#specify who pls <3< /div> Explore tagged Tumblr posts

[isforever-moved]

me vs my anxiety abt coming back but.... hit the heart for a one liner from one of the following muses: HUSK, LILITH, VAGGIE, ADAM, VELVETTE, LUCIFER, NIFFTY, VALENTINO, MOXXIE, STOLAS, VEROSIKA, or BARBIE!

[distortedkilling]

i've had. a day. zzz trying to do small things across the blogs, tho.

like this for something potentially stupid and deranged in your inbox.

[fiorserpen]

starter call!

[baekuras]

Tomorrow I need to do an eye checkup in english (instead of german aka the norm) and I just checked if there are any better ways to explains things or tell people what to do etc instead of my basically direct translations and turns out

nope

it sounds exactly as stupid as i already worded it, no special words or better formed sentences around 10/10 school english is good enough (nice)

[welcometoteyvat]

co-op is crazy bc in the same co op session you can immediately click with someone and then find out the other rando who joined might be a racist

[bronzebtch]

anybody wants an unhinged ( possibly one liner ) starter ?

[mastermicd-arch]

working on my vacation queue: so mutuals like this for a short lil maybe one liner thing to pop out when i’m holiday ♡

[dreamse]

send me a lil ♡ + which ship to see what picture of their s/o would be on my muse’s lockscreen. :’) 

[mushiewrites]

i’m going on a plane soon but pls send me some!!!!

character tickling ask meme

i thought it would be cool to make a nice little list of fun questions to answer when discussing headcanons for a certain character!! feel free to reblog and use this for either fandom hcs or your own ocs :)

on a scale of 1-10, how ticklish are they?

where is their most ticklish spot(s)?

which spots are they not ticklish?

what is their laugh like?

do they enjoy tickling? if yes, is it a fun platonic/familial thing, or kinky thing to them, or can it be both depending on the circumstance?

are they more often a lee or ler, generally?

who is someone in their life that they tickle often?

who is someone in their life that they get tickled by often?

does the word “tickle” or any variation of embarrass them?

are they embarrassed about their ticklishness, and do they try to deny/hide it?

would gentle tickling or rough tickling affect them more?

is there a specific spot that they enjoy being tickled, either exclusively or more than other spots? what is it?

is there a spot that they can’t stand to be tickled, either because it’s just too sensitive, or it’s uncomfortable/painful/etc? what is it?

would they ever purposefully bug a friend/partner/sibling into tickling them, and if so, how would they go about it?

does teasing affect them?

[awrkive]

[TEASER] THE LOVE PROGNOSIS (m) — JJK.

for as long as you can remember, you’ve always been a hopeless romantic.

the girl who’s always dreamt of cheesy encounters with her soulmate, grand love declarations, and a cute little beach wedding to boot. the kind of girl who thought her high school jock boyfriend would make good on his promise of keeping contact until college. that girl who thought the guy she met at 19 at some sleazy frat party wanted more than just sex. the girl who thought that her boyfriend at 21 would finally be The One after he introduced her to his parents on New Year’s Eve. you’re the kind of girl who thought that it was smart to get a boyfriend in her first year of med school and get proposed to in fourth year.

but reality pretty much slaps you hard right on the face, because love, unfortunately, doesn’t come grand — it’s simple and it’s quiet, but it is quite painful, especially when the love that you’ve been seeking for all your adult life has just been right under your nose all this time.

PAIRING jungkook x female reader // mingyu x female reader

GENRE r18+ (fluff, angst, smut) MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!

WORD COUNT 1.2k words for this teaser but the fic currently is at 22k words (heavily unedited). the final estimate is around 30-35k 🤓

WARNINGS/MISC medical!au, roommates!au, surgeon!jk, surgeon!reader (they are both 4th year residents and are co-workers), corporate lawyer!mingyu, oc and jk are bffs since med school but their love language is fighting each other <3, jk and mingyu are bffs during undergrad, jk sluts it out quite often😞, hopeless romantic!oc, weddings and engagement themes, the angst is a bit extreme (medium level tbh) on this one, it’s the… yearning? one sided-love?, the surgeons gang: jk, oc, nayeon, doyeon, taehyung <3, multiple sex scenes (will specify once the fic comes out), i personally have only acquired a degree on Bingewatching Grey’s Anatomy so my medical knowledge is.. you see.. greys anatomy 💔 BUT! i did a lot of research for this pls dont crucify me. the full list of warnings will be indicated when the full fic comes out 🙏🏼 anyways warnings particularly for this teaser: drunk oc, implied alcohol consumption, germaphobe jk lol

NOTES hello awrkive nation!!!!!!!!!!!!! i wanted to do something for jk’s birthday this september and this is what i came up with 😭 i am so soooo so incredibly excited to announce this fic to you guys 😵‍💫 ive been working on this on and off since the last week of july and its currently at 20k words so its coming along really well 🫂 its gonna be a HUGEE HUGEEE fic since its estimated to be around 30k words which will be a first for me hehe <3 pls look forward to it and REPLY TO THE COMMENT SECTION IF YOU WANT TO BE ON THE TAGLIST (pls do not send an ask for taglist request 🫶🏼) LET ME KNOW WHAT YOU GUYS THINK!!!!! I WANNA HEAR YOUR THOUGHTS <33333

[ TLP MOODBOARD ]

READ FULL FIC HERE ❗

“Hey, swing me.”

You tell Jungkook, situating yourself more comfortably on the wooden platform attached to the chains.

“A dollar per minute.” He says, standing up from his own seat and placing himself behind you.

“I thought you hate capitalism? What is this?”

“This is forced labor.” Jungkook says with a groan that you think is a feigned exasperation, since you begin to feel movement right after it.

“You broke my hairdryer the other day. Consider this your compensation.” You look up at him to give him a smarmy smile.

Fom where you’re seated, you realize just how… big his presence is. It’s not the looming, ominous type, though – it’s quite the opposite. When Jungkook surrounds you, you find a bit of comfort in it. A huge one if you want to be honest to yourself.

“And I already bought you a new one. We’re even.” Jungkook squints his eyes at you.

You laugh.

“You’re gonna borrow and break it again.”

He visibly winces. “Touché.”

Jungkook swings you while you talk about your day, just like usual. He asks you about your laparoscopy that kept you from having lunch with the rest of your friends at the hospital earlier that day, about your new scrub cap, and you gossip a little about the new lab tech having a crush on the scrub nurse you both know.

For all his complaints earlier, Jungkook seemingly doesn’t seem to mind having swung you for the past ten minutes now. He’s relaxed and gentle with his movements, and his voice is quaint and soft as he talks to you.

But then you start to feel bad for him so you tell him to stop, standing up from the swing.

“Okay, your turn.”

Jungkook gives you a big grin.

“Nice.”

You chuckle at his enthusiasm when he sits on the swing chair this time around. But when you attempt a push, he barely moves, prompting him to laugh.

“What weak ass push was that?” He says incredulously, looking at you.

You jut your bottom lip out. “You’re heavy and I’m drunk.”

The second time you push him is more forceful but then Jungkook voices out a complaint after the third, fourth, and every single time you do it. You roll your eyes at his tantrums, but then suddenly, you think of a much better idea.

You push him off the swing with all your remaining strength even though your body feels like jelly from all the alcohol you consumed an hour ago.

“What the fuck, __?”

You burst out in boisterous laughter at Jungkook’s state, his hands and knees planted on the ground. He then sits on it, clapping his palms together to get rid of some dust that gathered on his skin.

Without thinking too much about it, you make quick steps over to his direction and situate yourself beside him.

Jungkook looks at you, confused, but you only give him a grin.

“Let’s lie on the ground.”

“What? No!” Jungkook immediately opposes it. As you expected.

You scrunch your face. “Oh! Look at me! I’m Jeon Jungkook and I’m a germaphobe and I’m afraid of dirt!” You say, intentionally making your voice a pitch higher.

Jungkook deadpans. “Pathogens can kill your cells’ metabolic machinery, so, yeah? I’m afraid of dirt.”

You roll your eyes at him and while he goes off about how they can also cause a toxic massive immune reaction, you push his chest forcefully which catches him off guard, prompting him to lay on the ground. Before he can say anything, you take his arm out to spread beside you and you use it to rest your head on.

Jungkook stops his rambling after that.

“See, shut up.” You say, backhanding him slightly on the chest. You fix your gaze at the skies. “The sky is beautiful tonight. Worry about your pathogens next time.”

Jungkook chuckles, and you feel the vibration of his body as he does so, being so close to him. As you peer up to look at him, you see him folding his other arm to lie his head on it.

You smile, going back to looking at the sky.

“This is like in The Notebook.” Jungkook says after a beat of silence.

“Right?” You grin. “And with the pathogens, too.” You tease.

Jungkook laughs, pinching your arm in his reach. “God, shut up about your pathogens.”

You chuckle at the irony.

“That’s me,” you point upwards, referring to a big twinkling light in the sky. Then, you move your finger towards the star beside it. “And then that’s you, ‘cause I’m a bigger star than you.”

You feel Jungkook look at you from his position. “You are so drunk.”

That causes you to giggle, clutching your stomach because you can’t stop laughing at pretty much everything tonight.

“I feel like I'm not anymore. My head just feels like it’s floating but no, definitely not drunk.”

“Whatever you say.” Jungkook says, chest vibrating from laughing at you.

“Hm. Race you to sleep, Jungkook.” You snuggle on his armpit. As you do, you smell a waft of your water lily springs body wash from Bath and Body Works. “Can you stop using my body wash?”

“What?” You can hear Jungkook say, but as he calls your name and more, his voice starts fading. “__? Hey, don’t sleep on me.”

You hum, eyes still closed.

“__, hey!” Jungkook grazes your arms. You can feel your head moving as Jungkook starts to sit, guiding your back to sit upright. He calls you again, gently tapping your cheek to wake you up.

The truth is, you’re really sleepy, but not so much that you can’t hear him anymore or move on your own.

Jungkook gives up trying to wake you up, though, convinced by your acting. Soon, he goes over in front of you, reaching for your arms and placing them around his neck.

“Just put your legs around me, yeah?” He whispers against your hair once you’re glued against his back.

You hum, intending it to sound like a mumble so Jungkook thinks you don’t actually understand.

Jungkook fixes your legs around him, standing up, bouncing a little to get you nice and snug in his back. You smile at the prospect of a piggyback ride.

“I know you’re awake, silly,” He says suddenly, his voice painted with amusement.

You stifle your laughter against his neck, breaking your supposed to be convincing act.

“Race you to the car, Kook.” you whisper into his ear.

Jungkook scoffs, but he doesn’t say anything more until you reach his car. He wears your seatbelt for you, though, and tells you to drink more water from his tumbler.

You fall asleep easily mid-drive.

In the morning, you wake up with a banging headache, your eyes catching the sight of a post-it note on your desk with one tab of Advil.

morning/afternoon stinky i made porridge before i left for my shift just heat it up again when you wake up

ps: your medical bill from my personal care will be discussed later when i get back home. no friends discount allowed

— your angelic friend, kookie

You chuckle at the (annoyingly elaborate) sketch of an angry bunny on the side.

© 𝐀𝐖𝐑𝐊𝐈𝐕𝐄 2024. all rights reserved. copying, editing, reposting and translating any of my works are not allowed.

[crowcryptid]

This week was so calm and peaceful cause my stupid ass coworkers weren’t here. And by that I mean they showed up, clocked in, and disappeared and got paid to do??? Whatever it is that they do. I assume walk around. Or sit outside. For like 6 hours a day. They only come back to have lunch.

But today they decided to stay, not working of course, cause the new hires can do all your work for you. Do I really care that they’re not doing anything? Eh. I’ve gotten used to them being completely unreliable and I prefer when they’re not here. Cause them being here=noise. It’s annoying that they keep complaining that “young people don’t work” when they are literally not doing anything. But I’ve grown so used to them doing fuck all that it doesn’t bother me anymore. They can leave. They should leave.

What bothers me is that when they aren’t working they cannot shut the fuck up. Oh my god. Shut up.

I don’t understand why can’t they just go somewhere else. They did it all week. Why not today. Gtfo. There’s plenty of places to sit and be as loud as you want outside. And the reason for not going outside can’t be to avoid the heat because they keep it way too warm in here. I’m sitting perfectly still and I’m sweating. Which is another reason why I want them to leave so I can turn on the damn air. And yes I’ve tried to turn it on when they’re here and they turn it off not even 10 mins later cause “it’s too cold”.

[reshinless]

(dom) stoner!kinich high sex pretty pls.... ‼️😣

i dont know what being high is like so pls forgive me if this doesn't make sense :3 fair warning this is kind of over 1k words (I think) +mostly smut

dacryphilia if you kind of squint, gn!afab!reader (no specified prns)

kinich often got high, and always offered you some. but obviously you never obliged, wanting to stay clean for the rest of your life.

you were there every time he did something, anything related to it—and you've always said to stop, yet he simply nods and continues doing it anyway.

he says it's for relief, and other times he says it's for fun.

but one night you get a little curious.

"kin'." you poke at him as he hangs his head back, manspreading into the chair, brushing excess dust away from his nose.

"mmm?" oh he was definitely into it. clear in his voice—a much more different tone was laced, yet he was still coherent, and able to reply. he wasn't the type to take too much of it anyway.

he took a drag from the white powder-like substance on the table- it was cocaine, as well as a quick puff from his cigarette, watching as he let out the huff of smoke away from you. he knows you don't really like it, which is why he was stunned at your sudden question.

"can.. can i try?" your voice was light, with a sense of curiosity. "oh, pretty, you know that curiosity killed the kitty right?" he let out a deep chuckle, you could hear the smokiness in the rasp of his voice. he had offered you a few times before, but seeing your clear distaste for such matters, he didn't try to push it any further.

"please? just once." he let out a laugh at your silly little pleading. "you sure, kitty? this seems to be a bit strong for people who are new to it." "just lemme try some!"

he reluctantly lets you near him, letting you sit near him so he can briefly put it into your mouth. at first, you sneeze at the sudden smell of tobacco. kinich can't help but let out a raspy chuckle at your cute reaction. "too strong?" "no, I'll... I'll take it!"

as you take in your first puff, it definitely felt a lot different than what you imagined. your emotions felt so... enhanced. emphasizing specifically lust, is it possible to lace a cigarette with an aphrodisiac?

well, whatever was inside it got his head buried between your thighs, while your fingers threaded, and grasped at his hair. your drunken little moans definitely only got him more pussy drunk, and drowsy. he couldn't tell if it was the tobacco smell in the air that influenced his taste, or if your essence just tasted that good.

whatever that cigarette was, it definitely enhanced whatever he felt, as well as yours. you could feel his determination to suck you dry with the way his tongue glided over every sport, fuck he hit everything alright...

he held your hips close, not letting you go just yet, no he had to get every little crevice, every little drop he could. he didn't know what the hell was he tasting but archons was it close to celestia. whatever that was.

you couldn't help but spew out pathetic mewls, it was your own fault you took the silly little dust into your system. even as you came right onto his face, you still wanted more.

fuck, squirting into your best friend's mouth like this, it was unethical! so dirty, and naughty, why were you still entertaining these stupid fantasies you had, finally letting these dreams come true.

before you knew it, he was already flipping you onto your back to fuck your tight entrance into oblivion!! he circled his finger around the very rim of your entrance, aching- almost asking for more.

it throbbed harder as you felt him enter with one digit. clenching harshly onto kinich's fingers, he let out a groan. "s'tight... and it's just my fingers..." your back instinctively arched against them, how he was obviously curving the tips of his fingers into that one spot you loved so much.

before you knew it- you were already creaming onto his very palm. the overstimulating feeling from just reaching your peak about five-ish minutes ago by his talented tongue, and now by just as talented fingers.

gosh it's always him and his heightened senses that mixed well with his excitement. his hurriedness almost shocked you frozen—yet your eyes continuously rolled to the very back of your pretty little head, his digits only fastened the pace.

his tongue licked a long stripe all over your nape as a way to tease you, as you slowly calmed down from the exhilarating feeling you had just experienced—but he didn't want you to rest just yet.

his hand leaves the ripe, soft hole. looking back up at him as if to ask for more, and oh would you be getting more.

as if dragging your hips to attach to his, he believed your legs weren't spread far enough; lifting up one of your soft legs onto his shoulder for support.

you were almost already accustomed to his wildness and let your arms go numb beside your head, as his slowly started to enter inside.

you didn't know what to do- but it felt like you had to hold onto something—now wildly grasping onto the sheets below you as your head buried further into the mattress. fuck you felt like you were being split apart right then and there!

"ahhh- kin'- fffuck it hurts..." with you eyebrows knit and a loud wail comes from your throat, he leans down to whisper how he knows that you can take it.

"c'mon I promise it'll feel good once I'm in, pretty..." each word he said, an inch entered inside you—fffuck he loved how you stretched over him so well.

"damn, you're so tight baby- ahh sssshitt..." he stops midway just to admire the little tears that trickled in the edges of your eyelids, and how your hands flailed everywhere, you yourself didn't even know where to place your fingertips on, his neck or the bed itself.

his loud groan didn't help as he pushed the last few inches into, making you shudder- your back ached as it arched once more. almost screaming his name, and lands one of his hands onto your mouth—a finger over your mouth.

"you remember we have guests over, yeah? not too loud now, baby." cold fingertips wipe your tears away, a smirk grows on his expression.

working himself in and out of your hole with a calm pace, knowing that you weren't too used to him—not to mention his size. your little mewls, shit are you begging him to rearrange your insides right now?

he admits that he had fantasized this before, and for as much as he wasn't a virgin while doing this with you right now—he can admit all the girls he fucked he only thought about you the whole time.

and not to mention how turned on he was right now- the mix of getting to fuck you and the drug he took, actually no aside the actual drug, fucking you was the drug.

he'd overdose on it if he could. if he always got to see how you would furrow your brows, your cute little eyes roll to the very rear of your head, and getting to feel your soft skin on his.

the sound of skin slapping against each other was loud, and vulgar, and probably enough to get the attention of your guests outside. even so, you still attempted to hide your wails of pleasure.

before you realize it- you've came onto him for the third time this night, as he finishes inside you as well. squirting everywhere— some of it getting onto his chest, and a bit on his face. his own head throwing back in pleasure, barely holding in his own noises, attaching your hips to his for a bit.

"f- fffuck... never seen anyone squirt like that before. y'wanna do it again?"

[sharedroots]

( puts fingers together for memes uwu )

[slater-baby]

Short (and v specific) fic request of how Simon would interact with an afab partner who was raised to be independent and self-sufficient (actively working on a computer science degree) but low key would rather be submissive, brain shut off, no decisions? 🥺

(ik there are already a lot of prompts out there like this but i love your writing style, pls feel free to disregard if this is not interesting/inspiring for you!!)

(can I be 💀✨ anon if there isn’t already one? :3)

Of course you can!! Thank you so so much for this request!! I didn't know if you wanted this to be spicy or not, but I went ahead and expanded on it! I hope you like it <3

Tags: Dom Simon Riley, Smut, Submissive Fem!Reader, she/her pronouns, praise kink

Edit: it just struck me when I was rereading over the ask that it was for afab!partner and didn’t have specified pronouns, but I wrote this with she/her. I’m sorry if u wanted gender neutral pronouns instead! Pls accept my deepest apologies ❤️

-

“That’s it,” you take a deep breath, clasping your hands in front of your chest, “Last paper’s finished.”

From a room over, you hear Simon make a small noise in encouragement. However, you’re so deep in your own mind that you hardly hear it, focusing instead on the sprawling lines of words and figures that lay out in front of you. For the past week, you’d been single-mindedly polishing off the final research paper of your senior year—an accomplishment which, to no small degree, would make or break your applications to grad school.

At the mere thought of it, you fidget in your seat, practically unblinking as you retrace your each and every key stroke. 

Well, you muse darkly, It can’t be the worst paper I’ve ever written, can it?

Dumbly, you bite your lip, and out of the corner of your eye, you spot an errant typo you’d somehow managed to gloss over. Instantly, your hands rush to correct it. 

Fuck, you seethe in your head, It could be the worst paper I’ve ever written. It totally could be.

Defeated, you make a small noise in the back of your throat, burying your head in your hands so that your tired eyes can’t read over another blasted line of your own research. So lost in your own mind, you hardly notice when the door to your bedroom opens and your boyfriend quietly comes to your side.

“Finished it off, did you?” He exhales, “Can I see?”

“Simon,” you grunt, struggling to find your words.

You don’t dare to raise your head in fear that he might see the frustrated tears currently working their way through your system. Well, it might be a little late for that. The tears and exhaustion are more than just painfully evident the next time you open your mouth to speak.

“Just wait another minute, okay?” You tell him, clearing your throat, “I’ll let you look in a minute, I just have to…”

Your wavering vision flits back to the screen, the entirety of your work overwhelming you all at once. Your fingers wring just that much tighter. Simon doesn’t miss the way that your chest expands with another anxious breath, and he looks down at where you sit with a cocked brow.

“Love,” he hums gently, “You alright?”

“What?” You whip your head around to look at him.

“Are you alright?” He asks again, clearer this time, leaning down next to you, “Just…seem a little in your head is all. Sure that paper’s not getting to you?”

On muscle memory alone, you shake your head, trying valiantly to straighten up.

“No, it’s just…” you stutter, mindlessly clicking about the page, “Look, it’s—it’s not all the way finished, I guess. I should do another round of editing. Y’know, just make sure it’s ready for my supervisor to look over…”

You hear Simon shift on his feet next to you, and his scent envelopes you as he leans over the desk to stare at the computer screen. Unconsciously, you scan over his bare face, watching his eyes read over the lines you’d written. Like that, you watch for some sort reaction or tell, something that would either confirm or deny all of your worst fears in their entirety.

“You sure?” He asks you hesitantly, gesturing towards the screen, “Looks pretty polished to me…”

“Well,” you swallow, “It’s—it’s still not ready. So maybe give me another hour or so, and then we can head out for dinner. Okay?”

Simon’s chest expands with an inhale, but he doesn’t move away. Instead, he pins you with a questioning look, body tense with unsaid words.

“Love, are you sure?” He begins softly, “I mean, you’ve been lookin’ over that thing for a bloody week already. Hell, the lads ’n I were on deployment for a good three months, and I swear that paper’s been the only thing on your mind the entire time…You sure that it’s not good to go? I mean, looks quality to me, love. You’ve done a bang up job.”

His eyes drift over the page, and although he’s listened to you explain the topic several times over, he swears his army brain is hardly sharp enough to decipher a single line of what you’ve written on the page.

“But…” he smirks, rubbing your back, “Then again, I’m not one of them lads in the fancy white coats. Can’t understand a bloody word of this shite.”

You might have been offended at that last word if you hadn’t been dating him long enough to know his tells. Getting Simon Riley to admit you had a bigger brain than he did? High praise in the most extravagant order. It was about the most sincere compliment he’d give any one of his closest friends. Hell, when you’d first met, he was so stoic that his compliments seemed more like commands than anything else. Idly, your mind drifts back to how he’d asked you on your first date.

“You don’t got a ride home from class, do you? Said your car was in the shop?”

“Yeah, it’s no big deal, I just—”

“Good. We’re going to dinner. At seven. Wear a something nice, yeah?”

“But, Simon, what—”

“Don’t be late.”

Yeah, it was safe to say you never let him live that interaction down. Not for as long as you lived. A year later, Simon was much smoother than you initially gave him credit for, but just because he home from deployment didn’t mean he’d gotten out of his bad habits. That was the officer in him, you suppose. 

“Just another hour, Simon,” your hands fly back to the keyboard, mind racing, “I—I promise I’ll submit it then, just give me a little…”

Simon watches as your eyes focus singularly on the words on the page, practically unblinking. The minute your fingertips hit the keys, you’re lost in your own task, oblivious to his presence. He bites his cheek with a small exhale, patting you on the back before walking out of the room. He lingers in the doorway, sparing a glance back at you.

You’ve been sitting in that chair for hours, fidgeting in your seat from how sore your back had become, and the bags under your eyes are nothing short of telling. He can see the redness in your eyes, the way your hands shake every time you lift them from the keyboard. You’ve been working yourself ragged, and if this essay wasn’t the final hurdle between you and your shiny degree, Simon would have ripped your body away from the computer before it destroyed you.

And yet…he bites his lip, clenching his hands instead of taking charge. It was the last assignment. He shouldn’t rush you.

But as he walks back to the living room, he finds himself simmering with a quiet frustration, eyes focused anywhere but on the TV as he presses play once again. 

You shouldn’t be working like this, he laments in his mind, You needed a break.

Simon had gotten back from deployment late last night, and when he’d walked through the door, you’d still been sitting at that blasted computer, hair frazzled from yanking at it in frustration. You’d jumped up excitedly to greet him, and yet, he could knew that look in your eyes. The exhaustion. The fear. The anxiety. The swollen skin on your face and the tired look in your pupils, the one that only came around when you’d been holding back tears, running yourself ragged.

He’d watched you work on that paper for hours—from dusk to dawn practically. And one thing had become exceedingly clear: that little head of yours was going to go crazy if you didn’t take care of yourself soon. 

Simon himself was far from okay with it. Sharing a bed with you at night—one of the few comforts he allowed himself—had even fallen victim to it. Last night alone, you woke up several times in a shock, jolting him awake behind you. You didn’t have to tell him what you were dreaming about. He already knew.

School, he groans in his head, That fuckin’ school would kill you in due time.

Don’t misunderstand him. Simon was happy that you were pursuing your dreams in such a feverish manner—ecstatic, even. Simon had been a jarhead his entire life, resigned to the camouflage the moment they handed him his high school diploma. To see someone like you working your hardest, chasing your dreams to the fullest of your abilities, it filled him with a blazing pride. And the fact that he got to stand by your side throughout the journey was a privilege he didn’t take lightly. By all means, you knew what you wanted, and you had no problem taking it.

But…

He glances towards your room, listening to the furious keyboard clacks beyond the entryway.

Your needs weren’t always at the forefront of your mind. The truth of the matter was that, sometimes, the guiding hand was more like an olive branch than a short leash, and there was no one better than Simon to understand that. Hell, since the beginning, he’d seen the truth of you: a girl who was headstrong and hard-working, but that needed something more than medals and accolades. A girl who smiled in the pictures, but crumbled under her responsibilities when she got home at night. A girl who needed someone to pick her up and put her pieces back together, no matter how many times she fell apart.

A girl who needed someone to take care of her, she just didn't know it yet.

And god, if this entire assignment wasn’t just yanking at his heart strings. 

It’s only been a year, he reminds himself, A year broken up by multiple deployments, too.

Simon knew what you needed, knew what you craved, even when you couldn’t admit it to yourself. It started as a slow trickle: pulling you into bed when it got late at night, picking up the slack in the chores, keeping your fridge stocked…y’know, the usual things any boyfriend should do. The bare minimum, really. 

And yet, even if the two of you had only just begun to explore each other, he finds himself yearning to do more—to take you in his hand, and pull you into his body time and time again. At least, until you understood how much you were worth, even when you felt like you were broken and bleeding, exhausted and beat.

The past few months had been a slippery slope. And just like anything else, a drop could quickly become a flood. 

It started off simple. Something so innocuous he hadn’t even realized when it began.

-

The two of you had been at a restaurant. Him, scarfing down steak like it was going out of fashion, and you, picking away at your bowl of pasta with a lost look in your eye. But then, your phone had trilled with that familiar notification: your Canvas app. And immediately, you’d dropped your fork, food all but forgotten.

Irked by your constant assignments, Simon’s temper had been short. And perhaps that’s why he’d said what he’d said. Perhaps that’s why he’d done what he’d done.

“Love,” he’d snapped, teeth grit, “Put your phone down.”

“But—But Simon, my professor—” you’d begun to explain, eyes filled with worry.

“Don’t care about your professor,” he’d grunted, pulling the phone out of your hand and shoving your fork into your fingers instead, “Care about you. Now, finish your food, love.”

“But, my homework—”

”I won’t say it again, love,” he’d pressed, voice firm, “Finish. Your food. Now.”

For a minute, you’d sat there in shock, watching as he pushed your phone into his pocket and continued eating as though nothing had happened. And yet, although you felt embarrassment in your veins, something else began to curl in your stomach—something eerily familiar, but shockingly new all the same.

Arousal.

Hot and burning arousal had hit you like a bucket of ice cold water right then and there, just at that simple command alone. It had felt so wrong, like something taboo, something meant to be hidden. You were a grown woman who could damn well carry herself. You didn’t need his guidance, and yet...

Somehow, you did.

Somehow, you needed it.

Somehow, you craved it.

When he spoke to you like that, like he’d take you over his knee if you didn’t listen to him…The thought of it had sparks igniting in your blood. However, overwhelmed with the sudden rush, you’d only continued eating, unable to meet his gaze when you shoveled another bite into your mouth. Simon had watched like a hawk the entire time, pushing your glass of water closer to you when you reached for it.

“There you go,” he’d commented as you’d taken a sip, “Good girl.”

-

And after that, those small moments somehow became something…more.

They came when you were slaving over your desk, lost in piles of research papers.

-

“C’mon,” he shocked you out of your reverie, hooking a strong arm under your armpit, “We’re going for a walk. Let’s go.”

“Wait—Simon, I only have one more page, just hold on—”

“That page’ll still be there when we get back, love,” he’d reprimanded, all but picking you up and setting you on your feet, “The sun won’t be. Now, go get changed.”

“But, Simon,” you’d whined, digging your heels into the carpet to stop him from moving you. HIs hand had only clenched tighter around your bicep, however, and he’d pinned you with a stern look.

“Do I have to say it again, love?” He’d warned, that now-familiar tone in his voice, the one he only used within the walls of your small apartment, soft with something that was all too familiar to how he spoke to you between the sheets.

“But, I…” you’d huffed, hypnotized by the fire in his eyes. It’s then that you found your body going limp in his hold, submitting to the squeezing pain of his palm around your arm. He’d watched intently, lips clenched with something he couldn’t name, as he surveyed the way you shrank under his gaze, the tension fleeing your body.

“No,” you’d whimpered, computer all but forgotten.

“Good,” he’d stepped closer, eyes flitting to your lips, “Now, go change. Something warm, yeah? S’cold outside.”

“Okay,” you’d answered meekly, jumping at the chance to escape the rapidly climbing temperature in the room. And when he’d patted you lightly on your bottom as you stepped out of the room, you’d be lying if you said your brain was still focused on your assignments.

“Good girl.”

-

Those two words echoed in your mind like a specter, following you throughout your home every time you stepped across the threshold. 

They buzzed under your skin when you listened to his words, when you did what he said.

They overshadowed your frustration, your exhaustion, your relentlessness.

Even when your professors showered you with praise, elevating you with their lofty words and recommendations, no single sentence amounted to the flood of dopamine that filled you when you heard Simon mutter those two, simple words.

Good girl.

-

Soon enough, those words were what you lived for, what you breathed for. And the way your body reacted to them—the way your mind clung to them, when diplomas and medals couldn’t satisfy you any longer—only made Simon all the more interested. 

Soon, it was so common you needn’t question it anymore.

-

When you achieved a high score on your first final exam, he’d been the one to greet you at the door.

“Great job, love,” he’d chuckled, pressing kisses against your neck while your arms squeezed his shoulders, “M’so proud of you.”

“Really?” You’d pulled back, looking up at him with tired shining eyes, “You mean it?”

“‘Course, love,” he’d brushed the hairs away from your forehead, expression softening, “Think this deserves a little celebration, yeah? How ‘bout dinner tonight? We’ll go to that place you like. The fancy one. Full courses ’n all.”

Immediately, you’d shaken your head, smile falling, “But, Simon, isn’t that a bit expensive? Wouldn’t it be better if we—”

“It’s not too expensive,” he’d rebuked, hands drifting lower over your waist, “Not for you. Not tonight. I mean…”

He’d pulled in a low breath, looking at you in your entirety. Entranced, you’d watched the way his expression melts, watch the way his dark eyes become even darker, even hungrier. And when his hands clench around your hips, dangerously low around your body, you hardly question it.

“You’ve been such a good girl, haven’t you?” He’d whispered, leaning in so that you can feel the length of his body, “Deserve a little reward, don’t you?”

And like that, you’d become lost in his voice once again, lost in the way that he looks at you, like all of your hopes, dreams, wants, and needs would be fulfilled with nothing more than a single look into his eyes.

“Yeah,” you’d muttered mindlessly, heat blazing under your skin, “I do.”

-

But those two words weren’t reserved for the high times only. No. Even when you were down in the dumps, when you thought you didn’t deserve it, Simon said it then, too. 

-

“But, Simon, I just—” you’d sobbed, struggling to gather your words. 

You’d been on edge all night, brain reeling with the sheer number of tasks you had to complete. And when you’d come home to see Simon packing his bags, preparing to leave on deployment the next morning, you’d finally crumbled. He’d raced to your side, bags all but forgotten.

In that moment, everything had fallen away. The tasks, the assignments, the hopes, the dreams—they all washed away. And for a single blessed moment, you were just you, and he was just him. You’d fallen into his arms just beyond the threshold, the tears finally falling. And without speaking a single word, he came to your rescue.

He’d guided you with hands on your shoulders, pushing you down onto the couch. He’d come to his knees in front of you, wiping away each and every tear with his thumb.

“Tell me what’s wrong, love,” he’d ordered, softly, “What’s happened? What do you need?”

“Simon, I—I…” you’d sniffled, kneeling over to bury your face in the crook of this shoulder and neck. 

But instead of freezing up, he’d only cradled the back of your neck, letting his shirt soak up your tears. Without a word, he’d circled his arms around your waist, pulling you into his lap. And you went willingly, body wracking with sobs while he stroked over your thighs and waist, letting you emotions dissolve under the weight of his scent and presence.

“S’okay, love, I’ve got you now,” he’d whispered, “I’ll make it better. Tell me what’s wrong, ’n I’ll make it right.”

Your voice had been muffled against the fabric of his shirt. And although you felt small and embarrassed, a crying puddle in his arms, your body was too exhausted to do anything more than cling to his frame as though he’d disappear if you let him go.

“You promise?” You’d managed, voice hitching.

“Promise,” he’d answered without hesitation, “Let me see you, love. C’mere.”

When his hand hooked under your chin, lifting your face into the light, you’re useless to fight against him. Tried and empty, you let him look upon you, let him cradle your jaw in this hand and take you in his hand—at his mercy.

“What is it, baby?” He’d asked, meeting your eye, “Hard day at work?”

Your voice was so choked with tears you couldn’t open your mouth. No, you’d nodded, furiously wiping tears away from your eyes. However, before you can lift your hand, he’d grabbed both of your wrists, effortlessly pinning them between your body. You don’t struggle against him. Not like you could, anyway.

“Yeah?” He’d cooed, cupping your cheek to swipe another tear away, “Little stressed, are you?”

“Yeah,” you’d sobbed, “There’s just—just so much to do—”

“What else, baby? Anythin’ else that hurts, right now?”

“No, it’s just—” you’d rocked on top of his thighs, melting down in his arms.

Your tense, fidgeting hands go limp where he holds your wrists together, body stilling as you look down at his calm face. When you were like this—a broken mess—Simon somehow managed to be the eye of the storm, just as clear and calm as he always was. That’s what made him such a good solider, you’d imagined.

“Just…” your breath hitched, and you took a deep breath, “Just—don’t wanna think anymore…”

“That it?” He’d leaned in then, so close you could smell the cologne on his skin, “Got too much in that pretty little head?”

Distraught, your mind doesn’t register the small quip. But something in your body—something in your core—yearned to be closer to him, to press yourself into him, until you couldn’t decipher where he ended and you began. And before you could question it, you’d collapsed against his chest, wrists pinned against your breasts.

“Yes,” you’d sobbed miserably.

And in that moment, unconsciously, you’d given yourself over to him completely, the world boiling down to nothing more than his strong arms and sweet voice. 

“Love,” he’d let go of your wrists, and yet, you hadn’t moved them an inch, “Look at me.”

Before you could even do it, Simon hooked his finger beneath your chin, raising your teary face to look him in the eye. Even with your raw, reddened vision, he sees you there, and meets you word for word.

“There she is,” he’d carefully swiped at your eyes, “Take a deep breath for me, love.”

Mindlessly, you’d done as he said, a simmering familiarity bleeding into your veins at the unspoken dominance. 

“Good,” he’d pulled you closer, never once letting his eyes drop, “Now, you’re gonna sit there and listen to me for a minute, yeah?”

Without an ounce of hesitation, you’d snapped your mouth shut, hands shaking against his chest.

“You’re not gonna think anymore. Not tonight. Not with me,” he commands lowly, “I’ve got you now, and you don’t have to worry about a thing. ‘Cause I’ll take care of it. All of it. And if you so much as mention that blasted assignment again, so help me god, I’ll have you over my knee before you can so much as tell me to stop. That clear?”

Usually, the firm set of his voice and the rigidity of the order would have irked you. But in that moment, vulnerable and wet with tears, it feels more like bandaid than a ball and chain. 

“Answer me.”

“Mm-hmm,” you’d hummed, chest rapidly expanding against his own.

“Good,” he’d inhaled, “Now…”

He’d reached for your wrists again, and limply, you let him situate your arms around his neck. 

“Hold me like this,” he’d told you, cradling your waistline, “And you’re gonna sit with me awhile, okay? Until you feel a bit better, love.”

“Simon,” you’d melted into his arms, letting him hold you like the fragile thing you’d always known you were. And he’d accepted you, even when you were a teary mess, unable to even breathe for yourself.

“Shush. No talking,” he’d guided you, “Just let me take care of you. Just for tonight.”

And yet, when you’d felt his stubble against your wet cheek, honeyed words drifting into your ear, you somehow find yourself mourning the time. That this would only last a night. That in the morning, you’d have to find your footing again, all by yourself.

But like that, with Simon’s beating heart against your own and his voice in your head, it felt like the moment could continue on forever, whether he was halfway across the world or sitting right next to you. And at the idea of it—at the prospect that his memory will linger long after he’s gone—you’d found yourself in awe of all that he was…of all that he made you feel.

“Simon,” you’d asked, wholly undone, “Can you…”

“Can I what?”

“Can you…” you’d sniffled, pulling away to face him, “Will you kiss me?”

His expression hadn’t moved an inch, just as calm, careful, and collected as it was before. And in that moment, you truly hadn’t known what you’d felt. Only that you’d needed him in his entirety, just as he had you now.

“Take what’s yours, love,” he’d whispered, straightening his neck just to graze his lips over yours.

And without even dwelling on how scrambled you’d felt, you’d reached for his face with a fervor, pulling you into him with every ounce of the warring desperation you felt inside. The instant his lips met yours, sharp stubble scrapping over your raw skin, the incessant noise halts all at once. 

And before long, the tears have dried up. Your mind is blank, all but empty. Your fingers claw at him with a hunger you’d never experienced before, with a need you didn’t even knew you had.

A need he’d let simmer for much too long. One that only he could sate. One that could only be cured with his touch, his lips, and his tongue. And when his hands curve over your waistline, groping at your ass to pull you up against the quickly forming bulge at the front of his jeans, you’re nothing short of distraught when he presses between your legs.

Helplessly, you cling to him, kissing him as if he was the air you needed to breathe. And as the seconds pass, so does the stress. It bleeds out of you like plasma, staining the air with each gasping breath you take.

“Simon,” you inhale, pulling back. Strings of saliva hang between his lips and yours, and just like your eyes, you find your tongue swollen. Without a doubt, you looked just as bad as you felt, and yet, something inside of you had taken control.

That feeling deep in your stomach, the pulsing between your legs. He can feel you there, your heartbeat right up against your covered pussy, pulsing against the fly of his jeans. Artlessly, your hips move against his own, and despite the nagging need in his mind to quell all the stormy thoughts that race inside that little head, he can’t help but marvel at how he’d got you.

Out of control.

Mindless.

Grasping at his shirt like it was your last tether to this earth, focused on nothing but the wetness between your thighs, and the promise of what would make it better.

Him.

His cock.

His lips.

His love. 

His praise, care, and commands.

So when you rock forward once again, clit brushing against the button on his jeans, you’re helpless to do anything more than drown in pure, utter submission when he pulls you off of his lap and bends you over the arm of the couch.

“Fuck, love,” he grunts, hands clenching around your hips while he grinds against the cleft of your ass.

“Simon,” you practically sob, desperately trying to rock your ass back against him, if only to make the aching between your legs feel even the slightest bit better.

“No,” he gropes at your asscheek, pulling your pants over your thighs to expose your soaked panties and throbbing cunt, “No more whining, baby.”

He leans back, and you swear you feel your body falling apart when he pulls away. However, before you can moan at the loss, you feel his fingers ghost over your pussy, pressing into the dribbles of slick that leak through the threads of the fabric.

“Feel me here, love,” he breathes, watching your ass rock back against his hand when he thumbs over your clit, “This where it hurts? Huh?”

Your body collapses against the cousins of the sofa with a sharp whine, and unbidden, tears begin to slide down your cheeks at the feeling.

God, it just feels so good. So good to let go. To let him make all the decisions. To let him play with you like you were a doll, a toy who couldn’t make her own choices or speak for herself. A girl ho didn’t even know that she had needs only a man like him could fix.

“Tell me. Now.” He commands, delivering a sharp slap over your ass. 

“Yes,” you blurt out.

“Yes what?”

“It hurts—hurts there…”

“Mm,” he hums, and you hear the fabric of his jeans move when he reaches for his belt, “Figures. Haven’t been taking care of yourself, have you?”

“Simon, p-please,” you plead helplessly, and when the bare skin of his cock meets the fabric of your panties, you can’t hide the flood of tears that pools on the leather seat underneath your cheek.

“Shh, baby,” he leans over you, strong chest like an impenetrable wall against your back, “Don’t cry. I’ve got you now. I know what you need.”

“Please,” you whine, reaching back to grapple uselessly at his hips—like that would make him hurry up. And yet, he only swats your hands away, effortlessly pinning them against the leather with nothing more than a single move. With his offhand, he pulls the panties to the side, looking down at your leaking, swollen pussy. It’s so pent up you’ve already got slick on the inside of your thighs.

Needy girl.

“Fuck, baby, look at that. God, you’re fucking soaked,” he parts your sensitive folds with a single fingertip, looking at where dribbles of slick coat his pointer finger and thumb. You’re so wet that even his longer, thicker finger slides into you without resistance, eliciting a squeaking moan from your tired vocal cords.

“Tell me, baby,” he thrusts gently, watching at your nerves tense and relax with every move, “When’s the last time you touched yourself?”

At the question, you can’t even find it in yourself to be embarrassed. You don’t even question it, why your boyfriend might need to know that, like it weren’t a deeply personal question. And yet, when he says it like that—like he’d make it all better with a single touch—your mind doesn’t even think to question it when you relent your autonomy to him with nothing more than a single sentence.

“I…” you mewl, pushing your pussy back onto his fingers like a cat in heat, barely able to find your words through the force of the delicious fullness between your legs, “The—the last time you touched me…”

“Fuck,” he grunts, smacking your ass once more. It’s harder this time, hard enough to leave a red handprint against your ass. And yet, even if you flinch, you don’t let his fingers fall out of you just yet. No, if anything, you only rock against them harder, lost in the waves of tears and pleasure that fill you from the inside out.

“No wonder you’re so goddamn needy,” he rubs against that spongy spot inside of you, watching as strings of slick fall from your pussy onto the couch cushions below, “Haven’t been fucked in a week. Don’t even know how to take care of yourself. God, baby…Will you even be able to make it through deployment without me, love?”

“Si—Simon, I—I can’t do this without you,” you sob, arms hanging limply over the arm of the couch.

“I know, baby,” he gently pulls his fingers away, flattening his stomach against your back before you can even think to whine out in protest. Like that, he circles your stomach with one arm, lifting his shining fingers to your lips. All it takes is a single brush of his slick thumb against your lower lip to get you to open up and let him push them into your mouth, quieting your thoughts with a single word.

“Suck.”

Thoughtlessly, you suckle on his fingers, the taste of your slick on your own tongue. Tears stain his hand with every move, but the way he holds you, the way he grinds his bare cock against your wet folds, clears your head all at once. 

“Need to do something about that,” he laments, swiveling his hips just enough to notch the tip of his cock up against your hole, “Might have to buy you something over deployment. Something that’ll fill up this needy cunt while I’m gone. Yeah? That what you need, baby? Need something to fuck yourself stupid with while I’m gone?”

Moaning around his fingers, you nod your head yes, desperately grinding down against the tip of his prick. And when he pushes just the slightest bit forward, nothing more than a single inch of his dick filling you up, you can’t help the way you sob against the arm of the couch. 

“Tell me, baby,” he whispers, slowly sliding into you, “Is this what you need? Need my cock?”

He pulls his fingers out of you, harshly grabbing you around the jaw to make you face him. His fingers are wet with spit and slick, and the hunger in his eyes is so ravenous it nearly devours you then and there. But all the voices—all the protests, tears, and worries—are muffled under the weight of his body and touch. And before you can mourn the independent woman you swear you were, you find yourself desperately arching your back underneath him, sinking down onto his cock so fast it pulls the air out of his lungs altogether.

“Need you, Simon,” you cry, beginning to fuck yourself on his cock when he won’t do it himself.

However, at your little fit of helplessness, he stills you with a hard grip around your hips, pushing into you once again to keep you in place.

“Shh, baby, I know,” he coos, slowly fucking into your cunt, “I’ll give you what you need. Don’t gotta think anymore. Just need to let it happen. Need to let me have you.”

-

Images of that night run circles around his mind, and before he can even register the passing time, thirty minutes had passed into the TV show he’d halfheartedly put on. Your echoing voice ringing in his ears, he shocks back to reality, and dumbly, he lets his hand fall to the couch, TV remote all but forgotten.

His ears are wholly attuned to the sound of your typing, and with every keystroke, his anger only climbs higher and higher—until sitting on the couch, ignoring the way you’re hurting yourself, turns into a burning, fiery rage.

With a grunt, he stands, storming over to your open door. Determined, he pushes open the door, coming to stand behind you in your office chair. You’re so focused on the paper you hardly notice him. 

That is, until his larger hand covers yours, stopping you halfway to the mouse. Surprised, you glance behind you, pointlessly trying to fight against him.

“Simon,” you say, gasping when he pulls the chair away from the desk, “What are you—”

“Turn the computer off, love. It’s done.”

“But—but the final page—”

“Is perfect,” he grunts, hauling you to your feet, “Now, c’mon. You need a break.”

“But this is the last assignment!” You cry, shoving against him to try and get back to the computer, “If it’s not perfect, then I won’t graduate—”

“Love,” he yanks you back by the wrist, grabbing you around the jaw, “Look at me.”

Frazzled, you go limp in his hold, blinking up at him confusedly.

“You are the smartest person I know,” he explains tersely, “And one day, you’ll have some big, important job, and you’ll be sitting on piles of cash. And trust me when I say that I would love for nothing more than to sit at home and be your house husband. But,” he growls, yanking your hand down to press into the growing bulge at the front of his jeans. Your eyes widen when you feel how hard he is, “I’ve waited three months to have you. Three. Fucking. Months. And I know for a fact you haven’t been using that little toy I bought you.”

“Simon,” you flush, unable to meet his eye, “I—I have been using it, I’ve just been busy—”

“Love,” he warns, cocking his head, “Look me in the eye and say that again.”

You swallow, barely managing to lift your gaze. However, when you open your mouth to speak, no words come out. And just like that, he’s got you.

He grinds his jaw, rolling his eyes, “Fucking knew it.”

Before you can even register what’s happening, he’s ducking down. Without warning, he lifts you up, hoisting you over his shoulder with barely more than a single arm. You gasp when you’re lifted off your feet, scrabbling uselessly at his back when he begins to walk towards your bedroom.

“But—” you whine, watching the floorboards slowly transition to carpet down the hallway, “I—I have been using it, I swear! I took it out of the packaging and everything—”

Your words grind to a halt when he slaps you on the ass, hard enough for the sound to ring in your eyes. His fingers dig into the fat of your thighs, and helplessly, you dangle over his shoulder.

“Lie to me again,” he grunts, groping at your ass cheek to prepare you for another spank, “And I’ll just hit you harder.”

At that, you have nothing more to say than a singular whine, one that sounds so out of character against the stark Times New Roman of that blasted essay.

“Now,” Simon says, pushing open the door of your bed room, “You gonna be a good girl? Gonna shut up and let me fuck you? Gonna let me take care of you?”

For a split second, your eyes stare down the hallway at where the blue light of your laptop illuminates the office walls. And a part of you screams to push at him until he lets you go, until he lets you run back to all your responsibilities and work.

And yet, the longer you stare down that buzzing, blue cloud, the more you come to understand the simple truth of who Simon is: if you fought back, he’d only spank you harder, fuck you faster, and nag at you longer.

After all, that’s the only way he could get you to take care of yourself, diploma be damned. 

“Yes,” you relent with a mewl, going limp in his arms. And as he kicks the bedroom door closed behind him, the feeling of your head going empty is punctuated only by two, simple words. 

“Good girl.”

-

Notes: thank you so much for the request!! AO3 version will be posted soon with notes!! ❤️

[felixknow]

43 pls 🙏 🙏🙏🙏🙏❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️🙏❤️🙏❤️❤️🙏❤️❤️❤️

43. random bf texts

You didn't specify who, so I did hyung line <3

Bang Chan

Lee Know

Changbin

Hyunjin

[spencerlicious]

could i request emily x polyglot!reader? someone finds out r can speak multiple languages, so naturally derek challenges her and em to see who can speak the most languages

so emily and r get into a language competition (?) and the 2 make a bet of whoever wins, gets a special prize from the loser *wink wonk* pls? it starts with innocent foreign banyer then ends up gettin dirtier if that makes sense? top!em pls 😊

thank u for reading, if ur not comfortable its all good! :D

hi anon!! thank you for the request <3 this is a super good idea, i was very excited to write it. it kind of morphed from your request a bit, but the main idea is still there. i do want to specify that i am by no means fluent or even proficient in any of the languages used in this fic (besides english 😭) because let’s be real— 4 years of spanish did *not* stick with me, so i used quite a bit of google translate. you might want to keep it handy too! i hope you enjoy :)

p.s. this is my first fic in a very very long time, please be kind <3

love language

emily prentiss x fem!reader

rating: 18+ MDNI

warnings: smut, cursing, oral (r receiving), fingering, dom!emily, i think that’s it?

w.c.: 1.3k

It was a long day for the members of the BAU. Back-to-back-to-back cases on short amounts of sleep were starting to wear on the team, and it didn’t help that the current case was stumping them.

“Oh, look at this, guys,” Morgan says, showing a picture from the newest crime scene. “Looks like there’s some writing in another language.”

You drop your head into your hands, taking a deep breath as you try to reset yourself and focus on the case.

“Looks like French, where’s Emily?” JJ asks.

You study the picture for a second before speaking up. “Dire la vérité— tell the truth.”

Morgan’s eyes cut to you. “Y/N, you speak French? And really, where is Prentiss?”

You’re about to respond as the door opens and Emily walks in from the bathroom. “Emily, did you know Y/N speaks French?”

Her face is surprised. “Huh. I didn’t. What else are you keeping from us?” She jokes.

Your eyebrows raise and you smile. “I speak a little bit more than French,” you say, not wanting to brag.

“What other languages do you speak?” Reid asks curiously.

“Well, French, and also Spanish, German, and Italian. Mostly Romance languages,” you say.

“Here’s a challenge,” Derek says. “Which one of you can speak in a different language for the longest?”

“¿Cómo no sabía que eras políglota?” Emily asks, effectively starting the competition.

“Nunca surgió en la conversación,” you respond plainly.

She laughs. “¡Podríamos haber estado teniendo conversaciones secretas todo este tiempo!”

“¿Qué tipo de conversaciones secretas te gustaría tener, Prentiss?” You say, raising an eyebrow.

She blushes slightly, flustered. She switches to French, trying to keep you on your toes. “Eh bien, je ne sais pas. Des trucs qu'on ne veut pas que Morgan écoute.” Her eyes flit to Morgan’s as she mentions him and he looks confused.

“What are the two of you talking about? And what are you saying about me?” He asks, looking between you and Emily.

You let out a small chuckle. “Tu ne veux juste pas que Derek m'entende te traiter de jolie et qu'il devienne jaloux, hmm?”

“This is all well and good, but shouldn’t we be getting back to the case?” Reid interjects.

“Yes, definitely,” you say, straightening your hair and pulling yourself back into focus mode.

After some more discussion on the use of a foreign language at the crime scene, the team decides to break for lunch. You take a quick trip to the bathroom and end up washing your hands at the same time as Emily.

“So, what was that?” She asks.

You’re caught off guard. “What was what?”

“You think I’m pretty,” she replies. “You told me I’m pretty in French. What was that about?”

You stammer a bit. “Well, I do think you’re pretty, Emily. I think you’re beautiful,” you admit.

“It’s interesting,” she says, stepping closer to you and placing a hand on your waist. “You speak three romance languages, and while it’s not the same meaning, you picked the most romantic language to compliment me in. Even if I couldn’t tell from the long glances and the way your heart is pounding right now, that alone would’ve told me what I’m pretty sure I know,” she finishes, looking you dead in the eyes.

Her hand is heavy on your waist and your mind is racing. “And what do you know?”

Emily’s other hand trails from your shoulder to your jaw and pulls your chin up so you’re forced to look in her eyes. “You have feelings for me,” she states.

You hold her gaze for a second. “I hate profilers.” There’s a noticeable tension between the two of you before Emily smirks at you. You feel yourself inching closer to her and then you’re pressing your lips to hers. She reciprocates the kiss without hesitation, and you feel her hands pull you in by your hips.

The kiss gets broken and Emily rests her forehead on yours as you catch your breath. Your eyes meet and you share a smile. “Embrasse-moi encore, s'il te plaît,” you say softly.

“Oui chérie,” she replies, already leaning into kiss you again. Her lips meet yours in a passionate kiss and she pushes you up against the door of the bathroom. She flips the lock of the door. Emily doesn’t want anyone interrupting.

Emily’s breath was warm against your neck as she kissed the tender skin. Pulling the collar of your shirt aside, she sucks a deep purple mark into your collar bone, drawing soft whines from you. “Shhh baby, don’t want the others to hear you, right?” She says, kissing the skin she marked soothingly.

She switches languages again and whispers in your ear. “¿Que quieres, hermosa?”

You meet her eyes and can feel the lust practically radiating off of Emily. “Want you to touch me,” you respond.

Within seconds, she’s on the floor in front of you, unzipping your slacks. Her fingers trace you through your panties. “You’re soaked, baby,” she says.

“For you,” you say, bracing your hands on the wall behind you as she teases you.

Emily pulls your panties down and rests your leg on her shoulder as her fingers find your clit. It’s almost electric, the way she rubs tight circles into the bundle of nerves. “Emily,” you moan out her name.

Her ministrations stop, causing you to whine out again at the loss of contact. “What did I tell you? Not a sound, or I’ll stop completely.”

You nod, covering your mouth with one hand as Emily runs her tongue through your wet cunt. She groans at the taste. “You’re fucking delicious,” she says, voice deep and dripping with arousal. It’s nearly impossible to stay quiet as her lips close around your clit, teeth gently scraping, making your legs tremble.

Your hands find a home tangled in Emily’s hair as you hold her face close. Her tongue slides back from your clit to your entrance. Your teeth clamp down against your lower lip as Emily’s tongue plunges inside of you. Her face is wet with your slick as she tongue fucks you, the sight alone bringing you close to the edge.

Emily then licks back through your cunt, sucking on your clit as she pushes a finger inside of you. Clouded in pleasure, you can’t focus on anything except the need to cum as she adds another finger and your walls are clenching around her. “Squeezing me so good baby, you want to cum?” she asks.

Your head nods frantically. “Yes— please, wanna cum,” you say breathily.

Emily curls her fingers up to press against that spongy spot inside of you. “Cum for me,” she commands, returning to suck at your clit as she hits your G-spot over and over again.

Your body shakes as she sends you over the edge of your orgasm. Her name is falling from your lips in a quiet whisper as you soak her fingers and face.

“You did so good for me,” she says, standing up and kissing your temple.

Catching your breath feels difficult, but you begin to fix your clothes and look presentable.

“Это было так хорошо, озорная девчонка,” Emily says, fixing her lipstick in the bathroom mirror.

“You may have just rocked my world, Prentiss, but I did not gain the ability to speak Russian,” you laugh.

The two of you make eye contact in the mirror, which starts you both up laughing, when a knock sounds from the door. You freeze, flushing in embarrassment.

Emily unlocks the bathroom door, opens it, and finds an impatient JJ awaiting you. “What are the two of you doing? We have an unsub to catch,” she says, turning around and heading back to the rest of the team.

Emily throws you a wink and follows after JJ.

You’re pretty positive this isn’t going to be a one-time thing.