#running out of tag ideas so i can find it later

[neysaadept]

Prometheus Chapter 8

Emily Prentiss x Female CIA Reader

Chapter 8 - Excision Part Two (Criminal Minds Case Time)

Tags: Limited use of y/n but established last name. Swearing, mentions of the pandemic and human and sex trafficking. Canon typical violence. Sexual innuendos. Drinking. Smoking. Slow Burn. Murder. Depictions of Flaying. Implied Rape. Mentions of Date Rape Drugs. Strangulation. Restraints. Mental Institutions. PTSD. Childhood trauma. Psychological Trauma. Implied references to child abuse. Minors DNI.

Word Count: 6k

AO3

Chapter 7

You were hanging out in Prentiss' hotel room later in the evening. She was able to reserve three rooms for you all at a hotel in Indio to be close to the unsub’s hunting grounds. You all decided to eat dinner together while processing the information gleaned from the M.E. and Rossi’s interviews, which ended about an hour ago. You all felt you could think clearer here than at the station. Sheriff Grosch was breathing down yours and Prentiss’ necks every step of your investigation since the tox screen came back. It was unbearable. Even you being direct that you needed space to work without constant interruptions that had nothing to do with the case fell on deaf ears. So, the two of you said fuck it and called Rossi to meet you at the hotel. The station knew how to contact you if anything further came up. Local law enforcement had given you everything you needed and were just in the way at this point and explained you would have the profile nailed down soon to announce at the station late tonight.

Garcia had given you a brief update on the ‘Home Team’. JJ, Luke, and Tara almost had the unsubs but were distracted by them hacking into the Bluetooth speakers to lead the BAU away from their exact location in the house. They were able to flee the scene with two more dead guards to process. They worked out the profile and announced it to local PD. They believe they’re local so they’re hoping they can make an arrest soon.

You also feel that the unsub is local based on the geographical profile you worked out that was taped on the mirror over the flatscreen. You had marked up the dumping grounds of both bodies, where they lived, worked, and where they were last spotted. There was far too much overlapping for the unsub not to be familiar with the area. They were staying inside safe hunting grounds.

Dave was able to find out that McGarth was meeting a woman for drinks at the bar. It wasn’t just a wind down and hopefully get laid. The meet up sounded like a date. Unfortunately, his boss and the other members of the firm had no idea who this mystery woman was. Garcia was running through dating apps to see if there was a match with McGarth, but the guy was a player. He had several apps and lots of ladies that he was chatting it up with. That would take time on top of Garcia working with the home team in tracking down the security guard murderers, but she assures you all that she’s got this.

Sulliven’s family and his assistant were not helpful. The timeline indicated that he left work like usual but never made it home. His family thought he was working late at the office, which was not unusual.

You also learned that neither victim was sexual assaulted nor had any trace residue of semen. That was the part that was baffling the three of you – the method didn’t match up with the assault.

Rossi was sitting at the desk, using a fork to eat his orange chicken which made both you and Prentiss poke fun of him since the two of you were using chopsticks.

Prentiss was currently on the bed plucking out a peapod. “So why drug them? I get the sedation but drugging them with no signs of sexual aggression doesn’t add up.”

“The drugs were used on both victims,” says Rossi. “It’s possible that’s what they had access to.”

“But flunitrazepam isn’t sold in the US. Even doctors barely use it in other countries” you add before munching on a steamed shrimp. You had made yourself comfortable on the floor sitting cross legged.  

“But they can?” Rossi leans back thoughtfully. “Not common but possible.”

You shrug. “Not unless you bring a script to your local drug dealer. And by script, I mean cash.”

“With how meticulous our unsub is, I find it hard to believe that they’d visit a drug dealer.” Prentiss shakes her head and motions animatedly with her hands, keeping a firm grip on the veggie between chopsticks. “They like being in control. Everything’s done with precision and going into the wrong part of town meeting a drug dealer gives up a lot of control.”

“A lot of countries have access to it. Australia, Japan, Mexico … quite a few countries in Europe.” You were well aware of this having worked with Interpol investigating a serial rapist in the UK and Ireland. Despite being legal, flunitrazepam was used as a date rape drug in other countries as well. “Can always narrow down our doctor pool with any international travel.”

Garcia’s search brought back over five thousand surgeons in Thermal area. With the flaying technique used, you narrowed it down to plastic surgeons but that only got the suspect pool down to over two thousand. You were in California. There were a shit ton of plastic surgeons.

“And with the bodies being relatively untouched, the unsub is probably female,” says Rossi. “Majority of rape victims are women. Especially with the use of date rape drugs.” He pauses in consideration. “Is it possible that our unsub picked her victims because they’re sexual offenders?”

Prentiss immediately facetimes Garcia on her laptop who immediately appears with a friendly wave. “Hello my fine furry friends. What’s up?”

Emily stabs her chopsticks into the food and sets aside the container. “Cross check police reports on our victims.”

“Anything specific we’re looking … Oh…” Her voice drops solemnly. “Am I looking for something extremely bad like rape charges? Cuz, I’m finding that both of them have that in common. As in they both were charged for the same incident.”

“They were convicted?” you ask in bewilderment since nothing came up on their background checks.

“Uh, no. Both of them had the charges dropped. Oh, get this. Alcohol was involved and it was indeterminate if consent was obtained or not and the poor darlings took some time before they reported the assault. Both men lawyered up really good, which is not surprising for a paralegal and a psychiatrist. One being able to use connections and the other having the money. They just up and ran with the lack of physical evidence even though hair samples on the victims detected our unsubs drug of choice. There was no way to prove these jerk faces did it.”

“Who pressed charges?” Rossi asks.

“Uh, Desiree Villanueva and Lauren Conway. Couple of friends trying to have a nice girls’ night when … ah damn. There was a third man involved. A Robert MacDonald - some banker at Wells Fargo.”

“Lovely. Little rich boys club wanted to play and wouldn’t take no for an answer,” states Rossi with disgust.

“Are either victim on our plastic surgeons list?” Prentiss questions next.

“Nope. Waitress and jeweler.”

“But we’re on to something with the unsub being a woman. How many are those plastic surgeons are female?” you request of Garcia.

“Little over four hundred.”

“Any of them show up on McGarth’s dating apps?”

“Ah … yes! Dr. Sandra Duncan! Has a practice in La Quinta.” Garcia brings up her driver’s and medical license. She had short brown hair with wavy bangs and piercing blue eyes. She was caught in mid-smile.

“That’s in our geo profile,” you confirm.

“Has she been a victim of sexual assault?” presses Emily.

“Unfortunately. She accused a Benjamin Riley of drugging her at a bar called The Treehouse in 2015. They were students together at Standford. Charges were dropped in a similar manner like our victims. After that, she went on to finish medical school, get married to an engineer named Drew Arnold. Oh no…” she whimpers while continuing “… her daughter, Charolette, died of leukemia six months ago. Then her jerk of a husband served divorce papers.”

You, Rossi and Prentiss share a knowing look and immediately leave dinner where it is and grab your coats.

“Two triggers in such a short time is more than enough to make someone lose control,” you state. “The family she had to ground her is gone, so she’s turn vigilante. Helping those women when no one helped her.”

Prentiss nods. “And she’s taking off their faces, their masks as you said, to show them for the rapists they are. She���s angry they got away with it and regressed back to when this happened to her.”

“And being a physician, she has access to drugs like midazolam,” says Rossi as you all walk out of Prentiss’ hotel room, already on the phone with the sheriff station to get the location of Arnold’s personal residence and place of business. “We’ll need a unit on Robert MacDonald, DOB 2/23/97, out of Palm Springs. Our unsub’s going for him next if she doesn’t have him already,” he explains to dispatch.

“Any chance she’s gone abroad?” questions Prentiss as you all head outside to the parking lot where the two SUVs waited. Garcia was now talking over speaker phone.

“Why yes she did. Two months ago, in fact. Visited a cousin in Ipswich, just outside of Brisbane. Happened after the divorce.”

Prentiss stops in front of the vehicles. “Garcia, work with local law enforcement to get us warrants ASAP on Duncan’s home and work. Does she have a business partner?”

“She does not. All solo.”

“Good. We don’t have to wake anyone else and waste more time. Once those warrants are in have SWAT meet us at both locations. Rossi?” Prentiss calls out to get his attention. He places the phone against his chest, giving her his full attention. “You take Duncan’s home. We got the clinic. No moving inside without the warrants unless there’s signs of a victim. Clear?”

“Crystal. I’ve got Grosch on the line who’s grumpy about things moving so fast …”

“Fucker’s always grumpy unless he’s calling the shots or up our asses,” you mutter while leaning against the front of the car.

Rossi chuckles. “Yes, but he’s waking the judge to get everything legal. Units will meet us there and set up a perimeter. They’ve got a squad car heading to MacDonald’s right now.”

Prentiss nods. “Let’s roll.”

“Be safe my loves!” Garcia says and hangs up.

Without warning, Prentiss tosses you the car keys and you deftly catch them in surprise. “You’re letting me drive?”

“Why not?” she says, opening the passenger door. “Or is driving twenty miles too hard for the maniac driver of the CIA?”

You grin ear to ear. “No, Ma’am.”

A Toyota SUV with no headlights on makes its way down the driveway of a multibuilding business center. It slows and makes a right and then swings around to back up into the driveway for deliveries at the one-story single building at the far end of the complex.

The garage opens and the SUV disappears inside. Only until the garage door closed, did the driver side open. Dr. Sandra Arnold was dressed in nice blue jeans, black boots, and an off the shoulder floral blouse. Hair and make-up were pristine, complementing her features for the faux date. She made her way to the patient cart that was already set up with sheets and pushed it over to the side of the trunk. With a quick wave of her foot under the car, the trunk slowly opened revealing an unconscious Robert MacDonald.

She brought the cart around, locked it in place, and then slid Robert onto it by the sheet he was laying over. After a few adjustments of scooting him around, she pulls up the slide rails, hovering over his face with blue eyes filled with malicious intent.

Her black gloved hand gently strokes down a chiseled cheek, then chin, and repeats the gesture back up the other side. Fingers play with brown strands of short hair. She roughly combed her fingers through it and looks at his face objectively, pulling it side to side to finish making the mental notes required to mark her incisions.

She pulls back, nostrils flaring as her eyes closed. Hands ball into shaking fists as she breathes through the rage building inside her, stopping herself from injuring this bastard. She had plans and could not ruin them with a violent outburst. Her heart now races with anticipation knowing that the victims that could not find justice just like her would have the peace they deserved. The peace that was denied them with a broken system easily manipulated by rich men who didn’t want their careers ruined.

Can’t have a career if you’re dead. Can’t hurt another woman if you’re dead, too.

“And how many more women did you rape since then, huh?!” she hisses with clenched teeth as she unlocks the cart and roughly pushes him into the next room.

Captain Robles met you and Prentiss outside La Quinta Cosmetic Surgery with a warrant in hand close to sixty minutes later. In that time, you and Prentiss were vested up as SWAT had set up a perimeter around the stucco and modern style office building. It was closed to 1am and there was little public to redirect since this area was all businesses. The building itself was dark with no vehicles in the parking lot or immediate surroundings. Chances of Arnold and or MacDonald here was slim after the first walk through around the building, but you all had to move fast to be sure.

Chattering over the radio indicated Rossi and Sheriff Grosch were about to enter Arnold’s residence after no response to announcing FBI presence.

Now it was your turn.

Prentiss had already ordered Robles and his officers to set up positions by all exits of the building. You, Prentiss and the SWAT team were going to coordinate entrance on the section chief’s orders. You and Prentiss had your guns at the ready, pointed at the ground, as you flanked the doorway together.

You lock eyes with Prentiss who gives the go ahead and you speak into the radio that Robles provided both of you. “Ready in five … four …”

You go silent as all units would finish the count down and on one, a SWAT officer came swinging in with the two handed breaching tool to place right between the lock and jamb. With two soft slaps that sound like a piston, the door is breached and Prentiss heads in first, shoulder blocking the door fully open.

A cacophony of clears starts echoing in the empty rooms. You call some out yourself as you clear a utility closet and bathroom and work your way with Prentiss and SWAT down the hallway. You all fan out to cover the rest of the rooms. There were two offices and six examination rooms. All empty.

One of the officers comes up to Prentiss, assault rifle securely pointed to the floor. “Building’s secure. No one’s onsite, Ma’am.”

Holstering her Glock, she licks her lips in thought. “Spread out and search for anything connecting Arnold with the victims or where she’s at.”

You already wandered away from her to do just that and landed in the supply room to look around at all the basic medical equipment an office like this would have. All the sterile processing of surgical tools would be done somewhere else. You were about to turn around and leave when something caught your eye. A white strap dangling out of a floor cabinet. You lean forward to open it and feel a rush of memories.

“FUCK YOU!” you screamed, spitting at the male nurse’s aide’s face. Two of them were trying to grab your flailing limbs as you thrashed about on the bed. “I’M NOT GONNA GO!”

“Damn it!” the one orderly huffed, shaking his head along his shoulder to get his eyes clean of saliva.

It gave you the chance to kick him in the stomach when his grip loosened. But with the commotion you were causing, two more men came in to assist and grabbed ahold of you. You were outnumbered as they forced your hands and feet into the padded restraints.

Then there was the hated sharp sting into your thigh of forced medication …

You come out of the memory, not realizing you were already cradling the wrist restraint. With a hard swallow, you now know why those indentations seemed so familiar with the victims. You had them yourself at one point when some asshole tech tightened your restraints too hard. Of course, part of you still wondered if you deserved the rough treatment. That guilt that since you were a bad patient, you deserved the treatment you got. You were always physical and uncooperative with staff, and you didn’t give a shit who you hurt back then …

“Hey, Whitlock?” Prentiss’ voice forces you to look up and you curse the fact that you just know your cheeks are burning. There is no way she didn’t notice it, but she didn’t press. “Got something?” she asks instead.

“Uh, yeah.” You toss the restraint over to Prentiss and she catches it. “Pretty sure this is what Arnold’s using on her vics.”

She turns it over thoughtfully. “And we found midazolam in the med room. Arnold’s home’s empty but Rossi did find untouched ampules of flunitrazepam.”

You free the phone from your belt and call Garcia. “The princess is in another castle. We’re 0 for 2 here.”

Prentiss looks up at you but was unable to catch your gaze. You were focused on the call with Garcia. She did have some reservations with how you reacted to the restraint she was now holding and wondered if it would affect your ability to remain in the field.

“Let’s see what my crystal ball can tells us. Ah! Arnold did set up shop at a different office before the one you’re currently standing in. About eight months ago she moved from there before her whole world unraveled. Former office locale is currently vacant and just like that, you have messages with the address.”

You take a peek at your texts before responding. “Thanks, Garcia. We’ll keep in touch.”

“You better, missy!” You wince, hearing the commanding tone of wholesome concern. “Queen Penelope out.”

You start moving out of the room while pulling up directions to the office. “We’re six minutes away.”

You were focused and the section chief would keep her concern to herself and stay close to you as this unfolds. Prentiss’ voice carries loud and clear throughout the hallway as she leads the way. “Alright everyone, we’re moving out!”

Fully gowned with hair tied back under a blue surgical cap and face covered by a mask, Arnold adjusts her goggles as she leans forward to inspect her work one last time. MacDonald’s face was centered inside the hole of the surgical drape to where the markings were clearly visible. His neck and upper torso were covered as well with wrists and ankles secured to the cart by restraints.

With a practiced hand, she reaches for the instrument tray to pull closer. She slides a finger down the length of the scalpel handle before picking it up. Despite her malevolent intentions, her grip was gentle as she tilted his head to secure him for the first incision.

But she was interrupted by the double doors to the exam room being kicked open. Her eyes widened in terror as officers start shouting orders.

“FBI!!!” Prentiss yells, gun lined up for a shot as two SWAT follow suit to cut off Arnold’s escape routes.

“FREEZE!!!”

“LOWER YOUR WEAPON!!!”

You watch Arnold pull the scalpel closure to MacDonald’s neck, securing his head in a headlock. “Get away! Get the fuck away!!!”

All four of you had a clean shot to take Arnold, but there was a chance she could still do irreparable harm with how close the blade was to MacDonald’s neck.

“Sandra, you need to put the scalpel down,” Prentiss says firmly.

“Like hell I do!” she shouts back. “He fucking deserves this! They all fucking deserve this!”

“It’s bullshit the justice system failed you. Failed Desiree and Lauren. But this won’t take the pain away of what happened to you. To them,” Prentiss implores.

“No … but at least there’s some justice,” she hisses, the blade digging in just enough to draw a bead of blood on his neck.

“But is it really? Justice?” you ask as you lower your gun. Prentiss quickly looks at you and wonders what the hell you’re doing.

“Why wouldn’t it be?” she bites back, puffing her chest out arrogantly. “With him gone, that makes three less rapists in the world.”

“Alright. Let me ask it like this.” You hold your hand up as you put your gun away. Arnold remained engaged. “Does it feel like justice to you?”

She blinks her eyes several times and looks around the room, passing over Prentiss and the officers without focus. Your question stumps her. You can see how she is struggling to reconcile what justice means to her. You could even see the face mask crinkling as she was trying to find her words.

You nod with understanding, your eyes betraying the same conflict that Arnold has in trying to reconcile the feelings of violation and anger right now. You fight the shiver that threatens to run down your spine, needing to stand firm as the two of you share the same haunted look that does not go unnoticed by Prentiss.

“It’s doesn’t. It never will, Sandra. Even if you were able to find the one that hurt you, that you do this to him and declare justice in victory, through their death,” you slowly motion with your hand to the guy on the cart, “you’re trying to find peace.” You lick your lips as your throat tightens, regaining the control you need to get through to Sandra. “But there’s no peace.” You shrug tearfully. “It never comes. It never will. You just … have to find a way to live for yourself. Every day. Every hour. Every minute. You just have to find the strength to survive.”

You watch as Sandra’s throat bobs up and down several times as you all wait to see how this will go. Will she surrender or cause someone to pull their trigger and end this stalemate.

But then you hear her sniff as she blinks back tears. “You know.”

A statement that you affirm with a nod. “I do.”

She fights back a sob. “I was really trying to help them …”

Your watery eyes soften as you sadly smile. “I know.”

And it was in that moment that Arnold made her decision to step back, letting the scalpel fall to the floor with a loud clang. SWAT immediately went in to put cuffs on her and read her rights as you vaguely were aware of Prentiss calling in for a medic. Right now you are focused on watching Arnold being escorted away. The two of you kept eye contact, her watching you over her shoulder until more officers came running in to obscure the view.

“Hey…” Prentiss voice was like a loud boom that went off by your ear. The anxiety of forcing yourself to come back from such raw memories heightened everything around you.

“Huh? Oh. Yeah.” You look passed Prentiss as a group of officers’ start assessing MacDonald.

She places a hand on your shoulder and since you didn’t flinch, she squeezes. “You did good getting her to surrender.”

There was a lot to unpack with what happened here. The enigma that you are just grew with what Prentiss learned tonight. It already started with the faraway look you had holding the restraints back at Arnold’s office. This unsettling revelation amplified so many questions that Prentiss wanted to know about you.

“Thanks,” you say, offering a forced half smile at her. “Better than her getting shot, right?”

She drops her hand and nods. “Yeah. She’ll get the help she needs.”

At that you laugh shakily. “Remains to be seen, but yeah. Hope so.” You felt conflicted about knowing that MacDonald was going to live because you understood where Arnold was coming from. There was a reason you didn’t share with Sandra that you personally rid yourself of your abuser. You would have lost the connection of trust built on shared trauma.

Prentiss watches you shambling off, unsettled with how your eyes had lost its luster. Seeing you sullen and devoid of your usual concealing humor was concerning.

Prentiss catches up with you after giving out last minute directives to secure the area until forensics arrive. Emergency lights flash brightly as officers were carrying out orders. Robles was here delegating tasks to where his people would contain the crime scene in and outside the building. You heard MacDonald moaning as the paramedics guided the gurney passed you to the ambulance. Whatever they had given him started to get the guy into some conscious awareness.

Rossi was waiting outside waiting for the two of you with a satisfied smile. “Sorry I’m late, but clearly you didn’t need me.”

You had stopped off to the side of Prentiss with hands tucked into your vest, your attention on watching Arnold being put into the backseat of a squad car.

“Whitlock talked Arnold down.” Prentiss explains with a small nod your way.

“How ‘bout that.” His smile grows and fights to catch your eyes. He raises a brow in question if he should push things, but Prentiss lightly shakes her head no. Getting the hint, he shifts gears. “Should we pull an all-nighter to tie things up on our end?”

“Might as well. I’d like to get the hell outta here. How about you?” She looks at you still staring off. “Whitlock?”

You didn’t acknowledge her, and Prentiss calls out your first name. That jars your attention as this was the first time you heard her say it. “Yeah?”

Rossi smiles patiently. He knew Whitlock was a seasoned officer but everyone’s first case with the BAU had a track record of rattling an agent. “We’re going to the station to get things squared away so we can hand it off to local PD. Sound good?”

You nod firmly with a tight smile. “Definitely.”

“It’s unfortunate this case’s a bust regarding Sicarius.”

“True. Maybe JJ and the others fared better.” Prentiss nods in agreement as both her and Rossi watch you wander off to the SUV.

“What happened in there that spooked her?” Rossi asks, moving closer to speak with Prentiss.

It didn’t feel right to explain it so candidly what you had gone through. It was best that Rossi read what the official reports said that you and she would write up. Anything more just invites a difficult conversation that she knew you wouldn’t be ready for. There was a burgeoning trust that had sparked between the two of you over drinks and she didn’t want to fuck that up.

“I think she just needs some time.” She watches you climb into the driver’s seat. “Like we all do when shit happens.”

You were sitting alone on one of the four seaters close to the window as the pilot confirmed you were at a safe altitude to move around the cabin. Rossi was passed out on the couch and Prentiss had just gotten up to head to the back of the plane.

You barely noticed, too focused on the music playing in your earbuds as you debated how to answer the text from Brian.

Dad sent 0330: How are things going?

You got that at the station over an hour ago and made a note to answer once the BAU wrapped things up. You were grateful that Prentiss and Rossi took the lead on what was needed to secure the case and that their official reports would be completed midweek. You tried to make mental notes on these protocols but your mind was elsewhere. Once you all signed off on what was required onsite, you drove the team back to the hotel to pack up and then it was off to the airstrip. An officer met you there to take the loaned vehicle.

You barely said a word except what was necessary. You hardly smiled. There were no quips, and you offered non-committal, I’m fines, when the two of them asked how you were. Prentiss was already piecing things further silently and was concerned. There was no way that a crime like this rattled you like Rossi had presumed. She knew you had seen far worse, and she can imagine in great detail what those situations were, having lived through many herself. You just hadn’t anticipated old wounds being ripped open with memories of darker times in your life to surface that made you feel like that lost tween Brian had recruited.

A soft thunk on the table startles you and you see Prentiss taking a seat across from you. There were two tumblers of whiskey before the both of you.

You stop the music with a furrowed brow in silent question. Prentiss explains gently. “Rough day. Thought you could use one.”

“Uh, yeah.” You take the glass to swirl the liquid around. “Though, isn’t it a bit early to drink?”

She shrugs. “Not in our line of work.”

You bring the glass up to your lips with a cleansing breath and figured, why not? You note the smell of whiskey and … “Did you just make me a Jack and Diet Coke?”

Prentiss’ head tilts slightly to the side, pleased you noticed. “I did.”

You raise your glass and give her your first genuine smile since talking Arnold down. “Thanks. Really.”

You both take a well-deserved drink and close your eyes at the warm burn that moves down your throat before radiating towards the rest of your body. You didn’t immediately relax, but the thoughtful gesture helps to provide focus. Enough so you found the strength to really look at Prentiss. You’ve seen enough as her brown eyes narrow in concentration, working on how to broach the unspoken but known.

You quickly lick your lips and set down the glass in a rush. “Don’t.”

Prentiss cautiously questions your reaction. “Don’t what?”

“Look at me like that. With pity.” You curl a hand into a fist to stop it from visibly shaking, but you watch in dismay that Prentiss already spots it.

She remains resolute in maintaining a steady eye contact once she has yours and emits a level of comfort and understanding. “It’s not pity. It’s understanding …”

Your felt your stomach sink, your chest tighten as a breath of surprise escapes without permission. You attempt to recover by clearing your throat and ask with hesitation. “Um. Really?”

That was a such a fucking dumb response to a monumental admission. Prentiss took the need for affirmation in stride. “Really.”

You pinch your brows and swallow hard, your lips trembling ever so slightly. “Well …that really fucking sucks.”

Prentiss chuckles bitterly. “Ain’t that the truth.” She opens a compartment under the table and pulls out a deck of cards. Tapping the case on the table, skilled fingers open the lid to remove the cards and starts shuffling. The methodical way she splits the deck and layers it back together with a rippling noise was comforting to you. “Did you wanna talk about it?”

You shrug still watching slender fingers be in complete control of the cards. “Do you really need to ask?”

“Well, it’s usually polite.” Her face scrunches up coyly.

You half snort and appreciate what she’s attempting to do. You finally look up at her. “What’re we playing?”

“Anything you want. Gin, poker, cribbage…?”

“Well, Rossi’s sleeping.” You sit up just enough to confirm he still was and sit back down. You thoughtfully rub your cheek as Prentiss finishes shuffling. Her compassion had truly touched you and even though your emotions were not fully boxed up as tightly you liked, you decided to say fuck it and have some fun. You waggle your brows, showing Prentiss you were feeling a little better. “There’s always strip poker.”

Prentiss cackles and you shush her, waving your hand to lower her voice. She starts dealing for a five-card draw. “There’s the Whitlock I know.”

You take each card that comes your way to sort them in your hand after rolling your eyes. “Figure you were missing her. I know you just love my antics.”

She wouldn’t admit it just yet, but she was. She fans the cards in her hand and studies them. “Possibly.”

You fall into companionable silence taking turns picking up cards, sipping your drinks, and showing your hands. You play several rounds and the two of you end up being even for wins and losses.

It was your turn to shuffle and you off-handedly ask a question that’s been on your mind. “Did they get the guy that hurt you?”

The two of you gaze intently as she slides her cards over. “Yes.”

You set the deck between you and reach for your glass. “Is he dead?”

The answer is immediate. “Yes.”

You take a healthy swallow as you debate on asking your next question. You slide your tongue along the front and back of your top teeth and find the courage to ask. “Did you kill him?”

She shakes her head no. “Someone else pulled the trigger.”

You lean back, shoulders slumping forward as the small similarities that could exist between two survivors ends. You fiddle with the cards, forcing them to ripple against the table as Prentiss waits you out calmly.

“I pulled the trigger,” you confess quietly. “I didn’t have to do it. But I wanted to. So … I did.”

 With no response from Prentiss, you dare to look up but see no judgement, just an attentive listener that sought whatever you wanted to reveal.

 “It’s partially why I was recruited.” That admission caught both of you by surprise and you try to backpedal. “I … fuck. I shouldn’t have said that.” You roughly sit up and lean over the table to get your cards in order. You’re such a fucking idiot!

“Hey, it’s alright,” she says gently. “I won’t say anything.” She could tell you weren’t convinced by how your eyes darkened with fear. She reaches out to lightly touch your arm and was glad you didn’t pull away. The warmth of her fingers soothed the fast-paced beating of your heart for fucking up again. Though this one was far worse than letting slip up about the AWOL matter. You really should have cut Rebecca off when she mentioned it and not join in the frivolity.

She takes a chance and squeezes your arm. “Promise. It’s like you keeping the sleepovers in my office a secret.”

Prentiss’ cheeky remark made you smile. Then you chuckle. “Okay, to be fair? You sleeping on your office couch isn’t a national secret.”

“Work with me here, Whitlock.”

“I am!”

You both share a smile and when Prentiss starts to pull away, you place your cards face up so you can cover her hand. She found it impossible to hide the astonishment at your gesture. “Thanks, Emily.”

She pauses for the right words to say, further touched by using her first name. She softly says yours and simply adds. “You’re welcome.” Then brown eyes look to the hand you gave up and tsks at you.

You’re confused. Did you do something wrong? “What?”

“Honey, you gave up a pair of aces.” She gestures to the cards as you both finally untangle your hands.

“Well, fuck me, I did.” You chuckle and pull out your phone after sliding the cards to Prentiss. “Here, get us started. Just gotta check in with Brian.” You point an accusing finger at the section chief. “And you especially can’t tell him anything about this conversation.”

She scrunches her face playfully. “What conversation?”

You grin brightly. “Exactly.” And then finally type up a simple response to Brian.

Whitlock sent 0527: Going very well.

@unkonw00 @ara-a-bird @rayisaknight @sevyscoven @maybe-a-humanbean

[bteezxyewriter12]

Lazy Cuddles/ 2

Pairing- Yoongi x Named Reader

Word count- 1.9k

Includes- Soft cuddly boyfriend Yoongi, lazy sex from behind, cock riding, multiple orgasms, so much fluff

Tag List- @mingtina @jaxminnie @yeosayang @delightfulmoonbanana @tannie13 @y00nzin0 @marsstarxhwa

@borntowalkaway @soulseobi05 @kpop-bambi @seokwoosmole @meowmeowminnie @realisticnotes @effielumiere @svnbangtansworld @insomniacatiny @marvelfamily3000 @amyz78 @blueie-things

Masterlists- check out for more fics

📝Masterlists 📝BTS Masterlist 📝Yoongi Masterlist

📝Lazy Cuddles 1

Yoongi POV

"Jagi?", I call, coming into the living room

"Mmmm?", she answers

"Jagi, where are you?"

I walk around the couch to find her laying on it, her face buried in the pillows, blanket pulled up to her chin

"What are you doing baby?", I chuckle, sitting next to her

"Dying"

"No baby, you can't die", I joke, "I need you jagi"

"Yoongi", she whines

Something's wrong

She'd usually joke back with me

"Tell me what's wrong baby", I ask, running my fingers in her hair

"Bad headache", she whispers, "Hurts so much"

"I'm sorry jagi"

She gets bad headaches from time to time

Even with meds it still hurts

Sometimes they last hours, sometimes they're short

Sometimes she gets one every day for a week or two then none for months

She's been checked out and there's no explanation for them

"Did you take meds?"

"Three Advil"

"Three?", I gape

That's a lot but it's normally what she takes when the headaches are severe

"Very bad headache", she whines, "And it's not working anyway"

"I'm sorry baby. Did you drink water? Maybe you're dehydrated?"

"I did naekkeo", she answers, "I'm just trying to nap. Maybe it'll go away when I wake up"

Sounds like a good idea

I don't want to leave her alone though

"I'll stay with you jagi"

She lifts her head, squinting at me, "You don't have to work?"

"Yeah but I can do it here. Use my laptop and headphones and I'll be right next to you"

She nods, "Ok naekkeo. Thank you"

"Of course Jo"

Leaning over her, I kiss her forehead then get up to get my stuff

--------------------------------

Half an hour later, I stop the music to change something when I hear her whimper

Reaching out, I rub her back as I fix what I need to fix

Then I hit play and listen to the melody

She moves, turning around, her back to me, trying to get comfortable

She hasn't been able to fall asleep yet

I'm trying everything I can- play with her hair, massage her forehead, rub her back but nothing is working

I don't know what else to do for her

Once the music stops playing, I decide it's good and I open a new file to work on

"Yoongi", she whispers

"Yeah baby?"

"Can....you hold me?"

I smile at her back, saying, "Yeah jagi. Of course. I can use a break anyway"

I'll do anything for her, drop anything for her, to help her, to comfort her

Taking my headphones off, I put them and my laptop on the floor, then lay down under the blanket next to her

Wrapping my arms around her body, I pull her against me, her back to my chest

I cuddle into the back of her neck, pressing kisses to her skin there

"Better jagi?"

"Yeah naekkeo. Thank you"

"No need to thank me. I'll always jump at the chance to hold you"

"I love you Yoongi. So much"

"I love you Jo. More than anything", I tell her, "Now try to sleep baby ok? I don't want you hurting anymore"

"I'll try", she says softly

"Good"

Pressing a kiss to her neck, I hold her, my eyes closing as well

I'm not planning on sleeping as I'm not tired but I don't want to just stare at nothing

A few minutes later, I hear her even breathing and I smile

Seems like she just wanted me

Which is fine because she can have me whenever she wants

I'm not ready to get up yet so I just keep a tight hold on my jagi

--------------------------------

Movement against my dick wakes me up

She's moving around in my arms, her ass rubbing against my crotch

What time is it?

I don't even remember falling asleep

It's not a big deal

That's our thing

Naps

A nap with my jagi is never a bad thing

But her wiggling around is making my dick hard

"Jagi", I murmur, moving my hand down to her hips and stopping her movements, "Don't wiggle baby"

"Huh?", she asks sleepily

"Don't wiggle. Your ass is rubbing against me and making me hard"

"Mmm", she whines, still pushing against me

"Is your headache gone?", I ask, trying not to think about sex

"Yeah. Just needed a nap", she says softly, her body still pressing and moving against my dick

"No more wiggling jagi", I say softly, my cock fully hard against her

It'll go away, I just need her to stop moving

"Put it in naekkeo", she murmurs

"What?", I ask, not sure I heard her right

"I feel how hard you are. Want you. Put it in"

It takes a second for my sleep riddled brain to comprehend what she's saying

"Are you sure?", I ask, once what she says sinks in

"Yes naekkeo. Want you"

I definitely want her so I pull her pants and panties down as far as I can

She lifts her legs to her chest, pulling everything off as I pull my pants and boxers down

I pull her back against me, then align my dick to her entrance and start pushing in slowly

"Yoongi", she murmur, her tight pussy opening for my cock, sucking me in as I move

"Jagi", I whimper, my arm moving around her, keeping her body against mine, "Feels so good baby"

"Mmm", she moans, her cunt getting wetter, leaking around my cock with each inch in

I'm almost in and I shove my hips forward, burying entirely in her sweet cunt, feeling the hard clenching her pussy is doing

The pleasure rolls over me as we both moan

"So good naekkeo", she says softly

"Always good jagi", I tell her, kissing the back of her neck

I move one of her legs back, over mine thigh, spreading her legs open

Moving my hand in between her legs, I run my fingers up her pussy, collecting the juice she's leaking around my cock

Then I press on her throbbing clit, hearing her gasp, and start moving my fingers in a circle

"Yoongi", she moans, shaking against me

Her pussy tightens so hard around me, spasming so blissfully

With each massage of my fingers, her cunt creams my dick more and more

I keep my cock firmly buried in her cunt, starting to grind into her, making sure my head rubs her spot

I slide my free hand up her shirt, groping her boob, pinching her nipple

"Oh god", she cries, "Yoongi, don't stop"

"I'm not baby", I murmur against the back of her neck, pressing soft kisses to it, "Not until you cum all over my cock"

She whimpers, her pussy spasming wonderfully hard around my length

She's so fucking tight, it like her pussy is choking my cock and I'm living for every pulse

I play with her throbbing clit faster, her cunt a waterfall, soaking my pelvis and my thighs, her pretty moans music to my ears

She's close, I can tell from how her pussy's gripping my cock, how she's throbbing

And I know what she needs when she's right there

"Cum for me jagi", I murmur in her ear, "Want your pretty pussy coming all over my cock for me"

"Yoongi, oh god"

She falls apart at the next move of my fingers, orgasming all over me

"Yes baby. Don't stop", I murmur, her body shaking against mine, pleasure from her orgasm washing over me

It feels so fucking good and I wouldn't have it any other way

Her legs start to close as her orgasm continues

Letting go of her boob, I grip her thigh, holding it open

"Keep your legs open", I demand, "I didn't tell you to close them. I'm not done with you yet baby"

She nods, "Ok naekkeo"

"Good girl"

After she finishes, I hold her around her waist and keeping her leg over mine, I pull my hips back, feeling every inch of her pussy tug on my cock as I pull out to my head

"Ready for me jagi?"

She nods

I thrust my whole cock back into her, slamming her spot, her scream of pleasure sounding in the room

I move quickly, fucking her pretty pussy, incredible pleasure washing over me

Her pussy squelches with every thrust, the pornographic sound turning me on more

I pound into her, spreading her hole around my length, making her cunt cream every inch of my cock

She leans back, her arm moving around my neck, her lips crashing into mine

I throw myself into her kiss, my tongue against hers, kissing her hungrily as I fuck her pussy wide open

The kiss is messy, our tongues all over each other's and it's so right in this moment

She moves, pulling me out, then climbs on top of me, sliding down my cock to the hilt

"I need you baby", she murmurs, bouncing on my cock right away

Fuck, I need her

I move us, leaning against the couch cushion, my hands on her thighs

As she comes down, I thrust up into her cunt, going in so deep

"Yes, Yoongi", she cries, grinding on me when I'm all in

I watch her slide up my cock, her pussy cream coating my cock, making a big beautiful mess

She comes down, her pretty swollen lips wrapped around my length, her hole opening and straining as she takes me

Sliding my hands up, I push her shirt up and off, watching her pretty boobs bouncing in my face

She tugs on my shirt, whining as she rides me and I get the hint

As soon as my shirt is off, she leans her hands on my shoulders, fucking the life from me

The pleasure is exquisite and the view of her on my cock, the pleasure in her face is mesmerizing

I love this girl more than anything in this world

I start moving again, thrusting up into her pretty hole as she bounces down, the bliss increasing for both of us

"Yoongi, yes...yes baby", she pants, her gorgeous brown eyes on mine

"So fucking good jagi. Such a good girl for me", I murmur, the throbbing of her pussy becoming extremely hard and tight

We fuck each other, both sweating and the next thrust has her screaming as she cums

"Yoongi", she cries, her pussy squirting, soaking me, her head back, her hips rocking, eyes closed, her fingers digging into the skin of my chest

Ecstacy tidal waves over me, stars explode in my vision, my hand squeezing her thighs hard as I go over the edge, filling her cunt with my cum

"Joanne! Jagi!"

"Yoongi! Yoongi!"

I help her rock on me to prolong the bliss for both of us, my body shaking involuntarily

God, it's so fucking amazing

She's amazing

As we finish, her rocking slows down until she stops

Her eyes meet mine, a soft smile on her face

Her hand cups my cheek, her fingers stroking my skin, a loving look on her face as she gazes at me

"I love you"

My heart pounds in my chest, like it always does when I hear her say those words

"I love you", I tell her, smiling at her too

She leans down, her lips meeting mine

I immediately fall into her kiss, her arms moving around my neck, mine around her waist

As we kiss, we move, laying down, her body against mine, her soft skin against mine, our legs tangling together

Holding onto each other tightly, we cuddle and kiss each other with no intention to stop

[farenmaddox]

@wormieapple I don't want to reblog all your tags, but I do want to respond a little bit because you made some great points!

You kind of summarized it as "free will is ugly, has consequences, and is constantly in competition with the free will of others." I think that's true, but only up to the certain point of the original run of the show. I would tentatively say that I think this point has been eroding ever since season 6.

In the beginning, it was just about Sam and Dean having autonomy for their own bodies and souls and being allowed to make their own choices about who they can share those things with and/or give them away to. They spend a lot of seasons 4 and 5 finding out that a lot of their lives were "predestined" and they are left questioning how much of it was really up to them. But the story is about them fighting back against this idea, and Castiel comes in to provide this additional perspective that it's not just because they're the Winchesters and they're special, that this type of freedom should belong to anyone. At the end of season 5, they have thrown off the preselected narrative and saved the world. It did have consequences and it did hurt and not everybody survived, but the message is still that free will is a good thing and the world is better for it.

Everything from that point on has been very "free will's consequences are devastating, actually." They get so many people killed, and they have no victories that are not pyrrhic and directly leading to even worse problems. Every attempt they made to have a personality outside of their assigned role was brutally punished.

In my original post I was talking about Cas embodies this a lot, and how specifically every time he tries to grapple with or defend free will, it goes wrong. He wants so much for angels to have this, to make heaven a better place, but all it ever does is get them killed in droves. It literally never works even a little bit. Introducing free will to angels was unequivocally bad and this is never rectified or redeemed. The ending message is that angels can't handle free will and it's bad for them and for the world. But I'm also thinking about how they will never ever let Sam process his trauma meaningfully. Thinking about that scene in the apocalypse world (season 13, I think???) where they killed him and had Lucifer be the one to bring him back and hold him hostage to get to Jack. Sam is yet again helpless against Lucifer's wishes, as if nothing has changed in the last 10 years, directly contradicting what they wanted to say when they had him say "no" to Lucifer in season 11. When he wanted to use his trauma to display how resilient it had made him at the beginning of season 12, he wasn't allowed to have that either, they just drugged him and took what they wanted anyway. Sam is never allowed to be anything but a victim, EVER. All this before season 15 even happened.

Season 15 was where they should have drawn those threads back together and found a way to say, actually, you CAN escape these narrow definitions and things CAN change and your choices DO matter and the world IS a better place for having you and the way that you care in it. But they either didn't want to leave us with that message, or they fumbled the ball so badly that we're still talking about it on fandom ESPN these four years later. Like, I'm not arguing with what you were saying about season 15 being terrible and spitting in the face of the story they were trying to tell before. But my main point is that I think the warning signs were there much earlier than season 15 and they were undermining themselves well before then.

... is it just me, or was Supernatural's ultimate thesis statement on the character of Cas that angels cannot and never will be any good at independent thinking and all efforts at expressing free will shall have unexpected and terrible consequences? He thought he was digging a tunnel out and he was proud of himself but actually all he dug was his own grave. The message being that you actually cannot escape the role you are assigned no matter what?

This is the message of Cas, as a way of underscoring the arc of the actual main two characters, in which the thesis statement is that you cannot escape the trap of toxic masculinity and patriarchal hegemony, you will never deal with your trauma in a way that matters, and you will die and spend eternity caught in its endless cycle. The maze has no exit.

the son becomes the father and becomes absent. this happens to all four members of TFW 2.0 in one way or another. god is dead, long live god. long live broken promises.

[dixonzzgirl]

imagine… 

finding daryl a really cool zippo lighter and seeing him mindlessly flick it open and close throughout the day.

sitting with your feet in his lap while you both relax on the porch swing (alexandria era).

pinky linking instead of full on hand holding. 

finally getting to the playful butt swat stage of your relationship + him winding up his t-shirt and chasing you around the house. 

him praising you whenever you kill an animal: “nice shot, girl.” “look at you.“ “atta girl.” 

reading a book with your legs crossed on his work bench as he tinkers with his bike.

getting a cold and when daryl dips down to kiss your lips, you turn your head away from him. “daryl, don’t! i don’t wanna get you sick!” and then he grabs your chin and presses a firm kiss on your lips anyway.

daryl finds a cowboy hat and drops it on your head. you let out a giggle. “what’s that saying? save a horse, ride a cowboy?” you smirk. his cheeks darken and he turns away from you. “think ya’ got tha’ backwards..” he drawls. “no? pretty sure i’m right…”

eating a lollipop and daryl walks right up and pulls it out of your mouth and puts it in his (or vise versa).

having a journal that you can both communicate in. we all know daryl isn’t the best at communicating his feelings verbally and maybe you aren’t either, so you just write back and forth to each other.

i love the journal idea because you would use it for everything. daryl has to be up early to help rick with something? he’ll scribble a quick “helping rick. come find me.” and as soon as you wake up and feel the void in bed beside you, you go right to the journal.

him getting hard as fuck when you give shane attitude (farm era).

you get into an accident on a run and ending up losing a lot of blood and you wake up later in the infirmary. “ya’ lost a lotta blood,” he says. “then i bet you did too…” you smiled groggily knowing that he gave you some of his (he’s a universal donor).

rubbing aloe vera on his sunburnt skin and he just lets out these sexy ass heavy breaths.

him watching you get visibly frustrated when someone else is helping you with something, but not doing it the way you want it done, so daryl steps in and tells them to get lost.

daryl giving you cold medicine while you’re sick and he makes you take it in front of him and open your mouth to show him that you swallowed it.

a/n: these are my favorite scenarios to imagine when I'm in class :) if you wanna use any of these ideas for a fic, tag me! i'd love to see them!

[dollgxtz]

Trick or...Temptation?

Word Count: 9.8k

Tags: sylus x fem!reader, pet play if u squint, creampie, biting, rough sex, pet names like kitten, sweetie, penetration, cunninlingus, i wanted to make this a vampire!sylus fic so bad but I got nervous lmao but theres slight mentions of him :3

AN: Happy Halloween everyone! I sincerely hope u all enjoy this, it was super fun to write! I rushed to finish this so I could post it exactly on Halloween. Enjoy!

“What?” he asked, his voice laced with amusement as he ran his thumb over the spot on your neck where he had bitten you. “You thought I was joking?” You opened your mouth, trying to find the words, but before you could speak, Sylus leaned in close again, his breath hot against your ear. “Be still,” he murmured, his tone soft but commanding. “You can handle it. Just like you said.”

“Come oooon! It’ll be so much fun!” Tara exclaimed, trailing behind you as you both walked out of work. The day had ended early thanks to the holiday, and while most people had exciting Halloween plans, you had opted for a quiet night in with a scary movie marathon. Of course, your enthusiastic coworker had other ideas for you.

“Tara, as much as I’d love to, it’s really just not my scene, you know? Maybe next year?” you tried, hoping to dodge her invitation once again.

“You always say that!” Tara pouted, her voice pleading as she quickened her pace to walk beside you. “Please? It’ll be fun! Just a few hours, a couple of drinks, a little dancing, and we can leave! Deal? It’s a festival, for crying out loud! I don’t want to go by myself.”

You glanced at Tara, her eyes wide and shimmering with that classic puppy-dog look she always gave you when she really wanted something. You couldn’t deny she had a point. It wasn’t like you had big plans for the night—just a quiet evening with a blanket and some popcorn. Maybe it wouldn’t be that bad to step out for a few hours, right?

“Fine,” you finally sighed, rolling your eyes but smiling a little. “But only for a few hours, and then I’m out.”

“Yes! Thank you, thank you, bestie!” Tara squealed, practically bouncing in excitement. “I’ll see you later tonight! You’re going to love it!”

And that was how you found yourself here, standing in front of your mirror, dressed in a skimpy cat costume. You adjusted the white miniskirt and tugged at the black corset top, making sure everything was in place. The cat ears perched on your head and the swishing tail added a playful touch, though the whole ensemble was definitely more revealing than you were used to. You sighed, resigned to your fate.

You didn’t have to stay long, you reminded yourself. Just a few hours, and then you could slip back into your original plan of movie night...hopefully without running into too much trouble.

You sighed and pulled out your phone, typing a quick message to Tara: On my way. Hitting send, you opened your ride-share app. If you were going to be drinking tonight, it was best not to drive yourself. The car arrived faster than you expected, and you slipped into the back seat, watching the city lights blur by as you mentally prepared yourself for the night ahead.

Arriving at the event, you stepped out of the car and immediately took in the scene. The park had been transformed into a Halloween wonderland, bustling with life. String lights cast a soft, warm glow over the area, illuminating clusters of people already well into the party spirit. Bodies bumped together in rhythm with the pulsing beat of the music, and a mix of excited chatter and laughter filled the cool night air. The grass beneath your shoes was damp with evening dew, and the faint scent of autumn leaves and spiced drinks wafted through the crowd.

Everywhere you looked, Halloween-themed decorations adorned the space—carved pumpkins lined the walkways, some with goofy faces, others with intricate, eerie designs. Fake cobwebs clung to the trees, and glowing skeletons and witch hats dangled from makeshift booths. There was an excitement in the air, palpable and contagious, though you still felt a little out of place.

Your eyes wandered toward the bar at the far end of the festival grounds. It was busy, but it was exactly what you needed. Liquid courage, you thought. If you were going to make it through the night, a drink or two would certainly help take the edge off. You made a beeline for it, weaving through the crowd, your thoughts focused on what your first drink would be—something strong, something to help you loosen up.

Just as you were about to make your escape, a high-pitched squeal cut through the music, and you barely had time to turn before you saw her—Tara, dressed in her fairy costume, wings glittering under the lights, barreling toward you at full speed.

“You’re here!!” she cried, wrapping you in an excited hug before you could even react. “Oh my God, I thought for sure you’d bailed or fallen asleep or something!”

You laughed, the sound surprising even you. “Yeah, well, you convinced me. I wouldn’t leave you hanging,” you said, shaking your head as you hugged her back, her energy instantly infectious.

Tara pulled back, her wide smile practically glowing. “Thank you soooo much for coming! I’m so excited, I can’t even—” she paused, looking you up and down, a mischievous grin spreading across her face. “You look amazing! That cat costume is sexy! Definitely a step up from your usual movie marathon at home, huh?”

You rolled your eyes, trying to hide the blush creeping up your neck. “Yeah, yeah. I’ll admit, this is...different,” you muttered, tugging at the hem of your miniskirt. The cool night air reminded you just how short it was. But Tara was right—you didn’t do this often. And maybe, just maybe, it wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world to try something new tonight.

Tara, completely unfazed by your slight discomfort, grabbed your hand with excitement. “Alright, enough chatting. Let’s get some drinks! We’re here to have fun, and the night is young!”

She pulled you toward the bar, and you couldn’t help but smile at her enthusiasm. It wasn’t your scene, but with Tara by your side, maybe the night wouldn’t be so bad after all. The thumping bass of the music, the swirl of costumes, and the faint buzz of excitement in the air already had you feeling a little lighter.

The two of you made your way through the crowd and finally approached the bar. It was busy, but not unbearable, with people lined up in various costumes, chatting, laughing, and ordering drinks. As you and Tara waited for your turn, she started rambling about all the new Halloween movies you two could watch later, once the festival was over.

“There’s this one that’s supposed to be so creepy! It’s about these haunted scarecrows that come to life—oh, and don’t even get me started on the one with the possessed doll…” Tara continued, her excitement infectious as she rattled off titles.

You nodded along, half-listening, your mind slightly wandering as you scanned the area. The lights flickered over the bar, casting an eerie glow on the bottles lined up behind the counter. The decorations were elaborate—fake cobwebs stretched across the bar shelves, and jack-o’-lanterns glowed faintly from the corners of the space. You were just starting to get lost in your thoughts when the bartender, a stunning blonde woman dressed in a witch costume, turned to you with a smile.

“Hi, can I get a—” you began, but you were abruptly cut off by a smooth, male voice behind you.

“I’ll get a Gin Fizz and two margaritas for the ladies,” the voice said with casual authority.

You froze for a moment, the sound of that voice sending a jolt down your spine. You spun around, and there he was.

Sylus.

Tall, effortlessly imposing, with his signature white hair catching the dim light and his crimson red eyes locking onto yours with that familiar, knowing glint. He wore a dark, sleek outfit that hugged his frame perfectly, making him stand out even in the crowd of costumes. His smile was just as confident and wicked as you remembered.

“Long time no see, kitten” he said, his voice smooth, dripping with amusement as he looked down at you, eyeing your costume.

Your stomach did a flip. Of all the people you could have run into tonight, Sylus was the last person you expected—or wanted—to see. You hadn’t seen him in a while, and now here he was, appearing out of nowhere like he always did, and immediately making your pulse quicken.

“Sy-I mean Skye?” you stammered, catching yourself as Tara turned around too, clearly intrigued by the sudden appearance of this tall, striking man. Her bright eyes went wide, and she started clapping her hands excitedly.

“Skye! I haven’t seen you since our team-building outing! How’s the fruit business?” she asked, her voice bright and friendly as she came to stand beside you, completely unaware of your racing heart.

Sylus—no, Skye—didn’t miss a beat. He flashed Tara an easy smile, looking as unruffled as ever. “Ah, the fruit business is...ripe as always,” he replied with a wink towards you, clearly enjoying the nervous look on your face.

The bartender cleared her throat, cutting through the tension. “There’s a line, folks,” she said with a polite but firm smile, nodding toward the queue of people waiting for their drinks. “Take your drinks and let the others through.”

You blinked, suddenly remembering where you were. Nervously, you reached for your margarita and handed Sylus his gin fizz, all while trying to calm the wild beating of your heart. The casual smirk on his face did nothing to help your nerves. With drinks in hand, you and Tara moved toward a quieter, empty spot at the edge of the festival, away from the bar's chaos. Sylus, of course, followed.

As soon as you settled into your spot, Sylus wasted no time, his teasing smirk never fading. His eyes roamed over your outfit—your skimpy black cat costume with the mini skirt, corset top, and cat ears—and you could practically feel the heat of his gaze.

With a predatory gleam in his eye, he sauntered over, his smirk growing more wicked by the second. “You say you don’t want me calling you kitten, and yet here you are,” he drawled, letting his gaze sweep over your costume. “Dressed as one. How cute.”

You glared at him, already feeling the heat rising to your cheeks. “Zip it...” you warned, rolling your eyes at the sheer irony of it all. But despite your best efforts, you couldn’t help but let a small giggle slip past your lips. It was absurd, really. Of course, of all the costumes you could've picked it just had to be this one.

He just chuckled, clearly enjoying the effect he was having on you. He took a sip of his own drink, his eyes gleaming with mischief. “What are you even doing here?” you finally asked, your voice a little sharper than intended. “I thought you didn’t like crowded places.”

Sylus gave a soft laugh, leaning against a nearby post with his usual air of nonchalance. “I’m not a fan of crowds,” he admitted, his gaze flickering back to the sea of people dancing and drinking. “But I happen to own this little part of Linkon.” He said it so casually, as if it were no big deal. “Figured I’d make an appearance. Keep an eye on things.”

You stared at him, your mind racing. Of course he did. Sylus always had a way of showing up in places you least expected him—places you thought you could escape from him, if only for a night. But owning part of the city? That was new.

But not surprising.

Tara, who had already downed her margarita, was clearly impressed. “Woah, Skye,” she slurred slightly, her eyes wide with admiration. “The fruit vendor business must pay soooo well.”

You shot her a look, silently willing her to stop talking, but she was already giggling, oblivious to the tension between you and Sylus. He, on the other hand, seemed more amused than anything.

“What can I say?” Sylus replied smoothly, the hint of a smile tugging at his lips. “Fresh fruit is forever in demand.” His eyes met yours again, clearly enjoying the joke that only the two of you understood.

You groaned inwardly, sipping more of your margarita as you glared at Sylus. He was playing along, effortlessly weaving his cover story about being a simple fruit vendor. And yet, there he was, owning half the city and standing in front of you, looking like he could control the whole damn world if he wanted to.

Sylus raised his glass in a mock toast, his crimson eyes never leaving yours. “Happy Halloween?” he said with a wink, and you couldn’t help but roll your eyes, though a smile tugged at your lips.

“Yeah, sure,” you muttered under your breath, knowing full well that this night was gonna be a loooong one.

Tara, always quick to notice things, suddenly glanced at Sylus with a playful frown. “Wait a second, Skye,” she said, squinting at him, “you’re not even in costume!” She giggled, rummaging through her bag, clearly not letting him off the hook. “This is a Halloween festival, after all. You’ve gotta dress the part!”

You internally groaned, already bracing yourself for whatever Tara had up her sleeve. But of course, she wasn’t about to disappoint. With a triumphant grin, she pulled out a small plastic case from her bag and popped it open, revealing a pair of cheap, plastic vampire fangs.

“Here!” she said, holding them out to Sylus with a twinkle in her eye. “These will work perfectly. You’ve already got the whole pale, mysterious look going on. You’d make such a great vampire!”

You couldn’t help but glance at Sylus, your heart skipping a beat as you realized just how well Tara’s suggestion fit. His striking white hair, his sharp features, and those intense, crimson eyes...he really would make a disturbingly convincing vampire.

To your surprise—and mild horror—Sylus flashed a wicked grin, clearly entertained by the whole situation. “A vampire, huh?” he mused, taking the plastic fangs from Tara’s hand and inspecting them. His eyes flicked up to meet yours, glinting with that all-too-familiar mischief. “I guess I can pull that off.”

He slid the fake teeth into his mouth with an exaggerated flourish, and somehow, even with cheap plastic fangs, he managed to look both ridiculous and annoyingly attractive at the same time. He bared his new "fangs" with a cheeky grin, clearly enjoying your reaction.

“See?” Tara beamed, clapping her hands together. “I told you! You look like you’ve been doing this your whole life!”

Sylus smirked, turning his attention back to you, his voice dropping to that low, teasing tone he always used to get under your skin. “I do make a rather convincing vampire, don’t I?” he said, flashing his fake fangs at you with a playful gleam in his eyes. “What do you think, kitten?”

You glared at him, half-annoyed, half-amused. “You’re lucky I don’t have garlic,” you muttered, sipping your drink to hide the smile tugging at your lips.

Tara, oblivious to the tension between the two of you, just giggled again and raised her empty glass. “I need another drink after that! I'm gonna go get another round,” she said, already walking back toward the bar.

As soon as Tara was out of earshot, Sylus’s demeanor shifted slightly. The playful grin remained, but now, with just the two of you, there was something darker, more intense in his expression. He stepped closer, his presence suddenly much more imposing.

“You know,” he began, his voice dropping to a low murmur as he closed the distance between you, “I think your friend is onto something” His eyes gleamed, locking onto yours with that wicked, teasing look you knew all too well.

Before you could react, he leaned in—so close that you could feel his warm breath on your neck. Your heart jumped in your chest, the sudden proximity sending a shiver down your spine. His breath was hot against your skin, teasing, as he lingered just inches from your neck, not touching you but close enough that goosebumps instantly rose along your arms.

You froze, every nerve in your body suddenly hyper-aware of how close he was. The scent of him, a mix of something dark and enticing, filled your senses. Your pulse quickened, and you couldn’t hide the goosebumps now crawling up your skin.

He let his breath linger for just a moment longer before his lips curled into a smirk near your ear. “You might want to watch out, kitten,” he whispered, his voice a low, teasing growl. “I could get used to this.”

Your breath hitched, and you struggled to keep your composure, your pulse racing wildly. “Sylus…” you warned, trying to sound stern, but your voice betrayed the effect he was having on you.

He chuckled softly, clearly reveling in your reaction. Straightening up slightly, he didn’t step back but remained close, his crimson eyes still locked on yours. “What’s the matter?” he teased, his voice smooth and playful. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

You glared at him, trying to mask the fact that your heart was still hammering in your chest. “Don’t start,” you muttered, forcing a glare, even though you could still feel the heat from where his breath had brushed your skin.

Sylus took a slow sip of his drink, his smirk never fading. “I wasn’t starting anything,” he said innocently, though the mischievous gleam in his eyes said otherwise. “Just playing the part.”

You huffed, rolling your eyes, but the warmth in your cheeks and the pounding of your heart betrayed you. “Just don’t bite anyone,” you shot back, trying to reclaim some control over the situation.

“No promises,” Sylus said, his voice soft but dangerous, his gaze lingering on you as if you were his prey.

Tara came bouncing back over to you with two martinis, her eyes sparkling with excitement. “Hey! Want to dance?” she asked, already swaying to the music.

You barely hesitated, desperate for a way to escape the overwhelming tension with Sylus. “Yeah, sure,” you said, quickly taking the martini from Tara and downing a good portion of it. You could feel Sylus’s eyes on you, and when you glanced his way, he simply gave a slight nod, clearly content with watching you both from afar.

Your skin prickled under his gaze as you and Tara made your way toward the middle of the festival. The music was thumping, bodies swaying together under the dim, flickering lights. You still felt uneasy knowing Sylus was watching you, his presence like a shadow you couldn’t shake. But as the alcohol worked its way through your system, slowly loosening your limbs and dulling the tension, you started to let yourself get lost in the music. Tara twirled around you, laughing and dancing without a care in the world, and soon enough, you found yourself smiling and moving along with her.

You weren’t sure how much time had passed, but the warmth of the alcohol was settling into your bones, making everything seem a little hazier, a little easier. The bass pulsed through the air, the crowd a blur of costumes and laughter, and for a moment, you forgot about Sylus’s watchful eyes.

But eventually, a different need called your attention—you really had to pee.

“I’m going to the bathroom,” you shouted over the music to Tara.

“I’ll come with you!” she offered, but you shook your head.

“No, no, it’s fine. Stay here! I’ll be right back.”

Tara shrugged, happily returning to her dancing as you weaved your way through the crowd, the cool night air hitting your flushed skin as you stepped away from the dance floor. Your steps were a little unsteady, and as you made your way to the row of porta potties set up near the back of the festival grounds, you blinked to clear your vision. Everything seemed a little...fuzzy. The alcohol was really kicking in now, and you swore the ground felt a little wobbly under your feet.

You managed to find an open porta potty, and after handling your business, you stepped out, blinking again as the world swayed in front of you. Shit...am I really this drunk? you thought, steadying yourself against the side of the porta potty for a moment. Your vision was blurry, and everything seemed a little too bright, a little too loud.

Then, out of the corner of your eye, you saw a figure approaching. For a second, you thought it was Sylus. The height was wrong, but the dark outline and the way the man moved had you second-guessing yourself. Relief almost flooded through you, but then the figure got closer, and the sour, stale scent hit your nose.

No, this definitely wasn’t Sylus.

The man was much shorter, stockier, and as he came closer, you could smell him—like sweat and cheap cologne, mixed with the stench of too much booze. Your stomach churned uncomfortably as he stepped into your personal space, his breath hot and sour as he leaned in a little too close.

“Hey there,” he slurred, his voice dripping with false charm. “You look a little lost. Why don’t you come to my car? It’s parked just over there.”

Your heart jumped in your chest, and you instinctively stepped back, trying to put some distance between you and him. “No, I’m fine,” you said quickly, your voice shaky as you tried to move past him. But he stepped into your path, blocking you with an alarming quickness for someone who seemed so drunk.

“C’mon, don’t be like that,” he said, his tone darkening, his hand reaching out to grab your arm. “It’ll be fun. I can show you a good time, little kitty.”

Panic surged through you as you tried to yank your arm away, stumbling slightly as your vision blurred again. The alcohol was making it hard to focus, and you cursed under your breath. “No, leave me alone!” you said, your voice firmer now as you tried to push past him.

But he wasn’t having it. His grip tightened, his face twisting with frustration. “I said come with me,” he growled, pulling harder.

Your pulse skyrocketed, fear taking over as you struggled to break free. Just as you were about to shout for help, a shadow loomed behind the man.

“I’d suggest you listen to her.”

That voice—it was low, cold, and unmistakable. You looked up, relief crashing through you like a wave as Sylus appeared, his tall figure practically radiating menace. The shorter man immediately let go of your arm, turning to face Sylus with a sneer, clearly trying to act tough despite the difference in size.

“And who the hell are you? I'm her boyfriend, fuck off” the man spat, puffing out his chest.

Sylus’s eyes narrowed, his jaw clenching. “Is that so?” he asked, his voice low and deadly. Without another word, a cold red mist began to swirl around him, tendrils of it seeping through the air like something out of a nightmare. The temperature around you seemed to drop, and you could feel the mist growing denser, colder.

The drunken man didn’t seem to realize what was happening until it was too late. The red mist wrapped around him like a snake, tightening and choking him. His eyes bulged as he gasped for air, his grip on your arm loosening as fear took over.

Sylus didn’t stop. His eyes were locked on the man, his fury palpable as the mist constricted tighter.

The man’s face turned a sickly shade of purple as he clawed at the mist around his throat, desperately trying to break free. He gagged, his drunken bravado crumbling into pure terror.

“Please,” you whispered, your voice shaking as you stepped forward, grabbing Sylus’s arm. “Stop. You’re going to kill him...there's people all around us.”

Sylus’s eyes flicked to you, still cold and angry, but there was a flicker of hesitation. You could see the struggle behind his gaze, his fury barely held in check. But slowly, the mist around the man’s throat began to dissipate. Sylus released him, letting the man fall to the ground, coughing and wheezing as he scrambled to his feet.

The man didn’t waste a second. He stumbled away, terrified, mumbling incoherently as he disappeared into the crowd, wanting nothing more than to escape the nightmare he had just experienced.

Sylus’s shoulders tensed, his body still vibrating with anger as he watched the man retreat. His breathing was heavy, and though the mist had vanished, the chill in the air remained.

You stood there, your heart still racing, unsure whether to feel relieved or terrified by what had just happened. As Sylus turned toward you, you could see him trying to calm himself.

“My kitten,” he said softly, though his voice was still rough with residual anger, “is always getting herself into sticky situations.” He took a step closer, his usual smirk returning, though there was a hardness in his eyes that hadn’t been there before. “Good thing I’m a vampire tonight. I can sniff out when she gets herself in trouble.”

You managed a shaky laugh, though your heart was still pounding in your chest. “You didn’t have to almost kill him,” you muttered, trying to regain your composure.

Sylus shrugged, his eyes softening as he looked you over, checking to make sure you were truly alright. “He deserved worse,” he said, though his tone was lighter now. “But I’ll behave. For you.”

Sylus suddenly glanced down at his watch, his expression hardening almost instantly. Without warning, he turned to you and, in a firm voice, announced, “We’re leaving.”

You blinked, confused. “What? Leaving? Why? What about Tara?”

But Sylus didn’t bother explaining. He grabbed your arm with a sense of urgency, pulling you away from the festival and weaving through the crowd. You tried to dig your feet into the ground, but with the alcohol still lingering in your system, your balance wasn’t on your side. “Hey! What about Tara?” you protested, struggling to keep up with his swift pace.

Sylus barely glanced back at you as he strode toward a sleek, black car parked near the edge of the festival grounds. “Luke and Kieran are taking her home,” he replied coolly, unlocking the car with a flick of his wrist. “Behave, and get inside.”

You planted your feet, halting in your tracks as you shook your head, confused and frustrated. “Wait—what? Why are we leaving so suddenly? I don’t—”

But Sylus wasn’t in the mood for a debate. He turned, his eyes flashing with irritation, and in one swift motion, he pushed the car door open, his grip on your arm tightening slightly as he guided you into the passenger seat. You tried to resist, squirming under his firm hold.

“Get in the car,” he sighed, clearly not in the mood to argue. “Please.”

After a bit more struggle—your alcohol-fueled frustration not making it easy—you finally huffed in defeat and let him guide you into the seat. He shut the door behind you with a sharp click before rounding the car and sliding into the driver’s seat.

You sulked in silence as he started the engine, the low hum of the car doing little to soothe your frustration. You didn’t understand why Sylus was being so forceful all of a sudden, and the abruptness of it all only added to the confusion swirling in your mind. The alcohol still clouded your thoughts, making it hard to argue, and as the car began to move, the steady rhythm of the ride lulled you into an unexpected calm.

Your eyelids grew heavy, and despite the tension of the night, you found yourself slowly drifting off. The next thing you knew, darkness had settled around you, and your body slipped into a deep, alcohol-fueled sleep.

When you woke, you felt yourself being carried, the world around you shifting. The first thing you noticed was Sylus’s steady, strong grip beneath you, his arms holding you close as he walked. You blinked groggily, your vision clearing slightly as you realized you were no longer at the festival—or in the car.

Sylus was carrying you through the dim, industrial halls of his home in the N109 Zone. The walls were dark and sleek, bathed in a soft glow from the faint lights overhead. The cold, sterile air of the house prickled against your skin, sobering you up a little more as you processed what was happening.

A wave of frustration hit you. With your head clearer now, you reached up and pinched his cheek, your fingers digging in as you muttered, “Asshole.”

Sylus let out a soft grunt of surprise, glancing down at you with a bemused look. “Still feisty, I see,” he murmured, though there was an amused glint in his eyes. “How unfortunate that the nap didn't dull your attitude".

You scowled, still annoyed by the way he had just whisked you away without any explanation. “You dragged me away from the festival without even telling me why,” you muttered, your voice sharper now that you were more awake. “What the hell, Sylus?”

He just chuckled softly, ignoring the sting from your pinch. “You were in no state to argue,” he said simply, his tone matter-of-fact as he carried you further into his home. “And I had enough of babysitting you the whole night.”

“Well I didn't ask you to watch me,” you grumbled, though your body still felt heavy with the lingering effects of alcohol. You squirmed a little in his arms, trying to free yourself, but his grip on you was steady and unyielding.

“You can complain all you want, kitten,” he said with a smirk, “but you needed to get out of there. Trust me.”

You huffed, more irritated now. “Don’t call me kitten,” you muttered, glaring up at him through half-lidded eyes. It was bad enough that he always teased you with that nickname—tonight, it felt like he was deliberately rubbing salt in the wound.

Sylus glanced down at you, his smirk deepening into a mischievous grin. “Why not?” he asked, his voice soft, teasing, as his eyes traveled over your outfit. “You’re dressed like one tonight. Seems even more fitting than usual, doesn’t it?”

Sylus carried you effortlessly through the halls of his home until he reached his room. He set you down gently on the large, plush bed, its softness immediately pulling you in. The sheets felt cool against your skin as you sank into them, your body still heavy with the lingering effects of alcohol.

You watched as Sylus moved across the room, grabbing a glass of water from a nearby table and bringing it back to the nightstand beside the bed. “Drink this,” he said, his voice less teasing now, more gentle. “You’ll feel better in the morning. Go to sleep.”

You rolled your eyes but obediently took a sip, the cool water soothing your dry throat. As you placed the glass back down, you realized that the fog in your mind was starting to lift. You weren’t as drunk as you had been earlier—your head was clearer now, though you were still feeling bold enough to be a little reckless.

Sylus walked across the room, settling into a large leather chair near the window, watching you from a distance. He leaned back, his crimson eyes glinting in the low light, clearly still on edge after the events of the night.

But something stirred inside you—a spark of mischievousness born from the alcohol still lingering in your system. You narrowed your eyes at him, thinking of how he had pulled you away from the festival without warning, how he always teased you, and how you could never seem to one-up him. Maybe now was your chance.

You slid out of bed and onto all fours, quietly crawling toward him. Sylus raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued but cautious. “What are you doing?” he asked, his tone a mix of curiosity and warning.

You didn’t answer. Instead, when you reached him, you rested your face against his legs and set your head down in his lap, rubbing your cheek against him in a way that could only be described as cat-like.

For a moment, Sylus just stared at you, processing what you were doing. Then, a low chuckle escaped his lips, and he leaned forward slightly, looking down at you with amusement dancing in his eyes.

“Not only are you dressed like a cat,” he said, his voice laced with playful sarcasm, “but now you’ve decided to act like one too.”

You smirked to yourself, feeling triumphant in your little act of rebellion. “I’m just embracing the part,” you murmured, your voice teasing as you nuzzled your face slightly against his legs.

Sylus’s hand twitched slightly, and for a moment, you wondered if he would push you away—but he didn’t. Instead, he just watched you, his gaze sharp and curious, though there was a flicker of something darker beneath his playful expression.

“Careful, kitten,” he said softly, his voice dropping to that low, dangerous tone that always made your pulse race. “You’re playing a dangerous game.”

You glanced up at him, meeting his gaze, the mischief still swirling inside you. “And what if I am?” you challenged, pushing yourself just a little further, enjoying the way his body tensed beneath you.

Sylus’s crimson eyes darkened, his smirk fading slightly as he studied you more closely. There was something electric in the air between you now, the tension palpable as he weighed his next move.

“You’re bold tonight,” he said, his voice softer now, more serious. “Bolder than usual.”

You just smiled up at him, feeling a rush of satisfaction at having thrown him off balance, even if only slightly. “Maybe it’s the cat costume,” you teased, still resting your head in his lap. “Or maybe it’s just you.”

Sylus’s eyes darkened, his smirk growing more predatory as he leaned down slightly, closing the distance between your faces. He looked at you with a gleam of amusement and hunger, his tone shifting to something deeper, more commanding.

“Since you’re feeling so bold,” he said softly, his voice dripping with a dangerous edge, “you should have no problem mewling a little for me then, hm?”

Your breath caught in your throat at his words, the sudden shift in tone making your pulse race even faster. The way he looked at you, his gaze intense and unwavering, made your skin prickle with nervous anticipation. He wasn’t playing around anymore. The teasing had escalated, and now he was testing you, pushing you to see how far you would go.

You felt heat rise to your cheeks, a mix of defiance and something else stirring within you. The tension between you two had never been more palpable, and in that moment, it felt like a line was being drawn—a challenge you weren’t sure if you wanted to accept or retreat from.

Sylus leaned back slightly, his expression amused as he watched the gears turn in your head. “What’s the matter?” he teased, though his voice was softer now, coaxing. “Cat got your tongue?"

You smirked at Sylus’s challenge, the mischievous spark in your eyes growing even brighter. Fine, you thought, two can play at that game.

Without hesitation, you leaned into the role he was teasing you about, doubling down on your boldness. You let out a soft, playful meow, pawing at his legs like a mischievous cat. The alcohol still buzzing in your system only made it easier to fully embrace the act, and you were determined to throw him off balance—if only for a moment.

Sylus raised an eyebrow, clearly surprised at how far you were willing to take the game, but his smirk never wavered. If anything, it deepened as he watched you with amusement, his crimson eyes twinkling with intrigue. “Oh, so we’re really doing this?” he murmured, his voice dripping with playful sarcasm.

You meowed again, more dramatically this time, your hands pawing at his pants as you looked up at him with exaggerated innocence. You could see the amusement in his eyes, and you knew you had him—at least for now. Deciding to push the limits, you got even closer, deciding to rub your face against his half hard cock hidden beneath his jeans.

Seems he was more affected than he was letting on.

With a mocking grin, Sylus reached down and ran his hand gently over the top of your head, as if petting you like a real cat. “You must be very drunk,” he teased, his voice light and playful. “Acting like a kitten and now letting me pet you? I need a camera.”

But before he could pull his hand away, you leaned forward and bit him—lightly, but enough to make a point. He barely reacted before withdrawing his hand, his eyes widening with mock surprise as he looked down at you.

“Oh?,” Sylus said with a chuckle, shaking his head in disbelief. “You even bite too? What an unpredictable little kitten I have”

You grinned up at him, feeling victorious in your rebellion, the mixture of alcohol and adrenaline making you bolder than ever. “I warned you not to underestimate me,” you teased, your eyes still locked on his, enjoying the game far more than you expected.

Sylus’s playful smirk returned, though there was an undeniable glint of something darker in his gaze. “I think you've forgotten something though” he said softly, leaning forward slightly, his voice dropping lower.

"I bite back.”

Your pulse quickened, but you kept your grin in place, unwilling to back down now. The tension between the two of you was palpable, the playful teasing quickly evolving into something far more intense. You had started this game, and now you were both caught in it.

But for now, you weren’t ready to back down. “I think I can handle it,” you replied, your voice light but laced with challenge.

Sylus’s eyes flickered with amusement, but the edge in his gaze remained. “Is that so?”

Before you could react, Sylus stood up abruptly, his towering presence looming over you. Caught off guard, you stumbled backward, landing on your elbows. Instinctively, you began to scoot back, trying to put some distance between you and his intense gaze, but there was nowhere to go. You felt the cool sheets of the bed press against your back as you found yourself cornered, unable to escape the situation you'd playfully started.

Sylus took a slow step forward, his eyes locked on yours, predatory and amused. He enjoyed how you had pushed him, but now it seemed like the tables had turned. You bit your lip, feeling your heart race in a way that wasn’t just from fear or excitement—it was something more.

“Sylus,” you said, your voice half-teasing, half-nervous, “you’re not really going to—” But the words caught in your throat as he leaned over you, his face inches from yours, cutting off any space for escape.

You were about to plead again, but your voice faltered as he lowered himself closer, his breath warm against your skin. “Why so nervous now?” he teased, his voice low and dangerous, echoing your earlier defiance.

You opened your mouth to say something, but the intensity in his gaze rendered you speechless. Instead, all you could do was look at him, your breath catching in your throat as the air around you thickened with anticipation.

“Can I kiss you?” he asked, his voice softer now, though the predatory edge was still there, lingering just beneath the surface.

You nodded again, almost breathless. “Y-yes,” you whispered.

Without waiting another moment, Sylus’s lips were on yours. The kiss was slow at first, his hand coming up to cradle your face gently, despite the tension hanging in the air. You melted into the kiss, your mind swimming as his lips moved against yours with a mixture of tenderness and hunger. It was as if he was savoring every second.

But then his lips trailed down, leaving a hot path along your jawline, and before you knew it, he was at your neck. You shuddered, the sensation making your pulse quicken, and just as the heat spread through you, you felt a sharp sting—his teeth sinking into your skin.

You gasped, a groan escaping your lips as the bite sent a jolt of pain through your body. Your hands instinctively gripped the sheets beneath you as your body tensed, your head spinning with the mixture of pain and adrenaline. Sylus’s teeth sank in deeper for just a moment, the pressure sharp but somehow electrifying.

Then, just as suddenly, he pulled back, giving you a moment to catch your breath. His crimson eyes gleamed as he watched your reaction, a smirk playing on his lips.

“What?” he asked, his voice laced with amusement as he ran his thumb over the spot on your neck where he had bitten you. “You thought I was joking?”

You opened your mouth, trying to find the words, but before you could speak, Sylus leaned in close again, his breath hot against your ear. “Be still,” he murmured, his tone soft but commanding. “You can handle it. Just like you said.”

Your pulse pounded in your ears, and though the bite had hurt, there was something about his voice, his presence, that made you want to give in. Despite yourself, you found your body relaxing under his touch, your breath steadying as you nodded again, almost instinctively.

Sylus smiled, his lips brushing against your neck once more. “Good girl,” he whispered before trailing soft kisses along your skin, his hands firm but gentle as they held you in place.

Before you could respond, his teeth sank into your skin again, this time in a different spot. The bite was just as sharp, if not sharper, and you gasped, your back arching involuntarily as another jolt of pain shot through you. The sting was immediate, but beneath it, there was a strange thrill, an intensity that made your heart race.

Your hands gripped the sheets even tighter as he bit down harder, holding the pressure for a few seconds longer this time. Warm tears begin to pour down your face. The sensation of his teeth against your skin left you both groaning in pain and caught in something deeper, more electric. Each mark he left felt like a brand, a reminder of just how much control he had over you in this moment.

Sylus didn’t pull back right away; instead, he lingered at your neck, sucking gently at the new mark he’d made, as if savoring the taste of your skin. Your breath hitched in your throat, your body trembling beneath him, torn between the sharp sting of the bite and the warmth that followed in its wake.

When he finally released you, he trailed slow, deliberate kisses over the fresh mark, his tongue grazing your skin in a way that made your head spin. You could feel the warmth of his breath, the possessive way his hands held you in place as if daring you to protest.

But you didn’t. You couldn’t. All you could do was lay there, breathless, as the intensity of it all washed over you.

Sylus looked down at you, his gaze full of smug satisfaction as he admired the new set of marks he’d left on your neck. His thumb grazed over them gently, tracing the outlines of his bites as if claiming you in some silent, unspoken way.

“You wear my marks well,” he said softly, his voice laced with amusement. “Perhaps you should challenge me more often, kitten.”

Unable to respond, you watch as his lips makes contact with yours again, gentle but devastating. Every nerve in your body sings for him at the contact, and you feel more warm tears finally slip from your eyes to drip down between your lips and his. He pulls back to look at you, wiping those tears away and sighing in pleasure at whatever expression he finds on your face. You curl your fingers in his shirt and tug him back to you, wanting to savor this, but also wanting more, so much more.

Your tongue slips past his, and your fingers tangle into the back of his hair of their own accord. He moans, honest to god moans into your mouth at the contact, and any pretense either of you may have had about this being only a kiss simply evaporates. His mouth moves more insistently against yours, hand cradling the entire side of your face, and you finally allow your hips to push forward, finding him fully hard this time.

He suddenly leans back and pulls his shirt over his head one-handed in a smooth, practiced motion. It's the hottest fucking thing you've ever seen. If you didn't know that almost certainly mind-blowing sex is soon to follow, you'd swear that there's nothing better on this earth than watching Sylus strip his own shirt off to bare that sinful chest. 

He smirks down at you, resting one hand on your hipbone and snaking the other to the waistband of his pants, but that's more than you can take right now. You hook your legs around the back of his and pull him down, desperate, and you shudder as his clothed erection is finally brought flush against your arousal. 

"Sylus, please," you whine, trusting that he knows what you're begging for. His fingers tighten and relax on your hip as if by reflex, and you can barely think straight around your need to have him inside you. 

"You're sure?" he huffs, capturing your mouth again, and you'd laugh if you weren't fit to combust from desire. 

"God, I'm sure." You don't think you've ever wanted anything more in your life, to be honest.

Sylus's lips pull up into another satisfied smirk against yours, and his fingers dig into your flesh with intent this time as he leans back again. "Maybe we should wait until you're more sober-"

"No!" you interrupt him, probably too quickly, and he quirks an eyebrow again. "Um, I mean...I'm good."

"You're good?" he asks, and fuck, it's so hard to think around this insistent, burning desire. You could sense his small hesitation and become desperate to ease his worries surrounding your state of mind.

"Yeah," you tell him again, as pointedly as you can while impatient with lust. "The nap really helped, I'm okay."

He hesitates a moment longer, and you feel like your about to combust with need.

"Sylus. I want you. All of you." You reach a hand out to cup the length of him through his pants, delighting in the narrowing in his eyes and the shudder that goes through him. A sudden thrill of confidence has you saying the filthiest thing you've ever said before you can stop yourself.

"I want you to cum inside me. Please."

You think the look in his eyes might be a little bit feral as he turns his full attention back to your body, tugging your skirt . He slips his fingers into your panties with no preamble, and he sighs appreciatively at the slick he feels there. "You've wanted this for a long time, haven't you?"

He's going to drive you insane, and when you tell him as much, his only response is to tear the garment down your legs, toss it behind him, and press two fingers inside of you. You choke and gasp his name as he grins wickedly down at you.

"Yeah, you have." He presses deeper, thumb brushing your clit, and you can't hold back a desperate cry. 

"Sylus, please-" 

"Fuck..." His eyes trail down to where his fingers are buried, and you'd be self-conscious if you had even a single brain cell to spare that isn't consumed by pleasure. "Do you know how long I've wanted this, gorgeous? The second I saw you in that costume I wanted to tear it off".

You can only gasp and buck your hips shamelessly as he continues, murmuring encouragement and looking both as smug and as charming as he ever has. This feels so good, so unreal, his slender fingers hitting all the right spots inside you while his thumb continues rubbing lazy circles outside. You can hardly believe that the same fingers your eyes have lingered on as they hold bullets or curl around a trigger - the same hands you've seen kill countless times - are now the gentle architects of your mind-numbing pleasure. 

"Come on, that's it," Sylus coos with a particularly delicious quirk of those fingers, pulling you out of hazy memories and back to what you realize is now an imminent orgasm. Your eyes drag from the stark outline of his erection against his pants, up his chest and to his face, where you catch him biting his lip in his concentration.

"Sylus-" Your hips buck against his hand as the tension coils inside you. "I'm-" 

"I know. Go head and cum kitten," he says with another devilish grin, and god, he's going to be the end of you. 

"Sylus," you gasp again, reduced to this mindless desperation as his talented fingers work you while your release hovers just out of reach. "Please, I'm-" 

He finally takes pity on you and ducks his head to seal his mouth over your clit, and fuck, what you wouldn't give for more of that, but after all this build-up, one brush of his tongue is all it takes to send you hurtling over the edge. Both of your hands fist in his hair as you shudder under him, gasping and keening, and you feel him groan against your sensitive flesh. 

Eventually, he pulls away, though it takes you several more seconds to come back to earth. When you open your eyes, it's to find him stripped down to nothing, hovering over you again with a self-satisfied expression. 

"God," you say, still not recovered, and then, because you can't help it, your eyes drop to his cock. It's as beautiful as the rest of him, rigid and straining for you. Your core throbs again as you realize that getting you off is what got him this worked up. Fuck. 

How as that possibly going to fit?

"It'll fit, don't worry" he says, as if able to read your mind. You don't even have to look at him to know that he's grinning. 

You groan and throw an arm over your eyes to resist the very real temptation to stare at Sylus's naked body for the rest of your life. You feel him move closer, dropping down onto his palms above you, and you lift your arm to watch him settle between your thighs like he's always belonged there. 

"You want to do this?" he asks softly, red eyes searching yours for one last confirmation, and you respond with a few tiny, shaky nods. He brushes his thumb across your bottom lip with a quiet sigh. "Let me hear you say it, beautiful." 

"Yes, Sylus," you plead, tears burning again at the corners of your eyes, and he hums his pleasure against your lips as he lines himself up. You inhale sharply through your teeth as you feel the first breach of his cock, holding that breath in your lungs as he slowly sinks in to the hilt. Christ, he's big. 

"Breathe, kitten" he reminds you, still disarmingly gentle, though you can see the smug satisfaction plainly on his face. He braces himself on his forearms to pepper kisses along your neck and jaw, pulling out to slowly slide back in with a deep groan.

Your hands fist in his hair, and you think you might be onto something with that when his chuckle melts into a moan. He eyes lock onto yours as he buries himself as deep as he can again, and you're taken aback by the open adoration you see on his face - you can only hope your own face is mirroring that for him. 

He slides out and in again, again, slowly falling into a steady rhythm that's better than anything you've ever felt in your life. For an endless time, there's nothing else - it's just the two of you, bodies coming together in pleasure, the occasional rougher thrust making you gasp his name as he mouths yours against your skin.

Sylus's hips suddenly still and he drops his head beside yours, heavy breaths hot against your ear. You shift underneath him, relishing the feel of his length still thick inside you but needy for him to move.

"Just need a second," he pants, sounding as wrecked as you feel. "I'm not ready to be done with you yet, sweetie." 

And oh, if your heart (and your aethercore) could explode from words alone, those would do it. The most divine human being you've ever known is lying here staving off an orgasm so that he can keep fucking you. And he just called you sweetie. 

Yeah, you're totally dead and gone. 

You lie there for a few moments, matching your breaths to his and kneading your fingers into the firm planes of his back. An appreciative groan rumbles out of him, and he pulls back to slide out of you, silencing your noise of protest with a finger to your lips and a low chuckle.

"You'll get what you want," he admonishes, grasping one of your hips to give it a slight push. "Patience, kitten" 

He leans back, and you catch a glimpse of his cock, hard against the vee of his hips and glistening with your wetness. Fuck. You shift your legs apart, and he's back on you immediately, one hand digging into the flesh of your ass and the other bracing itself next to your shoulder. 

"Good girl," Sylus breathes into your ear, and you go boneless as he sheathes himself in your slick heat once more. "Good fucking girl, taking me so well." 

You're beyond being able to respond to his filthy praise with anything other than gasps and moans, but he doesn't seem to mind, taking them as encouragement to fuck you even harder and bring your bodies flush together. When his hips snap forward, driving him deep, deeper, you swear you see stars. God, this angle is otherworldly, his cock hitting your most sensitive spot with each perfect thrust. Your hands cling desperately to his biceps, feeling those mouthwatering muscles ripple as he holds you tighter. Sylus's fingers wrap gently around your neck as his teeth nip your ear, and you cry out, feeling a familiar heat and tension begin to build within you. 

"So close again?" he growls, each breath harsh as he fucks into you. "Shit...feels so fucking good." 

Yeah, you're fucking close, if the steady stream of "yes" and "please" pouring from your lips and the almost painful way you're gripping his cock is anything to go on. You might even be sobbing now, who the fuck knows. His fingers clench against the pulse jumping in your neck, and there it is-

You glance up at him, muscles taut as he thrusts, and it's over for you, even before his eyes flick up to yours as he breathes,

"Cum for me." 

Your body shakes against him as another orgasm barrels through you, and you think you might actually scream this time, which is a shame because you're sure Sylus is saying some delectable shit to you right now. He doesn't let up, cock still pounding into you relentlessly, and when you finally come down from your high, it's to find his moans coming out broken and his thrusts rougher than ever. He's close. He's right there. You're not sure what possesses you in that moment, but you reach a hand between your bodies and close your fingers gently around his balls. Your efforts are rewarded with stuttering hips and a glorious, drawn-out groan as Sylus cums hard, his face shoved roughly into your shoulder. 

You take a moment as he pants against you, the aftershocks of your own orgasm still thrumming through you, to stare at the ceiling in disbelief that this is real life. You just had sex with Sylus. The leader of Onychinus. You're desperately in love with him and he might just feel the same about you. 

When his hips finally still and he stops panting into your skin, you begin guide his face closer to yours, relishing the way he rests his full weight on top of you without thinking, dazed as he is in his own pleasure. He pulls your face toward his to capture your lips in another blistering kiss, this one unexpectedly tender after his ferocity only moments ago, and you moan softly through it at the feel of his cock still solid inside you. 

You both catch your breath against the pillows for a few moments before he whispers that he's going to pull out, and you brace yourself for that final slide of his cock. Fuck, that should not feel as good as it does, especially considering that in the same second you have to clench your thighs to keep his release inside of you. Sylus lays on his back beside you with a sigh of contentment, and you turn carefully to lie right alongside him. You slide your hand over to his, not sure why you're feeling shy about this when you just got done being thoroughly fucked by him, but you feel relieved all the same when his fingers intertwine with yours. 

Your breaths slow as you both lie quietly in the afterglow, and after a time, he turns to face you.

"I trust it goes without saying that you're welcome to stay as long as you like," he says, brushing your hair back from your face, and all of your emotions come rushing back. You love him. You love him.

"What if I never want to leave?" you whisper, and now it's spoken, now it's out there for him to do with as he will. He studies you for a long moment, and it could just be the light of the room reflecting in those red eyes, but you think you see them glistening.

"I think that could be arranged," he finally says, his voice as full of emotion as you've ever heard it, and you feel as though you're drowning in your love for this man. You swallow past the lump in your throat and throw him as playful a smile as you can manage. 

"Well, that's good, because I feel your cum slipping out of me. Might need to put more back in there" you say, emboldened by his now obvious desire for you, but still feeling bashful as you say it. Both of his eyebrows shoot up, and he laughs, a deep, indulgent sound.

"Careful," he purrs, wrapping both arms around you like a vice. "Might get me going again."

"Plenty of time for that later," you tell him, leaning forward to bury yourself in his chest again, hoping your words carry the weight of the three specific ones you're still too embarrassed to say out loud. 

"And more," he murmurs in your ear, arms tightening around you, his words sounding an awful lot like an unspoken affirmation to your unspoken vow. 

This wasn't such a bad Halloween after all.

[saintobio]

the art of loving, feat. l&ds rafayel.

pairings. rafayel, fem!reader genre. fluff, smut, established relationship, 18+ tags. artist x muse, hints of abandonment issues, clingy bf!rafayel, allusions to nude paintings, fellatio, cum eating, protected sex, praise kink notes. my third l&ds boy :’) there’s a full blown sylus oneshot coming but for now, i have to write abt our cute fish! i’ll continue the jjk wips on the weekend bcos my l&ds hyperfixation is currently taking over 🤧

࣪ ⁺⋆𖧷 artist!rafayel who makes you the muse of his paintings. he loves how he can adore your face while turning his blank canvas into something as colorful as you. it all started when he used to sketch you when you’re not looking. and it’s a habit that he, time and time again, still does. whether you’re reading, sleeping, or simply lost in thought, he finds these moments precious and captures them in his sketchbook. he actually has a dedicated corner of you on his mo art studio, where it’s filled with paintings and sketches of his beautiful girlfriend.

࣪ ⁺⋆𖧷 artist!rafayel who loves to paint with you. he’ll set up a canvas next to his and guide your hands, laughing together as you create something… unique. look, he’s not making fun of your painting. in fact, he’d say you’re actually very talented. “it’s not bad at all,” he’d claim, “it’s an exquisite art… if i close my eyes.” how mean! but honestly, if you were to sell your artwork, he would still be the first person to buy it.

࣪ ⁺⋆𖧷 artist!rafayel who gets playful with paint. while you’re on the subject of ‘painting together’, you know how cheeky rafayel is, and when he dabs a bit of paint on your nose or cheeks, the light-hearted paint fight ends in messy, colorful kisses. one time, he even left a purple handprint on your bum, and giggles each time he sees it from behind.

࣪ ⁺⋆𖧷 artist!rafayel who gets clingy when you’re busy. he’ll sulk if he feels you’re not paying enough attention to him, often wrapping his arms around you from behind and nuzzling into your neck to remind you he’s there. he can very grumpy, too. like a spoiled brat who he didn’t get what he wants. it’s just that he dislikes the feeling of being ignored and abandoned, so the last thing you knew not to do is make him wait too long on your dates or make him feel like your mind is occupied by anything else other than him. because he’d go as far as pretending to be in a helpless situation just so you’d drop everything and run off to him. how silly!

࣪ ⁺⋆𖧷 artist!rafayel who surprises you with personalized art gifts. from small sketches slipped into your bag to full portraits given on special occasions. it’s his way of expressing his love, because he’s very grateful of how supportive you are when he has art exhibits. your presence calms his nerves, and he always looks for you in the crowd to find strength in your encouraging smiles.

࣪ ⁺⋆𖧷 artist!rafayel who likes to cuddle while discussing his latest ideas. he enjoys your input and loves bouncing ideas off you. his hands like to roam around your body as he keeps you in bed all day, whispering sweet nothings into you ear and making the atmosphere warm and intimate. “i can’t help it!”was his usual excuse whenever you’d call him out for being too touchy. “sometimes, my inspirations come in the form of physical intimacy, you know!”

࣪ ⁺⋆𖧷 artist!rafayel who can’t resist kissing you passionately when he’s inspired. he sketches you in intimate moments, letting you lie beautifully naked in bed and with only a blanket to cover the lower half of your body, like a vulnerable mermaid looking to be held by her prince. he’ll pull you close, hands covered in paint, leaving colorful fingerprints and delicate patterns on your skin as his lips capture yours in a heated kiss. he would peel the blanket off you slowly, taking his sweet time as if memorizing every dip and curve to later recreate in his art. his touch is both tender and electrifying. and his expressions, both raw and passionate as he eyes every inch of your body.

⁺⋆𖧷 artist!rafayel who whispers his deepest desires in your ear. his voice becomes husky with emotions, telling you exactly what he wants, and leaving you blushing and eager to feed him the attention he seeks. he’s very needy, indeed. but most especially in bed. he’d often grab your hand, allowing you to brush it against his toned chest and down to his… aching member. it’s begging to be released, you both know it. and so when he guides your head closer to his crotch, you already know what ‘job’ you had to do for him.

⁺⋆𖧷 artist!rafayel who whines a lot while you’re pleasing him, but in a cute way. he’s just very vocal about it. he’s incapable of keeping his little moans whenever he feels your tongue rolling around his tip, your lips leaving open-mouthed kisses along the sides of his length. it’s like suction when you fully take him into your mouth, the image of your head bobbing to suck his cock is extremely vivid in his head. “mhm~ don’t stop.” rafayel loses his mind over it. “my darling, lover girl. you’re so pretty, my baby.” and when you’d allow him to cum inside your mouth, he’s a weak man watching you swallow every single drop.

⁺⋆𖧷 artist!rafayel who respects your boundaries and doesn’t push you to try things in bed that you’re not comfortable with. when you told him he can’t do you raw, he willingly obliged. so, lo and behold the huge box of condoms on his nightstand. he believes in practicing safe sex because you both aren’t ready for that kind of responsibility yet. but that doesn’t lessen the frequency of your activities in bed. in fact, his beloved box of rubbers would easily run out after 2-3 weeks.

⁺⋆𖧷 artist!rafayel who likes to be praised when doing the deed with you. it’s just innate in him. you have to let him know if he’s doing good, have to let him hear how great he feels inside of you, how pretty he looks when you gaze down on him, and how amazing his hands are in finding your most sensitive places. “raf, you’re the best at this,” you’d moan into his mouth, the sound of skin-slapping echoing across his studio as you feel him racing through his climax, “s-so good, ngh~” he’s one to smile at your little whimpers. “yeah, you like where i’m hitting it, baby?” “haa—i do!” “thought so.”

⁺⋆𖧷 artist!rafayel who wants to be displayed all over your social media accounts. it’s as straightforward as he is—he wants his face to take over your account. he wants to know that you’re proud of him and that you’re showing off your handsome boyfriend whenever you can. he also wants you to interact with his posts, leave comments, and hit the heart button. every. single. time. he gets easily sulky if sees you ignoring his cute posts about you. that’s just how he is, and it doesn’t frustrate you one bit, because he just loves being the center of your world in exchange for treating you the center of his. that was the art of loving rafayel.

[dotster001]

For Tuna

Summary:Grim does some interviews to find the perfect sugar dad for him you gn!reader x all boys in one way or another.

A/N:I haven't unpacked my tag list yet, so hopefully this is everyone!

Part Two Part Three choose your ending...

"Grim, we can't afford the bougie tuna. Put it back."

You'd missed it before when you were loading your basket at Sam's shop, but Grim had snuck in the expensive tuna. Now you were at the counter, trying to hide your embarrassment as you told Grim to put it back. Sam gave you a sympathetic smile, but still. You didn't need to add his pity to your plate of worries.

"Prefect, don't worry about it. I can take care of it."

You jumped. You hadn't realized Ruggie had lined up behind you with his own basket full of stuff.

"Yeah! Let Ruggie-"

"I couldn't do that, Ruggie, but thanks for the offer."

Ruggie grinned, "oh please, it's on Leona. He said I could get whatever I want as long as I come back with his energy drinks."

You made an unconvinced face, and Ruggie gave a playful wink.

"Trust me, your tuna won't even make a dent in his wallet. I could pay for your entire load, and still be able to pay off my student loans. In fact," he slapped down Leona's wallet, "Sam, add Y/N's groceries to mine, I'll take care of it."

Before you could protest further, Sam was ringing you both up.

And then Grim got an idea. A terribly, wonderful, awful idea.

"There, all settled. Plus now you can afford to fix your windows this month, or…." He looked at the cash in your hand, "well you can fix one window at least. And don't feel too bad for Leona. Eat the rich and what not," Ruggie patted your back comfortingly then left with his groceries.

"C'mon Grimmy, let's go," you said with a heavy sigh.

"Actually, I have something to do, Henchhuman. You go on home, I'll see ya later."

"Okay, but if you need me…."

"I'll be okay! Geeze you get so anxious without the great Grim. It's embarrassing."

You rolled your eyes and left. You would be so proud of him once he had finished though. He was excited already.

Heartslaybul Dorm….

"Mr. Rosehearts. Thank you for meeting with me."

Grim primly took out his pen and began to scribble on a clipboard.

"I didn't meet with you. You barged into my office," Riddle said, his arms crossed along his chest.

"I think you will find this meeting beneficial. It pertains to Y/N L/N."

Riddle relaxed a little, and raised a single curious eyebrow.

"You see, It has come to my attention, that Y/N and I do not have the funds to live comfortably. In fact, Y/N is practically starving to death! It has also come to my attention that you harbor some feelings for the prefect, and are in possession of a great deal of funds. Now," Grim dramatically looked up at Riddle, who's face was a shade of dark red. "How do you intend to provide for Y/N?"

Riddle opened his mouth, and Grim prepared himself for the worst, but…

"Wait, Y/N's on the market?!?!!"

Grim turned over his shoulder just in time to see Cater run in, tea tray in hand.

"He's only taking applications from rich people."

"Not a concern, housewarden!" Cater cleared his throat. "Hi, I'm Cater Diamond, and my dad is a banker."

"Oh!" Grim made a note on his paper. Riddle stood up abruptly.

"You only talk to your family on holidays, I wouldn't call that a solid source of income-"

"Yes but I'm a people pleaser, so I'll probably follow in his footsteps. So I will also have a banker's salary."

Riddle turned to Grim in a panic.

"I'm going to be a doctor!"

"Oh!" Scribble scribble.

"Oh please!" Cater rolled his eyes before conspiratorially leaning into Grim. "We both know Riddle. He'll work long shifts, day in and day out, and he'll never come home. Meaning poor Y/N will be trapped in a lonely loveless marriage. Meanwhile, I'll work my nine to five, and be home in time to gift you tuna, and keep Y/N warm at night."

"You think Grim cares about that?" Riddle shoved Cater out of the way. "I'll make time for Y/N. Plus my salary will provide double the tuna for you."

"What's all the yelling about?" Trey entered the room, followed by Ace and Deuce.

"Don't look at them, those three are poor as fuck. I mean a baker? Blech, disgusting," Cater apologetically smiled at Trey. "No offense."

"What?" Trey said, feeling more confused than he ever had been.

Grim clicked his pen closed.

"Thank you for your time. I have more interviews to conduct, but I will be in contact if you get through to the second round."

He scampered out of the room as Riddle and Cater nodded after him.

Savannaclaw Dorm….

Grim sat at the foot of Leona's bed as he tapped his chin thoughtfully.

"How can I provide for Y/N, huh? You mean the little demonstration Ruggie gave this morning wasn't enough?"

Grim tapped the pen impatiently against the clipboard.

"Mr. Kingscholar, it is important that you participate fully, or I will remove you from the list entirely."

Leona groaned.

"I receive a….certain amount of, shall we say, an allowance."

"And how much can I expect from that? I have a lot of people to interview. Please don't waste my time."

Leona looked over at Ruggie, who was folding laundry, then gestured Grim closer, before whispering a number into his ear.

Grim gasped, then hastily scribbled something onto his clipboard.

"We will be in contact with you when the second round of interviews begins." Grim stood up and hopped off the bed.

"Ruggie," Leona snapped, "Ensure my future relative makes it out of here safely. Let no one stop you."

Ruggie nodded in understanding as he escorted a proud looking Grim out.

Once they were halfway through the dorm, Ruggie began to speak.

"Leona has promised me a job with an excellent salary once I graduate. Just sayin."

"Won't he just take back the job if he finds out you're competing with him?"

Ruggie rolled his eyes, "Nevermind."

Jack left his room, and noticed the two of them, and began to walk towards them.

"Jack will make you get a job if you pick him," Ruggie whispered hastily. Grim hissed and sprinted the rest of the way out of the dorm.

"What's wrong with Grim?" Jack asked.

"Shi hi hi who knows?"

As Grim made his way to his second location, he was picked up by the scruff of his neck.

"Hey! What's the big idea?!?!?"

"Aw little sealie you're so cute!"

Grim stiffened.

"Fu fu fu," Jade laughed next to him. "our boss would like to have a word with you."

Grim gulped.

Octavinelle Dorm….

"Thank you for agreeing to see me," Azul said smugly.

"I didn't. Your scary twins picked me up and dragged me here."

"You see," Azul pushed his glasses up his nose, expertly ignoring Grim, "We got word that you were interviewing potential candidates for Y/N's future husband. I prepared some charts for you."

Azul pulled out several charts. Grim understood exactly zero of them. But he nodded thoughtfully and pretended to make a note on his clipboard.

"As you can see, my income is projected to continually go up until retirement. Plus my assets will continue to be of value, and my investments will be bringing in money for many years to come. I can safely say, money is no object. Plus, I am an excellent cook. You will never have to eat poor person's tuna ever again."

Grim made a real note this time just as the twins roughly turned his chair around.

"Now that Azul has had his turn, we would like to give our pitch," Jade said with an eerie grin. 

"You see, our parents run a certain…. organization," Floyd and Jade shared a grin before turning to Grim again. "Jade and I are the sole inheritors of this empire when they pass. Just keep that in mind."

"Also, people who oppose this organization have a tendency to, shall we say, disappear."

Grim shivered as he made a skull and crossbones picture on his clipboard.

"Awesome. Great. I'll be taking Grim now…."

"Sea Snake!" Floyd shouted, wrapping his arms around Jamil, who had silently snuck into the room. 

"Let go," Jamil hissed, wriggling away from Floyd. "Give me the cat."

"Aw, but we were playing with him…."

"It's alright Floyd. I think the three of us have made our point quite clear," Jade hummed, before the octotrio shared a laugh.

Jamil rolled his eyes before carefully picking up Grim.

Scarabia Dorm….

"Look, Kalim isn't going to brag for himself so I thought I'd bring you here and remind you that this entire dorm was funded by his family. And he will be inheriting said funds."

Grim nodded and made a note.

"What about you? I mean, I already know you aren't getting picked cause, well, " Grim pointedly looked him up and down. "But the other broke losers have tried to participate."

Jamil leaned down and gave a dark smile.

"I don't need money to win over Y/N," eyes flashing red as he spoke.

"Monsieur Fuzzball!" 

Grim and Jamil both groaned. It only took two seconds for him to be scooped up by the hunter.

"Non, non, do not struggle. I only wish to prove myself as a proper caretaker!"

Pomefiore Dorm…

Grim had never been so pampered, well fed, and relaxed in his entire life. Rook had provided snacks galore, given Grim the full on spa treatment, brushed out his fur, and was now massaging his sore kitty back.

"Monsieur Fuzzball, doesn't this feel wonderful?"

Grim nodded as Rook continued his massage.

"Just think, you could have this everyday!"

Grim groaned happily as Rook hit a tough knot.

Suddenly, Rook's voice was directly in his ear.

"All you have to do is give me the Trickster."

In that moment, Grim knew he would sell you for this life without a second thought.

But before he could do that…

"For heaven's sake I told you to find Epel, not this rodent!"

Rook immediately stopped the massage, to turn to his Queen.

"Roi du poison! I was simply-"

"Spare me," Vil snapped, before handing a struggling Epel over to Rook. He then reached into his pocket and pulled out a small card, gracefully handing it to Grim between two fingers. 

"I believe you are aware of my financial situation, but should you have questions, you can reach my manager on that card."

Then he left the room with a flourish, and the lingering scent of apple blossoms.

"You know I am willing to share the trickster with you," Rook whispered to Vil in the hallway.

"Ew," Epel groaned.

"As if I'd ever share," Vil smirked.

Outside the Ignihyde Dorm…

Ortho stood next to the tablet, holding Grin up so he could see what it said.

"So as  you can see from my bank account," Idia's voice said from the tablet, "Money is not and never will be an issue."

"It all looks good," Grim muttered as he made a note, "but I have to say it's a red flag that you couldn't come here in person…"

"Hey! Big brother is just busy with his experiment!"

"Yeah, exactly, thank you Ortho, for being the only one who appreciates genius. In fact this conversation is over. If he doesn't get it, then that's his loss. Ditch the noob, Ortho!" And the tablet floated back into the dorm.

Ortho gently set Grim down. "Look, big brother gets nervous around the prefect, that's all. But I think they'd make a great couple."

He gently patted Grim's head, then floated back in. Grim sighed, made a note about how Idia was a package deal, then continued to the final dorm.

Diasomnia Dorm…

"Small kitten, I am to be king of a country. Not only that, but I have spent centuries curating my hoard. Our nest will be always warm, and my perfect child of man will want for nothing," Malleus finished with a smug grin, as he leaned back in his throne. Then he sighed and rolled his eyes.

"Now you three can make your offers, or whatever."

"Me next! Me next!" Lilia said, cradling Grim like a baby. "I'm not as young as I look, and am on the best of terms with the queen and future king. I also have a great fortune built up! Kay, who's next?"

Silver timidly raised his hand.

"I just want to say, what about what Y/N wants? What if Y/N doesn't like any of us? What if Y/N doesn't even want to get married in the end? Or maybe they'll be just as happy with or without money?"

There was a long pause. Then…

"Silver's father is loaded and will do anything to see his children married and happy!"

"Fa-Lilia!" Silver hid his face in his hands in embarrassment.

"Same with Sebek. And his dad's a dentist!"

For once Sebek had nothing to say.

"Excellent, this looks very promising for you four," Grim nodded scribbling his final notes, "Now to-"

"GRIM!" 

Uh oh. He turned around and saw you storming in.

"Child of man!"

"Save it Mal Mal! I'm here for my rat," You scooped up Grim, placing him under your arm as you left the room.

"When will we hear about the second round of interviews?" Lilia giggled.

You answered by flipping them the middle finger without looking back.

The Hallway….

"What the hell, Grim? I'm not for sale!"

"I'm not selling you! I'm just trying to get you provided for!"

"Please! This is about tuna and you know it!"

"Who even told you?"

"Jack called me about an-"

"Ah! Prefect!" 

You and Grim groaned as you heard Crowley call to you both.

"Yes, headmage?" You asked through gritted teeth. You turned and saw Crewel was with him….wearing a bigger coat than normal.

"That coat looks so soft," Grim muttered.

"Yeah," you whispered back. "Wait, headmage, what do you need?"

"I heard your current allowance is no longer sufficient," he gently traced your jawline, settling below your chin, tapping up against it thoughtfully. "How does a little extra sound?"

You nodded dumbly.

"Good good, I'm too generous, I know," he hummed and walked off.

Before Crewel followed him, he smirked and patted the top of your head.  

"Good pup."

He stalked off. You stood frozen for a moment. Grim smirked up at you.

"You know, they look like they…."

"You keep that thought to yourself, Grim."

....

Tag list-@shytastemakerthing @stygianoir @leonia0 @lleoll @eccedentesiast-sapphic

[reminiscingtonight]

Smooth Operator

Alexia Putellas x Reader

Word Count: 1.6k

[WOSO Masterlist]

Aitana’s smirking at you when you drop into the seat in front of her. You’re instantly dropping your face into your hands, wishing the ground would just come swallow you up. 

“What the hell was that?” Keira chuckles, giving you a gentle nudge. 

“What the hell was what?” you huff, shoving Keira back. 

“Nice shoes? Really?” Aitana tags on, joining in on the teasing. 

“I panicked, okay?!” you groan. 

Having joined the team in the last trade window, your best friend thought it would be a great idea to go explore nearby cafes in an effort to immerse you into the Barcelona culture a bit. Aitana tagged along just for funsies, but it was a clear coincidence that the three of you ran into Alexia. The Barcelona captain looked deep in conversation with her sister when the three of you walked into the shop, not even noticing you guys until Alba looked up and waved.

You’ve been enamored with Alexia long before you even joined the team. You’ve only ever had the chance to admire from afar, but it wasn’t until you actually saw her in action that your admiration turned into a feet stumbling, constant stuttering, blushing hot mess. 

You like to take pride in your smoothness, the way you can charm almost any person that crosses your path. Just in the latest national team camp you were voted most likely to talk their way out of a ticket. 

“A couple fluttered eyelashes and a well-placed laugh, who wouldn’t fall for her?”

If only your teammates could see you now. 

Every time you cross paths with the Spanish midfielder you’re grasping at the straws just to string along a coherent sentence. 

Alexia asks if you know the time? You blurt out that your phone is dead before diving behind Keira, ignoring the timepiece sitting upon your wrist. 

Alexia jokes that the Spanish sun is zapping away all of her energy? You trip seconds later, spilling your water all over her.

Alexia defends you in a drill? You stumble over the ball, missing it completely before taking Alexia straight to the ground.

No matter what you try to do, you always end up embarrassing yourself. 

Case in point just a few seconds ago. 

Being the pieces of shit they are, Aitana and Keira send you to order your drinks. Coincidentally Alexia’s back in line herself, ready to get another thing for her sister. 

You’re mentally rehearsing your orders when a gentle hand on your back grabs your attention. Alexia gives you a soft smile when you turn to face her. 

“How are you today?” 

Her english is heavily accented, but it’s nice how she tries to keep you engaged, knowing you’re still struggling through your catalan and spanish lessons.

Or it would be cute if you actually heard any of it, because the truth is anything she says after she flashes a smile your way goes right over your head. Your heart turns to goo, hands getting sweaty, throat going dry.

“You’re so pretty.” 

It’s a whispered comment meant only for your ears. But the second you realize you said it out loud rather than in your head like you intended, your face burns in embarrassment.

Thankfully, Alexia’s eyebrows furrow together, your quiet words difficult for her to decipher. 

“Què? I am sorry, I did not catch that.”

“I just-- I meant--” you fumble, desperately trying to find an excuse. “Your… shoes! Your shoes are very pretty! Very nice too!”

Your voice carries, definitely not meaning to be as loud as it comes out. It’s hard to miss the way Alba tilts her head curiously at the two of you and the way Keira and Aitana start giggling near the back of the shop.

Your face feels even hotter as you will for the line to go faster. The sooner you get out of here, the sooner you can stop embarrassing yourself. And the sooner you can strangle the two bozos masquerading as your friends. 

Alexia still looks confused but she nods. “I… uh, thank you? I think it’s a Nike one. Running shoes.”

Not trusting your mouth to say anything else, you slam it shut. You must look like a madwoman as you nod vigorously. 

You don’t miss the way Alexia gives you a concerned look, but then the barista is calling your name, saving you any more small talk.

A mumbled goodbye and you’re booking it back to your table as fast as you can without spilling any of your drinks.

---

You wish you could say things get better in the following days.

But you’d be a liar if you said that.

So far you’ve complimented Alexia’s club issued shorts, awed over her bare, unpainted nails, have even miraculously asked if she got a haircut (spoiler she did not). Every time you receive a confused look and a tentative thank you, two acts that make the urge to transfer clubs and never show your face again more and more tempting.

None of it amounts to anything until a few days later. 

You’re out getting drinks with the rest of your team after a successful game. You yourself had scored two goals, and Keira, ever the best friend she is, wanted to celebrate your first brace with Barca in style.

The first drink didn’t even last a whole minute. Keira had no choice but to watch you inhale your cocktail, somehow only managing to choke once. She’s lost for words when you also down the shot Mapi slides your way. Reaching across the table, you pick up Keira’s shot as well, tipping back your head before slamming the cup onto the table. 

It isn’t until you’re reaching for your fourth glass that Keira says something, hand quick to cover the drink before you can lift it. 

“Woah there, drink a little faster why don’t ya?” she teases, a silent question of concern underlying her words.

Shrugging her off, you’re quick to down your third shot. “I need a little bit of liquid courage,” you huff, fighting back a wince at the burn.

“Liquid courage for what?” 

Keira’s question is quick to be answered when a shadow falls over the two of you. Keira’s hand is quickly replaced with those of your captain, Alexia not looking too amused to see you drinking so much alcohol during the season. 

“Everything okay over here, chicas?”

She raises an eyebrow, almost daring you to give her a reason to snatch away the only thing keeping you sane at the moment.

Alexia’s obviously expecting a somewhat coherent explanation from you. Or even a half-assed stringed-along excuse. What she gets instead is--

“Will you go out with me?” you blurt out, instantly slapping your hands across your mouth the second the words come out.

Alexia pauses, looking at you with wide eyes. From all around, your teammates are choking on their drinks, clearly not expecting you to just blurt it out like that. 

Unlike their captain, everyone else on the team has been well aware of the affection you’ve been holding for the Catalonian. Ingrid has to elbow Mapi in the side to stop her from cackling, Pina in the same boat with Patri, the older woman nearly falling off her chair in laughter. Meanwhile, Alexia’s mouth opens and closes a couple times as if she can’t believe what she’s hearing. 

“You want to… go out with me?” She sounds confused, as if she can’t comprehend the thought of you being romantically interested in her. 

You’re half mortified, half exasperated that you said it the way you did, but you’ve shown your cards at this point so you might as well just roll with it. 

“This is embarrassing,” you mutter, eyes nervously darting around the room. “I’ve been trying to ask you out since like… day three of joining Barca.”

An unhelpful snort escapes Keira and she wither as you direct your glare towards her. 

But the anger is short lived as a soft finger curling under your chin has you raising your eyes back up to Alexia. Your captain looks amused, a small smile starting to settle on her face. “So you asking about my shoes a couple days ago was you trying to flirt with me?” 

The tease causes your face to flush even more red as you wince. “Yeah, that didn’t really come out the way I intended.”

The quiet laugh Alexia lets out should make you feel even more mortified, but you’re past the point of caring anymore. Now if only Alexia would grant you the mercy of a quick rejection you could finally let go and squash this giant hopeless crush of yours. 

“I’d love to go on a date with you,” Alexia chuckles, giving your cheek a fond pat. It’s done mockingly, really, but you can’t help but be endeared by the action. 

“Really?” You’d be embarrassed by how quick you light up but that would be the least embarrassing thing you’ve done all month so really you could care less.

“Really.”

And sure, you definitely see the way Keira halfheartedly slides a euro over to a gleeful Aitana, and yeah, Mapi’s definitely poking fun about how stupidly unsmooth you are but for tonight you’re the luckiest girl in Barcelona. 

Because you have a date with the Alexia Putellas. 

And you wouldn’t have it any other way.

[nanamiluvs]

can you do nsfw alphabet for gallagher? :3

just yes omg gallagher is so ngh... like someone commented on my last gallagher post, i want him and wriothesley to tag team me idc

gallagher nsfw alphabet !

pairing : gallagher x reader

rating : explicit

wc : 2.4k

warnings : smut content, reader is afab but no pronouns used, not beta read, reader is called "miss" and "baby" and "good girl", reader is smaller than gallagher in size, size kink, cum play, slight pet play, come eating, gallagher likes to torture himself, manhandling, praise kink, choking, spanking, gallagher eats pussy like a champ, face-fucking, very slight hair pulling, begging, mentions of creampies, overstimulation, teasing, so much teasing

a : aftercare

gallagher is not the biggest practitioner of aftercare, he'd much rather you two just lay down in a mess and leave the cleaning to later. but he's an acts of service type of man. if you want to be cleaned, he will clean you. if you want to be held, he's cuddling you already. gallagher can do whatever you want to do the point it comes off as weird, but really, he's fine with whatever you like. he wants whatever you want. this man can eat his own cum out of you with pleasure for fuck sake.

b : body part

gallagher loves how big he is. he knows his frame is large, wide shoulders and a build adorned with hard muscles. he acts like he's not aware of it, but he loves how you fit in his bulky arms. for you, gallagher loves anywhere he can grab or run his hands through: your waist, your tummy, your thighs, hips, throat- anywhere, really. to be honest, it doesn't matter but on a surface level, gallagher seems to be the type to prefer a heavier body.

c : cum

gallagher is messy and i mean it. he likes to see a mess on you or himself, he doesn't care, just make a mess. he loves to see his cum dirty your body, sprayed across your tits and stomach or seeping out of your cunt. his cum has an off-white color, thicker in density and he cums a lot. you don't know how it's possible, but the man just doesn't stop cumming. he loves to smear his cum too, even more when you scold him for it, laughing like a little boy.

d : dirty secret

gallagher is not shy, but the idea of wanting you to put a collar on him and treat him like a dog, is a little embarrassing. if you ask him to, he'd say something like 'eh, whatever you want, miss' and oblige. it's definitely not as if he's so fucking hard he's turned on by it, he just wants to go along with your requests.

e : experience

gallagher is probably quite experienced. his job is quite stressful, so why not let off some steam with some hook ups here and there? he's not one to judge you whether you're experienced or not, he simply thinks of his experience as an advantage to pleasure you. he knows what he's doing and he knows it so well.

f : favorite position

gallagher has no set favorite position since this man finds joy in throwing you around. sex with gallagher never finishes in the same position as it started, he will find a way to manhandle you to his whims. probably likes g-whiz, table top and upstanding citizen a lot. get used to him moving your body and handling you into another position he wants because he loves doing it.

g : goofy

gallagher is, most of the time, very laid-back during sex. there are times he's more serious, but usually it's him cracking a few jokes here and there. he doesn't see sex as a necessarily romantic thing- gallagher is someone who prefers to fuck rather than to make love. he's extremely cocky too, so much that you'd want to punch his grinning face in with your fist, but well, that's gallagher for you.

h : hair

gallagher definitely has a happy trail and i don't care what anyone else says. he's probably hairy down there, he doesn't let it get too wild since that bothers him but don't expect to see a completely bald surface. he likes it if you're more on the hairy side as well. for gallagher, the messier, the better when it comes to sex.

i : intimacy

gallagher, like i said, doesn't view sex as strictly romantic. he's often teasing you, dirty words spilling through his lips as he fucks you into utter bliss. this man fucks like he has no respect for you. the other times he's on the intimate side, gallagher can't help but smile fondly as his hips roll into yours, arms wrapped around your body with his low voice whispering in your ear. it's so unfair, how he can pull off both with ease.

j : jack off

gallagher probably jacks off once or maybe twice a week at max. i imagine him doing it after work, before he gets to sleep. he mainly does it to destress. i also imagine him wanting to see you masturbate, rough and calloused hands palming his clothed groin as he watches you pleasure yourself. he will not touch you unless you're done, cunt all wet and messy for his thick cock to fill up. and fill up, he will.

k : kink

gallagher is honestly the kinky type.

‎ ‎ ‎ begging : gallagher wants to see you beg. beg to cum, beg for him to finish inside you, beg for him to fuck you, beg and beg and beg. he finds it so arousing, the way you can go so vulnerable for a man like him. he's a meanie, too, making you beg for anything.

‎ ‎ ‎ choking : gallagher would hate to hurt you, but sometimes he can't help but wrap his hand around your throat as he fucks you. he's never too harsh, he knows how strong he is, his touch is more like a reminder of his presence. his thumb plays with your lip before he leans in and kisses you. he also absolutely loves getting choked by you, your smaller hands wrapped around his neck as you ride him, a teasing grin on his face as he struggles to breathe. he says you don't need to worry about going overboard as he can simply stop it if you do so. trust me, he doesn't want to.

‎ ‎ ‎ overstimulation : gallagher hits me as the type to be able to do it for hours on end, obsessed with making you cum over and over again before burying himself inside. he loves fucking you silly, your whining and moaning sound like music in his ears. loves overstimulating himself too.

‎ ‎ ‎ praise kink : gallagher has a praise kink. it's frustrating at this point, the way he can get you to do anything with that stupid smirk on his face and whispers of his, praising you for everything you do. so much that you want to choke him, yet he's just so sickeningly sweet with his words. anything you do well, he will praise you for it. he turns it into a game of whether you'll get his approval or not, going as far as making you beg and crawl for it, and then praise you for how well you've been. 'y'can do it for me, can't ya? good girl.' he can get you to do almost everything he wants with the providance of praises. likes to be on the receiving side on the times he's on the submissive side, often begging for praises during it. 'ah, i've been a good boy, right, baby? right? come and sit on it, please.'

‎ ‎ ‎ size kink : gallagher wants to tower over you. he wants to hold both of your wrists with one hand. he wants to see how small your hands look compared to his larger ones, he wants to see those big fingers of his slowly disappear inside your pussy, filling you like a dick would. yet it's not even close enough to the feeling of his cock, so big and heavy and just too much. he smiles and pushes further inside, relishing in how much you struggle to take him. how many times has it been? are you still not used to his length? he teases as his frame wraps around yours with your back pressed against his chest, enveloping you with all the warmth radiating from the man. he loves how he's just so big compared to you.

l : location

gallagher cares little about things such as locations. if there's a surface, he can fuck you. he has no shame, he can and will do it everywhere you want him to. obviously won't force you if that's not your thing, happy to oblige in the privacy of your own home. the location really doesn't matter to him, because at the end of the day, it's your walls wrapping around his cock so deliciously.

m : motivation

gallagher has a high sex drive, so i think he doesn't need much additional motivation. but your reactions would be the biggest motivating point for him to continue, in love with the way you whine when he rubs your clit or the way you squirm under his hands as he caresses your body. he will go to heaven and back just to hear you moan in ecstasy. would get hard again at the sight of his cum seeping out your folds.

n : no

gallagher most likely wouldn't have a strictly negative opinion on anything. he's a firm believer that everything can be tested but he's not a fan of the idea of physically hurting you with knives or other sharp weapons.

o : oral

gallagher eats pussy like a craved man. it's either him holding you down by your thighs as you sit on him or your plush thighs threatening to crush his skull when he goes down on you. you may think he does it to pleasure you, in reality, you couldn't be more wrong. he eats you out because that's what pleasures him, the taste of your juices along with the melodies your moans sound like in his ears. he grows so hard it's unbearable, yet no, he won't stop to fuck you for real. his hips grind against the bed, dick aching with need in his pants, low moans spilling from his mouth as his tongue laps your slick. his stubble grazes your lips as his jaw moves, your hips desperately chasing the friction. he also loves pushing your head down on his length, watching you gag and choke around his thick cock as you struggle to take him in. he enjoys eating you out but also face-fucking you, although not as much as the former. his grip on your hair tightens as he gets closer to coming, your saliva and his precum mixing before he buries his cock in your mouth, cum spilling down your throat. he will definitely pull out if you don't like the stretch.

p : pace

gallagher has such a rough pace that it's intoxicating. his hips slam into yours so heavily, you can feel his whole body with the way he thrusts inside of you. he's not slow too, you wonder how he does it. each thrust fills your insides with vigor, groans coming from his mouth. his hips fasten as he comes close to finishing, and that takes quite the long time, the sensation overwhelming.

q : quickie

gallagher absolutely enjoys quickies and no one can convince me otherwise. he thinks they're just so useful for getting one out of his system with the load of his work. though most of the time, he prefers having his time with you.

r : risk

gallagher is probably open with taking risks when it comes to sex. anything you wanna try, he's alright with it- truly a gentleman.

s : stamina

gallagher can go on for multiple rounds on end. you don't know how he does it, he just cums and cums and cums until there's nothing left in his balls, yet it repeats all over the next day! his stamina is probably one of the highest of the star rail men.

t : toys

gallagher can use anything that makes the act more pleasurable for the both of you. it's usually him asking you to try out some new toy he got from who knows where.

u : unfair

gallagher is such a bully. he does nothing but to tease you and rile you up, he just can't shut up for one second! he makes fun of how you're so easily crumbled, how you must have no shame with the way you beg for his cock, how you turn into mush the moment you take his tip. he says all of those with a stupid smirk on his face that only widens when you scold him for it. he enjoys seeing you get teased and all shy so quickly. you want to bite him, punch his face as he keeps not shutting the hell up, his large palm coming down to slap your rear from behind as he laughs at you. 'what's that? oh? you think i'm too mean, miss? how cute, you know you love it.'

v : volume

gallagher is not the most vocal during sex but definitely not quiet. he's more of the groaner and grunter type instead of moaning. you can still make him moan, though, just ride him with your hands tight around his throat and listen to him singing.

w : wild card

gallagher likes how painful it is to have a boner. he leaves his pants on for the sole purpose of feeling his dick stretch against the fabric, begging for release. it hurts so much yet he loves the feeling, cockhead too sensitive and weeping by the time he frees it. he likes it when you sit on it, not putting it inside you but just sitting on it, forcing it to cower as you rub yourself along his length. likes it when you squeeze the shaft so tight that he can't help but curse. gallagher loves the pain if it's because of you.

x : x-ray

gallagher has the biggest or second biggest cock in all of star rail. he's just sooo large, longer and has so much more girth than average. it's a tan color fading into a furious red in the tip. it's so easy to get precum oozing out of it. definitely has thick veins sticking out here and there that you can feel inside of you. he knows how big he is yet he acts like he doesn't.

y : yearning

gallagher doesn't need to have sex that much but definitely wants to. it's okay if you don't want to, he can just rub one out if it's so urgent and nothing if it's not. likes to do it with you almost every day to every other night.

z : zzz

gallagher probably has problems sleeping, i mean, have you seen this man? so when it's night and you're in your home, it's when he falls sleep the most easily. he doesn't want to let you go, his big arms wrapped around your body as he pulls you into his chest, spooning you as if he was a little kid and you were his favorite toy to sleep with.

reqs are open !

i mainly write for jjk, hsr and genshin ✩

[pinkberrytea]

He had tasted you once; now, he craves every inch of your being, his hunger insatiable.

Little death—a gift he bestowed upon her, and which she bestows upon him in turn. As her lifeblood touches his lips, Astarion reminisces about the fateful eve when he first sank his fangs into her pretty neck.

Come, gentle night; and when he shall die, take him and cut him out in little stars.

Astarion x Tav (F!Reader)

w/c: 3.1k words . ao3 . spotify playlist . 18+ only . nsfw . dividers

a/n: I can't be the only one who is convinced my man is down bad since the very first bite, right? he is so interesting to me! I wanted to explore this idea further, hopefully I did it justice. thank you for reading!

tags: blood drinking; fluff & smut; possessive behavior; masturbation; body worship; mildly dubious consent; dry humping; somnophilia

“Later on, when we are at rest, I will eat you right up. Just enough to give me strength, and just enough to leave you wishing for more.”

Footsteps. You hear them approaching, although in your half-unconscious torpor, you can’t tell if they’re near or far. You’re likewise unsure of what has disturbed your sleep, even if as of late, nights have been restless and plagued by nightmares, the worm etched in the recesses of your brain a constant, unforgiving reminder of your plight. Your mind is still hazy, fragments of your dreams clouding your thoughts, so you rely on your primal instincts instead—you smell nothing but the crisp evening air, feel nothing but the cool breeze caressing your warm body, see nothing but endless darkness from behind your closed eyelids, but your ears don’t fail you. You instinctively hold your breath, muscles tensed, staying as still as possible as if playing dead; the footsteps are now almost upon you, the crunching of leaves growing louder and muffling the noise of the crickets singing, and your skin becomes covered in goosebumps in anticipation, the pit of your stomach twisting and turning. Whoever it is, you seem to be their intended target.

Suppressing the mounting panic rising within your chest, you try to gather your bearings and make sense of the situation. You know where you are—Elturgard, or more specifically, a camp in the wilderness, somewhere between Elturel and Baldur’s Gate. Finding a cure for the parasite wriggling in your head is the reason you’re here, and the companions with whom you’re sharing your camp are afflicted by the same condition. Ah, your companions—the footsteps must belong to one of them, surely. The soothing heat of the campfire has significantly dwindled compared to how it was when you turned in, its crackling so low you can barely hear it, and the night is sufficiently chilly that your bedroll fails to offer enough shelter, so you wonder if they are about to tend to the dying flames, or maybe ask you to help them do so. You wait expectantly, pricking up your ears, but suddenly, the crunching sounds come to a halt, and you sense a presence looming over you. A shiver runs down your spine, and your heart starts beating faster, thumping so loudly you’re afraid it may give away your awakened state. The presence silently kneels down beside you, crawling even closer, too close for comfort; and then, you feel it—cold digits ghosting over your cheek, their featherlight touch almost tentatively soft.

Astarion.

Now you remember. You offered to let him feed on you earlier, a habit which you’ve unexpectedly picked up in recent days, although the reason for such eludes you. Perhaps it was his pained expression when he asked you the first time, or maybe something else—you’re not entirely certain, but the fact of the matter is, he is here, except unlike other nights, you are fully aware of your surroundings. Not only that, it has been no more than a fortnight since your little tryst in that pretty clearing, which it seems both of you are intent on pretending never happened. You more so than him—it would be insincere of you to claim you haven’t noticed the dangerous glint in his eyes, how he leans closer when you talk, the cunning smirks and wistful glances. Truth be told, you’re still unsure what to make of it all; none of it is how you expected it would be, not your time together, and certainly not the aftermath. Him, too—though it may be bold of you to assume so, you can’t help but think that his show of vulnerability, however brief, had not been intentional. Ever so often you idly muse over the raw perplexity etched across his face when you invited him to drink from you then, how he looked at you in utter disbelief, letting the mask of a debonair lover slip for a split second; how his kisses became more fervent, his touches less calculated, the confusion never truly seeming to leave him until you were done. And then, the morning after—the hurt in his voice, the complex feelings he appeared to be trying to suppress seeping from every word, as if he had been prepared for anything and everything but genuine yearning, and you ruined it all for him.

“This isn’t about hunger. It’s about pleasure.”

The digits on your cheek slide downwards, gliding across the curve of your jaw and towards your slender neck, where they stop for a brief moment, only to then press down on it, feeling around as if searching for something—an artery, pulsing so very tantalizingly with your precious crimson, a feast set out entirely for him. With his other hand, he gently runs his fingers through your hair and brushes it behind your shoulder, exposing his prize, and repositioning himself to straddle you, he lowers his head until his mouth is hovering right above it. He stays like this for a while, and your blood runs cold as it dawns on you that he may have noticed you are not asleep, but before long, his skin finally comes into contact with yours—however, rather than the sharp pain you’d been expecting, you feel only the pillowy softness of his lips; a tender kiss, which is then followed by another, and then another. One of his hands stays tangled in your hair, cradling your head, and he splays the other on the ground beside you to support himself. His fangs lightly graze the throbbing vein with each peck, almost teasingly, until finally, he sinks them into the sensitive flesh, carefully and steadily so as not to wake you. The uncomfortable sensation is not foreign to you, although it is clear he has become more accustomed to this, even if you have not; his technique has significantly improved, and after the initial stab, it hardly hurts anymore, other than a dull ache every time he swallows, which he does quite enthusiastically.

“Just you and me and—well, maybe a little death?”

Letting out low grunts and guttural moans as he drinks, Astarion sucks ever so vigorously, seemingly more at ease due to your apparent lack of consciousness. Your face gradually grows warmer as you notice tension building up low in your stomach, the noises he makes and the feeling of his plush lips and wet tongue against your skin causing your body to react with pathetic wantonness. You try to stifle the impending arousal, doing your best to remind yourself that he is only feeding, nothing more, nothing less; until you notice the hand on which he had been leaning make its way from its place on the ground to rest on your waist, gingerly moving upwards until his long fingers brush against the plump of one of your breasts, almost as if by accident—it is, however, no accident when two of them then pinch a pebbling nipple through the thin fabric of your nightshirt, delicately massaging the pert nub while the others knead the squishy surrounding flesh. The ache between your legs swells with desire, and you flusteredly bite back the whimper threatening to escape the confines of your closed mouth; believing you to be deep in slumber, he has no reason for such restraint, and his vocalizations increase in frequency and volume alike. 

Having to now use his upper body strength to keep himself propped up, he decides to instead gently fall on top of you, momentarily unlatching from your neck to then slightly push you to the side and press his strong chest flush against your back, one hand woven in your hair and the other cupping your breast still. With almost desperate keenness, he hooks one of his legs over yours, shoving his crotch against your rear, and immediately you notice the rock hard bulge nudging the space between your buttocks. The tips of your ears burn bright red at this realization, making you wonder how common of an occurrence this must be; as your mind wanders to the night when he first bit you, he sinks his fangs back into the bruised vein, and your eyes water a little due to the sudden pain, which you quickly forget about once you feel his hips start almost imperceptibly grinding against your own. Wedging the bulge deeper within the valley of your ass, he moves it to and fro, almost in rhythm with his sucking of your blood, the digits on your bosom earnestly playing with your nipple and those in your hair tenderly caressing the tousled tresses. 

“Hm—hnng…” Astarion groans lewdly, lasciviously, making suggestive wet sounds while sensually lapping at your crimson. No longer satisfied to feel you up through your clothes, he sticks his hand under your shirt, and his cold fingers quickly resume fondling the soft skin of your breast, in response to which shock waves shoot up your legs and arms. Freeing the digits tangled in your hair, he brings them to your ribs, sliding their pads along your navel and down towards your groin, where he then firmly grabs one of your supple thighs. That’s when it occurs to you how unlike your night together he seems to be acting—eagerly exploring your body with almost adolescent clumsiness, his movements sloppy and impulsive, he appears to be entirely focused on taking rather than giving; having no reason to try to impress you, he acts greedily instead, intent on achieving his own personal ecstasy above all else, a fact that doesn’t bother so much as instill in you a puzzling sense of relief.

Increasing the pace of his thrusts, he tightens the grip of his leg around yours, and for a short while you all but forget that your crimson is running down his throat still, unable to focus on anything but the heat irradiating from his skin as it becomes ever warmer the more he feeds. When you notice you can no longer feel the tips of your toes, it is far too late—a tingling sensation spreads across your heavy limbs due to the loss of blood, and holding onto a single thought proves far too difficult, your mind now a messy whirlwind of memories and abstractions. Your arousal persists even as your conscience starts to wane; slick soaks through your underpants, the sweet scent of which causes Astarion to immediately stop moving, freezing as if caught with his fingers inside the cookie jar. After what seems like an eternity, both his hands and fangs leave your helpless form, and he shuffles behind you, presumably looking for something—before you can even begin to wonder what, you feel him press a soft piece of fabric against the fresh set of bite marks on your neck, which he uses to gently wipe the thick red blooming from the small wounds. 

Worried that any further stimulation might disturb your sleep, he decides to attempt a less bold approach instead, pulling away slightly, although your legs remain twisted together. Barely awake now, the echoes of the forest reach your ears in hushed, distant hums, but you can still hear him as he brings the bloodstained cloth to his nose, taking in your scent deeply, eyes closed and a libidinous moan falling from his pretty lips. One of his now freed hands hastily makes its way to the waistband of his pants, only to then slip under it, and as soon as his elegant digits brush against the velvety crown of his cock, he wraps them around its engorged girth, squeezing lightly and drawing pearly droplets of precome from the weeping slit. 

“Mngh…” he croaks, his voice raspy and hoarse, and you can’t tell for sure, but a whisper that vaguely sounds like your own name wafts through the air and vanishes into the evening sky as he starts sliding his hand up and down his length, smearing the clear liquid seeping from the leaking tip all over himself. Prior to your night of passion, this is how he would choose to relieve the painful erection inevitably provoked by his daily feedings, only he would retreat to his tent then; once you became more intimate, things changed, and raw eroticism would percolate into every session, images of your moments together sweeping through his mind and springing his aching sex to life with each gulpful of your lifeblood. The instant you offered him your neck, all he had ever known suddenly came into question—drinking from you while balls-deep into your tight cunt was an experience unlike any other, to the point of almost completely resignifying the concept of pleasure for him. By owning your body, he had made you his, even if only temporarily; your blind trust was something he had never before experienced, and not once had he felt so powerful as with you squirming under him, completely submitting to his whims. 

“Astarion, please…” he recalls you whimpering, the sound of his name on your pink tongue so enticingly sultry, stirring up in him all sorts of conflicting feelings; lust, infatuation, guilt, anger, all blended together and indistinguishable from one another. How beautiful a vision you had made then—such a pretty, luscious thing, flushed cheeks and half-lidded eyes glinting with coquettish longing. The more he finds himself caring, the more he hates you for it; the more his hatred for you grows, the more he wants you by his side. Choosing to manipulate you into a tactical alliance was the culmination of careful and meticulous deliberation—at once deadly and most pleasing to the eye, yet seemingly unaware of either fact; a naive, kind fool, lost and alone, his perfect target from every angle, you were the obvious candidate. He had no way of knowing at the time—how you would unwittingly beat him at his own game and steal your way into his undead heart, without even really trying. 

While pumping his now glistening cock, your precious face is all Astarion can think of, every detail of it perpetually burned onto his retinas—long, thick lashes, curtaining doe-like eyes; sweet little freckles speckling the bridge of your nose; smooth skin and plump rosy lips, so soft and kissable. And your scent, oh, your scent—delicious and intoxicating, such a lovely, delectable bouquet. Although now warm, his hand could never compare to the feeling of your slickened walls clenching and fluttering around him, and no amount of pressure would ever be able to replicate the sensation of stretching them open, coaxing yelps and cute whiny pants out of you with each nudge of your cervix. He wonders for a moment what other expressions he has yet to witness you make; in what other manners he has yet to take you, in what other positions he has yet to watch you come undone. Maybe on all fours, that round ass of yours sticking out so very invitingly, begging to be devoured; maybe on your knees, darkened lips wrapped tightly around his cock, eyes watering and drool dripping down onto the swollen peaks of your perky breasts as you accommodate all of him like the good girl you are. Each idea is more enticing than the one before, and the very thought of acquainting himself with all the ins and outs of your body makes him feel alive, bulging veins and tumid cockhead pulsating madly against his sweaty palm as he goes over the endless possibilities. He had tasted you once; now, he craves every inch of your being, his hunger insatiable. 

“Mine…” he growls possessively, picturing your tits bouncing and the rouged knot atop your dripping core throbbing for him as he feels his climax draw nearer, rubbing the cloth sullied with your crimson against his nose, your taste still fresh in his mouth and a trail of red running down his chin. You are not his, not yet, but although he curses himself for it, he would bring his simple plan to fruition, for all the wrong reasons; he wants you, he needs you—his own little bundle of joy, his light in the darkness, his glimmer of solace, his, his, his, and his alone. He won’t share your kindness, not with your companions, not with anyone, and he cares not if his greediness makes him unworthy, for he never deserved any of it in the first place; regardless, you’d still extend a hand to the wretch who put a knife to your throat, toyed with your emotions and sucked you dry, in more ways than one. You may not realize it, but in sharing your life essence with him, you breathed color into his world, roused within his soul a vital spark he’d long forgotten had once ever been there. He may not be entitled to it, but he’d still have it all—he’d still have you, to the bone and beyond.

“Oh, gods…” With one last stroke, Astarion empties himself on his hand and stomach, legs convulsing and hips stuttering, letting go of the cloth to then nuzzle his face into the crook of your neck, lips pressed against the bloodied gashes maculating your otherwise flawless skin. The inside of his pants is now covered in come, yet even as the thick fluid runs uncomfortably down his thighs, he feels strangely at peace—happy, even. His softening cock twitches and jerks still, but fearing that his luck may soon run out, he lets go of it and wipes his fingers on the hem of his shirt, which he learns is also stained with his seed; once they’re sufficiently clean, he wraps both of his arms around your waist in a tight embrace, focusing on the gentle raising of your chest as you inhale ever so softly, finally at rest. 

“This is a gift, you know.”

He won’t forget it. Regardless of what may lie ahead, he won’t. Warm flesh, beating heart; as your crimson courses through his veins, the thread of life now connects you both, your fates forever intertwined. When morning comes, all will be back to normal, but for now, he shall hold you, cradle you, as he would a lover. A true lover—though what would that be, if not prey that wakes by his side once the dawn breaks? Disturbing as that thought may be, it is of little import for now; basking in the clarity of death, he allows himself a moment of reprieve, for your time together is far from over. What treasures will the future bestow? Why—finding out is but a matter of waiting.

[reiderwriter]

In Case I'm Mistaken

Chapter Five of I Can't Help Myself

Summary: Your first run-in with Spencer Reid since he left you so spectacularly is fraught with tension. Sexual and otherwise.

Warnings: 18+ MINORS DNI pregnancy symptoms, morning sickness/ throwing up, fingering, rough sex, semi-public sex, penetrative sex, choking, slapping, creampie but she's pregnant already, mild case details, etc.

A/N: We're halfway through! I sincerely hope everyone enjoys how stupid and oblivious Spencer is being because I can't promise he'll wise up anytime soon lmao. If you're enjoying the series, let me know in the comments ♡

Masterlist || Add yourself to the tag list

When you left Spencer's apartment, you expected a call or a text or an email in the next three days. Penelope told you that's most likely when they'd wrap the case and when he'd be back at his apartment to see the stunt you had pulled. 

You tried to force yourself back to work in the meantime, and it almost worked. Until you had to spend three hours a day crouched over a toilet bowl, emptying your stomach lining again and again. You had spent almost a full month like that before you realised you hadn't heard from him. 

First, it was cases, then it was casework, and then it was cases again, but if probed, Spencer truly would have no idea you'd tried to get in contact with him at all. And it seemed he didn't care in the slightest.

He'd been home, but he hadn't been looking for anything out of place, so he hadn't seen anything out of place. Certainly not a bookshelf spelling out “CALL ME WHEN YOU GET THIS.” It was your choice to leave the cryptic message though, and you hadn't exactly left him any notes to say that you'd dropped by. 

But finding out you were pregnant on a night you'd half-expected to throttle the man who'd impregnated you (verbally) and then having cried on his couch with one of his very close female friends? Yeah, you were confused and lost, and it seemed like a good idea at the time. 

With emotions and hormones running high, you couldn't even tell if Spencer was purposefully ignoring you or not. 

The only saving grace in that month was your promotion. 

It literally could not have come at a better time, and you'd enjoyed signing the papers greatly knowing you'd be blindsiding your boss with a pregnancy announcement in the next three months, should you be able to carry the baby successfully to that point. 

You'd had your first check-up without a call from Spencer. You'd picked out your first baby outfit without a call from Spencer. You were pretty confident that you'd give birth to the goddamn baby without a call from Spencer. 

Which is why when you found him in your office a month later, you wanted to wrap your hands around his neck and slowly choke the life out of him. 

Between classes, you'd taken to running to the bathroom to hang your head in shame, not over morning sickness at all yet. You'd taken to keeping cereal bars and pregnancy safe snacks in your office in case you needed something else to help you power through the morning. 

That morning was worse than others, with less than half your students in attendance and still two hours to waste standing up in front of a podium - department rules. 

You'd thought you were going to expire in front of that toilet bowl, sending up your prayers as you checked your watch and realised you'd have a class again in an hour or two that you weren't fully prepped for. 

So you slinked back to your office and tried to throw yourself onto the sofa, but unfortunately for you, a large man was blocking your way. 

“Can I help you?” You eked out, voice weak but still able to convey all the annoyance you felt at the door. 

“Sorry, sorry, this is your…?" The man said, smiling down at you. You had to give it to him, the man was good looking but you just waited for him to stand aside again. 

“Do you mind?” You said, gesturing to the door you now knew the man was blocking. He wasn't letting you in for some reason, and you couldn't for the life of you figure out why. It was your goddamn office for christ's sake. Your snacks were inside. 

“Sorry, following orders.”

“Right, and whose orders would those be Mr…”

“SSA Luke Alvez,” he said, holding out his hand. “Nice to meet you.”

You'd have introduced yourself politely under any other circumstances but in reaching out his hand and giving his title, you'd seen the flash of his FBI badge on his hip and knew exactly who was behind this. 

“Son of a bitch,” you muttered, ducking under the man's arms and slamming the door to your office open to find Doctor Spencer Reid huddled over some files, two women flanking him on either side. 

“What the fuck are you doing here?” 

The two women looked taken aback, straightening immediately as they looked between you and Spencer. He was slow to take his eyes off whatever it was they were working on, as if playing with you once again. 

You really regretted keeping his desk around, seeing how comfortable he looked there, how normal it was for you to see him there.

“Doctor Y/N. Nice to see you again.” 

“Nice to-?” You scoffed and slammed the door once more. “Yeah. Okay.” 

One of the women quickly excused herself from the situation, almost as soon as she realised that once you'd finally locked eyes with Spencer, neither of you looked away. 

“I'm sorry to intrude, my name is Supervisory Special Agent Emily Prentiss, I'm the Unit Chief of the FBI's Behavioural Analysis Unit. We really wouldn't be here if it weren't an emergency.” 

You had to give it to the woman, but she caught on quickly and stepped between the two of you, breaking eye contact and forcing your attention onto her. You introduced yourself quickly. 

“Doctor Y/N Y/L/N. I trudt that if you're here, something bad has happened.” 

You noticed a flash of something as Emily shook your hand, hearing your name. It was subtle, and it was quick, but you saw her eyes flick to your stomach and then back up, and you froze. 

She knew. Penelope hadn't exactly broken your trust - you never told her to keep a secret from anyone but Spencer - but you felt your guard go back up twofold. 

“Emily, can I talk privately with Y/N for a moment?” Spencer asked, and you resisted the urge to cradle yourself, to cover whatever it was she may have seen in your appearance or the way you held yourself that became your tell. 

You wanted to tell Spencer you were pregnant, sure, but you'd wanted to tell him a month ago. Now? Now you were pissed off. 

The older woman quietly bowed out, reminding Spencer to reconvene with her in another hour. She shut the door quietly after she went, and you listened carefully to the retreating murmurs of her and the other agent down the hall until you were confident you were more or less alone. 

And then you picked up the nearest book and threw it. 

“Y/N! Listen, I can explain-” 

You threw another book, and this one hit his arm. He winced and rubbed it quickly as he flinched away from you, picking up your third weapon. 

“Explain what? Explain why you've commandeered my office for secret FBI business? Explain why you left me behind like a discarded cum rag after we had sex? Maybe you-” 

“Y/N, I had a case, I didn't want to-” You threw another book, but he batted it away this time. 

“Can we just talk like adults, please?” He stepped forward and grabbed your wrist just as you reloaded with another book, forcing the tome from your grip in a few seconds. 

“The Norton Anthology? Really? You'd bludgeon me to death with that thing.”

“It has some interesting essays on psychoanalysis and literary theory. You should be honoured that I'd even think of throwing it at you.” 

He just scowled and sat you down on the couch, following you there to sit next to you. 

“Why are you still so frustrated? I thought we moved past this- this resentment?” 

For the last few weeks, you'd hoped that Spencer was just clueless about what you were going through. That he'd been swamped with work and hadn't seen your message. But getting the confirmation in real time was winding. 

The air was knocked from your lungs, and you had to fight to fill them again, refusing to let yourself be so downright pathetic.

“What resentment did we move past exactly, Spencer? Because I remember the sex, but I do not remember your apology.”

“Why should I apologise?” The sincerity in his voice had your fingers itching to knock his lights off for him.

“Well, gee, for a starter, maybe for finding my address online and showing up to my house uninvited and unannounced.” 

“I did announce it. You just blocked my number and email.” 

You scoffed and threw yourself back in your chair. 

“Number, yes. Email? No. You sent it from an unauthorised network email. All your emails sat in my spam folder until last month.” 

He furrowed his brows at the news, but you just crossed your arms and waited for whatever he'd say next to get out of taking responsibility. 

“I'm sorry.” 

To say you weren't expecting that was an understatement. You felt so uncomfortable with the words you fidgeted in your seat, suddenly feeling uncomfortable. 

“Yes, well…” 

Standing, you moved to your desk and grabbed the snacks you'd come here to find, slamming your desk draw shut and keeping the desk between you, sitting in your chair. 

“We're working a case.” 

“I can tell.” 

He leant over the desk and grabbed one of your snacks, opening a cereal bar quickly and taking a bite. 

“Three of the students in our faculty have gone missing in the last 30 days.” 

You nodded as you listened, but your eyes were on your snack, in his hand, in his mouth. The bastard. 

“I need to use the office for a few days. I won't disturb you, but we need some space as a base on campus, and this is our best option.”

“Not afraid I'll walk away with critical documents this time?” 

“This time, I have everything memorised. I've read all the documents. You can't ruin the case this time.”

You stood and grabbed your snack from his hand as he lifted it to take another bite, throwing it straight into the trash can. 

“What was that for?”

“For being a jerk.”

You stomped over to your bag and pulled out your headphones, putting them on as he attempted to keep talking to you. 

“Y/N, you're being immature-” 

“You just stole my snack like it's playtime at recess, Spencer. I'm not the immature one.” 

You turned the music on as he attempted to talk to you, but you didn't budge or take them off, returning to the couch to lay comfortably once more. 

Something about the infuriating, beautiful man had you wanting to act out, reaching new levels of immaturity. 

You felt the dip in the couch as he joined you there, felt him waving in front of your face. You smiled at his growing frustration as you heard him raise his voice just slightly. 

Then, your legs were pulled out from under you, and you squeaked in shock as Spencer Reid pulled you into his lap, making you straddle him. Your eyes blew open, and you grabbed at his shirt for balance, leaving you open to his attacks as he knocked the headphones off your head. 

“You're such a…a..” 

“Jackass? Okay, sure, but I'm a jackass you're going to listen to.”

“Make me.” 

The words were a dare, a challenge you didn't think he'd rise to. But his hands snaked around your neck, and he pulled your lips down to him, silencing you completely with another angry kiss.

Your lips parted immediately, all too happy to take in his wondering tongue as you battled for dominance. His hands trailed up and down your body, cupping your ass cheeks, squeezing your already sensitive breasts, pushing your skirt up so his hands could roam underneath. 

You squirmed in his lap, memories of the last night you'd seen him rushing back. His tongue, his hands, fuck, his cock. Pregnancy hormones or just plain old lust, you wanted it all over again, and you didn't stop to think about it for a second. Any second he was kissing you was a second he wasn't talking. 

You ground your hips into his as he worked a finger into your underwear, scraping against your clit as he pulled his head away, burying it in your neck as he began nipping and licking your skin, on a mission to taste every inch of you. 

“Spencer,” You gasped as he began rubbing your clit faster, your body providing all the juices he needed to make you feel good. 

“Spencer, we should- fuck!” It'd been only minutes, but he'd already pushed you over the edge, and you died your first little death cumming on his fingers. 

“We should fuck? Yes, yeah I can get behind that,” he said, laying you down again and slowly pulling down your damp underwear. 

“That's not what I was going to say, you bastard,” you said, grabbing his tie and pulling him in for another kiss. 

“I know, but this is much better, don't you think?” He pulled away and fumbled with his pants, pulling them down only far enough to free his cock before sliding into you. He sheathed Himself inside you, pushing inch by inch until he was at your limit, and then he stopped. 

He kissed your lips, your cheeks, your neck and collarbones, he took his time with each spot, making a line down your body, a record of every place he had possessed you without moving an inch. 

“Spencer, you can't- need to-” you whined, not minding sounding like a petulant child about to throw a tantrum when he was giving you a pretty great reason to do so. 

He had eaten your snacks and now he was just keeping his cock warm inside of you, not even bothering to rub your clit anymore, his hands more focused on keeping his weight up. 

“I need to do what, Y/N? Tell me, but be quiet about it. This office isn't soundproof, remember.” 

 “Shit, shit, shit, shit-” 

You tried to roll your hips under him, to take the pleasure you needed, but he stopped you, letting his hips press deeper into yours, making himself heavy. You tried another tactic. 

“Oh, come on Spencer, you can't even fuck me properly now? Pathetic.’

“Watch it-” he said, but you cut him off again.

“Watch what? You're not doing anything. Maybe I'll ask that little friend of yours outside for some help instead, I'm sure Agent Alvez would be more than happy to-” 

A short, soft slap to your face cut your words off as he spoke, the hand that hit you immediately pushing down to your neck and squeezing lightly. 

“You're. Mine,” he spat, and started immediately rolling his hips into you quickly. 

You wrapped your legs up and around him, your hands lifting to grab his wrist, keeping his hand in place around your throat.

He fucked you harder and your breaths became shallow, eyes locked with his as he panted and writhed above you. He didn't look away. You couldn't. You were drunk on his cock, completely unable to sober up and just waiting for your orgasm to strike you once again. 

You weren't two civilised people in that room, but animals, forcing one another to submit, to give in to temptation. 

His hand on your throat came loose as he came, chest falling down to yours as he flooded your insides with cum once again. To give him credit where credit was due, he kept his cock inside of you and rubbed your clit again to completion, swallowing your every moan and whimper with a kiss, enjoying the feeling of you convulsing on his cock. 

When you were both finally done, he let himself rest on top of you, burying his head in your neck and inhaling your scent as you both dropped back down into reality. 

“Get up,” you said first, pushing him up and watching him peel out of you as you reached back to the coffee table for the box of tissues there. 

“We need to clean up,” You said attempting to tidy the cum leaking out of you away, as if it were merely a spilt drink. 

He sat up, giving his cock a wipe down before putting his clothes back together. You both sat side by side, minding your own business, making yourselves look as inconspicuous as possible and ignoring the elephant in the room. 

He broke the silence first. 

“The girls, they're all our students. The only thing they share is that they all took both of our courses.” 

Your heart dropped as you remembered he wasn't here for you, that he had other jobs and responsibilities. You were merely a pleasurable afterthought. 

“Shit,” you sighed, running a hand through your hair. You stretched out and stood, sore but still able to make your body work for you. 

“You're sure there's nothing else? No clubs, no extra curricular?” His jaw tightened as he ground his teeth together, unsure about how much to tell you. 

“They fit a basic profile which tells us the unsub is killing people as a scapegoat and…hasn't got to his intended target yet.” 

You nodded as you took in the information, standing and leading yourself back to your desk and grabbing your bag again. 

“Look, just… just use the room until you get your guy. I'll work from the library or a study room or something, just…” You ran another hand through your hair, exasperated. 

“Y/N, no, we don't need to out you out, we shared the office space before, we can-” 

“We can't. Five minutes alone in this room together today proved… that we can't. Don't get distracted.” 

You grabbed more books, turning away from him to avoid the guilty looks he was shooting you. 

You'd almost collected everything, hesitating as you grabbed your pregnancy vitamins from your draw, stuffing them quickly into your bag before moving closer to the door. 

It opened before you could open it, and Emily Prentiss made herself known again. 

“Good, you're already packed,” she said, grabbing your bag from your shoulder and slinging it over her own. 

“I didn't know you all wanted rid of me so badly,” you said, trying to keep your voice as even and pleasant as possible and greatly failing. 

“We don't want to get rid of you. Y/N, I'm afraid it's quite the opposite.” 

Your heart slowed to a stop, and your blood ran cold as she offered you a sympathetic glance. You must've stumbled a bit backwards because Spencer's hand was immediately on your lower back, his body curved protectively around you as you too wrapped your arms around yourself, around your baby. 

“We've had contact with the killer, and we think you're his intended target,” Emily explained in as even a tone as you'd ever heard someone give a death sentence. 

“We've contacted WitSec, but until then, we'll be taking you into protective custody ourselves. I have a spare room, and we'll grab some of your things before you move in, everything you need to feel comfortable. Do you understand?” 

“No,” you said, but it wasn't your voice. You felt grateful, though, because you didn't understand. There was someone trying to kill you, and you absolutely didn't understand. You'd just had sex with Spencer Reid again, and you hadn't told him you were pregnant with his child, and nothing made 6 there was someone trying to kill you. 

But it wasn't your voice saying no, so you stopped thinking and kistened. 

“No, she'll… she'll stay with me,” Spencer said, gripping you tighter and pulling you closer, nearly crushing you in his arms. 

“Spencer, it's not up to you,” Emily said, her voice a clear warning even to your buzzing ears. 

“Y/N? Y/N, listen to me, please,” he said, gripping your shoulders again and twisting you around so he was all you could see, ducking his head lower so you were directly in his eyeline. 

“Y/N, I'll keep you safe. Come and stay with me.” 

You thought about his apartment and the message you'd left. You thought about the month you spent waiting for him to call, and the month that you'd spent wanting to rip his throat out. You thought about his hands on your skin, his fingers wrapped around your throat, his cock buried inside of you. You thought, too, about the doctors appointments you'd have to reschedule. You thought about the baby clothes you'd have to leave behind. You thought about how you'd have to hide your morning sickness, and your growing baby bump, and your hormones, and all the supplements recommended by your Doctor because you already loved your baby and you wanted them to be healthy. 

You thought that if you went with him, you'd have to tell him and confront whatever decision he made regarding you and the baby.

You thought logically that you shouldn't do it. But his hand grabbed yours, fingers intertwined, and he rubbed his thumb along the back of your hand, and you were nodding. 

“Yes,” you said when you should've gone with Emily. 

He pressed a quick kiss to your forehead and immediately bundled you out of the office and out of your comfort zone. 

🔖@stillhere197 @understandingsunrise @mindfullycriminal @aliteralsemicolon @r-3dlips @alexafromamazon15 @jasf444 @subunitless @thebloomingeagle @lackingoriginalthoughts @empressgraytea @alondralolll @i_heart_mgg @2hiigh2cry @jiuseoks @readinglatenights @placidus @dreamsarebig @pisceslovrr @kbaby-024 @luvdella @feyresqueen @pleasantwitchgarden @lovehadlovelost @kissesforspence @moonchildooh @bubbleebubz @theoraekenslover @flipsideoflife @spicyspirit @chicaconfundidaycuriosa @ivet4 @nox-xie @sarakay-gvf @miss-ev @nvrlandqueen @delicatelittleworld @nokjhg @measure-in-pain @fabulouslynerdy @batrensworld @cattosmush @im-this-girl @sarcasm-and-stiles @lovemelaunic @lllucere @lariclifford @daphnesutton

[robindrake93]

I think he'd be annoyed but would admit that the guy is handsome and Lydia has pretty good taste. Then she'd say something like "yeah he's fine but I prefer the dead."

Astrid's dad should have been Michael Keaton out of the BJ makeup.

[gallaghersgal]

first misses || carmen berzatto

pairing: carmy x fem!reader

warnings & tags: no warnings! fluff, fluff, and more fluff. first kiss scenario. giving carmen the sweet innocent childhood moments he deserves. growing apart but finding each other again <33

a/n: thank u to worm for the idea, and to the tumblr baddie collective for cheering me on! my first FULL length carmy fic, and my first work over 1k in ... actual years i think.

wc: 1.3k

Carmen never liked wearing glasses. they fogged up too often, or slipped down the bridge of his nose. and one time, when he was eleven years old, they just about ruined his life.

You were the prettiest girl in the fifth grade, a Chicago transplant, and the apple of every little boy's eye. But you only had eyes for one Carmen Berzatto. The day you made him hold your hand to cross the street on the field trip to the art museum, he knew he couldn't let summer roll around without telling you how he felt. But Mikey teased him, and Sugar tried her best but her advice sounded too motherly, so Carmen was left to plot for himself.

He still remembers that day, the last day of fifth grade. The pretty gingham dress with the little bow you wore—your Dorothy dress, as you called it—and your hair tied up to play field games with the other kids waiting at pickup. He had tugged you behind the bleachers with nervous, sweaty palms, thankful that you didn't notice or at the very least held back any comments.

"I wanna kiss you," he blurted out, cheeks turning pink at the admission. "C-Can i kiss you?"

You looked down at your feet for a minute, tennis shoe toe digging into the gravel, before you looked up at him. "Um, sure!" you grinned shyly, and Carmen felt like his world was skidding to a halt right then and there. "I've never kissed anyone before. like, on the lips?"

"I-I h-haven't either," he stammered, his face going pale with nerves. His hands began to shake when you stepped up closer.

"That's okay, I think it's easy."

You held out your hand until Carmen took it, then closed your eyes to lean in. He couldn't help but stare curiously, and the moment unfolded before his eyes. Before you could kiss him, your brow ran right into the wireframe of his glasses. You pulled back, a little startled, one eyebrow raised.

"Sorry, 'm s-sorry," he said nervously, watching as you scrunch your nose in concentration. Before he knew what was happening you'd leaned in again. Your lips barely brushed his, those stupid glasses still in the way, but it was a kiss. It counted.

You pulled back with a wide grin, "there! Now we had our first kiss!"

Carmen wanted to say something, he really did. Maybe ask to sign your yearbook, or if you’d want to come see a movie with him, but the teacher was calling your name. You had to leave. You had to leave, and Carmen didn't know if he'd see you at all, for the whole summer. His little heart ached at the thought of not seeing your smile. Not hearing your laugh. Missing the way you always smelled like strawberries and vanilla from your little hand sanitizer, the one he always asked to borrow after recess.

But at that moment you were standing in front of him, with that same pretty grin, and throwing your arms around him for a quick hug. You turned to leave, then turned back, just to surprise him with a sweet kiss to his cheek. "Bye Carmy! Have a good summer!" you said, before running off.

And Carmen just stood there, awestruck.

Sure, he saw you again the next year, but a lot happened that summer. The transition to middle school was a big one, you weren't in any classes together, and year by year the two of you grew apart until Carmen was halfway across the country and you were nothing but a memory.

He didn't see you again until, god, at least thirteen years later. He wasn't sure how long it had been. He wasn't even sure how he'd managed to bump into you. But a few hours and a coffee later you'd given him your number. And that night you'd texted him; would you wanna go out, like on a date? i couldn't bring myself to ask you face to face. but i think it would be nice. just lmk :)

And it was nice. you wore a dress that looked amazing against your skin, and he got to finally tell you how pretty you were, after all the years of silence. After the days spent sketching you in the margins of his notebooks, peering at you from across the cafeteria, and showing up to football games just to get a glimpse of you with your friends. You looked beautiful as ever, and he made sure to tell you. 

“Y’know, I always thought you were so pretty” he mumbled, sounding reverent as he stood outside your apartment door. Your back was against your door, hands not even bothering with pushing it open. 

“That’s really sweet, Carmy,” you whispered. One hand raised up to touch his cheek, feeling the warmth of his skin under your fingertips. His cheeks were tinted a soft pink, that same lovely color you’d see when you were young. The one you’d crack jokes, give lingering glances, and throw compliments his way just to see. 

Carmen’s eyes fluttered closed, like he was committing your image to memory. Maybe he was. 

“Do you remember the last day of fifth grade?” you asked cautiously, waiting for him to open his eyes before continuing. “When we kissed under the bleachers?” His embarrassment was written across his face, cheeks flushed and eyes cast down to the floor. You took one curl by the side of his face around your finger, twirled it into a perfect little spiral just to let it go again. Patiently, you waited for him to speak.

“Y-Yeah, yeah. I remember,” he replied with a quiet laugh. “I went home and begged my mom not to make me wear glasses anymore. As if she could’ve done anything about my shitty eyesight,” he added with a scoff.

“Hm. Well, I mean, I guess it worked. You got contacts, yeah? Or are you just blind as a bat?” you asked, and brought your eyes up to meet his own. “Do you wanna try again?” You tacked the last sentence on, almost like an afterthought, afraid if you took too much time to think on it you’d chicken out entirely. 

Carmen grinned, and you swore it was one of the most beautiful things you’d ever seen. Not the tight lipped smile he often wore in photos, no, this was all teeth and sparkling eyes and joy. Like the kid under the bleachers all those years ago. 

“Bats, uhm, they- they aren’t,” he stammered, his hands shaking as they held on to your hips. “Common mistake, see, they’ve actually got-”

“Carmen,” you interrupted softly. He only hummed in response, a soft affirmative noise that let you know he wanted this too. As if the way he looked at you could’ve been interpreted any other way. “Just kiss me.”

You didn’t have to tell him twice. His lips were soft–if not a little chapped, but you didn’t mind–when they finally brushed yours, this time with no pesky glasses in the way. One of his hands moved up to the back of your neck, cradling you there.

To call the moment bliss would’ve been an understatement. 

When Carmen finally pulled away from you his eyes remained closed, soaking up the moment, afraid he’d look again to find it was all a dream. A dream he’d had over and over, each night as he drifted off. The sweet girl he’d once known, finally in his arms again.

When his blue eyes finally made their reappearance you were staring at him, analyzing his expression as one finger twirled around that same little curl. “You should come inside,” you told him, and he winced slightly. 

“I-I, don’t wanna fuck it up. Don't wanna rush... this,” he admitted breathlessly, to which you shook your head.

“Nothing like that. Just, don’t wanna stop talking to you,” you explained, showing your intentions were to take this slow. To learn him again, or, was it for the first time? It didn’t matter. All that mattered was his smile, as he nodded and followed you inside.

end.

main masterlist || carmy masterlist

[holylulusworld]

If the Impala is rocking…

Summary: If the Impala is rocking…

Pairing: Dean Winchester x fem!Reader

Warnings: hangover, crack, implied smut

“Fuck!” You exclaim loudly. Sitting up was a bad idea. A very bad idea.

Fuck. Your head feels like it’s going to explode. Your throat is drier than any desert, and we don’t want to talk about the kinks in your back and neck.

“Fuck me, twice,” you groan, and bury your face in your hands. Waking up in the backseat of the Impala, butt-naked and hungover wasn’t on your bingo card for this year. “What the fuck got into me last night?”

“I guess,” Dean slowly rises from the front seat, looking as bad as you. He cups his head with one hand, groaning as he’s experiencing the worst hangover ever, “that was me. I’m not sure, though.”

“You’re not sure?” You’d like to snicker, but your head is killing you. “Did we play hide the salami or not?” You move forward and bend over the passenger seat to get a look at Dean. He rubs his forehead, trying to remember if you had sex or not. “Well, you’re naked too.”

“I can see that, Sherlock,” he grunts, immediately covering his crotch with both hands. Yes, it’s that big. “This doesn’t mean we had sex. Let me try to remember. I need coffee first…”

“Hmm…can you take your hands off your crotch?” You point at this crotch, smirking cockily. “Maybe I remember better if I see him again.” You wiggle your eyebrows and snicker.

Dean gives you a bitchface. “You’re a little too eager, sweetheart,” he half laughs, half grunts because his head is killing him too. “I told you to give me a moment to remember if I ruined you last night.”

You snort. “Maybe I ruined you. If I go for a rodeo, I do it thoroughly.”

This time, Dean snorts. “Let’s look for evidence.” He wiggles in the front seat, looking around the car. “Hmm…nothing is out of order.”

“You are naked, me too. How can you say nothing is out of order?”

“There is no used condom, and my dick doesn’t feel like he got action last night,” Dean says. “Trust me, I’d know if we christened Baby.”

“Your dick doesn’t…what?” You giggle. “Seriously, Dean? I feel like I’ll be sore for a week.” You point at your crotch. Dean cranes his neck. Just now he realises, you’re naked too. His cheeks turn pink, and he drops his eyes to his crotch.

“What do you mean?”

“Dude, if you don’t know why I’m sore, I had fun in the backseat on my own, and or with your brother,” you deadpan before sitting back down in the backseat. “Fuck, I should look for my clothes.”

“You’re sore because I rocked your world,” he says while wiggling in the front seat. He points at something on the backseat, a cocky smirk on his face.

Your eyes drift toward the thing catching his attention. A used condom along with your panties. “I told you I’m sore.”

“Yeah, but you got my dick last night, not Sammy’s!” He points out. “I had you begging for more in no time.”

“You remember now?” you rub your forehead. Your memory of the last night is still foggy. All you remember is that Dean and you took a bottle home and decided to have a little victory celebration in the Impala. You parked the car in the garage of the bunker, and the rest is a blur.

“No, but the condom and your well-fucked pussy tell me so.” You roll your eyes. “What? I’m not lying.” Dean insists.

“Well, how about you remind me and come over here,” you smirk at Dean. “Only if little Dean is ready for a second round.”

“Damnit, sweetheart,” you giggle as Dean gets out of the car only to open the door to the backseat. He pounces on you, making you squeal and giggle. “I’m going to rock your world again.”

Fifteen minutes later you watch a very disturbed Sam run for the hills.

He made the mistake of opening the door to the backseat only to find you and his brother ruin the backseat.

“Sorry, Sammy!” You call after him.

“I’m not sorry,” Dean grunts. “If the Impala is rocking, don’t enter it! You should know better…”

Tags in reblog.

[mother-na]

Yandere Dr. Ratio X Reader [MDNI]

A Oneshot detailing the “punishment” served to you by Ratio after you’d ignored his rules and left to gain evidence for an essay he’d only given to you to distract you.

Warnings/Tags: Yandere behavior/rules, intercourse, spanking, creampie.

Comic Version: Linked at the bottom. Stelle is used as a placeholder for Reader.

You walked down a white hall, its tapestries mimicking the windows that adorn the spacecraft that Dr.Ratio calls his base. You were… both excited and anxious.

”If you’re truly so determined to find something to do, write me an essay. Procure your evidence through factual means within my library. The topic can be whatever you wish, I only ask you make this infernal conversation worth my valuable time.” Dr. Ratio had said in exasperation, pinching the bridge of his nose. He had been particularly busy so your badgering didn’t come all that welcome. Still though!

You’d successfully weared him down! After weeks of begging him to let you do something that wasn’t sitting around in his base, he had assigned a task to you.

What you really wanted was an exploration task. Ratio, for some reason, had asked you not to leave the aircraft. It’s not like he enforced it but the bone-chilling disappointed stare he’d give you for it typically swayed you.

But you had broken that rule for the sake of your assignment, running off to find different oddities and record them in your essay. The hope was that Ratio would see your genius and bravery and let you loose a little. Of course, you planned to slightly omit your departure.

You had cited it as a previous experience. Ratio wouldn’t know what you’d done until afterward, when you tell him.

You stopped in front of his door, one of his many offices, trying not to crush the paper in your hands between your fingers. Was this a good idea..? It’s not like Ratio gave you a deadline, maybe you should just rewrite it..?

You shook your head, absolutely not! You’d worked so hard for this, you can’t turn back now!

You knocked generously on Ratio’s door. Not even a second later did Ratio call out to the door, “Enter.”

You walked in as Ratio lifted his head from his papers, nearly assuming a polite posture before seeing it was merely you, his eyes narrowing as he analyzed you briefly.

”Greetings (Y/N), I was worried you ran off. Neither I nor anyone else residing in this spacecraft has seen you for several days. Was there something you were searching for?” Ratio addressed you, glaring into your eyes with an indiscernible look. Even from the door to the desk, it felt like his gaze was mere inches from you.

Despite his suspicion being clear, him asking if you were searching for something was a genuine inquiry. Had you needed or desired something, he’d have provided it in an instant.

You hugged your paper close to your chest, Ratio’s eyes looking down at it as it crinkled in your arms.

”I was- um… writing the essay you asked for!” You said, doing a short sprint to his desk and extending the now slightly wrinkled paper to him in what you thought was confidence.

Before Ratio had even placed the paper on his desk, he’d clicked a red pen open with one hand. You felt your confidence plummet.

”W-Well um, I’ll be on my way.” You turned and began to scramble your way out the door before you heard him speak.

”Stop.” Ratio’d ordered simply, making you pause in your departure.

You turned to see his eyes flickering over the page rapidly, his brows furrowed. That cursed red pen glided on just about every inch of the paper.

Finally, he closed his eyes and placed the paper down. Leisurely, he rose from his seat. He looked like he was fighting the devil themself for patience!

Ratio let out a breath, preparing to speak.

”Let’s go over your mistakes, yes?” Ratio proposed, “Come, why don’t you read it?” he took a step to the side, letting you nervously slink beside him and his desk.

”Put your hands on the desk.” Ratio ordered. You turned to look at him like a kicked puppy. He wasn’t really gonna do what that implies right?

But Ratio only looked down at you, waiting for you to do it. He must know what you were thinking, but he gave no implication that what you were thinking was wrong. Rather, he looked quite knowing!

With a new bright blush of embarrassment, you placed your hands on either side of the paper onto the firm wooden work surface.

Ratio started pointing with his pen at some of your minor mistakes. It started out calmly with his body close to your own form, his heat transferring to you. His voice was just behind you as he elaborated on even the smallest of mistakes.

As he spoke, Ratio would make the smallest of movements. A gentle press against your body and behind. An “incidental” brush of his lips against the shell of your ear making you shiver. A wave of air hitting your behind as he seemed to toy with the hem of your skirt.

You felt warm and found you could not focus on what he was saying. In response, Ratio chose to give you a small shock, brushing his fingers against the hem of your underpants.

You gasped a bit, finding your mind a little numb. You wanted Ratio’s approval, and subsequently his attention. Despite this, you hadn’t thought he’d be okay doing this to you. You don’t find yourself wanting to complain, but you’d really like to know where this is coming from.

”Pay attention. Have you spotted it yet? The betraying blunder in this error-riddled report you’ve presented me?” Ratio growled behind you while stroking your clothed pussy slowly.

You can’t tell if he’s trying to motivate you to listen, but if that’s the case it’s not working.

Ratio leans over you before placing his pen down, using the now free hand to blanket your own and stroke your fingers.

”If you recall, ‘Procure your evidence through factual means within my library.’” Ratio reiterated his previous orders impeccably. One would’ve thought that he wouldn’t have remembered the exact words, and yet.

You swallow a small whine as Ratio allows the hand caressing your soft flesh to brush your skirt up and over to your waist, and thus revealing your soft ass to the cold air.

Ratio pressed his fingers and essentially massaged the flesh of your ass before speaking, “Despite my orders, your cited evidence comes from ‘personal experience.’”

“How odd.” Ratio continued, his voice firm and thick with disappointment.

For a confusing moment, Ratio lifted his warm hand off your flesh. Only for a moment though, as before you could even question his motives he’d replanted his hand harshly against the skin.

You gasped (moaned?) in shock as your poor butt stung from the harsh treatment. Still, Ratio’s hand didn’t stop moving.

”I wasn’t informed of this ‘experience’ of yours.” he’d taunted as his hand passed over the red mark forming on your ass cheek and down back to your underwear. You resisted the urge to squirm as Ratio looped a finger inside your underwear.

“It’s almost like you tried to hide it from me.” Ratio suddenly tugged on your underwear and forcing the cloth against your sensitive pussy. You tried to lift yourself onto your toes to alleviate the strange sensation, but Ratio’d only tug harder.

Ratio didn’t stop drilling his words into you, “Are my resources not enough? Am I not enough?”

Ratio’s voice, while predominantly angered, also sounded somewhat hurt by your apparent betrayal. It made you feel a little guilty.

As Ratio glared down at you he began to lose his confident shell, lifting the side of your underwear to view your sensitive pussy.

”If you’re so desperate,” Ratio spoke as though he’d made his choice as you began to hear him messing with presumably his clothes. “For experiences…”

Ratio’s breath grew uneven as you were left wondering what he was thinking. Your mind is so muddled that you oddly didn’t guess what he was going to do.

It was only when you felt something warm and blunt press against your exposed entrance that you’d realized too late.

“Then I simply must oblige.” Ratio partially scowled before cruelly thrusting his entire length within your vulnerable twitching pussy. Aside from the initial intrusion, it wasn’t uncomfortable. You couldn’t place why until Ratio began to taunt you.

”You’re absolutely soaked.” Ratio’d pointed out. His voice was low and sounded annoyed. He seemed to be struggling to choke down his own groans.

Ratio moved his hands, one put firmly on the back of your neck and the other lifted one of your legs onto his desk. His hands weren’t harsh, but their grip was unyielding.

”Were you this eager to be punished?” Ratio sneered at you. His cock massaged your inner walls in a slow rhythm, drawing lewd fluid from your twitching hole.

Ratio leaned over you steadily, blanketing your body with his own and forcing your front against the cold desk. With one arm now wrapped beneath your neck and head, his heartbeat felt through his muscular arm, he spoke again.

“Do you enjoy the sensation of my cock stuffing you to the brim?” Ratio growled from just behind you, as he placed his head right beside your own. You not only heard his voice within your sensitive core, but also through his chest as he pushed against you.

His hands snaked over your body, over your shoulders and neck, before finding themselves on your wrists.

”Is this,” Ratio hoisted you off the desk with his cock still inside you, “Personal enough for you? Still feel you need more?”

Ratio picked up the pace, the slapping of his hips meeting your red ass loud. He kept you gripped firmly, not allowing you to budge and trapping you between the desk and his pounding hips.

You could hardly think! Your whole core was throbbing with need and was being slammed relentlessly with Ratio’s cock head kissing your virgin cervix. You couldn’t even form words!

”Are you receiving enough experience? Speak up. I can’t hear you.” you were taunted by Ratio as you could only moan and whimper from his sturdy phallus.

Ratio too was falling apart slowly. His voice was firm from years of remaining adamant with acquaintances and students, but his breath was wavering and he took erratic sharp breaths.

Ratio was reaching his limit and so were you. He thrusted recklessly and held you by your arms, his huffings being drowned out by your own moans of pleasure.

”Take it… take it all. Every last drop.” Ratio growled behind you, his grip now uncomfortable but entirely masked by the pleasure between your legs.

Ratio didn’t pull out. He, as he said, sprayed his thick cum directly into your defenseless womb. It was warm and with his final thrust, it ripped a quaking orgasm from your panting form. You could feel your walls squeeze Ratio, and from his small groans, he could feel it too.

Only when your womb was properly pumped full of Ratio’s essence did he pull his dripping cock out.

You collapse onto the desk as Ratio releases you, pulling up his pants as he turns to leave.

”Don’t let me ever catch you putting yourself in danger again.” Ratio firmly warned you as he left you twitching on his desk and leaking cum out of your now-stretched hole.

As Ratio left you exhausted and sexually satisfied, he kept thinking about you. You shouldn’t have left. Everything he does is to protect your reckless self from the harsh world.

Perhaps, if you’re pregnant, you would not be able to act as foolishly.

Comic Version: https://x.com/na_nsfw_/status/1819871482056450051?s=61

[iceman-kazansky]

Hi there Ice!! I saw your writing challenge and I think that’s such cool idea. Love that you try to get back into writing. I looked through your rules and prompts. If you’re up to it, I would love to request something with Mr Jake "Hangman" Seresin. I know it’s a bit strange, because my blog doesn’t normally revolve around top gun, but I’m a fan 🙈 So going through your prompt lists I found the one with "you can hold my hand, if you want” really adorable or one with the “Shy/Easily Embarrassed Character Getting
Flustered” if you want. Whatever you’ll feel more comfortable writing about. Let your creativity flow. Honestly I’m happy with anything. Thank you for your dedication and for maybe considering this request. Take care 🩵😊

Not As Bad As I Thought

˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊·̩̩̥͙·̩̩̥͙＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊·̩̩̥͙·̩̩̥͙＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊·̩̩̥͙

Requested by: @sweetxvanixlla

Request: See answered ask above

Pairings: Jake “Hangman” Seresin x f!reader

Warnings: Nothing really that I can think of. I want to tag this as soft!Jake, as he's a little less cocky in this. Jake is mildly flirty. Mild mention of large crowd. 

Word Count: 1235

A/n: Saw this request and immediately began brainstorming what to write. In the end, I came up with this! Hope this didn't take too long for you and that it's curated to your liking, enjoy!! :)))

Taglist: 

@footprintsinthesxnd @inglourious-imagines

˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊·̩̩̥͙·̩̩̥͙＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊·̩̩̥͙·̩̩̥͙＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊·̩̩̥͙

It was a relaxing day. A stark contrast from the gruelling training the rowdy group of young aviators had been enduring in preparation for a very important mission. When someone had heard of a midway coming to the nearby town, word was quick to spread amongst the bunch.

Now here you were, standing with the group of young pilots, the sounds of the midway loud around you. Mostly everyone had attended, with the superior officers being an exception. 

It was quite crowded as you walked among the rambunctious group of pilots, everyone wanted to do different things, there was a few minutes of banter and debate but before you knew it, everyone was splitting apart, going off on their own or in pairs. You hardly had time to react before suddenly it was just you left standing alone while the rest of the group dispersed. Or so you thought.

“Well, they sure all left in a hurry.” A familiar voice sounded beside you. Your gaze snapped to find none other than Jake Seresin still by your side, staring at you with a small smile on his face and a sparkle in his emerald eyes.

Simply humming in agreement, you nodded, “Yeah.” It was strange to have none other than Jake left by your side. Ironic, in a sense he didn't share that same ability to stick around long in the sky. 

“Well, seeing as it’s just us, do you want to stick together?” He said, a hopeful smile stretched across his face.

You contemplated your options. You didn’t really want to be alone, and you wouldn’t mind somebody’s company. Even if it was Jake's. “I’d love to,” you finally responded.

˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊·̩̩̥͙·̩̩̥͙＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊·̩̩̥͙·̩̩̥͙＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊·̩̩̥͙

You and Jake had spent the last few hours running around and doing nearly every ride possible, and now as it was getting later, you were heading to grab food.

You’d have been lying if you said that it hadn’t been fun hanging out with Jake all day, the normally cocky, and often irritable aviator had peeled back a few layers and shown you just how enjoyable he could be. The entire time you’d been jumping from line to line, ride to ride, you’d been laughing and conversing. Talking with Jake seemed to flow so smoothly, and you realized you had a little more in common than you ever imagined. Admittedly, simply being with the emerald-eyed aviator all day seemed to have given you more enjoyment and glee then you’d had in quite awhile.

Up ahead, the crowd seemed to thicken, making you feel a little anxious. “That looks.. difficult,” You said to him, eyeing the crowd warily, “Do you think we can get through? I don't want to lose you.”

Jake slows and looks down at you, “I think we can. You can hold my hand, if you want,” he offers with a shrug, extending his open palm for you to take.

His offer takes a minute to set in. The Jake Seresin was offering you to hold his hand in a crowd? The Jake who left his wingman's hanging –his callsign a delineation of that– extended his hand for you to take? Baffled, you hesitantly took his offer, holding onto him as he began pushing through the crowd.

With Jake doing an excellent job of navigating the crowded fair, he managed to guide you both to a stand selling the food you wanted, and you now waited in line patiently.

You ordered and sat down with him, eating and drinking while you both continued talking animatedly amongst yourselves while you hurried to get back to the rides.

The hand holding hadn’t slipped your mind from earlier as you got back up and began pushing your way back to the rides. It seems as if it didn’t slip Jake’s either, seeing as like clockwork he extended his hand for you to take as you passed through another dense crowd.

˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊·̩̩̥͙·̩̩̥͙＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊·̩̩̥͙·̩̩̥͙＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊·̩̩̥͙

It seemed as if the day was coming to an end all too soon. The sun had set long before and the midway was closing as the evening hours stretched on. Jake walked beside you in silence, one that was oddly comfortable and light. 

As you reached the parking lot and both your vehicles came into view, Jake turned to you suddenly, “Well, this has been an enjoyable date.” He said with a teasing smile plastered on his face.

You were certain you'd gone beet red as an overwhelming blush took over your features, “I– this wasn't a–” You stuttered, trying to object. Curse your inability to speak under sudden pressure.

Gently, Jake cut you off with a snicker, “Relax, sweetheart. I was joking.”

Sighing, you smiled at him. He was still that ever-flirtatious aviator you knew while flying. The conversation quieted down after that, Jake only piping up to offer walking you back to your car.

A few more minutes of walking and you now stood at the driver-side door of your vehicle. Hesitating, your hand hovered over the handle for a few moments. You realized you didn't want this to be the end. You wanted more things with him like this. Facing Jake, you spoke up, “Today was probably the most fun I've had in awhile. Maybe we could do something like this again?”

Your voice had been a little hopeful, hinting even. You wouldn't object if you and him did things like this more often. Whether you called it a date or a simple ‘hanging out.’ The whole day had been enjoyable for you. It felt oddly intimate as just-coworkers spending a day together. You'd learned so much about the man outside of a cocky, sometimes stuck-up aviator.

Jake smiled at you, and you couldn't help but notice the subtle glint of something in his eyes. What it was exactly, you weren't sure. “I'll take you up on that offer,” He replied, “How would dinner at my place next weekend sound?”

“Sounds great.” You agreed, smiling back as you opened your door and got in. Jake went back to his own car and you were left to drive home by yourself. The whole way home you found yourself beaming uncontrollably at the prospect of a date with Jake. As you arrived back home, you decided that maybe Jake wasn’t that bad, after all.

˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊·̩̩̥͙·̩̩̥͙＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊·̩̩̥͙·̩̩̥͙＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊·̩̩̥͙

ᴍᴀꜱᴛᴇʀʟɪꜱᴛ || ᴛᴀɢʟɪꜱᴛ || ɴᴀᴠɪɢᴀᴛɪᴏɴ

𝐋𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐦𝐲 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤? 𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐠! 𝐈𝐭'𝐬 𝐠𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐥𝐲 𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝!