#tells me that somehow without me noticing I did more than that

[ollyissleepy]

𝟎𝟏. 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐚𝐧 𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐢𝐬𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐜𝐚𝐧 𝐛𝐮𝐲

summary: Rafayel is convinced by Thomas to read one of your previously released books to have him agree to illustrate the new one cw: none? a/n: make sure to check out this months posting schedule to know when more chapters will come out! taglist is open!

m.list | next →

"How many times do I have to tell you that I don't do commissions?" Rafayel tries his hardest not to raise his voice at Thomas, his manager, knowing he just wants to make sure his works are known with a bigger audience. "I don't care if it's the god itself; you can't pay me to draw for you."

"I know, I know. I just want to give one of their books a shot." Thomas raised the book he was currently holding, hoping that acting nonchalant would somehow convince Rafayel. "I think your styles match pretty well, that's all." He shrugs his shoulders, coming closer to where Rafayel was working.

Rafayel watches his manager closely, analysing what the man is plotting now. Thomas doesn't comment on Rafayel's suspicious gaze and slowly places one of your books on a small table next to an easel with an unfinished painting. He pats the cover lightly, as if he's quietly trying to encourage Rafayel to read it. Thomas then leaves, saying his goodbyes on his way out.

Rafayel stares at your book for a bit, unsure if he should just leave it there. He realises he doesn't care if the book is destroyed with paint or not. It wouldn't be his fault anyways; Thomas was the one who put it there, not him. Rafayel picks up his brush and puts some already mixed paint on it, returning back to his work, before it was rudely interrupted by his manager. Rafayel tried his hardest to focus on his painting, the brush strokes on the canvas barely looking like anything. He kept going back to Thomas's words. What did he mean by your style matching his well? Rafayel's sight kept going back and forth between his canvas and your book. He keeps telling himself that he's not an artist you can buy and that he doesn't care for that little book of yours.

Rafayel sighs, noticing that he spent more time staring at your book than working on his painting. He gives in to the temptation, hoping that after reading one page he'll grow bored of it and will be able to return to his work. Rafayel throws the brush into the cup filled with paint water and picks up your book. He decides against moving from his stool, thinking he would just take a small peek. He flips to the first page and starts reading.

After the first page, Rafayel, without thinking, turned to the second page. The story captivated him, from the way you described your characters to the way you wrote about emotions. Rafayel kept reading more pages from your book, only stopping once to move from the stool next to his easel to the couch. He didn't notice the time passing, the sun no longer shining brightly and now much lower in the sky.

Finishing the book left Rafayel with his heart aching for more. He grabbed his phone in a daze, ready to search more books that you seemingly poured your soul into. Only then did he remember why he had your book in the first place. Rafayel decided that he has to make you an exception to his rule. Instead of looking up the titles of your other book, he looks up your social media accounts. Once he finds one that you seem to be the most active on, he opens up your direct messages to send you a text.

@sashisuslover @withering-dream

[f1inl3ey]

You’d think with the pain I’m in I was dancing and shit at my sisters party instead of just standing there awkwardly waiting for my turn to hold my niece

[ghostsprincess]

I can't stop thinking about Ghost being such a gentleman when your boyfriend is an ass....

warning: domestic abuse, adult language

💀

You were mortified that it happened at work this time...

Your boyfriend was a brute of a man, made worse over the months by drinking alone at night while you bartended to help pay down your student debts from several years ago. He got a little rough with you, but only when he was plastered. And you forgave him, because he was decent the rest of the time.

But suddenly you had to start coming to the pub to pull pints with a little extra makeup on your face. The random patrons out for a casual drink wouldn't have noticed, but your regular boys did. You only knew them by Ghost and Soap. They were military and mean looking, but they laughed together like teenage schoolmates. It was always a good night when they sat at the bar, but you could often feel their eyes on you.

"Y' alright, love?" Ghost asked the first night you wore extra eye makeup and a bright red lipstick.

"Yes," you told him, not meeting his eyes. Your face hurt. Your boyfriend had slapped you two days ago. Your skin was puffy and bruised, and you were embarrassed and afraid to move out, so you stayed. "You boys need another round?"

They left you a sizable tip. They always did.

The next time you saw them, your lip was split open, and you were desperate for a way out of the mess your life had turned into. Trying to hide your face while you mixed drinks was a chore, and as soon as Ghost and Soap arrived, you knew it was useless.

When Soap disappeared toward the washrooms, Ghost leaned across the bar, his hulking shoulders taking up more than their fair of space, making you smile slightly. His voice was deep and soft, but his words made you shiver and freeze with your hand on a pint glass. "Y' know, a pretty little thing like you belongs on a pedestal. A man should touch you with reverence."

You stared at him silently as his eyes tracked the mark on your lip. When Soap returned, you didn't charge them a cent for their drink, but they tipped you well anyway.

When a confrontation happened at the bar, tears stung your eyes, and you wanted to hide. Your boyfriend was drunk and angry, and tonight he beckoned you from behind the bar to a dark corner near the hallway where he could have some privacy while he berated you and roughed you up.

"Please," you begged, running your hands nervously on your shirt. "Just go home. I'll be off work in an hour."

"How many of them have you fucked?"

"What?" you gasped, thinking he'd finally lost it. "What are you talking about? I need to get back to work."

He pushed you up against the wall with his other hand on your jaw. "How many of the men here tonight have you fucked?" His thumb brushed the spot on your lip that was nearly healed, and you flinched. "You have the guiltiest expression. So, tell me how much of a slut you've been. As your boyfriend, I need to keep you in line."

Then he was being hauled away from you as your legs shook. With wide eyes, you watched Ghost's massive bicep wrap around his neck like it was nothing. "Y' alright, love?" he asked you softly, and you nodded without saying a word. Then his face darkened, and his voice was an angry snarl as he told your boyfriend, "Ya' been relieved of your duties."

"The fuck?" he responded from his headlock, gasping for air.

Ghost sighed and rolled his eyes. "Fuckin' prick don't even know military protocol." Then he raised his voice a little louder. "I said, ya' been relieved of your duties. I'll take over from here."

Somehow, you found your voice. "Take over?"

Ghost's face softened again when he looked at you there against the narrow hallway wall. "With the boyfriend duties," he told you while Soap dragged your ex-boyfriend toward the exit. "Sound good, love?"

He was holding out his big paw of a hand, palm facing up, and you knew he'd be incapable of using it to hurt you. The softness in his gaze right now and every time he looked at you was proof enough of that. You didn't respond, but you smiled as you slid your hand into his grasp.

"That'll do for now," he grunted.

That was the night you came to know him as Simon.

💀

Part two

[beloveds-embrace]

Okay what if (and stop me if I'm wrong here I'm new to A/B/O) the guys see someone flirting with the designation-less reader and they start subtly start marking them with pheromones to tell everyone else to back off?

I love this idea so much ugh 😩 scenting in the omegaverse always makes me so jdjsjen and no worries! Nothing about what you said is wrong and welcome to the blessed cursed space that is a/b/o

Original post

It started with Price and Ghost stepping into the armory.

You hadn’t noticed them at first, too focused on trying to edge away from the overly friendly Alpha soldier who just wouldn’t take the hint, no matter how disinterested you made sure you looked. He was leaning in closer than necessary, voice dropping lower with each word like he was trying to make the conversation feel more personal. Though your nose picked nothing, you just knew he was probably, likely, drowning the area with his stench.

You didn’t know how to stop it without making a scene. It wasn’t like he’d done anything wrong- just too many compliments, too much interest in your plans after hours, too much weight in the way he said your name. It left you off balance, unsure if you were imagining the tension curling low in your stomach. Unpleasant tension, as if youmd accidentally eaten spoiled food.

These days, it seemed as if you either garnered no attention, and when you did, it was unwelcome attention. At least it was different and far more pleasant with the 141.

“So, love, I was wondering-“

Then Price cleared his throat.

It wasn’t loud, but it cut through the room like a gunshot, sharp and commanding. Both you and the soldier froze, heads snapping toward the sound, and there he was- Captain Price, standing in the doorway like he owned the entire building, eyes locked right on the man in front of you.

Ghost was just behind him, silent and still as a shadow, but the weight of him filled the room like a second presence- dark, heavy, watching, shoulders tense like Price. You’ve been with them long enough to tell when they are angry based on body cues, and right now, that’s what they were.

Not for the first time, you wondered just what they’d smell like. Would it be heavy and harsh on your nose? Somehow, you doubted it. Then again, Soap did tell you that angry Alphas smell like burnt rubber most of the time.

You eyed the way your… admirer’s nose wrinkled, jaw tight, eyes shifting around.

You hoped it smelled worse.

The soldier stumbled over a few words before making an excuse to leave. He didn’t even try to finish the conversation- rude- and barely managed to keep his composure as he slipped out the door.

Letting out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding, your shoulders relaxed slightly as you turned to thank them- but the words caught in your throat when you saw the way they were now looking at you.

It wasn’t anger, exactly. It was something… sharper. Something that made your pulse quicken and your palms feel clammy, even though you hadn’t done anything wrong.

But then Price strode towards you and nodded, low and firm, clasping a hand on your shoulder, and Ghost lingered just long enough to brush his shoulder against yours before following him out the door.

… weird Alphas.

“Weird Alphas.” You said outloud as well, huffing.

You thought that was the end of it.

It wasn’t.

It was subtle, so subtle that you almost didn’t notice at first.

Soap was the easiest to miss, playful and touchy by nature so much so even one as people-averse as you were comfortable next to him by now. He slung an arm over your shoulders whenever you were nearby, leaning into your space like it was nothing. He’d linger there just long enough that your skin was warm before pulling away, flashing you a knowing grin you didn’t understand.

Gaz was more deliberate. He’d pass you things- gear, water bottles, paperwork, pens- and his fingers always brushed yours and lingered. Small steady touches, leaving traces of his warmth on everything he handed you, leaving traces of his warmth on your skin. When you worked together, he’d lean in close enough that his presence settled over you, wrapping around your skin like a second layer. Your shoulders and thighs would touch, and sometimes you swore you could feel a deep purr coming from him.

Price didn’t touch you often, but when he did, it lingered and was acutely felt. A hand at the small of your back to guide you through a crowded hallway. A warm palm resting against your shoulder during debriefings, right where your faulty scent glands are. Solid, steady touches that felt heavier than they should’ve- clearly intentional even to the likes of you, and yet you didn’t want to really, truly acknowledge them.

And Ghost- Ghost was the worst.

He didn’t say a single word when he draped his jacket over your shoulders after a long, rain-soaked training session, the heavy fabric still warm from his body and shielding you from the wafting chill. You’d tried to give it back later, but he pushed it into your hands with a low, demanding “Keep it.” That left no room for argument. You didn’t think much of it at first- just a practical gesture- but you caught the way the others looked at you after, the raised brows and faint smirks that made you second-guess what it really meant, especially when you found yourself wearing it long after the cold had faded. You’d tried wearing your own jacket, but the look he gave you had you sighing, leaving, and returning to wearing his.

You didn’t understand it at first, didn’t recognize it for what it was. But others did.

It was possessive. Territorial.

The stares started- quick, assessing glances from the other soldiers that led to widened eyes. People moved out of your way in the hallways, gave you more space than before. Conversations shifted when you walked into a room, voices dropping, eyes darting toward the men who always seemed to hover just behind you.

You didn’t know what to make of it.

And then Soap grinned at you over lunch one day where you wearing a shirt of John’s now and Ghost’s jacket, leaning close enough to bump his shoulder against yours, and said, “Looking good, bonnie. Don’t think anyone’s stupid enough to try sniffin’ around you now.”

It took you a second too long to process what he’d said. When you finally did, your eyes darted toward the others- toward Price, who didn’t even look up from his plate, and Gaz, who only smirked and in your shock, slipped the bracelet he was wearing on your wrist. Toward Ghost, who met your gaze with something dark and unreadable before leaning back in his chair like he wasn’t affected at all. No; he was satisfied, like a smug bear.

You swallowed.

It should’ve felt suffocating, overwhelming, but it didn’t.

It felt… safe. Secure in a way you didn’t know how to explain. The guy that had been bothering you had even requested a transfer.

You didn’t say anything, didn’t call them out on it.

But later, when Price pulled you in his face and rubbed his face, his chin and beard all across your neck, you didn’t move away.

The “good girl” you got was all you could think about hours later.

[icanimagine08]

Whipped

Summary: Yoon Jeonghan gets teased by the rest of seventeen for being whipped for his girl.

Warnings: none! Just Fluff.

Word Count: 773

I couldn't wait to post so here is another Yoon Jeonghan fic. Hope you guys enjoy this! and if you have any requests for any other members/people/characters feel free to request/ask me anything and I'll see what I can do! Happy reading! :)

Yoon Jeonghan of Seventeen wasn’t usually the type to wear his heart on his sleeve—at least, not when it came to romance. He was clever, always a step ahead, and had a teasing streak as wide as the Han River. But since he started dating you six months ago, Jeonghan’s members had noticed a... shift.

And they were having the time of their lives teasing him about it.

It started during a lazy afternoon at the dorm. The group had finished their schedules for the day, and the members were sprawled across the living room, half-watching a drama on TV. Jeonghan, who usually dominated conversations with his witty comebacks, was unusually quiet. His phone was in his hand, and he was smiling at the screen in a way that made the others take notice.

"Oh, would you look at that," Seungkwan said, his voice laced with mock surprise. "Our Hannie hyung is smiling. At his phone. Again."

Minghao leaned over from the couch, trying to catch a glimpse of Jeonghan's screen. "Is it her?"

Jeonghan’s smile disappeared as quickly as it had come, replaced with an annoyed pout. He locked his phone and turned it face down on the table. "Mind your own business, Minghao."

But the damage was done. The members perked up, sensing an opportunity to torment their usually unflappable hyung.

"Oh, it’s definitely her," Joshua chimed in, grinning. "Jeonghan only smiles like that when it’s about her."

"What did she say?" Woozi asked, though the slight upward tilt of his lips gave away that he was more amused than genuinely curious.

"Nothing," Jeonghan mumbled, slumping into the couch like he could disappear into the cushions.

"Nothing?" Vernon repeated, his eyebrows shooting up. "You were practically giggling."

"I don’t giggle," Jeonghan shot back, but the redness creeping up his neck betrayed him.

"Sure, sure," Seungkwan said, waving him off. "Hyung, we all know you’re whipped. Just admit it."

"I am not whipped," Jeonghan insisted, but his voice lacked its usual conviction.

"You absolutely are," Mingyu said, chuckling. "Remember last week when you asked the manager if you could get off early so you could take her to that café she likes?"

"That’s called being a good boyfriend," Jeonghan retorted, sitting up straighter. "Maybe you should take notes, Mingyu."

"A good boyfriend who’s whipped," Dino added, earning a high-five from Seungkwan.

Jeonghan groaned, dragging a hand down his face. "I regret introducing you all to her."

That wasn’t true, and they all knew it. From the moment you and Jeonghan had made your relationship official, the members had been nothing but supportive. They’d even gone so far as to declare you "the perfect match" for their mischievous angel, as you somehow managed to keep up with Jeonghan’s antics while also bringing out his softer side. But their enthusiasm also meant they saw every little way Jeonghan’s walls had come down, and they weren’t going to let him live it down.

"You’re so good for him," Seungkwan had told you during a group dinner a month ago, while Jeonghan had gone to get drinks. "It’s like you’re his kryptonite. He’s so soft for you."

Now, as Jeonghan endured their teasing, he couldn’t help but think of you and the way you’d probably laugh if you saw this. You’d tell him he deserved it, and honestly, he’d have to agree.

"Alright, that’s enough," Jeonghan said, trying to regain some semblance of control. "Yes, I’m dating someone amazing. Yes, I like doing nice things for her. Can we move on now?"

"Not yet," Seungkwan said, leaning forward with a sly grin. "Hyung, did you text her goodnight last night?"

"Of course I did," Jeonghan replied, without thinking.

"Aha!" Seungkwan pointed dramatically. "See? Whipped!"

The room erupted in laughter, and even Jeonghan couldn’t help but chuckle. He shook his head, a small smile playing on his lips despite himself.

"You’re all children," he muttered, but his tone was fond.

Later that evening, when the teasing had finally died down and the members had dispersed, Jeonghan found himself back on the couch, phone in hand. He opened your chat and started typing.

Jeonghan: Remind me why I put up with them again?

Your reply came almost instantly.

YN: Because they love you. And they’re right, you are kinda whipped.

Jeonghan groaned, but he couldn’t stop the grin spreading across his face. He typed back quickly.

Jeonghan: You’re lucky I love you.

YN: I know. ;)

Jeonghan set his phone down, leaning back against the couch, he closed his eyes with a content smile. If his members wanted to play, they’d better be ready for Jeonghan to play back

[pucksandpower]

Bleached

Charles Leclerc x Reader

Summary: Charles’ beard has been looking a bit ginger-ish lately … what better place to talk about it than on a podcast?

Warnings: allusion to 18+ themes

“Okay, I have to ask,” the podcaster leans forward, elbows resting on the small round table between them, a grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. His voice is friendly, but there’s that unmistakable gleam in his eye that says he’s about to drop something that’ll make the interview go viral. “There’s been some ... speculation. About your, uh, change in appearance recently.”

Charles shifts in his seat, a small, knowing smile playing on his lips. He’s relaxed, casual in a gray hoodie and jeans, but there’s a slight tension in the way he holds himself, like he’s been waiting for this question to come up. “Speculation? About what?” His tone is playful, teasing almost, though he knows exactly where this is going.

The podcaster chuckles, scratching his beard as he gathers the right words. “Well, I mean … the ginger beard thing. I’ve had a lot of listeners ask about it. A lot of comments, too. They’re all curious. You know, Charles, your beard’s been, uh, dark for as long as we’ve known you, and now …” he gestures towards Charles’ face, where the once dark brown stubble has turned into a mix of auburn and light copper. It’s subtle, but definitely noticeable. “What’s going on there?”

Charles laughs, but there’s a hint of sheepishness in it. He rubs his jaw, as if the act itself will somehow explain the change. “Ah, well,” he begins, and his eyes flicker to the side, as if contemplating whether he should actually say what he’s about to. “It’s kind of funny, actually.”

“Oh, I’m all ears,” the podcaster says, leaning in even more, his grin widening. “I love a good story.”

Charles glances down for a moment, his fingers tracing the outline of the cup of coffee in front of him, before looking back up. “Okay, so … how do I say this?” He pauses, clearly trying to find the right words, and then he laughs again, softer this time, like he’s laughing at himself. “It’s actually because of Y/N.”

The podcaster raises an eyebrow, leaning back slightly in surprise. “Really?”

“Yeah,” Charles nods, a soft smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “It’s �� her. I mean, not directly, obviously, but … you know, her ... uh, how do I say this without it sounding ... weird?”

“Hey, man, this is a safe space. You can say whatever you want,” the podcaster says, trying to suppress his amusement. “You’ve got my full attention.”

Charles laughs again, a bit more openly this time. “Okay, well, let’s just say it’s ... the result of certain ... activities between us.” He’s clearly embarrassed but trying to make light of it. “You know, when you, uh, go down on someone, and … yeah.”

The podcaster’s eyes widen in realization, and he bursts out laughing, almost doubling over in his chair. “Wait, wait, wait,” he says between gasps for breath. “You’re telling me … your beard is turning ginger because of … her?”

Charles laughs too, but there’s a hint of a blush on his cheeks. “Yeah, I know, it sounds ridiculous. But, uh, yeah. Apparently, her ... uh, juices are, um, acidic? And they’ve been ... bleaching my beard a bit.”

The podcaster is in stitches, shaking his head in disbelief. “Oh my God, that’s ... I don’t even know what to say. That’s amazing.”

“It’s funny, right?” Charles says, his grin widening as he watches the podcaster struggle to contain his laughter. “I didn’t even notice at first, but then it started getting more obvious, and she was like, ‘Uh, Charles, what’s going on with your beard?’”

The podcaster wipes tears from his eyes, still chuckling. “And what did you say? I mean, how do you even have that conversation?”

Charles shrugs, still smiling. “Well, we just laughed about it. I mean, what else can you do? It’s not like it’s a bad thing. It’s just ... one of those weird, funny things that happens when you’re in a relationship.”

“So, she wasn’t freaked out or anything?”

“No, no, she wasn’t freaked out,” Charles says, shaking his head. “She thought it was hilarious. I mean, we both did. It’s just ... it’s one of those things that makes us, you know, us.”

“Man, that’s ... that’s awesome,” the podcaster says, finally calming down a bit. “You know, I’ve heard of some wild stories on this show, but that ... that’s definitely up there.”

“Yeah, it’s not something you hear about every day,” Charles admits with a laugh.

The podcaster leans in again, his expression still one of amusement but with a hint of curiosity now. “Okay, but seriously ... have you looked into this? Like, the science behind it? I mean, can that really happen?”

Charles nods, his expression turning a bit more serious now. “Yeah, I did actually. It turns out that it’s possible. I mean, the pH of ... you know, down there ... can be slightly acidic, and that can have an effect on hair color, especially if there’s prolonged contact. I’m no scientist, but that’s the gist of it from what I’ve read.”

“Wow,” the podcaster says, clearly impressed. “That’s ... honestly, I didn’t even know that could happen.”

“Yeah, neither did I,” Charles says, grinning. “But here we are.”

The podcaster laughs again, shaking his head in disbelief. “Man, I’ve got to say ... Y/N is one lucky girl. And you ... you must be very enthusiastic about, uh, certain activities.”

Charles laughs, his eyes sparkling with amusement. “Well, I mean, when you’re with someone you care about ... you want to make them happy, right?”

“Of course, of course,” the podcaster says, nodding in agreement. “But still ... that’s some dedication, man.”

“Hey, if it makes her happy, I’m happy,” Charles says with a shrug, but there’s a genuine warmth in his voice that makes it clear he means it.

The podcaster smiles, clearly touched by the sentiment. “That’s sweet, Charles. Really sweet. I think a lot of people are going to appreciate hearing that.”

“Yeah, well, I hope so,” Charles says, his smile softening. “I mean, relationships are about give and take, right? You have to be willing to do things for each other, even if it’s something small. It’s those little things that make it special.”

The podcaster nods, his expression turning a bit more serious now as he listens to Charles. “You’re right about that. It’s the little things that count.”

“Exactly,” Charles agrees. “And, you know, if that means I have to deal with a bit of a color change in my beard, well, that’s a small price to pay.”

“Definitely,” the podcaster says with a smile. “So, what’s next for you guys? Any big plans?”

Charles leans back in his chair, a thoughtful expression on his face. “Honestly, we’re just taking things one day at a time. We’re happy, and that’s what matters. We’re both busy with our careers, but we make time for each other, and that’s important. We’re just ... enjoying being together.”

“That’s great to hear,” the podcaster says, nodding approvingly. “It sounds like you’ve got a good thing going.”

“We do,” Charles says with a smile. “She’s amazing, and I’m lucky to have her.”

The podcaster smiles, clearly touched by the sincerity in Charles’ voice. “Well, I wish you both the best. You seem like a great couple.”

“Thank you,” Charles says, his smile widening. “That means a lot.”

The podcaster grins, clearly pleased with how the interview has gone. “And, uh, just to wrap things up ... any advice for other guys out there? You know, in case they start noticing their beards changing color?”

Charles laughs, shaking his head. “I’d say ... just go with it. Embrace it. It’s a sign that you’re doing something right.”

“Great advice,” the podcaster says with a chuckle. “Well, thanks for sharing that with us, Charles. This has definitely been one of the more ... interesting interviews I’ve done.”

“Happy to be of service,” Charles says with a grin. “Thanks for having me.”

The podcaster smiles, clearly satisfied with the conversation. “Anytime, man. Anytime.”

[igotanidea]

Too much : Anthony Bridgerton x reader

Request: yes! Anthony and his wife having an argument.

***

„My lord.”

One of Bridgertons’ most trusted servant knocked on the door of his office and was bold enough to enter inside without invitation.

„I specifically told everyone to not disturb me.” Anthony muttered, not giving his man more than a grunt of annoyance.

Viscount’s sudden change of attitude has been the talk of the whole house lately. After months of sweetness and caring and love between him and his beloved wife Lady Y/N Bridgerton of house Y/H/N something has switched.

For worse.

Man of the house has became distant (again), leaving his wife to tend to herself. Suddenly, his duties, his visits to the sibling’s, social activities (which was a synonim of spending hours at gentleman’s club) and travels to the other parts of the kingdom (seemingly to inspect the state of assets) took most of, if not whole of his time.

Everyone’s noticed.

And even without the viscount and his wife ending up on lady Whistledown’s latest brochure.

But truthfully with lord Bridgerton’s stubborn nature and finality there wasn’t much anyone could do, even considering all the sympathy for his young wife.

„I’m afraid you have a very important visit my lord.”

„Just tell whoever it is, that I’m not taking visits at the moment.”

„My lord -”

„Thomson, did you not hear what I said?” finally Anthony raised his gaze on the poor servant.

„It’s the viscountess, my lord.” the other man stuttered.

‘My mother?”

„Your wife, sir.”

„Oh, right....” of course, now Y/N was the viscountess, but somehow it was easy to forget she has been holding that title.

„Shall I - shall I tell the lady to come back another-?”

„No. No I’ll see my wife now.” Anthony sighed and since there was no other word from him the butler froze, unsure of how to behave „Well? Let her in, will you?” there was the annoyance again.

The door was opened and there she was.

Y/N. In all her glory, looking beautiful as always, wearing that dress that always took Anthony;s breath away since she nearly glowed while walking. Her smile did not even falter for a second as she nodded to the servant in a silent acknowledgement, but her eyes were cold and sad, uncovering she hasn’t in fact been well lately. Regardless of the rumours, allegations that the viscount stopped loving her after no more than a year since marriage and got himself a lover (please don’t let it be Sienna all over) she held her head high and kept the appearances. No one had to know that the cheerful, graceful viscountess Bridgerton were spending her nights alone in a cold marriage bed, tossing, turning, tormenting herself with thoughts and longing for the embrace of the man she loved with all her heart.

‘Husband.” she said calmly once the door closed behind her, leaving her just standing in front of him awkwardly.

„Wife.”

„I didn’t have the faintest idea I do need to announce my visit in advance. I shall correct that mistake in the future if that’s your wish my lord.”

„Is there any specific reason of why you’re here Y/N?”

„Is my presence here this disturbing to you my lord?”

The scribbling on the paper was the only answer she got and it finally broke all her inhibitions and pretences.

"Anthony!"

"What?" he snapped looking up at her from the pile of documents on his desk.

"Talk to me!"

"I'm busy!"

"And I'm lonely! You've been spending time with Benedict and Colin and Daphne and your siblings and god knows where else but not me!"

"They are my family, Y/N."

"I am your family! This is not what your mother-"

"Don’t you dare-" he stood up abruptly almost tripping the chair, throwing daggers at her. "Don't you dare say a word about my mother!"

Now that's a drama the whole household heard.

„Your mother-” she tried again, this time more sternly taking one step forward „showed me nothing but kindness. Your whole family showed me nothing but kindness. All of them. Except-”

„Don’t finish it.” he warned but it came much more like a spat.

„-you.”

„Well I didn’t force you to marry me!”

The silence that fell between them after that one sentence was deafening. Nothing has ever hurt Y/N this much in her entire life. Never before Anthony has let himself say such cruel words in the moment of weakness and anger. All because he felt too much, because he needed and loved her too much.

„No.” she said with a tiny voice, her face going as pale as the wall behind her. „no, you didn’t force me. Not sure if you didn't do it to yourself.”

‘Y/N....” Anthony took a step towards her reaching his hand in a poor attempt to form a word that would remedy the situation, help him explain himself and bring her some comfort. „I didn’t mean-”

„I’m sorry I’ve seemingly ruined your life, my lord.”

„That is not-”

„Please accept my deepest condolences and apologies for ruining your blooming love life with that actress you knew. Know. Shall you remind me her name?”

„Y/N!” he shouted in pure desperation.

„Her name, Anthony!” now she was using her noble voice, leaving no word for discussion even to the viscount.

„No.”

„Sienna.” Y/N hissed through clenched teeth, her behaviour far from lady-like. „That’s her name isn’t it? Sienna?”

„You can’t help but remind me of the past mistakes, don’t you, my lady?” her husband  growled turning her back to her not wanting to see her face anymore. „You’re the one I vowed to.”

‘Forcefully, apparently. Maybe the only mistake you made was letting me walk the aisle and taking my hand while saying I do.”

„Maybe it was! Maybe I didn’t give enough thought to it! Perhaps I didn’t consider that seeing you every day, walking the rooms of my house, using the title of my wife, naming yourself viscountess Bridgerton will be too much to bare to my heart!”

What Anthony did not consider at that moment was that Y/N would take it way differently than he intended.

He was merely thinking that it was too much too handle cause he was not used to being so attached, so dependant, so - well,forgive me the word - needy. Of her, her touch, her words, her presence, her everything. Hence the distant he put between him and his wife. Perverse nature made him run away before loosing her.

Ironically, causing her to turn away, barely holding back tears, instead of falling into his arms. (such a surprise, right?)

„Forgive me my lord, for keeping your mind occupied with my humble person for too long. I am but nothing if not a modest woman, unworthy of the attention of the viscount.”

Oh god, what did he do...?

„You are -”

„Below you. Obviously. Perhaps I should have considered your coldness and self-isolation as well. I don’t -” she gulped „I don’t understand what happened to you, Anthony.”

„I-” as pathetic as that was her husband was trying to explain himself to her.

„Feelings overwhelm you Anthony.” that was something he could not disagree with „Now, my lord, if you’ll excuse me, I shall leave, since as you said - you’re busy and I clearly bring you this much displeasure. I shall not bother you again any time soon.”

Before he could stop her Y/N bowed to him in a way more formal and distant way Anthony would wish for, and simply walked away. Leaving him frozen, desperate and broken with the urge to run after her, apologise and reason with that fiery woman who always knew how to make his blood boil. He wanted to hold her, love her and whisper sweet nothings into her ear while feeling her in the most intimate way a man and a wife could ever be together.

But did nothing while she disappeared behind the door.

„Prepare my carriage” she  commanded the first servant that came her way.

„Yes, my lady, may I ask to what destination?”

„I’m going to visit my sister-in-law.”

„Certainly lady Briderton. It’ll be ready for you.”

„And not a word of it to my husband.”

„But my lady -”

‘Not a single word. This is an order, not a request.”

She needed a word with the only person who could possibly understand.

part 2 possible... (I think ;) )

edit: not enough

[mariasont]

hi!!!!

I'm soooo in love your work. bimbo!assistantreader wil always have a special place in my heart!!!

Now i have this of idea that i think can work for either aaron or spencer, but basically bau!reader who kind of always wears the same type of outfit in the field that's always really modest. Buttttt when they kind of like "know" it's just going to be a paperwork day she likes to were skirts... short skirts and Aaron/Spencer are just feral for them...

Can either be fluff of smut... I trust you indefinitely xxx

Short Skirt, Long Day - A.H

a/n: hi hi hi hiiiiiii!!! ugh thank u sm i kinda took this an interesting route so let me know what you think!!!! im also heavily thinking about writing a smutty pt 2 for this but id love to hear everyone’s opinions

masterlist

pairings: perv!aaronhotchner x bau!reader

warnings: 18+ MDNI, suggestive content, aaron being a straight PERV!!! (im into idk man), aaron imagining scenarios he didn’t shouldn’t at work, idk this is quite different from my usual postings but i kinda fuck with it

wc: 1.4k

Aaron Hotchner loved paperwork day.

Days like these meant the ringing of phones and panicked conversations were replaced by the only the sound of air conditioning (when it worked) and the occasional sneeze or cough. It’s the kind of morning he appreciated—time to breathe, to recalibrate without the air of an active case breathing down his neck.

But that's not why his pulse is thrumming more than heavily beneath his skin.

Hotch glances at the clock on his desk. It's early—too early for most of the team to be here yet, save for a couple agents whose faces barely register in his peripheral vision. His focus is elsewhere, fixed on a singular thought. Or, rather, on a singular person.

You.

Hotch leans back in his chair, exhaling slowly as a shameful type of heat rises to his face. It's a little pathetic, he thinks, how predictable he's become—it's not the work that makes these mornings bearable anymore. It's the anticipation.

The knowledge that, any minute now, the elevator doors will part, and you'll step out, wearing something that will completely dismantle his carefully constructed composure.

Hotch had noticed a pattern (of course he did, that was his instinct honed to a razor's edge). In the field, your outfits are a study in practicality: slacks, fitted jackets, muted tones--professional to a T. Nothing flashy, nothing that would draw undue attention. He’d even go as far to say you dressed more modestly than most.

But in the office, when the cases are shelved, and the team is left to wade through stacks of paperwork... it's different.

And it drives him insane.

The image takes root before he can stop it: the curve of your thighs, tantalizingly framed by a skirt that seemed designed to test his limits. The way the fabric molds to you when you move, clinging in places that his eyes are all too quick to follow.

Hotch exhales sharply, clearing his throat as if that could somehow clear his mind. It's unprofessional—he knows this, knows better than to let his thoughts stray so far from where they belong but yet…

The ding of the elevator pulls his attention like a magnet, and there you are. His grip on the pen tightens instinctively, the knuckles blanching as his gaze locks on you.

You're wearing that skirt today—black, fitted, and infuriatingly short, hugging your hips in a way that leaves nothing to the imagination.

He tells himself to look away, and for a second, he manages it—his eyes dropping back to his desk, his breath coming out slow and measured. But that reprieve is fleeting. His gaze flicks back before he can stop it, drawn helplessly to the curve of your waist as you laugh at something one of the other agents say.

You're too good. Too sweet. Too damn oblivious to realize what you're doing to him.

And he knows it's wrong—knows he's toeing a line he has no business approaching. But the way his body reacts to you, the pull you have on him, is beyond reason. It's instinctual, raw, and completely out of his control.

He calls out your name. "Could you come in here for a moment?"

You turn, blinking at him with wide, curious eyes. "Yes, sir?"

"I need you to grab something for me," he replies, his voice level, though every syllable felt like a tightly coiled spring. He motions towards the cabinet near the corner of the room. "The Marcus file. Bottom shelf."

He was a terrible terrible man.

Without hesitation, you step toward the cabinet, crouching slightly as you begin to sift through the lower shelf. The moment your body lowers, his eyes start trailing down where the hem of your skirt lifts, just barely revealing the soft curve of where your thighs meet your ass. Then, as you bend further, shifting your weight slightly to reach deeper on the shelf, the fabric stretches taut, clinging to your ass in a way that sends a jolt straight through him.

Hotch's throat feels tight, his breathing shallow as he drinks in the sight before him. You're so close, just feet away, and the angle offers him an unobstructed view. The shape of you, the smooth expanse of skin that's always just out of reach in the field, is right there—so achingly close he feels like his chest might explode.

He knows if you dipped any further, your panties would be on display and he couldn’t help but wonder what color you had on.

You’ve always had a meticulous attention to detail, choices leaning towards deliberate but understated at the same time. In the field, you favored muted tones—greys, blacks, navies. But here in the relative safety of the office you allow a little more personality, more femininity.

His mind turns to your preferences—pink, maybe.

Hotch swallows hard, pulse roaring in his ears. The thought gnaws at him, insistent and unrelenting—he needs to know.

“Careful,” he says, feigning concern. “You might need to check further back on the shelf. Sometimes the files get pushed out of sight.”

You glance over your shoulder at him and he swears he could combust. “Further back?”

He nods, leaning back in his chair to appear casual, though his grip on the armrests were anything but. “Yes.”

You turn back to the cabinet, shifting your weight again as you crouch lower, leaning further to search the back of the shelf. The motion sends the bottom of your skirt riding higher, and for a brief, heart stopping moment, the lace of your panties is on full display.

It was a pink barely there strip of fabric.

His mind betrays him, conjuring images he knows he shouldn't entertain. He imagines his hands on you, running over the curve of his hips, gripping your thighs, sliding that damn skirt higher until there's nothing left to hide. The thought of you like this, pliant and completely unaware of the effect you're having on him, makes his pulse pound in his ears. He wonders what you would do if he were to push those panties to the side and slide a finger in you.

You shift again, leaning deeper into the cabinet as your voice drifts back to him, murmuring something about not seeing it. His jaw locks, teeth pressing together as he fights to maintain control. His fingers dig into the armrests of his chair, the leather creaking faintly beneath the strain. It's a futile effort, though; the pressure building in his chest, his body, is relentless.

The heat pools low in his abdomen, simmering and insistent, a sharp pulse of arousal tightening every muscle in his body. He's painfully hard now, the evidence uncomfortably against his slacks, but he doesn't dare move. His mind a blur of want--what he wants to do to you, what he knows he shouldn't do, and the precarious line he's treading just watching you like this.

The tension in his body seems unbearable, and for a fleeting second, he considers how easy it would be to walk over, to let his hand graze your hip, to tilt your chin up so you'd look at him and see the wreckage you've left in your wake. 

But he doesn't. He can't.

Instead, he forces himself to remain still, staying rooted, the self-restraint biting and bitter. 

"Are you sure it's under here? I still don't see it."

Hotch's lips twitch, the smallest shadow of a smirk threatening to break free on his face. He leans forward, feigning surprise as he picks up the file from the corner of his desk.

"Ah," he says, waving the file. "Looks like it's been right here the whole time."

You straighten abruptly, brushing your hands down your skirt and turning towards him with a soft laugh. "Hotch! So I was practically upside down in that cabinet for nothing!"

He shakes his head, giving a small chuckle to match yours. Not for nothing. The satisfaction still simmers low in his chest, a private indulgence he knows you'll never suspect--the movement was far from wasted.

"My mistake."

"Well, I guess we all have our moments. Let me know if there's anything else you need, okay?"

When the door finally closes behind you, he exhales shakily, the breath spilling out like a confession. Leaning back in his chair, he presses his fingers to his temples, his entire body tense with the effort of restraint. He feels unmoored, like a man balancing on the edge of a precipice, one misstep away from losing everything he’s worked so hard to keep under control.

But for now, he’ll settle for watching, for imagining, for wishing—knowing full well that nothing could ever come of it. And yet, as he glances at the door where you’d just been, a part of him wonders how much longer he can hold out.

It’s going to be an impossibly long day—but the most troubling part of all is how much he’s starting to enjoy the torment.

taglist: @readergf @edencherries @aurorsworld @princess76179 @malindacath @broadwaytraaaaash @sunfyyre @sleepysongbirdsings @trulycayla @crouchingapple @navia3000 @aaronlovesava @bakugocanstompme @pansexualhailstorm @averyhotchner @looking1016 @everythinglizzy @sky2nd @alexxavicry @spencerssatchel @candyd1es @storiesofsvu @pleasantgardenwitch @kodzukenmaa @hiireadstuff @dilflover-3 @spennciesslut @phoenix-le-danseur-de-pole @jstcln @just-here-to-read13 @c-losur3 @wondergal2001 @oliver-1270 @ssahotchbabe @savagemickey03 @justanotherbimboslxt @imoonkiss @estragos @khxna @de-duchess @raysmayhem-72 @piinksdoll @justyourusualash @whimsicalpolitical @kcch-ns @cool-light32 @reidfile @sugarbutterbailey @ssamorganhotchner

join my taglist here!

[tragedy-machine]

Happy New Year, guys!

today's payneland idea is Crystal telling Edwin "you don't have to worry about making Charles uncomfortable now (after the confession), have you noticed how clingy he is with you? He'd let you do just about anything"

And Edwin, ever the scientist, wants to test that theory a bit, so for the first experiment he stands just that 🤏 much closer to Charles and patiently waits if his friend says anything, but all he gets is the usual heart eyes and a "what's up, mate?", so Edwin thinks "huh" and decides to continue the tests Then, although it feels daring, almost too much, Edwin starts initiating more touches between them, like pats on the arm and such and, peculiarly, Charles takes it well, very well even, because somehow the grin he gives Edwin is even wider than usual

When their usual reading time arrives, instead of putting Charles' feet in his lap, Edwin suggests Charles lays his head there today and Charles freezes for a second, almost making Edwin worry he went too far, but then Charles all but launches himself onto the couch with a bright smile

(Edwin also weaves his fingers through Charles' hair during the second iteration of this idea of course, can't introduce too many variables in one experiment after all)

Then, instead of just saying "well done, Charles", his eyes hold Charles' and he adds "you really know how to handle X" and Charles can't break away from the eye contact even if he tried, he's absolutely enchanted and arrested by the warmth exploding inside him at the soft intensity of the moment and praise

Next experiment is touching Charles' face, Edwin waits for the right occasion and it comes when Charles makes a tiny mistake during a case, he couldn't have helped it really, but he still beats himself up over it, and Edwin knows now that Charles responds really well to touch, so he cups Charles' upset face in his palm and tells him that it wasn't his fault, that he did the best he could, and Edwin watches in real time as Charles' already wet-looking eyes become even more liquid, as he puts more of his head's weight into Edwin's hand, and Edwin adores the squishy and open way he looks now, so trusting and vulnerable in Edwin's hands

Edwin looks at all his notes, double and triple checks the results and almost can't believe it, because they all point to somehow Charles becoming happier, instead of uncomfortable, since he's started it, but that's odd isn't it?

Maybe being so lovey-dovey with Charles has altered Edwin's brain or something, because the next time they hug (they do more of that lately), without even thinking about it, Edwin's lips plant a small kiss to Charles' temple and he panics, because that's crossing a line, isn't it? He's never planned on kissing Charles, that's too far! But before he can spiral, Charles sighs happily, sinking into their embrace more heavily and says "Ever since you- um, I just. I really like this. You know. Us. I feel proper loved, thanks to you, mate. And I hope I make you feel that way too."

(Charles had to stop himself from saying "ever since you started loving on me", because it felt a bit much lol)

[tacticalprincess]

ok ok but imagine being simon’s gf and könig just being so infatuated with u :( he likes you so so much, believes you deserve better than simon and just pines after you ^_^

very im on fire of him

könig’s never been one to be discreet about his feelings, especially toward you. he doesn’t owe simon anything, much less loyalty. his crush has become an inside joke amongst the crew, has gotten dirty looks thrown at him by simon too many times to count for being just slightly too touchy to be friendly, too intense in his yearning. tuning in intently whenever you talk, doing small favors for you whenever he gets the chance, asks after you when you’re gone. too close for comfort, oughta get himself in trouble, simon says.

its hard to ignore a stare that burns a hole in the side of your head, weighted like a caress on all the exposed parts of your body. könig gets some sort of satisfaction out of watching you squirm under his intense gaze, eyes trained on you most of the time he’s around, because at least he makes you feel something. he wishes to sliver underneath your skin and infiltrate your thoughts just as you’ve done to him, sending his emotions into haywire just by way of existing. smiling at him so brightly, extending a fraction of the warmth and kindness that comes naturally to you, craves it when he’s alone at night. your boyfriend can’t blame him.

simon’s weird, quiet teammate, helplessly infatuated with you, his too cute, too sweet, too soft girlfriend. could only dream of experiencing the parts of you that are exclusively for simon — wonders how someone like you even ended up with a man like him. looking far too out of place under his tattooed arm, bottom lip tucked between pearly teeth bashfully while he chats to the group of guys in typical boyish manner. the occasional ducks of his head to kiss your forehead when he remembers you’re there is not enough attention showed to such a pretty, doting thing like you, in könig’s humble opinion. it’s not even that he believes he’s better than him, but a selfish part of him would rather you end up in his calloused hands than anyone elses. his mind strays the longer he observes you, imagines all the ways he’d treat you better, take care of you like you deserve. would’ve probably already proposed to you by now given the chance. you might seem happy enough, but that doesn’t stop him from searching for cracks in the polished porcelain. always waiting for a spot to slip in.

he finally gets you alone one night, finds you where you wandered off into price’s basement to fetch more beer. coming behind you to grab the case from your delicate hands like lifting a feather off the ground.

“boyfriend not here to do this for you?”

after you regain your composure from the startle, you scoff, peering up at könig through your lashes. “just thought i’d do something nice for him.”

“sweet. does he always allow you to do a man’s job?” sarcasm bites at his words.

“allow me—?”

“do you think he even noticed your absence, maus?” he presses a bit harder, his face holding the same indifference it always does under his mask, tone flat around his accent. “as i did?”

his eyes search yours for a second, looking for any sign of reciprocation for his feelings, and somehow you can tell he knows you don’t know how to respond. as a show of mercy, he steps to the side to let you squeeze past his frame and up the stairs leading back inside the house, heavy footsteps following slowly behind. he watches as you so easily slip back into simon’s side, how his arm finds its home around your shoulders without effort. concern knits your boyfriend’s eyebrows together as he leans down to peck your lips, never breaking eye contact with könig over your shoulder, a petty display of ownership. he watches.

[yearninflowers]

Imagine...

Sunday loving you so much.

Rumours will always surround every renowned person in the world, whether that someone is the nicest person ever or even the opposite of that. But somehow, for your friend, Sunday, whom almost everyone in Penacony City knows, the rumours surrounding him didn't always make a lot of sense. Shouldn't one or two be true, or at least close to a truth, though?

You eventually began to ask him frequently if something stirred in his community.

It was mostly just for fun, however.

“Sunny, is this true?”

And as always, he would smile, reassuring you that none of the rumours surrounding him were true.

Sunday would first laugh at the absurdity of the rumours before patting your head and telling you to always confirm where the rumours even started. If not most, then all of them were always coming from some unknown source and were just following to create even more nonsense, said him. That would shut you up real quick, not that you would start to distrust him if a rumour popped up.

However, one particular rumour shook you off quite a bit.

A rumour about him having relations with a cult. An anonymous sender had thrown out a couple of blurred pictures as ‘evidence’ and uploaded them to a fairly well-known account used to share anonymous messages.

It was absurd, but you still asked.

“Sunny,” you called out his name, your phone hovering open to the account that shared the rumour. Once your friend notices your call, you let him take a look at your phone. “There's a rumour saying you have relations with a cult; is it… uh, true?”

This time, Sunday didn't immediately smile. He didn't reassure you right away. His face looked unlike what you knew of him.

He... he looks scary—

It took at least a few seconds before he did his usual smile and reassured you that none of the rumours surrounding him were true. He began to laugh like always, patting your head like always, telling you to check the source like always.

And like always too, you believed him. After all, it's the usual absurd rumour, right?

Before you eventually swallow the whole rumour as wrong information, Sunday had a hard time keeping up his facade. His smile twitched unusually more, and his hands trembled unknowingly. It felt weird, the feelings inside his heart, but he wasn't too bothered by it. In fact, he even welcomed it.

Truth be told, it wasn't fear that was holding him restricted.

It was excitement.

Sunday is dying to let you know that you are his sole Providence, the only being in the whole world he would pray to. He could go days without stopping—not even a short rest—to bask in his devotion for you. He will gladly do anything to make you happy.

Unfortunately for him, you've yet to know of his faith; you're still so clueless about his blatant favouritism. It's alright, though; Sunday is quite keen on teaching his deity how to receive his love one day.

“It's quite a slander to accuse me of being in a cult," He let out a small laugh. "But I assure you, (Y/n), I would never be a part of something as eerie as that.”

After all, the only being he would ever worship is you.

But for now, he'll play the part of being your very perfect friend, slowly wrapping you into the warm embrace of divinity. You'll know soon enough that you are worth more than just being his 'friend'. You, yourself, are already surrounded by the evidence of his devotion in its truest form:

His love.

[klausysworld]

Hi could you write some angst about a deeply insecure reader who hates her appearance and is sort of friends with Elena and everyone(pushed to the side kind of relationship)but when klaus comes around it’s clear that she has a crush but believes he’s out of her league then klaus uses it to his advantage by showing an interest in her for information and helps her with her self worth.klaus then starts to develop feelings for her but then it’s revealed that he was just manipulating her and reader is devastated and utterly humiliated and it sets her back to how she was before him.(sorry if that was a really long explanation,you can decide the ending)thanks I love your writing btw

Real

Growing up in Mystic Falls is a bizarre experience.

There were town events almost every month where you had to dress up and act better than everyone, parents basically had a competition over who had the prettiest daughters or the most handsome sons.

Not my parents.

They didn't think I was good enough to even pretend that I could compete. I was told my worth from a young age and became more aware of it with time. When your own parents don't think you're good enough it's sort of an eye-opener if you will.

It didn't help that everyone in this town seemed to be born into modelling.

Somehow I was lucky enough to wind up 'friends' with people like Elena, Caroline and Bonnie but I knew I didn't belong with them. Somehow they were gorgeous enough to get whatever they wanted.

Sometimes I wondered if everyone else at the age of 17 looked like them and I was behind or if somewhere, I was above average. I doubted it. A lot.

Occasionally I would look at a mirror and think that I wasn't even that bad to look at. There was nothing particularly ugly about me, there just wasn't anything special. I looked plain in a way, bland and forgettable.

I was very forgettable actually. My 'friends' made that abundantly clear throughout the years when they would go out without me or forget to ask if I also wanted something or liked something.

Somehow I was of no value to them. Perhaps I was simply there to amplify their beauty. Like a DUFF. I was definitely the DUFF.

Damon actually told me that I was once, after Tyler had made the joke and Damon asked what it meant. Even though I already knew it to be true, to be told it was much worse.

You could sort of tell everyone else was thinking it, especially when I was stood beside Caroline.

Stefan was the only one who was nice but I wasn't sure if it was out of pity or just because that was who he was. Then again, I'd rather just not know.

So I tried my best to keep in the background, avoid attention and stay out the way.

Even with all the vampire and werewolf drama that took course, I kept myself quiet and to the side. Strangely it was Katherine who was kind to me, whether she had an ulterior motif I'm not so sure anymore but she never hurt me in the time she was there. Neither did Elijah when he came to town, he was polite to everyone but it was obvious that my presence was irrelevant to him.

And then of course, Klaus arrived.

I didn't officially meet him until the senior prank night, he sort of just threw to the side and told me to keep my mouth closed and not to bother running because he'd just kill me. Part of me thought about running anyway so he would just end it but I didn't.

Klaus dragged me by my wrist into his car, told me to keep quiet while he drove Elena to the hospital. For whatever reason he brought me along and left me in the car as he went to drain her of blood for his hybrids. I did as told: sat silently and waited.

He came back out and spoke to Damon for a moment, I saw them glance over in my direction only for Damon to laugh and smirk. I sighed to myself and got out the car. It was clear that Klaus thought I could be a good pawn but was surly mistaken and Damon told him to do whatever he wanted to me. In response I walked home, neither noticed so it was fine.

A week or so later he came back, crashed homecoming or something? I dunno, I wasn't there but I was told about it the next day via a stroppy Caroline.

It was that same day that he came and sat beside me at the grill. I ignored him for the most part, confused by his attempt at what I could only guess was flirting? I wasn't really sure. I think he could tell.

"Not easily impressed are you love?" he questioned as he leant forward, uncomfortably close. I sort of just looked at him, still unsure to what he wanted. A smirk pulled at the end of his lips and his hand lifted, his fingers wrapping around a piece of my hair making frown and pull away abruptly. Without hesitation I stood up and spun on my heel, going to leave. His laugh followed me and a hand grabbed my waits, it was stange.

"Calm down love, It's not like I was going to rip it out, I just wondered what it felt like" he chuckled, pulling my back flush against his front making me tense and squirm.

"It feels like hair" I stated simply "Now get off" I grunted, shoving my elbow into his side to make him let go. I kept walking, keeping my eyes on the ground.

The next time I saw him he apologised for the previous encounter which again, i didn't understand but there was no point in questioning and arguing so I just accepted it and tried to leave but he asked if I'd stay for one drink, he asked so nicely and he smiled. I was stupid enough to think it was genuine and accepted.

Looking back it was pretty obvious that this was a game for him or a trap, whatever you want to label it but in the moment I ignored what was right in my face. Deep down I knew it was all a joke of sorts really.

But no boy, let alone a man had shown me this sort of attention and the soft fluttering it made me feel had me staying for far too long. I listened to his little stories and asked a range of questions as the drinks kept coming. He asked a couple about me but i gave relatively vague answers. There wasn't much I had to give him on me, I wasn't up for a pity party about friends and I didn't really fancy talking about my shitty parents either. I think Klaus picked up on the fact that I didn't really want to talk about me and eventually gave up with it.

It was late when I realised I needed to get home and he offered to take me which I admit made me wary. I didn't want him to kidnap me and think I'd be any good as leverage again, though I guess Damon made that pretty clear already. I decided to just walk home which he eventually accepted and got into his car.

Walking by myself probably wasn't my best option after drinking so much in one go but I made it home with minimal stumbling. My mother shook her head when she saw me and asked what was wrong with me. When she realised I had been drinking her mind jumped to two very different conclusions. The first being that I was being a slut which was ironic as in the past she'd made it clear that no guy would want to sleep with me, and the second being that I had taken pills to kill myself.

Listening to her drastic thinking made me wonder what kind of pills she was on but I didn't question it and waited for my father to come and take her to bed, telling her to just ignore me. Then I proceeded to make my way to the bathroom, getting changed and washing my face before going to my bed.

My phone dinged making me sigh, thinking it was Elena asking me to help her with something dumb and life threatening however much to my surprise it was Klaus. A smile involuntarily spread across my face and we messaged back and forth before he told me to rest.

The following few days he would just check in. Not too much but he also made it clear that he hadn't forgotten me which was all I had ever truly wanted from someone. To be acknowledged at the very least.

Of course I didn't tell the others that he had been talking to me, besides they didn't ask so I didn't see why I should. I guess I just wanted something for myself.

I wasn't completely stupid. I always had the feeling that he was using me, especially towards the start...but he was just so wonderful with his words and his ways.

When he began to make and buy sweet gifts and claim they were tokens of his affection, I couldn't help the blush on my face. When he would find a way to have his skin against mine, or how he would pick up my hand and gently tug my along. Somehow we always seemed to end up somewhere for food, and he would always refuse to let me pay.

Something about him was so enticing, addictive if you will.

He began to make me feel a certain way. He made me warm and happy. His touch was so soft, it made me feel like I was buzzing. i was stupid for thinking he could feel the same way about me.

I had been so scared to admit my feelings.

He had assured me that he would never push me to.

He told me that he liked me, that he didn't want me to be frightened of him or nervous around him. "Not unless it's the sort of nervous that puts butterflies in your stomach sweetheart" he had teased and my cheeks had glowed red.

Over the space of months his presence never lessoned. He always made time to see me, and speak with me. I found myself longing for his voice, his touch.

On days where he was too busy at home, he would urge me to come over. I would spend as long as I possibly could with him, a few times I even stayed over but he had slept on top of the duvet so that I would feel comfortable.

This had gone on for a small while until he actually said the words 'I love you'.

Perhaps I was just so happy to actually hear those words. Maybe I believed them to be true, real. Or I just saw what I wanted to see, heard what I wanted to hear and ignored the rest.

The time I gave myself to him used to make my smile and blush. Now it just makes me feel dirty, humiliated and embarrassed.

Knowing that he could and has had his hands all over my body, his lips and eyes. In the moment I felt like a goddess, probably because that’s what he told me I was. The memory of him inside me haunts me. I had thought it to be such a beautiful experience, romantic and personal.

I wish I could say that I had slept with him only once but as the months went by we would share intimacy often.

I had even told him that I loved him, so many times and I meant it for all of them.

So you should understand why it was so hard to accidentally hear him tell his sister that he had been compelling me for any information on the others.

It had felt as though my heart had stopped when the words hit my ears and tears already made my eyes burn. I heard a weak laugh and turned my head to see Damon, strung up by chains whilst bleeding all over, looking straight back at me.

“Y/n…” I heard Klaus’s voice, his tone one of panic or maybe it was just surprise. He probably didn’t want me to know of his routine. Damon only rolled his eyes and gave me look,

“You didn’t…think it was real, right?” He coughed, a cruel smile on his face.

His words just made me quieter. They made me think. Why did I think it was real?

My eyes slowly lifted to meet Klaus’s. I could see and feel Rebekah looking at me, everyone was silent. Even Damon shut up for a second. I think maybe he was expecting me to say something but I didn’t really have anything to tell him.

As awful as it all made me feel, and even with the amount of emotions swallowing me, I felt more disappointed in myself than I did him.

My right hand went to my left arm, pinching my skin through my jumper in some sort of hope that I’d wake up from some stupid nightmare but it didn’t work.

The first tear fell from my eye and I sniffed to keep the other ones from coming.

Klaus just looked at me, I couldn’t tell what he was thinking, I didn’t want to know either. I could just guess anyway.

So without a word I just turned around and left, walking quickly back out the door before breaking into a sprint in the direction of my house. I could feel the mascara running down my face, ruining the foundation I had only recently started wearing, for Klaus’s benefit.

My hands wiped at the tears as I pushed my from door shut behind me and went upstairs, blocking out the annoyed voices of my parents and locking myself in my room.

It was only once I was in the shower that I was flooded with memories. That I remembered all the things I had done with him. By the time I stepped out of the bathroom my skin was scrubbed raw in an attempt to wash his touch away. Even the slightest touch made me feel as though my body was burning, stinging with pain but I would have rather felt that every day than have to realise Klaus had been using me for over a year now.

I was curled in my bed, hidden under the blankets and surrounded by the dark as I let every comment not matter how small or petty play back through my mind.

I wasn’t even sure who to be upset with. I chose myself.

Klaus must’ve known I was an easy target. Desperate. I wonder how much he’s had me tell him. To be fair I knew more than you’d expect about what was going on. I had gotten good at observing and overhearing so I still knew what was going on, even when spending so much time with Klaus himself.

I also wondered what else he had compelled me to do. I hoped he wouldn’t do anything other than ask questions but I couldn’t help that fear creep inside me. It made me sick to my stomach, and then I wondered if he would just wait to compel me again so that I could continue to be his information feeder.

The idea made my fingers dig into my arm, bruising the skin purple but I wouldn’t stop. I only did so that I could go get some vervain that I kept downstairs in one of the cupboards at the back. I was reaching for the little glass bottle when I heard a door close. I spun around quickly to see Klaus in the doorway of my kitchen. My hand clutched onto the vervain tightly and I noticed his eyes glance at it briefly. His hands went up as if to show no harm but there was no way I would believe that meant a thing.

“Sweetheart- listen to me..” he began and I let out a breathless laugh

“Get out” I whispered making him sigh and frown as though he had the audacity to be upset or annoyed.

“Y/n..”

“No Klaus. I’m fucking serious, get out.” I told him, my eyes watering again. I let out an involuntary whimper when he stepped forward making him stop and stand still.

“I never meant for you to know that” he whispered and I frowned, swiping a tear away.

“Sorry I ruined your plan” I mumble, exhausted.

“No- no I didn’t mean it like that- I meant that-“

“Klaus it’s fine” I murmur, avoiding his eye, “It’s fine, I get it. You needed to know what was happening, you got to be two steps ahead. I’d appreciate if you just found someone else now please”

I could feel his stare on me, it make my skin itch and I just needed him to go. I could feel my hand getting clammy as I held onto the bottle.

“I haven’t compelled you in such a long time” he muttered, as though maybe that made it better. “I used to, but I truly have fallen for you Y/n. I love-“

“Please get out” I cut him off, my spare hand resting on my forehead to cover my eyes.

“I love you”

“No you don’t” I cry, “you wouldn’t do this to someone you love. I know you don’t love me. You never have and you never could. You’re just pretending again so I’ll let you control me, I don’t like it” I whimper, tears streaming again. I could hear him getting closer but I was already against the counter and I couldn’t out run him. There was no point in trying.

“Sweetheart, I’ll never use you again-“ he tried to argue but I couldn’t listen to it.

“I really, really need you to leave. Please Klaus just get out, I can’t stand you” I tell him honestly and for a second as I look up at him, he looks almost sad but I have to assume it’s still apart of his act.

“You- you’re not going to do anything…anything harmful are you? To yourself, I mean.” He asked and I felt a wave of embarrassment wash over me. I should never have told him that I’d had those thoughts or feelings once. I shouldn’t have ever said a word to him.

“No…now go away” I whisper, my hands trembling as I stared at the ground, listening to his footsteps eventually get further away.

I knew there was no way I could sleep, he was probably still outside my house. Waiting.

I wasn’t sure what he was waiting for but I could him there.

I had no idea what I was going to do.

[dark-fics-4-you]

Thinking about dark overprotective Rafe Cameron with pregnant clumsy reader 🥹💕

Love Plus One

A/N: i hope this lives up to your fantasies 😉

Warnings: noncon/forced sex, coercion, smut, forced pregnancy (but reader doesn’t know), pregnant sex, abusive relationship, guilt tripping, choking, slut shaming, slapping, controlling behavior, threats of violence, reader has some negative thoughts about her pregnant body

After the first time that you slipped in the shower without Rafe there to catch you, despite that fact that you had easily caught yourself before falling, Rafe had made you promise to not take any more showers without him. “If I had been there, you probably wouldn’t have slipped in the first place,” he grumbled.

Rafe suddenly became very involved in prepping and cooking meals for you. He gave you plenty of options, planning weekly menus for you and shopping accordingly, all to make sure that both you, and his baby, were getting all of the nutrients you needed. Rafe always did love your cooking, but now he chose to cook for you practically every night. “You shouldn’t have to be running around the kitchen when you’re pregnant, baby.”

You noticed one day that there was a location tracking app on your phone that you hadn’t downloaded, when you angrily asked Rafe about it, the look of worry on his face almost made you want to cry, “I just get anxious when you’re out sweetheart. The world is full of men that would love nothing more than to hurt you, and I did that to make sure you were staying safe, Y/N.” His eyes flicked between your eyes and your growing belly, which was now beginning to show much more. After that you apologized to him for getting mad about it, giving him a big hug.

Rafe would want to spend all of his time with you, which you found cute at first, but after a while, you started to feel a bit suffocated by him. Your boyfriend was so concerned about “keeping you safe” that he would barely allow you to leave your shared house.

Even walking around the neighborhood or, god forbid, running, was completely off limits.

You knew that it was because you were clumsy, he was right. You always had been, but now was not the time for being accident prone. Not when you had Rafe Cameron’s child growing inside of you.

However, you did feel like at times he could be overprotective of you. Even demeaning occasionally. Like he didn’t trust you to make your own decisions.

When you drove to the store at just 4 months pregnant, Rafe called you 5 times before you finally picked up. You had just wanted to get out of the house for a bit and enjoy the spring air while getting some chores done, but when you returned home one would have thought that you had been skiing on Mount Everest, given Rafe’s reaction. “Why would you leave without telling me? I would have gone to the store for you, Y/N! You shouldn’t have even been carrying those bags by yourself!” Pointing out how little you had actually ended up purchasing, just two plastic bags worth of things, was pointless. “You could have fallen or-or some guy could have kidnapped you!” He huffed, and you could feel the list of locations you could go alone, or even with Rafe, dwindling down to only one place, your apartment.

Rafe had always been incredibly touchy with you, one of the reasons you had gotten pregnant with his baby in the first place. It’s not that you didn’t want kids, you had just always imagined that it would have been different, you would be older and married, and living in a 2 story house with your husband of several years.

Instead, here you were, still in your early 20s, pregnant with your boyfriend of 3 years’ child. You loved Rafe and could see yourself marrying him one day, but you were both still so young! Getting pregnant this early had never been in the plans.

Despite using birth control and condoms, you had somehow gotten pregnant, a fact that took you a while to accept, and after Rafe urged you to not get an abortion, you begrudgingly accepted that you were going to be a mother a couple years sooner than expected.

Of course, you had no idea that this was no accident at all. Rafe had been swapping out your birth control pills for placebos and poking holes in every condom he put on. Of course one of his favorite things about you being pregnant was that he could finally fuck you raw now.

Pregnancy hormones had definitely upped your libido at the beginning of your pregnancy, a fact that thrilled Rafe. He had never felt so desired by you, and he was more than happy to oblige with all of your requests.

Anytime you were feeling under the weather or upset about something, Rafe would coax you into bed and eat you out for what felt like hours. He loved your changing body so much, always kissing and sucking on your full, sensitive breasts and rubbing your growing tummy. The blond would slowly delve between your plush thighs, gingerly kissing and nipping at your soft skin before turning his attention to your already slick pussy, eagerly lapping up your juices and teasing your clit.

Rafe loved to satisfy you, but he also loved to draw it out as long as possible, keeping you on the brink of coming for ten minutes before finally giving in to your begging whimpers. He loved the feeling of you coming on his tongue, the way you tasted and how you squirmed in his grasp, tears forming in your eyes when you whined that it was too much for you.

You would come again just from him teasing you with the tip of his cock, rubbing it along your messy slit and tapping it against your already tender clit.

When he pushed all of himself inside of you, you hissed in a wonderful mix of pleasure and pain, wrapping your legs around his waist and digging your nails into his broad shoulders.

Rafe loved watching your face as he fucked you, the way your eyes would unfocus as you looked up at him, your plump lips separating and the beautiful sound of your moans and whimpers was almost enough to make him bury his load in you immediately, but the feel of your tight cunt squeezing his cock was a sensation he didn’t want to give up just yet.

He plunged himself into your dripping pussy over and over again, filling you up in a way that made your eyes squeeze shut, toes curling as you clung to him.

After you came a third time, tensing around him and crying as you mindlessly babbled through whimpers, Rafe’s large hand covered your mouth, and the doe eyes you gave him as he frantically rutted into you made him spill all of his warm cum into your soaked cunt.

Every time he pulled out of you, he would reach for your sensitive pussy, spreading your lips and watching his cum begin to drip out of you before pushing it deeper inside your pussy with two fingers. God he wished he could get you pregnant again while you were already pregnant. Just one kid wasn’t enough for Rafe Cameron, and unbeknownst to you, he had plans for the two of you to have a large family.

Gradually, as your body changed, so did your sex drive. Rafe showered you with compliments as always, reminding you constantly how much he loved your body and the way it looked now, which made you a bit torn. Personally, you felt you were now less desirable, and it made you much more reluctant to give in to his high demands.

Rafe respected your boundaries at first, although he never failed to complain about his needs not being met, and even though you were sure of your decisions, you couldn’t help but feel guilty that you couldn’t satisfy him sexually every night.

After a full week of you denying him, Rafe was fed up with your ‘no’s’

“Maybe we shouldn’t have sex tonight Rafe,” you nervously stammered. “I’m just not feeling the best about my body right now.”

“So let me make you feel good baby,” Rafe purred in your ear, sensually rubbing your thighs, which you were squeezing together.

You still didn’t feel up to having sex tonight, and you told your boyfriend as much, but it was like he wasn’t listening to you.

His fingers creeped down your thighs, his strong arms slowly pried your legs apart and you flinched when he began rubbing you over the fabric of your shorts.

“Rafe, please.” You begged with him, anxiety building in your chest when he still didn’t stop.

“Please what?” He mocked you, slipping his fingers past your panties and teasing your clit. You squirmed in his grasp, a sick feeling settling in your gut when you realized Rafe was determined to get what he wanted.

When you tried to push his hand away, the other flew out, slapping you across the face, hard enough to shock you without leaving a mark.

“Stop fucking moving!” He shouted at you and you could feel tears welling behind your eyes. “You’re gonna hurt our baby.”

You tried to tell him that you didn’t want to have to fight off your boyfriend of 3 years, that you were only resisting in the first place because he hadn’t respected your ‘no,’ but when Rafe pushed all of himself inside of you with one thrust, your mind went blank and you froze beneath him.

“Fuck, Y/N,” he groaned, arms shaking slightly as he basked in the feeling of your unprepared cunt squeezing his cock. “I swear to god, you’ve only gotten tighter, baby. Y’feel so good.”

Hot tears were streaming down your cheeks, from both physical discomfort and distress at what your boyfriend was doing to you, the way he was violating you.

Every stroke of his cock was agonizing, and even after your body had adjusted and it began to feel good, the fact that you hadn’t wanted this at all tainted the entire experience. You felt ashamed by the delicious way his cock stretched you out and how your body reacted to his touch.

You had given up fighting back altogether, Rafe’s thinly veiled threat echoing in your ears every time you wanted to push him off of you, although his hands had yours gripped so tight, there was no chance you could have gotten away.

You were scared because Rafe was hurting you, but you were even more terrified at the thought of him hurting your baby.

When your release hit you unexpectedly, you felt utterly betrayed by your body. Your tear choked whimpers filled the room as you came around him, accompanied by the lewd sounds of Rafe plunging his cock into you repeatedly.

Rafe sneered down at you as he snapped his hips against yours, “I thought you didn’t want this, hm? So reluctant until I stuff my cock in you and then you can’t get enough.”

His words made your face burn with shame, and your stomach flipped in disgust at both him and yourself.

When his free hand wrapped around your throat, your eyes widened and you jerked against his touch, but his hold on you was unwavering and unforgiving.

“I’m not gonna let you walk all over me just because you’re pregnant.” Rafe seethed, his pace picking up as he chased his release. “You’ve got my kid growing inside you. Just means you belong to me now even more than you did before.”

His fingers tightened around your throat as he came, choking you so hard your vision started to grow fuzzy and black around the edges. The feeling of his sticky cum coating your walls made you want to throw up.

Rafe pulled out and you realized he was talking to you, but you couldn’t hear anything he said, you just nodded numbly, trying to come back to reality as your ears rang and his muffled voice filled the tense air that was permeating the room.

“-maybe now you’ll actually fucking listen to me,” he rambled on, and as you nervously laid in bed beside him, trying to doze off and forget everything that he had just done to you, you realized you were utterly terrified of your boyfriend.

[apeachty]

₊ ˚ ⊹ ♡ . ⠀mad & mean | hk

⠀⠀⠀kai x fem!reader

genre ; smutty. easy as that.

warnings | tags ; manhandling; mad (not at reader tho) and a bit mean kai (he's a tease here too); once again kinda needy reader; longhaired kai which is a huge warning itself; probably ooc; i had more in mind while writing, but forgot :c

wordcount ; 1.4k (idk how it happened).

✉ notes ; firstly, colored italics are kai's thoughts. if it's hard to read, pls tell me, i'll make it just italics or italics + bold. secondly, the idea was born in the middle of drooling talking about the first photo in the banner with @biteyoubiteme, so you know where to send thanks ~

i hate coming up with titles i'll just be naming everything like kai#2 from now on

⠀⠀⠀[ masterlist is here ]

kai was mad. it’s not that he got mad often, but over time you learned that it was the final stage after going through stages of being upset. and though you rarely saw him truly angry, it was a safe bet that this was one of those times. when you rushed to the front door to greet him with a kiss the moment you heard the keys turning, he threw his already removed jacket somewhere on the floor, discarded his shoes, and threw you over his shoulder, locking the door with a free hand—all happening in mere seconds without even the tiniest word from him.

you really tried to ask him what happened as he clearly carried you to the bedroom—sweet kai who’s still there made sure to be careful around the turns—but he silenced all your questions with a light but unexpected slap to your butt, making you yelp and jerk. good thing he was holding you tight enough not to let you move even an inch on his shoulder.

until he shut the door—with a bit too much strength that it needed—and threw you on the bed, making you bounce slightly before composing yourself and crawling back a bit to give him space to join you. he didn’t though. unlike how it usually went, where he preferred you two to undress each other while making out, he just took everything in his hands that time, throwing his hoodie somewhere on the floor and staying in a simple white t-shirt.

it couldn’t last long, less than a second probably with how sharp he was with everything he did, but the image of him grabbing the t-shirt behind his neck, the way the already short sleeves went down to his shoulders to expose more of his arms, and the beautiful flex of his muscles, burned its way into your brain. and you realized you weren’t obsessed with him before—it was too light to call it an obsession compared to what you felt just now.

and you really thought kai wouldn’t notice, but of course he did. the way your breath hitched, the way you swallowed thickly, and how you couldn’t tear your eyes away from his arms. you were so cute, lying there almost awkwardly, frozen in the middle of crawling away to give him space, fascination with him shining so bright in your eyes.

somehow, the way you looked at him only made him want to torture you a bit more. his hair was always a pain when it came to having sex with him on top, sticking to his neck or—even worse—not sticking and tickling it annoyingly, part of it covering his eyes, so he always made sure it was tied back before things started.

sometimes he forgets, of course. it happens to everyone, doesn’t it? and when it happens, he has to ask you to do it for him while he’s pounding you into the sheets. you’re always so cute with your shaky hands trying to gather his hair to tie it up, half of it constantly leaving your palm with the way you’re being pushed up the bed by his thrusts. you fail more often than not, but every uncomfortable tug you do, and how ridiculous he looks after it are worth it, because he can see how much you struggle.

and he thought it was the worst he could do to you, but with the way you were looking at him right now, at his arms, shoulders, and chest, he realized he could do better—’better’ for him of course, not for you—maybe he should just sit with his back to the headboard, arms behind his head, making you do all the work if you’re already that desperate, and he was just standing near the bed?

no, he thought, today we will do it another way. but i do have something in mind for you.

he tugged the hair tie off his wrist with his teeth, and you could swear your soul left your body at the sight. if there ever was a chance of you looking at other men, there wasn’t one now, because you wanted to see what you’ve seen just now daily for the rest of your life, and no one else would be able to do it like kai. you needed to know what exactly made him like that, and if it was something bad, how to make him like that without anything bad.

he grabbed his hair in his palms, taking his time to make the neatest ponytail he could manage, arms and chest on full display as he was towering over you sprawled on the bed, thighs already rubbing against each other, trying to get at least some friction.

and kai was enjoying it far too much, fingers going through his bangs, pushing it back even though you both perfectly knew it was too short to be put into a ponytail, but you both also knew that his fingers and arms looked too good in that moment to just waste an opportunity to make you lose your mind a bit more.

you wanted him to never stop tying his hair and to be done with it already until you still had some sanity, shame and dignity left, because you felt like you’d start begging if it took him a few more seconds to finish.

kai wanted to take more time, wanted to make you beg, but he himself was so hard already, it almost hurt. he moved his hand to the waist of his jeans, making sure you were watching that hand, not the one that was holding his bangs back to open his forehead, and unbuttoned his jeans, easily but still slowly, to keep your eyes on his bulge for a bit longer, until he took the pull between his fingers and pulled it down just as slowly.

you whimpered his name, eyes going up to his, already much closer to begging than you were just mere seconds ago before that "performance". he looked just too good, half naked, jeans low on his hips and unzipped, bulge perfectly seen through the thin fabric of his boxers, and his hair in a ponytail he took so damn long to make.

you looked at him like he was a greek god, and kai found it hard to torture you even more, because it slowly turned into him torturing himself. you barely noticed how he managed to push his jeans down—god bless these damn wide jeans—and get on top of you, pressing you into the bed with all of his weight, lips immediately on your neck, one of the hands lifting your leg to his waist, sinking fingertips into your skin.

"kai—" your whimper was music to his ears, something closer to a song of a siren, and he couldn’t help himself but bite into your neck and grind his hips against yours, groaning. "kai, you’re— you’re mad. are you sure—"

he almost growled at that. does it—he ground his hips against yours harder—feel like i’m not sure? flashed in his mind, before he straightened up, towering over you.

you looked up at him with huge eyes, not completely sure what to expect from him. of course you weren’t scared, he would never do something you wouldn’t enjoy, and you had a safe word too, just in case he got too carried away—he was big after all, in all the ways, and sometimes he forgot how strong he was but now, towering over you, face straight, eyes hooded and looking into yours, he looked like you were in trouble.

after the endless—or at least, really long—staring contest, he grabbed your waist, fingers digging into the flesh, and turned you around on your stomach, almost throwing you on the bed. you still were trying to understand what happened, pushing your upper body up on your elbows turning your head to look at him over your shoulder, and he already had his knees on the sides of your thighs, pressing them together to fixate you under him the next moment. the look he gave you was enough for your arms to give in and make you fall back on the bed.

maybe i will make you ride me tonight though, kai thought, pulling your pants and underwear down. but at first i’ll make sure your legs won’t even let you sit up.

[lanawinterscigarettes]

Sweatshirt (Greg House x gn reader)

Summary: House gets jealous by a certain article of clothing you're wearing

Warnings: petty/jealous House (aka the best kind), heavily implied poly House x reader x Wilson in case that's not your thing, very mild and brief swearing

A/N: based off a random little thought I had. don't ask me when during the show this is supposed to be set because I have no clue

It was missing. Wilson's McGill sweatshirt was missing, and House was very upset. It was his turn to wear it, and although he could've sworn he left it balled up on his side of the bed before he left for work it wasn't there when he returned.

The thought popped into his head that someone might've stolen it, but that was just stupid. After all, who would break into his apartment just to take a sweater?

You, apparently, as he soon came to realize when combing back over his place to look for it. He hadn't noticed it on you at first when he walked in, but now it was hard to miss, like a bright red target painted across your chest.

He almost glared at the way you were casually lounging on the couch, reading a book as if you hadn't stolen from him. "You're wearing his sweater." It wasn't a question, rather a statement, which made sense due to how very obvious the fact was.

You looked up from where you'd been reading and gave him an unimpressed look. "And you walk with a cane. Tell me something I don't know."

The corners of his lips quirked upwards into an amused half smile, but he tried to push his fond thoughts of you to the side for the time being. "You know, it's my turn to wear his sweater."

Letting out a hum, you dropped your eyes back down to the book in your hands and lazily turned the page. "Technically, it's my turn, after you decided to hide it for three weeks so I couldn't wear it."

That was true, he did do that. It was for no reason other than to mess with you, but now he was really started to regret his past decisions, something that rarely happened, if ever.

"You stole it from me, right out of my very own bed," he tried a different approach, putting on a face of mock hurt and offense in hopes of swaying you and getting it back. "Shame on you."

"You stole it from me first." Damn it, you had him there. "I was just returning the favor."

House stood there in front of you for a few minutes more hoping you'd somehow break with no such luck. Sighing loudly, he flopped down in his armchair, giving you a dirty look. "You know, two wrongs don't make a right."

You glanced up from your book, peeking at him from over the top of it. "An ethics lecture coming from you of all people? Well, this oughta be good." Now, it was your turn to be amused, something that didn't bode well with his competitive nature.

Seeing as it wasn't going to happen any other way, he tried a more direct approach in order to get you to give it back. "I want it. I want to wear it. It's mine."

"Technically, no, it's not. It's Wilson's, and I'm borrowing it," you pointed out, appearing unbothered by the evil look getting thrown your way. "Go find something else of his to wear if it's upsetting you so bad."

"I don't want to wear something else, though," he whined obnoxiously, trying to get on your nerves. It was working, but not nearly enough to get him what he wanted.

"Tough, because I'm wearing it right now. You're just going to have to deal with it."

Part of you thought that maybe you'd won this argument when he got up and left the room, but that thought was soon diminished when he came back less than a few minutes later, throwing something at your head.

"Really?" You asked in obvious irritation while pulling the shirt he'd thrown at you off your head.

"Put that on, and give me the sweatshirt back. That way you'll still feel all cozy and close to your doting boyfriends without having to wear that specifically," he reasoned as he stood there, his hands resting on the top of his cane. He looked proud of himself, like he was a little kid who'd finally solved a puzzle.

Despite your annoyance, it was hard to keep the slight smile off your face. Still, you weren't going to let him win that easily. "I'm not wearing it because of sentimental value. I'm wearing it because it's comfortable."

He groaned loudly, becoming visibly annoyed. "Why must you always be so damn difficult?"

"Funny, I could ask you the same question," you muttered as you held up the shirt and took a good look at it. It was one of House's old band tees, which made you realize something. "Hold on, are you jealous because you don't get to wear the sweatshirt, or is it because I'm wearing Wilson's clothes and not yours?"

The obvious pout on his face quickly gave away the answer. "Just give me the sweatshirt now, and I'll promise I'll give it back later." He held his hand out expectantly, resulting in you throwing his shirt back at his face.

"Nice try, but you're going to have to pry this off my cold, dead body." You settled back into the couch with your book as he walked away, grumbling under his breath. It appeared as though you'd won the battle, for now at least.

End notes: I've never written for House before but I tried to capture his personality the best I could! Hope y'all liked the Hilson references sprinkled in lol

Likes < reblogs | comments are greatly appreciated | requests are currently open

Main masterlist | House MD masterlist | wanna be added to my taglist?

🏷 taglist: none yet to tag

[covenofagatha]

Hii can you please write athlete-student fem reader x Professor Agatha, where she is her favorite student and they have a close connection despite Agatha's cold demeanor. So one day y/n comes limping to Agatha's class bcuz she got injured during the practice and her coach kept pushing her, without letting to rest, so the injury got worse and now y/n can barely step on her leg. Agatha takes notice of that and asks y/n to stay after the lecture, where Agatha discovers the truth about abusive coach. So Agatha helps Y/N to her car and takes her home, where Agatha takes care of her and they finally kiss or maybe even smut if you are good with it please. Kinda like hurt/comfort with possesive Agatha

Thank you for all your amazing writing💜

As a former swimmer with a coach that was fired for emotional/verbal abuse I fucking loved this request so thank you and I hope you like!

Swimming into her arms

You hurt your leg during practice and your coach makes it worse, so Professor Agatha has to take care of you

Word count: 3400

Warnings: hurt/comfort, slight possessiveness, oral sex, soft

“Coach, can I talk with you for a second before we get in?” You ask, stepping gingerly over to him. He barely even glances at you, just waves his hand to tell you to get on with it. “I just hurt my knee during weights and the trainer said that I shouldn’t kick that much until I can go see a doctor.” 

Now he looks at you, displeasure written all over his face. Your swim coach is not known for being nice and you inwardly wince to brace yourself. “What did you do?” 

“We were doing band jumps from the pullup bars and I landed weirdly and there was a pop from my knee. It hurts to walk and I’m really not sure I should swim.” 

He scoffs and straightens up against the fence where he was leaning. You cross your arms over your chest, wishing you were standing in more than just your swimsuit. You should’ve worn clothes to come talk to him, but deep down you knew how this was going to go. 

“We have a meet this weekend and you’re our best backstroker somehow, despite your awful underwater kicks. You’re swimming.” 

The dig about your underwaters doesn’t even phase you now, having heard it enough times already. But the thought of bending your knee like that makes you brave enough to protest. “Can I just pull for today? I’ll try to get to the doctor this afternoon.” 

You feel your stomach sink as he rolls his eyes. “I don’t need damaged goods on this team so if you’re not going to get in the pool and you’re going to be weak, then just get off the deck and come back next week. Don’t expect to be put in any more meets though.” 

You have to bite the inside of your cheeks to keep your jaw from dropping. You nod and turn around to hide the tears stinging in your eyes and put your cap on. You’re on a scholarship at the university for swimming, so if you quit or he lets you go, you’ll most likely have to drop out.

“That’s what I thought,” you hear your coach huff quietly behind you. “Let’s go. You’re five minutes late getting in.”

The moment you jump into the pool and push off the wall for warm up, you know you’ve made a mistake. Your leg is screaming. Every kick is pure agony and you try your absolute best to not move it more than you have to. But each flip turn makes you want to cry. You barely make it through the warm up and your heart drops when you see the main set that your coach wrote on the board. 

You wouldn’t be surprised if he changed it up and made it harder just to mess with you.

Your lanemate asks if you want to go first and all you can do is shake your head. If you speak, you’re afraid you’re going to fall apart. You refuse to take your goggles off because your eyes are red and teary. 

One round in, your coach stops you on the wall. “Are you even trying?” He demands. 

“My knee,” is all you can get out before your voice wavers. 

He squats down so he’s closer to you. “I’m 55 years old. My knees hurt every day and you don’t see me whining about it. Now either do the set right, or you’re off the relay.” 

This time, when you push off the wall, you kick with both legs. By the end of the 25, you’re already sobbing into the water, choking on gasps when you turn your head to breathe. You’ve never felt pain like this before in your life and you are convinced that something is really wrong. 

At one point, you think you almost black out. 

You fall behind in the set because you physically can’t kick fast enough to make the interval so your coach makes you stay behind late to finish it, despite you telling him that you have to get to class. 

When he finally lets you out of the pool, there’s twenty minutes until your class starts and you still have to shower, get dressed, and somehow walk across campus. 

Some of your professors would be chill if you walked in late. Hell, most of them were happy if 75% of the class actually showed up. 

But not Professor Agatha Harkness. She was feared by everyone on campus, even those who weren’t in her class, for her stony cold demeanor. There were rumors that she made students cry just by looking at them. 

Although, she wasn’t like that with you. While she was still tough, there was a softness in her eyes when she looked at you, a certain fondness in her smile. You weren’t sure what it was about you that made her like that, but you and Agatha had grown quite close over the past semester. You would go bother her during her office hours and she would patiently answer all your questions and help you with her assignments. You knew you could talk to her about anything, and you often did. Friend drama, other classes, swimming, you name it. The way she made you feel heard and seen, plus with how hot she was, had you falling for her. 

The only thing you hadn’t really opened up on was how mean your coach could be. 

But just because of your relationship with her didn’t mean she would allow you to be late to her class. 

For now though, your task was to get out of the pool without screaming. Your coach would throw a fit if you didn’t “get out like an athlete” by putting your knee in the gutter instead of your foot, but you weren’t sure you could do either. You maneuver yourself up using the handles on the starting blocks so you’re sitting and then push yourself up. You try to put weight on your hurt leg and you gasp loudly. 

That’s not going to happen. 

Your coach walks over to you and you think that he might offer some sort of help or an apology or anything, but all he says is, “See you tomorrow.” 

Your head falls back in frustration and you experiment with some different movements to see which is the best for your knee. You can slide it a little on the wet ground for now to get to the locker room, but when you go outside with shoes on, you’re going to have to figure out something new. 

You shower in record time while still getting all your tears out and throw on sweatpants and a t-shirt, putting moisturizer on your face while your hair is twisted up in your towel. The warm water did a little to help your leg so you’re able to put the tiniest bit of weight on it now. However, it doesn’t hide the evidence that you were clearly crying. 

Still, your class starts in five minutes. The building her lecture is in is four minutes away with a good leg. 

Hobbling while whimpering every step takes eight. 

You try to open the door as quietly as possible, and you succeed, but your bag swings and clangs onto the metal trash can that is right in the doorway. Because of course it is. 

Silence falls through the room as the sound echoes, and Agatha looks up from her place at the front of the room. You offer a shaky smile and limp down the aisle to your spot in the second row. Going down the slanted floor is a new type of pain that has you grabbing onto chairs. 

“Stay after class so I can hear your excuse about why you’re late,” Agatha says coldly once you’ve sat in your usual seat, sighing when the burn in your knee dies down to a dull ache. Your heart squeezes but you do see some concern in her eyes. You realize that her tough exterior just now was an act. You nod, not able to look at her for fear that she’ll see right through you, and you dig in your backpack for paper and a pen for notes. 

The hour lecture goes so slowly, your knee now starting to throb from sitting. You’re not really sure what you’re supposed to do to get it to stop hurting. 

Finally, Agatha releases everyone but you stay seated. While you’re in pain sitting, you know it’s much worse if you stand up. She doesn’t seem to mind, just comes to stand on the other side of her podium and lean against it. 

“What’s wrong?” She asks, voice softer than you’ve ever heard it before and you just start hysterically crying. She looks more taken-aback than you’ve ever seen her and walks over to crouch next to you and rub a hand comfortingly up and down your arm. “Sweetheart?” 

Your breath catches at the pet name and you hiccup. You swipe furiously at your eyes, embarrassed to show this much emotion in front of the older woman. When you open your mouth to start talking though, you can’t stop. “I hurt my leg in weights and I tried to tell my coach that the trainer said I shouldn’t swim and that it hurts but he made me get in anyways because we have a meet coming up and told me I wasn’t doing good enough and I had to stay late to finish the set and my knee hurts so fucking much I can barely walk.” You don’t even have it in you to apologize for the swearing and Agatha doesn’t care either. 

She cups your tear-stained cheek, thumbing at it, and you meet her eyes with your watery ones. You’re a little surprised to see pure anger in them.

“That is not okay,” she says seriously. “He should be fired for doing that. He deliberately put you in a situation where you’re only going to be more injured and now look at you. This is unbelievable. I’m going to talk to the athletic director, someone needs to know about this.”

You shake your head quickly. “No, Professor, you really don’t have to, it’s not–” 

“It is a big deal,” she cuts you off firmly. “There need to be consequences. He fucking hurt you and he’s going to pay!” Your heart skips a beat at how protective she’s being and she seems to realize what she said because she immediately changes gears. “Do you need help?” 

It’s the first time anyone has asked you that all day. Even the trainer or your weight’s coach didn’t offer. It almost makes you start crying again. 

“Yes, please,” you say and she holds out your hands, pulling you up out of the chair. You put your hurt leg on the floor and buckle into Agatha’s arms. “M’ so sorry, oh my god,” you stammer as she’s practically holding you now. 

She uses her strength to get you standing straight again, and without saying anything, slings your backpack over her shoulder and puts her other arm under yours so she can act as a crutch for you. 

“I’m sorry about your coach,” she finally says as she’s working on steering you out of the building. 

You wince going down the steps and shrug. “He’s not a bad coach. Like his sets are good and stuff and I’ve gotten faster for him. Just not a great…person. Where are we going?” You’ve finally realized that she’s not helping you back to the dorms. 

“My car,” she says matter-of-factly. Your heart skips a beat and you crane your head to look up at her. She has a variety of emotions struggling on her face and you’ve never felt so taken care of. 

“Why did you park so far away?” You groan and she chuckles. It feels like you’ve been limping for a mile. Luckily, there’s not too many other people outside right now to see Agatha helping you like this, but you do find it oddly touching that she would risk her heartless reputation for you. 

At last, you get to the lot where the professors park and she basically drops you into the passenger seat, sliding into the driver’s side once she puts your bag in the back. 

“Thank you for helping me,” you say quietly once she’s reversing out of her spot. She pauses for a second to look at you, a new expression on her face that you’ve never seen before. 

“Of course, sweetheart.”��

Once again, she goes in an unfamiliar direction. Maybe she’s taking you to a doctor? 

Nope. 

You’re still confused, even when Agatha turns into a quaint suburban neighborhood, but you think you figure it out when she stops in front of a house. 

You turn to gape at your professor. “Is this yours?” She gives you a look that says obviously and then gets out of the car quickly so she can come get you out. She doesn’t grab your bag from the back but you don’t need it. She helps you hobble inside and brings you over to the couch so you can lay down on it. You swing the bad leg up and then the good one and she hands you a pillow to put under the hurting knee. 

The elevation helps a little and while Agatha walks out of the living room, your eyes close, head resting on the back of the couch. It feels like you have been drained of all your energy from weights, practice, and then your knee. 

You think you might doze off just a bit because you startle when you hear Agatha entering. She’s carrying a bag of ice in one hand and a plate with a sandwich and raspberries in the other. You scooch into an upright position and graciously accept the food, instantly taking a huge bite. You moan at the taste and then notice that Agatha is standing next to you, bag of ice in hand, looking at your sweatpant-clad legs. 

Her eyes dart to yours and then back down. “Do you think you can take these off?” She asks, tapping your leg and your cheeks turn almost as red as hers. 

“Um, oh, sure,” you answer, mouth full of food. You set the plate down on the coffee table and raise your hips so you can get your pants off. You refuse to look at her as you basically undress in front of her. 

And then you begin to struggle. You can bend one leg just fine, but you don’t even want to risk moving your right knee in the slightest. The problem is, you’re nowhere near flexible enough to take your pants off while keeping one leg straight. 

Thankfully, Agatha completely understands without you having to ask, saving you from that embarrassment. She reaches across your body and gently slides the sweatpants off your bad leg. And then your entire bottom half is naked except for your underwear. 

You know why you’re blushing, but why is Agatha? 

She clears her throat and arranges the bag of ice on your knee, but it won’t stay because your leg is slanted up on the pillow. 

“Um, can you…” she trails off like she’s trying to figure out how to word it. You also understand what she needs, so you move your left leg so it hangs off the couch and she can sit in-between your legs and hold the ice to your knee. 

“Are you okay?” You ask after the two of you have been sitting in silence for a little bit. It’s comfortable, but you can still see the outline of grimace on Agatha’s face. 

She sighs heavily and runs a hand through her hair. “It’s just hard,” she admits. “Seeing you in pain like this.” 

“Why?” You dare to ask, the question barely louder than a whisper. She looks at you and then back to the ice. 

“I care about you a lot,” she says, like it pains her. It feels like all the air has left your lungs. 

“I care about you, too,” you reply, hoping more than anything that she means it the same way as you. 

She shakes her head as if to clear her thoughts. “Is there anything else I can do to help?” 

“A kiss?” It’s meant to be a joke, like when your mom would kiss a paper cut or a scrap just to make it feel better. And then you inwardly kick yourself because you know you did not just ask stone-cold Agatha Harkness to kiss your knee. 

But she smirks and then you realize that you never specified which part of your body you wanted her to kiss. 

She leans in, hand grabbing onto the arm of the sofa next to you to hold herself up and she brushes her lips against yours. It’s barely anything, easily written off, but when she pulls back, her eyes are dilated. 

“Did that make your knee feel better?” She asks playfully. 

You pretend to think about it for a second and then you tilt your head. “You know what? It did. Better do it again so it helps even more.” 

This time, her tongue parts your lips and licks into your mouth. Her other hand slides under your shirt to feel your stomach and heat starts to course through you. You moan into her mouth and wrap your arms around her so pull her even closer. She shifts and accidentally bumps your knee and you hiss in pain. 

“Fuck, sorry!” She exclaims, jerking back like she was burned. 

“No, you’re okay,” you groan. “I just don’t know if this is the best way to do this.” You pout because you want to keep kissing her, you need to feel her. 

A sly smile spreads onto her face. “I know something else that might help.” You raise your eyebrows in question and inhale sharply as she carefully moves down your body so her head is right by your underwear. She toys with the waistband, checking to make sure it’s okay. You nod more eagerly than you ever have in your life. “If it hurts your knee, let me know.” 

“Okay,” you breathe and you shiver when she pulls your wet underwear to the side and the cold air hits your pussy. 

And then she lazily licks through your folds, swirling her tongue on your clit and your back arches off the couch. 

“Fuck,” you moan, one hand tangling in her hair and the other grabbing the side of the couch. She continues softly lapping at you, fingers digging into your hips to keep them still so you don’t accidentally hurt yourself by moving. Agatha takes her time tasting you, making a noise every and then that makes your head fall back. 

Your pleasure slowly builds from her hot, careful mouth on you, but Agatha doesn’t seem to mind. She alternates dipping her tongue into your pussy and then sucking your clit and back again. She gets more enthusiastic about it once she feels confident that she’s not hurting you and begins to be a little rougher. 

“I’m getting close, Agatha,” you whimper and it’s the first time you’ve ever called her by her first name. She must realize it too because she groans into your pussy and sucks hard on your clit, sending you over the edge. Sounds fall out of your mouth as you cum, hips trying but failing to buck against her tight grip to ride it out. 

“Is your knee okay?” is the first thing she asks when she stops licking at you. You laugh at the timing of the question. 

“Yes, it feels totally fine.” 

Agatha leans down to peck your lips. “Okay, good. Still, I’m going to make an appointment at my doctor this afternoon. I’ll take you.” 

Even though she just ate you out, this is the sexiest you’ve ever seen her. So caring, so protective. Your heart yearns for more of this woman. 

“You don’t have to do all that,” you protest though, not wanting to ask for more than she’s already given you. She waves her hand to shush you. 

“Nonsense. I’m going to take care of you because apparently no one else can. And I want to.”

You smile fondly at her and tug at hair to bring her in for a deeper kiss this time. “I want you to as well.” 

And she does.