs—clean cologne, warm skin, and something unmistakably him.

“Last chance,” he whispers, voice low and rough and dangerous in the best way.

And I don’t take it.

His words hang in the charged air between us, suspended for a single, trembling moment. Time seems to slow—each heartbeat stretching into forever—as I stand there, breath caught, teetering on the edge of something I can’t undo.

He murmurs something under his breath—too quiet to catch, too dark to be innocent—and then he moves.

He closes the final inch between us, and his lips crash into mine in a searing, hungry kiss that steals my breath and sets every nerve in my body alight.

One of his hands tangles into my hair, tilting my head just enough to deepen the kiss. The other tightens at my hip, pulling me harder against him until there’s nothing between us but heat and tension and the press of his body against mine—hard, unyielding, and everywhere.

His tongue slips past my lips, bold and sure, stroking along mine and sending sparks through me so sharp they feel like electricity in my bloodstream. I can taste the desperation in his kiss—feel the pent-up longing in the way his fingers clutch at my waist like he’s afraid I might disappear.

It isn’t a kiss. It’s a demand.

And I give in to it, completely.

He walks me backward, mouth still on mine, until the edge of his desk catches the backs of my legs. I hit it with a quiet thud, breath hitching—not from shock this time, but from the sheer, aching need curling low in my stomach.

His hands skim up my sides, fingertips dragging slowly over the thin fabric of my blouse. His palms are warm and slightly rough, catching just enough to make my skin spark beneath the surface. I feel every inch of contact like a live wire beneath my clothes, and when his hands reach my ribcage, he pauses—just for a breath—before slipping his fingers to the buttons of my shirt.

One by one, he undoes them.

I gasp as cool air brushes the skin beneath, the lace of my bra suddenly far too delicate, too flimsy. But his attention isn’t on the fabric. Not entirely.

His fingers ghost over the mic, still taped below my sternum. He lingers there, the pad of his thumb brushing lightly over it. Then he looks up, eyes dark, mouth curling into something between a smirk and a warning.

My stomach flips. My mouth parts—but I don’t know whether it’s to object or to breathe.

He doesn’t wait for a response.

He leans in and presses his mouth to the base of my throat, kissing a path downward. His lips are hot. His stubble scrapes. He grazes my pulse with his teeth before his mouth latches onto that tender skin just above my collarbone.

He suckles and nips with deliberate intent, letting his jaw rasp against my neck as he pulls another broken breath from me.

“Do you have any idea what you’ve done to me?” he mutters against my throat, voice low and uneven.

Without warning, his hands grip my thighs and lift—effortless, like he’s been waiting to do it for weeks. He sets me on the edge of his desk, the cool surface biting against the backs of my legs. In the next breath, he steps between them, settling into the cradle of my hips.

The zipper of his slacks scrapes rough against my inner thighs, and then I feel it—hard, hot, and insistent, pressing right where I need him most.

He doesn’t move. Not yet.

He just waits—daring me to admit I want it just as badly.

His eyes lock on mine, sharp and unrelenting, like they’re looking through me, not at me. There’s heat there, sure, but it’s more than that. It’s intensity. Focus. A fire that catches deep in my belly and threatens to devour everything in its path.

The air between us pulses, thick with tension. A silent standoff. Neither of us willing to look away. Neither of us willing to surrender first.

“Tell me,” he says, voice low and raw, rough enough to scrape down my spine. His hands tighten on my thighs, grounding me. Holding me still. “Tell me you’ve felt this too. The way we… fit. The chemistry—it’s like a live wire between us, and you know it.”

He leans in, mouth brushing so close I can feel the shape of the words before he says them.

“I want to hear you say it. Admit it. That you’re just as lost in this… thing as I am. That you burn for my hands, that you crave my mouth, that you ache to be undone by me.”

A tremble works its way through my spine. I don’t trust myself to speak.

His hand slides from my thigh up my side—slow, deliberate. Fingertips grazing the curve of my ribcage, mapping the slope of my breast. He palms it through the thin lace of my bra, the heat of his touch making me gasp.

Then his thumb finds my nipple.

Rolls it. Just once.

A shock of sensation shoots through me, and I bite my lip to stop the sound that nearly escapes.

He feels it. Knows it.

And his mouth curls, just slightly. Like he’s satisfied—but not nearly done.

He gathers my answer without a single word—reading it in the tremble of my thighs, the sharp hitch in my breath, the way heat blooms across my skin in a helpless, rosy flush. His eyes, now dark and heavy-lidded with want, drag over me like he’s cataloging every reaction… and storing it for later.

I don’t even know what I’m begging for when I whisper,

“Spencer… please…”

But it’s enough.

It’s more than enough.

Something shifts in him—like control has finally slipped through his fingers, and now he’s choosing to let it go.

His hand dips beneath the lace of my bra, his fingers brushing bare skin. My breath stutters as his palm curves around me, warm and possessive. He cups the weight of my breast, rolling it gently, then pinches and tugs my nipple between his thumb and forefinger until it stiffens in his grasp.

The sensation ricochets through me—sharp, heady, electric.

Before I can even moan, his other hand finds its way into my hair. He fists it at the base of my skull, not rough, but firm enough to steal my breath. And then he kisses me.

No warning. No hesitation.

Just heat.

His mouth crashes into mine with a hunger I feel in every nerve ending. It’s the kind of kiss that scrapes thought from bone. The kind that tells me this isn’t just lust. It’s possession.

I’m not kissing Spencer Reid.

I’m being devoured by him.

He devours my moan like he’s starved for it—like the sound alone could satisfy something buried deep inside him. His mouth moves hungrily against mine, swallowing every breath, every sound, as if he’s trying to consume me from the inside out.

His grip tightens in my hair, angling my head with a rough kind of reverence that opens me completely to him. The hand on my breast isn’t gentle anymore. He kneads the soft flesh firmly, expertly, and the mix of pressure and pleasure sends shivers racing down my spine.

When he finally tears his mouth from mine, I’m gasping—but he doesn’t give me long to recover.

His lips blaze a trail down the column of my neck, his teeth dragging, tongue soothing, until he reaches my pulse point and lingers there. He bites, just hard enough to sting, then soothes it with his tongue, in a way that makes my whole body clench.

He trails lower.

Mouth warm and wet as he moves down the swell of my breasts, over the valley between them, until he reaches the curve of lace hiding what he wants most.

His lips close around my nipple through the soaked fabric of my bra, sucking hard enough to make me cry out. My hips jerk instinctively, chasing friction, chasing him.

His fingers don’t hesitate. They find the clasp at my back, working with practiced ease, and I feel the tension in the garment give way.

I’m panting now, barely keeping up with the pace he’s set—as the cool air hits my bare skin, kissing over every exposed inch and pebbling it with goosebumps. But there’s no relief. Not from the heat pouring off of him. He’s everywhere. Surrounding me. Consuming me.

He shoves the fabric of my bra aside and his mouth descends without hesitation, closing around my nipple in a wet, greedy heat that makes my head fall back against the wall with a soft thud. He licks, broad, deliberate strokes, then circles the sensitive bud with the tip of his tongue before suckling, hungry and unrelenting, like he’s ravenous for me.

I cry out. I can’t help it.

His other hand cups my remaining breast, fingers rough and insistent as they knead and pluck, teasing the tip until it aches under his touch. Every movement marks me until I feel like there’s nothing left untouched.

And still, it’s not enough.

His hips begin to move—slow, grinding rolls that press the hard ridge of his arousal against my center. Even through the barrier of my clothes, the friction is maddening. Precise. He grinds again, and I feel my thighs part a little more with each thrust, until the thick swell of him is nestled perfectly against the place I need him most.

I arch. I whimper. I burn.

“Tell me what you need,” he growls, voice rough and low in my ear.

I meet his gaze, barely holding it. My voice trembles as I breathe,

“You… all of you.”

His hand leaves my breast, trailing down the center of my body in a path that feels like fire. slow and deliberate. His fingertips glide over my trembling stomach, dipping lower until they reach the waistband of my skirt.

He doesn’t ask permission.

He just slips his hand beneath it, under the thin barrier of my underwear, and groans softly when he feels how soaked I already am.

“Like this?” he rasps, fingers brushing against my center with maddening restraint. “Is this what you wanted?”

The heat in his voice wrecks me. Low, rough, commanding. A far cry from the soft-spoken man I’d spent weeks practically studying. This wasn’t shy, awkward Spencer. This was something darker. Hungrier. A version of him I wasn’t sure anyone else had ever seen.

He strokes me through the slick fabric, circling over my clit with just enough pressure to leave me gasping but not enough to satisfy. Every touch is calculated—teasing, fleeting—designed to unravel me without giving me what I want.

“Tell me,” he says, the edge in his voice tightening. “Tell me how badly you need me.”

I try to answer, but all that comes out is a broken sound—half gasp, half plea.

His fingers press a little harder, his mouth close to my ear now, every word dripping with dominance and need.

“Say it,” he breathes. “Say you want me. Say you want to feel me deep inside you… filling you, wrecking you.”

The pressure builds, unbearable, electric. I’m shaking. I can barely breathe.

And I want it—I want everything.

“Say it,” he growls, fingers pressing harder against my aching center. The friction sharpens, maddening—his touch no longer teasing but demanding, as he rubs firm, relentless circles over my clit. His other hand grips my hip, holding me in place with bruising intensity, like he doesn’t trust me not to fall apart.

“Beg for it,” he mutters, voice low and wrecked. “Beg for my cock like the desperate little thing I know you are. I want to hear you scream for it.”

The words hit me like a jolt to the spine—vulgar, filthy, perfect.

His fingers shove my panties to the side, and one thick, calloused fingertip slides between my folds, slow and deliberate. He drags it through my slick heat, teasing—hovering just at the entrance, never quite giving in. A low, satisfied sound escapes him, like he’s savoring the way I tremble beneath him.

And then, with the hand not working me open, he reaches down to his belt. I hear the soft clink of metal, the zip of fabric sliding apart. He doesn’t rush it. Doesn’t break eye contact. Just keeps touching me—keeping me on the edge—as he frees himself with terrifying calm.

“You feel that?” he mutters, pressing himself into my thigh, the outline of him thick and undeniable through the cotton. “You shouldn’t be able to do this to me,”

His breath stutters against my cheek as he shifts his weight, one hand still working me open while the other reaches down. I feel the stretch of fabric, the quiet drag of cotton being pushed aside. Then the thick heat of him presses directly against me—bare now, heavy and pulsing at my entrance. The last barrier is gone. There’s nothing between us anymore.

He’s right there—right there—poised to push inside, to take, to ruin, and still… he waits.

And I break.

“Please,” I choke out, breathless, undone. “Oh my God, please, I—I need you.”

“I think you do,” he growls, voice low and ragged. “I think you need my cock buried inside this sweet little pussy”

And then he moves.

One swift, brutal thrust—and he’s inside me.

Fully. Completely.

I gasp, no sound behind it, my mouth falling open as he stretches me wide in a single, punishing stroke. He drives in to the hilt, hips pressing flush against mine, forcing my body to take every inch of him.

I’m overwhelmed. Split open. Filled.

“Fuck,” he snarls, the sound rumbling out against my chest, where his body presses hot and heavy over mine.

He gives me no time to adjust—no breath, no mercy. He pulls out almost entirely, just the thick tip left inside, and then slams back in with a force that steals what little air I have left.

Again.

And again.

Each thrust is brutal. Precise. Unrelenting.

The rhythm builds fast—sharp, punishing, perfect—and it’s all I can do to hold on. My cries are ragged, torn from my throat as he drives up into me like he’s trying to etch himself into my body, brand me from the inside out.

One hand clamps around my hip, fingers digging deep into flesh, anchoring me in place as he fucks me like he owns every inch of me.

His free hand moves lower, searching.

I barely register it through the haze of sensation until I feel a sudden tug at my waist—sharp, deliberate.

His fingers find the wire trailing from the recorder clipped to my skirt, and before I can react, he yanks. The movement is swift, almost angry. The adhesive holding the tiny mic to my chest rips free with a sting, the wire snapping taut as he drags the entire thing into his hand like a secret he’s been waiting to expose.

He brings it up, slow and deliberate, until it’s hovering right at my lips.

“Is this still on?” he murmurs, voice wrecked and quiet, eyes never leaving mine. “You gonna send this to them? Let them hear what you sound like when you're being fucked by the person you’re supposed to be investigating?”

He doesn’t wait for an answer.

He just holds it there—steadily, deliberately—catching every breathless moan, every gasp, every desperate sound that spills from my lips.

“All those filthy little sounds. Let it record what you sound like when you're mine.”

And God help me—I moan for him. Loud. Unashamed.

His eyes flicker—dark and satisfied—as he presses the mic even closer to my lips, like he wants it to catch everything.

“That’s it,” he breathes, the corner of his mouth twitching into the ghost of a smirk. “Let it hear how desperate you sound when I’m inside you.”

He punctuates the words with a sharp thrust, forcing another cry from my throat—one I can’t bite back even if I tried.

“You think they’ll recognize your voice?” he murmurs, low and mocking as his hips roll into mine, relentless. “Think they’ll hear how wrecked you sound and wonder what it cost you?”

Every thrust lands with calculated force, his pace unforgiving, grinding me closer to the edge with each brutal stroke. My hands scramble for something to hold—his shoulders, the edge of the desk, anything—but there’s no grounding here. Just him. Just the sound of skin meeting skin and the filthy, wrecked sounds he’s dragging from my throat.

And the mic.

Still held to my lips. Still recording everything.

“You were supposed to be watching me,” he grits out between thrusts, the words strained with effort. “But look at you now.”

Another slam of his hips, and I cry out again—louder this time, legs shaking, breath hitching. I can feel the tremor starting in my core, the tightening that warns of everything about to snap.

“This what they wanted?” he growls, jaw clenched. “You giving them everything but the answers?”

He presses in deeper—deeper than before, like he’s trying to bury himself in me, leave something behind. His forehead drops to mine, sweat-slick and shaking with restraint.

“You’re not gonna be able to listen back to this without coming apart,” he whispers, voice rough and fraying. “You know that, don’t you?”

“Spencer!”

My nails dig into his back, desperate for something—release, control, him. I don’t even know if I’m clinging to him or trying to pull him deeper, but he groans when I do it—low and wrecked—like it unravels something he’s been barely holding together.

His pace stutters for just a beat.

Then he grabs my thigh, hikes it higher around his hip, and drives into me again with brutal, unrelenting force.

The desk creaks beneath us. The microphone trembles in his hand.

“That’s it…” he breathes against my mouth. “Say my name.”

Another thrust. My body arches, wrecked and raw.

“Say it like you mean it. Let them hear you fall apart for me.”

And I do.

Each time his name tears from my throat, his grip tightens—on my thigh, on my waist, on the mic still trembling in his hand. He’s losing rhythm now, chasing something just out of reach, buried deep inside me like he can’t stop until we both fall off the edge together.

His movements turn rougher, more erratic, like control is slipping through his fingers and he wants it to.

“That’s it,” he groans, voice breaking apart. “Come on—give it to me.”

The pressure coils tight and fast, unbearably sharp, building from deep inside me like a wave I can’t outrun. I feel it clawing up my spine, lighting every nerve on fire, and I know—I know—I’m about to break.

“Spencer—” my voice fractures.

I shatter around him with a cry that borders on a sob, back arching, thighs trembling, everything inside me clenching hard around him as my climax hits like a lightning strike—hot and endless and all-consuming.

He groans my name in return, low and guttural, pressing his forehead to mine as he follows me over the edge with a final, desperate thrust. His body jerks against mine, hips stuttering as he spills into me, his breath ragged and uneven in my ear.

And then… stillness.

Just the sound of our breathing. Heavy. Shaky. Shallow.

His hand falls away from the mic, letting it dangle by its wire like a forgotten confession. He doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t move.

Neither do I.

For a moment, it’s just quiet.

Then he pulls out of me slowly, carefully, like he doesn’t want to hurt me—but the ache he leaves behind is instant.

I shift, suddenly aware of my half-unbuttoned blouse, the stretch of my thigh still hooked around him, the sweat cooling between us. The shame doesn’t hit all at once. It creeps in.

And then he speaks.

“You can stop recording now.”

His voice is calm. Too calm.

My throat tightens. I reach for the mic with shaking fingers, powering it off in silence. He watches me do it—watches everything—and still doesn’t look away.

“Who sent you?”

I flinch.

It’s not a growl. Not a threat. Just a question. Clinical. Lethal in its precision.

“Was it internal? Press? Private buyer?”

I try to form words, but none come. I look at him, eyes wide, mouth parted, still wrecked in every sense of the word. I open my lips—twice—and still nothing.

He exhales through his nose, eyes flicking away for the first time.

Not angry. Not even hurt. Just… resigned.

“That’s what I thought.”

He moves before I can speak. Reaches down, tucks himself back into his boxers, then zips up his slacks with that same quiet efficiency—controlled, distant, like he’s locking something away. Like he doesn’t want me to see any part of him he didn’t mean to give.

“Get dressed.”

His voice is steady, but the tension in his jaw speaks volumes.

I open my mouth again.

“Spencer, I—”

“Don’t.”

He turns away, running a hand through his hair like it hurts to keep standing there. His shoulders are tense, spine straight, but I see the tremble in his hand. He’s not angry.

He’s wrecked.

Not because I fooled him.

Because he let me.

And he’s about to walk away—leave me in the silence we created—when the word escapes me, sharp and sudden:

“Wait.”

He stops. Doesn’t turn around fully. Just enough for me to see the side of his face, unreadable.

My fingers move before I can think. I reach down, disconnect the recorder, and slide out the memory card. Small. Light. But somehow heavier than anything I’ve ever held.

I walk toward him. Quiet steps. Careful steps. And when I reach him, I place it in his hand.

“Here,” I whisper. “Here’s everything.”

He stares at it for a long moment. Then closes his fingers around it.

“What do you want me to do with it?” he asks, voice low. Tired. But not cold.

I meet his eyes.

“Whatever you want.”

He nods—just once—and slips it into his pocket.

For a moment, neither of us moves.

And then, softer than before, he says, “You know… You could’ve just asked.”

I step up beside him, shoulder to shoulder. Not touching, but close enough to feel the warmth still clinging to him. Close enough to imagine, for a second, that we could leave like this. Side by side.

“Would you really have told me anything?” I ask quietly, not looking at him.

There’s a pause.

Then—just barely above a whisper—

“Maybe not everything.”

Another beat. A breath.

“But I would’ve told you the truth.”

We stand there in the hallway—two liars trying to remember how to be honest.

And this time, when he turns to walk, he doesn’t walk away.

He waits.

take a slow step forward, then another, until I’m beside him again. Close enough to feel the quiet shift in the air between us.

“Well… I’ll keep that in mind for next time,” I say, trying to smile—trying to ease the weight.

He doesn’t respond. Just watches me.

So I drop the joke.

“For the record… even if you don’t believe me, it got real. Somewhere along the way, it stopped being part of the job.”

I glance up, meet his eyes.

“You’re real to me, Spencer.”

And for a moment, he just looks at me—searching. Like he’s trying to decide whether to believe me.

Then, finally, quietly—

“I know.”

And he starts walking.

This time, I follow.

[dreamersparacosm]

i want jealous jungkook too...but do you know who i want him to be jealous of? BAM. I WANT OC AND BAM I WANT THEM

tpod!jungkook would absolutely be jealous of a dog. like he already fought to have you, now he has to fight with his own dog?? what kind of world is this?

the price of desire — epilogue blurb 1!

prompt ; in which jungkook’s biggest competition isn’t a man, but his own doberman.

warnings ; none!

Here’s the thing about Jeon Jungkook: when you’re in Korea, he simply forgets how to function like a normal human being.

Sure, he could go to rehearsals. He could hang out with the boys, lift heavy things at the gym, play with Bam at the dog park until one of them drops dead from exhaustion. He could — and does — have a life outside of you.

But unfortunately, that’s impossible to uphold currently. Because Jungkook, in all his stubbornness, has decided that when you are in Korea, you are his life.

So he waits, with the particular blend of patience and agitation that only the hopelessly devoted can manage.

He waits while you sit through endless meetings in the Seoul office where he assumes you're probably reshaping the course of fashion history. Meanwhile, he — professional idol, household name, literal global phenomenon — spends his entire afternoon fluttering around the house like an overgrown golden retriever preparing for your arrival back.

When you finally do appear, hours later than you promised (”just a quick check-in meeting,” you said, like a liar), he’s orchestrated the perfect welcome. There’s even some of your candles lit that you got from the market the other afternoon.

He made sure to put on that stupid grey hoodie you once said you liked, the one that makes him look especially ‘boyfriend-coded’ which is insane because he is your boyfriend, but whatever, he’s trying to a better man for you.

There he stands in the entryway as your keys jiggle in the lock, heart metaphorically cupped in his hands like an anxious teenager, waiting for the moment your eyes find him after a day at work.

The door swings open with comedic timing.

You enter, still clad in your professional clothes, designer bag hanging from your shoulder. Your gaze performs a quick sweep of the space, a radar searching for something that’s not him.

Somehow, impossibly, you miss the tall international superstar practically vibrating with anticipation directly in your line of sight.

It’s too late; your attention has already locked, with laser-guided precision, onto what is apparently the actual love of your life.

"Bam!" You gasp, the name ripping from your throat with the same intensity usually reserved for reunion scenes in war movies. His dog doesn’t fight it, just wags his tail and pants excitedly when he realizes you’re home.

Just like that, Jungkook experiences the unique displeasure of watching himself become irrelevant.

He stands, a bewildered expression on his face, as you drop your bag, drop your coat, drop your body at Bam’s unsuspecting feet. Within seconds, you've transformed from fashion industry powerhouse to someone talkimg in a baby voice to a dog on his entryway floor. “Oh my god, Look at you, you handsome boy! Did you miss me? I missed you so much, mwah!”

You're now kissing the dog. Not polite little pecks, but full-on, emotionally-invested mouth kisses, as if you've spent your entire day in meetings plotting how to most effectively transfer your affection to this four-legged creature while breaking his owner's heart.

Jungkook watches this betrayal unfold, holding a spatula, like he’s someone who's just realized he's accidentally enrolled in the world's most elaborate third-wheel masterclass.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

He clears his throat once.

Nothing.

He shifts his weight to his other foot.

Still… nothing. No passing glance.

Sprawled on his floor in complete surrender, you’re essentially involved in an impromptu romance with his pet. Jungkook — who has spent the last three hours committing culinary crimes against rice and desperately channeling his mother's cooking spirit — stands frozen.

It’s fine. Completely fine. Absolutely, one hundred percent acceptable.

Except for the tiny detail that he’s mentally drafting adoption papers for Bam.

He clears his throat again, louder this time and pointedly.

Finally, as if emerging from a trance, you glance up. “Hi, baby," You chirp, lips puckering in his direction, clearly expecting him to bridge the gap.

As if he's some lovesick sitcom husband whose entire world revolves around whatever affection you decide to toss his way. (Which…alright. Maybe he is. But acknowledging that would undermine his current position.)

Jungkook stares back at you, arms crossed, mouth pressed into a flat line.

Your eyebrows furrow, lips still suspended mid-pucker. When his statue holds firm, you slowly lower your mouth into a frown.

"...Hello?" You venture from your position on the floor, blinking up at him.

"Hi," He returns.

You narrow your eyes into little slits, hands still rubbing Bam’s head. "Come here."

"No."

"Why?"

"You kissed the dog," He announces petulantly.

You blink again. And then, because you are exactly the kind of woman who built a million-dollar career off smelling blood in the water, you grin.

“Oh my god,” you say, already laughing. “Are you—?”

You dramatically disengage from Bam, remaining on your knees but pressing both hands to your chest in a theatrical gesture. “Are you jealous? Of Bam?"

Jungkook's jaw flexes. He glares at some fascinating invisible point approximately six inches to the left of your head.

“I'm not jealous," He mutters, hands clasped behind his back as he avoids your gaze. (Which is exactly what someone jealous would say.)

"You're jealous of your own dog," You whisper, tone faux sympathy.

You shift your weight back, settling onto your heels, craning your neck to study him like he's a fascinating psychological case study.

Bam, however, is blissfully unaware of his central role in this drama. He wags his tail so hard that his whole butt is moving side to side like a windshield wiper.

"I leave for a couple of hours," you observe with fascination, "and you've already picked a fight with a literal puppy."

"He's not even a puppy anymore," Jungkook snaps back instantly, as if the classification of his ‘competitor’ is somehow the most pressing issue in this standoff.

You gasp, one hand flying to clutch at imaginary pearls. “Oh my god. You're calling him old? You're losing it, Jeon."

"I'm not losing it," He grumbles defensively.

The evidence suggests otherwise.

You rise to your feet slowly and saunter over to him. He stands there, arms still crossed, watching you approach with a suspicious squint.

You stop inches in front of him. Looking up through your lashes with innocence that wouldn't fool a toddler (but still somehow works on global superstars), you deploy your sweetest, most saccharine tone: "Baby," you murmur, "Love of my life."

Your hands slide up his chest, fingers toying with the neckline of his hoodie. The very one he selected for your approval, now weaponized against him.

"Don't tell me you're scared," you whisper with mock concern, eyes wide. "That Bam's gonna steal me away?"

His response surpasses non-verbal communication: silence paired with a scowl.

You grin evilly, and you lean forward until your lips brush against the shell of his ear. “He does have better hair than you," you tease.

Jungkook jerks back like he’s been electrocuted, mouth falling open in outrage.

"I knew it," he declares. "I knew you liked him better!"

Your laughter echoes throughout the whole room. His expression remains fixed in accusation, still treating your interaction with Bam — who has now abandoned you two to roll on his back in blissful oblivion — as a mortal enemy who must be defeated.

You wipe under your eyes dramatically, pulling yourself together with exaggerated effort before tilting your head.

"It's okay, baby," you console with insincerity. "Some men just can't handle the competition."

The scowl on his face deepens.

You nod solemnly, caressing his bicep. "Maybe you should work on your wagging. And your fur. I mean, Bam's coat? Impeccable."

Jungkook's mouth drops open again in shock.

You heave a long-suffering sigh, the sound of someone burdened with the great responsibility of being with a ridiculous man.

“God,” you roll your eyes, stepping into his space and grabbing a fistful of the front of his hoodie. “You’re so dramatic.”

And before he can launch into another argument, you yank him down and press your lips to his. Firm, no-nonsense, entirely fed up, but still soft because, unfortunately, you’re obsessed with him. (But he’s obsessed with you right back.)

He smiles against your lips, the ones that taste like some coconut lip balm you always wear.

Of course, though, he can’t leave it alone. Has to get the last word in, even when his hands are sliding up your sides and his chest is rumbling with happiness.

“You taste like dog,” He mumbles into your mouth and when you pull back to glare at him, he grins wider, looking downright pleased with himself.

masterlist + request

[adverbally]

Now My Bedsheets Smell Like You

Written for the @stmarchmm prompts “fake dating/courting” and “scenting” | wc: 1,645 | rated: E | cw: sexual content | tags: Steddie, Omega Steve, Alpha Eddie, mating cycles/in heat, intersex omegas, getting together, scenting, first time, vaginal sex

———

Steve splashes another handful of water into his face, scrubbing at the dried sweat along his hairline. He’s still flushed, pupils still blown wide, but maybe Eddie won’t notice. Maybe Steve can sneak out before Eddie even gets up.

It wasn’t Eddie’s fault, after all. It had been Nancy’s idea for the two of them to pretend to court. Steve’s family name made him an Omega of high standing, and being seen with him could only improve Eddie’s reputation. It would only be until the end of summer, until everyone in Hawkins could accept that Eddie was innocent and let him go about his business without constant harassment.

Steve couldn’t blame Nancy, either. He was the idiot who had agreed to the plan. What could be so bad about spending more time with his new friend? Steve would make sure nobody bothered Eddie and keep an eye on his progress as he healed from his injuries. A little more touching in public, a little more scenting, sleeping over at Eddie’s occasionally, none of it was a hardship.

Until this morning, when Steve woke up in Eddie’s bed with the Alpha clinging to him, surrounding Steve with his smoky-sweet scent.

Steve knew Eddie smelled amazing. He’d spent many an evening curled up in his nest with the shirt he’d worn to hang out with Eddie that day, breathing in the mix of their scents— cardamom and vanilla layered with Steve’s sage and citrus. But to wake up with a nose full of Alpha, so warm and thick that it drowned out Steve’s own scent and made him lightheaded?

Well, that’s why Steve is hiding in Eddie’s bathroom now, half-drowning himself in the sink in the hopes that the cold water will bring him back to his senses. He should shower, probably, scrub any trace of Eddie from his skin so he can think clearly, get out of the trailer and breathe in the fresh summer morning instead of wanting Eddie so bad—

A knock on the bathroom door. “Steve? You okay?”

God, why does Eddie have to sound good, too, all raspy and deep with sleep? It makes something clench in Steve’s gut, makes him want to whine and lick the spicy sweetness directly from Eddie’s scent glands until Eddie gives in and fucks Steve cross-eyed…

Oh. Steve isn’t just regular horny, he realizes like a slap in the face. He’s going into heat. Eddie smells so damn good that he’s causing Steve’s hormones to riot.

“Steve?” Eddie’s next knock is more insistent.

“Don’t come in,” he blurts, burying his face in the nearest hand towel.

“Uh… okay?”

Steve sighs and braces himself on the edge of the sink. “Sorry, I know it’s early but I have to go.”

He can hear Eddie’s bare feet shuffling on the carpet in the hallway. “Was it— did I do something?”

Eddie’s voice sounds small, scared, and Steve made him feel that way. His heart breaks a little. “No. No, Eddie, of course not.” He needs to see him, touch him, reassure his Alpha. Before he can think better of it, Steve throws the door open and launches himself into Eddie’s arms.

“Oh. Oh, oh my god, Steve, you—” Eddie buries his face in Steve’s neck, lips grazing the swollen scent gland there until Steve shudders beneath the touch. “You smell so good,” he mumbles into warm skin.

Steve’s head swims at the feel of Eddie’s body pressed up against his, but he tries to stay focused. “I think you triggered my heat. So unless you want me to jump you in about ten seconds, I need to—”

“You don’t want me to help?”

When Steve meets Eddie’s gaze, all he finds is genuine confusion. “You want to?”

Eddie bites his lip. “I haven’t been pretending. The fake courting thing, I’ve been… I wanted to do it for real, so I treated it like it was real. And I know you’re not in charge of how your body reacts to stuff, but if this heat means you’re interested, too—”

Their lips crash together with too much teeth but Steve doesn’t care when Eddie is groaning and licking into his mouth like a starving man. His Alpha tastes as good as he smells, a little more peppery but complemented by the vanilla that bursts on Steve’s tongue.

“Yeah?” Eddie breathes when he pulls back. He cradles Steve’s face in his blessedly cool hands, running his thumbs across Steve’s feverish cheeks. “I’ll take care of you, I just need you to say—”

“Yes, Eddie, please,” Steve gasps, rolling his hips against Eddie’s so he can feel Steve’s cock, hard and needy. He’s wet, too, wetter than he can ever remember being. He wishes Eddie would just push him up against the vanity and fuck him right there.

Like he’s reading Steve’s mind, Eddie guides him back into the bathroom and steals another kiss. “Okay, baby, how do you want me?”

Steve doesn’t hesitate to hook his fingers in the waistband of Eddie’s boxers and yank them down to his knees. He does the same to his own underwear and leans over the sink, catching Eddie’s dumbfounded expression in the mirror. “Here, just like this.”

Eddie catches on quickly, crowding Steve against the counter and sliding two fingers through the slick between Steve’s legs. “Fuck, sweetheart. Is all this for me?”

“Uh-huh,” he confirms, nudging his hips back into the pressure of Eddie’s fingertips circling his hole. Steve can’t hold back a gasp when they breach him with an easy glide.

“Can’t wait to taste you,” Eddie murmurs in his ear. His lips trail down Steve’s neck, leaving little nips and kitten licks along the way until he reaches his scent gland. “Gonna be so sweet, so good for me.”

Another finger slips into Steve’s pussy alongside the other two. The fullness is just right, enhanced by the promise of more to come when Eddie finally gets his cock in him. Steve can’t wait much longer. “Eddie, c’mon, fuck me!” he pleads.

“Give me a minute, Stevie, I don’t wanna hurt you. Gotta make sure you can take me.” Eddie nips at Steve’s neck as he scissors his fingers apart.

Steve keens at the stretch, clenching down when he imagines how much better it will feel once Eddie fucks him, knots him. “I can take it, I can take it,” he babbles. “Please, let me take it.”

“Jesus Christ,” Eddie hisses to himself, his free hand dropping from Steve’s waist to squeeze the base of his cock. “Baby, I don’t know how long I can last.”

“I don’t care, we can go again. Ed, I need you, please—” His begging suddenly turns into a disappointed whine when Eddie’s fingers leave him, only to be replaced by an involuntary chirp as Eddie notches the head of his cock at Steve’s entrance.

“Okay, okay, oh, fuuuuck.” Eddie buries his face in the crook of Steve’s neck, gulping in breaths like the Omega’s scent is the only thing keeping him sane as he sinks into the tight heat of Steve’s pussy.

It makes Steve burn with jealousy, the fact that Eddie can smell him but not the other way around. He fumbles behind him to grab one of Eddie’s hands, drags it to his nose and huffs the sweet warmth of his scent straight from his wrist like a drug he can’t get enough of.

“Steve, oh my god, how are you even real?” Eddie’s hips jerk against his ass, grinding into him helplessly. There’s no real rhythm to his movements yet, caught up as he is in the whirlwind of heat pheromones, but it’s everything Steve wants at the moment.

“Alpha, smell like mine,” he purrs against Eddie’s pulse point. The skin is thin at the inside of his wrist, practically begging for Steve to bite until he draws blood and tastes cardamom and vanilla on his tongue.

“You, too,” Eddie groans, sucking hard at Steve’s scent gland as his thrusts find a steady cadence that knocks Steve’s hips against the edge of the sink. “Mine.”

It should be embarrassing how quickly Steve’s orgasm creeps up on him but Eddie is thick and hot in his cunt, and Steve’s cock is grinding against the countertop, and Eddie’s scent is right there in his face and in the stale air of the Munsons’ trailer and—

Steve can’t even choke out a warning before he’s coming, clamping down on Eddie’s cock and clutching his wrist for dear life as he makes a mess of the sink.

Based on Eddie’s strangled growl, he’s not far behind. “Ohjesusfuck, Stevie, I’m gonna—”

His knot catches painfully on Steve’s rim, just this side of too big, but Steve shoves back against him until it breaches him with a wet noise and a curse from Eddie. He can feel each spurt of the Alpha’s come filling him up, Eddie’s hands shaking against Steve’s hip and mouth, his hips grinding deeper and deeper where they’re locked together.

It’s good, so good that Steve’s knees go weak and Eddie has to hold him up as they both tremble through the aftershocks. It’s even better when Eddie starts whispering to him, sweet nothings like, “So good for me, honey. Felt so good, made me pop my knot so fuckin’ fast. Just a few more minutes and then once my knot goes down, we can go back to bed, nap some more before the next wave.”

Steve just purrs, content to be surrounded by— and full of— Eddie’s spicy-sweet smell. His Omega is satisfied for now, finally settled on Eddie’s knot, and the urgency bubbling in his veins calms. For once, Steve is looking forward to the rest of his heat, knowing he’ll be cared for by an Alpha with calloused hands and a soft heart and a scent that feels like a warm hug.

[mariasont]

public swimwear to private entertainment

bimbo!reader models swimwear for aaron before the trip

pairing: aaron hotchner x bimbo!reader warnings: fem!reader, aaron having dirty ish thoughts, suggestive ish ending prompt: here wc: 0.8k

Hotch eyes the open suitcase sprawling across the bed and feels something considerably close to existential dread. Surely, that must be every bikini ever manufactured. They multiply before him, each skimpier and more vividly patterned than the last, nestled carelessly among skirts and shorts so minuscule he’s fairly certain they qualify as handkerchiefs. 

He watches as you flutter from drawer to drawer, obliviously humming some sugary pop song, adding yet another bundle of fabric to the towering heap. 

He briefly considers stepping in, diplomatically suggesting that perhaps your packing approach is slightly disproportionate to a seven-day beach vacation, but really, who is he kidding? He’s better off staying silent.

Hotch gingerly lifts one of the offending garments from its glitter-speckled nest, eyeing it skeptically. He holds it carefully between thumb and forefinger — God forbid he accidentally damage whatever microscopic integrity it possesses. 

“Sweetheart,” he begins slowly, fidgeting with the beginning of a smile, “you can’t be serious.”

“Um, yes, I can be. That’s literally the cutest one I have.”

“It’s barely there.”

You sigh, crossing your arms. “It’s a bikini, Aaron. It’s supposed to be barely there. That’s, like, the whole point.”

Inside his head, Hotch feels like he’s refereeing a particularly violent boxing match. In one corner, the possessive side of him — territorial, irrational, and obnoxiously overprotective — clamors for immediate confiscation of the scrap of fabric, envisioning scenarios involving oversized sweatshirts, ski jackets, or perhaps a nun’s habit.

The other side, sensible and mature, argues sternly that policing your outfits is hardly appropriate boyfriend behavior, regardless of how many panic attacks they induce.

He sighs inwardly, concluding that he’ll simply have to weather his skyrocketing blood pressure silently, like the self-sacrificing martyr he apparently aspires to become.

“You’ll love it, promise,” you chirp, leaning in close to press a lipstick-coated kiss directly onto his cheek, a kiss his suspects might be visible from space. “Should I model it first? You know, for reassurance.”

“I doubt seeing it in advance will help my mental health.”

A bubbly giggle escapes your lips, and you pat his chest affectionately. “You’re so funny sometimes. Have you considered stand-up?”

Hotch stares after you for a moment as the bathroom door closes, mildly bewildered at how his dry sarcasm always manages to delight you so thoroughly. 

He sighs, shaking his head as he reluctantly turns back to his own suitcase, a carefully curated assortment of practical clothing and essentials.

Or at least it was, until he noticed that his neatly folded stack of muted shirts and shorts had apparently become prime real estate for your sandals and pastel tops. 

The bathroom door swings back open after a couple minutes, and Hotch glances up, immediately rendered speechless.

Perhaps permanently.

You stand framed in the doorway, a glittering vision wrapped tightly around curves he privately believes far more protection, or possibly none at all, depending on which impulsive side of him gains the upper hand. 

He briefly entertains the idea of canceling the trip altogether in favor of alternative plans involving far fewer garments — though that threshold has already been spectacularly lowered — and significantly less public visibility.

But practicality crashes rudely into his consciousness, reminding him with grim certainty that he was unquestionably correct about the fragility of this ensemble. One touch, one unfortunate gust of wind, and you’d be entirely uncovered, dressed only in sunbeams themselves. 

Hotch feels a preemptive headache forming, not at you, but at Rossi’s predictable, blatant ogling, which is practically guaranteed the moment his friend spots you.

Dave has never been one for discretion, especially when confronted by someone with beauty of your magnitude. He mentally rehearses contingency plans, debating how best to block Rossi’s line of sight without appearing caveman-like.

You twirl dramatically, shimmering as you collapse into his waiting arms, smile radiant enough to rival the sun.

“See?” You beam, fingertips brushing along his jaw. “It’s perfect.”

“Yes,” Hotch replies, attempting, but mostly failing, to keep his tone neutral as the pad of his thumb traces along your shoulder. “Perfect if you’re looking to give me gray hair.”

“Jealous already?”

His hand finds its way gently to your neck, idly tracing the fragile knot tied there. 

“Maybe I'm more concerned about accidental exposure.”

“You're being dramatic,” you giggle, tilting your chin defiantly. “It’s totally secure.”

“Secure?” He raises an eyebrow skeptically, fingertips tightening just slightly around the strings. “Let's test that theory.”

The bow slips free effortlessly, leaving you scrambling to secure the suddenly loose fabric against your chest with a startled squeak.

“Aaron!”

Hotch leans in, voice dropping dangerously low. “Just proving a point. Maybe we should try something a little sturdier before we leave.”

As it turns out, Hotch was entirely correct—not only about the questionable reliability of your swimwear, but also the inevitable delay it caused in their departure.

By the time they finally left, the bikini was neatly tucked away in his suitcase, officially reclassified from public swimwear to private entertainment. Secretly, he suspects you knew exactly what you were doing — and he can't find a single reason to complain.

join me at the beach for my 1 year/4k event!

day 1 extras

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maria's spring break getaway masterlist

[dreamsteddie]

Instinctual

Written for the @stmarchmm day 30 prompt “omega nests/alpha nests” | Tags: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alpha Eddie Munson, Omega Steve Harrington

Divider - @steddiecameraroll-graphics

Also posted on Ao3

Eddie doesn’t know what he’s doing or why it’s pissing him off so badly.

There’s been this itch under his skin for the last couple of weeks, and even if Eddie doesn’t like to conform to the expectations of his designation, he’s also never been one to ignore his instincts. When he’s mad, he’ll fill the place up with his scent. When he’s overwhelmed with love for his pack, he’ll force them all into a big, messy puppy pile. Wayne likes to say he’s just a big pup disguised as an alpha.

But none of that explains why he’s been madly redecorating his den. He can’t help it; his instincts are telling him that it isn’t right, even though his den has been diligently crafted and maintained since he moved in with Wayne and didn’t have to compete with his dad for space anymore. The light is hitting his face wrong in the morning, his sheets are the wrong texture, and for some god forsaken reason, the big tapestry blanket he was very proud to thrift needs to cover the far wall that connects to Wayne’s room instead of remaining on his bed.

Normally, Eddie is happy to follow his instincts, but he also usually knows why he’s doing something. Eddie would actually really like to not be doing this, but he doesn’t feel like there’s much of a choice, hence the irritation.

He’s in the middle of moving around the pile of blankets on his bed again — why his instincts want so many blankets is beyond him. Spring in Hawkins isn’t that cold — when he hears the door open. Wayne won’t be home for another six hours, so that means it must be Steve.

Despite the judgemental looks the old bitties in the trailer park give them, the omega has been coming over almost every day since the not-so-end-of-the-world. It started off as pack bonding, everyone cramming into the double-wide to be with Eddie and Max when they were both too injured to go far. Eventually, everyone settled. The kids, Nancy and Robin, all went back to school, but Steve stuck around. Eddie won’t try to say he discouraged it. He kind of loved having an omega in the house. Loved having Steve in the house.

All that is to say, Eddie doesn’t bother to go see who’s at the door, he lets Steve know he’s in the bedroom knowing the omega will meander his way in after he kicks off his shoes and grabs a glass of water the same way he always does. Eddie just keeps working, instinct screaming at him even louder now that someone is going to see his incomplete den. It has nothing to do with that person being Steve. He swears.

When Steve finds him, Eddie is mid-wrestle with a particularly ornery fitted sheet, which has decided to betray him and come undone. Steve pays him no mind, flopping down directly onto the mess of his bed after putting his glass down on the dresser.

On a normal day, Eddie would pay this no mind. Steve is good at making himself at home wherever he is, and with so much time spent with Eddie at his house, he doesn’t bother with asking permission for much anymore. Eddie's house is Steve’s house as far as either of them are concerned, but today is not a normal day.

Today, Eddie is wound up and trying to figure out what his instincts want from him. Today, Steve flops down on Eddie’s bed, in Eddie’s nest, and lets out that same happy groan he always does when he can finally get off his feet after a long day. Today, Eddie realises what exactly he’s been doing, and for whom.

He’s nesting.

He’s building a full-on nest in his room for Steve Harrington.

Eddie must make some kind of noise because Steve lifts his head from where it had been happily buried in a stack of pillows, tilting his head in that puppyish way that is far too cute for Eddie to handle at a moment like this.

“You alright, man?” Steve asks, all mind concern and genuine curiosity. Eddie knows from experience that if he says he’s not feeling well, Steve will invite him in for a friendly pack cuddle and trill at him in that sweet way that makes Eddie’s heart squeeze. He can not handle that right now.

“Yes. Yup. All good here, Harrington. Just trying to conquer this fitted sheet.” Cool, he’s totally being cool.

“If you say so…” Steve responds, clearly not buying it but willing to let it go for now. “I like what you’ve done with the room, by the way, very cozy.” The omega turns on his back, stretching big and long like a cat settling in for a nice nap. It makes his t-shirt ride up, exposing his soft, hairy belly. Eddie is going to die.

He makes himself look away, cheeks flaming in a way that is definitely not cool so he can finish forcing his sheet into submission and maybe even get a goddamn grip. Unfortunately, he’s so focused on getting a grip that he doesn’t even notice himself getting up to gather one more sheet for the bed. The entire thing is covered in blankets, but it needs a nice, smooth layer over it so it doesn’t get too hot on his omega’s skin.

It’s the errant thought of his omega, and the sudden realization that Steve hasn’t said a word in almost five minutes makes him snap back to reality. He doesn’t want to look up, but he knows not looking would be weirder, so he forced his eyes up and oh.

Steve knows.

He’s looking right at him with those big hazel eyes like he’s just had an epiphany, and he’s staring right at where Eddie’s just finished tucking in that last, incriminating sheet.

“Eddie?”

“Uh…this is not what it looks like.”

“Eddie.”

“Ok…” Eddie says, hands going up in the air as if he can pretend someone else made the nest if he moves his hands away fast enough. “Ok, it’s exactly what it looks like, but…but!” He’s scrambling, looking for any kind of way he can pass this up as a completely platonic nest, as if alphas ever make nests if it’s not for their mates. 

He’s just about to start spewing some bullshit about stress (constant but not more than usual) and mating season (junk science Eddie loathes) when he realised that Steve looks, well, he looks like he’s waiting to get his heart broken, like Eddie has that kind of power over him. Like Eddie denying what they both know is happening will hurt, but he’ll accept it.

And, well, Eddie promised himself that he wouldn’t be another thing, another person, who hurt Steve. After all the supernatural bullshit, after his old friends, his old alpha, and his parents, Eddie doesn’t want to be another thing Steve has to recover from. 

It’s time to be brave. Time to stop running.

“Fuck, ok yeah it’s exactly what it looks like,” Eddie says, running a nervous hand through his hair. “I’m uh, I’ve kind of been crazy in love with you for like, months. Maybe since the beginning of the whole Vecna thing, if I’m being honest.” Eddie can’t look at Steve when he says this, looking off into the middle distance, too caught up to try and parse out the individual notes in Steve’s scent. “I’ve been too chicken shit to ask you to court, but I guess my instincts decided enough was enough.”

“Can you look at me, Eddie?” He doesn’t want to, but if it’s Steve asking, he’ll do just about anything. But, really, Eddie should have known better than to be scared, the omega has never looked at him with anything but kindness, not in a long time. Steve is smiling at him, a sweet little thing that sets Eddie’s heart to fluttering. “It’s a real nice nest,” Steve says, and suddenly Eddie can’t breathe. Everything he’s ever wanted is staring him right in the face, asking him without asking to take the last step.

Maybe Eddie doesn’t subscribe to any of the stupid designation stereotypes that say alphas should be in charge and omegas should follow their lead, but he also thinks that Steve deserves to be asked. He deserves a moment he can recall fondly to his kids of the day his alpha asked him to court.

“Well,” he pauses, licks his lips and wishes he could grab that glass of water Steve left on the dresser because his throat is suddenly parched, “It’s all yours if you want it, Stevie. There’s no other omega I’d make a nest for. And, uh, I’d love to court you, if you’d give me the chance to prove myself.”

Steve is smiling at him like he put all the stars in the sky, scent blooming sugary, cinnamon happy. “Well, with such a nice nest, how could I say no, Alpha?” The omega simpers, the coy effect lost as he hauls Eddie up into the nest, their nest, by his shirt.

And then they’re far too busy to say much of anything, for a while.

---------

This is my last submission for March Mating Madness 2025! It's been so fun working on these and reading what everyone else has written.

[nottswitch]

sisters bf!theo who doesn’t try to cover up when you accidentally walk in on him in the shower… if anything he’s turning TOWARDS you with the biggest smirk…

꒰ you walk in on sister’s bf!theo showering ꒱

cw: 18+ mdni, exhibitionism, size kink, theo’s huge cock, cursing

a/n: his smirk is already permanently plastered on his face, but if you walk in on him… oh boy, oh boy

⋆˚꩜｡

you didn’t think much of it when you turned the handle of the bathroom door, not even looking around as you walked in, your eyes glued to the screen of your phone in your hand. you mindlessly walked over to the sink, leaning on it with your hip, lingering as some picture caught your attention.

"and who do we have here, hm?"

you flinched and nearly dropped your phone as you heard an unexpected yet such a familiar voice from the shower. letting out a small squeal of surprise, you looked up and nearly dropped down to the floor yourself – there, standing in the small stall, was none other that theodore nott, your sister’s relatively new and already incredibly irritating boyfriend. and he was, well, in a state one would expect in the shower – completely naked.

you instinctively closed your eyes, placing a palm over them as a second shield.

"what the actual fuck?!" you whisper-yelled, your eyebrows knitting together in a confused and annoyed frown. yeah, what the fuck? why wasn’t he covering up?! the bastard didn’t even blink, staring at your flustered form with the biggest smirk in existence.

"well, you could open your eyes and see for yourself what the actual fuck," he teased, parroting the tone your voice, which made the blood boil in your veins. yet for some reason, there was a sense of morbid curiosity, almost, to actually peep at what was right in front of you. it wasn’t like you had never noticed theo’s prominent assets before, since grey sweatpants had quickly become – or had always been – his uniform at your apartment. plus, you did overhear your sister on the phone with her best friend the other day, boasting about the size of his cock…

damn it, the temptation was too strong.

slowly, you pulled your hand away from your face, blinking your eyes open as the bathroom lights hit them. for a moment, your vision was focusing, and then… it certainly did focus pretty well.

theo was, for the lack of a better word, huge. as in, bigger than anyone you’d ever seen. you gulped thickly, shame slowly leaving your body as you stared at his dick, which was, for whatever sick reason, hard and throbbing, slapping lightly against the toned muscles of his abdomen. his dark pink tip glistened in the light, and you wouldn’t even try to guess what part of it was water and what part of it was precum.

"so? thoughts?" theo prompted in a casually arrogant manner, which momentarily jolted you out of your haze. you reluctantly looked up, biting the inside of your cheek in an attempt to appear nonchalant, yet there was no hiding the way your pupils were blown out, your eyes betraying exactly what you thought of the sight in front of you.

"um… you have a dick," you muttered, not sure what else to say, as you had never expected to be in such a situation in the first place. there was no way you could openly praise your sister’s boyfriend’s cock, right? plus, his ego, as you had come to learn during the time you had known him, was enormous – apparently, directly proportional to the size of said cock.

"oh, do i?" theo cooed, the smirk on his face growing, making you want to slap it off his face. "thought you were a smartass, piccola," he added in mock disappointment. you were only getting used to the italian nicknames, but he made them sound awfully annoying and seductive at the same time – not that you’d ever admit the last part.

"not as much as you, it seems," you retorted, trying to sound unbothered, and yet your eyes couldn’t help darting down again – his boner was still there, still huge and swollen, still jerking slightly in the air. you swore you could hear the small sounds of wet skin slapping against skin as it throbbed.

of course, theo noticed exactly where your gaze lingered, and the chuckle that escaped him really tempted you to punch his face in. how on earth could a person be such a pain in the ass and simultaneously, an owner of this… thing between his legs?

"enjoying the view?" he teased, raising an amused eyebrow. his hand slowly wrapped around the base of his cock, unmoving but squeezing it enough for it stand out even more against his complexion.

you rolled your eyes but stayed silent, unable to deny the obvious truth – you were, in fact, enjoying the view, even though you knew you shouldn’t have. at your lack of words, theo hummed in mock understanding, pretending to think over something.

"you know,” he started, his voice a cocky drawl, "your sister never comp–"

"okay, that’s enough!" you exclaimed, dramatically covering up your ears with your hands. "i don’t need to know that!"

with a huff, you turned around, forgetting all about the reason you came into the bathroom in the first place. however, as you were leaving, your eyes involuntarily lingered on theo’s cock again – it wasn’t your fault it was so fucking huge! and you could definitely see theo’s face still very much lit up with a wide smirk, almost a grin, as he watched you walk out of the door.

au. more.

[yeonmuse]

— Bloodlust 18+

IN WHICH, you’re stuck with him, following his rules, obeying every order all because your father had made a binding vow to strengthen your bloodline.

( pairing) - vampire!sunghoon x f!r 2.8kwc + smut. not proofread!! 3rd pov Contains!! Mentions of blood/sexual themes/asshole sunghoon [reqs are open] ᝰ.ᐟ 𝓁ibrary 🪷

Req from anon: “hi can you please do a vampire sunghoon x reader smut ive been reading all of your rockstar series and i can’t wait for you to finish it”

🔖 @jwonistic @bubblytaetae @pkjay @planetmarlowe @dreeki @butterflywonz @lillotus17 @squiishymeow @river-demon-slayer @jiamini @sol3chu @right-person-wrong-time

**Jake and Heeseungs parts can be found in my library **

It went without saying that you absolutely hated Park Sunghoon, since the moment you’d arrived at his estate he hadn't shown the slightest ounce of hospitality to you. He was cold, demanding, self centered and an absolute asshole.

Of course you are forced to put up with him nonetheless, having been given to him by your father under the agreement of some sort of pact he had made with the Park Bloodline. You’d be prompted to give both your family and the park family an heir, forever binding your bloodlines and ending the decade long feud between your ancestors and the parks.

Though just because you were forced into such an agreement didn’t mean you had to make it easy, you had made every day for Sunghoon hell as well, always talking back, flirting with his friends when they’d visit, you made the simplest of conversation with him an argument and it aggravated him to the highest degree.

Today would seem to be the only day of peace that you’d be getting, being told Sunghoon would be away on business for a while, You found yourself roaming the empty library you had now become quite familiar with. The warmth of the fireplace engulfed your body, and you let out a content sigh upon finally having gotten some peace and quiet. Fingers dusting over the old outdated novels, you scanned through most of them until finding one that caught your eye. A soft hum spills from your lips as you stretch out your arms to grasp a book on a higher shelf, jumping back once you feel two arms wrap around your waist from behind.

“Not quite tall enough to get it yourself hm?” The familiar tone was a dead give away that it was none other than Park Sunghoon.

“Get lost, I'm trying to read, I was told you wouldn’t be here.” Rolling your eyes you remove his arms from your waist as you continue to reach for your chosen book.

“Seems to me you’re rather struggling to get the book more so than you are reading one.” As if it took no effort he reaches for the book you had been eyeing for mere minutes now and raises it into the air.

“Tell me little one, are you interested in such a book?” Leaning down he made sure that his autumn colored orbs stared directly into yours all while you shot him an annoyed glare, seemingly struggling to retrieve the book from him.

“Oh, go on little bunny, maybe if you jump a little higher you’ll get it.” He found it amusing watching you struggle, since the moment you had moved in with him he made it his mission to get under your skin just as you did to him.

“I swear to god, do you ever get tired of hearing yourself talk.” Your frustration had only grown the more he opened his mouth.

“No, but I do get tired of hearing you, little rabbit.”

‘Bunny’ ‘little rabbit’ two nicknames he has used frequently since you’d moved into his estate. That was how he viewed you, a helpless rabbit for him to prey upon whenever he desired, though when you first arrived he hadn’t expected a little thing like you to give him as much trouble as you had.

“It’d make that pretty face of yours even more desirable if you’d learned to keep quiet.” Finally he brought the book down and handed it to you only for him to grab your hand and pull you into his chest the moment you reached for it.

“You’re always so sweet and coquettish when it comes to Jaeyun or Jongseong, yet you love to make it difficult for me?” His thumb gently brushes over your wrists as he stares down at them, he could smell the blood running through your veins, and the beating of your heart didn’t go unnoticed by him either.

“Wait-” before you could even protest Sunghoon had already had you pressed against the shelf behind you, his leg locked in place between your thighs to keep you from moving. His thumb immediately pressed into your wrist, silencing you, making you yelp as his nails pierced your skin.

“From now on only speak when I tell you sweetheart, I’m sick of your mouth.” His eyes pierced into yours in a way that made you fall silent almost immediately. You hated it, you hated him, even more you hated your father for having made the agreement to give you up so easily. You also hated that the moment he gave you that command you were forced to comply.

“I told your father I’d be polite, that I'd wait until you were compliant and willingly giving yourself to me, but all you’ve done is act like a brat.” He chuckles and grabs your face, forcing you to stare into his eyes, a hunger seemingly lingering in them, a look you hadn’t realized until now.

“sweet little human, I could break you in far more ways than you know. Yet you still know how to pull strings until I’m singing to your tune.” He brought your lips to his wrist, and you watched as his tongue escaped past his lips and dusted across your skin sending a shiver up your spine.

“You’re so quiet now hm? Haven’t heard that pretty mouth speak a word.”

“Fuck off.” He chuckles before his lips meet your skin again, this time sucking at the bare flesh of your wrists as he presses his knee against you, a grin cutting into his lips as he hears a moan spill past your lips mere sections after you had just cursed him.

He eyed your every move as he slid his tongue across your skin, he found himself very much satisfied as he sensed a rise in the heat of your body. As your eyes met his and you spotted that familiar cocky smirk on his lips, part of you wanted to pull away from him, to tell him off. To not give him the satisfaction of knowing he had you feeling vulnerable to say the least. Though there was no fooling him he could tell you were struggling to pull upsets together, that you were failing at your attempt to fight against him. Though he also knew you were still annoyed with him, and that would make it all the more enjoyable having you crying and begging for him to make a mess of you.

“I’ll show you the proper use of that pretty mouth you got, I’ll teach you when and when not to speak.” He forces you down to your knees, holding your face in his hands to keep your mouth open. He absolutely loved the way you looked at him as if you wanted to destroy him, like you were completely pissed at him. His thumb brushes over your lip as he stares into your eyes and he leans in mere inches away from your face.

“Go on sweetheart tell me how much you hate me yeah?” Before you could manage even one word he yanks your head back by your hair and shoves his fingers into your mouth earning a frustrated moan from you.

“Let’s prepare you, yeah?” He watched as you almost instantaneously fell into your role and he couldn’t help but find it amusing.

“Already making good use of that mouth, look at you.” His eyes were locked in place, watching the way your tongue swirled and danced around his fingers. It gave him all the more reason to stuff your mouth full of him. He wastes no time undoing his belt and shoving his pants to the floor, his boxers not too far behind.

The moment he slid the tip of his cock between your lips a groan spilled past his lips. He was ecstatic. The feeling of your lips around him making him eager to explore the rest of you. He loved the way your sweet eyes gazed into his like you hated him, even though your actions said otherwise.

“Fuck,is this all I have to do to shut you up? Fuvk this pretty face?” He growls, his head falling back as he takes in the feeling of your mouth around him. Grinding his hips against your face. You took his thrusts so easily, eyes trained on him above you as you began to suck, one hand on his thigh to keep yourself still and the other on the floor beneath you. Falling into the rhythm was surprisingly easy and felt very fucking natural with him.

While Sunghoonseemed to be lost in the sensation of your sweet mouth.You on the other hand, you were a moaning mess, fingers digging into his thigh as he fists your hair and fucks your throat. The slurping and gagging noises that spilled past your lips were enough to make him cum right then and there, but he didn’t, he just kept fucking your pretty lips as if he were trying to permanently shut you up.

“Should have thought of this before you got so mouthy” Following his words Sunghoon forces the rest of his dick down your throat earning a cry from you as you feel the head of his cock excessively abuse it. He kept mercilessly fucking your mouth, muffling every moan that threatened to escape your lips. You simply whimpered pathetically, clawing at his thigh, clenching around nothing, feeling so pathetic at the fact that this had actually been turning you on. Your desperation pulled a grunt from him, making him yank your hair harder forcing a cry from your mouth which was swallowed up by his cock.

“Fuck”

Without any warning he forces himself to reach the back of your throat as he finishes in your mouth. Shooting his load into the depths of your throat, and not giving you any time to breath before he has to propped up against the bookshelf.

“Still hate me baby hm? Still angry at me?” Before you could manage even one word his lips wrapped around your lips and he began to suck at your clit. This earned a frustrated moan from you, when he treated your body in such ways there was no way you’d let out any words that were remotely coherent.

“I’m asking you a question, let me hear it.” His tongue began to lap at your folds like he was hungry for it. his nails digging into your thighs with every whine or moan of pleasure that spilled from your lips. It made him hungrier for it, hungrier to hear you crying and begging beneath him. Usually he was content with just annoying you but right now he wanted to break you.

When he was met with continued silence he removed his lips from your soaked cunt to kiss along your thighs. You became very aware of his fangs as they grazed the skin of your inner thighs earning a whimper on your part. A whimper that didn’t go unnoticed by Sunghoon, tempting him to do it again.

“Oh? Does that turn you on? You're so pathetic, all it takes is my cock down your throat and tongue deep in your pretty little cunt for me to get you compliant.” He seemed to call you out on everything, everything you tried to hide or deny he knew that’s what made him so frustrating. His eyes remained trained on your face as he continued to tease your body with his fangs. At some point he even went as far as teasing himself by piercing your skin and licking the blood that spilled between your thighs.

“Mmm, a sweet taste to match the scent.” As you watched the way his tongue lapped at your blood you couldn't help but want him to take more from you, to hear more satisfied groans as he drank from your body.

As his eyes remained focused on your face he immediately dug his sharp teeth into your thighs, a satisfied moan spilling past his lips at the taste. Your taste was addicting and it was now clear to him why the others always had such a rough time being around you. He watched the way your eyes rolled back as you pulled his hair, the wetness that gushed from your thighs all while your heart beat began to speed up at the painful pleasure. Once he had finally taken enough blood to satisfy his thirst he moved back between your thighs to once again hear the lovely Melodie’s that would spill from your lips.

The way he worked his tongue was godly and it went without saying that no matter how much you disliked him at times, with a tongue like his you could easily be put in your place.

“Fuck, Stop talking and just fuck me.” His nails pressed into your thigh, a mere warning for you to fix your attitude.

“Beg for it then sweetheart, if you want me so badly.” He forced his fingers past your folds and uses them to stretch you out, watching the way your jaw clenched in annoyance as you tried to force back a moan

“Please, please Hoon it hurts, I need more.”

"Yes, say that again..beg. My pretty little human, tell me what you’d like." He loved that you didn’t shy away from begging for it. You were his, his perfect little slut, his precious little human and he’d ruin you and watch you crumble in his arms.

“please.” Your fingers coiled within his dark locks and he watched as your eyes gazed down at him full of desperation.

“I’ll train you well enough, you’ll be able to take me any time and anywhere I please.”

“Fuck, just shut- u” before you could even finish you felt him push past your entrance stretching you out until he fully bottomed out inside you. Your tightness earned a low growl from him as he pushed so deep you could have sworn you felt him hit the top of your stomach

“Go on finish your sentence sweetheart” He continued to jerk his hips up into you knowing that if he kept at it you wouldn’t be able to say a word. He found pure amusement in watching the blissed out look on your face with every little thrust inside you.

“So pathetic, the moment you get stuffed like a pretty little cocksleeve you immediately go mute.” A chuckle spilled past his lips and he spread your legs wider and pushed your thighs back against your chest. Your moans were evident enough that whatever pain you felt if any had gone away. He wasted no time fucking into you, rough and feverish thrusts from the very beginning. Thrusts that caused your eyes to roll to the back of your head so hard you saw stars.

Your nails clawing at the shelf behind you and your mouth fell open, lines of saliva dripping down your chin as gargled moans spilled past your lips.

“H-Hoon.” The sound of his name spilling from your lips was like heaven. He immediately leans down to take your nipple between his lips while his other hand fondles your breasts. The pleasure had been overwhelming your bodies in ways you hadn’t thought to be possible. From the flicking of his tongue against your breasts every time he thrusted in to you feeling like the more he fucked the deeper into your stomach his cock seemed to push.

“Look at you pretty girl, you hate me so much yet here you are taking my cock like a desperate fiend.” Your thoughts had been so cloudy that you could barely even make out anything he had been talking to you about.

“Such a pretty little whore gonna cum all over my cock after complaining all this time about how much she hates me.” He immediately rested one hand on your waist while resting the other on your stomach and pushing down. He wanted to feel just how far his cock could go inside your little frame. This action was all it took to push you over the edge, the moment he pushed down upon your stomach your legs shook and it was a glorious sight for Sunghoon to see you squirt upon the impact of his hand. Your legs shook violently as his thrusts grew in speed and the low growls that spilled from his mouth made it all more easy for you to unravel right then and there, your cum spilling out onto his cock along with the desk in mere seconds. Subghoon wasnt too far behind as the fucked out look on your face and the way your tight cunt clenched around him was all he needed for him to spill his load into you.

He took pride in watching you struggle to catch your breath.

“Still hate me sweetheart?”

“Absolutely.”

“Good thing I have forever to fuck it out of you then.”

[intoanotherworld23]

A Royal Throne

Summary: There’s no throne more worthy to sit on than Lucius’s face

Warnings: explicit content, mature content, smut, oral sex female receiving, face sitting, face grinding, mention of virgin reader, inexperienced reader, horny Lucius

A/N: hi my loves I know it’s been a couple months since I’ve been on here I’ve just been going through some stuff but I am back. I hope you guys enjoy this one and I encourage all of you to reblog and comment I would like to hear what everyone thinks! Appreciate everyone who’s supported me and continues to support me! If you wish to be added to a tag list it’s fully open so please don’t hesitate to ask! Thanks everyone! XOXO

Hall of Hunks

Tag list for everything: @iam-laiya @rosie-posie08 @madzleigh01 @alwaysclassyeagle @mytbel0st @shanimallina87 @marvelstarker-mha98 @powellssugarbaby @lora21 @kmc1989

Tag list for Paul Mescal/Lucius: OPEN

“Come here my little dove.” Lucius waving you over to him as he sat on the bed his legs spread prompting you to step between them. This position felt so intimate and warm it was very foreign to you. “Don’t be shy with me now.”

Lifting your silk dress and placing your legs on either side of his hips to sit on his lap. To your surprise though, he lays back and wraps his arms under your thighs pulling you upward. "What are you doing?"

"I am starving." He responds back, guiding your body up towards his face. Panic ensues and your inexperience starts to show when you have no idea what he’s about to do, or if you were gonna be able to do what he wanted. Pushing your body up so you were using the stone wall to hold yourself up.

“How can you be starving when you’ve eaten enough to feed an entire army?” Confused when he starts kissing along your inner thighs his facial hair tickling against your skin. Lucius could already smell your arousal, and was even more eager to dive in.

“Do you trust me?” He questions sensing your hesitation and nervousness. Judging by the look on your face you’ve never done this, and to be honest he was excited to be your first.

The first time you and Lucius laid eyes on each other the two of you have become inseparable. Even though he was a simple gladiator, and you were of royalty. That still didn’t stop the two of you from sneaking off into the dead of night. Knowing the risk if you two were caught, but something told you Lucius would always protect you.

“Of course I do Lucius.” Staring down at his face trying to sound confident, but you know he could hear your shaky voice.

“Then just follow my lead.” His head now positioned directly above your cunt. Licking his lips as he stared so intensely between your legs you felt like you could pass out. It just now hitting you what he was wanting you to do.

Nodding with him really doubting yourself, and just hoping whatever you were about to do was going to bring him immense pleasure. Holding your dress around your waist so you could watch what he was about to do. His thick hands holding onto your hips, and guiding you to sit on his face. His tongue right up against your cunt. A heat rising to your cheeks being in such a vulnerable position.

“I don’t want to suffocate you.” Anxiety bubbling over trying to lift yourself back up, and all he could do was smirk up at you.

“Then I shall die a true gladiators death.” He says before slamming you back down on his face. A gasp slipping past your lips at the sudden movement.

His tongue working furiously inside of you thrusting and swirling in all the right places. Finding yourself shamelessly riding his face without even realizing it. Gasps and whimpers leaving your lips echoing around the room hoping none of the servants heard. Lucius’s thumbs soothingly rubbing your already sweaty skin.

“Sweet as honeyed wine.” Muffling more to himself than you, but his words still held a grip on you.

“Oh gods.” Crying out as you looked down watching as he hungrily lapped at your cunt like he was a starved wild animal. One hand keeping your dress up while the other attached to his head a tight grip on his hair. All he could do was groan which vibrated against your clit.

Your orgasm was quickly approaching, and your entire body felt like it was on fire. You’ve never ever felt anything like this before. Lucius looked up at your remarkable expression, and it had him hard as stone. He loved holding your pleasure in his grasp, and made him feel like he had unlimited power.

“I’m close.” Rotating your hips as he thrusted his tongue as deep as he could the bridge of his nose brushing against your puffy clit. It was overwhelming as it felt like the room was spinning, and the walls were closing around you.

“Let go I am right here.” He encouraged as he started to suck on your clit. Holding you down refusing to let you go, and he just keeps going. It was everything that you never knew you needed. Throwing your head back as a cry of pleasure left your lips, and your thighs squeezing the sides of his head.

Listening as his tongue lapped up your juices, your legs shaking as he eased you through your orgasm. Using his chest to lift yourself off his face your legs feeling like noodles. Lucius adjusting his position so he was sitting upright his hands never leaving your hips as he made you sit back down on his lap. Watching in awe as he wiped his mouth his beard glistening under the blaze of the candles.

“My sweet little dove.” A hand reaching up to caress your cheek with a soft smile. Hands down by his hips as you mindlessly played with the fabric of his pants. “Now tell me, are you a virgin?”

[grandline-fics]

OHHHH I GOT AN AMAZING IDEA WHAT IF READER DOESN'T GIVE ONE PIECE MEN A KISS BACK AFTER THEY KISSED READER?

DESCRIPTION: When you don’t kiss them back

WARNINGS: None. This isn’t an angst fic I promise, established relationships in everyone’s but Law’s

CHARACTERS: Shanks, Doflamingo, Law, Ace. (Doflamingo's section can be interpreted as being part of the Immune To Your Charms universe but doesn't necessarily have to be)

WORDS: 2,561

A/N: I'm back after being sick so my writing is still a bit on the rusty side! Thank you for this request and I hope you like it. I kept everything light hearted and more on the playful side with this request which works out well since today's April Fools Day. Enjoy 💕

*REQUESTS ARE OPEN*

DIRECTORY | PROMPT LIST | KO-FI

———————

SHANKS

Sometimes on the Grand Line there are moments of monotony, even for a crew as adventurous and boisterous as the Red Hair pirates. With the previous island long gone and no new island in sight for fun and entertainment in sight, you all had to find your own ways to pass the time. Lounging in one of the hammocks strung up on the deck for these long stretches of nothing you cast your sights around the Red Force, searching for inspiration. For a while nothing came to mind. Then when your gaze found your Captain and lover at the other side of the deck, you slowly smiled as an idea began to form. Shifting in the hammock, you made yourself comfortable and slowly let your eyes slide closed while you waited for your moment.  

Shanks missed you. Your watch had been the last one of the night and early hours so when he woke, your side of the bed was cold. Despite the general lack of activity as they sailed calmly he still had his duties to oversee first before completely relaxing. Finally when he ensured nothing else needed to be done, he made his way directly to where you were lounging. It was cute how peaceful you looked but there was too much space on the hammock for his liking. With a grin he slid his arm under you and effortlessly had you lifted just enough to lie down before settling you to rest against him. 

You were more than used to moments like these so you merely let Shanks adjust you both with your eyes closed and body relaxed. Shanks softly spoke your name to gently coax your mind to sharpen to focus on him. Holding back the urge to laugh you instead let out a soft hum of acknowledgement, letting him know you heard him but still you didn’t open your eyes. You didn’t need to to know the half pout beginning to pull at his lips. “Didn’t get my good morning kiss today.”

At that you finally opened you eyes and Shanks grinned broadly at you, of course that would get your attention. He leant in to get the kiss he was dying for all morning but when his lips met yours he frowned because at the very last second you’d pressed your lips into a tight line. This was not the kiss he’d been so eager for. You didn’t kiss him back. Shanks lightly narrowed his eyes to see the playful glimmer dance in yours. Immediately he knew you were only doing this to be a menace and not because he’d actually done something to deserve being denied your affection. 

Shanks chuckled softly, this was any easily remedied situation. With a confident smile firmly in place he leant in again. You eyed Shanks carefully, all too aware of what you were getting in for when you made the decision to mess with him. You remained as relaxed as possible beside Shanks as he pressed his lips against the crown of your head, then your temple. Slowly he moved precisely, placing tender kisses against your skin. He made sure to kiss your cheek, the tip of your nose, the corner of your mouth, and your jaw. But never your lips. Finally he placed a kiss against your jaw before moving his head to rest in the crook of your neck, his lips strategically near the spot you both knew was a weakness of yours. Then without warning he took a breath and blew a raspberry against your skin causing you to laugh and struggle away from the persistent ticklish feeling. “Okay, okay you win!” You grinned, pushing at his head. “You win!” 

Finally relenting, Shanks pulled back to grin at you broadly, his arm around you tightening to keep you close against him again. Closing the last amount of distance you granted Shanks his prize and kissed him deeply, smiling into it when he happily returned it. 

DOFLAMINGO

How you came to find yourself in Dressrosa’s Palace was still unexpected to you at times. Even more shocking were the circumstances that led you and Doflamingo to get together in a functioning and actually loving relationship. Something that also threw Dressrosa’s King off too on many occasions, not that he’d openly admit it. Were everyone saw the fearsome, bloodthirsty pirate, you…well you saw the bloodthirsty pirate aspect of that too. However you never feared the man, it was physically impossible to feel it. You could most certainly feel frustration with him and annoyance, you were the only one to never back down and confront him on anything he did that you didn’t agree with. More than anything though, you felt safe with him and reassured that you were literally the only person for him.

Today though you felt playfully curious, wondering just how much Doflamingo would put up with your mischief and random testing of his limits in patience. You strode casually into his office and smiled sweetly, watching Doflamingo pause in his work to sit back slightly in his seat to observe your approach. Even with his glasses hiding his eyes from view, you could read his body well enough to know he was already anticipating some sort of nonsense from you. Since it was you though, it was nonsense he welcomed and he grinned. “Now what’s brewing in that mind of yours today?”

“Can’t I grace you with my presence?” You asked with a smirk as you sat on the edge of the desk and lightly tapped your lips, a wordless request for a kiss. Knowing that wasn't all you were up to Doflamingo still grinned wider and leant forward, his lips pressed against yours. The second he noticed you didn’t reciprocate it he pulled back to regard you carefully. Innocently you blinked at him and tapped your lips again. With a dramatic sigh, Doflamingo brought his lips to yours and just like before you didn’t return the action. He pulled back to frown down at you.

“What’s wrong? Don’t you want to kiss me?” You asked, your expression still a perfect mask of false concern.

“You going to keep sitting there like a statue?” He asked with a small teasing grin. “Don’t you want me to kiss you?”

“I do but the thing is I was working out the numbers and you owe me a lot of kisses before I can kiss you back.” You explained sweetly and shrugging lightly. “Until it’s even, I can’t kiss you.”

“And how did I amass such a debt, exactly?” Doflamingo chuckled, finding this far more entertaining that reading overzealous reports from middle rank pirates under his command looking to impress him. “Since I’m King, can’t I pardon myself?”

“Won’t work with me Doffy.” You shook your head, swiftly dodging this time when he tried to claim your lips while you were speaking. Quickly you pinched his chin and stared at him with playful severity. “I need ample payment. If kisses are too simple, you can get creative to get rid of the debt.”

“Creative, huh?” Doflamingo grinned pressing a kiss against your unmoving lips. “A kiss is one. How many does a back rub take off my bill?”

“Oh a really good one is five.” You told him, you should have expected he’d find a way to enjoy this instead of get impatient or agitated. Doflamingo laughed and leaned in a confident grin shaping his lips that made you suspicious. 

“If I send Trebol on a mission?” Your eyes glinted immediately but you still didn’t take the initial offering. This was a negotiation after all. “Oh and he can’t return for at least two weeks.”

Immediately you broke out into a grin and tapped your lips once more. This time when his lips met yours, you returned it eagerly. If it meant you weren’t bothered by Trebol for a while, he could have as many as he wanted.

LAW

“Is it true that when people kiss their brains release a hormone that’s the same as when they use drugs?” You asked curiously from your spot on the sofa, looking over to watch Law pause in reading his medical notes to meet your gaze. It wasn’t rare for you to ask random questions like is. A lot of the times it was because you were genuinely curious but other times you were asking because you either wanted to fluster or toy with him in some way. Today’s question seemed to one of those days. His eyes narrowed slightly, trying to not give an outward reaction.

Subtly clearing his throat Law returned to his medical notes, focusing on the words on the paper and not on your question echoing in his mind. “Something like that.”

“So you could get addicted if you kissed someone enough times?”

“Not exactly…” Law began, tapping his foot lightly on the floor. He was about to go into the complicated biology and chemistry of it all but then you asked another question.

“Is that why you haven’t kissed me yet?” You grinned as Law all but choked on nothing. “Scared you’ll get addicted?” His widened eyes looked to you again and he was thankful no-one else was around to have heard it otherwise it would have made things more embarrassing; for them to see him begin to blush so childishly. 

Instead it was just the two of you, staying behind to watch the Polar Tang while they explored. It had been peaceful and calm, just what he wanted up until you threw your bomb of a question into the usually content atmosphere that occurred when you were together. Now he had to try and force his mind to restart, to form an actual response instead of just the blank, openmouthed floundering he was currently doing. It only made things worse to see you so thoroughly pleased with yourself, your lips curved into the proudest smile. As your Captain, he should have reprimanded you but he could only imagine finally kissing you, doing what the two of you had been dancing around for a while now; finally give in. “Wouldn’t get addicted if I kissed you.”

You shifted in your seat and pulled yourself closer to Law, eyes firmly on his face. Gently you took the forgotten medical notes from his hand and set them behind you before leaning in. “I’m willing to test the theory if you are.”

There was no backing out of the challenge now, not after he’d boldly stated he’d be fine if he kissed you. Besides he didn’t want to back down, not when he could see a hopeful shine in your eyes under the playfulness. Carefully he set his hand on your side and leant in, pressing his lips to yours only to glower when you smiled but made no further response. He pulled back to scowl at you. “The hell you call that?”

“What? We were testing if you’d get addicted if you kissed me, not the other way around.” You protested with a grin. “So did it work?”

“Idiot! Do it right this time.” Law snapped but without his usual sharpness in his tone.

“You want to kiss me again already? Sounds like you are addicted after-” Your playful taunt was cut off when Law’s lips claimed yours. It had taken all of your restraint the first time to hold back in kissing Law and there was no way you were ever going to stop yourself again. Despite all your teasing, maybe you were the one that was going to prove the theory right and be the addicted one. 

ACE

The feast was in full swing, plentiful food and drink seemingly never-ending and that was perfectly fine for you and the rest of the Whitebeard crew. You would have thought that you all would have grown tired of the partying by now but because of the close relationship of the crew it never lost its impact. Hundreds of parties and feasts in your memory and all of them feeling like it was the very first one. Tonight you and the others made yourselves comfortable in the festive environment amongst the civilians of the island town you were staying at. Letting the infectious joy heighten in you, you looked around with a smile and soon set your sights on Ace who as always was the life of an already lively party. 

Ace was surrounded by civilians and crew alike, talking animatedly and warmly. For the residents of the town you could see they felt as if they’d known the pirate for a lot longer than a mere evening but that was your boyfriend all over, able to put anyone at ease and give everyone the right amount of attention. It was something you always admired about him. In the middle of whatever he was talking about you froze when Ace suddenly met your gaze and pointed you out with a broad grin. The civilians looked to you excitedly while the rest of the crew in earshot rolled their eyes in amusement; most likely having heard this story for many times before. You offered them a smile and small wave before getting pulled into your own conversation again.

It wasn’t long before you heard hurried footsteps sound from behind you. You turned and were pulled immediately into a kiss by Ace. You reacted against your initial instinct and kept your mouth firmly closed. It hadn’t been your intention to not kiss Ace back and when he pulled back with a pout you swiftly grabbed his hand. Quickly you swallowed the mouthful of food you’d been eating before your boyfriend appeared. “Sorry, that was just really bad timing.”

“It’s never bad timing though if I get to kiss you though.”

“That’s sweet but it is bad timing if I’ve got a mouth full of food, Ace.” You argued with a laugh only to roll your eyes when Ace grinned and shook his head.

“Still not seeing a downside to the scenario. Two of my favourite things right there; food and you.”

“You’re so weird.” You laughed while Ace grinned down at you, wrapping his arms around your waist and hugging you tightly.

“And you love me for it.”

“Sadly that’s true. I’m madly in love with every part of you, including your food obsession.” You smiled and leaned further into the comforting embrace you were in. At this time of the evening, when he’d had his fill of food and drink Ace became more affectionate and clingier than usual. As long as he was in touching range of you by this time he was happy to continue the feasts and parties for another handful of hours. Reaching up you adjusted Ace’s hat so you could see more of his face and pulled him closer, pressing a kiss to his lips in silent apology for your unintentional rejection. Then you brought him into a second, deeper kiss, only pulling back when your attentions were grabbed by some of the civilians calling for Ace to tell them another story. You sighed slightly and pulled back, remaining securely in his arms. As fun as the feasts and parties were, you couldn’t wait to get back onto the ship and set sail again since it meant less people would be vying for Ace’s attention and you’d get him all to yourself again.

——————————————-

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[blightbright]

i think it's interesting to not let Solas kill the ignorant mages (the ones who bound his Wisdom friend) in his DA:I personal quest!

they definitely enslaved a spirit, which is wrong, and Solas disapproves of sparing them, AND:

these are pathetic randos who have literally only ever been exposed to cultural messaging that says spirits are objects not people. they're annoying and they destroyed someone's life, but they are not evil. they were imprisoned for years, they were taught misinformation by their captors, and now they've escaped, they're vulnerable, they got scared of being killed by bandits, and they ignorantly stumbled their way into something they didn't understand by following a book's instructions.

none of that is an excuse and also, in an extremely on-the-nose fashion, being enslaved and forced to kill is what harmed Solas' friend. the Inquisitor doesn't know how directly this parallels Solas' story, but if Inky can come at the mercy choice intuitively, the choice to stop Solas is IMO a very good one, because (like Cole embodying Compassion for the Templar when choosing to make Cole "more spirit") it actively reinforces Solas' inner Wisdom self.

Inky doesn't have to intervene much at all to get Solas to stop btw, literally all it takes is an uneasy "Solas..." and he stops.

IMO, gently expressing uncertainty about his decision to outright kill them reminds Solas, hey, what if you don't have to kill them (which hurts you too, which you were forced to do, and that damaged you)? these people might be teachable. what if you, Wisdom, teach them to never do this again? what if they spread that message to the other oblivious mages they encounter, and many more people learn?

these mages literally cannot learn anything if they're dead. if spared, they're still not the best critical thinkers, but they state this was the first time they'd ever done a binding, and they seem genuinely shocked that they hurt someone by doing it. IMO, they seem unlikely to ever do it again. IIRC Inky can even threaten them in optional dialogue afterwards, and they swear (in a way that seemed earnest to me) that they've learned their lesson.

TL;DR, gently prompting Solas to slow down and consider what he's doing instead of slaughtering people who are cowering in front of him with their hands up, even though intervening makes Solas feel unhappy in the moment, is IMO a great way to reach out to his own bound Wisdom and say, 1) hey, I actually like your truest self, and 2) hey, sometimes people do terrible things... I'll stop them permanently if I have to, but I prefer to first try and see if they're willing to do better.

that's a pretty important message for Solas, for multiple reasons.

[daydreamgoddess14]

The Menu Masterlist

Main Masterlist

Bucky Barnes Masterlist

Take Out

Well this kinda blew up a bit! Thank you so, so much for all the love, I think I've replied to everyone but if I haven't, feel free to shout at me! I LOVE hearing from you so if you want to scream about Bucky and the others, or just want to say hiii then my inbox is always open. I also accept prompts if there's anything you want to see in the future!

Today though, I think we should order take out?

Thunderbolts* / F!Reader, no warnings, just some domestic sweetness. Bucky x F!Reader brewing.

Word count: 1.8k

You made bread when you were angry. 

It kept your hands busy and gave you something to pummel. Bob sat at one end of the counter, reading, while you tipped the first batch of dough out onto the marble. You folded it together, gathering the clumps, and slammed it down hard.

Bob looked up.

“Is everything -”

“All good, Bob,” you said through gritted teeth. You picked up the dough, slammed it down again, and started pounding your fists into it, stretching and folding until it smoothed under your hands. Flour puffed into the air in little clouds. Bob stared at it, then wisely went back to his book.

Next to your bag, your phone vibrated against the counter. You wiped your hands, snatched it up, and glared at the screen.

“I’ll be right back,” you said softly.

The elevator took forever.

All the way down to the ground floor and out the glass doors. He was already there. His suit looked too crisp, too clean. The fit was still off, somehow, like he hadn’t earned it. You, in contrast, had flour on your shirt, your apron still around your waist, hair pulled up in a messy twist.

“You look… terrible,” he said.

“Thanks. Did you bring them?”

“Can we talk?”

“No. Can I have them?”

“Please?”

Over his shoulder, you spotted Yelena heading your way, and she wasn’t alone.

“I just want my keys,” you said, trying to keep your voice even. “And then I want you to go.”

He stepped closer. “Please. Just let me talk?”

“I don’t want to hear it.”

“Then just listen -”

“I don’t want to -”

“Girl!” Yelena’s voice rang out like a lifeline. “Didn’t know you even knew where the exit was.” She looped an arm over your shoulder, casually, but you could feel the steel beneath it. Her eyes flicked between you and the man in front of you. “Who’s this guy?”

“This is my ex,” you said tightly.

“Babe -”

“He was just leaving,” you cut in. “Weren’t you?”

Your ex sighed heavily, “yeah. Yeah I guess so. I just… wanted to explain.”

“I’m pretty sure I don’t need an explanation for why you were fucking your assistant in my apartment. Kinda speaks for itself.” You said directly. It was worth it to see his eyes widen with guilt. You felt Bucky’s gaze switch to you but you continued to stare down your ex.

He held up his hands in surrender, your keys hanging from his index finger. Ava reached out and snatched them away, making sure to crush his finger in her grip as she did so.

“C’mon, let’s go and make some coffee,” she said to you quietly, her voice pulling you away from him. She kept her eyes on you, full of a tenderness you’d not seen from her before. “Bucky picked out the Argentinian beans that you like.”

You nodded and let them lead you back into the building and into the elevator.

With the doors safely closed, you all breathed a sigh of relief. You dragged the back of your hand across your cheek to check for tears, leaving a smear of flour behind.

“Well that was… shitty,” Yelena huffed.

“Did he really do that?” Ava asked, incredulously. You nodded, still looking at the floor.

“What a cunt.”

The deadpan delivery and unexpectedly harsh language made you laugh. It bubbled up from nowhere but once you’d started you couldn’t stop. Yelena sniggered. Bucky shook his head and tried to hide his smile.

You got back to your bread.

The dough gave under your fists as you pounded and folded, trying to work the tension out of your shoulders and into the gluten.

None of them went far that afternoon. The kitchen stayed busy with small talk and side glances.

Right on cue, Alexei made his daily voyage.

“What’s for dinner, honey!?” he boomed in a terrible American accent, grinning at his own delivery.

Yelena and Ava exchanged a look. You’d barely said a word since the elevator.

“She’s not cooking tonight,” Yelena said.

“I am cooking,” you muttered, opening the fridge with a sigh. “I just haven’t figured out what yet.”

“We’re going out,” Ava announced, standing.

“We are?” Bucky asked, eyebrows rising.

“We are,” Ava repeated, pointing between you and Yelena. “Girls only.”

“I drive the limo!”

“No limo, Alexei. Girls’ night,” Yelena declared.

You turned, already shaking your head. “No, I don’t - really -”

“No saying no,” Yelena cut in, already halfway to her room. “You need something to wear!”

She reappeared seconds later when you didn’t follow. “Hey! Let’s go!”

You hesitated, then caught the smallest shift in Bucky’s expression. Not pity, not concern. Just… interest. Quiet encouragement. Like maybe he wanted you to go have fun, even if he wasn’t sure he should say it out loud.

That helped, as did Bob’s motivating double thumbs up.

“You should have some fun,” he nodded.

“Ok,” you said softly, wiping your hands on your apron. “Ok, fine.”

When loud Europop started filling the tower, John was the first to complain.

“What the hell is going on? And what’s for dinner?”

“They’re going out,” Bucky explained without looking up from his book.

“Who’s they?” “They're having a girls’ night,” Bob clarified.

You reappeared thirty minutes later, somehow transformed. Yelena had wrangled your hair into soft waves and lent you a black blazer. Your usual jeans had been swapped for a miniskirt and heels you didn’t remember agreeing to but you certainly weren’t going to fight real life superheroes over.

You were too focused on the phone pressed to your ear to notice the hush that fell over the kitchen.

“No, like… at least one of everything. Just - whatever feeds four grown superpowered idiots, plus dessert. Extra rice. And those gorgeous little fried dumplings? Oh and some sweet chilli sauce please.”

You hung up and slipped your phone into your tiny borrowed purse. “It’ll be here in twenty minutes, it’s already paid for -”

“It’s… a lot of food,” Bob observed, clearly impressed.

“I know what you guys can eat,” you said with a smile. 

“You look…” Bucky began, but the words snagged somewhere in his throat.

You didn’t notice. You were already being tugged towards the elevator by Ava.

“Don’t microwave anything in foil, and please don’t let John add ketchup. Bye!”

The elevator doors slid shut with you inside, leaving Bucky staring at the empty space where you’d been.

John raised an eyebrow. “You were saying?”

Bucky just shook his head and went back to the fridge. “Nothing.”

You were right to order so much. Alexei had sampled everything before it touched a plate and despite Bob’s protests, John had wandered off with the ketchup bottle tucked under his arm. Bucky boxed the limited leftovers and stashed them in the fridge.

“For later,” he muttered, when Bob raised an eyebrow.

The apartment quieted down after dinner. Alexei put on an eighties action movie and complained throughout about the portrayal of the Russian bad guy. Bob fell asleep during it. 

When they moved off to their own rooms, Bucky stayed in the kitchen, elbow on the counter, picking at a leftover dumpling. He didn’t notice how long he’d been standing there until the elevator chimed.

Yelena’s voice echoed down the hallway and Ava giggled.

And then he heard your soft laughter, warm and loose from alcohol and friendship. You kicked your shoes off just inside the door and let out a breathy moan. 

“God, my feet!” You complained through giggles.

You tiptoed unsteadily into the kitchen, heels dangling from two fingers. Your cheeks were flushed from the cold and more than a couple of cocktails. 

Yelena went straight for the cold tap, Ava to the fridge.

“Yesss, leftovers!”

You stopped short when you saw him, hoodie sleeves pushed to his elbows, leaning at the counter. Watching the door.

“Hey,” you said quietly.

“Hey.”

“You always wait up like this?”

“Just wanted to make sure you all got back ok.”

Yelena turned from the sink, her eyes narrowing.

“Have you been waiting up all night like someone’s dad?”

Bucky shrugged. “Not all night.”

Ava opened a container and moaned dramatically. “This woman’s talent knows no bounds. I would marry these dumplings.”

“I didn’t make them,” you reminded her.

“But you know where to get all the good stuff!”

Yelena eyed the plate next to Bucky. “You saved her food?”

“Of course he did,” Ava said through a mouthful. “He’s a tragic little gentleman.”

You giggled at her absurd suggestion that Bucky was little.

Bucky rolled his eyes, but his mouth twitched. “You hungry?”

“Starving,” you admitted.

He passed you the plate. You took it, and your fingers brushed his.

“You should stay,” Yelena said suddenly, eyes flicking between you both.

You laughed. “What, here?”

“You had a lot of tequila, it’s so late!” Ava added. “You’re not going home.”

“I made up the spare room,” Bucky said softly, eyes not leaving yours. “Just in case.”

Yelena let out a theatrical oooooh. Ava full-body cringed into the fridge.

You smiled, wide and surprised. “Yeah?”

He shrugged again, but there was nothing casual in the way he looked at you. Something in his voice made your stomach flip. “Like to be prepared.”

Yelena threw her arms in the air. “I cannot watch this. I need to sleep.”

Ava grabbed a dumpling and followed. “Use protection!”

You turned back to Bucky, who was very carefully pretending not to react while your cheeks were burning hot enough to fry an egg.

“God, she’s… I don’t think they understand the concept of a ‘spare room,’” you said softly.

“No, guess not,” he said, his voice just a little hoarse. 

You leaned back against the counter, dumpling halfway to your mouth. “Thanks for saving me some food.”

Bucky shrugged. “No big deal.” He hesitated before speaking again. “I heard what you said. When we were outside earlier. He was an idiot.”

You looked down at the plate. “Yeah. Well. Takes one to love one, I guess.”

Bucky’s voice was quiet. “You’re not an idiot, sweetheart.”

A soft silence settled between you.

He gestured vaguely toward the hallway. “Spare room’s all made up. There’s pajamas on the bed. They might be a little big. Drink some water.”

You smiled, your heart catching somewhere behind your ribs.

“Night,” he said, already turning to go, giving you space.

You watched him leave, the gentle sound of his footsteps down the hall, and let out a slow breath.

The dumpling was cold, but it still tasted perfect.

Please note, may contain sugar. Don't forget to tip your hostess with reblogs and ALWAYS ask for second helpings!

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