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on-a-lucky-tide · 2 days ago

Text

Johnny's knee hurts. Price helps him feel better.

cw: messy blowjob. For the @continentcakeshop, who love Johnny.

Johnny shifted his foot for the third time in ten minutes and felt the now familiar twinge through his knee. He couldn't decide what was worse; the constant dull ache of keeping it stationary, like it needed to click, which was driving him batshit insane, or the sharp burn of a quick stretch that made his entire body jolt, knocking the table he was sharing with the boss man himself.

“You broken?” Price asked, tapping the blunt nib of his biro against the manilla folder by his form.

“Naw, sir. Jus’ me bum knee. S’givin’ me grief cause it's cald outside.”

“You been t’ the physio?”

“Not fer a few weeks. No time, ye know…” Johnny gestured aimlessly at the paperwork in front of him. When he'd signed up at fifteen and nine months, he hadn't expected to spend so long with a damn pen in his hand instead of a firearm.

Price hummed and Johnny watched his whiskers twitch as they tended to do when he was mulling something over. Then came the full face grimace as he considered his options. The biro clattered to the table moments later, the chair legs scraping against the concrete floor. “Olrigh’, can't ‘ave ya fallin’ behind. Keks down, leg up ‘ere.”

Johnny blinked owlishly, first at Price's hands as they patted his lap and then at the intense blue eyes watching him from beneath thick eyebrows. “Come again.”

“C’mon, MacTavish. Don't ‘ave all day. Boot off, drop ‘em. Quick rub down will make it feel better.”

Oh, he wasn't taking the piss. Well, shit. Johnny glanced at Price's hands again, big, weathered, with long clever fingers and a scar across the knuckles from where Price had skinned them open on the steel-plated jaw of a Kortac operator. The thought of having them on his body in any capacity made a sudden surge of heat fill his belly.

His knee gave another unrepentant throb and he stood awkwardly to undo his belt, jamming the heel of his boot against the toe of the other to kick it off before loosening the laces. He managed to slide his leg out, the knee support catching on his waistband, before slumping back into the chair. His foot hovered off the floor, suddenly conscious of how fuckin’ filthy his sock was. And how tight his boxers were.

“Ain't got all night,” Price said. “Stop bein’ a pansy. Ain't gonna ‘urt ya.”

Johnny scowled and extended his leg, setting it gingerly across Price's lap while his hands cupped over his crotch. “Naw one says pansy any more, old man.”

Price raised an eyebrow as he hooked Johnny's knee support and coaxed it down his calf muscle, bunching it at his ankle as he wrinkled his nose. “This sock ever seen a washin’ machine?”

“Oh feck, now ye really sound like me pa.”

“I was eleven years old when you were born, I ain't yer dad, MacTavish.” Price chucked the support and the filthy sock onto the floor and ran his thumbs up the sides of Johnny’s leg, pressing into the swollen ligaments and tendons either side of his patella. The sensation sat keenly on the threshold of pain and pleasure; Price couldn't press too hard without oil, but his pressure was damn perfect.

“Oh, fuck… mmm, aye, but I c’n still call ye dad–”

“If ya finish that sentence, ‘m gonna dislocate yer knee cap.”

“Aye, sir."

Johnny tried to stay quiet. He yapped when he was nervous and Jesus wept he was nervous now. Not because it hurt - god, fuck, Price’s hands were a damn dream - but because the heat in his belly was spreading out through the rest of him; a warm, fuzziness humming just below his skin. As the dull ache ebbed into a low throb, Johnny’s chin tilted down and his eyes lidded. He watched those strong hands work, manipulating his muscles and tendons like putty, pressing to and fro in easy glides that left Johnny lightheaded.

Johnny bit back a moan. Price was good. He knew what he was doing. Didn't stay only around the knee, but rubbed behind it and slightly down the calf to ease the resulting tension from where the rest of his leg was overcompensating. That was all fine… it was when those thumbs went up his thigh, one on the hairy outside, the other up the milky soft skin of the inner, that the whole arrangement got a bit spicy.

Johnny was getting hard. Proper hard, not just a cheeky little chubby. He could feel the wet patch in the cotton where his leaking tip was pushing up against his palm. Fuck, fuck. His eyes squeezed shut, and he tried to distract himself. Mentally listing off the steps for stripping a gun, the ingredients for a pipe bomb, the starting fifteen for Man City–

“Ev’ryfin olrigh’, Soap?”

Johnny’s eyes blinked open and he realised he'd been damn panting. Price hadn't stopped though. One hand had wandered a little higher, massaging his thigh muscle while the other cupped beneath his calf. Just a little higher and he could slide his cock into his captain's palm. Those callouses would feel unreal against the silky skin of his shaft… no, no, normal thoughts. Normal.

“Aye, sir. Sorry. Jus’... Uh…”

“Feels good,” Price finished for him. “Been a while for more ‘an jus’ physio then.” There was a wry amusement to his tone and Johnny’s lower lip pushed up in a pout, his face flushing red.

“S’not what it looks like.”

“Looks like yer hard from a little tenderness, sergeant.”

“Fuck, don't tell anyone, ah’ll do dogsbody in officer’s mess fer a whole month.”

“Oof, humiliatin’.”

“Not as humiliatin’ as Garrick takin’ the pish cause ah got a stonner for me captain,” Johnny blurted out, making it infinitely worse. “Fuck.”

Price snorted a laugh and Johnny’s eyes blew owlishly wide again. Those big hands were still working; any pain had faded, and only a warm pleasure remained, pressure coiling in his groin. Price hummed. “Maybe I can help ya with that too. If yer up for it.”

“What?” Johnny squeaked. Price was a gay man. That was no secret. He was one of the few gay men in the service that Johnny had ever encountered that endured precisely fuck all abuse about it. No cunt was daft enough to even try. Johnny had been too feart to own his sexuality, but Price had probably heard Grindr ping one too many times to be left under any illusion that Johnny was straight.

“Yer not the only one goin’ through a bit of a dry spell. Offer’s there.”

Johnny swallowed thickly. He couldn't lift his eyes from Price's hands, watching those strong thumbs circle either side of his knee again, prick throbbing in the confines of his boxers. Of all the days to wear his snug Calvin Kleins that left nothing to the imagination. The bulge had filled his palms now. He could pull away, put a stop to it, but he didn't want to. He wanted Price’s hand wrapped around his prick. “Aye.”

“Whot?”

“Aye, sir… ah’d like some… help,” Johnny finished lamely, his fingers tightening over his cock as he shifted his arse in the chair.

Price blinked at him slowly, leaning back in his chair. Johnny’s leg shifted a little, foot tilting out, and he saw it for the first time. A huge fuck off bulge in the front of Price's Carhartts. “Oh-ho, fuck me, look at the size of it,” Johnny wheezed, and then clicked his mouth shut, lips sucked in so he could chew on them before murmuring, “Respectfully… sir.”

Price chuckled, rubbing a hand over his face, nails raking down through his beard around the edges of his grin. “‘m gonna be glad ev’ryone's on leave, un’ I?”

Johnny flushed to the tips of his ears. “Ah can be wheesht.”

“Nah, don't be.” Price took Johnny's ankles and lowered his leg slowly to the floor. Johnny licked his lips as anticipation bubbled in his chest, hands still clasped over his crotch despite the futility of trying to hide his erection. His eyes somehow widening further as Price slipped from his seat and onto his knees between Johnny’s feet.

“Oh shit, oh shit,” Johnny breathed, hands shaking as Price took them and guided them away from where they still cupped protectively over his cock. He felt the warm puff of Price's breath over the hair on his belly and the damp spot on his boxers, and his toes curled against the floor. Those weathered fingers stroked up his thighs, over soft cotton to the elastic of his waistband. Johnny’s cock flicked gratefully free, ruddy and dark compared to the rest of him, and he sucked in a sharp hiss through his teeth as cool air found his wet slit.

“Well, pretty all over, ain’tcha, sergeant?”

Johnny knew he had a nice dick, good girth, nice upward curve to hit all the right spots and a respectable length. He'd taken enough selfies with it and then had his phone blow up to know, but to hear Price say it in that silky rumble made him go weak. His hips squirmed, and he bit his lower lip as Price's beard rubbed on his inner thigh, followed by the softness of his lips as he kissed a trail up. Johnny fingers bit into the outside of his legs as they pushed out, urging Price to get to his destination. “Please, sir…”

“Relax, soldier. I gotcha.”

Finally, Price grasped Johnny’s cock, fingers pushing through the coarse thatch of hair at the base. Johnny let out a soft whine, shaft flicking in Price’s grip as a thick pearl of precum welled from his slit. It was sweet, sweet torture. A mixture of relief and yearning that made his entire body light up. Price’s thumb swept below his waistband, brushing the swell of his sac, before he stroked up, fingers brushing over the flare of Johnny’s crown.

Johnny groaned, head flopping back because he needed to briefly thank fucking God for blessing his dick and promise to visit confession at some point in the next decade to repent for lusting after his captain's hands and mouth. He couldn't take his fucking eyes off Price for long, and he looked back in time to watch Price ease his foreskin back, the wicked tip of his tongue pushing though Johnny’s slit to lap it clean of pre. “Fuck, fuck, fuck… god, shite, ahh, sir, mmm.”

The lines around Price's eyes deepened in amusement, and then his eyes slid closed in what Johnny could only describe as bliss as he kissed the thick vein down Johnny's length, brushing the tip of his nose across silky skin until it buried against Johnny's groin with a soft groan. “Mm, fuck, ya smell good.”

Johnny spread his legs a little further, lifting his arse when Price tugged his boxers to bring them further down his thighs. The heat of his mouth enveloped Johnny’s balls, his tongue pressing down the seam, Johnny's cock resting against his cheek as he tasted his fill. Johnny panted through parted lips, one hand finally leaving his leg to slide around the back of his captain's head to pull his face closer. “Aye… sir, fuck… ahh.”

The moan that rumbled from Price’s chest rolled up Johnny’s body like an earthquake, and he heard the clatter of a buckle as Price fumbled with his belt to free his cock. Jacking himself off to the taste of Johnny’s sac in his mouth. When he finally drew away, he left Johnny's dark curls wet with spit, his blue eyes lidded, drunk on Johnny's musk and the pleasure of his hand pumping slowly up and down his own cock.

“God, yer a fuckin’ bonny picture, sir. Love tae suck cock, eh? Fuck.”

Price didn't say anything, just licked back up the underside of Johnny’s prick to draw the tip into his mouth. The wet glide of Price's tongue around his glans made Johnny groan, and he lifted his hips, pressing his tip over the ridges at the top of Price's mouth, fingers tightening at the back of his head. Price didn't need much encouragement to sink down, but he did so at his own pace, slowly, torturously, sucking Johnny deeper into the glorious wet heat of his mouth until Johnny’s head hit the back of his throat.

Johnny held him there for moment, admiring the stretch of his lips around the heft of his shaft, the lidded, fucked out enjoyment in his eyes, the way his broad shoulders were completely relaxed as he palmed himself lazily. Bonny was right. Johnny wondered what he'd be like on his back with his hands pinned above his head, what his moans might sound like when they weren't muffled by cock…

Price drew off, sucking greedily until he reached the tip, before lowering again in a steady glide, fucking his own mouth on Johnny's prick. Johnny moaned loudly with each dip of Price’s head, his thighs shaking as warm, irresistible pleasure curled in his hips, through his belly, his balls firming up beneath Price's chin. “Ah, ah, sir, fu-mm, fuck, yer mouth… is… ahh.”

And then Price swallowed him down proper. Johnny felt the pop as his head pushed into Price's throat, the clenching tightness made him choke out a low, trembling moan, Price’s nose buried against his groin. The sound of Price’s pumping hand, the wet slap of skin, grew more urgent and the thought that Price was even more turned on by having Johnny in his throat was dizzying. When he began to bob his head again, half choking on Johnny’s cock, Johnny knew he wasn't going to last much longer.

He didn't know where to put his hands, bunching Price's hair between his fingers, scrubbing them over his beard just to feel the bristles against his fingertips, sliding them down his throat to feel his Adam's apple bob and strain around his cock.

His heels lifted from the floor, toes pushing into the cold concrete, a sharp contrast to the blistering, pulsing heat of his captain's mouth as it milked him. He babbled incoherently, half Scots, half unintelligible English slurred out like a drunk at last orders, delirious with pleasure as saliva and precum pooled around his groin. His thumb stroked over Price's cheeks, pressing to feel the glide of his shaft through them and trace the damp of the tears that tracked from hazy blue eyes.

“Sir, ah’m, sir…” Johnny tried to tug him off because a gentleman didn't cum down a fella’s throat without asking, but Price fucking growled like a wolf having its meal stolen and that was enough to punch Johnny over into a heady climax. “Sir, fuck!” His stomach clenched, toes pushing against the floor as his hips lifted from the chair. Price kept sucking, drinking every drop offered by Johnny’s twitching prick. It coaxed him higher until he was whimpering in fucked out bliss, his fingers shaking in his captain's hair. Just as he was tipping over into oversensitivity, Price pulled off and pressed his face into the sweaty crease of Johnny's thigh, arm moving furiously, hips humping as he fucked his own grip.

“Yeah, g’won, sir, gonna come for me, liked havin’ my prick down ye throat, belly full of my cum.” Johnny stroked Price’s hair and watched his eyes roll back, his shoulders seizing, as he came hard into his fist. He panted between Johnny's legs, catching his breath for a moment, before he slumped back into his heels. Johnny took the opportunity to look down at his prick, still semi-hard, and he sucked in a breath. “Fuck, look at tha’ beast… ye top with tha’ weapon?”

“Only if you ya’sk nicely,” Price rasped. The sound of his throat, fucked raw, made Johnny's soft prick twitch against his thigh.

“How nicely?”

“State secret. S’classified.”

“I’ll steal L.T.’s clearance,” Johnny replied testily, and his hunch was rewarded with a quirk of the eyebrows. “Knew it.”

Price chuckled hoarsely. “Clean up. Got work t’ finish.” He rolled to his feet and for a beautiful moment his cock bobbed close to Johnny’s face. Be seein’ ye soon, sweet thing.

“Can't, ye jus’ sucked me brain out me prick.”

“Now, MacTavish.”

Johnny's mouth clicked shut, and then he mumbled a “yessir” as he pulled his boxers and jeans back up. He'd be lying if he said it was somewhat difficult to focus on the reports for the rest of the evening, especially when he lifted a foot to tease Price's crotch and the bastard spread his legs to give access. Didn't even flinch though. Wily git.

#captain john price #johnny soap mactavish #soapprice #pricesoap

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ebodebo · 2 days ago

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getting high with your brother’s best friend!

"Really shouldn’t let you take a hit, Sweetheart," Jason muses, taking a drag from his blunt as you both sit side by side on your roof.

Your brother had stepped out for a bit, likely to take care of things with his new girlfriend, leaving you alone at home with Jason.

Since your brother had been friends with him for a long time, he felt at ease leaving you two alone together.

Your brother was completely oblivious to your secret crush on his close friend.

After about thirty minutes of Jason clutching the blunt he had prepared for himself and your brother, he quietly made his way up to your roof to indulge.

You followed closely behind, eager to join him.

“Come on, Jason,” you nudge, your eyelashes fluttering. “Don’t go all gentlemanly on me now.”

He lets out a soft chuckle, a cloud of smoke swirling around him as he does so.

Your eyes wander to observe him further.

God, he was so fucking hot.

He had the most beautiful eyes you had ever seen, a warm smile that lit up the room, and not to mention his arms.

Fuck his arms.

You swallow hard as you notice his bicep flexing under his short sleeve while he raises the blunt to his lips.

"Have you ever even smoked before?" He asks, tilting his head to the side in curiosity.

You quickly shift your gaze back to his, hoping he didn’t catch you shamelessly checking him out.

“Like once,” you say almost too quickly.

He raises an eyebrow and smirks.

“Here,” he says, holding the blunt between his fingers for you to take. “Just don’t take too big of a hit.”

You nod and carefully grab the blunt, placing it between your lips. As you take a deep inhale, you end up coughing hard, tears beginning to form in your eyes.

"You alright?" Jason asks earnestly, taking the blunt from your trembling hands with one hand while his other gently rubs your back to ease your coughs.

You nod your head vigorously as the coughing dies down, making an effort to ignore the way Jason’s hand seems to brush against your bare back, even through your shirt.

“No more for you,” he teased, a smile dancing on his lips.

You let out one last cough. “Will I even feel it?”

“Yeah,” he replies, taking another drag from the blunt that now rests between his lips.

“You’ll feel it.”

That was about ten hits ago.

While most of them were Jason's, you still managed to snag a few for yourself.

Your brother sent a text saying that he had to handle an emergency—most likely something related to his overly attached girlfriend—and that he would return as soon as he could.

You and Jason were sprawled out on the roof, the blunt long gone and nothing but silence hanging in the air.

Your body felt weighed down, as if you could simply plunge through the metal roof and drop into the room below.

Meanwhile, your head spun mercilessly, even when you weren’t moving an inch.

“How’s Cock?” Jason's voice broke the silence.

You turn your head to his direction, your cheek pressed against the chilly shingles of the roof.

“Jason,” you respond, a touch of frustration in your voice, but a hint of humor plays on your lips. “You know his name is Brock.”

“Sure, Brock, whatever you say,” he replies, playfully rolling his eyes. “How's he doing?”

You chuckled softly. “To be honest, I’m surprised that you even care about his well-being.”

“I don’t. Just trying to make conversation,” he replies with a shrug, his tone dry.

You shift your gaze to the stars sparkling overhead. “I can’t say how he’s doing,” you say slowly. “We broke things off like two weeks ago.”

Jason looks at you in disbelief. “No shit?”

You glimpse at his confused expression before turning entirely on your side to face him. “Yeah,” you exhale. “I found him kissing another girl in his dorm.”

Jason thinks for a moment. “Want me to kick his ass for you?” He asks, his sincerity evident in the tone of his voice.

You grin. “Nah. He’ll get his karma.”

“I still don’t see what you saw in him,” Jason remarked after a moment, tilting his head to gaze at the sky.

"Honestly, me neither," you chuckle, closing your eyes as your laughter drifts on, lingering for quite a while.

Jason lets out a chuckle in response to your extended laughter.

You double over, still gasping with laughter. “You know he was jealous of you?”

Jason playfully rolls his eyes, a broad smile still lighting up his face from your contagious laughter.

“Yeah, right,” he responds with a teasing tone.

"He really was," you affirm, the laughter finally subsiding as your hand softly lands on his forearm.

You’re so high that you can’t even feel your touch on him or even recognize the effect you have on him.

"He always used to say that I had a crush on you," you reply.

“Did he now?” he inquires, doing his best to ignore the way your hand lightly brushes against his forearm.

“Oh my God, yes!” you exclaim, your fingers gliding gently over his skin.

Jason ponders a moment, swallowing hard before he speaks.

"Well...did you?" he asks, a hint of hesitation in his voice.

Your gaze shifts to his, a look of confusion on your face. “Did I what?”

“Christ. You’re so high,” he says with a grin.

"How is it that I’m higher than you when you’ve taken more hits?" You inquire, puzzled.

“You’re just not used to it,” he responds, his voice wavering a bit as your fingertips glide along his arm.

“Made a habit of smoking, have you?” you tease, narrowing your eyes playfully.

“Something like that, I guess,” he says with a grin.

“What were you asking me earlier?” You glance up at him, your eyes feeling a bit heavy.

Jason’s gaze meets yours. “Oh, um—nothing.”

Your fingers trail down to his, playing with them.

“Tell me,” you whisper softly.

“I—I can’t remember,” he stammers.

“Shut up! Yes, you do,” you say, a wide grin stretching across your face. “Just tell me,” you press again.

Jason’s eyes drift to your lips for a second before coming back to your bright eyes on him.

“I just—did you ever, you know, have a crush on me?” Jason asks, clearly feeling a bit awkward.

You chuckled softly, causing Jason to shift noticeably in discomfort.

Your focus shifts back to him, and his discomfort is evident. "Sorry. I just thought it was so obvious," you say, your fingers still gently toying with his.

“I had no idea,” he says, letting out a quiet sigh of relief inside.

“Really?” You inquire, casually leaning in closer to him without even realizing it.

“Yeah. Had no idea,” he exhales. “Wait, why?”

Your face breaks into a playful grin. “What do you mean ‘why’ you’re ridiculously hot?” You exclaim, a hint of laughter in your voice.

“Am I now?” He murmurs, his gaze fixated on your lips.

“Mhm. And you’ve got a nice smile,” you say, unaware that you’ve slipped into the present tense, completely oblivious to his gaze fixated on your lips.

"Yeah?" He prodes, his tongue darting out to moisten his lips.

“And pretty eyes,” you tack on, fingers coming up to drag up his arms.

“Mhm,” he murmurs, his eyelids drooping lazily to halfway cover his eyes at your gentle touch.

Your gaze trails your fingers as they glide up his arms, pausing at his bicep. "And big arms."

Jason leans in before you can say another word, and his lips softly meet yours.

A soft gasp escapes your lips as your hand caresses his cheek, deepening the kiss.

His hand gently rests on your waist as your lips move in perfect sync, but you pull back slightly.

“Your lips are so soft,” you whisper against his, a smile playing on your face. “Knew they would be.”

Jason can’t shake the stupid smile that spreads across his face before he leans in and presses his lips gently against yours.

You and Jason linger in your kiss for a bit longer until he spots familiar headlights making their way down the road toward your house.

Jason pulls back abruptly, swearing under his breath. “Shit,” he mutters, rubbing his hand across his face. “Fuck.”

“Wha—what?” You ask in surprise.

“Roy’s gonna kill me,” Jason mutters.

That has you flicking your attention to the street seeing the same headlights Jason saw.

It was your brother driving up.

And you and Jason were up on the roof.

Alone.

Kissing.

“Oh no,” you groan, sitting up too abruptly before easing yourself back down again.

“You okay?” Jason asks, his tone filled with concern as he slowly rises to his feet.

“He—he can’t find out,” you say franticallly.

Jason leans in slightly, his hand brushing gently against your cheek. “Hey—hey. It’s alright. He won’t, I promise,” he assures.

"Come on, I’ll help you through the window," he says, gently lifting you up and guiding you as you slip through the opening.

“Jason,” you say, as he helps you settle down onto your bed.

“Yeah?” He asks, his gaze fixed intently on yours.

“Are we, like, dating now?” Your tone is earnest as you lay entirely on your bed.

He chuckles softly, his breath catching for a moment. "You're too high to be making those kinds of decisions, Sweetheart."

“You're high too, Jason,” you say with a roll of your eyes. “Besides, I’m pretty sure I really like you.”

“We’ll talk when we’re both sober. Okay?” He suggests gently. “I’ll swing by to check on you later, alright?” He adds reassuringly, planting a soft kiss on your head.

You give a reluctant nod before he quietly slips out of your room. With your eyes closed, you eventually drift off to sleep.

Jason held true to his promise and quietly slipped away to check on you, even laying a soft blanket over you.

Perhaps he lingered for a moment to share his feelings, but you would have no way of knowing since you were sound asleep.

Or were you?

divider by @bernardsbendystraws

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woso-story · 2 days ago

Text

Drunk

Alexia Putellas x Reader

The club was buzzing with energy, the air thick with laughter and the celebratory spirit of victory. The whole team was out tonight, letting loose after a hard-fought win. You sat beside Alexia at a booth filled with your closest teammates. Glasses clinked together, drinks flowed freely, and the night was full of stories, teasing, and joy.

You leaned into Alexia, grinning. “This was one hell of a match.”

She smiled, her hazel eyes full of pride as she looked at you. “It was. You played amazing.”

You felt a warm blush creep up your neck, but before you could respond, Patri threw an arm around you. “Enough with the lovebirds, we’re here to celebrate! Come on, let’s dance!”

With a laugh, you allowed yourself to be pulled away, casting one last glance at Alexia before stepping onto the dancefloor.

The music pulsed through your body as you danced with the girls, moving to the beat, spinning, laughing, and feeling utterly free. The drinks kept coming, and soon, the world had a slight, pleasant blur to it. Everything felt lighter, funnier. You lost track of time as you twirled between your teammates, their cheers and shouts mixing with the booming bass of the club.

Meanwhile, Alexia stayed back with Mapi, Irene, and some others. She nursed her drink, but her eyes never strayed far from you. Every time you laughed, every time you threw your hands in the air, every time someone spun you around—she saw it all. She smiled, amused, and a little protective.

“Are you really watching her all night?” Mapi teased, nudging Alexia’s arm.

Alexia shrugged. “Someone has to make sure she doesn’t get herself into trouble.”

Mapi smirked. “She’s having fun. Let her be.”

Alexia did. She watched as you swayed, completely at ease, lost in the moment. But when she saw you stumble slightly as you made your way off the dancefloor and toward the bar, something in her stirred. Without thinking twice, she stood up and followed you.

You plopped onto a barstool, breathing heavily, the room spinning just enough that you needed a second to steady yourself. A presence slid in next to you, but in your hazy state, you didn’t immediately process it.

Then, an arm wrapped around your waist.

You turned your head, blinking slowly at the woman beside you. She was beautiful—hazel eyes, soft features, strong presence.

Too close.

You leaned back slightly, frowning. “Uh… I have a girlfriend.”

Alexia’s brows lifted in amusement. “Oh?”

“Yes,” you said, nodding seriously. “And she’s amazing.”

The bartender approached, and before you could open your mouth, Alexia smoothly ordered, “A water, please.”

You pouted, turning to her with a slight glare. “Hey! I was gonna get a cocktail.”

“You’ve had enough,” she said simply, her voice calm but firm.

You huffed. “That’s not for you to decide.” You waved her off dismissively. “Go away, my girlfriend is waiting for me.”

Alexia bit her lip, trying not to laugh. She tilted her head, playing along. “Really? What’s she like?”

Your expression softened, and a dreamy smile took over your face. “Oh, she’s perfect.” You sighed happily, resting your chin in your hands. “She has the most beautiful hazel eyes… I get lost in them all the time. And her smile? Ugh. It’s gorgeous. She’s so generous and kind. And she always makes me laugh, even when I’m in a bad mood.”

Alexia listened, her heart swelling with each word. She had always known you loved her, but hearing you ramble about her like this—completely unfiltered, completely sincere—made her fall for you all over again.

You continued, completely oblivious to the fact that you were talking about the very person in front of you. “She’s also so strong. And confident. And protective, but not in a bad way—she just always makes me feel safe, y’know?” You sighed again, taking a sip of the water Alexia had ordered for you. “I love her so much.”

Alexia’s smile was impossibly soft. “She sounds amazing.”

“She is” you said, nodding firmly. “I have to go find her.”

With that, you hopped off the stool—well, more like stumbled off—and made your way back to the table where Mapi and Ingrid were now sitting.

You leaned on the table, looking at them seriously. “Hey, have you guys seen Alexia?”

Mapi and Ingrid shared a look, both of them clearly holding back laughter. “Wait—”

Before they could say anything, Alexia appeared beside you once again, effortlessly wrapping an arm around your waist and pressing a kiss to your temple.

You turned your head, blinking up at her, then suddenly grinned. “There you are! I was looking for you!”

Alexia chuckled. “Were you now?”

“Yes!” You pouted. “You disappeared.”

She shook her head, smiling fondly. “I was with you the whole time.”

You frowned, confused, but then shrugged, leaning into her. “Whatever. You’re here now.”

Mapi covered her mouth with her hand, her shoulders shaking with silent laughter. Ingrid just sighed, shaking her head in amusement.

Alexia squeezed your waist gently. “I think it’s time to go home, mi amor.”

“Nooo,” you whined, looking up at her. “I’m not even drunk.”

Alexia gave you a pointed look. “Carino, you just spent ten minutes talking to me about how much you love me without realizing it was me.”

You blinked. “I… what?”

Mapi couldn’t hold it in anymore—she burst out laughing. “That’s what you were doing?!”

Alexia smirked. “Yep.”

Your face burned. “No. No way.”

“Oh, it happened.” Alexia kissed your forehead, her smile only growing. “And I’m taking you home before you embarrass yourself any further.”

After some gentle coaxing and a little bit of pleading from Alexia, you finally agreed, letting her guide you out of the club.

---

By the time you got home, exhaustion had taken over. The moment you landed on the bed, you were out like a light. Alexia chuckled as she carefully changed you into more comfortable clothes, making sure you were tucked in safely.

She brushed a hand over your cheek, taking in the peaceful expression on your face. Then she pressed a soft kiss to your forehead before whispering, “I love you, too.”

---

The next morning, you woke up with a pounding headache and a groan. Alexia sat beside you, a glass of water and some aspirin in hand.

“Good morning, carino,” she said, smirking.

You narrowed your eyes at her. “Why do you look like you’re enjoying this?”

She shrugged innocently. “Oh, no reason.”

“…Lex.”

She grinned. “You were so drunk last night that you didn’t recognize me.”

Your stomach dropped. “I—What?”

“You told me you had a girlfriend,” she continued, enjoying this far too much, “and then you went on and on about how much you love me.”

Your hands flew to your face. “Noooo.”

She laughed, pulling them away so she could kiss you. “It was adorable. And for the record, I love you too.”

Still mortified, you buried your face in her shoulder. She held you close, her body shaking slightly with laughter.

Yeah, you were never living this down.

#alexia x reader #woso fics #woso community #alexia putellas x reader #alexia putellas fanfic #barca femeni #woso #woso x reader #woso fanfics

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bitchy-craft · 2 days ago

Text

PICK A CARD: Your future spouse's animal type

Hello and welcome to this new reading! I will tell you what your future spouse’s animal type is. I hope you all enjoy it!

Masterpost > Paid Readings > Patreon Masterlist

The extended version of this reading can be found on my patreon, the link of which is here

pick a card

Pile 1:

Your future spouse is most definitely the wolf animal type. Wolf animal types are often seen as very strong individuals; both physically and mentally. They are known to be incredibly loyal to the people around them, particularly their spouses. You will never have to worry about a possible betrayal, and they will Always be there to support you no matter if you were right or wrong in the situation. They will stand there and lie with you if that is what you need in order to win the situation; they will absolutely do whatever it takes to protect you and help you. This type of animal spouse is definitely a nice fit for people who strive to have a successful career.

Extended reading

Pile 2:

Your future spouse is the fox animal type. This type is most known for their smooth talk and charming personality. They befriend everyone and everything; they know how to get on people’s good side with ease and will do so whenever it’s beneficial for them. They can be very mischievous, and don’t be surprised if they are constantly teasing you. Your future spouse will love to annoy you, get you a bit frustrated, and fuck around every once in a While. They love to see such expressions on your face; they absolutely adore it, especially whenever their actions cause you to blush heavily and be incredibly embarrassed.

Extended reading

Pile 3:

Your future spouse is the dog animal type. This type is very sweet and affectionate, they are adorable to everyone’s eye and will do everything in their power to make you happy. They are sensitive to your change in behaviour, and will immediately know if something is up. No matter what it is, they will do everything in their power to change the situation or make it at least a bit more bearable if not much can be changed about it. Your future spouse will love to bring you snacks and sit with you on the couch to cuddle as you both watch a movie. They are very easily pleased, and will always be happy as long as they are in the company of you.

Extended reading

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shomatoriashi · 2 days ago

Text

02/09/25; 09:40pm

sylus x fem.reader

obligatory tags: @voidsylus | @daturasflower | @madam8

warnings: mentions of nausea and vomiting.

you let out a sharp gasp of pain, feeling a dull ache forming against your temples as you struggled to keep your nausea at bay.

this had to be a migraine, one that was potent enough to make your stomach turn sour as your brain was felt pounding against the confines of your skull. your boyfriend had left momentarily to grab the groceries that had been delivered to your shared home-

leaving you feeling dizzy and alone as you braced yourself against the onyx counters. your vision had gone hazy, casting what looked like spider webs across your line of sight, your steps uneven when you attempt to walk into a nearby restroom.

you became dimly aware of heavy steps and a grunt of your name, a powerful pair of arms wrapped around your form to help with your balance. “sweetie, what’s wrong?”

you swallow thickly, struggling to get the words out, “sick… bathroom, now!”

needing no further urging from you, sylus picks up your form with ease, taking quick strides towards your master bedroom as he helped you brace yourself over the toilet. you hid your face, your dry heaves echoing throughout the area as you felt the contents of your lunch come out of you. along with the horrible sensation of puking your guts out, the intensity of your headache seemed to grow by a tenfold, leaving you drained and miserable by the end of it all.

sylus flushed the toilet, wiping at your face with a damp and warm handkerchief. he wipes at the corner of your mouth with concern shining within his rufescent eyes. “what happened? we ate the same meal for lunch-“

“migraine… it came suddenly.” you admit to him with a gasp, practically clinging to sylus’s broad chest when he carries you out of the bathroom and into your shared room.

“i told you that you needed to stop staying up so late, waiting for me. that migraine must have been triggered by your lack of sleep.” sylus gently scolds you, and you could only bring yourself to let out a soft whimper in response. clinging to the front of his shirt, you rest the side of your cheek against his chest, allowing sylus to settle you on top of the bed.

placing the comforter over your form, sylus disappears momentarily before coming back into the room with some medication and a cold bottle of water in hand. he takes out two white tablets and hands them to you, “take this. it should help with easing your pain.”

you nod, praying that your vision would return to normal soon when you place the tablets within your mouth. taking the bottle of water, you uncap it and drink as much as you could handle, making sure that you had swallowed the tablets.

a few minutes later, the webs finally dissipate from your vision while dimming down the harsh intensity of your migraine to a tiny simmer. your mind was clearer now, and you were able to see sylus’s smug face smirking down at you.

“hm, what’s got you grinning like that?” you ask while giving his chest a poke with your fingertip. he simply shakes his head, letting out a rich chuckle while grabbing a hold of your hand to place a kiss at the back of them. “nothing, sweetie, it’s just… i find it nice to see you depending so much on me. i could honestly get used to it.”

you roll your eyes at him, feigning annoyance while at the same time gripping his wrist. you pull him into the bed, and despite how laughable it was to think that you could ever overpower sylus-

he falls into the plush mattress with you, already taking you within his arms while rolling back into bed. feeling the sensation of his sweet kisses against your hair, you visibly relax while clinging to him. no words were spoken, yet you could feel the depths of his devotion for you through his actions alone.

perhaps you could get used to relying on him as well ♡

end notes: hhhhh i wanted to write and post something cute for valentine’s day for all the lads men, but i have a bad headache, so have some fluff with my favorite husband instead 😖

all stories are written by rei; please do not repost, plagiarize, or translate my works!!

#sylus qin x you #sylus qin x reader #sylus qin x y/n #sylus qin fluff #sylus x reader #sylus x you #sylus x y/n #sylus fluff #love and deepspace #love and deepspace sylus #lads x reader #lnds x reader #l&ds x reader #writings 📖

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sincerelybubbles · 2 days ago

Note

first time shy bay reader takes down a unsub like fighting wise and the team is all like that tiny soft thing just did that

soft hands, strong heart warnings: cannon-typical violence, child kidnapping, happy ending!!! paring: hotch x shy!reader wc: 6.9k

I really took this and RAN I hope u enjoy despite how long it took to finish <3

||||

It's been a long day. You woke up late after a night of restless sleep, already cranky, only to take the jet to help with a child kidnapping.

The jet hums low beneath your feet, a steady, thrumming vibration that does little to soothe the exhaustion creeping up your spine. Your fingers tighten around the file in your lap, eyes scanning over the unsub’s profile again and again, as if some new revelation might emerge if you look hard enough.

The case is grim. They always are, but something about children going missing twists a deeper, more painful knot in your stomach. A six-year-old girl, last seen playing in her own backyard before vanishing without a trace. The parents had been inside, only distracted for a few minutes. Just long enough.

Just long enough.

You shift in your seat, forcing yourself to unclench your jaw. Across from you, Spencer mumbles statistics about abduction timelines, but his voice fades into the background, white noise alongside the engine. Morgan and JJ are discussing the search grid, Emily nodding along, throwing in suggestions. Rossi and Hotch are quiet, deep in thought, but you can feel the weight of their presence.

You’re normally content to listen, to observe, but something sits uneasily in your chest. The tiredness, the frustration, the sheer helplessness that simmers every time a child is taken. You want to do something.

"Landing in twenty," the pilot calls back.

You swallow, fingers tightening around the case file one last time before closing it. Twenty minutes until you hit the ground running. Twenty minutes until you find the first real clue.

Twenty minutes until you bring her home.

As soon as the wheels touch down, the tension in your chest tightens like a coil, winding and waiting. You barely notice the shuffle of your teammates gathering their things, their quiet discussions about strategy and protocol. Your mind is elsewhere—on the little girl’s photo still burned into the back of your eyelids, on the parents who must be unraveling with fear, on the horrifying reality that she could already be lost.

You take a slow breath and try to shake the thought.

You’ve been doing this long enough to know that fear is useless if you let it swallow you whole. You need to focus. You need to trust the process.

The others move with ease, their routines carved into muscle memory. Morgan and Emily fall into step ahead, their hushed voices blending into the background noise. Reid flips through the file, lips moving soundlessly as he recites information under his breath. JJ is already on the phone, likely with the local PD, while Rossi speaks lowly with Hotch.

And then there’s you.

You feel the weight of your own presence—or lack thereof. You know you contribute, you know your skills are valuable, but you can’t shake the nagging feeling that you’re always just a few steps behind them. Not as seasoned as Rossi, not as commanding as Hotch, not as sharp as Spencer or as fearless as Morgan.

A breath. Then another.

You push forward, following them down the jet stairs into the thick summer heat. The moment the air hits you, heavy and humid, it cements something in your bones.

This isn’t about you.

It’s about the little girl who needs you to be better than your doubts.

You wipe your palms against your pants and fall in step beside Hotch, listening as he updates the team.

“The local PD has set up a command center near the family’s home,” he says, his voice steady, unshaken. “The father is cooperative. The mother is distraught, but JJ will work with her. We’ll split up—Reid, Morgan, and Emily will coordinate with local officers to rework the search grid. Rossi and I will speak to the parents.”

You wait, knowing your name is coming last.

Glancing down at you, Hotch says, “you’re with me.”

Something tightens in your chest. He doesn’t offer an explanation, but he doesn’t need to. You know he trusts you to handle difficult conversations, to read between the lines of grief and guilt.

You nod, and just like that, the team breaks apart, each of you moving toward the unknown.

You don’t know what’s waiting for you at that house.

But you know you’ll be ready.

||||

The car ride is quiet, the kind of silence that isn’t uncomfortable but sits thick between you and Hotch, filled with unspoken thoughts. The distant hum of the siren-free police escort ahead of you blends with the rhythmic tap of his fingers against the steering wheel—measured, thoughtful. You let the movement lull you for a moment, eyes blinking slowly as exhaustion presses against the backs of them.

He notices. Of course, he does.

“You didn’t sleep well last night,” he says, not a question, just a statement. His voice is softer than it was during the briefing, less BAU Unit Chief and more Aaron.

Your head tilts toward the window as if that will shield you from the knowing look you can feel on you. “I’m fine,” you say, though even to your own ears, it sounds weak.

Hotch doesn’t press immediately. He never does. Instead, he lets the silence stretch, lets the words settle between you before he tries again. “You’re running on empty.” His voice is even, but there’s a thread of concern woven through it.

You swallow, unsure of what to say. Because he’s right. You’re running on the fumes of caffeine and resolve, and you know better than anyone that’s not sustainable. But what else are you supposed to do? Sleep through the knowledge that a child is missing? That time is slipping through your fingers with every second you waste on rest?

“I can handle it,” you say, quieter this time, as if that will make it more true.

Hotch sighs, glancing at you briefly before returning his focus to the road. His jaw is set, but there’s no frustration in his expression—just understanding.

“I know you can,” he says, because he does. He’s seen you push through exhaustion before, seen you carry the weight of cases without breaking. But that doesn’t mean he likes watching you do it. “That doesn’t mean you should have to.”

His words settle somewhere deep, somewhere vulnerable you don’t often acknowledge. It’s been a long time since anyone has told you it’s okay to take a breath. That you don’t have to bear everything alone.

Hotch keeps his eyes on the road, but his voice drops just enough that it feels like a secret meant only for you. “You don’t have to be invincible.”

Something in your chest pulls tight at that. You open your mouth to respond, to deflect, but nothing comes out. Because what are you supposed to say? That you don’t know how to let your guard down? That you’re afraid if you stop moving, even for a second, the weight of everything will catch up to you?

You don’t have to say anything.

Hotch already knows.

Without a word, his hand drifts from the gear shift to rest gently on your knee—brief, grounding, a quiet reassurance before he returns it to the wheel. It’s nothing, and it’s everything.

You don’t thank him, but he doesn’t need you to.

You just sit in the quiet, and for the first time all day, you let yourself breathe.

The silence stretches, thick and heavy. You let yourself sink into it, into the warmth of the car, into the soft hum of the tires against pavement. But reality is cruel, unwilling to let you drift too far, and Hotch is still the one beside you—ever watchful, ever focused. He lets you rest, but only for so long.

“We’re working against the clock.” His voice slices through the quiet, steady but firm. “Every hour that passes, the chances of recovery drop. The parents received the ransom demand at six this morning, which means the kidnapper has been in control for over twelve hours now.”

You blink against the haze clinging to your mind, forcing yourself to straighten. The exhaustion dulls, edged out by the weight of the case settling back onto your shoulders. You know all of this. The case was laid out in agonizing detail back at Quantico, in the rushed debrief on the jet, but hearing it again—like this, in the dim glow of the dashboard lights, with Hotch’s voice carving it into your mind—it makes the pressure feel suffocating.

“The demand was for two hundred thousand,” you murmur, rubbing at your temple. “It’s not about the money.”

“No,” Hotch agrees. “If it were, the amount would be higher. The parents could afford more, and the unsub knows that.”

The word tastes bitter on your tongue before you even say it. “Control.”

Hotch nods, gaze fixed on the road ahead. “They’re enjoying this. They want to watch the parents suffer, to dangle the possibility of return in front of them just to pull it away.” His fingers flex against the wheel, and something flickers across his face—anger, maybe, or something darker. “They won’t give her back. Even if they get the money.”

You don’t respond immediately. You don’t have to. He’s right, and you both know it.

Your stomach twists.

A missing girl. Eight years old. Her favorite color is purple. She was last seen wearing her school uniform, a plaid skirt and white blouse, her hair tied into two braids with lavender ribbons. The ribbons feel like a knife in your ribs, something small and innocent and so utterly helpless.

You could still be too late.

The thought makes your pulse spike, your fingers curling against your thigh. Your mind is still slow from exhaustion, sluggish with the weight of too little sleep, but the dread cuts through it like a blade.

Hotch notices. Of course, he does.

His voice is quieter when he speaks again. “We still have time.”

You nod, but it feels hollow.

Time. Such a fickle, cruel thing. Time only matters if you can use it right.

Hotch exhales sharply through his nose, reading your silence for exactly what it is. He slows the car just slightly as the road curves, voice lowering even further. “We’re going to find her.”

You squeeze your eyes shut, just for a second. The words are meant to reassure, and maybe they do. Maybe they don’t. But he says them with certainty, and right now, that’s enough to cling to.

The tension is suffocating, coiling tight in the space between you. The lull in the conversation feels fragile, like it could shatter at any moment. You shift in your seat, trying to shake the haze from your mind, trying to prepare yourself for whatever comes next.

The case isn’t going to get easier.

And neither of you have the luxury of slowing down.

||||

Another hour passes. Time ticks, a constant reminder, and the team gathers together near the parents after yours and Hotch's initial interview.

The house feels hollow.

It’s not empty—far from it. The parents sit on the couch, pressed together like they’re trying to hold each other up, faces drawn and pale. Rossi and Prentiss hover near the windows, speaking in hushed tones as they wait for Garcia to dig up more on the family’s history. Reid sifts through financial records at the dining table, eyes flicking between printed bank statements and his own notes.

And then there’s Hotch.

He stands near the fireplace, arms crossed, brow furrowed in that way that means he’s thinking—assessing, planning, pulling every thread of the case into something solid. You’re beside him, posture tense, exhaustion settled deep into your bones. The interview had been long, draining. Watching the parents crumble under the weight of their own grief, their own fear, had been like standing in the center of an emotional storm with nowhere to go.

You haven’t spoken in a while. Not since you wrapped up the last of your questions and let the silence stretch, heavy with unsaid things.

The mother sniffles, curling further into herself. Her hands tremble where they clutch a framed photo of her daughter, fingers ghosting over the glass. “She—she’s afraid of the dark,” she whispers, voice wrecked. “She can’t sleep without her nightlight.”

You swallow past the lump forming in your throat.

The father rubs a hand over his face, drawing in a shuddering breath. “You’ll find her,” he says, more to himself than to any of you. “You have to.”

Before anyone can respond, the phone rings.

The room freezes.

For half a second, no one moves. The shrill sound cuts through the air, deafening, slicing through the fragile quiet with cruel precision. The mother gasps, clutching the picture frame tighter, and the father lurches forward like he might reach for the phone himself.

Hotch reacts first.

He turns to you, gaze sharp, controlled. “Answer it.”

Your heart lurches.

There’s no time to hesitate. You push forward, crossing the room in three quick strides, and lift the receiver before the call can go to voicemail.

“Hello?”

A low chuckle hums through the line. Slow. Calculated. The hairs on the back of your neck rise.

“You picked up,” the voice drawls, smooth as glass. “I was hoping you would.”

The breath you take is slow, measured. You adjust your grip on the receiver, grounding yourself in the weight of it.

“You were hoping I would,” you repeat, voice steady, even. There’s a slight edge to it now, a sharpness lurking beneath the surface. “That’s an interesting way to phrase it.”

Another chuckle, this one richer, like he’s savoring something. “You don’t sound like her mother.”

Your eyes flick toward the woman on the couch, shoulders shaking, husband gripping her hand in a white-knuckled hold.

“I’m not.”

“Hm. And here I was expecting tears. Begging.” A pause, deliberate. “Disappointment doesn’t even begin to cover it.”

You don’t react. You won’t give him that satisfaction.

Instead, you tilt your head slightly, mind working, peeling apart every word he says. He wanted the mother to answer. He wanted the display of fear, the helplessness. This is about control, about knowing he has the upper hand—not just over the little girl he stole, but over her parents, too.

But he didn’t get what he wanted. And that alone is a crack you can widen.

You exhale, slow, and when you speak, you lace your tone with something just shy of boredom. “Did you take her for attention?”

Silence. Then, “Excuse me?”

You lean against the desk, crossing one arm over your stomach, settling deeper into your stance. Your exhaustion fades, burned away by adrenaline, by the sharpness of your mind locking into place.

“I mean, the whole charade. Calling the parents, expecting tears—seems like you’re looking for something. Maybe validation? You want to feel powerful?” You hum, tapping your fingers against your arm. “Let me guess—you don’t get that very often.”

His breath sharpens.

You hit a nerve.

Good.

“I wouldn’t be so arrogant if I were you.” His voice darkens, but there’s something underneath it. Something unsettled. “You don’t know who you’re talking to.”

You let a beat of silence pass before responding, voice smooth. “You’re right. But I will.”

He doesn’t respond immediately. You imagine him, wherever he is, gripping the phone tighter, jaw clenching.

“You’re not as quiet as you think,” you continue, calm, firm. “Not as untouchable. You think you’re in control, but I promise you, this won’t end the way you expect it to.”

His breath catches, just barely.

He wasn’t expecting this.

You glance up. Hotch is watching you, unreadable, but there’s something behind his gaze—something steady, unwavering. Approval, maybe. A flicker of admiration.

The unsub exhales, long and slow, like he’s resetting himself. “I have to say,” he murmurs, voice smoother now, masking whatever crack you created. “You’re much more interesting than the mother. I might just keep you around.”

Your grip tightens slightly, but you don’t flinch.

Instead, you smile.

“Good,” you say, letting just a hint of a challenge seep in. “Because I’m not going anywhere.”

Silence stretches across the line, taut and expectant.

The unsub is recalibrating. You can almost hear the gears turning in his head, the way his initial fantasy—the one where he controlled every step of this conversation—has been thrown off course. He thought he’d be speaking to a broken woman, pleading and desperate. Instead, he’s getting you.

And you aren’t playing his game.

You hold steady, spine straight, fingers firm around the receiver. The air in the room feels thick, but your mind is sharp. Clear.

He exhales through his nose, an amused scoff. “You sound so sure of yourself.”

“I am.” The words slip out smoothly, unshaken.

A beat of silence. Then—

“That little girl is very polite,” he muses, shifting tactics. “Very quiet. She doesn’t cry as much as I expected.”

A test. A provocation.

Your stomach twists, but you don’t let it show.

Instead, you adjust your grip, tilting your head as if in casual conversation. “She’s smart, isn’t she?”

The unsub doesn’t answer right away.

“You wouldn’t know, would you?” you press, keeping your tone even, thoughtful. “Because you don’t really see her. She’s just an idea to you—a piece in your game. But she’s real. And she’s waiting for us to find her.”

His breath hitches—just for a fraction of a second, but you catch it.

He wasn’t expecting that.

“You like control,” you continue, relentless now, peeling back his layers with careful precision. “That’s why you called. You wanted to hear her mother break. But instead, you’re stuck with me. And the longer you stay on the phone, the more you’re giving me. I wonder if you’ve even noticed.”

A sharp inhale. You struck something deep this time.

“You think you’re clever,” he sneers, but there’s a shift in his voice—tension creeping in, subtle but unmistakable.

“I think you’re predictable.”

Silence.

It stretches so long, you think for a moment he might hang up.

Then, quietly, “You have no idea what I’m capable of.”

You press forward, voice steady, unwavering. “I know exactly what you’re capable of. And I also know this: you wouldn’t be calling if you didn’t want something.”

Another pause.

Then, softer, a low murmur, almost amused—almost admiring:

“I like you.”

Your pulse spikes, but you don’t let it show.

You force yourself to breathe slowly, evenly, like this is nothing more than an ordinary conversation. “Good,” you say simply. “Then maybe we can work something out.”

Another stretch of silence. Then:

“We’ll see.”

The line goes dead.

You lower the receiver slowly, pulse thrumming, the weight of what just happened settling over you like a heavy blanket.

“Garcia,” Hotch says immediately, voice cutting through the tense air as he brings his own phone to his ear.

“I’m here, I’m here, I’m working on it!” Garcia’s voice crackles through the speaker, high with urgency. “He’s using a burner—signal’s bouncing between towers. I’m trying to pin it down, but he’s slippery. Give me a sec.”

You exhale, pressing the phone to your sternum for a moment before setting it back on the receiver. The pressure of all the eyes in the room—Hotch’s, Morgan’s, Spencer’s—is suffocating. The energy, once hot and commanding while you had control of the conversation, shifts violently back to its usual state. Your shoulders curl inward before you even realize it, fingers fidgeting at the hem of your sleeve.

Morgan’s voice breaks through the thick tension first. “That was impressive, tiny.” His words are teasing, but his eyes are serious, scanning you in a way that makes your stomach twist. “Didn’t know you had it in you.”

You duck your head slightly, heat creeping up your neck. “It—It’s just the work.”

“She did well,” Hotch interjects, voice firm but calm, cutting off any further attention on you. There’s something final in the way he says it, like it’s not up for discussion. It settles something in your chest, just a little.

“Yeah, well, let’s hope it’s enough to find this guy,” Morgan mutters, hands settling on his hips as he shifts his focus back to Garcia. “Talk to me, baby girl. Tell me you got something.”

Garcia hums in frustration. “I’m working on it. He’s bouncing his signal like a kid on a trampoline. But, but, but—” she draws out, voice lilting, “he stayed on the line longer than last time. Which means he’s getting comfortable, which means he’ll do it again. And when he does…”

“We’ll be ready,” Hotch finishes, nodding.

Spencer, who’s been pacing subtly behind you, suddenly speaks up. “Did you hear the background noise?” He’s staring into the distance, gears turning, hand twitching slightly as he sorts through information at breakneck speed.

Morgan frowns. “What background noise?”

“There was a faint echo—small, but noticeable. It suggests he’s in a space with a lot of reflective surfaces. Could be a warehouse, a basement, maybe an abandoned building.”

“That narrows it down to about a hundred places,” Morgan replies dryly, crossing his arms.

“It’s something,” Spencer counters. “And if Garcia can get a radius from the signal—”

“Which I’m trying to do, but some of us aren’t literal human computers, Doctor Genius,” Garcia cuts in, voice full of affection despite the bite.

“We need him to call again,” Hotch says, shifting his attention back to the phone, back to you. “And when he does, we keep him talking even longer.”

You nod instinctively, but the weight of what just happened presses down harder now that the adrenaline is ebbing. You shrink back slightly, fingers twisting together, stepping just an inch closer to Hotch as the room moves around you.

On the other side of the room, Emily sits with the parents, her voice a steady murmur as she soothes the mother, who is shaking, hands clasped tightly in her lap.

“We’re going to find her,” Emily tells her, voice sure, unwavering. “I know this is unbearable. But your daughter is smart. And she’s strong. We will bring her home.”

The mother nods, but she’s glassy-eyed, staring past Emily as though seeing something far away. The father is stock still, hands fisted on his knees, jaw clenched so tight it looks painful.

The weight in the room is thick, suffocating.

Hotch glances at you, just briefly. His hand lifts for half a second—like he might touch your shoulder, reassure you—but he stops himself. Instead, he steps just the smallest bit closer. You feel the warmth of him beside you, steady, grounding.

The phone is going to ring again.

And when it does, you’ll be ready.

||||

The hours bleed together, each one a tightening noose around the room.

It’s been nearly twenty-four hours since the girl was taken.

The parents sit stiffly on the couch, eyes hollowed by exhaustion and fear. The mother hasn’t moved from her spot in hours, arms wrapped tightly around herself as if she’s holding herself together by sheer will. The father stares at the wall, jaw clenched, the muscle twitching every so often.

The team is quiet. Not still, not stagnant—but quiet.

Morgan paces, jaw tight, his fingers twitching at his sides. Spencer has a legal pad in his lap, the pages covered in scribbled notes and probabilities, but his pen has stilled. Emily leans against the doorway, arms crossed, eyes scanning the room, though there’s no real focus behind them. Garcia is still working, rapid keystrokes and occasional murmurs filtering through the speaker on the table, but even she sounds subdued.

And Hotch.

Hotch stands near the window, arms crossed, staring out at the darkened street. He’s gone still in a way that unsettles you—like a coiled wire, all wound tension and too-sharp focus.

You sit on the edge of the armchair, hands folded in your lap, fingers pressing tightly together. You feel small, not in the way you usually do—but in the way that makes your chest ache, in the way that reminds you how big the world is, how cruel.

Because the clock is running out.

You know the statistics.

If a child isn’t found within the first twenty-four hours, the likelihood of their survival plummets.

And you know everyone in this room knows it, too.

The air is thick with it, with the unspoken, with the weight of reality pressing in around you.

And then—

The phone rings.

The sound shatters the heavy silence, sharp and shrill. The mother gasps, her hands flying to her mouth. The father lurches forward as if he might grab it himself, but Hotch is already moving.

He snatches the receiver up, pressing it to his ear. “This is Agent Hotchner.”

A pause. His expression hardens.

He turns, holding the phone out to you.

Your stomach lurches, but you don’t hesitate. You push to your feet, moving on autopilot, reaching out and taking the phone, pressing it against your ear.

“Hello?” Your voice is steady. Quiet.

And on the other end of the line—

A slow, ragged breath.

Then—

Laughter. Low. Amused.

“You again.”

The hairs on the back of your neck stand on end.

“Yeah,” you murmur. “Me again.”

You grip the phone a little tighter, forcing yourself to stay steady. Every second that ticks by is precious—Garcia needs time to trace the call, and you need to pull as much information from him as possible.

The unsub breathes out another quiet laugh, like this is some kind of game.

“You’ve got a nice voice,” he muses, casual, unaffected. “Soft. Sweet. Not like the others.”

A muscle in your jaw ticks. You don’t react—don’t let him hear the revulsion curling in your stomach. That’s what he wants. A reaction. Control.

Instead, you let out a small, careful breath. “And what about her?” you ask, voice even. “Is she sweet, too?”

From behind the phone, Hotch shifts. You don’t look at him, but you can feel the weight of his gaze, hear the near-silent hum of approval at your angle. Keep him talking. Make it about the victim.

The unsub inhales sharply through his nose.

“She cries too much,” he mutters, tone shifting. “Won’t stop. Won’t listen.”

Your fingers press tighter around the receiver. You push past the disgust, past the flare of anger clawing at your ribs. You don’t have the luxury of emotion right now.

“You don’t like that,” you say carefully. “You just want her to listen.”

Hotch nods once, subtle. Encouraging.

The unsub exhales, slow, considering. “Yeah,” he murmurs. “Exactly.”

You risk a glance at Hotch. He holds your gaze, then mouths, Location. Push him on location.

You take a breath, then lean forward slightly, as if it will somehow ground you. “She can’t listen if she’s scared,” you say, keeping your tone gentle. “She’s just a kid. She doesn’t know what you want from her.”

Silence.

Your pulse hammers in your ears.

“You don’t want to hurt her,” you press, voice just a little softer now. “If you did, you would’ve done it already.”

Hotch’s gaze sharpens.

The unsub hums. “Maybe I just like having someone who listens.”

Your stomach turns.

Morgan paces a few feet away, tense and impatient, but Spencer is watching you closely now, eyes narrowed in thought.

Behind you, Garcia’s voice comes through the speaker, urgent but quiet. “Almost there,” she murmurs.

You grip the phone a little tighter.

“You don’t have to be alone,” you say, and you mean it in a way you don’t want to acknowledge. “But you know this isn’t the way to fix that.”

Another long beat of silence.

Then—

“She’s quiet now,” he says, almost proud. “She finally stopped crying.”

Something in your chest goes cold.

Hotch steps forward, just a fraction, voice low as he murmurs just loud enough for you to hear, “Ask him why.”

Your fingers twitch. You swallow once, pushing past the ice curling around your lungs.

“What changed?” you ask, keeping your voice even. “Why is she quiet now?”

The unsub sighs, almost dreamily.

“I helped her,” he murmurs. “I made it better.”

A sharp knock of dread slams into your ribs.

And then—Garcia’s voice, suddenly louder, urgent—

“I’ve got him.”

Chaos erupts around you the moment Garcia’s voice crackles through the speaker. The team is in motion—Morgan’s already halfway to the door, Spencer on his heels. Emily gives the parents one last firm reassurance before following.

Hotch doesn’t move. He stays close, his presence steady as a hand at the small of your back, silent but solid.

But you barely register any of it.

Your fingers tighten around the phone, knuckles aching.

“What do you mean, you helped her?” Your voice wavers, but you push forward, desperate. “Is she hurt?”

The unsub sighs again, like this is some slow, indulgent conversation instead of a nightmare. “You don’t listen very well,” he says, almost amused. “She was crying. I helped her stop.”

A cold dread drips down your spine, settling like lead in your stomach. Your breath hitches, throat tightening around panic.

Hotch takes a step closer, so near now that you can feel the quiet warmth of him, grounding. “Keep him talking,” he says, low and measured, though there’s an edge beneath it. “We’re almost there.”

Your pulse thrums loud in your ears, but you swallow, forcing your voice to stay steady. “Tell me how,” you say.

The unsub exhales, as if indulging you.

“I held her,” he murmurs. “Just for a little while. Let her cry it out. You’d be surprised how quickly they go quiet when they feel safe.”

Something about the way he says it—the ease, the fondness—makes your stomach churn.

“She’s safe, then?” you push, voice thin. “She’s still with you?”

A pause.

Then, the unsub chuckles. “Would it make you feel better if I said yes?”

Your fingers tighten so hard against the receiver that they hurt.

Hotch is still watching you, reading every minute shift in your expression, every small tremor in your voice. His gaze sharpens, but he nods. Keep going.

“I just need to know,” you whisper. “If she’s okay.”

The unsub hums, something almost pleased threading through the sound. “I think you care too much.”

Maybe you do. Maybe you always have.

But you don’t say that.

Instead, you inhale, slow and shaky, and push out, “I just want to make sure she’s not alone.”

Another pause.

And then—soft, quiet—

“She’s sleeping now.”

The exhale you let out is almost staggering.

Your eyes squeeze shut for half a second, shoulders sagging just slightly.

Hotch watches the tension shift in you, something unreadable flickering through his expression before his voice cuts through the receiver, low and firm. “We’re on our way.”

And for the first time, the unsub hesitates.

You hear it in the way his breath catches, in the faintest rustle of movement.

Hotch tilts his head, eyes locked onto yours as he mouths, Now.

You straighten.

“You don’t want this to end badly,” you say, and this time, there’s no fear in your voice, no desperation—just quiet, steady certainty.

“You want her safe,” you continue. “You want to be heard. And I hear you. But if you don’t let us help, if you don’t let her go—” Your voice lowers, soft but firm. “This won’t end the way you want it to.”

The unsub doesn’t respond right away.

For the first time, you think he might actually be listening.

The unsub doesn’t say another word.

The silence stretches too long, each second stretching, coiling like a wire pulled too tight.

Then—click.

The line goes dead.

You barely register the sharp breath you pull in.

Hotch doesn’t hesitate. “Let’s go.”

You don’t even realize you’re shaking until the phone slips from your hand, caught swiftly by Hotch before it can hit the ground. He presses it into your palm, fingers briefly covering yours, grounding you.

The moment breaks as he turns, striding toward the door. You force yourself to follow, feet moving before your brain fully catches up.

The house blurs past you in streaks of warm light and worried whispers—Emily’s voice soft as she steadies the mother, Spencer murmuring something to Garcia through his headset. Morgan is already outside, loading his gun.

You climb into the passenger seat of Hotch’s SUV, heart pounding too fast, too hard. The door slams shut, and then—motion.

The car surges forward.

The headlights cut through the darkness, the road a rushing streak of black and gold. Streetlights blur past. You grip the edge of your seat to stop your hands from trembling.

Hotch doesn’t speak right away, but you feel his eyes flicker toward you between glances at the road.

“You okay?” he asks at last.

You swallow hard, nodding. “Yeah.” It’s not a lie. Not really.

Because you don’t have time to think about how your hands won’t stop shaking, how the adrenaline crashes over you in dizzying waves, because none of it matters—not when a little girl is out there, waiting.

Not when you’re this close.

Hotch presses down on the gas, jaw set, gaze fixed ahead.

Neither of you say another word.

Not when you’re this close.

The SUV screeches to a halt behind the others, tires kicking up dust from the abandoned lot. Before Hotch even shifts into park, you’re unbuckling, reaching for your gun, muscles tensed and ready. The second your feet hit the ground, the cold night air burns in your lungs, but you don’t stop moving.

The unsub’s hideout looms ahead—an old auto body shop, rusted-out cars littering the perimeter like grave markers.

Morgan and JJ are already at the front, weapons drawn, pressing against the wall beside the garage door. Spencer lingers near the back with Garcia still in his ear, voice clipped and urgent. Emily signals you and Hotch over with a sharp tilt of her head.

“He’s inside,” she murmurs, barely above a whisper. “Garcia got a hit on the utility bill—only one active line. Place is condemned, but someone’s been paying to keep the power running.”

Hotch nods, eyes scanning the structure, piecing together the fastest way in, the safest route to the girl. You don’t realize you’re holding your breath until he speaks.

“Morgan, take the east side with Prentiss. JJ, cover the back with Reid.” His gaze cuts to you, unreadable in the dim light. “We take the front.”

Your fingers tighten around your gun. He doesn’t ask if you’re ready. He just knows.

You nod.

Morgan counts down on his fingers—three, two, one—

JJ and Reid disappear around the back. Morgan and Emily dart right.

Then—Hotch moves.

And you follow.

The door groans as he forces it open, but you barely register the sound before you’re inside. The air is thick with oil and rust, the scent clinging to the back of your throat. Somewhere deeper in the shop, a light swings, casting sharp shadows over the scattered tools and overturned furniture.

Then—movement.

A door slams. Footsteps, hurried.

Hotch is already moving toward the sound, gun raised. You cover his six, every nerve in your body firing at once. The walls are too close, the ceiling too low.

Then—a scream.

High. Frantic. Small.

You don’t think.

You move.

Hotch shouts your name, but you’re already sprinting, rounding the corner just as a metal door swings open. A blur of movement—a man, dragging the little girl with him, his grip bruising around her arm. She’s sobbing, twisting, trying to fight him off.

Rage lights through you like a match dropped in gasoline.

You raise your gun. “FBI! Let her go!”

The unsub whirls, yanking the girl in front of him like a human shield. “Stay back!” he barks, voice wild, desperate. His other hand dives for his belt—

A knife.

Your heartbeat slams against your ribs.

You don’t give yourself time to think.

You move.

Your gun lowers.

Your feet propel you forward.

The unsub barely has time to register the shift before you’re on him.

You grab his wrist, twisting hard—he yells, grip loosening just enough for the girl to stumble free. Hotch is there in an instant, scooping her up, shielding her behind him.

The unsub snarls, wrenching his arm free, his other hand swinging with the blade—

You duck.

Pivot.

Your elbow slams into his ribs. He grunts, staggering, but he’s fast. He twists, knife flashing—

A sharp sting.

Pain lances across your shoulder.

You hiss, but don’t falter.

Instead, you use it.

You let him think he has the upper hand. Let him shift his weight just enough—

Then—

You strike.

Your knee slams into his stomach. He doubles over—another sharp twist, and his arm is wrenched behind his back. The knife clatters to the floor.

A second later, his body follows.

You plant a knee between his shoulder blades, chest heaving, wrist cuffs already in your hands.

He thrashes beneath you, but it’s useless. He’s done.

The adrenaline fades in sharp, ringing waves.

Then—Hotch’s voice, steady, sure.

“You okay?”

You finally look up.

The girl is clinging to him, small fingers curled tight into his shirt. Her eyes, red-rimmed and wide, lock onto yours.

You manage a nod. “Yeah.”

And for the first time in hours—maybe in days—

You believe it.

The ringing in your ears fades, replaced by the sharp sound of the unsub’s heavy breathing beneath you. His fight is gone, limbs slack against the cold concrete. You barely feel the sting in your shoulder now, too focused on the small, trembling girl clinging to Hotch’s side.

Her sobs have quieted, but her little body is still wracked with tiny, shuddering breaths. Her fingers stay twisted in the fabric of Hotch’s suit, white-knuckled, like if she lets go, she might disappear all over again.

You move before you can think, hands still shaking as you lift yourself off the unsub.

“Hey, sweetheart,” your voice is softer than you expect, almost drowned out by the distant sound of sirens. “You’re safe now.”

She blinks up at you, eyes glossy, bottom lip wobbling. The fear is still there, lingering, stitched into every muscle of her small frame. She doesn’t let go of Hotch, but she looks at you, really looks at you, as if trying to figure out whether she can believe you.

Hotch murmurs something low and reassuring, and after a few more rapid breaths, she hesitates—then releases his jacket, reaching for you instead.

The shift is instant. Your arms wrap around her tiny frame, her warmth pressing into you, her face burying into your shoulder. She still smells like the remnants of whatever cheap detergent clings to her pajamas, mixed with the salty traces of tears.

“You did so good,” you whisper, rubbing slow, gentle circles along her back. “You were so brave.”

Her small hands fist into the fabric of your shirt. You feel her exhale, a long, shaky breath against your collarbone. She’s exhausted, clinging to the safety of your arms like a lifeline.

Hotch’s presence lingers beside you, solid and steady. His hand brushes light against your back, grounding, a quiet reassurance that you did well, that she’s okay.

That you’re okay.

The sirens grow louder. But for now, you just hold her, murmuring soft reassurances into her hair, letting her feel safe, letting her know she’s not alone.

And as she finally relaxes, small body growing heavier with exhaustion, you know—

She believes you.

||||

The jet hums softly beneath you, a low, steady vibration that should lull you into sleep, but adrenaline still lingers in your veins. The weight of exhaustion is creeping in, though, settling in your limbs, making your muscles ache in a way that’s oddly satisfying.

Across from you, Morgan is still shaking his head, his arms crossed over his chest. “Nah, nah, nah. There’s no way. You’re messing with me.”

Emily grins, elbowing him in the ribs. “Oh, it happened. I was there. It was beautiful.”

Morgan points at you, eyes squinting in suspicion. “I need a play-by-play. Right now.”

You shift uncomfortably, glancing at the others for help, but Spencer—Spencer of all people—looks offended.

“You took him down physically?” His brows are furrowed, arms crossed, and it’s the closest you’ve ever seen him to pouting. "I thought you me and Garcia were together as physical-dodgers."

“I—” You open your mouth to remind him of the plenty of times he's gotten into fights with unsubs, but Emily cuts you off.

“She did it so smoothly,” she says, eyes practically sparkling with pride. “Just wham, and he was down.” She claps her hands together for emphasis, making Morgan flinch.

Rossi chuckles, sipping from his ever-present glass of scotch. “Kid, I gotta say, I didn’t think you had it in you.” His tone is warm, amused—proud. “That was some impressive work.”

Morgan groans dramatically, shaking his head again. “Man, I thought you didn’t even work out.”

You blink at him. “I—I do.”

He throws his hands up. “Since when?”

“I don’t know?” You shrug, suddenly self-conscious. “Always?”

Hotch hasn’t said much, but you can feel his gaze, steady and unreadable, watching the conversation unfold. When you risk a glance at him, his expression softens just enough for you to catch it—the quiet admiration, the almost-smile playing at the corner of his lips.

He’s proud.

That thought alone sends warmth creeping up your neck.

Morgan groans again, dragging a hand down his face. “This is ridiculous. I need to reevaluate everything I know about you.”

Emily leans back, smug. “Should we start placing bets on who she’s gonna take down next?”

Spencer mutters something about unfair advantages, and Rossi laughs into his drink. The conversation shifts, the teasing continues, and even as your body finally starts to relax, letting the exhaustion settle in, you can’t help but steal another glance at Hotch.

His eyes meet yours, and for just a second, there’s something unspoken between you. Something warm, something steady. Something good.

You look away before you can dwell on it, but the feeling lingers, settling somewhere deep in your chest.

Home.

#bubbs.writes #x reader #fluff #criminal minds x reader #aaron hotchner #hotchner x reader #hotchner x you #hotch x reader #aaron hotchner x female reader #aaron hotchner fluff #aaron hotchner fanfic #hotch #hotchner #hotchner x shy!reader #aaron hotchner fanfiction #ssa aaron hotchner #Aaron hotchner x shy!reader

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gabseyoo · 3 days ago

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FIFTEEN SECONDS — SAKUSA KIYOOMI

content: female reader, friends to lovers, love confession, fluff, bit of comedy. word count: 1,2k.

note: here’s a little something for valentine’s day, hope you like it!

What should I say?

“Here.” No, too dry.

“Here, it’s for you.” Shit, still too dry.

“I bought this for you, I hope you like it.” Okay, that one wasn’t so bad.

For the past ten minutes, Kiyoomi had been locked in a brutal staring contest with the small black box sitting on the café table. The thing wasn’t even looking at him, and yet he was the one losing.

This was ridiculous. He was ridiculous.

He had bought the damn gift two weeks ago. Two weeks of overthinking, of waiting for the perfect moment, of nearly shoving it to the back of his closet out of sheer nerves. But then Valentine’s Day crept up on him, and he thought—maybe this was fate giving him a chance.

Or setting him up for humiliating rejection.

Kiyoomi had rehearsed this moment in his head. And still, here he was, breaking into a nervous sweat over a bracelet. What if you didn’t like it? What if you thought it was stupid? What if you liked someone else?

Then, in the middle of his internal crisis, a familiar voice nearly made him jump.

“Hey, Kiyoomi.”

He looked up so fast he almost knocked the gift off the table. There you were, standing in front of him with that impossibly pretty smile, your presence alone enough to make his pulse go haywire.

“Did you already order, or should I—?” You asked as you sat down in front of him.

“I already did.” He forced his voice to stay steady. “Iced latte with two shots of vanilla, right?”

Your smile grew. “You know me so well.”

Yeah, because I’m hopelessly in love with you.

The words were right there. On the tip of his tongue.

Relax, Kiyoomi. Ease into it.

That was the smart thing to do. You didn’t just shove a confession at someone out of nowhere—there should be a conversation first, something natural.

“So, uh…” He wracked his brain for something—anything—normal to say. “How’s work?”

You blinked, caught off guard. “It’s fine?”

What the hell was that, Kiyoomi? It was comical how his calm and collected personality seemed to disappear at this moment when he needed it most. Was love always this complicated? Or was it because it was about you?

You tilted your head. “Are you okay?”

No. No, he was absolutely not okay. His fingers tapped anxiously against the small box. The longer he waited, the worse this was getting. His nerves were eating him alive. He could already feel the impending doom of chickening out.

Screw it.

With zero transition or warning, he grabbed the box and shoved it across the table. “Here.”

Goddamn it.

You blinked in surprise. “For me?”

A stiff nod. This was fine. You’d open it, love it, and then he’d tell you. Smooth. Simple. Foolproof.

Except…

You were taking your sweet time untying the ribbon.

Kiyoomi clenched his jaw, resisting the urge to do it for you. Why were you so slow? Was this some kind of test? Did you already know he was panicking and just wanted to see him suffer?

Finally, you lifted the lid. Your lips parted as you took out the delicate silver bracelet, the small star charm catching the café’s warm light.

“Oh, Kiyoomi…” You breathed. “It’s beautiful.”

His fingers twitched under the table as your eyes widened slightly. “Wait… this is—”

Kiyoomi looked away, pretending to be fascinated by the café menu on the wall. “Yeah.”

Your fingers traced the charm, realization dawning. “This is the bracelet from that shop at the mall, isn’t it?”

He cleared his throat. “Maybe.”

You turned to him, eyes suspiciously bright. “You went back for it?”

Kiyoomi picked up his coffee, taking a slow sip as if that would somehow make this moment less humiliating. “You wouldn’t stop staring at it.”

“I looked at it for like, five seconds.”

“It was at least fifteen.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “You’re unbelievable.”

This was it. The perfect moment.

He took a breath, preparing to say the words that had been stuck in his chest for way too long.

“I—” He began, but the words he had rehearsed for days were interrupted when a waiter appeared at the table.

“Here’s your order! One vanilla iced latte and one black coffee.”

Kiyoomi clenched his jaw so hard he thought he might crack a tooth. Not now, man.

He nodded stiffly as you thanked the waiter. Okay, fine. Minor setback.

“What were you saying?” You asked after the guy turned around, taking a sip from your drink.

His heart was about to beat out of his chest. Now. Now is the time. Just say it: I like you.

Kiyoomi opened his mouth, determined to do it, but then—

“Do you need any sugar?”

Oh my god.

Kiyoomi glared at the waiter. Who was back. Did this man have a vendetta against his love life?

He mumbled a half-hearted, “No, thanks.”

“Cream?”

“No, thanks.”

“Any appetizer? We have a special red velvet cake because of Valentine's Day.”

Was this a joke?

“We’re fine.”

“Actually, I want a slice of cake.” You said.

Before the waiter could leave, Kiyoomi muttered, “Make that two.”

The guy finally left, and he was beginning to get irritated by his bad luck.

Just do it now! He scrambled at himself mentally.

“Y/N, I bought–” He hurried to say, but then the loud hiss from the blender machine drowned out his voice.

Was this the universe making fun of him?

By now, he was one more interruption away from actually losing it. So, ignoring the annoying noise, he decided to just keep going, “I bought this because–”

“Oh! Look at that dog outside.”

Kiyoomi stopped mid-sentence as you turned to the window, grinning at a fluffy golden retriever wagging its tail on the sidewalk. Are you serious?

But, when he turned back to you, you were watching him with amusement.

You two made eye contact for a few seconds, he blinked, you blinked, and then— you laughed.

He narrowed his eyes suspiciously. “What?”

You smirked. “Kiyoomi, don’t be so shy.”

His stomach dropped.

“I like you too.”

For a full three seconds, his brain just ceased to function.

You… what?

His ears burned. His grip tightened on his cup. His entire soul left his body. “You knew?”

You giggled, tapping his hand lightly. “Of course. I actually got something for you too.”

You reached into your bag and pulled out a small gift box, setting it on the table in front of him. Kiyoomi tried—really tried—not to look too eager as he picked it up and carefully lifted the lid.

Inside was a watch. The watch. The one he had lingered on in the mall that day.

“You looked at it for at least fifteen seconds.” You teased, a knowing smile playing on your lips.

Kiyoomi froze. His fingers tightened around the box as the realization sank in.

You had noticed. Just like he had noticed you staring at the bracelet. You both had thought of each other.

For a moment, he couldn’t speak. His throat felt tight, his chest oddly warm. He looked up at you, something soft, something real in his gaze.

“This is—”

“Here they are! Two slices of red velvet cake!”

Kiyoomi visibly twitched.

Oh, come on!

#𐀔 — mar wrote this.#— drabbles #— hq #sakusa kiyoomi #sakusa kiyoomi x reader #sakusa kiyoomi x you #sakusa x you #sakusa x reader #sakusa drabble #sakusa imagines #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu fluff #haikyuu x you #msby fluff #msby x reader

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writingsoftarnishedsilver · 2 days ago

Text

Polyjuice Potion | Sebastian Sallow x Reader

Part Two

← Read Part One

Back by popular demand! I was actually laughing while I wrote this so I hope y'all do too. This is so fucking silly bahahahah poor sebastian. except not really at all, it's so fun torturing him HAH

I will add as an aside, that since this is set in fifth year, I won't be doing a part three since I never write intimate scenes between characters unless they are 18+. Thanks for respecting this boundary!

Words: ~5,800

Tags: Reader Insert, Female MC, No Y/N, No Hogwarts House, Humor

Sebastian Sallow was going to die.

He was sure of it. Whether by expulsion, an arranged marriage, or sheer embarrassment, his demise was imminent.

The rest of the day had been a blur. He barely absorbed a word of his lectures, nearly set his robes on fire in Potions, and had been so lost in thought at lunch that he nearly took a bite out of his goblet instead of his sandwich.

He was spiraling.

He replayed the conversation with Black over and over, trying to decide which part had been the most damning. The secluded alcoves? The suggestion of a scandal? The casual mention of a baby?!

But the worst part—the part that made his stomach twist itself into impossible knots—was the marriage comment.

A proper arrangement. Ensuring the integrity of all involved parties.

Sebastian could barely breathe just thinking about it. Would Black actually force him into it? Could he? He still wasn’t sure what the school’s policies were when it came to these things.

And the worst part—the absolute worst part—was that he couldn’t even properly deny Black’s accusations.

Because you had been sneaking off together. And it had been improper. Very improper.

Sebastian ran a hand down his face.

Merlin’s bloody beard.

What if Black had proof?

Sebastian’s brain short-circuited so violently at the thought that he nearly tripped over his own feet.

No. Absolutely not. He wasn’t ready to even think about that.

Sebastian needed to talk to you. Immediately.

You were the only other person involved in this mess—aside from the bloody headmaster—which meant you were his only hope of figuring out how deep this disaster went.

Did Black speak to you? Did he give you the same accusations? Did he mention marriage?!

Sebastian stormed through the halls, half-aware of students and portraits giving him odd looks as he passed. His usual easygoing confidence was nowhere to be found. He was on a mission.

When he finally spotted you sitting in the Great Hall, completely at ease, not a single ounce of concern on your face, he nearly collapsed with relief.

Then he narrowed his eyes.

Why were you so calm?

How were you not losing your mind over this?

Unless…

Oh, no.

Maybe Black hadn't spoken to you yet. And if you didn’t know yet...

Sebastian’s breath caught.

He was going to have to break this humiliating, horrible, life-ruining news.

And there was no dignified way to do it.

Taking a steadying breath, he strode up to you, his pulse hammering in his throat.

“Hey,” he greeted, voice as casual as he could make it.

You turned to him with an easy smile. “Hey.”

Sebastian stared at you, waiting—praying—for some sign of recognition. Some hint that you already knew what he was about to say.

But you just looked at him expectantly, utterly unaware of the existential crisis unfolding inside him.

His stomach sank.

Oh, fuck. You really don’t know.

Sebastian swallowed, suddenly unsure how to even begin.

“So,” he started, voice tight. “How was your day?”

You blinked at him. “Fine. Yours?”

Sebastian let out a sharp, humorless laugh. “Could’ve been better.”

You hummed, tilting your head at him. “Oh? Something on your mind?”

Sebastian just stared.

Something on his mind? Something on his mind?!

Did you have any idea the kind of mental gymnastics he had been performing all day?

He dragged a hand through his hair, forcing his voice to stay even. “Did… Black speak to you today?”

You blinked, brow furrowing. “The Headmaster?”

“Yes.”

Your frown deepened. “Why would he?”

Sebastian’s pulse spiked.

Oh, fuck. Oh, fuck, oh, fuck, oh, fuck—

“Well.” He exhaled sharply. “I don’t know. But he, uh, might’ve mentioned you.”

You tilted your head, expression unreadable. “Oh? And why would he do that?”

Sebastian felt sick.

“That’s… not important,” he muttered. “Did he seem… suspicious of you?”

You shrugged. “Not that I noticed.”

Sebastian’s stomach was in knots. “Right. Right. That’s good.”

You studied him, your expression flickering just slightly—too observant.

“Why?” you asked, ever so innocent. “Did something happen?”

Sebastian let out a sharp, humorless laugh. “Happen? No, no, nothing happened, just that the bloody Headmaster of Hogwarts apparently thinks we’ve been—”

Your brows lifted, lips twitching in a way that made him deeply uneasy.

“Been…?”

Sebastian groaned, resisting the urge to physically collapse.

“Black thinks we’ve been sneaking off to do improper things,” he muttered, low and fast.

Your lips parted slightly. “What would give you that impression?”

Sebastian scowled. “Oh, I don’t know,” he said flatly. “Maybe the fact that he directly accused me of it. And then had the audacity to start talking about marriage.”

You made a strangled noise.

Sebastian’s eyes narrowed. Had you just laughed?

No. No, surely not—

You cleared your throat. “And what did you say?”

Sebastian let out a sharp breath. “I—I denied it, obviously! But he just kept pushing, talking about consequences and reputation and—”

He was spiraling again. Before he could stop himself, the words tumbled out:

“Look, I swear I would never ruin your future like that—unless you wanted me to, I mean—wait, no, that's not what I meant, just that—”

Sebastian froze. His entire life flashed before his eyes.

Your expression barely wavered. Barely.

But he saw it.

The flicker of amusement. The way your lips twitched. The way you were struggling— visibly struggling—to hold back laughter.

Sebastian’s stomach dropped. His entire body went rigid.

“What?” he demanded.

You shook your head too quickly. “Nothing.”

“No. No, not nothing.” He studied your face closely. “You’re enjoying this!"

You shrugged, playing innocent. “Enjoying what?”

Sebastian groaned, rubbing a hand over his face. “Merlin, I’m going to lose my mind.”

You just patted his shoulder. “Sebastian… we have been sneaking off to do improper things.”

Sebastian swallowed, hard. “Yes, well—” His voice cracked. He cleared his throat violently. “That��s— I mean— Not that I— We weren’t—”

You grinned. “Oh? What was that? We weren’t what?”

Sebastian’s brain short-circuited. His entire spine burned, every memory of exactly what the two of you had been up to flashing through his mind at lightspeed.

The Undercroft. The hidden corridors. The darkened corners of the library. The breathless, desperate whispers beneath the canopy of the Forbidden Forest.

And now Black was onto him.

Sebastian groaned, gripping his hair. “Oh, for Merlin’s sake—this isn’t funny!"

You beamed at him. “It’s a little funny.”

“It’s not.”

“It is.”

Sebastian dropped his hands, exhaling sharply. “I hate you.”

You giggled. Actually giggled. “No, you don’t.”

Sebastian clenched his jaw. He was so close to losing his mind. “I might.”

You patted his cheek. “Keep telling yourself that, darling.”

Sebastian froze. You had never called him that before. His entire body locked up. His thoughts derailed completely.

You, unbothered, turned on your heel and started toward the entrance of the Great Hall.

Sebastian stared after you, unmoving.

It took him a full five seconds to realize he was still standing there, completely useless, thoughts looping in an endless, embarrassing cycle.

And then, as if his day couldn’t get any worse—

A voice drawled behind him.

“Well. That was painful to listen to.”

Sebastian whipped around.

Ominis stood a few feet away, arms crossed, his usual neutral expression tinged with something suspiciously close to amusement.

Sebastian groaned, dragging both hands down his face as he stumbled toward the nearest bench and all but collapsed onto it. He slumped forward, resting his elbows on his knees, staring blankly at the ground as if he could will himself out of existence.

Ominis, still wearing that annoyingly neutral expression, walked over at a much more measured pace and lowered himself onto the bench beside him.

Sebastian exhaled sharply, rubbing his temples. “I don’t get it.”

Ominis hummed, tilting his head slightly. “That’s hardly a surprise.”

Sebastian scowled at him. “I mean her.” He gestured vaguely toward the exit, where you had disappeared moments ago, completely unbothered by what should have been a catastrophic situation.

“She’s amused,” Sebastian muttered, half to himself. “She’s enjoying this. Why?”

Ominis considered for a moment, then exhaled through his nose. “Well,” he said, his voice slow, patient—annoyingly reasonable—“to be fair, you did a terrible job explaining why this is an actual problem.”

Sebastian blinked at him. “Excuse me?”

Ominis turned his head toward him, a single brow arching. “Think about it. You just ambushed her out of nowhere, looking like a deranged madman, started rambling about Black and improper behavior, and then, instead of clearly conveying the very real threat to your future, you panicked so hard that you practically proposed to her.”

Sebastian groaned again, louder this time. “That is not what happened.”

Ominis smirked slightly. “That is exactly what happened.”

Sebastian waved a hand, desperate to move past that particular humiliation. “Fine, whatever. But she should still be worried. Black is onto us. He’s already talking about arranged marriages—”

“Is he?” Ominis interrupted, ever-so-slightly skeptical.

Sebastian gawked at him. “You were there! You heard him!”

Ominis inclined his head slightly. “I was there, yes. But let’s be rational about this, Sebastian.”

Sebastian scoffed. “Oh, great, here comes the ‘rational’ lecture.”

“You and her have been sneaking off together, and to the best of your knowledge, no one has caught you. And then, suddenly, Black of all people, corners you, accuses you, and starts spewing about ‘respectable arrangements’ without a shred of actual proof."

Sebastian frowned. “What's your point?"

Ominis tilted his head slightly, replaying the conversation in his mind. “I mean that Phineas Nigellus Black has never once given a single damn about student affairs. Not once in the years we’ve been here. He barely even tolerates his job as it is. And yet today he suddenly decides to take a keen interest in your extracurricular activities? And not just an interest, but one so pressing that he practically corners you in broad daylight and starts talking about marriage?”

Sebastian frowned deeper, his hands resting on his knees. He hated to admit it, but… Ominis had a point.

“That does seem… uncharacteristically involved of him,” Sebastian admitted, chewing his lip.

Ominis nodded once. “Exactly. It’s suspicious.”

Sebastian shook his head, running a frustrated hand through his hair. “Alright, fine. But maybe—maybe, I don't know, maybe Garreth ran his mouth in the vicinity of a Professor and it got back to Black?”

Ominis considered this for a moment, then shook his head. “If that were the case, it still wouldn’t explain his reaction. He’d have let that Professor handle it, or sent you a warning through a letter—he wouldn’t waste time personally terrorizing you.”

Sebastian exhaled sharply. “So what are you saying, then?”

Ominis’ brows furrowed slightly. “I’m saying something about this doesn’t make sense.

Sebastian frowned. “Maybe not, but he is an odd man. Who knows what goes on in his head.”

Ominis was silent for a long moment, then—slowly, so slowly—his lips curved into something dangerously close to amusement.

“Oh, this is good,” he murmured, tilting his head as though savoring the realization.

Sebastian snapped his head toward him. “Excuse me?”

Ominis let out a short breath—not quite a laugh, but something suspiciously close. “Oh, come now, Sebastian. Think about it. There’s no way it was actually Black. He knew far too much about the specific details of your late night rendezvous. The only logical conclusion is that someone must have impersonated Black. Someone who knows you. Obviously one of our friends went through the absolute ordeal of brewing a Polyjuice Potion just to terrorize you.”

Sebastian’s eyes narrowed. “He did know a lot about where precisely we’ve snuck off to… the library, hidden alcoves...”

“Exactly,” Ominis said, clearly entertained.

Sebastian growled in frustration, pushing off the bench to stand. His blood was boiling. Ominis was right.

The fucking audacity.

His mind raced, already running through the short list of people who were both deranged enough and competent enough to pull this off.

And one name immediately shot to the top of his list.

“Garreth.”

Ominis, still looking entirely too pleased, lifted a brow. “Hmm?”

“It’s got to be Garreth.”

Ominis exhaled, leaning back slightly against the bench. “And what, exactly, makes you so certain?”

Sebastian threw out a hand. “Are you kidding? He’s been up my arse all week, badgering me for details about—” He cut himself off.

Ominis smirked. “About?”

Sebastian gritted his teeth. “About… things.”

Ominis’ smirk deepened. “Oh, I’m well aware of your things, Sebastian.”

Sebastian groaned. “Shut up.”

Ominis hummed, utterly unbothered.

Sebastian paced in front of him, hands in his hair, his entire body tense with fury.

“I’ve been telling him way too much,” Sebastian muttered, seething. “I knew I shouldn’t have let my guard down. But he kept asking, and I figured, what’s the harm? It’s not like he’d—”

He stopped short, realization hitting him like a brick.

“…Wait.” Sebastian’s eyes widened. “That absolute MENACE.”

Ominis lifted a brow. “What?”

Sebastian turned back to him, looking truly unhinged now. “He’s been gloating about a new potion all week.”

Ominis’ smirk vanished.

Sebastian pointed at him, vicious with victory. “He said—and I quote—‘Oh, it’s a special project. I’ll tell you about it when the time is right.’”

Ominis actually winced. “Oh.”

“Oh?” Sebastian mimicked, mocking. “Oh? Yeah, Ominis, oh. The bastard’s been cooking up a Polyjuice Potion for weeks, and I didn’t even see it. I played right into his hands. Merlin’s beard.”

Ominis considered this for a moment. Then: “That’s… actually quite impressive.”

Sebastian nearly exploded.

“DON’T ENCOURAGE HIM!”

Ominis snorted. “Oh, come on. You have to admit—it’s kind of brilliant.”

Sebastian whirled back around, pacing furiously. “I’m going to kill him.”

Ominis chuckled.

“No, I’m serious,” Sebastian hissed. “I am going to personally, violently, and enthusiastically end Garreth Weasley’s entire bloodline.”

Ominis shook his head, but he was clearly entertained.

Sebastian’s mind was already racing with vengeance. Garreth wanted to play games? Fine. Sebastian would play. And Garreth Weasley was about to regret every single life choice that had led him to this moment.

Headmaster Phineas Nigellus Black had many regrets in life.

Taking the position as Headmaster of this cursed institution was certainly among them.

There were only so many years a man could tolerate insufferable teenagers, incompetent professors, and Ministry interference before he began to wonder whether he had been cursed by some malevolent higher power.

And now—now—on top of it all, he had to deal with this.

He had been enduring—not enjoying, enduring—his evening tea in his office when Professor Sharp casually mentioned something that instantly ruined his entire day.

“So. About this marriage arrangement of yours.”

Black had, understandably, nearly choked to death on his own tea.

Sharp, ever unbothered, merely watched him struggle, raising a single brow in mild disinterest.

Black coughed violently, pounding a fist against his chest, before spluttering, “My WHAT?”

Sharp had the audacity to look unimpressed.

“I assumed it was a joke,” he said, calm as ever. “But it’s already making the rounds among the students, so I thought I’d ask before it reaches the parents.”

Black stared at him. It took an impressive amount of effort for him not to throw something.

“…Please explain,” he said through gritted teeth.

Sharp tilted his head. “There’s a rumor circulating that you threatened Sebastian Sallow with an arranged marriage.”

Black froze. The words did not compute.

“What.”

Sharp, utterly unconcerned, took a sip of his tea. “Something about improper behavior, a scandal, and the need for a ‘respectable arrangement.’”

Black’s eye twitched.

“Why,” he began, voice tight, “would I ever, in any universe, concern myself with the sordid affairs of adolescent imbeciles?”

Sharp exhaled, as if he, too, was burdened by the weight of other people’s idiocy.

“That,” he said, setting his tea down, “is an excellent question.”

Black rubbed his temples. He had much better things to do than play wedding officiant to a bunch of lovesick idiots. Which meant someone—some absolute fool—had used his name in vain.

And Black was going to find out who.

“Summon Weasley,” he snapped.

Sharp inclined his head. “Garreth or Matilda?”

Black paused. Then, slowly, a deep sense of dread filled him.

“…Both,” he muttered.

And thus, his investigation began.

Garreth Weasley was about to have a very bad day.

He just didn’t know it yet.

Currently, he was completely at ease, perched on the edge of a courtyard fountain, chatting animatedly with a group of Hufflepuffs. His hands were moving wildly, eyes bright with mischief, completely unaware that his life expectancy had just significantly shortened.

Because Sebastian Sallow was on the warpath.

With Ominis reluctantly trailing behind him, Sebastian marched across the courtyard, his eyes locked onto his target like a predator about to tear its prey to shreds.

“Garreth Weasley!”

The Hufflepuffs startled.

Garreth turned his head, blinking in surprise as Sebastian stormed toward him, seething with righteous fury.

“Ah, Sebastian,” Garreth greeted, flashing his usual easy grin. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

Sebastian didn’t stop until he was right in front of him, glaring so hard it was a miracle Garreth’s hair didn’t catch fire on the spot.

“You know damn well why,” Sebastian growled.

Garreth blinked. “...I don’t, actually.”

Sebastian leaned in, voice low and dangerous. “Drop the act, Weasley. We know.”

Garreth, to his credit, didn’t falter.

“Know what, exactly?” he asked, tilting his head.

Sebastian scoffed. “Oh, don’t play dumb. You used a Polyjuice Potion to impersonate Black and humiliate me,” he snapped. “Admit it.”

Garreth’s brows lifted. “I did what?”

Sebastian narrowed his eyes. “Oh, don’t.”

“I’m serious,” Garreth said, now actually looking intrigued. “Someone turned into Black? That’s brilliant.”

Sebastian made a noise that was not human.

Ominis sighed. “Garreth, please. Just confess so Sebastian doesn’t do something regrettable.”

Garreth scoffed. “You think I’d waste a whole month on a potion just to mess with Sallow?”

Sebastian’s eye twitched.

“YES.”

Garreth paused. “…Okay, fair. But I didn’t.”

Sebastian stabbed a finger into his chest. “You’ve been asking questions, Weasley. About—about my, my nightly... routine. And— and gloating about a special potion.”

Garreth looked entirely too delighted. “Wait, someone impersonated Black and then they interrogated you about your sex life?”

Sebastian’s rage doubled. “I’m going to strangle you.”

Ominis rubbed his temples. “Sebastian, perhaps—”

“NO.” Sebastian cut him off, eyes still locked on Garreth. “I am not leaving until this idiot admits—”

“Mr. Sallow.”

A new voice. One that sent an icy chill down all their spines.

Sebastian turned slowly.

There, standing just a few feet away, expression unreadable, was Professor Sharp, and beside him, arms crossed, lips pressed into a thin line, was Professor Weasley.

Then, after a long pause, Sharp spoke.

“Well,” he said dryly, eyes flicking between them. “It seems you’ve come to the same conclusion as the Headmaster regarding who exactly impersonated him this morning.”

Sebastian froze.

Sharp’s gaze shifted.

To Garreth.

The Gryffindor, who had been watching the exchange with mild amusement, suddenly looked deeply alarmed.

“What?” he said, blinking rapidly. “No, no, no. I didn’t—”

Professor Weasley let out a heavy sigh. “Garreth.”

Garreth turned to her, eyes wide with betrayal. “Aunt Matilda, I swear, I did not—”

“We’ll discuss it in the Headmaster’s office,” she said firmly.

Garreth’s jaw dropped. “Are you serious?! I had nothing to do with this!”

Professor Weasley exhaled, rubbing her temples. “Garreth, it’s always you.”

Garreth threw out his arms. “That’s unfair!”

Sharp arched a brow. “Is it?”

Garreth opened his mouth, paused, then scowled.

“…A little,” he muttered.

Professor Weasley stepped forward, placing a firm hand on Garreth’s shoulder.

“Come along,” she said, her voice leaving no room for argument.

Garreth whirled on Sebastian. “I hope you’re happy, Sallow!”

Sebastian blinked. Was he happy? Garreth was being dragged away, right in front of him. He should have felt vindicated. Should have felt relief.

Instead—

There was a deep, sinking dread curling in his stomach.

Because Garreth’s arrest was not the problem. The problem was the real Headmaster now knew about all of this.

And Sebastian was still very, very screwed.

As Garreth was pulled away, still pleading his case, Sebastian stood there, motionless, watching his chance at containment disappear before his eyes.

Ominis let out a slow breath.

“Well,” he murmured. “That didn’t help at all, did it?”

Sebastian’s stomach churned.

“…No.”

No, it did not.

And little did Sebastian and Ominis know, you had been listening the entire time.

And it was glorious.

You had been casually passing through the courtyard—entirely innocent, of course—when you had spotted Sebastian storming toward Garreth like a vengeful wraith.

Naturally, you had done the only reasonable thing and tucked yourself behind a nearby pillar to observe.

And Merlin’s beard, was it worth it.

Sebastian, red-faced and seething, had all but shoved his accusations down Garreth’s throat.

Garreth had been just as bewildered as expected.

And Ominis? Ominis had just stood there, his entire existence radiating exasperation.

You’d had to bite your knuckles to keep from laughing.

Then came the real highlight—Professor Sharp and Weasley arriving just in time to drag Garreth away.

And Sebastian? He wasn’t relieved.

Oh, no.

If anything, he looked even more panicked, and you had to physically restrain yourself from cackling out loud.

As the crowd dispersed and Sebastian muttered something about heading to the Undercroft, your mind was already racing.

You had one last dose of Polyjuice Potion.

And you were going to use it well.

Sebastian and Ominis walked briskly through the halls, heading toward the passage that would take them to the Undercroft.

Sebastian was still fuming.

“I can’t believe this,” he muttered under his breath. "What if the real Black actually agrees with Garreth’s idiotic ramblings and—"

Ominis exhaled sharply. “Sebastian, I highly doubt the Headmaster is actually considering an arranged marriage for you.”

Sebastian threw out his hands. “Are you sure? Because I’M NOT.”

Ominis pinched the bridge of his nose. “For the last time, Black does not care.”

“You don’t know that,” Sebastian shot back. “What if he decides to make an example of me? What if this turns into some grand moral statement about propriety?”

Ominis snorted. “Phineas Nigellus Black making a moral statement? That would imply he had morals to begin with.”

Sebastian hesitated. “…Okay, fair. But still—”

A voice cut through the corridor.

“Mr. Sallow.”

Sebastian stopped dead.

Ominis visibly tensed.

Both of them turned.

There, standing at the end of the corridor, arms folded behind his back, expression severe, was Headmaster Black.

Or at least, who they assumed was Black.

Sebastian felt every last ounce of his blood drain from his face as the Headmaster took slow, deliberate steps toward them, gaze piercing.

“I have been informed,” he said, voice low and authoritative, “that you took justice into your own hands this afternoon.”

Sebastian’s stomach plummeted.

Ominis stood unnaturally still, as if movement might invite further scrutiny.

“That is—” Sebastian stammered, “I was just—”

Black lifted a hand.

Sebastian shut up.

“As I was saying,” the Headmaster continued, voice measured, “It is not your place, Mr. Sallow, to interrogate your peers. Confronting Mr. Weasley? Threatening him in front of witnesses?”

Sebastian’s blood ran cold.

“That’s not—I didn’t threaten him, I just—”

Black tilted his chin downward.

Sebastian closed his mouth.

“Since you are so concerned with matters of conduct and discretion,” Black continued, “I think it only fitting that you learn about them properly.”

Sebastian blinked.

“Sir?”

“You will come with me to Professor Ronen’s office,” Black declared, “where you will complete a ten-foot essay on—”

Sebastian braced himself.

“—Why One Must Be Discreet in Matters of the Heart.”

Sebastian stared.

Ominis made an awful noise, half-choking, half-suppressing a laugh.

Sebastian’s brain shut down.

“What.”

Black did not waver.

“You heard me, Mr. Sallow.”

Sebastian gawked at him. “You—you cannot be serious.”

“I am always serious.” Black’s voice brooked no argument.

Sebastian sputtered. “Sir, this is completely unnecessary—”

“Oh?” Black arched a brow. “Would you rather I speak with Professor Weasley about additional disciplinary measures?”

Sebastian shut his mouth.

Black smirked.

“Good,” he said crisply. “Now, off we go.”

Sebastian gritted his teeth, threw one last murderous look over his shoulder at a still-chuckling Ominis, and stalked off after Professor Black, who continued his merciless monologue.

“…lack of discretion, lack of foresight, lack of even the most basic self-preservation instincts,” Black droned, his tone a perfect balance of condescension and boredom.

Sebastian gritted his teeth. “Yes, sir.”

Black didn’t even acknowledge the response. “One might assume, given your track record, that you would at least attempt to be subtle in your misdeeds.”

Sebastian barely resisted the urge to fling himself out of the nearest window.

“Yes, sir.”

Black sighed. “And yet, instead of exercising the tiniest sliver of caution, you took it upon yourself to corner a fellow student and create a spectacle of your impropriety.”

Sebastian’s eye twitched.

“Yes, sir.”

Black hummed, as though unimpressed. “Honestly, Sallow, I don’t know whether to be more appalled by your recklessness or by your utter incompetence in getting away with it.”

“Yes. Sir.”

By the time they reached Professor Ronen’s office, Sebastian was seething.

Black didn’t even bother knocking. He simply swept inside, looking entirely too pleased with himself, and gestured for Sebastian to enter.

Sebastian dragged his feet as he stepped inside, his mood absolutely foul.

Professor Abraham Ronen looked up from his desk, his ever-cheerful expression brightening further as he spotted them.

“Ah, Headmaster!” he greeted, standing swiftly. “And Mr. Sallow. To what do I owe this unexpected visit?”

“I require your assistance, Professor Ronen,” Black said smoothly, stepping into the room with the air of a man who had never known shame in his life. “Mr. Sallow has demonstrated a profound inability to conduct himself with even the faintest whisper of discretion.”

Sebastian wanted to melt into the floor.

Ronen’s brows lifted slightly. “Discretion, sir?”

Black sighed dramatically, as if personally burdened by Sebastian’s existence.

“Yes,” he said. “You see, I have taken it upon myself to educate young Sallow in the ways of proper decorum.”

Sebastian scowled. “That is not what happened.”

Black lifted a hand. “Did I give you permission to speak?”

Sebastian’s fury burned hotter. “No, but—”

“Then don’t.”

Sebastian bit his tongue so hard he nearly drew blood.

Ronen tilted his head, clearly amused. “And what exactly does this… education entail, Headmaster?”

“I am assigning Mr. Sallow a ten-foot essay,” Black said blandly, as if discussing the weather, “on Why One Must Be Discreet in Matters of the Heart.”

Ronen blinked.

Sebastian wanted to die.

“I would like you to supervise, Professor,” Black continued smoothly, “to ensure that Mr. Sallow completes his work with the appropriate level of… humility.”

Sebastian felt himself short-circuit.

Ronen was trying very, very hard not to laugh. “Oh, I would be honored.”

Sebastian whirled on Black, aghast. “Sir, please—”

Black lifted a hand.

Sebastian shut his mouth.

Black smirked.

“Good. Now, I expect this to be completed by this evening. Professor Ronen will be responsible for ensuring its quality, and I will personally review it myself.”

Sebastian groaned audibly.

Black tilted his head. “Was that a complaint, Mr. Sallow?”

Sebastian gritted his teeth. “No, sir.”

“Excellent.”

Black turned on his heel, his robes sweeping dramatically behind him as he made his exit.

As soon as the door clicked shut, Ronen let out a deep, satisfied sigh.

“Well,” he said cheerfully. “This is easily the highlight of my week.”

Sebastian glared daggers at him.

Ronen just chuckled.

“Now, now, Mr. Sallow,” he said, far too pleased with himself. “Take a seat.”

Sebastian huffed angrily and collapsed into the chair, arms crossed like a petulant child.

Ronen leaned against his desk, grinning. “So,” he mused. “Matters of the heart, hmm?”

Sebastian had never felt more humiliated in his life.

Which was saying something, considering he’d spent the entire day careening from one public disaster to another.

Late that night, you sat cross-legged on one of the worn couches in the Undercroft, a book balanced on your lap, pretending to be deeply engrossed in whatever passage your eyes were lazily skimming. Across from you, Ominis sat in his usual chair, his own book in hand, posture relaxed.

The two of you had settled into companionable silence, save for the occasional turn of a page and the steady sound of the flickering torches along the stone walls.

He had, of course, informed you—thinking you had no idea—that Sebastian had been assigned detention.

Though he had spared the details, he had smirked slightly as he’d said, “I’m sure we’ll both get an earful about it later.”

And oh, how right he was.

Sebastian was going to be livid. And you were going to have to try very, very hard to look appropriately concerned.

The entrance finally creaked open.

A familiar set of footsteps echoed through the stone chamber.

You looked up and nearly lost it.

Sebastian stood in the archway, fuming. His hair was a mess. His robes were askew. And his hands—oh, his hands—

You had expected anger. You had not expected him to look like he had crawled out of an ink well after fighting for his life.

Ominis, still not looking up from his book, greeted him far too calmly. “Sebastian.”

“I,” he seethed, glaring at nothing in particular, “am going to kill Phineas Nigellus Black.”

Ominis exhaled heavily, not even looking up from his book. “That seems excessive.”

Sebastian ignored him. He threw himself onto the couch beside you, huffing furiously. You had never seen him so pissed off. It was glorious.

You bit the inside of your cheek to keep from laughing.

Instead, you blinked at him, feigning concern.

“Rough night?”

Sebastian turned his scathing glare on you.

Oh, it took everything in you not to crack.

“I had to write,” he growled, slamming a fist onto the armrest, “a TEN-FOOT ESSAY.”

You blinked innocently. “Oh?”

Sebastian threw up his hands. Ink smudged across his face.

“It was absolute TORTURE,” he ranted, pacing now, gesturing wildly. “Ronen wouldn’t let me leave until he was satisfied with it—AND I HAD TO READ IT ALOUD.”

Ominis inhaled sharply. Your lips twitched.

Then.

Ominis broke. The laugh that tore out of him was far louder than you had expected, his usually composed demeanor utterly shattering.

And now, with Sebastian’s utter misery in front of you, with Ominis losing his composure entirely, you couldn’t stop the wheeze that escaped, followed by absolute uncontrolled laughter.

It burst out of you before you could stop it, filling the Undercroft, your entire body shaking with mirth.

Sebastian whipped around, eyes wild with betrayal.

“YOU’RE LAUGHING?!”

You tried—oh, you tried—to compose yourself. But every time you thought you had it under control, you caught sight of Sebastian’s ink-stained hands, his utterly ruined dignity, the absolute rage burning in his eyes—

And you lost it all over again.

Ominis, already a goner, was curled forward, clutching his stomach, his laughter echoing off the stone walls.

Sebastian scowled so hard it could have cracked the very foundation of Hogwarts.

“You think this is FUNNY?” he barked, crossing his arms.

You gasped for breath, wiping at your eyes. “No—no, of course not.”

Sebastian glared. “Liar.”

You bit your lip, still grinning. “It’s just… I’m so sorry, Sebastian,” you said, completely unconvincing.

He jabbed a finger at you. “No, you’re not.”

You shrugged, trying—and failing—to keep a straight face. “Maybe a little.”

Sebastian groaned, dragging both hands down his face.

"It's—it's just—imagining your reading it aloud," you inhaled sharply as if you were dying for oxygen, "Matters of the Heart—"

You dissolved into laughter again, but Sebastian froze.

Stared.

Blinked.

Looked at his hands.

Then looked at you.

Then back at his hands.

Realization dawned on you. The laughter immediately died in your throat.

Fuck.

"I didn't tell you what the essay was about," Sebastian said slowly,

Your brain short-circuited.

Lie. Lie, quickly.

“Oh—uh—” You scrambled for an excuse. “I mean, it was—it was obvious, wasn’t it? What else would Black make you write about?”

Sebastian’s eyes darkened.

Ominis exhaled sharply. “Oh,” he murmured, realization dawning.

You clenched your fists. Shit.

Sebastian leaned in slightly, his voice dropping into something smooth, silky, utterly lethal.

“You knew.”

It wasn’t a question. It was a statement. A verdict. A sentence.

You forced out an awkward chuckle. “Sebastian, come on—”

“You knew,” he repeated, glaring. "How did you know?"

Ominis made a noise of delighted horror. “Oh, this is about to be so good.”

You swallowed hard.

Sebastian was too sharp. Too quick. He was already piecing it together—his expression shifting from betrayal to slow, creeping realization.

“How did you know?” he demanded.

You sunk back into the cushions, hands raised in a feeble attempt at innocence.

“Sebastian—”

His brow furrowed. His eyes narrowed. And then, softly, dangerously—

“…It was you.”

Your breath caught.

Sebastian stilled.

Ominis gasped.

And then—

“IT WAS YOU!”

He knew.

Oh. Oh, fuck.

Your body tensed, preparing to run.

Sebastian saw it.

"YOU LITTLE MENACE!"

You yelped, narrowly missing his outstretched hand as you flew over the sofa.

“SEBASTIAN—WAIT—”

“NO.” He vaulted over the couch in pursuit. “YOU’RE DEAD.”

You sprinted, dodging past Ominis's chair, laughing too hard to breathe.

“You absolute menace!” Sebastian shouted, nearly grabbing your wrist. “YOU MADE ME THINK I WAS GETTING MARRIED.”

You shrieked with laughter. “It was a joke—”

“A JOKE?!”

You ducked behind a column, barely missing Sebastian’s grasp.

“Sebastian, listen—”

“NO.” He vaulted over the sofa, closing the gap. “I AM GOING TO KILL YOU.”

“I CAN EXPLAIN—”

“OH, YOU’D BETTER.”

“IT WAS A PRANK—”

Ominis, now fully invested, wiped tears from his eyes. “I have never been happier.”

Sebastian rounded the pillar. You darted left. He anticipated it. He grabbed at your wrist—

And this time, he caught you.

Momentum dragged both of you down, and you landed hard on the floor, pinned beneath him.

Your chest heaved from laughing too hard.

Sebastian, equally breathless, stared down at you.

For a moment, neither of you moved.

The Undercroft was too quiet now.

You felt the weight of him, the warmth of his hands wrapped around your wrists, pressing into the floor on either side of you.

“…You’re in so much trouble,” he muttered, but his voice had dropping lower, rougher.

Your breath hitched. You weren’t laughing anymore.

Ominis, who had been utterly entertained up until now, cleared his throat loudly.

“Right,” he said flatly, dragging his hand down his face before heading to the door. “This is officially no longer my business.”

Neither of you moved. Neither of you breathed.

Sebastian’s fingers tightened.

Oh.

Oh, you were so screwed.

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00valentina-writes00 · 1 day ago

Note

GIRL LISTEN- this request is...strange kind of but bear with me.

What if we got sevika, ambessa AAND grayson (yes all together) x reader where they all pleasure the reader (maybe each other too?) I don't know I just can't get it put of my mind, I always see sevika x ambessa x reader and think to myself "gosh if only grayson was added in there too..."

ANYWAYS THE YOUR WORKS ARE JUST PERFECT ILY💌💗🎀

(Thank you for asking this)

♡♥︎Triple threat♥︎♡

Warnings: Fingering, strap on sex, rough sex, throat fucking, being passed around between Grayson, ambessa and Sevika.

You’re not sure how you ended up here—naked, drenched in sweat, spread out between three of the most powerful women in Noxus, Piltover, and Zaun.

Ambessa, Grayson, and Sevika. They don’t just want you; they own you, passing you between them like a prize, keeping you flushed and trembling, body wrecked with pleasure.

Grayson is the first to have you, holding you down with firm, calloused hands as she sinks two thick fingers inside you. She’s slow, methodical, taking her time stretching you open, whispering quiet praises against your ear.

“Fuck, you’re so tight,” she murmurs, curling her fingers just right, pressing against that spot that makes your back arch. “So perfect when you take my fingers.

Ambessa watches from the other side of the bed, stroking herself—her massive strap slick with lube, waiting for its turn.

“She’s handling you well,” the general comments, voice thick with hunger. “But let’s see how she takes something bigger.”

Grayson smirks, but before she pulls away, she leans in, pressing a slow, teasing kiss to your lips. “Don’t keep her waiting, sweetheart.”

Then Ambessa is behind you, her hands dwarfing your waist as she lifts your hips, lining the thick head of her strap against your dripping cunt.

“Relax,” she coos, dragging the tip through your slick before pushing in slow, forcing you to stretch around her. “You can take it.”

You sob, body trembling as she sinks in deeper, splitting you open inch by inch. Her sheer size alone is overwhelming, filling you up until you’re shaking.

Sevika clicks her tongue from where she’s kneeling in front of you, the head of her own strap tapping against your cheek. “C’mon, baby,” she drawls, gripping your chin. “Suck.”

Your mouth is already watering as you part your lips, letting her ease the thick length past your tongue. She doesn’t force it—yet. Just lets you get used to the stretch before guiding more inside, groaning when you start to hollow your cheeks.

“Fuck,” Sevika hisses, eyes dark as she watches you work. “So pretty with your mouth full.”

Ambessa’s pace picks up, slamming into you hard enough to jolt your body forward, forcing more of Sevika’s strap into your throat. You gag, eyes rolling back, body overwhelmed from every angle.

Grayson, not content to just watch, moves beside you, pressing a soft kiss against your temple before her fingers find your clit again, rubbing slow, lazy circles.

“Think you can cum for us, sweetheart?” she whispers, voice warm, coaxing. “Be a good girl and soak Ambessa’s cock?”

You’re already there, body locking up, vision going white as the pleasure overtakes you. You sob around Sevika’s strap, thighs shaking as you clench around Ambessa’s cock, coming so hard your body collapses into the sheets.

They don’t stop.

Sevika chuckles, pulling out of your mouth to let you breathe. “Not done yet, baby,” she purrs, wiping a tear from your cheek.

Ambessa pulls out slowly, watching the way you drip down your thighs. “You can still take more.”

Grayson presses another kiss against your jaw, voice like velvet. “Let’s see just how many times we can make you cum”

361 notes · View notes

red-riot-unbreakable-heart · 3 days ago

Text

Hawks x Y/N | A Friday Night Between Your Thighs 💋

I recently ran a poll asking "How're We Fuckin' Hawks Tonight?" And most of y'all voted for "He's eating you out," so here's a fic about it. Enjoyyyy <3 A18+ MDNI

Here's something important that absolutely needs to be known by all - getting eaten out by Hawks is always a fuckin' pleasure.

He gets home late Friday night after a long day, long week, long month. He's absolutely exhausted as he slumps through your apartment door and drops his jacket to the ground. He barely makes it over to the couch, falling face first into the plush navy cushions.

You coo and fuss over him, quickly pushing your laptop onto the coffee table and pulling his head into your lap. You card your fingers through his hair and within seconds his eyes droop closed. He's so, so tired, and laying on your lap feels like absolute heaven. He wishes he had more energy to spend hanging out with you or taking you out on his nights off - but right now all he can focus on is the gentle way your fingertips scratch against his scalp and down his sore neck.

You let him doze for a half hour - just enough to recharge but not too much to get him hooked into REM sleep. As he rests, you slowly extract yourself out from under him, laying his head on a soft pillow and covering him with a thick knit blanket. You take care to tuck him in, smoothing the crimson feathers of his wings down lightly as you go. He lets out the tiniest of groans in reply. His wings are sensitive, after all.

You move quietly to the kitchen to get some dinner going - a thick chicken noodle soup to drive the chill from his aching bones. When Keigo's head pokes up from the couch a half an hour later, you're already ladling a generous portion into his favorite bowl. His tired eyes crinkle at the corners as you stride towards him, two heavy soup bowls in hand.

"What did I do to deserve all this?" He asks with wonder as you lay down the bowls on the coffee table and pull out your TV dinner trays so the two of you won't spill on the upholstery. You hand him his bowl of soup and he smiles up at you adoringly. He's still wrapped up in the blanket - covered with it like a cloak over his head and shoulders. He looks like a character from the hobbit, sans bushy beard or fuzzy feet.

"I guess you just got lucky." You plant a kiss on his scratchy cheek before pulling your own bowl towards you. You grab the remote and flick on a comfort movie. There's no room for stressful plots tonight.

You both dig into your soup happily. Keigo asks for seconds, and then thirds. You even manage to scrounge up a sleeve of Ritz crackers that he absolutely demolishes. You love seeing him relaxed and happy - it's a rare sight. But here he is - beautiful and curled up on your couch with a full belly. It makes your heart sing.

He's already falling back asleep. That's no surprise - after a meal Keigo is always out like a light. You know it stems from his childhood trauma - he spent the beginning of his life hungry and afraid. Having a full stomach is such a comfort to him now, and makes him feel so safe and at ease. He always knocks out for a little right after dinner. You watch his eyelids get heavy and you note that he's still wearing his street clothes.

"Kei...let me go get something comfier for you to wear, hm?" You say sweetly, placing the dirty soup pot in the sink.

"Huh?" He blinks awake. "Oh, yeah, babe. That would be great." He smiles at you again and you feel so bubbly and warm. You drag your fingertips lightly across his wings as you pass the couch and he glimmers under your touch. You hurry back to your room and open up the drawer you've dedicated to Keigo's things. He's stashed a few outfits - jeans, t-shirts and the like - in the space alongside some sweats, extra boxers, deodorant and a tiny bottle of his favorite cologne.

You scoop out a plain black t-shirt and his favorite pair of well-loved grey sweatpants. A few months ago, the back pocket tore clean off. Keito had been pretty bummed about it - this was one of the first clothing items he had bought himself after getting to leave the confines of the Commission. He knew it was silly to hold on to a pair of sweatpants of all things...but he struggled to throw them out and let them go.

In a fit of creative inspiration, you were able to spend some time after work watching sewing tutorials on YouTube. After an hour of content, you had managed to clumsily sew the pants back together. You'd also added a tiny addition - a small heart shaped patch that would be featured prominently on his right ass cheek. When you had unveiling your handy work to your boyfriend, he had gone absolutely mad with excitement. He had kissed your face all over and giggled at the tiny patch addition. He loved that you'd managed to make his favorite pair of pants even more special, and of course he loved the excuse to model his tight hero ass around the apartment for you.

You bring out the fresh outfit and toss it to him on the couch. He immediately gets up, untangling himself from the blanket, and starts to strip.

"Keigo! Dude! The window shades aren't closed!" You shriek at his indecency. He tosses you a wicked grin over his shoulder as he pulls off his shirt, shimmying it up and over his wings. If there's one thing you'll never get tired of - it's seeing your boyfriend naked. His chest is toned and his abs are well defined. His waist tapers down into a tight "v" shape that makes your mouth water. He unzips his jeans and then bends over to pull his foot out of one leg, then the other. He straightens up and turns so you can take him in fully - he's standing in the center of the apartment in nothing but his fitted black boxers. The thin material stretches across his thick thighs in a absolutely delicious way that makes you blush. And, oh, his goddamn package...you can't even begin to find the words to describe how good his cock looks half hard and cradled in that expensive underwear of his.

"I could just stay like this, babe. I don't need to put anything else on." He wiggles his eyebrows up at you suggestively. "Actually...I could lose the boxers, too, if that's what you'd want..."

"Kei..." You say breathlessly, looking him up and down. "I thought you'd want to go back to sleep."

He takes a step towards you, his deep golden eyes filled with a look of want. Suddenly he looks wide awake. Heat pools between your legs as his mouth pulls into a sly grin. He lets his gaze rake across your body, hovering across your breasts, your lips. He knows exactly what he's doing, the damn bird.

"How could I go to sleep when my amazing girlfriend needs to be taken care of?" He walks over to you, folding you into his warm embrace. His biceps flex impressively around you and once again you're in awe of how hot and fit your goddamn pro hero boyfriend is. He nuzzles his face into your neck and sits there for a moment, breathing in your familiar scent before placing a wet kiss on your flushed skin.

"My girl is so good to me...feeding me, making sure I'm cozy and well cared for." He starts to place a trail of hot kisses up your neck and behind your ear. When he reaches your hairline, he groans. "I want to return the favor before we go to bed. Gotta show you I can take care of you, too. Let me eat you out, baby?"

"Mmm, Kei." You can't help but moan at the offer. You shift your weight from foot to foot as arousal blooms in your panties.

"Yeah, baby?" He lets a hand drift lightly down your stomach and over your clothed pussy. He swirls his fingertips in a light figure eight motion around your clit - over and over until you let out a breathy moan. "You gonna let me take care of my pretty birdy?"

"Please."

It's all he needs to hear. A second later he's thrown you down on the couch and he's stripping you down. Your shirt, bra and jeans are instantly on the floor. He leaves your panties, throwing your legs haphazardly over his shoulders as he gets himself into a good position. You're already so turned on that there's a growing damp spot on the gusset of your white laced panties. Keigo breathes in sharply at the sight, biting his lip as he surveys your beautiful body. It's as if he's not quite sure where he wants to start.

"Keigo...I need you, baby." You moan out, bringing your hands up to cup his beautiful sharp face. He leans into the touch, eyes sliding shut for a moment as he just enjoys the way your fingertips feel against his jawline.

"I know, hun. I'm gonna make you feel so goddamn good with my tongue." He promises, reaching down to awkwardly push his boxers off and towards his thighs. His pretty thick cock spring free, kissing his toned stomach and leaving a messy smear of pre-cum on his abs. He takes his dick in one hand, stroking it slowly as he leans forward to kiss the soft plane of your stomach.

You inhale a sharp breath at the contact. His lips are hot and soft as they move across your belly, across your navel, and down towards the waistband of your panties. He takes his time, lavishing every inch of exposed skin he can find with his lips, tongue and teeth. He rolls the edges of his bite across the swell of your hips, and the sensation causes goosebumps to swell across your skin. When he runs his hot tongue flat under the waistband of your panties, you know you're done for.

He releases his cock from his grasp so that he can use both hands. It springs back into position, twitching lightly against his abs. You can't help but envision the snug fit of his cock deep in your cunt. It's one of your favorite feelings - the way he fits inside of you so well. The gentle lovemaking Keigo excels at that allows you to feel every glorious inch of his cock as he flexes and thrusts into you with steady rhythm.

"Time to take these off, I think." He says, hooking his thumbs under the lacy waistband of your panties and pulling swiftly down. The cool apartment air hits your pussy and you suck in a tiny breath at the change in temperature. "Don't worry, babe. I'll warm you up in a minute." He says knowingly, chuckling under his breath at your vague discomfort. He spreads your legs out a bit, staring down at your perfect pussy with an expression of awe.

"I'll never get tired of this view." He says, tracing a fingertip lightly around your folds. You bite your lip as you watch him play with you, zigzagging his fingers across your pussy without touching you in the spots that ache the most. He bends his head forward so he can start kissing up your leg, up your thigh, and into the crease between your leg and your pussy. You're dripping wet, now. Shit, you're so wet you'll need to clean off the couch later with carpet cleaner or something stupid like that.

"Keigo...Keigo please." You beg, staring up into his bright golden eyes with want. You're desperate for him - always have been, always will be.

He smiles down at you and the look is so open and genuine it makes you want to squeal. Keigo is such a damn romantic sometimes - when he fucks you, 90% of the time he wants to "make love." Rough sex is reserved for rare occasions - anniversaries, birthdays and needing to work through tension after hard missions. Keigo prefers to go slow and soft - he wants to make sure you feel his love in every thrust, every lick.

And so, when he finally brings his mouth down to your pussy to get to work, you're not surprised by the way that he takes his sweet time. He starts out at a glacial pace to let you acclimate to the overwhelming feeling of the flat of his tongue against your clit. He knows you're sensitive and get overwhelmed easily, so he likes to ease you into it as best he can. You're already overstimulated and don't think you can last too long - not when he's working at you so meticulously.

Keigo's tongue slowly swirls around your clit, trying to find the perfect rhythm to bring you to the brink of pleasure. You moan pathetically as he tries out a few different shapes - tracing the tip of his tongue back and forth across your clit and folds. After a few minutes, you relax into it, your butt sinking into the couch as he presses your legs further up over his shoulders.

He pulls his face away from your core and you moan at the loss of contact. He looks down at you with an intense expression, eyes smoky and filled with desire. For a moment, a thin string of saliva connects his face to your pussy, and you can't help but think it's the hottest goddamn thing you've ever seen.

"I'm gonna spell my name. Remind you who you belong to." He says in a low, husky voice. You stomach flips at that. He's never done anything like this before, and you wonder where he's taking inspiration from. He dives back in, and after a moment you start to decipher the "K" he's tracing over and over with his tongue across your pussy.

"Fuck!" You cry out when he licks an "E" and than an "I" across your poor, throbbing pussy. The "G" is no big deal, but the way he traces the "O" over and over and over across your clit has you bucking your hips into his face.

"Oh, you liked that last part?" He teases, repositioning himself a bit for better access. He leans back down and continues to trace the same delightful pattern across your clit until your legs start to shake.

"Kei...I'm so close." You say, trying desperately to get your limbs under control as they shake with pleasure. He doesn't stop what he's doing - he just keeps methodically swirling his tongue around you as the pressure inside builds.

He brings a hand down to grasp at the meat of your ass. He takes a cheek in hand and squeezes lightly, making you cry out again before slowly sliding a fingertip between your cheeks. He starts to circle your hole with a soft, wet fingertip as he eats you out. He's played a bit with your ass before - all just gentle touches and caresses up to this point. But now...now he's pushing and sliding and putting pressure on the spot in just the right way.

You feel your orgasm swelling inside of you, Keigo's fingers and mouth working in tandem to draw as much pleasure out of you as humanly possible. Your legs shake more than you thought was humanly possible, and Keigo's cock can be seen clearly twitching in response.

When you cum, you cry out his name (every form of it you know!). Keigo, Hawks, baby, wings, my love. You repeat each of these names with enthusiasm, worshiping the man who's head is between your thighs and taking no prisoners. The orgasm hits you hard and fast, ringing up from your quivering clit and deep into your core. You feel the release all over - in the twitch of your legs, the curl of your toes, in the way your eyes roll back.

"Keigo, babe, I love you." The orgasm rolls through you, making every square inch of you feel alive - you're practically pulsing with heat. Keigo licks you through it, keeping his face planted firmly in one spot as you rhythmically shift your hips to ride his tongue. You can't imagine a feeling better than cumming on Keigo Takami's pretty boy face. You groan out as you come down from your high. Keigo doesn't stop until you tell him to.

When you finally ask him to stop, it's because your clit is getting overly sensitive and needs a break. He nods and pulls his face away from you, grinning like an idiot. His cheeks and chin are damp with your slick, but he looks absolutely thrilled.

"Was that good, babe? Did you enjoy it?" He asks eagerly, shifting forward so he can join you down on the couch and wrap you in his arms.

"Kei, that was..." You don't have the words to describe the magic Keigo's just worked on your pussy. It was Transcendent. Magnificent. Life altering. All good terms and phrases to describe the way that you just ascended on the Number Two Hero's tongue. He nuzzles his face into your neck once more and pulls you close.

"Anytime you need, babe. I'll eat you out whenever. No questions asked."

"That's a big promise, Kei." You say, lifting a hand to his golden locks so you can scratch his scalp the way that he likes. "I might take advantage."

"Oh please." He practically begs, squeezing you lightly between his strong biceps. "I'd eat you out all day if I could. In bed when you wake up, in my office between patrols, in the bathroom at the bar when we're out with friends...babe, I wanna worship that pussy every second I can."

"You're crazy." You laugh, smushing a kiss onto his still damp cheek.

"Crazy for you." He sighs out, happy to feel your skin against his. The two of you are laying completely naked on the couch but it feels like the most natural thing in the world. He's still hard against you but doesn't put up a fuss about it.

"Want me to take care of that?" You ask letting your fingers skim across his half-hard cock. He shivers at the contact, his dick instantly pricking up at the feeling.

"Yes, please."

You smirk and bring your palm up to your mouth for him to see. You lock eyes with him - his golden irises shimmering as he watches you lick the palm of your hand up and down. You then lower the hand between the two of you and wrap it around his dick. His sharp intake of breath at the contact is music to your ears - you're going to absolutely tare him apart like this, you just know it.

"Does my babe like getting jerked off?" You ask softly, pumping slowly at his cock with your slick hand. He whimpers in reply. "Use your words, Keigo."

"Y-yes, Y/N. I fucking love it." He manages to get out between trembling lips. He slowly flexes his hips so he can thrust into your hand, but you cease your ministrations.

"No, Keigo. I call the shots with this." You say firmly, and his hips slow to a stop. Only when he's stopped moving do you resume jerking him off. After a minute, your hand starts to feel dry. You release his cock (much to his protesting) and bring it up to your mouth again. This time, you spit cleanly into the center of your palm. His eyes widen as he watches you spit twice more into your hand before bringing it back down to pleasure him. The saliva is exactly the lubrication needed, and he sighs gratefully as your small hand glides up and down his length.

"You know what this feels like?" You ask him, looking down at his hard cock admiringly.

"What?" He asks, breathless. He's unable to take his eyes away from your lovely face as you push and pull him through his pleasure.

"Feels like...Pro Hero material." You say, picking up your pace and spending a bit of extra time focusing around his tip. He cries out in appreciation - Keigo loves dirty talk. And praise. And essentially whatever you're willing to offer him in a sexy context like this.

It only takes another few good pumps to push him over the edge. You feel his whole body shiver in anticipation of his orgasm - his balls tighten, his cock is pulses. A moment later, he's splattering hot ropes of cum across your bare stomach. He's groaning out your name and giggling into the side of your neck as he spills his seed all over your soft skin.

"Fuck. You're perfect. So perfect, babe." He moans out as he finishes. He bats your hand away as his cock softens and everything gets a little too sensitive.

You lay there for a minute, wrapped up in each other on the couch as Keigo catches his breath.

"I wish you could come into work and do that for me between meetings." He sighs out, content. "That's exactly the kind of reset I need on tough days like this."

"Well your office door has a lock on it, right?" You grin - you love teasing this silly bird. "I don't see any reason why we can't just take a 'work break' together at your desk. And if I accidentally end up on my knees sucking and fucking you behind closed doors? That can't be the worst thing to happen at a Pro Hero agency." You say innocently, batting your eyes at him.

"Fuck. Stop being so hot Y/N. Now I've got an offfice kink or something." He chuckles, planting a wet kiss on your shoulder.

"Well, I'll break the illusion and be not-hot for a moment. I need to pee like a motherfucker." You try to say with a straight face, smirking as you curse.

"The mouth on you!" Keigo says, pretending to sound scandalized. But he releases you from his embrace, allowing your to scrabble to your feet and make your way to the tiny bathroom at the other end of the apartment.

You hurry off to pee and to grab a wet washcloth for yourself. You hastily wipe down your stomach - careful to smooth off all of the cum. After the quick wipe-down, you grab a fresh towel for Keigo and bustle back out into the living room. You toss him the towel and he uses a soft red feather to catch it mid-air. He cleans himself off and finally puts on the comfy outfit you had brought him earlier. The grey sweatpants hang comfortably off of his slim frame, the tiny red heart patch accentuating his juicy booty (or so you think, anyway).

"I think..." You say, surveying him with your hands on your hips. You're still completely naked, and the blinds are still completely open. But, fuck it. At this point if anyone has been watching you both through the window, they've already had a full fucking show. "I think that it's time for bed."

"I couldn't agree more, birdy." Keigo gets to his feet and plants a kiss on your forehead. "I'm gonna hop in the shower real quick and wash myself off, though. It was a long day at the agency and I think I could use a good scrub before I get in between those clean sheets of yours."

"Oh, good point. I appreciate that." You say, happy that you won't need to wash stickiness out of your sheets in the morning. You pad after him back into the bathroom where he flicks your shower to the perfect temperature with practiced skill. The room fills with steam and everything feels blissful. Your body feels loose and warm from your orgasm, and a long stream of hot water from your massage shower head sounds like heaven.

"Care to join me?" He throws you one of those devilish, flirty looks and you melt under his golden gaze. He throws all his clothes to the ground and steps into the shower, reaching out a hand to help you in behind him. He's so goddamn beautiful it makes you want to sing - you'll never tire of seeing Keigo naked. His toned body and honey gold skin shimmer in the low light of the bathroom.

You grin up at him, unable to picture a more perfect Friday night spent with your Pro Hero boyfriend. Soup, sex, shower, sleep. Honestly, what more could a girl want?

You step up behind him and into the hot, steamy shower.

"Always."

End.

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

This one was inspired by a poll I ran recently...

Y'all voted for "He's Eating You Out" so obviously I had to make that happen!

Hope you enjoyed this smutty little fun about our boy Hawks!

Want more fun, smutty fics? Feel free to check out my 🔥Master List🔥 - there's plenty of more where this came from!

Stay safe and be good to each other <3

XOXO,

RedRiotUnbreakableHeart ❤️

228 notes · View notes

yeoningz · 24 hours ago

Text

CAUGHT BETWEEN THE PAGES ⋆˚࿔ 최수빈

your professor catches you reading a not-so-safe-for-school book in the middle of his class. in an effort to make things better, you fear that you may have just made them worse.

⧼ 📖 ⧽ 一 pairing ⸝⸝⸝ professor!choi soobin ✗ student!fem!reader includes ⚬ ⚬ ⚬ beomgyu and yeonjun of tomorrow x together, dino of seventeen, giselle and karina of aespa

genre ⚬ ⚬ ⚬ smut, fluff, porn with plot, comedy

warnings ⸝⸝⸝ teacher/student, age gaps, power play, light dom/sub dynamics, switch! to soft dom!soobin, masterbation (f. rec), erotic literature, explicit language and sexual content, spanking, cumming in pants, dirty talk, pet names, praise kink, name calling (slut), wet dreams, impact play, oral (m. rec), facefucking, deepthroat, big dick soobin, doggy style, sex on furniture, unprotected sex, creampies, talk of contraception (reader is on birth control), alcohol mentions, drinking and partying, hair pulling, size kink word count. 12. 2 k | ⧼ 📜⊹₊ ⧽ 一 to library.

[notes.] a rewrite of my first ever fic on tumblr, study night! this is a romanticization of student/teacher relationships where both parties are consenting adults, but it is important to note that these relationships can be problematic in real life due to one parties authority over another's and unstable power dynamics. thank you to @jellymochii, @biteyoubiteme and @beomiracles for proofreading! reblogs and feedback are very appreciated <3 i hope you enjoy!

YOUR LINGUISTICS PROFESSOR embodies everything you find detestable in a teacher. His classes are a monotonous drone of information, devoid of anything exciting or engaging, though that might not be entirely his fault with how boring the subject he teaches is. He rarely deviates from whatever script he had thrown together— no doubt just the night before, from the way he rambles and stutters— and he absolutely refuses to entertain any questions or foster any interesting discussion. He never accepted late assignments or gave any extensions, his tests are ridiculously hard, and he’ll dock points off your assignments for the tiniest, stupidest reasons. Sure, it’s a difficult course, and it’s important to your major, but you swear he seems to take some kind of pleasure in making his students miserable. Each class feels like an eternity, and often you find yourself counting down the minutes until you can escape the insufferable, suffocating atmosphere of his classroom.

Yet, for some strange, inexplicable reason, you find yourself absolutely obsessed with him.

Maybe it was because you spent your time in his class focusing more on him than any of the words that came out of his mouth. His irritatingly handsome, angular face and his pouty, kissable lips, how he turns red and gapes like a fish out of water when he’s talking himself into a corner or is asked a question he doesn’t know how to answer. His big veiny hands and how they look when he waves them around animatedly, filling your head with thoughts of how they would look caressing your body. His tall, fit body and how he towers over you whenever you come up to him, the way he has to lower his head to look you in the eye, a soldering heat bubbling in your belly from the way he makes you feel so small. The way he loves to pepper his lectures with painfully unfunny dad jokes, and the way he gets all blushy when no one laughs. It makes you cringe, but in some odd way you also find it incredibly endearing. Sometimes you even catch yourself giggling quietly, stupid and u lovesick puppy. You can’t stand to be his student, but you dream at night about being something else to him entirely— it’s a paradox that drives you to detrimental distraction. How can you be so obsessed with someone you loathe? His perplexing combination of qualities was like some kind of mystery you felt compelled to unravel, at the very least to put your own mind at ease.

That was when you found the novel. It was hidden in the romance section of your favorite used bookstore, squished between two old technicolor cover harlequin novels, it’s dark and simple spine juxtaposing against all the bright colors and ornate fonts. It intrigued you enough to pull it from the shelf and look it over, your cheeks heating up as you take in its cover. A headless, well-dressed man sat in a chair with his legs spread invitingly, the smart suit he was wearing disheveled and his undone belt held tightly in his hand, the leather strap resting against his inner thigh. The title Lessons in Attraction was printed where his head would be, vague but provocative enough to make your stomach flip. The man immediately reminded you of Professor Choi, from the way he was dressed to the prominent veins in his hands, and when you flip the book over to read the synopsis you understand the connection. It outlines the story of a steamy romance between a strict economics professor and his teaching assistant, an innocent, young virgin who wants nothing more than to please. It was as if the author had plucked your deepest fantasies straight from your head and printed them out on paper, then planted the book in the perfect spot for you specifically to discover. You knew just from skimming through the pages that reading it would only do you more harm than good, but you just couldn’t put it down, drawn to the story like an addict needing a fix. You hid it in your stack of textbooks, and you refused to look the cashier in the eye as they checked you out.

At first, you had intended to keep it hidden in your bedroom, only to be read late at night when your roommates were either out or asleep. But as your obsession with your professor continued to deepen, so did your obsession with the novel; soon you found yourself taking it with you everywhere you went, reading snippets whenever you had the chance and quickly shoving back into your bag anytime someone would walk by or glance over at you. Your dreams devolved into graphic, vivid replays of your favorite dirty scenes, with Professor Choi in the place of the professor from the story. You wake up hot and bothered every morning, and his class becomes even more difficult with your head now full of illicit, naughty fantasies. Everything he does makes your belly swirl with need, even something as simple as running a hand through his hair or adjusting his glasses— you can’t even bare to look at him, and instead try your hardest to focus on whatever boring tangent he was rambling on about… until you caught yourself fantasizing about how his deep voice would sound whispering dirty words in your ear.

You couldn’t take it anymore. Professor Choi’s lectures were beginning to feel more like sick torture— you needed something to keep you distracted before you went insane.

So, against your better judgement, you started to bring the novel to read in class. You sat far enough in the back that you were certain he wouldn’t notice, and your poor classmates were too bored out of their minds to look your way. It was easy to keep it hidden away tucked in your lap, so you could pretend to be writing in your notebook while you read. Something about it excited you, reading about fucking your professor with your real professor standing there in front of you, none the wiser. Being able to admire him as you indulged in your secret desires. If he caught you, you would be humiliated, but you would be lying if you said that the thought didn’t excite you a little too…

“Miss L/N, what are you doing?”

You nearly shoot straight out of your chair, your professor’s sudden call of your name shocking you out of your reverie. You had gotten so absorbed into your novel that you had forgotten to check to see if he was looking your way. “H-huh?”

“You keep looking at your lap.” Professor Choi remarks, peering up at you from his spot at the podium with an unamused frown. His thick-rimmed glasses made his pretty brown eyes appear even larger than they already were, blinking up at you like he was studying you through a magnifying glass. “You’re not on your phone, are you? You know I have a no-tolerance policy when it comes to electronics.” [GU1]

“Oh! No, sir, I’m just…” your startled gaze bounces back to the book in your lap, and you swallow nervously. “Reading.”

“Reading?” Professor Choi echoes, raising his brow. “What are you reading? I assume it’s not the textbook, from the look on your face.”

You blanche, trying your hardest to appear nonchalant as you snap the book shut and shove it down into the recesses of your school bag. “It’s nothing!” You reply far too quickly, sounding guiltier than sin.

Professor Choi blinks, his magnified eyes raking over your sweating face before trailing down to your bag, clasped protectively in your lap.

“Give it to me.” he orders curtly, stretching out his hand.

Your heart drops to the pit of your stomach. “What?! W-why?!”

“Reading anything that isn’t the course material is against my class rules— I have it printed clearly on the syllabus, though with how you can never seem to pay attention I wouldn’t be surprised if you missed it when I went over it at the beginning of the semester. I would recommend looking over it again to see if there’s anything else you’ve forgotten. Now, get up and hand me that book.”

The entire class has turned to look at you now too, dozens of pairs of eyes fixated on your every move. The silence is absolutely deafening. Your heart races and your hands tremble as you squirm in your seat, trying desperately to come up with some sort of escape as if you were in a horror movie; you might as well be, because out of all the ghouls and monsters you can think of, this has to be your worst nightmare.

You consider refusing. Technically, Professor Choi couldn’t force you to do anything you didn’t want to— hell, you could walk right out of the classroom right then and there if you really wanted to, with both your book and your dignity intact. After all, you were a grown adult paying to further your education out of your own pocket. Trying to confiscate your belongings as if you were a child was borderline insulting.

But you can’t risk your grade over something like this, as embarrassing as it was, and you wouldn’t put it past him to penalize you in some way for defying your orders. You were already struggling as it was, partly because of how difficult the coursework was and mostly because of how you could never concentrate whenever Professor Choi was around. To make matters even worse, passing was a requirement for your degree. Getting even more on his bad side than you already were simply not an option.

It takes every ounce of energy you have to force yourself to stand up out of your seat and trudge down to Professor Choi’s podium, clutching your novel against your chest like you were clutching pearls. He has to pry it out of your hand with a considerable amount of force, because you can’t seem to loosen your fingers around the cover.

You scamper back to your seat, but not before turning back to see Professor Choi eye the cover with a startled expression. It would have been comical if you didn’t feel like you were seconds away from throwing up all over your desk.

He places it gingerly face-down on his desk like he was handling a dead fish, and you’re both grateful and horrified that he noticeably avoids making eye contact with you when he steps back up on his podium. “You can come by my office later to get it back, Miss L/N. I have a free period at six.”

“Yes, sir.” You answer glumly, staring at your shoes.

Luckily for you, he dismisses the class only a few minutes later, muttering about something to do with grading papers. You’ve never ran out of that lecture hall so fast in your life.

“Whoa, what’s up with you?” your friend Beomgyu asks when you walk by him in the hall, backpack and skateboard in hand without a care in the world. “You look live you’ve seen a ghost or something.”

You stop just long enough to realize that you were still running, even though you had made it nearly halfway across the building. “I’m so fucked.” You state simply.

“What? What happened? Did you do something to piss off Professor Choi again?”

“Yes. No. Kind of?” you cringe inwardly. There’s absolutely no way you’re telling Beomgyu about any of what happened; he’d laugh at you to the point you fear you might actually start crying. “I don’t want to talk about it. I gotta go.”

You shuffle away before he can respond, and while you feel bad ignoring him as he calls out to you in confusion, you’re focused solely on finding somewhere quiet and empty to hide out until your next class. And maybe grabbing an iced coffee or something. Just to drown out the tears as you wallow in your own misery.

Against all odds, you manage to make it through the rest of your classes. The wait was almost worse than getting caught, barely able to sit still in your seat as you panic inwardly for hours on end. If it was Professor Choi’s intention to psychologically torture you, he wildly succeeded.

And you’re absolutely sure it was, because the first thing you see once you step into his office is your professor lounging back in his chair reading your book.

“Professor!” you yelp.

Professor Choi glances up from your book, a mischievous glint shining in his eyes as he sends you a tight-lipped smile. “Oh, Miss Y/N! You’re just in time. I was just flipping through your book here, it seems awfully… interesting.”

You gulp, your trembling hands clutching the strap of your bag in a vain attempt to ground yourself. “Um, sir!” you squeak, rushing to his side to glance over his shoulder at what page he was on, praying to whatever god that will listen that he hasn’t read anything raunchy. “I think it would be best if you, um, didn’t read that…”

“Oh?” Soobin flips the page and quirks his brow, not even sparing you a second glance as he adjusts his glasses, “What do you mean?”

You rack your brain desperately for a good enough excuse, but you can’t think of anything other than just how mortified you were, watching helplessly as your professor’s keen eyes scan over the pages. “Can I have it back now?” you say instead, your voice small and shaking.

“Surely you can wait just a little longer— now I’m dying to know why you don’t want me to read this.” Professor Choi’s crooked, dimpled smirk infuriates you.

Was there any possible way that you could talk your way out of this without telling him upfront that what he was holding in his hands was an erotica, one about a teacher and a student no less? You shuffle nervously, stumbling over your words as you try to stutter out something, anything, “You, um… you wouldn’t like it.”

He turns his head to look up at you again, the look in his eye sharply changing when he takes in your frightened state, into something you don’t recognize and aren’t sure you like. “How can you be sure I wouldn’t enjoy it? I’m a fan of many different genres of literature, though I’ve never read anything quite like this before. Is it some sort of romance novel? If it is, you don’t have to be ashamed, Miss Y/N. I’m sure many young women such as yourself read these sorts of novels, though I strongly discourage reading them while I’m in the middle of a lecture. It’s simply disrespectful. Now, where was I?”

He trails his finger down the page as if he was looking for his place, and you bristle. “Sir, seriously, don’t—!”

“I followed my professor to his office, watching with bated breath as he rounded his big wooden desk.” Professor Choi reads aloud. You barely stop yourself from screaming, instead letting out a sort of pained choking sound. “He stopped to stand behind me, looking down my shoulder as if he were looking over my essay just as I was. I had made three errors in my writing, each one circled in bright red ink. He seemed more upset about it than usual.”

“Professor, please.”

“’Put that essay on my desk.’ he said, so I did.” Professor Choi continues, ignoring you. He had gave the professor character a stupid, high pitched voice when he spoke, which would have been funny if you weren’t so humiliated. “’Now bend over with your elbows on my desk, so that you are looking directly at the essay. Keep your face very close.’”

“Stop it! Just let me have it!” You hated to talk to him this way, but if he continued reading any further… it took everything you had to keep yourself from running out of his office and crawling into the nearest ditch to die in.

“That’s not how you should speak to me, Miss Y/N. Now you certainly aren’t getting it back.” Professor Choi retorted, his evil little smirk growing even wider. You wanted to hit him, or kick or scream, but you couldn’t do anything except stand there and try your hardest not to cry. “I was puzzled, but I followed his instructions, bending over the top of his desk so that my chest, belly and arms were pressed against the hardwood. My nose was merely a centimeter or two away from the letter, which made it difficult to read. My skirt was starting to… to slide up the backs of my thighs, but I was sure that if I moved to tug it back down, I would just get into even more trouble.”

You grimace when Professor Choi’s voice broke, his smile slowly starting to slide off his face. But he did not stop reading. “’Now read the letter to yourself. Read it over and over again.’ My professor said. I read: “In today’s rapidly evolving global landscape, the integration of technology in…” and at the word “integration”, which I had misspelled, he— he… um… Oh.”

You began to feel less like wanting to die and more like you were actually dying. Professor Choi stared hard at the pages for a painfully long moment, his ears turning bright cherry red, but to your surprise and absolute mortification, he began to read aloud again. His voice had dropped that cheerful quality, however, sounding winded as if he had been hit upside the head. “At the word “integration”, which I had misspelled, he reeled his arm back and spanked me hard. I stopped reading with a loud gasp, shocked— the sting reverberated through my core, fiery hot, and despite my embarrassment I began to soak through my panties. At my silence, I was spanked again, even harder. ‘I said read it.’ My professor reminded me. ‘Be a good girl and follow instructions.’”

Professor Choi shut the book closed abruptly and looked up at you with a very red face and wide eyes. The tears that had been pooling in your lashes threatened to spill down your cheeks, so overcome with fear and embarrassment that your stomach turned like you were going to be sick. That was just what you needed to top off this already life-ruining experience, wasn’t it; vomiting all over your professor after he uncovers your darkest, dirtiest secret.

“This is extremely inappropriate material to bring on campus.” Professor Choi finally says, his voice wavering.

“Yes, sir.”

“And that relationship, it’s… wrong. It’s against the university’s code of conduct. I— he could get fired for that.”

“Yes, sir.”

“You shouldn’t be reading this. It’ll put... thoughts in your head that don’t need to be there.”

“…Yes, sir.” Part of you wants to argue with him, remind him that you’re an adult and can read whatever it is that you would like, but you don’t have the strength to.

He sighs heavily, like something important is weighing on his mind, and he hands you back your book before turning back to pour over the scattered, forgotten papers on his desk. “Go home, Miss L/N. And get rid of that book.”

You turn tail and scamper out into the hall, but you can’t help but glance back into Professor Choi’s office as you leave. He’s hunched over his desk with his elbows resting on the wood, his fingers tangled in his dark hair as he rests his head in his hands. It seems like something is bothering him, something bigger than grading papers or your stupid, silly book.

You don’t stick around to find out what it is.

The next morning, you receive a rather hastily written email from Professor Choi telling you that he’s cancelling classes for the rest of the week. He’s come down with a cold, he claims— you and the sinking feeling in the pit of your stomach know better than to believe that.

You don’t see him until next Monday, but even then he might as well not have shown up at all. He struggles to get through his lesson plan even more than usual, and he wouldn’t look away from his papers or the projector, even when one of your classmates raised their hand to ask a question. You spent the entire period gathering up the courage to go up to him after his lecture, but when you do he brushes you off with a lame, half-baked excuse about having papers to grade and no time to talk, grabbing his things in a rush and scampering out of the lecture hall before you can call out for him to come back.

The pit in your stomach opens up into a black hole, swallowing up everything except for overwhelming, gnawing anxiety. It’s eating you up inside, manifesting itself in how you’ve chewed your lips until they bled, and then bit your nails down to the quicks— anyone with eyes could see that something was weighing on you, and you became increasingly tired of all your friends asking if anything was wrong, so once you were finished with your classes you took to hiding out in your dorm room curled up on the couch, your favorite fluffy blanket wrapped around you as you sullenly binge-watched a k-drama you’ve seen a thousand times.

While you were more of a homebody, your two roommates were much the opposite. Karina and Giselle loved to go out and party. Tonight was no different, the two of them flittering around the dorm as they got ready to go out to some club, and while they had given up on trying to get you to join them a while ago, something about the way you moped about seemed to reinvigorate Karina’s desire to get you off of your ass and out on the town. She knew you better than anybody, and immediately she could sniff out that something was off.

“Why don’t you come with us? You can borrow one of my dresses.” She offers, rummaging through her collection of high heels. “It’s a Friday night, everyone’s out! We can dance, we can find some boys to take home; it’ll be fun. You look like you need some.”

“I don’t need to have fun. I need to study.” You reply solemnly, scowling, but you make no moves to get up off the couch. It was a shitty excuse even to your own ears; it was obvious you didn’t have any plans to do anything tonight except feel sorry for yourself.

“That’s bullshit and you know it.” She huffs. You don’t even have to look at her to know that she’s rolling her eyes. “Something’s bothering you and you won’t even tell me or Gigi what’s wrong. Don’t you think a drink or two would be good for you? You can vent to us all night, too. I promise we’ll listen.”

“I don’t know if I even want to tell you about it.”

“Why not? We’re your best friends, Y/Nie. You can tell us anything, even if it’s stupid or embarrassing. If it’s bothering you this badly, it’s clearly something serious.”

You peer out from under the blanket to look over at Karina— the worry in her eyes makes your heart sink. Under normal circumstances, you wouldn’t even consider taking her or Giselle up on their offers, but the way you were stuck running circles inside your head was far from normal. “You promise not to laugh at me?” She smiles warmly. “Nope. But I promise I’ll hear you out regardless.”

The loud, thumping bass reverberating throughout the club did very little to help ease your pounding headache. Your temples throbbed with every beat, the pressure so severe it felt as if your skull was just moments away from splitting in two. You don’t think you’ve ever been this uncomfortable in your life; the dress that Karina gave to you was a size or two too small, the shiny fabric so tight around your chest that you gasp for air. It would be difficult for you to breathe even in properly fitting clothes, the air hot and heavy from the throngs of sweaty bodies that surrounded you. You felt claustrophobic, the crowd closing in on you and threatening to swallow you whole— the only place to escape was to the bar, but even there you’re bombarded with flashing lights, deafening music, and the overlapping voices of everyone around you. You have to strain your ears to make out what Giselle was saying, and she was just on the barstool right next to yours.

“Aren’t you glad you came?” She giggles, sipping on a brightly colored cocktail. She had ordered a round of them for all three of you, and the amount of alcohol mixed in them felt like a sucker punch to the face, even with all the sickeningly sweet grenadine the bartender had used to try and mask the flavor. You watch in abject horror as both she and Karina downed them one by one like they were water.

“No.” you reply honestly.

“You will once you tell us what’s going on with you!” Karina interjects from your other side. “I meant it when I said I wanted you to vent to us, let it all out and give us the tea! Aeri’s dying to know.”

“It’s really embarrassing…” you admit, staring forlornly down at your own drink. “I’d rather just forget all about it.”

“It can’t be that bad. You didn’t drop your pants in front of everyone or anything, did you?”

You cringe. “God, no. It’s not like that.”

“Then it’s nothing you can’t tell us about.” Giselle shoots you a smile over the rim of her glass.

“It’s… it’s about Professor Choi.”

“Our linguistics professor?” Karina cocks her head. “Isn’t he the one you have a massive crush on?”

Your cheeks flush, your drink becoming even more interesting as you avoid looking at either of them in the eye. “Maybe.”

“Ugh, your taste in men is the worst.” Giselle snickers. “I don’t understand why you like him so much. He’s such a dick.”

You fight down the urge to defend him— for some odd reason, you feel a surge of protectiveness over Professor Choi, even when you completely agree with what Giselle is saying about him. “Yes, I like him, but that’s not the point. The point is that I totally fucked up and now I think he hates me.”

“What did you do?! Please tell me you cursed him out, he fucking deserves it.”

“No, Gigi, oh my God.” Even the mere thought of doing something like that sends shivers down your spine. “He caught me reading during class.”

“…That’s it? You’re freaking out over that?” Giselle blinks.

“It’s what I was reading that’s the problem.” you lament miserably, gathering your courage with a sip of your disgusting cocktail. “I have this book; it’s about a teacher and a student… getting together, if you know what I mean. It’s really dirty… and he caught me reading it in class. He took it, and then he read it himself right in front of me! He thinks I’m a freak. It’s been two days and he won’t even look at me.”

Karina and Giselle stare at you.

“Why the hell were you reading a smut book in class?!” Karina gasps, her dark glittery makeup making her wide eyes look even wider. “And one about a professor, too— were you trying to get caught? There’s better ways to go about telling him that you want to fuck him.”

“I don’t know— I was bored and stupid, okay?!” You had been asking yourself the same question for days, mentally beating yourself to a pulp every time it crossed your mind. “I thought he wouldn’t notice me since I sat in the back… now he’s going to tell the dean, and I’m going to get expelled, and—”

“Woah, woah, woah!” Giselle stops you in your downwards spiral, grabbing your shoulder to ground you. “You’re thinking too hard about this. He’s probably just a prude. If he was going to do something like that, he would have probably done it by now. Plus, I don’t think that’s really something you can be expelled over.”

You lean into her touch, resting your head on her shoulder as she pats your back comfortingly. “He’s mad at me…” you whine petulantly. “I was trying to get that TA position, too… fuck, I’m so screwed.”

“What would he be mad at you for? Being horny?” Karina laughs, “It’s really his own fault for snooping in your stuff.”

“I think you’ll still get it.” Giselle supplies helpfully. “You’ve really got nothing to worry about. Sure, your grade sucks, but I’ve seen the two of you talking in the hallway before— the way he looks at you is insane. And the way he looks at your ass when you leave is even crazier. You just showed him that you feel the same way about him that he does about you.”

“Don’t say that.” You groan. “You think that about every guy I talk to. There’s no way in hell that Professor Choi feels anything for me except hatred.”

“If you’re really that worried about it, you can always just apologize.” Karina says, drumming her long nails against her glass. “It might not do anything, but it’ll make you feel better.”

That was the first bit of real advice either her or Giselle had given you in a while, even if it left a bad taste in your mouth. “I don’t know. I feel like that would just make things worse. I need to go to the bathroom.”

You scramble off the barstool in a rush, teetering on your heels— you weren’t even that tipsy, but every step made you feel like a newborn deer. Karina and Giselle watch you hobble away in pity.

You stumble through the crowd in search of a bathroom sign, quickly getting lost in the sea of bodies. There’s little room to move around, everyone pressed up against each other dancing, too intoxicated to notice you trying to politely squeeze by. They jostle and knock you around, and you nearly trip over your own wobbly feet multiple times. Your headache grows nearly unbearable, your desperation to find an escape leading you to start pushing people out of the way so you can continue to move forward. One particularly drunk woman nearly knocks you to the ground, and she shoots you a dirty look over her shoulder when you shoulder past her roughly. You hate to be rude, but you’re teetering dangerously close to your breaking point. You need to find some peace and quiet, and fast.

But all of that goes out the window when among the countless bobbing and weaving heads, you spot a frighteningly familiar pair of broad shoulders.

“Professor Choi?!” you call out in shock, shoving your way towards him. “What are you doing here?!”

Without his suits and big clunky glasses on, you almost don’t recognize him. He was leaning back against the wall with two men who you vaguely recognize as other professors at the university, talking and laughing amongst themselves with beers in their hands. You admire the curve of his tall nose, the way his pronounced collarbones peeked out from the loose linen shirt he wore, the first few buttons undone to show a delicious strip of tan skin. His dark hair, usually gelled back to show his forehead, was left fluffy and untamed, framing his pretty brown eyes. He jumps a little at your voice, turning away from the men to look at you.

His eyes widen sharply, moving slowly from your face down to your chest. They linger there for a moment, blinking owlishly, before he tears them away from you completely, the tips of his ears turning bright red.

“Oh, um. Hello, Miss L/N.” he stutters, suddenly very interested in the state of his shoes. You make a quick mental note to thank Karina later for convincing you to squeeze yourself into this stupid dress.

“Oh, this is Y/N?” One of the men slurs gleefully, a grin stretching across his handsome face. There was a certain hunger in the way he undresses you with his fox eyes, scanning you head to toe like a predator. You could tell from his flushed pink cheeks that he was very drunk. “I’ve heard all about you! It’s nice to finally put a face to the name.”

Something odd flashes in Professor Choi’s eyes and he jerks his head to shoot his friend a deathly glare. He doesn’t seem to notice.

“You’ve… heard about me?” you cringe, your heart sinking. Out of whatever Professor Choi had to say about you, none of it could be anything good.

“Oh, not much, just that you’re one of the brightest students that he’s ever taught.” The other man cuts in, chuckling. He tips his head back and takes a swig of his beer, flashing you his sharp jawline. “One of his favorites to have in class, he says.”

“Such a smart head on those little shoulders! You should consider taking my econ course next year, it’d be a gift to see your pretty face in my class.” The first man adds, his crooked smirk widening.

“Yeonjun, Chan, please.” Professor Choi grits out through his teeth, anxiously running a hand through his hair. “I’m sorry, what did you say, Miss L/N?”

You splutter as your lips refuse to form words. You?! The brightest student he’s ever had?! That was just a complete and utter lie; if it wasn’t for Giselle helping you with an extra credit assignment you had practically begged him on your knees for, you would be failing his class spectacularly. You couldn’t fathom why Professor Choi would say something like that to these two men, when nearly every class he was scolding you for being late, distracted, forgetting your deadlines, a combination of all three and more. Not only that, but with what had transpired the other day still fresh and stinging… they had to be saving face or making some kind of sick joke. As you collect your thoughts, you half expect them to start pointing and laughing.

“What are you doing here?” you repeat, peering up at Professor Choi’s blushing face. He avoids meeting your eyes, just like how he was in class.

“Am I not allowed to enjoy the start of my weekend?” he retorts, fiddling with the pull tab on his beer. “Clearly, you’re doing the same.”

He spits out the words like they left a bad taste in his mouth. It stung like an insult. “I thought you said you were busy.” you assert, biting your lip to keep from scoffing. The liquor giving you a little too much courage; he was still Professor Choi, even if now standing in front of you he looked like just any other guy.

“I… was.” He mumbles, “And now I’m not anymore. It’s really not any of your business.”

It takes everything you have to keep from blurting out that your book really wasn’t any of his business either, but you manage to hold your tongue.

“I’m sorry, I just— Sir, I need to talk to you.”

“There’s nothing to talk about.” He says matter-of-factly. It’s far from what you were expecting him to say.

“What do you mean?” you challenge, your annoyance starting to turn sour. “It’s about the other day.”

Professor Choi continues to play dumb, though he keeps throwing sidelong glances to his coworkers. “What about it?”

“I want to apologize.” You bite hard on your lower lip. For doing nothing wrong.

Professor Choi’s eyes snap up to meet yours, inky dark irises wide in shock. “Y/N—”

“Apologize?” Professor Choi’s friend— Yeonjun— butts in, raising an eyebrow. “What happened?”

All the color leaves Professor Choi’s face, even the blush that was slowly trailing from his cheeks down his neck. He awkwardly clears his throat and averts his gaze, putting on a show of cupping his ear and pretending to be confused. “Sorry, I can’t hear you over all of this noise! If you have a question, I’ll be in my office tomorrow afternoon. Go on and have a good night.”

“Wait, Professor—!”

“Have a good night!”

It takes you a long time to find your way back to the bar, drunk, defeated, and stewing in your own thoughts. You’re pleasantly surprised to see that Giselle and Karina have been sat waiting for you all this time, but you don’t have it in you to feel happy or grateful as you plop yourself back onto your empty barstool. Their irritation quickly shifts to confusion and worry, both shooting you odd glances as Karina tentatively hands you another cocktail.

“Are you okay?”

“Did you get lost or something?”

You take a long sip, the disgusting sweetness and the bitter liquor overpowering your senses enough to calm your racing thoughts. “I think I’m going to go and talk to Professor Choi tomorrow.” is all you say.

“If you fuck him, please put in a good word for me.” Giselle slurs drunkenly in reply. “I need to pass that fucking class.”

“You’ve been a bad girl, haven’t you, Miss L/N?” Professor Choi whispers in your ear, his deep voice dripping with honeyed venom. The fabric of his dress shirt ghosts over your back, his body so close that you can feel the heat radiating off his skin. He has you trapped against his big wooden desk, bent over it obscenely with your ass in the air as you whimper and squirm. Your skirt and panties pool at your ankles, leaving your most intimate areas exposed for him to view. Your leaking pussy quivered from the icy cold air, your hole clenching desperately around nothing and aching to be filled.

“I’m sorry!” You mewl, voice wavering.

“You didn’t answer my question. What are you sorry for?” he presses, so deliciously condescending in the way he feigns ignorance, “Apologize to me properly and tell me what it was that you did.”

“I’ve been bad, sir. I was reading during your lecture, and I’m sorry—”

“Oh, you weren’t just reading.” Professor Choi scoffs, straightening himself up and off your back. He rounds the desk to circle you like prey, his slow methodical steps echoing throughout the quiet of his office. They echo in your ears and strike a dizzying mix of fear and anticipation in your heart.

“I-I was reading smut and…” your face burns hotter than the sun, and you close your eyes and take a deep breath to will yourself to have the courage to admit what it was you were caught doing. “…And I was touching myself.”

“You’re going to have to be more specific than that.” He stops to stand at your side, his mere presence hovering above you enough to make you shudder. “Tell me exactly how you were touching that slutty little pussy.”

His words go straight to your core, making you squeeze your thighs together in need. Just a little friction was all you needed, and the edge of his desk granted a great opportunity… but as much as you wanted to, you couldn’t let yourself give in to desperation and grind yourself against Professor Choi’s desk like a dog in heat. He would notice immediately, and it would only worsen your punishment.

“I was… I was rubbing my clit through my panties.” you admit ashamedly, “Grinding against my fingers. I was going to put one inside but you… you stopped me.”

“I could see your hand up your skirt all the way from the back of the class.” Professor Choi spits, his carefully controlled demeanor cracking and his wild, untamed anger boiling to the surface. “It’s like you’re trying to get the two of us caught. You’re lucky no one else was looking… or was that what you wanted? Did you want everyone to see what a slut you are?”

“N-no!” you gasp, but the idea gets you even wetter; you wanted nothing more than for everyone to know that he was much more than just your professor, that he was yours and in turn you were his. “I’m a slut j-just for you, no one else!”

“Fuck, that’s right.” he groans lowly, his voice dripping sex. He picks up a long wooden ruler off his desk, right by your head, and points the tip at the nape of your neck. It ran slowly down the curve of your spine, a ghostly barely-there touch that left a trail of fire erupt across your skin. He stops at the plush swell of your ass, gently caressing your flesh with the cold wood. “You’re all mine. My favorite little student. You just need some discipline to put you back in your place, hm? Show me what a good girl you can be and count for me.”

He rears his arm back, poised and ready to strike. You can hear the ruler whooshing through the air, sharp and fast as he swings his arm forwards—

Your eyes snap open with a gasp. Suddenly, you’re back in your bedroom, curled up safe and sound in your bed, groggy and disoriented as you slowly come back down to reality. While you dreamt about Professor Choi often, never had one felt this vivid, this real. You can still feel the echoes of his touch, the phantom pain of his ruler against your asscheek haunting you like a ghost. Your panties are soaked through completely, sticky arousal pooling in the fabric and dripping down your thighs, creating a wet spot on your sheets. You toss and turn to try and go back to sleep, but it’s no use; you’re so horny you can’t think straight, can’t ignore the dull throbbing in your core.

As your hand slides under the waistband of your panties, you decide that enough is enough.

You were at your breaking point. Your life had spiraled completely out of control in the span of just two days, all because your stupid puppy-love crush of a professor had to be nosy about your reading material. He just had to find a way to humiliate you even more than he already did, didn’t he? He could’ve just given you your book back and the two of you could have gone on with your lives. He shouldn’t have even taken your book in the first place! You could have continued fantasizing about him from the back of the class, not a worry in the world, instead of losing precious hours of sleep and mentally beating yourself up.

And after your interaction at the bar, you feel even more ridiculous. If Professor Choi truly had the intention of telling someone about what he had caught you reading, wouldn’t he have told the other professors that he was with? And lying to them about you being his smartest student… you couldn’t wrap your head around it.

It was clear that Professor Choi didn’t want to talk about it. But even if he wants to pretend like none of this ever happened, you just couldn’t.

There was simply no other way for you to get over all of this other than finally confronting him. You needed to make the endless spiral stop, tell him exactly what was on your mind and finally put this to bed. The longer you stew over everything that has transpired, the more your fear and anxiety boils over into anger. This was all Professor Choi’s fault! You needed to give him a piece of your mind, or you don’t think you’ll ever be able to move on.

Professor Choi doesn’t answer until after the fifth knock, his face immediately dropping once he swings open his office door to see you standing there in front of him. His hair is a mess and his clothes are disheveled, his tie half undone and his shirt sleeves rolled up past his elbows. Anxiously he adjusts his glasses, the wide brown eyes behind them looking like a cornered deer’s. “You actually came over to apologize?” He blurts out before you can even open your mouth, genuine surprise taking over his features. “I didn’t think you—"

“Actually, no, I’m not here to apologize!” you declare, the words spilling out before you gave yourself the time to second guess yourself. You had lied awake until the sun came up thinking about what to say, and you weren’t going to let those wasted hours go to waste. “I’m here to tell you, sir, that going through my book was an invasion of my privacy! And that it’s none of your business what I read! I’m an adult, not a child, and I can do whatever I damn well please!”

Professor Choi blinks owlishly, staring at you in stunned silence for so long that your newfound confidence falters and you begin to shuffle nervously.

“Oh. Um… alright.” He finally says.

“Alright?!” you echo incredulously, your irritation coming back in full swing. “You’ve been avoiding me for days and all you have to say for yourself is alright?!”

Professor Choi’s eyes flicker around anxiously, and it suddenly hits you that you were yelling at him in a public hallway. “I don’t know what you’re talking about—”

“Yes you do!” you shriek. This really wasn’t how you were planning on any of this going, but it was far too late to turn back. You open your mouth to continue your rant, face burning hot with unbridled rage, but Professor Choi quickly grabs your wrist and roughly pulls you into his office. The sudden act shocked you into silence, your eyes wide and mouth agape as he drags you all the way back to his desk.

“Listen.” He growls, his voice octaves deeper than you’ve ever heard it before. “You’re acting way out of line right now. Don’t you dare ever talk to me like that, you understand me? I’m still your professor, even when we’re not in class. You’re to treat me with respect—”

“Then you treat me with respect first!” you retort, though you do manage to calm yourself down enough to lower your voice. “Playing dumb and refusing to talk to me after humiliating me in front of everyone! What was even the point of doing that? Was it just for your own sick pleasure?!”

“Y/N.” Professor Choi sighs, the second time you’ve ever heard him call you by your first name— the first was at the club, but you were far too distracted to dwell on it. “I know you have some sort of feelings for me. You’re not very good at hiding it.”

Your entire world comes crashing around you, though you suppose that you shouldn’t be too surprised. You had just let yourself hope beyond reason that he would never pay you any attention.

“What I’m trying to say is… Y/N, you need to stop it. Get rid of the book. I can’t be with you, it’ll never work, okay? I’m your teacher, and ten years your senior. There’s plenty of college boys around campus for you to ogle over instead.”

“You say you can’t but… do you want to?” you ask quietly, barely above a whisper.

Professor Choi doesn’t meet your eyes. “I could get in a lot of trouble, Y/N. You could too.”

“That doesn’t answer my question.” You challenge, a hopeful spark igniting in your chest. He didn’t say no… and you may be looking too into things, or just clinging onto hope, but that was more than enough proof to you that your professor was hiding some feelings of his own.

“We can’t do this.” He mumbles, his voice growing wilder, more defiant.

“Sure we can! I’m an adult, you’re an adult… did I scare you away with my book or something? Look, it’s okay if it wasn’t up your alley. There’s nothing wrong with being vanilla, Professor. You don’t have to, like, spank me or anything—”

“But I do!” he interjects suddenly, his head shooting up to look at you with wild eyes. His entire face was bright crimson red.

“You… wait, what?” you must have misheard him. That was the only explanation, surely; There was no way he actually—

“I can’t stop thinking about it! I thought there was no way you’d be into anything like that, that I needed to stop thinking about you and move on like a professional, but then you go and pull this, and now I can’t go a single second without thinking about putting you over my knee! It’s driving me insane! I can’t even look at you!”

“Professor—”

“Soobin. God, just call me Soobin. I can’t handle you calling me that right now.”

You open and close your mouth a couple of times, surely looking like a fish out of water— This was the absolute last thing you expected to come out of your professor’s— Soobin’s—mouth. Your eyes bulge out of your head, your face burns hotter than the sun… your pussy clenches pathetically. It felt like you were in a dream, almost, which might have been why you suddenly felt so brazen— if you wanted him, and he wanted you, who were you to deny him?

“Then do it.” you say, voice barely above a whisper. Soobin looks just as shocked at your proclamation as you were. “If you want to do it that bad, do it.”

He moves in a flash, giving you no time to prepare— within seconds has you thrown over his lap on his office swivel chair, your hair hanging in your face as you blink wildly at the floor. Soobin brushes one of his big hands against you skirt-clad ass, barely a brush of his fingers, but you still gasp all the same.

“Do you really want this?” He breathes, voice low, his breathing hard—the outline of his cock presses hard against your stomach through his slacks, making it considerably hard to focus on the words that came out of his mouth.

It takes you a moment, but you manage to choke out a whiny “Yes, sir, please.”

Soobin stutters out an uneven breath, his fingers inching down to the hem of your skirt, teasing the tops of your thighs for just a moment before pulling the fabric up to expose your ass, a noticeable wet spot present on your panties.

“So pretty…” He coos. You can feel his cock twitch against your stomach, those long knobby fingers trailing along the edge of your lacy thong. “Is it okay if I take your panties off, bunny?”

You whimper and nod your head— Soobin lands a gentle love-tap to the junction of your thighs with an airy chuckle. “Use your words like a good girl.”

This couldn’t be happening. You had to be dreaming, or hallucinating, or something, anything except truly living through this fantasy come to life— Boring, bland Professor Choi, the biggest prude you thought you knew, was just way too good at this, at making your legs shake and your pussy throb all the while barely touching you. In just an afternoon your reality had shifted from thinking that he had to be the world’s biggest loser virgin to thinking that he was even sexier than the professor in your book.

You weren’t sure how to feel about it, but your cunt did.

You must have stayed silent for too long, because without much warning Soobin lands a much harsher spank to the top of your asscheek. “Bad girl!” he admonishes, and you can hear the teasing, dimpled grin in his voice “C’mon baby, use your big girl words. Tell me how much you want it.” His hot breath fans over your ear— you couldn’t hold in your moan even if you tried, the broken whine sounding weak and pathetic even to your own ears.

“P-Please, sir… please take my panties off. Please spank me.” you whimper, your face beet red and your pussy drooling— Soobin’s deft fingers stroke slowly up and down your folds, feeling the wetness seep through the cotton fabric of your panties. You bite your lip to keep from screaming.

“That’s my good bunny.” You could hear your panties rip as he tears them off of you in one solid motion, the biting cold air meeting your hot soaking cunt and making both you and Soobin hiss. He admires the slick leaking down your thighs for a brief silent moment, deep breathy voice cooing at the way you arch into him and his touch, before he straightens back up and lands a stinging, eye watering spank deliciously close to your core. You yelp at the sting.

“That’s for being a fucking tease,” Soobin states, soothing your reddening flesh with a soft caress of his palm. “Being so fucking hot all the time and driving me crazy because I thought I could never have you.”

You hadn’t realized that this was confessional. Shooting him an evil smile over your shoulder, you giggle, “You could’ve just asked.”

Another spank, this time with even more force. Your hips buck with a shrill cry spilling from your open, panting mouth, your eyes watering— you had no idea Professor Choi was this strong. He refuses to give you any time to prepare, never warning you when the next hit to your ass will come. “I didn’t say you could talk back.” He growls.

You’re on the verge of tears from the red-hot stinging in your ass, but you still giggle at his words. “You’re kinky.”

Soobin just rolls his eyes, spanking you again, albeit a little softer. “And this one’s for being a brat. How about you start counting for me, bunny? That’s one.”

“One?! You’ve hit me four times!” Maybe you were pushing it too far, but it just came naturally to you to fight back, make him work for your submission and obedience. You relished pushing him as far as he would go; you relished losing.

Soobin grabs a handful of your hair and yanks hard, making you gasp loudly and your empty pussy flutter. Leaning down close to your ear, he lets out a warning growl; “I said fucking count.”

You don’t think you’ve ever been this wet in your life. Torn between bucking your hips into Professor Choi’s bulge and pushing back into the touch of his hand, you give a quiet, watery whimper of “One…”

The hand holding your hair lets go, your head falling limply over his knee. “That’s my girl.” He coos lowly, stroking your head.

It distracts you enough that the next harsh slap to your ass feels even more intense than any of the others before it. “T-two…”

“That’s for being so fucking disrespectful. And in front of my colleagues too, no less. It’s like you were asking for me to ruin you.” Soobin tsks. “You need to learn to watch your mouth.”

The urge to say something smart tugs at you again, even if just to prove his point, but another spank rains down on your sore, bruising asscheeks before you can seize the opportunity.

“T-three!”

“And that’s… that’s for pushing me to put you over my lap in the first place. You couldn’t just leave it alone, could you? And now look at you, making me risk my job to teach you a lesson.” Soobin’s voice wavers, filling with an emotion you couldn’t quite place— it was extremely difficult to focus on his words when his fingers began to trail down the curve of your ass to your sticky, quivering folds, rubbings the tip of his thumb right over your clothed core. You moan unabashedly, shifting your hips and opening your legs to give him better access to what was peeking out between your thighs.

The fifth spank never comes. Soobin tugs your panties to the side and pushes two long, thick fingers between your folds, stuttering out a low moan like he was the one being touched. He starts a rough, dizzying pace almost immediately, his fingertips searching for that spongy spot inside of you. You grind your hips back against Soobin’s fingers, a drooling mess against his slacks.

“Pr-Professor…” you whine high in your throat — you want more, want him to speed up, slow down… his touches were driving you wild. You hadn’t been touched like this ever before.

“I told you not to call me that.” He hisses, curling his fingers against your sweet spot and making you keen. “Please, call me by my name.”

“Soobin!” you cry out, writhing against him. You felt a passion rising within you like the hottest fire, clouding your brain. You couldn’t think of anything except of the pleasure that he gave you, couldn’t utter out anything other than his name.

“Such a slut, falling apart just on my fingers…” he chucks huskily, enamored with the filthy wet sounds your cunt made and how they echoed through the quiet office. “I’ve thought about doing this for forever, God… you’re just as beautiful as I thought you’d be.”

His thumb, wet from your arousal, comes down to rub tight, delicious circles against your sensitive, engorged clit, your strangled wail no doubt loud enough to be heard from the hallway. The building ecstasy distracts you enough for him to push in a third finger into your tight hole. The stretch burns but you love it, your hips kicking and moans growing louder and louder as he effortlessly takes you apart.

“...Too much…!” you manage to choke out, digging your teeth into the fabric of Soobin’s slacks to keep yourself from screaming out in bliss. You felt full to the brim, pushed closer and closer to the edge with every rough flick of your clit and thrust of his perfect talented fingers. He teases a fourth finger around your leaking, stretched out rim, the threat of it alone enough to make your eyes roll back in your head.

“Oh bunny, if this is too much there’s no way you’ll be able to take my cock…”

The tears that had been brimming in your eyes start to stream freely down your burning cheeks, choked hiccups and sobs wracking your body, but it was the most pleasurable agony you had ever been in. Your hips move with a mind of their own, bucking against Soobin’s cock, thick and hard as a rock, only seeming to grow bigger and bigger every time you rub against it. You relish the sharp intakes of breath he takes every time you move against him. He was starting to fall apart too, you could tell, his voice sounding a lot less dominating and a lot more whiny and pathetic with each roll of his hips up into your tummy.

“I’m gonna… gonna make you cum on my fingers,” he whines low in his throat, his hand completely soaked in your arousal up to the wrist. “You gonna make a mess for me?”

His fingers dig impossibly and wonderfully hard into your sweet spot, that white-hot band of desire in your stomach winding tighter and tighter with each perfectly aimed thrust. You wail and sob, your hand reaching back to grab a tight fistful of his shirt sleeve. “I-I-m— ‘m gonna cum!”

Soobin’s other hand, the one that had been stroking your hair, then comfortingly up and down your back, rises up to smack your ass, the sudden burst of stinging pain making you scream, and for real this time.

“You gotta ask first, bad girl! Gotta ask for permission b-before you cum…” His voice starts to break, his hips stuttering helplessly— the feeling of his big fat cock grinding hard against you only added to the fire in your belly.

“Can I cum? Please, sir, can I cum? I’ll be a good girl, I promise, just let me cum!” you had no control over your mouth, hardly any conscious at all— all you could focus on was the tightening in your belly, the way Soobin’s fingers thrusted in and out of your pussy so good… you were his brainless whore, fucked dumb on his fingers.

“Shit, go on honey, my good girl, my bunny… cum all over me, make a mess!” with his permission you let yourself topple over the edge, moaning and whimpering like a whore as you soak your thighs, Soobin’s hand, his shirt and slacks with your juices. You lay across his lap twitching for quite some time afterwards, your chest heaving like you had just run a marathon… you’d never come before like that in your life, not as hard or for as long. Soobin was with you the whole way as you come down from your high, sweet as can be as he coos praises into your hair and pats your back, kissing your head when you raised it to look over your shoulder at him.

Slowly, you realize that you no longer feel his bulge poking at your belly. You release your iron grip on his shirt to slide your hand down his chest and abdomen, all the way down to gently cup his very wet crotch. “Sir…?”

“S-sorry, bunny… couldn’t help it…” he turns his head away from you to hide his glowing red face, but you can see how his blush spreads down his neck and up to the tips of his ears.

“Did you just… cum?” you ask in awe and disbelief, looking down to see a dark stain spreading across the fabric of his slacks. Soobin only mumbles in response, refusing to answer or turn back to look at you, his blush growing an even deeper shade of red. It was all the confirmation you needed.

Professor Choi came in his pants like a virgin without you even needing to touch him. Something about that alights a blazing inferno in your core, your senses overtaken with need even though you had just had an orgasm yourself.

“I want to taste it.” You breathe out, your overwhelming desire eclipsing any rational thought and taking control of your words.

“Y-you… what?” his head snaps back to you in surprise, his eyes wide and clouded with lust as they gaze headily into yours.

“Your cum, wanna taste it, want it on my tongue…” you’ve never spoken like this to anyone, your voice not feeling like your own— the words spill out from between your lips mindlessly, desperate for more of Soobin’s brain numbing pleasure as you rub him through his slacks. His cock twitches underneath your fingertips, beginning to harden again from the ministrations. “Can I please suck you off, sir?”

“Fuck.” Soobin moans, rough and deep in his chest, the sound shooting straight to your sensitive pussy. “Yeah you can, naughty girl, come on, get on your knees and suck my cock. Clean up my mess.”

Your entire body feels limp and weak, not wanting to cooperate with you as you slide off of Soobin’s lap to the floor. It takes great effort to get yourself situated, kneeling on the floor with your unsteady hands grasping at his thick thighs. He widens his legs to give you more room to get comfortable, one of his big hands instinctively coming down to tangle in your hair as your own begin to slide up the insides of his thighs towards his straining belt buckle.

Ever so slowly and meticulously you unbuckle Soobin’s belt, the jingling of the metal buckle as it’s casted aside like music to your ears. You pull his pants and boxers down together in one rough tug, Soobin canting his hips to help you guide them down his thighs. His cock springs free and slaps obscenely against his belly, smearing the light fabric of his dress shirt in his thick, viscous cum. You can’t help but stop and stare, enamored by the sheer size of it— nearly as thick as a can and twice the length of one, throbbing veins making your mouth water. Cum still leaks from his angry red tip, fat and bulbous, the entirety of his length wet and shiny down to his heavy, twitching balls and neatly trimmed pubes.

You kiss the tip with a delighted grin, the contact barely-there but enough to make Soobin throw his head back and whimper in delight. Your tongue peeks out from between your lips to slide across his slit, earning a high-pitched needy hiss from the man above you, his long fingers tightening their grip on your hair as you lick down his dripping shaft. His thick, salty cum tastes like ambrosia on your tongue, the delicious bitterness quickly getting you drunk. You can’t stop until you lick him completely clean, and even then it’s impossible for you to pull away, the feeling of his weeping cockhead heavy on your tongue far too addicting. Greedily you suck him into your mouth, relishing in the way his girth stretches your lips before swallowing him deeper and deeper until his tip knocks against the back of your throat. You can hardly fit your hands around him, let alone your mouth, fisting what couldn’t fit down your throat as you start bobbing your head. More broken tears collect on your lashes and drip down your wet cheeks, looking utterly ruined and wanton as you gaze up from between Soobin’s legs into his hazy, unfocused eyes.

The eye contact is too much for him— his eyes roll back in his head with a whimper and his cock twitches violently inside of your mouth, the grip he has on your hair shifting from guiding your head along his shaft to tugging you off him with a sudden and disorienting strength. He pulls you off him with a wet pop, a foamy string of saliva connecting from his shiny cockhead to your needy whimpering lips.

“I’m gonna cum again if you don’t stop,” he pants, gasping for breath, “I gotta fuck that pussy first, bunny, please. Need to feel that tight cunt squeezing around me.”

“D’you wanna cum inside?” you goad, a lustful, mischievous grin overtaking your features, “Don’t worry, Soobin, I’m on the pill. You can fill me up if you want to.”

Your words make him visibly shake, what was left of his flimsy resolve crumbling right before your eyes, leaving nothing but primal hunger. “Get on the fucking desk.”

You obey immediately, hardly able to contain your excitement as you stumble to your feet and bend over Soobin’s big oak desk, wiggling your ass in the air invitingly. Your skirt and panties were still pulled up and pushed aside, exposing your dripping puffy hole for his eyes to feast upon.

“So pretty…” he croons behind you, his hands caressing your hips and waist. They smooth over the exposed globes of your ass, his fingers fiddling with the gusset of your drenched panties. Sheer pink lace that compliments your flushed skin, looks so delectable running through Soobin’s fingers as he grabs your asscheeks and spreads them wide. “You look so cute in pink.”

he hisses in appreciation at the sight of your dripping hole quivering, sliding a finger down between your pussy lips to circle at your engorged clit. “Holy fuck, you’re so wet,” he groans, accentuating his claim with a flick of his hand— your pussy squelches obscenely, the lewd, pornographic sound making your cheeks flush. “I can’t take it anymore, I have to be inside of you— you can take it, right bunny?”

“Please!” you beg, hardly able to string together a sentence, “Please, sir, put it in, I need it so bad, need your cock—”

You’re interrupted by the feeling of his cockhead slapping against your entrance, Soobin running the leaky tip up and down your slit a few times just to hear your little whimper before burying himself inside to the hilt in one smooth thrust. He rams into you with a force that knocks the air out of your lungs, his long fat shaft stretching out your hole much more than you could have ever been prepared for. The burn is indescribable, overwhelming every single one of your senses in the best way, your tight gummy walls gripping his cock like a vice as the both of you struggle to adjust.

He's so deep inside of you it feels as if he’s poked through your cervix and into your womb, his big fat mushroom head snug right beneath your belly button. You’re so deliciously full that it makes your head spin, already fucked completely brainless before Soobin had even begun to properly move.

“Does it hurt?” he asks you softly, so gentle compared to how he carved out your insides. In any other circumstance you would find it sweet that he was this concerned, but you were certain that if he didn’t start moving inside of you right then and there, you were going to die.

“More.” you croak back in response. “Give it to me.”

With a winded groan, Soobin relents. He pulls his cock out until just the head was inside of you, giving you not a single moment to prepare before slamming back in with a force that knocks you further up on the desk. The hardwood against your cheek does nothing to muffle your loud, unabashed shriek, so he improvises by shoving two of his thick fingers past your open lips, the musky tang of your own juices filling your mouth when you suck hungrily at the digits. He set up a punishing rhythm within seconds, his hips clapping loudly and wetly against your ass while he muffles your whines and wails. His heavy balls smack against your oversensitive clit with every rough thrust, sending shockwave after shockwave of pleasure straight to your core. The desk cuts into the skin of your hips painfully, but if anything, it only adds to the burning sweetness building steadily in the pit of your belly.

“F-fuck, I’m close already!” Soobin puffs against the shell of your ear, pressing himself up against your back— you’re suddenly thrown back into your dream from the night before, the way the sensations were eerily similar yet nowhere near as good as the real thing. “Gonna cum inside you, is that okay? Wanna see how pretty your pussy looks dripping my cum.”

You can only drool in response, your thoughts fragmented and scattered, babbling desperate nonsense and rolling your hips back to meet Soobin’s thrusts with a dizzying force. Your body vibrates with liquid fire, heating your puffy cunt and quivering thighs— faster than ever before were you hurtling towards your climax, that familiar tightening in your core growing harder and harder to bear. You wanted nothing more than to yield to the tide, let it overtake you completely, and in turn pull Soobin down with you.

Your professor was going to cum inside of you. The fantasies that had haunted you for months truly became a tangible reality. What did you do to make you so lucky?

“This slutty pussy’s sucking me in so fucking tight,” Soobin groans, his thrusts growing sloppier, “Tell me you want my cum, baby, come on. Who’s cum do you want inside of you? Tell me and I’ll give it to you!”

“Yours!” you shriek with the last remaining bits of your energy, your words nearly incomprehensible to how you sniffled and sobbed around Soobin’s fingers. “Want your cum— my professor’s cum inside of me!”

You took a gamble, but it was just what he wanted to hear. With one last aggressive thrust, Soobin bottoms out inside of your pulsating cunt, his bulbous cockhead kissing your battered cervix as he cums with a broken cry. The sensation of his sticky, hot seed splashing against your insides is just what you need to tip over the edge yourself, your walls clamping down on him and milking him for all he’s worth as you ride out your own climax with long, surrendering moans. He hisses from the overstimulation, but he makes no movements to pull out, letting himself soften inside of you as you both struggle to catch your breaths. Thick viscous globs of your mixed cum leak out from where you’re connected, dripping down your thighs and Soobin’s balls to collect in a puddle on the floor.

You gaze over your shoulder to watch as Soobin slowly and carefully pulls out, a creamy, foamy white ring formed around the base of his cock. His glasses were fogged up from his heavy breathing, his hair and clothes even more a mess than it was when he had first opened the door, his pink face so irritatingly kissable when he shoots you a nervous dimpled smile.

You cant help but giggle at him.

“You’re not going to… tell anyone about this, are you?” he asks you anxiously, opening one of the desk’s drawers to retrieve a packet of tissues.

“As long as you explain to me why you told those other professors that I was your best student.” You reply smartly, your grin widening when he scowls.

“It was the only way I could think of how to explain why I talk about you so much.” He admits shyly, wiping down the mess between your thighs. “Now, if you don’t mind, I’d rather if we continued that charade so it doesn’t look suspicious when I ask you to come to my office every once in a while.”

“Will you give me that TA position then?”

“You technically don’t qualify,” He laughs, “but I thought that was a given.”

“You won’t regret bending the rules a little, I promise.” You tell him with a wink and a smile. The love-stricken, goofy dimpled grin he shoots back at you makes your heart soar.

“I know I won’t.”

𝒯O𝔐ORROW X 𝒯O𝒢E𝒯HER 𝒯A𝒢L𝒾S𝒯 ⪼

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