#than someone that is defiant of that fact
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n*loth not being able to bag anyone over the (human term) age of 25-30 at most is the only logical and real conclusion to me because it can be just explained away as him wanting to prove and control everything and anyone (Cus he's a man!) but being stuck in that demographic because his unbearable and vile personality is a force that nobody can look past once they've outgrown the possible fear and idolization period of anyone but also n*loth in particular.
#text#i think even younger ones that possess the same nasty traits can be slammed back 'In their place' (in his mind) by him just bc his -#- abilities and power alone (alt. name the factors that make him 'Cool') that dumbs them down insanely in comparison#maybe by this i mean like; ild*ri. despite the animosity she could still feel very foolish and is conscious of her wuss-ness#if that makes sense#cause no matter the disrespect anyone might have for an older capable person the reality is still reality#tbh i just think he doesn't like to sweat it much and still aims for the younger ones bc it's easier than it would be for someone that's -#- 30+ years old#and once he's proven his point he doesn't find any merit in sticking with older ones cause their interests or anything they offer -#- don't matter to or interest Him personally#i think an older demographic is just more boring to him and he would rather spend his time being metaphorically sucked off for his greats -#- by someone that already finds themselves 'lesser' than him and always will for a long time#than someone that is defiant of that fact#basically the more power imbalance the better#in his mind there will always be one unless he certainly knows someone is his equal (or better than him) but he likes the add-on of an -#- age difference too#keeps it in a safe zone with less problems for him#sorry for spitting again my brain just started machine-gunning thoughts for no reason#also i said before that he's an innocence fan. might not be a total puritan but there's something there#it's kinda like him not wanting to be with a dusty ''OLD'' person that's seen a lot anyway#i'm like barely able to hold myself back from opening my mouth to mention t*lvas where i'm making a point about n*loth's brain where he -#- isn't even needed to prove it#but like#him voicing dislike of n*loth general nauseating character and actions but still sucking up to him while n*loth can probably feel -#- that dislike anyway is cute to me i like to view it as an object being thrown into the wall over and over#where n*loth is proving his own worth to other people by drilling their brains out with proof. not that he needs to#but he would like that to be perfected a 100%#and t*lvas is capable of being molded into that state ....... probably#silusvesuisuis you didnot just confess to wanting to see t*lvas be slammed into a wall you fucked up demented beast you're sick#actually can't believe i forgot to mention this but he's literally so immature idk what he has anything in common with actual mature people
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You are the knife (I turn inside myself),
S2!Post-addiction!Spencer Reid x afab!BAU!reader
SMUT!! (and copious amounts of angst, and like a small amount of fluff to just⊠balance it out), Workplace rivals, aka, enemies to lovers (who are still enemies and would rather die than tell each other theyâre in love).
ââââ autistic spencer (as per usual), evil evil reader (im being dramatic, kinda), they hate each other so much that they have to find a new way to crawl into each others skin.
Warnings: sub spencer, brat!spencer (a man gets glasses and suddenly thinks he can be defiant) brat!tamer!reader, HUGE corruption kink (someone keeps putting that in there???? itâs not me, i swear), first time for Spencer (i love a virginal nerd), restraints (someone has to pin him down), cryingâ like lots of crying, degradation (and a little praise because they work hand in hand), Spencer eats reader out like rent is due, reader says thankyou by destroying him, they argue mid-sex. They actually just argue constantly.
â warning: mentions of past drug addiction.
w.c: 9k (mostly smut, holy shit how is it 9k??? their arguments hiked up my word count im positive)
a/n: i know tumblr hates to see me coming with my Spencer Reid one shots. I wrote this at 3am when I was supposed to be studying for my latin exam, itâs okay. Uni will understand I had greater things to do. I promise iâll get around to my requests this week, i just got possessed by the holy ghost and wrote this.
ââââââââââââ
Something, something, mindless torture. Spencer holds his brain, his intellect, in high regard. Proverbial accomplishments, Stanford Binet approved genius, heâs an outlier to most. And yet, the moment you start speaking, he has no thoughts beyond the domineering urge to throw himself off a cliff.
Youâre late today. Chicago, youâve both been sentenced, discarded to create a profile from the minimal information present. Forced proximity, the team have been trying to stifle this animosity shared between you for over a year now. It doesnât work.
Hereâs the thing, each member of the BAU has their own specialised feat: Penelope could be a cybercriminal, if she so wished, a tech-genius that has no qualms in tearing down firewalls. Morgan, adroit, an expert on the field, stereotypically strong, all running lines of muscle. Who wouldnât want to be princess-carried away from danger by him? Heâs also remarkably good at kicking down doors. Gideon has incalculable years of experience, a mentor.
The list stretches on.
But you and Spencer canât both be the brains of the team. Itâs unbalanced, skewed. A clash of intellect. Scales tipped in one direction, why does he always come up short? Why canât he justâ
Why, repeats as you push through the bureau, blanking the predictable, formulaic stares of various officers, trained officials, the usual mess. Whyâ why profiling? Why did you voluntarily choose to suffer your way through ceaseless cases of sanguinary?There has to be an element of masochism to your career; no one with a sane mind voluntarily decides to walk into an onslaught of serial killers and death.
The early mornings are always the worst; stumbling out of bed, deriving no sleep from the night, tangled sheets and restless limbs. âDonât,â you push, padding into the office, met with Spencerâs hardened gaze. âLate night.â
âWe havenât been here for 48 hours yet, 36 and 22 minutes to be precise, and youâve alreadyââ
âGet your mind out of the gutter, boy genius. Late night as in I stared at the casefiles until my mind went numb.â
âDid you take a break?â he asks, and you both know itâs not born from care. âMaybe a self-reflection period to realise that torturing yourself isnât the most effective form of work. Your reactive skills will be delayed now, letâs hope we donât find the unsub today. In fact, maybe I should warn Hotchââ
âHave I ever warned Hotch about your breakdowns?â that shuts him up. It also makes him spiral, because you canât know, itâs not statistically possible that youâd be aware of Hankelâs lasting impact on his body, dilaudid, hydromorphine, and not tell someone. He assumes youâd be desperate to eliminate him from the team, to claim your win.
âRight, umâ the case,â he shifts in his seat. Professionalism, tolerance, itâs all a little too much work when it comes to the subject of you.
âThe case.â you agree.
Youâre attuned to each other, a psychological curse heâs forced to stomach. Offices and crime scenes, analysing, competing, hellbent on one upping the other. âLook at these markingsââ his hands rifle through the files that adorn the table, searching searching until they produce an autopsy report.
The markings on the body are intricate, latin symbols prominent against the victims pale skin. You lean further forward, following the path of his index finger as it traces the outline. Perhaps thereâs an element of telepathy to your dynamic; you donât need to state the obvious, too aware that his brain has already processed the information, that heâs moved onto the nuances now.
Human sacrifice, itâs not the first time youâve caught yourselves in the midst of cult worship and indoctrination. But itâs certainly the first time of its kind.
âTraces of wine in her bloodstream. Found in a forest. Sounds like a bacchanal.â you state, shifting to pull yourself up on the desk.
Spencer looks. At your long, slender legs extending out from a pencil skirt. Effortless, natural, situating yourself on the oakwood, hair half covering your face, with loose strands pooling over your eyes to obstruct your sight.
Itâs a strange analogy, the two of you; Spencer with his tired eyes, haphazard clothes and messy desk, and you, just as dishevelled in the morning light.
Metaphorically and literally youâre higher than him right now. He fixes his askew glasses. Clears his throat. âRegina Horthorne,â the victim, âStraight A student. Honour role. What are the chances she willing went to said⊠bacchanal?â
âHm. I donât know, maybe sheâs like Laura Palmer. Double life. 4.0 cheerleader by day, crazed bacchante by night.â you retort.
Shamelessly, you take a moment to observe him, just as he did you. Shirt sleeves bunched up at his elbows, hair tousled, large hazel eyes, interminably darting across your face. You wonder for a moment if heâs analysed you the way youâve analysed him. Itâs a futile question, of course he has.
Anything to gain the upper hand.
You continue, âMaybe theyâre sacrificing virgins. You could go undercover as a potential victim. Certainly fit the part.â
âIâm already too old to be counted as an appropriate victim. Thereâs a high probability âtheyâ, the dominant unsub, wouldnât even look at me, andââ he pauses, pretty face marred by creased features, brows furrowed, a slight pout to his lips.
âThereâs a homicidal cult preforming human sacrifice, and youâre wasting time by insulting me?â Spencer isâŠ.. a perpetual scholar, a social disaster, wearing his intellect like an ill-concealed secret, outcasted for the weight of his own brilliance. âThe BAU clearly made a well-informed decision when they hired you.â
âOh, you wound me boy genius.â you respond, pressing your hand against your heart.
Endless cases. The impenetrable presence of fall. It feels like you shift through cycles, bleary-eyed and tainted from the job, damaged goodsâ do you struggle to sleep like I do?
You lean forward, hands, adorned with cluttered rings, braced against the table, bodies closer now. Thereâs a burn, something fervent that lingers between you, rivalry, opposition. Some days you feel as hedonistic as the unsubs you track and chase.
Continuing, you let out a sharp laugh. âAre you still bitter because I realised it was a bacchanal before you? Donât worry, iâll let you take the credit for it. Iâm sure Gideon will be so impressed.â
Gideon sees everything in him, and nothing in you. Predictable.
The distance between you has become almost null. Itâs intimate, and heâs not sure how he feels about that. âIâm not bitter. And I donât care about the credit.â A lie. âUnlike you, I donât need to prove my worth to him.â
ââââââââââââ
Spilt blood. Your hands are calloused from holding a gun. From firing a bullet straight through skull. The case closes, locked behind that inviolable wall, the one thatâs installed into your mind the moment youâre employed, the moment you sign your fate over to the BAU. Youâre not sure why anyone stays, overworked and undervalued, thereâs no heroes in real life. Maybe itâs the sense of family, or maybe itâs just what everyone subconsciously fell into.
You canât understand why youâre so angry at Spencer, why it extends to the next case, South Dakotaâ deaths of locals, but these days, all of the illogical, petty reasons just blur together. Create this tangled mess of overcompensation. âI assumed you two would get along,â Prentiss had statedâ but what does she know? Sheâs been an active member of the BAU for a whole 10 minutes.
The hostility has mounted to new levels now.
Itâs hard work, long hours, no gratitude and a pay cheque that canât even begin to cover the trauma that comes with the job. The BAU is like self-sabotage: a long list of reasons to leave, and no real reasons to stay. But still youâre both stuck in this loop.
South Dakota, of course itâs South Dakota. Cold, desolate South Dakota where the wind and snow will not let up, and the team are forced to remain cooped up in a cheap motel, desperate for any sort of entertainment.
Here he is, coerced into your room to work on the case, overtime, his eyes are rimmed crimson.
Youâre sprawled out across the bed while he sits at the other end, slender legs crossed. Spencer is tired with a weariness that seems to go soul-deep, shoulders slumped forward, glasses oblique.
The tension is near-palpable, stifling. âI can do this myself. No offence,â full offence, âbut youâre unneeded right now. In general, really.â
You make him cruel. Or no, maybe this job does? He canât remember himself unscathed now, fresh-faced to the BAU, unaware of what heâd endure. Itâs still early days in recovery, two months since he was entirely, indomitably reliant on Dilaudid.
âNo you canât,â you retort. Maybe itâs unprofessional, disreputable to waste so much breath on insults, to dedicate specific moments to hostilityâ people are dead, people will keep dying. And yet, perhaps thereâs justification for this; your mutual animosity is the only semblance of routine to this job, the only way either of you can seek control.
Control. All you do is reach for the blade.
âYouâre just bitter that I know what Iâm doing. Youâre not infallible, Boy Wonder. You need my help, so shut up and read that autopsy report. The sooner this is over, the sooner I can go back to my apartment and forget you exist.â
Well thatâs certainly unlikely.
âI think,â he says, and he knows this is going to be bad. He can feel the serrated edge to his forming words, his half-baked analysis too focused, too distracted, by his need to hurt. But heâs exhausted, and these days, he runs on a detrimentally short fuse. Maybe he finds a release in your dynamic, or maybe it makes everything worse. How can something be everything and nothing at the same time?
âI think youâre insecureâ he continues, âbecause you know Gideon values me more. That, to him, youâre replaceable. Itâs why youâre so fixated on one upping me. Why you feel the need to prove yourself superior. Textbook insecurity. You canât stand the fact that he chooses me over you, that he thinks Iâm better than you. That my input is more wanted, more necessary.â
This is uncharted territory now. Itâs never been pushed to this extent. Itâs never gotten so morbidly cruel that his words actually pierce. Youâd consider yourself to be thick-skinned, bullet-proof, a mess of hardened edges and calloused flesh. But he regards you with such insignificance, in a way thatâs different from your own personal view of him.
Obstinate, petty, a smart kid yet to meet his match. But never insignificant.
Thereâs silence, and then heâs dragging you down with him, forcing you to dig deeper, to smother wounds with salt. âDid he really choose you, though? No one on the team noticed. Not one person. After the Hankel case? When you came back different?â
Spencer falters.
Itâs a vulnerable, raw spot, a laceration that never seems to heal; the worst part is that youâre right. Heâd been in a spiralling decline for months, in plain sight, but everyone had been so absorbed in their own issues and god he needed a release. No one noticed. No one ever notices.
That he has no life, no prospects outside of the BAU. That his existence has been one comicotragic mess of inexperience, missing the mark, missing the joke, the punchline, the fact that everyone was always laughing at him, behind his back, to his face, present or gone. It didnât matter? Why would it ever matter to a bunch of washed-out teenagers?
He was robbed of his adolescence. And these days, he barely gets by.
Spencerâs eyes drift back to the files, avoiding your perusing gaze, if only you had enough decency to soften your eyes. Just once.
âYou donât get to bring that into this.â He murmurs. âShut up.â
âYou started thisââ
âAre you 5?â he bites back, âI was making an observation.â
When he abruptly stands up, files clattering to the floor, discarded despite the prevalent case, youâre quick to follow after him, to chase him into the cheap motel corridor. Because no, he doesnât get to walk away from this. Not when he laid the first blow, when the first cut was drawn from his blade. Perhaps itâs perverse, to chase the hurt that comes from being around him. Maybe itâs all just an elaborate way to self-harm, to find release in the distorted relationship you both share.
âWhere are you going? You canât walk away from this one.â you state, gripping his arm. Nails pressing into skin, crescent marks thatâll stain and remind and then acheâ itâs repetitive now.
âI covered for your ass.â you knew about the addiction, you knew, and even though omitting such information to the BAU couldâve lost your license, you still. Didnât. Say. Anything.
Itâs not like it took much effort to discern the truth.
âI also signed your email up to about 100 rehab centres and self-help blogs.â youâre not sure if you did that out of malice, or if it was your own, interpersonal way of minimising the damage, despite the circumstances.
You noticed. The rest of the BAU, who pressed false promises of friendship, loyalty into his shaking palms didnât notice. Didnât even think to humour what he became at his worst. But you did.
Furthermore, to add onto that jarring conclusion, you helped him. Admittedly in your own insufferable, (downright mocking) way. But it was help, and thatâs more than heâs ever received before.
All he knows right now is that he hates you, hates the person he is, the person this job, and the intransigent presence of you, forced him into becoming.
All he knows is that heâs stumbling forward, cupping your face (taking your grip along with it), and kissing you. Kissing you hard. Like heâs Icarus and youâre the sun, worth the inevitable burn, even if the touch is only momentary, even if itâll seal his fate as foolish.
Itâs a mess of harsh, rough skin, tousled hair and sharp teeth against soft lips. Itâs like trying to grasp at stardust, his hands fumbling for purchase along your body, trying to push you closer, as if the chasm of space between you is unbearable, a distance thatâs impossible to endure.
He laughs when you respond instinctively, a sharp excuse of a noise, muffled by your swollen lips, and heâs just kissing you through it because he hates you, he hates youâ he hates you so much that sometimes he canât breathe when youâre around.
You crawled under his skin a long time ago, made yourself a home there.
âI think Iâd rather be held hostage for a second time than kiss you again.â he says, and he mightâve elaborated further, but his lips abandon such a notion to chase your own.
The kiss becomes more languid, more desperate, like heâs trying to find an answer in response to it. Thereâs a brief, agonising break, foreheads pressed together, a harsh gasp of air, before the moment restarts.
God you taste good. Feel good, he thinks. Heâs never been this intimate, not beyond Lila, that fleeting mess in the pool. The two events incomparable, he felt something then, small and minuscule, not enough to pursue. But right now? Oh, In contrast, he feels everything now.
âI wish you were being held hostage. Itâd be quieter,â you retort. Itâs muffled, and youâre moving, bodies stumbling into obstacles as you relocate, when did you get to your room? It feels like natural progression, evolution, diminutive changes that you donât even realise are occurring.
You bite his bottom lip, draw it between your teeth, ruin him for anyone else. Because isnât that what youâve been doing for years now? Hurting each other so profoundly that only you can bare the scarred aftermath?
Itâs sick. Itâs sick, and you wonder how petty comments, trivial work-place rivalry distorted into this? How youâve just ended up sick because of each other, and admittedly, for each other.
What is sickness without pleasure?
He whimpers. The noise almost imperceptible, but itâs there, and itâs pathetic, an unbecoming thing caught somewhere between a gasp and needy whine. Heâs backed against the wall now, and he canât find it in him to complain.
âOf course it would be you,â he says breathlessly. For all the knowledge he lacks here (physically; heâs well-versed in the hypotheticals of anatomy), he doesnât feel pure.
People like him donât get that.
He should feel guilty. He should recoil at the touch, at the knowledge you bear, at the reality of this. Except, for some unknown reason, he relishes in the idea of someone having him, even if the cost is his pride, his dignity, even if the cost is you.
He whimpers again as your teeth rake along the slope of his neck, shuddering at the sharp sensation, and heâs almost begging, words on the verge of being uttered.
But he canât. Because that isnât him when heâs with you. âAre you going to punish me? For uh, everything I said tonight? Because ah, god, Iâd like to see you try.â
Admittedly, itâs not hard to break his resolve. A few more soul-crushing kisses and your wandering hand, dipping beneath his trousers, hard. Obscenely hard. Yes, heâs muttering as you unclasp buttons, as you loosen his trousers to the extent that you can palm him through his boxers. Half-choked gasps escape his bruised lips with every touch, and heâs crying now. Pretty tears streaming down his face, accentuating those doe-wide eyes of his, now glossy and warped.
âOnly person whoâs ever touched you, huh?â you state, and maybe you derive pleasure from that concept. That only your hands, drenched thick with staining blood, have ever scrutinised the warmth of his skin. The areas where his form curves, and the areas that make him come apart, undone at the seams. Grasping you, relying entirely on the wall, just to remain upright and somewhat conscious.
He makes another noise, another guttural, pathetic sound. Because, yeah, itâs just you. Itâs only you, and the thought should be unbearable, but the pleasure of having, being touched is too much.
He has to grasp the back of your shirt, nails digging into fabric, as a distraction, a way to centre himself, while the rest of the world falls apart. His words are scattered, broken and messy, and he finds himself saying things heâll inevitably regret. âPlease, I canât-â
Heâs supposed to hate this, hate you.
âCantâ canât take it. Oh,â he wants to bury his face into the crook of your neck, but youâre gripping his jaw, forcing him to look directly at you. Glasses discarded, the view was blurry without the added layers of tears.
âEyes on me, boy genius.â
He complies. Gaze locked, unable to look away, entranced by the way your pupils dilate, staring at you, like youâre artwork, something to be studied and broken down and torn apart, only to be rebuilt again once heâs had his fill.
âLetâs look at you. Hm?â you state, removing his sweater, then his shirt, and thereâs so many layers, and heâs acting coy now, as if he wasnât whimpering moments prior.
Instinctively, by reflex, he tries to cover himself up. To hide planes of untouched skin from your gluttonous palms. You grip his wrists, pin them above his head, and oh isnât this a sight: Spencer Reid, entirely bare, bound by you alone, tear track marks and swollen lips.
He always wanted to be seen.
He just didnât expect, anticipate, being seen to this extent. He canât fight your trailing gaze, and he doesnât want to; it might make him flushed, a few irrational movements away from a cardiac arrest, but this itâ raw uncut intimacy.
Youâre softer now, as you run your hand along his dick, earning a variety of muffled noises, as your thumb brushes over his tip, taking care to touch every part of him. Everywhere he needs it. When you finally wrap your fingers around him, everything burns, fervent and collapsing, and he supposes this is what it felt like the moment Troy collapsed.
âMhh,â he moans, hips bucking in time with your palm, steady movements.
Heâs already so messy, and it should be embarrassing, but all he feels is the blunted edges of pleasure, the jagged cut of humiliation, warring against each other.
âYouâreâ oh.. youâre enjoying this far too much,â he manages, and it takes so much energy to get it out, his words slurring, interrupted by debauched gasps.
It feels good, so good that he canât process the shame thatâs bound to follow. He hates you, and he might be a little in love with you, and itâs not fair to process feelings, chemicals, he was never supposed to obtain.
âThat itâs. There you go. Thatâs my good boy.â
Spencer sobs.
âShh, shh, I know, I know, itâs a lot.â thereâs always an element of condescension to your words. An undertone that rips through his defences. Destroys him in the process.
His body is receptive, ruined, because of the praise. Heâs not sure how you can look at him, clearly, consciously, and dictate that heâs good. Most days he feels impure, debased. Burnt-out and wasted, the great always fall.
The same skin he pierced with needles is now reverently on show, and you should be cruel, itâs what youâre both good at, the only viable way to communicate, an undisclosed secret language. But youâre not. That confuses him to no extent.
âI canâtâ cant, âm so close.â his arms are still bound above his head, and despite the ache, he keeps them there. Itâs not the most conventional âfirst timeâ, but he takes it regardless.
âYeah?â you mutter, pace picking up. The sound is obscene, his excessive pre-cum smeared across his length, wet noises with every stroke. âYou wanna cum for me, hm?â
âOh god,â he breaks, âYesâ yes, pleaseââ
You have no interest in denying him, not when heâs this destroyed from a mere hand-job. âGo on then. Just because you asked so nicely.â
He falls apart. Dewy-eyed and blissed out, you force him to look at you as he reaches his orgasm. To keep looking as he squirms and writhes. So he does, because apparently his cognitive function has evaporated now.
Your tongue meets your palm, tasting him, pressing the excess into his mouth with an indecent kiss. Is this what sex entails? Complete submission, vulnerabilities bared wide? Dirty in that primal sense, the same one he always shied away from?
Finally, finally in the aftermath, he breaks his stare. His head falls back against the wall, eyes closed, neck exposed. Stifled gasps, itâs quiet, as if youâre both aware of your actions, the consequences of them.
âThis is, uhâ yeah.â he mumbles, reaching for his clothes; now the ecstasy has worn off, the shame overpowers. The sin of man, heâs starting to think youâre the personification of the serpent.
Or maybe itâs the other way around. He doesnât hold his own body to such pure standards. Heâs not sure any benevolence would look at him with acceptance. Not after everything heâs done to it.
âHey wait,â youâre not good at this whole âniceâ thing, not when it comes to him. But there have been moments, in the past, small, fleeting seconds ofâŠ. youâre not entirely sure what to call them. Late hours spent scrutinising cases, your back-up points to his statements, mindless information dumps that the team canât quite understand.
âDonât make me chase you a second time, jesus.â You canât just leaveââ you exhale, breathe, in and out, âAre you okay?â
He stops. He stops because youâve never asked that question, never cared to ask that question, and maybe that hurts more than not being asked at all.
A part of him, the small part of him thatâs not functional, wants to stay, wants to just stay in this bliss and pretend that it doesnât matter, that the inevitable fallout wonât occur. But the larger, prominent part, reminds him that this isnât right, that he needs to leave and collect his wits.
âI donât know, im confusedââ he sighs, drags a shaky hand through his hair. âYeah, im uh⊠iâm fine. âI just need to leave, I have to-â he swallows. âI canât. Not right now, I need to doâ anything but this.â
He walks out on you and itâs fine.
ââââââââââââ
Everything is fine, reality can return, and you can forget that you had his arms bound against the wall, that he fell apart from the weight of your dragging palm. You can pretend you never saw him naked, bare in every form of the word. Stripped raw, his lips burning against yours, skin on skin. Itâs. Fine.
Life continues. Your dynamic remains the same, unrelenting, your biting words, just short of callous, his scathing remarks. Modus Operandi. You wonder how youâve turned the most tender person into something sharp, and you wonder if itâs ever going to be reversible.
When the case closes, the BAU, in predictable, systematic fashion, celebrate (ease the weight) over drinks. Youâre adorned in lace, a black dress that just catches your thighs. Itâs late now, and by the time you arrive at the dive-bar, the majority of the team are intoxicated (you couldnât go straight from work, there was still blood clinging to your skin).
Everything is fine. To reiterate.
Itâs not.. Itâs not. Because oh, Spencer finds himself staring. Heâs fairly certain he doesnât have any lingering interest. But then again, why is he fixated on the way fabric clings to your ruinous figure, the way your hair sits, slightly dishevelled, pooled over one shoulder? Itâs exasperating and inebriating all at once. You shouldnât be able to affect him to such an extent, and yet here he is, mindlessly staring at you with starry-eyes. He should look away. Leave even?
Of course, he fails. You end up squeezing in next to him, all leather seats and too little space.
And, okay, he knows he should feel guilty.
In reality, heâs not. Because, sure, heâs sat too close, and sure, he can just make out the scent of your perfume, faintly floral. But heâs intoxicated, just as everybody else is, and itâs making logic and reason seem far off, too distant to process. He looks at you once, then twice, like he canât quite believe youâre tangible.
âYou look nice, I guess,â he murmurs bluntly, looking away, feigning disinterest.
As if the âincidentâ (as heâs taken to calling it) didnât tilt his world on its axis.
âYou also look nice, I guess.â you retort, and itâs the best youâre going to get out of each other. At least in this state (the surplus of praise that left your bruised, possessed lips cannot be justified, or repeated ever. again.)
You lean forward, watch as his face creases at the proximity. Are you thinking about the kisses? Plural, fuck, plural. Open-mouthed, desperate movements?Youâre. not. Instead, you steal his glasses, slip them on. The prescription is strong, thick lenses that distort your perception.
âWhat do you think?â you ask, âI might go as you for halloween, itâll definitely scare the kids.â
âThey make you look intelligent. Considering you need all the help you can get, Iâd take that as a compliment,â
Itâs a domestic action, to put on his glasses. And the thoughts that burn through his mind stem from HR prohibited to domestic, which he argues is far worse. You, tangled in sheets, sporting nothing but his glasses. Resting against the tip of your nose, askew, as you ride him. As you tilt your head back, exposingâ no.
He wants to say something about how ridiculous you lookâ but itâs hard to focus, youâre taking up all of his sanity, like a computer running multiple programs at once. Youâre malware actually, destined to corrupt him (which youâve already done to a painful extent).
âYou canât just touch my stuff.â he settles on, sounding more petulant than anticipated.
âOh chill out, boy wonder. Itâs a pair of glasses,â you mutter, removing them to blink blink blink, and there he is, the centre focus of your vision, now fully detailed again. It takes you a moment to render in his appearance: shirt sleeves rolled to his elbows, arms exposed, long, deft fingers. Thereâs heavy bags gathering beneath his eyes, dragging down those big, blown-out irises of his, wide and completely dirty (how is it that his natural resting face is so obscene?).
Focus.
You push the glasses back onto his face. Better, itâs a sight youâve come to anticipate after he ran out of contact lenses. âThere. Oh, were you just upset because you couldnât see me properly? Thatâs sweet, Spence. Flattery will get you everywhere.â
He can see everything.
Every small detail of your face; strands of hair falling loose, dilated pupils, accentuated by heavy liner, obsidian that contrasts against your incisive eyes. Your lips, oh your lips, he could write a thesis on them. Stained crimson, if he were to kiss you right now, residue would catch against his own mouth, incriminate him.
He gets up. Excuses himself. Sometimes he wishes he could vanish.
But itâs not good enough.
âYou,â he says between messy kisses, âNeed to keep your hands to yourself.â â okay, heâs not sure how this happened. He left for the bathroom (to splash water on his face, gather his dignity, perhaps drown himself?) and you to humour the locals outside, gathering around with half-smoked cigarettes and slurring conversations.
But then, on his way back, padding through the long corridor (why is it always a corridor?), you were there, and yeah. He was screwed. Fatefully wrecked.
He had tried, in the moments leading up to his demise, to resist, but he was a man of logic and science and the science, when he was around you, simply did not apply. Youâre bad for him, in every sense, he should avoid you, he should stay away.
But now, thereâs no space between your bodies, no space for rationality or reasoning (god heâs tired of the thinking part. He just wants to feel).
The kiss is rough, sloppy, a desperate, messy thing. âThis canât keep happening,â he mumbles against your smeared lips.
âDo you remember last time?â you question. Itâs taboo, to bring it up, to disclose the buried. But youâre fairly certain this compromising position wouldnât exist without the lethal effects of that one night. The cheap motel and his body arching into your touch.
Rationality appears to be nonexistent now. A discarded concept.
Like last time, you guide him back against the wall, pin his hands above his head. Mirroring your actions. Well, to some âdignifiedâ extent. âHad you just like this,â you lean forward to press a series of kisses along the curvature of his jaw. âI bet youâd let me take you like this again, hm? Right here? In the middle of this shitty dive bar?â
And if he werenât so far gone, heâd protest, heâd tell you that no, this is wrong, because youâre so wrong for him. He knows that if one good man has to fall, it shouldnât be him.
But you donât let good men rise, and thereâs something so enticing about the depths of hell. Heâs not sure heâs good anyway. Itâs a complex situation. âYouâre a sadist,â he murmurs, breathless, âI wouldnât.â
Your grip instinctively tightens against his wrist, and he squirms. Heâs nervous, âCould we, like⊠at least find a bathroom? Iâd take a bathroom, even though thereâs endless strains of bacteria there. Or, or split a cab. No, iâll just payâ Anything. Iâll do anything. Just not here. This is a public space, and technically, public indecency, andââ
âFuck,â heâs never been the type to swear, âIâll do anything.â this time, he says it in self-defeat. Acknowledgment.
ââââââââââââ
French exit. His wandering hands in the cab, and the electric pulse that burnt through his body as he kept a low profile, stumbling out of the bar, muttering thinly-veiled excuses for his abrupt departure.
The second youâre both inside your apartment, youâre clattering into things. âI love your eyes,â you state bluntly, forthcoming in every sense of the word, âLove it when you cry for me.â
You think of every harsh word that has ever escaped your lips, You think of the consequences they mightâve had. Did he ever cry over them? You know, in contrast, you never did over his. Though there was that sharp, sinking pain that felt like the embodiment of slow death. Something terminal, fated to linger, to eat and eat until nothing remained.
No big deal!
âItâs an involuntary bodily response. Youâre a dacryphiliac.â he responds.
Thereâs not a lot he can compute right now, his brain too preoccupied with processing your touch alone. Which is so prominent, so harrowingly good that not even his genius mind can comprehend it.
Heâs reasonable to believe he would kill whoever had the pleasure of experiencing you like this.
âItâs not a fetish if I only feel it for youââ
Spencer breaks.
âNo-no-no,â he says, too loudly, âYou canât just- say those things. You canât tell me you love when I cry, just because- I should be scared, of you. Youâre volatile. Destructive,â he murmurs, head leaning against the crook of your shoulder. Against better judgement. But all reason has left him now. Youâve stolen it, taken it as a personal trophy to parade and boast about.
âWhy am⊠Why am I not scared?â he asks, âItâs not like I make you cryâŠâ
âBecause thereâs no reason to be scared.â you answer simply. And at surface level, itâs true. In spite of the hostility, the years of white-knuckled rivalry, youâve always trusted him. Itâs a coveted admission, considering youâre circumspect by nature.
You unbutton his shirt, let it fall to the floor, exposing his skin in the middle of your apartment. Heâs standing there, and youâre not sure what to do with all of this want that perhaps youâve misplaced as enmity for so long.
âYou could make me cry,â you state, because if thereâs one person out there capable of cracking you open, leaning behind fragmented pieces, itâs him. Itâs always going to be him.
Itâs a startling realisation. That he, Spencer Reid, of all people, can reach the centre of you in ways nobody has ever done before.
âWhy would I want you to cry? Thatâsâ iâm not even sure how I would go about it.â
You grip his hips, walk yourself backwards until youâre hitting a wall, there your body instinctively curves forward to meet his. âIt doesnât always have to be bad.â you explain, because heâs looking at it from a simplistic, textbook perspective. âLast time,â those words still feel like poison, âWhen I made you cry, there was no pain, right? You cried because it felt good.â
Heâs staring at you clueless. Though, he might just be distracted. Either works.
Your hand catches his wrist, and then youâre hiking up your dress, guiding his touch beneath fabric. The lace panties that cover skin. Heâs tentative, experimental, dragging his thumb over your clit, causing your hips to cant towards him. âMake me cry, boy genius.â
You act like this is the most indecent thing heâs capable of doing. From an unbiased standpoint, itâs up there on his list, but admittedly he hasnât really done enough to constitute a list in the first place.
Spencer, in response, simply drops to his knees. Your panties are pulled down your legs in a disconcerting haze, and then heâs just groaning, cursing Gods he doesnât believe in, spiting them with blasphemy, whilst also simultaneously thanking them, humouring false promises he wonât commit to.
Itâs blasphemous, a prodigy on his knees, in front of you, for you. As if heâs worshiping something he canât even comprehend, something beyond the expanse of his knowledge. And you just pull strands of his hair, pull at the strings of him.
His hands find the inside of your thighs, caressing the soft skin there and you make another noise, a noise that has him devouring you.
Face buried between your legs, he flattens his tongue against your clit, drags it upwards to catch wetness, to affirm that youâre just as affected as he. That since you touched him, all thoughts have consisted solely of you.
He doesn't think he's doing this correctly- but you're making noises, gasps that he didnât even know you were capable of, and that's the thing about science or anatomy, whatever it may be, the brain is incredibly subjective, and the more knowledge you acquire, the less you really know.
And there's knowledge here, but itâs not utilised; no coordination, even when there should be, even when heâs got the human body memorised to perfection. Still, you seem to like him messy, desperate, drawing your clit into his mouth to pull, to tug, before shifting back to blow cold air against you.
The task was simple, at surface level: make you cry. And whilst, if you pick it apart, it becomes more complex, he seems to be efficient in following orders because right now, youâre ruined. It might not be the most meticulous head youâve received (though youâre sure, under different circumstances he could probably surpass that standard), but itâs wanting, in a way that makes you ache.
âOh oh, fuckâ fuckfuckfuck.â
You grip his hair, twisting and pulling and using, and he lets you, heâd do anything, do this forever if he had to. His fingers, still gripping your thighs, dig into soft flesh, leaving visible marks. And he wants to see those marks, in the morning, an irrefutable fact that would force him to accept this as real.
But he canât focus, canât think about anything when youâre reacting like this, so undone. How can there be anything, at all, beyond this?
He lets you drape a leg over his shoulder, letâs you get off against his face, fingers sliding inside, one digit at a time, to feel warmth wrapped around him. To feel the way you clench when he curves them, when he grazes spots that he could explain to factual detail.
Your body shudders, and youâre making noises he hasnât heard before, sounds that could only be described as obsceneâ and his name, youâre moaning his name, and god, heâs certain he would follow you to the ends of the earth right now. Without question.
Itâs when he stops, when he leans back enough that he can breathe. That he can look at you, really look at you.
Youâre messy, undone. The sight could be considered humiliating from an outside perspective, but youâre gorgeous, and heâd do this a thousand times over if it resulted in this exact reaction. A reaction that heâs given you. No one else.
âI love your face.â He says, a little bluntly. But itâs true, he does.
So he returns to the task. Practically situating you on his face now to suffocate him, to let him become some sort of extension to your pleasure. And inevitably when you fall apart, tears and writhing, boundless pleasure, he can only push you through it. Allow his existence to crumble, for the second time,
And as he draws back, face covered in you, he can only stare.
His knees are bruised. Thatâs the first thing you notice when you stumble to the bedroom, when youâve taken a moment to wipe away evidence of the tears, to regather and compose yourself. Itâs not in your nature to be soft, no to him, but you still find yourself kissing the mauve blemishes, working your way up his body after youâve oh so unceremoniously undressed him. Reduced to his boxers, heâs an incriminating sight.
âLosing your virginity to me is like the biggest irony ever.â you say, kissing along his stomach, watching as his body reacts, arches, contorts in search of more pleasure. Itâs a hypnotising sight, to see every nerve tuned to you solely.
âIronic, demeaning, enough to send past versions of myself into an early grave. Yes, I get your point.â he mutters.
Your hands find their way to the waistband of his boxers, and heâs lifting his hips, because he wants you to undress him, because heâd let you do anything right now, but he also feels embarrassed, exposed. Vulnerable in a way heâs never felt before. Youâre seeing him, seeing things he doesnât even know himself. But thereâs nowhere to hide, not while youâre slowly pulling off his underwear, with a care that heâs unaccustomed to.
âI wonât go easy on you,â you assure. Even though thatâs technically a straight-faced lie. Of course itâll be more tender than anything else youâve endured; he has this devastating habit of softening those around him. Itâs only taken this long to affect you out of pure, unbridled spite.
Oh, he wants. The evidence is his body alone. Laid out before you, like an offering, a hedonistic one. Dick hardened, dripping pre-cum onto his stomach.
âHands above your head,â you watch as he blindly obeys, any defiance now crushed. Well, for the most part: at least in his actions. âThatâs goodâ good boy. Tell me if theyâre too tight,â you say, binding them with his discarded tie.
You stare, and itâs like you want to eat him alive, and against better judgement, heâd let you. Serve himself up, passive as you tear him limb for limb, taste all the bad parts of his existence, the ones he keeps hidden shamefully away.
âToo tight? Iâve been held hostage, I think I can handle a little bit of fabric.â he retorts before tugging at the restraints, âTighter.â
âDidnât realise you were so into thisââ
âNeither did I,â he scoffs, âIâve never done it before, obviously.â
âNow you have. Congrats, iâll give you a sticker once weâre done. Gold star, huh?â and just for good measure, you tighten the restraints further. Just a few more pulls until youâre knotting it in place. Until heâs entirely defenceless, but realistically, what would you do? Itâs hard to find fear when youâve covered him on the field for over a year (heâs prone to being targeted, an unsubs wet dream).
âYes, thank you. Iâll put the sticker on the wall next to my PhDs.â right now, right in this moment, countless people are getting what they want.
And Spencer is being manhandled by his pretty coworker.
Ironically, thatâs exactly what he wants.
Youâre the perfect dichotomy. Cruel, and caring. Harsh words to juxtapose gentle hands. Soft touches, but scathing remarks that linger, leaving behind a trail of scars, the ubiquity of your cruelty.
Youâre lethal, and heâs smart enough to comprehend the danger. Except heâs never been smart when it comes to people.
Your hands are acquisitive, roaming, searching, blunt nails that scrape skin as you rake them down, down towards his abdomen. He shivers, bite into that pretty bottom lip of his until heâs spilling blood, and itâs a sight. Something sick that you both want to such an offensive extent.
âSensitive.â you murmur, like the idea of him so reactive pleases you, in a way youâve never considered before. Because the way his body strains, bucking forward to deepen the contact is maddening.
âAre you always like this?â you wonder aloud, leaning down to run a hand along the length of his inner thigh. âPoor baby, so touch-starved.â
âI donât know if Iâd use the word sensitive.â he replies, âMore susceptible to the fact that youâre touching me, and that I havenât felt another person touch me in a long time. And of course when people touch me, itâs usually professionals poking me with needles or stitching this weeks new wound.â
Touch-starved? He has sensory issues. The lightest graze can provoke, cause his skin to crawl. Of course he would like your touch, of course the universe would torture him by finding relief in the one person who nobody should stumble upon for relief.
âOh youâre a soldier, you suffer so much.â you state, and itâs condescending (naturally), but there is some truth to the serrated comment. You, the team, are all bruised, mentally and physically distorted from the consequences of the job. Only he could react so reverently to your calloused hands, blissed out to the extent that it looks like youâre witnessing ascension.
Itâs pretty. Pretty, in a soft, domestic way. One that demeans his bound wrists and your sharp words.
You press a few tender kisses to his thighs, the inner sections, where youâre certain, assured, no one has ever touched before. Maybe thereâs something possessive to that thought, the want to own, to know that no one will ever have him the way you have him.
Your touch is like a brand. He wants it, even if itâs bad, even if itâs cruel. Because the alternative to this is nothing. A lonely existence. A life of work, of chasing shadows, knowing he had so much to give, and no one to give to.
âStop mocking me.â he replies, itâs through laboured breath. âJust because I donât have your proclivity for taking hits doesnât mean I donât suffer.â
No oneâs ever touched him like this. No oneâs ever cared to try. Youâre his first.
âI know you suffer,â you retort, are you arguing? Is this foreplay? If it is, then you have some serious self-reflecting to do on every single past conversation. Because maybe you shouldâve taken him to your bed earlier, in that case.
Oh god was your hatred of each other built solely on sexual tension?
Finally, you move. Just like the first time, your hand runs across his length, taking him slowly, easing him into it, coercing him through the pleasure. Itâs not similar to before: it wonât end after heâs found his release, and itâs not frenzied and ardent. Spurred on by shame.
âAnd you know iâm always going to take the hits for you, regardless.â he whines when you remove your hand, and whines again, for contrasting reasons, as you spit on your palm, generate lubricant to support each stroke.
âOhââ he breathes out. Heâs fairly certain heâs supposed to be more contained. A huff escapes his lips and then heâs retorting, âYou could try a tactic other than reckless self-sacrifice every once in a while.â
Heâs overwhelmed, with you. All of you. The way you look, the way you talk, all the harsh lines and scathing remarks. The way you take the hits for him, an altruistic custodian, but he isnât worthy of being saved. Isnât worth the effort.
âShut the fuck up, Spencer.â you say, promptly ending this discussion; you grip his dick tighter, tilting your movements to catch him at a better angle.
âShitâ okay, okay,â he moans because that feels really really good, and he wishes he could articulate it in a better way. Something complex and poetic, but itâs just so good.
Heâs always been a little masochistic. Too smart for his own good, too analytical. He wants you to take him apart, piece by piece, and see the inner workings of his body laid out before you, raw and vulnerable. Because only you can see him like this.
He doesnât even really touch himself. Thereâs been nights, body flushed and wanton, bucking up against sheets, muffled noises pressed into his pillow. But theyâre rare, and they usually lead to an aftermath of ignominy.
Heâs a prodigy, a genius in the field of criminal psychology. So why does it feel so good like this? To be humbled, to be demoted. As if all his degrees, his awards, his intellect, mean absolutely nothing.
Heâs never felt so loved. Which is ironic. Because heâd always hoped love would be slow, gentle. Soft, like a caress. The kind of love you share over meals and pillow-talk.
He realises, with a jolt to his system, that if this is love to you, heâd accept it, in its most primal form.
âYou get off on this,â he analyses as you draw back, mostly to stifle the begs that nearly escape his mouth. Come back, need you here.
âWell Iâd be pretty concerned if I wasnât getting off on this right nowââ
âNo,â he pushes, âYou like that iâm, that yeah. I have no experience. You want to corrupt me, huh?â he looks up at you with pretty, innocent eyes. Holy shit. âRuin me for anyone else? Go on, let me have it. Iâll only come back, iâve already done it once. Statistically, itâs going to happen again. And again. Pavlovian responses, condition me. Make my body react to no one else.â
When you kiss him again, he can only take it. Can only moan, whimper, plead against your mouth until youâre lining him up, until youâre sitting on his dick, and everything is okay.
âYouâre soââ bottomed out, wrapped around him entirely, you sigh. âFuck, Spence, who taught you to be so fucking dirty?â
âYou.â he mutters, playing coy. âBut youâre a bad teacher, I think I could do with a few more lessons..â
âI think you could do with learning to shut your mouth more often.â
âIt is better suited for other purposes, I suppose..â
He gags when you slot two fingers, index and middle, into his mouth. No warning, no predetermined acknowledgment. They hit the back of his throat, and he can only suck, muffling protests around the digits until he goes blissfully silent.
âBetter,â you retort. Drawing them out, you press your thumb against his bottom lip, keeping it parted so that you can lean forward, spit into his open mouth. When you first met, he promptly refused to shake your hand, too conscious of the dissemination of germs, now? Heâs swallowing your saliva, unprompted, with little resistance.
You know him. The way you touch is like youâre searching for something. Anything about him. Itâs like youâre a bloodhound, trying to unearth every single vulnerability. And you mustâve found them, because youâre suddenly here, bearing all your weight on him, moving, and itâs all his body can do to take it. All of it. All of you.
He tugs at his restraints, because he wonât go down without a susceptible fight. Even if he knows itâs fated that he will inevitably fall. âPleaseâplease untie me, just wanna hold your hand.â
And, oh that shatters you. Like, mentally, physically, spiritually dismantles you until youâre breathless, staring at him with widened eyes and a loss of composure. Itâs such a tender request, something domestic and raw, and mindlessly youâre fumbling with the knots of his tie. Freeing them to take one in yours.
Itâs against your nature, but you canât help, canât refrain yourself from pressing a kiss against his knuckles. âYouâre doing so good fâme. Such a good boy,â
Your free hand runs across his torso now, grazing skin, admiring the sight of him, flushed, debauched, sprawled out beneath you.
He grips your hip. Thatâs the first thing he does once heâs sufficiently sane, well⊠partially, the praise did knock him entirely off balance. Tip the scales, send him over the inexorable edge.
He watches as you take the incentive to slip off his body, and the loss of friction is okay, tolerable because heâs sitting up against the headboard, drawing you closer, whining for you until youâre on his lap, until youâre sat in your rightful place.
Here, he can kiss you. Which he admits has become a very vital aspect to his existence.
The kiss is like a bruise. Not rough, heâd never be rough with you, heâs all long, languid strokes and soft movements. But itâs overwhelming, and leaves discernible, lasting imprints.
And yeah, sure, kissing you is the closest thing to worship he has ever known. Something he would like to commit to memory, every single time your lips touch, itâs like heâs seeing god in the shape of your cupidâs bow.
âPlease, I needââ he stutters over his words, âIf you donât move, I swearââ he pauses, his head falling against your shoulderâ âI swear, Iâm gonna die, this has to be against the Geneva Convention, you canât leave me like this, pleaseââ
âThe Geneva convention? Really? Is this your form of dirty talk?â you retort, unable to muffle your laugh.
âNo. Iâm stating my rights,â he says, âTorture is prohibited.â
âIâm not torturing youââ
You tangle your hand through his hair, tug tug tug, and then pull, drawing his head back by tousled strands, forcing him to meet your gaze.
âOhmyfuckinggod, yes. You are.â he whimpers.
Itâs indefensible how good he feels, how he sinks into you, hitting crevices youâre certain no one else has ever grazed before. Feeling full, whole, itâs new. Itâs your own first, and you canât even begin to articulate how defenceless you are to the way it makes you disintegrate, fragment to pieces of pleasure. Spencer is warm, and soft, and it makes you want to cry. To just fall, give in, transcendence of self, Burke said, and right now, you feel that entirely.
His moan is unapologetic, unfiltered as you move. At this point, you could slice him open, leave him bleeding in your bed, and heâd thank you for it.
You hold his hand, and yet, simultaneously destroy him.
âPlease,â he whimpers againâ heâs too pretty to be asking so nicely. âI justâ I want you closer. As close as possible, I want you so close to me that Iâm not even sure if my body can handle it.â
Itâs not dirty talk, itâs more like heâs begging you, tears staining his skin, pitiful eyes, wide and glassy, staring at you with some form of desperation. Brows furrowed, gaze soft.
And his gaze only grows worse when you do give him what he wants, when your pace fastens.
Itâs a religious experience, like heâs about to be crucified, a martyr to his pleasure. Heâs almost afraid to touch youâ to stain something divine, like youâre too much for him. But youâre not.
âI like this. Like you. Like you here. Youâre so good for me,â he murmurs, and itâs untruthful, but right now, he sincerely believes it. âso good, so perfect, all I need, pleaseââ
âStop it.â you bite, preferring him defiant over thisâ because this opens up wounds you werenât even aware existed. âOh fuck, stop it.â
âSo good. Youâre so good,â he cups your face, presses his forehead against yours, and you might as well just die right here.
âSays you.â
âSays me.â
You fuck him harder.
âOh,â is all he can pronounce, little ohâs every time you rock against him, and he has to grip you hips, deepen the movements until youâre bouncing against him, up down up down, exploiting his sensitivity with a torturous pace.
And itâs not fair, he needs to balance the scales, so he runs his thumb over your clit, firm halos that have you keening. âIf being nice got me this, Iâd be so nice to you for the rest of my lifeââ
Another lie. But itâs worth it. If only for the way you kiss him. The way you silence his cutting words, forcing your way into his mouth, forcing him to just squirm and sob, until youâre clenching around him, and heâs there with you. Falling apart, bodies shifting until movement ceases, and thereâs nothing but bliss.
âI hate you so much,â you say in the aftermath, and itâs closest youâve ever gotten to a confession of love.
He laughs, wipes away tears, âHate you more.â
âDonât leave this time.â he just nods, bordering on nonverbal now. It takes you hours to coax actual words out of him, and by then, youâre both tangled in a foreign mess of warm limbs.
âOh iâm going to be so mean tomorrow.â you mutter, playing loosely with his hair.
He can only sigh, stare at you dreamily. âGod, is that a promise?â
#sub spencer reid#sub spencer#brat spencer reid#spencer reid angst#spencer reid smut#criminal minds#enemies to lovers#rivals#idk they hate each other but want each other#itâs a messy situation!!#id hate to be either of their therapists#or HR who has to deal with the fallout of this
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Begging for anything with aizawa pls and thanks <3 maybeee with him using his scarf involved haha
Caught!
Tags: Aizawa x fem!Reader, enemies to⊠lovers?, smut, nsfw, bondage, use of pet names like princess, mdni
Synopsis: Youâre in the league of villains, and Aizawa manages to catch you! Youâre in for it now.
An: Thank you for the request! Sorry it took me so long. NO proofreading đ
"Did you really think you could outrun me?" Shouta's gravely voice sounded through the alleyway. Your body was currently trapped. He had you completely wrapped up with that damn scarf of his. No matter which way you thrashed, you couldn't get out.
"I was just hoping to outlast you!" You shout back, feigning confidence. In reality, your heart was pounding anxiously in your chest. You kept replaying the memory of you getting caught over and over in your head.
Shigaraki and the others just... left you completely behind. You were nothing more than a lamb to the slaughter. The slaughter just happened to be Shouta Aizawa, a notable underground pro who also teaches at U.A.. Just your luck.
His footsteps sounded through the alleyway. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. The small amount of light from the streetlamp allowed for you to admire his face from the ground. His longer dark hair was tied back into a short poofy ponytail, and his glasses must've gotten knocked off at some point during the pursuit.
His tired eyes wandered over your body as you laid helplessly at his feet. His irises were glowing red, effectively wiping you of your quirk. You looked too damn soft to be a villain, but he wasn't going to underestimate someone after seeing Toga.
"You got a name, princess?" He asked before nudging your side with his boot, making you squirm away from him.
"Why would I tell you that?" You immediately spat with a defiant pout.
"You got entirely too much mouth on ya." He retorts with a small smirk. Suddenly, your body is rapidly rolling around as the scarf unravels from your midsection. He's quick to grab each ends, and he yanks the rope taut, binding your wrists together above your head. "I'm tryin' to do you a favor, so don't push your luck."
Your body feels more free, even if you're basically just as trapped as before. Though, you're finally able to breathe freely now without the scarf restraining you tightly.
"Oh, and how should I say thank you?" You ask sarcastically, expecting for him to just get irritated with you again.
Aizawa takes a few more steps forward, and he crouches down to your level on the ground. Tilting his head to the side slightly, "I can think of a few ways, but I bet you wouldn't like those."
He's a flirt???
Your eyes immediately widen in response, and you can feel the heat rushing your cheeks. It's a pretty well known fact that Aizawa is a bit of a heartthrob, but he's too unapproachable to even consider. Shigaraki would kill you if he knew that you were considering sleeping with the enemy, but he basically left you to die. So, it shouldn't be too much of a problem.
"Why are you so sure that I wouldn't?" You ask as you try to lean up against your restraints. He pulls them tighter, knocking you back against the concrete.
"A young pretty thing like you? You're just hoping to find an opening and get away." He muses as his eyes look your body up and down, shamelessly checking you out while you can't do a damn thing about it.
A small huff escapes your lips, causing him to chuckle endearingly. He finds your continued defiance to be rather amusing and cute.
"Then... don't give me an opening." You respond, giving him your most innocent smile that you could muster.
"Oh princess, are you asking me to keep you tied down..?"
You let out a shaky breath, and you reluctantly nod your head. Your thighs squish together tightly, trying to ease the warm ache that started to form between your legs.
"Ask nicely, and I'll consider it." He demands, keeping that cocky smirk on his face. The TV debuts never show this side of him. He's always portrayed as some strict stick in the mud, but right now, he was something completely different.
"Asshole-" You scoff before the scarf is yanked tightly, forcing your arms up higher. A pained whine sounds from your mouth, and you squeeze your eyes shut as he toys with you like prey.
"Now princess, I know you're a villain, but come on now... That's not very nice." He's being completely condescending, but for whatever reason, it makes your entrance clench around air, begging to be filled up by him.
"Please... keep me.. tied up-" You quietly ask, avoiding eye contact with him out of sheer embarrassment.
"You just want me to keep you tied up..? Nothing else-?" He prompts, and one of his fingers trails up your arm slowly, up towards the scarf wrapped tightly around your wrists.
"No- I.... ugh!" You exasperate in a bratty scoff. "I want you to keep me tied while.. you..." His finger slips beneath the binding, making sure he's not cutting off your circulation before he trails his finger back down your other arm.
"While I... what, princess? Spit it out. I'm on the clock, you know."
"... while you fuck me." You finally add, tilting your head away from his impregnable stare.
"Goood~" He purrs before tilting your chin back towards him. "Now, say it all together."
"That's not-" He gives you a challenging gaze, telling you that he's finished arguing. "I want you to keep me tied up while you fuck me..." His stare continues, waiting for you to tack on the 'nice' portion. "...Please."
"Was that so hard?" He asks as his hand dips between your thighs. His hand palmed at your wet cunt through the thin fabric of your pants.
"Mmn... no.." Your murmur softly. Your back arches up off the concrete, and your part your thighs slightly for him.
"Just like a damn cat. So mean and defensive until someone pets ya the right way." He muses before his fingers find the waistband of your pants. With a firm tug, you're left without pants or panties.
"Wait.. ngh... not in the alley-" Your whines fall on deaf ears as Shouta already has his head between your thighs, helping himself to your arousal.
His scruffy facial hair tickles your soft skin as he's gently kissing and biting on your thighs. Your body involuntarily squirms with each time he clamps his teeth over your flesh. "F-fuck.. ah.." It feels like heaven when his tongue finally reaches your core.
"Mmnn~ well, at least one part of ya is sweet." He muses with a grin before flattening his tongue out and lapping at your dripping cunt. His hands are tightly forcing your thighs apart, not allowing you to shy away from him at all. You could feel the imprints of his fingers being bruised into your legs. A mark of him to carry along with you.
Your hands tug against the restraints with a quiet whine as he plunges his tongue in and out of your tight entrance. It feels like he's a starved man, and you're his only source of substance to keep him alive. "F-fuuck~ Shouta.." You breathlessly whisper while your hips are subtly moving along with his tongue.
His hands slide up, and he gropes on the flesh of your ass, pulling you down harder onto his tongue. It forces him deeper into your arousal. You're practically dripping all over his nose and chin, and he lets out a grunt of approval.
"Thaaat's it, princess. Didn't think you'd be moaning a hero's name, now did ya?" He taunts as he sits up. His hands slide his belt off with ease, tossing it over to the side.
"Debatable.." You murmur lowly as your eyes fixate on his pants sliding down. He has a darkly colored happy trail that goes down to where his pubic hair. His cock is then unsheathed from his boxers.
"I see you still have that mouth on you. Guess I'm going to have to fuck it out of you." He shrugs his shoulders nonchalantly before he positions himself right between your thighs.
Your eyes are still glued on his length. He was big, but he was mostly girthy. His tip is swollen and red, with a line of pre-cum dripping down all from eating you out. His hand wraps around his fat length, and he fists at his length a few good times before guiding it towards your entrance.
"Wandering eyes..." He muses lowly, catching your attention. Your eyes meet his, and he gives you a small smile. "What were you looking at?"
"Uh... you.." You softly respond, feeling embarrassed that he caught you literally drooling over his cock.
"Yeah? What for?"
"I didn't know how it was gonna fit-" You start to say, but you were rudely cut off by him forcing his round tip past the ring of muscle. Your breath hitched in your throat, and you pulled harshly against the scarf.
He almost feels bad when he sees your cute face scrunched up in obvious discomfort. "You can handle it." He states bluntly before he eases his hips out, stretching the ring of muscle to fit around him. He then pushes right back in. Your wet heat coats him in a way that causes him to growl.
"Mmm.. if I didn't know any better, I'd say you're... hah.. enjoying this." He points out as his face hovers yours. His hands are planted against the ground at either side of you, holding him up above you. Your legs instinctively hike around his waist.
"Ngh..." You can't even find it in you to deny him right now. The stretch feels painful in the best way possible. You need him right now. "F-feels good~"
"Oh..? Want me to keep going then?" He asks, once again making you embarrassingly admit to wanting his cock.
"Yes... p-please Shouta.." You whine, wrapping your legs around him as if that'd stop him from leaving.
"Good girl. I'll reward you now." He praises before starting to move his hips. Your gummy walls squeeze around him, almost sucking him in with each thrust.
"Mmngh~ yes-!... right there, fuck." Your a noisy thing when you're getting dicked down, aren't you?
"Princess, don't make me gag you with my scarf." He mumbles in your ear lowly before letting out a low grown in tandem with his thrust. "G-gotta be quiet. Don't want the... mmph!... media coming out here, do you?"
You quickly shake your head no, and he gives you a small chuckle. He doesn't drill into you, instead he's slow and purposeful. He makes each thrust count as he slams into your sweet spot at a perfect tempo.
He presses small kisses along your cheek and jaw. "Bein' such a good girl for me.." He praises lowly as one of his hands snake down and starts to rub small circles on your clit.
"Hah~" You gasp as you tilt your head back. You can feel the white hot pleasure start to coil in your stomach, and your heart starts to pound in your chest. "G-gonna... gonna come.." You warn quietly as your eyes squint shut.
"Yeeaahh, that's it.... come on my cock , 's okay." He gives you permission, and immediately, he can feel you spasming around him. "Fuuck, good girl. Did so good..." He praises, and he keeps up his punishing rhythm.
"Sh-... Shouta~" You whine as you look back up at him. Your poor cute face is all fucked out. He knows your arms have to be sore from being kept above your head this entire time.
"What is it, princess?" He asks you knowingly. He already knows what you're wanting of him, but he's a fan of making you say it.
"P-please.. come inside me.."
"I've given you s'much already, and you want more? He taunts as his cock continues to fill you completely. His tip kissing your womb sloppily as he's just leaking pre-cum into you. Sopping wet noises fill the alley every time he moves. So much for being discreet.
"M-more!" You mindlessly whine in agreement. How could he deny you when you're so cute and stupid? His jaw tightens, and he begins to absolutely bully his way inside you, chasing after his own orgasm simply because you asked him so nicely.
His knees scraped against the pavement beneath your two, and his grunts were becoming more growl like and shaky. "You want more? C'mere." He demands lowly before unbinding your hands. He scoops you into his arms, and pulls you up and down along his length, practically using you as his own little toy.
Your arms immediately wrap around his neck, and you hold on for dear life as he literally knocks the breath out of you with each brutal thrust. Your mind is practically spinning, and before you know it, you're gushing around him once again.
"You just can't help yourself, can you?" He taunts before he bites down onto your shoulder. His heavy balls are slapping against the flesh of your ass with each delicious plap noise. "Fuck. Gonna fill my good girl up." He groans lowly as his arms begin to shake.
His cock flexes with each pump of cum he spurts into you. For a moment, everything is quiet. The sound of both of you trying to catch your breaths fill the air before he presses a chaste kiss to your cheek.
"You don't gotta tell me your name... Do you have somewhere safe to go tonight... away from those assholes?" He asks you quietly before he gently lays you back against the concrete. His cock slides out of you, unleashing a pool of mixed fluids down your ass.
"I... not really..." You answer hesitantly. You didn't exactly have a place to call home except for the league of villains' base. It's not like you expected them to practically sacrifice you.
"You'll sleep at mine tonight." He leaves no room for argument as he gets himself back dressed. He even starts to put your pants back onto your legs for you. "If you try anything, I'll tie you up and do this to you all over again."
You let out a small amused laugh. "Don't threaten me with a good time, eraser."
#mha fic#mha x reader#mha#mha smut#mha aizawa#aizawa shouta#aizawa x reader#aizawa smut#fanfic#my hero academia#my hero fanfic#my hero smut#bnha aizawa#bnha shouta aizawa
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Can you do some angsty jealousrry? Happy ending please!!
Yes đââïž thereâs a spooky season theme to it hehe
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Warnings- angst, jealousy, a bit of manhandling, a lil toxic behavior, etc
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Harry had been searching for her all night. The Halloween themed night at the pub was in full swing, the music throbbing, bodies grinding on the dance floor. He had lost track of her hours ago when she had left his place, her disappearance leaving him with a hollow feeling in his chest. But he wasn't about to give up that easily. He knew she was going to be here tonight, with or without him. With a determined scowl, he began to weave his way through the crowded room, his eyes scanning every face, every shadowy corner- which was easier said than done considering they were pumping that nasty fake fog that burned his nose and flashing the stupid strobe lights every so often.
Thankfully as he turned a corner, he spotted her. She was standing by the bar, sipping on a drink, her back to him. His shoulders sagged in relief as he recognized the curve of her neck, the way her styled hair fell in loose waves down her back. She was dressed as a Victorian ghost, all white and eerie, fitting for the spooky themed night.
What he didnât like, though, was the asshat standing next to her wearing a stupid excuse of a pirate costume. No, that simply would not do. He felt a surge of possessiveness wash over him and he moved towards her without hesitation.
As he approached, he heard the guy lean in and say something to her. Y/N laughed, her head thrown back, exposing the long line of her throat. Harry's steps faltered for a moment, jealousy coursing through him like poison. Who the hell was this guy? And why the fuck was she laughing with him? He quickened his pace, his eyes narrowed. "Excuse me."
Harry tapped the guy on the shoulder, his voice laced with a dark undertone. The guy turned around, his eyes widening in recognition. "Harry... Styles?" he stammered, obviously starstruck, but he didnât give a fuck. Harry ignored him, his focus solely on Y/N. "We need to talk." he demanded, his voice leaving no room for argument. Grabbing her arm, he began pulling her away from the bar. This wasnât the place for the discussion.
"Harry, stop!" Y/N tried to pull her arm free, but Harry's grip was firm. Once they were outside, he spun her around to face him, his eyes blazing.
"Who the fuck was that guy?" he demanded, his voice low. There was an attempt to keep his composure there, but there wasnât much of a follow through. He hated that someone else had been so close to her, especially after an argument. Rational thoughts were few and far between in this scenario.
Y/N crossed her arms, her expression defiant. "None of your business."
"None of my business?" Harry echoed, taking a step closer. "You're my girlfriend, Y/N. Everything about you is my business." They may have been fighting, but that didnât mean he wanted her to run around and talk to other guys. All of this over the fact that he didnât want to dress up over this stupid holiday? "You've been avoiding me, and you havenât answered my fuckinâ messages. I don't like that. It stresses me out and you know it."
Y/N bit her lip, her face dropping to the ground as she tried to avoid his gaze. "I needed some space. Harry." she whispered. It was hard to know she was upset but right now he felt more overwhelmed than anything else.
"Space? Or a chance to flirt with some other guy?" Harry's face twisted in irritation. He grabbed her chin, making her look at him. "Youâre the one not answering my calls. Itâs driven me absolutely mad. Iâve been trying to fuckinâ talk to you. And I find you here anyways, laughing with some loser. You canât just ignore me every time we fight.â
Her eyes were bubbling up with tears that he hated, her voice wobbly in the way that made his anger falter. Regardless of how upset he was, he didnât like seeing her sad. "You hurt me, Harry. And then you expect me to just fall into your arms when you realize you messed up? To talk to you just because you feel like you want to?"
Harry's face fell, her words stinging. He sighed, releasing her chin and dragging his hand down his face. "I know, okay? I know. I was stupid. I was careless about your feelings. I was selfish.â His shoulders dropped as he looked at her, unsure how to properly convey it. The reason heâd been reaching out was to apologize even though he didnât think it was that big of a deal, but evidently it was. âIâm sorry, my Angel. Iâm sorry for hurting your feelings. I didnât know how much you cared... about all of this." His hand waved around gesturing at her outfit. âIâve just never found it to be a big deal. I didnât know why you cared so much if I did anything with a costume. I still donât.â That was his fault, he could admit. He hadnât heard her out.
Y/N's face softened slightly, her arms uncrossing. "It's not just about the costume, Harry. It's about you showing that you care. That you're willing to do something silly or out of character for me. And you weren't. You brushed me off. And it hurt." Her voice broke on the last word, tears finally spilling over and making a trail down her cheek. It was his fault. Harry's heart ached. He hated seeing her cry.
âFuck.â He sighed, pulling her into his arms and pressing her face into his chest. He didnât care if the makeup stained his shirt. All he wanted was to make her feel better. "I'm sorry, baby. I'm sorry I hurt you. Mâsorry I was so stubborn.â He was sorry about all of it. He was sorry for not listening to her and for not understanding why it was so important to her. âI didnât know how much it meant to you."
He paused, his voice lowering to a whisper as he ran a hand over her back, feeling the tears dampen his shirt. "I love you. I love you so much. I know I didn't show it in that moment, but I do. And I promise, mâgonna do better. I'll listen. I'll compromise. I'll dress up tâthe next one. Promise. I'll- I'll even wear a onesie, or let yâput makeup on me or some shit if it's that important to you." He would do anything to make this right. To make her smile again. He felt a little silly about it now. Considering he had always tried to be a good partner, to let this be a fight was something he considered to be very stupid now.
Y/N sniffled, her arms wrapping around his waist. "It's not about you dressing up or not, Harry. It's about you showing that you care. That you're willing to make an effort. And you are now. You're promising to listen and compromise. That's what matters." She tilted her head back, looking up at him with red-rimmed eyes. "I love you too. So much."
Harry let out a shaky breath, relief flooding through him. He leaned down, pressing his forehead against hers. "Okay. Okay, we'll figure it out, mâlove. Together."
#jarofstyles#harry styles one shot#harry styles fanfiction#harry styles fanfic#harry styles smut#harry writing#harry styles imagine#harry drabble#harry styles blurb#harry styles writing#blurb#harry styles blurbs#jarofstyles fictober#Jealousrry#harry styles angst#harry angst
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Last year I wrote about what happened at Pride when a couple of kids didn't understand why us older folx were so bitter about Reagan.
This year, I have something a little softer.
Someone who looked a little older than me came up to the booth wearing a pink t-shirt proclaiming him one of the Sisters of Perpetual Indulgence, San Francisco chapter. As I was ringing him up, I asked if he'd been involved for a while.
"Yes," he said, "for a bit," in that way us middle-aged people do when we're sort of wincing and feeling old.
"Okay, well," I said, sitting at my register in my queer booth full of queer clothes and patches and pins, topless in public for the first time. (I had pasties on for my own comfort bc I was working, but I live in the city of the Naked Bike Ride, and I took full advantage). My baby brother and both of my partners ran around behind me, my brother wearing a loose tank top that makes his scars visible.
"I need to tell you that you all helped keep me alive."
He blinked at me as I continued, "I was a kid in high school in the early 90s. I lived in the middle of nowhere in Pennsylvania, and what you all were doing was so loud and so out there that even I heard about your work. It was one of the things that kept me alive. So thank you, and please thank the rest of the Sisters."
I heard about them through people in my parents' church complaining about them, and then I sought more information through the beginning of the internet, through newspapers, through anything I could find. I found the cover of Newsweek that one of the Sisters was on. I read about their "exorcism" of fundamentalist preachers whose books sat on the shelf in my parents' basement and probably still do. I saw how loud and colorful and unapologetically queer they were.
The knowledge that someone was out there, so full of defiant joy, refusing the shame that people kept trying to put on them? Oh, that kept me alive. I saw them, and I knew I could make it through. I wrapped my hands around that knowledge, and I held on so tight.
It took me a long time - a long, long time - to unwind most of it for myself and get to the point where my fat butch ass was sitting bare-chested in the July breeze, looking up at him as he held out his arms and said "you're actually giving me chills." I answered, "I mean every word. You helped keep me alive. So thank you."
I never know what to say when people come up to me in public and tell me that I helped them or changed their life in some way. I appreciate it, and I genuinely love the people who apologized for "fanpersoning" at me last weekend, I just never know what to say. I'm incredibly grateful that the Sister I spoke to was incredibly gracious, saying "usually we give blessings, but I feel like you blessed me." Another member of the party let me pet their tiny dog, who was not very interested in me, and that's okay. It was an overwhelming day. Then, they moved on.
Me? I'm still sitting with the fact that I looked last weekend into the faces of people who didn't know they were holding my head above water, and that I got to tell them the work they do matters. It's a rare thing to get to tell someone, "You saved me," and I'm treasuring it.
Last weekend, I wore my new battle vest with nothing underneath it, unless it was too hot, and then I just sat in my chair, chatting and ringing ppl out with my skin free to the air. I decided last year that top surgery isn't for me, but that also I'm going to love this body unapologetically, and it's no less a transmasculine body because the soft new dark hair on my belly isn't accompanied by pink scars along my ribs.
I didn't get here on my own. I got here because someone else cut through the undergrowth ahead of me so I could take another step forward. Here I am, decades later, still taking step after step, one at a time, and trying to lay paving stones behind me.
Last weekend was another step along that way, another step through unwinding the fear and shame and sadness that my parents and their church built into me. Another step out of hating myself for hiding parts of myself for so long, for acting out in other ways to distract people from my queerness, for feeling so much guilt when other people tell me I'm brave, because I know how much of myself I hid for how long because I was a coward, because I was afraid.
Another step into expiating stigmatic guilt.
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Seriously, the way we watch Arthur's whole world change from the very first second he comes into contact with Merlin is so. damn. cute.
There's no doubt why Arthur let him get away with outright "disrespectful" and borderline treasonous comments and behaviour the first time they met.
I mean, look at the way he instantly lit up at the concept of verbal and physical sparring with this elfin looking dude with the real "couldn't give a sh*t- try me" attitude. Someone who not only took on a knight of Camelot in mid training, but didn't change his attitude one little bit when he found out he was addressing the goddamn prince of Camelot, in fact he doubled down and got worse.
And Arthur loved the challenge, loved the defiance, loved the concept of spending more time with this guy, especially time spent doing something he loves - sparring. There's nothing Arthur loves more than a physical activity - we see it throughout all five seasons. Search the whole castle on a wild goose chase? Absolutely. Train 15 new knights in a single day? Sign him up. Ride out to battle a magical beast? He's already out the door.
And even though he knows (thinks) he can beat Merlin into submission in two moves, he's finally going up against someone who doesn't give a flying f*ck who he is and will square up to him and give his absolute best. And he hopes this will be a regular occurrence.
And the dismay when Uther declares Merlin to be Arthur's new servant isn't because he doesn't want Merlin around - it's because he's afraid it will change the relationship they've already begun to establish. That Merlin won't develop into the one person he can trust to be real with him, and instead he will become reserved and "yes-sir-no-sir-three-bags-full-sir" like every. other. damn. person.
And you can't miss the way his eyes absolutely light up that first time Merlin does his servant duties and continues being defiant, honest, real.
I love these characters so damn much, and I couldn't love Colin and Bradley more for how incredible they are.
#bbc merlin#merlin bbc#merlin#merlin x arthur#merthur#arthur pendragon#colin morgan#bradley james#merlin emrys#emrys#Ramblings of my current hyperfixation#Not that Merlin has ever left my hyperfixation#It just shares space with new hyperfixations
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Sweetening The Deal. (part 5.)
Summary: after the exchange on the dressing room, you try to test Melissaâs worst limits, but of course things donât go as planned.
tags: @lisaannwaltersbra @italianaidiota @greencurlyhair @dopenightmaretyphoon @schmentisgf @pitstopsapphic
Part 1. Part 2. Part 3. Part 4.
Next Chapter.
The tension in the parking lot of the Liberty Plaza Philadelphia mall was nearly suffocating to the point where it left you breathless, gasping for air.
As you stood there, your pulse racing under Melissa Schemmentiâs predatory gaze, a mix of both excitement and nervousness filled your chest. You were trying to maintain the confident, almost bratty persona you had adopted since the arrangement began to shield and protect yourself from any consequences, but it felt like it was unraveling with each passing second. The weight of the shopping bag in your hand suddenly felt much heavier, like a secret you werenât sure you were ready to keep.
The redhead stood before you, her body still as steady as a rock, and you could see the glimmer in her green eyes. It was a challenge, an invitation to see how long you would hold onto this new persona you had tried on. Her smirk widened as she observed your hesitation, and you could almost feel her enjoying the subtle power she held over the situation.
âWhatâs it gonna be, babygirl?â she quips, a dangerous lilt in it that sends a shiver down your spine. âYou gonna stand there like un idiota all day, or are you gonna stop pretending and answer me like big smart girls do?â
You quickly scrambled to regain some sense of control. The flood of emotions in your chest was overwhelming, and instead of addressing it, you did what you always did when you were out of your depth. Reacting in the worst way possible; testing everyone who messed with you to their worst limits.
And Melissa Schemmenti would be no different. It doesnât matter if she is being your sugar mommy and giving the financial support or a chance to get out of your miserable life, the fact that sometimes you were treated almost like a plaything was too much.
âCat got your tongue again or are we playing shy?â
With a quick jerk of your wrist, you pulled away from her grasp, giving her a coy grin. âIâm fine, Schemmenti. Now get off me.â
The tone of your voice was thick with something that was half-uncertain and half-defiant. Without giving her a chance to respond, you hopped into the passenger seat of the sleek black car with exaggerated nonchalance, slamming the door behind you shut a little harder than necessary. You crossed your arms over your chest and stared straight ahead, pretending like the whole situation didnât affect you.
Although, it was affecting you in the worst way possible.
Melissa didnât immediately follow you. Instead, she stood there for a beat, staring at you with an almost innocent genuine curiosity. You could feel the heat of her eyes on you, and for a moment, you thought she might say something, but instead, she just got into the driverâs seat with a calm, measured air. The silence between you was clear, but it wasnât uncomfortable. It was more like the calm before a storm, and you couldnât help but wonder how long this game would go on before you were forced to break.
But you werenât going to break. You couldnât. Not yet.
âThink youâre funny, right? Well, Iâll show you what happens when you disrespect someone who you are meant to obey,â the older woman promises quietly to herself. Not even daring to look at you. Yet. In fact, Melissa was dying to see if she could destroy you at her penthouse.
You stared out the window, trying to keep your breathing steady as you wrestled with the whirling thoughts in your mind. The bag with the purple lingerie sat between you on the seat, a constant reminder of the secret between you two, a reminder of the power shift that had started earlier. Melissaâs teasing words, her quiet commands, were still ringing in your ears, and the thought of wearing the lingerie, of being under her control in that way, made your skin flush with heat.
The drive to her home felt like it took an eternity, every minute stretching longer than the last. When the car finally pulled into the garage of the penthouse, you didnât even wait for her to open the door. You threw the bag over your shoulder and stormed inside, your steps fast, though you knew Melissa wasnât far behind. The sound of her footsteps echoed in your ears, and despite the bravado you tried to put on, a knot of anticipation twisted in your stomach.
Inside, you dropped the bag on the white couch without a care in the world and made a beeline for the spare bedroom, slamming the door shut behind you. You felt a strange rebellion and longing bubble up in your chest as you sank into the armchair by the window, grabbing your copy of The Price of Salt from the bedside tableâ one of the only books you bought from your now old crappy apartment complex. You cracked it open, pretending to lose yourself in the story, trying to ignore the pounding in your chest and the fire you knew was in Melissaâs olive eyes.
But it didnât take long before you heard her footsteps approaching. She was never one to let things go, never one to let you wallow in your own little stupid act for too long. There was a pause outside the wooden door, a silent moment that stretched, before she spoke, her raspy voice really low but dripping with intent.
âDone with this stupid bullshit? I want to see you, honey,â she huffed, her tone nothing short of commanding. âNow.â
No response came from you.
You could hear the heat in her voice, the fire, and it made your heart race. You still didnât answer, keeping your eyes fixed on the book in your lap, even though you had no idea what the words said anymore. Melissa Schemmentiâs presence was overwhelming, and you could already feel her annoyed gaze burning into you through the door.
âDonât make me ask again,â the Italian woman growled, her words laced with a mixture of frustration and something elseâsomething darker, more possessive. A shiver ran down your spine. You hadnât expected her to come at you so hard, but you shouldâve known better. Melissa didnât wait. She always got what she wanted.
Still nothing.
You stayed silent, gripping the book tighter, trying to ignore the sudden heat that pooled between your legs. But it wasnât enough to hide the anticipation you felt at the idea of her seeing you in the purple lingerie. The thought alone made your breath catch in your throat.
Finally, the door of your temporary spare bedroom opened with a soft creak. You didnât even bother to look up from the book, but the moment Melissa quickly stepped inside, you could feel the change in the air. It was different nowâcharged, intense. She was close, you could feel her presence at your back, just standing there, waiting for you to make the first move.
You just hummed, a lazy hand on your chin trying to look like you didnât give a fuck about her. She watches you in silence for a moment, her gaze intense, and then she closes the door with a quiet click, leaning against it as her sharp eyes sweep over you.
âSo?â Melissa says firmly, annoyed and unyielding. âYouâre just going to sit your ass here and read instead of wearing what I bought you?â
You move to face her and look up, swallowing hard. Her tone is challenging, almost daring you to keep playing this game, but something in her gaze tells you sheâs nearing the end of her patience.
âWhere are your good manners, kid? Answer me. You little piece of shit.â
Again. She referred to you using a fuckinâ nasty title.
You give a shrug, hoping to keep up the act. âI like this book,â you mutter, sinking further into the armchair, fighting the blush creeping up your neck. âAnd I donât want to be interrupted right now. Can you please show up another hour?â
Melissa tilts her head, her full lips curling into a smirk. Despite the feeling she has of wanting to throw you against the wall to teach you manners, she only takes a deep breath. âYou know,â she says, pushing off the door and moving towards you, âI donât mind the brat attitude. But we both know youâre dying to wear that lingerie for me.â
She kneels down beside you, her manicured hand resting on the arm of the chair, her face close enough that you can feel her breath against your cheek.
âTell me.â
âDonât,â you sigh. âDonât put words into my mouth.â
The redhead studies you for a moment, her gaze unrelenting. âWhy donât you just admit it, sweetheart?â Her voice is softer now, coaxing. Trying to convince you in the sweetest way possible. âYou want to be the one I spoil. You want to feel wanted, seen⊠I can see it in your pretty eyes.â
You feel yourself squirm under her gaze, the weight of her words stirring something deep inside you. But instead of responding, you turn your attention back to the book, pretending to read as if her presence isnât setting your entire body alight.
That was the last straw.
Without saying a word, Melissa lets out a low groan, seeing through your attempt to brush her off. She reached over and tugged the book from your hands, tossing it aside like it was nothing. You still didnât look at her, though you could feel her staring at you, eyes boring into your skin. Her act made your mouth drop open in disbelief as you whipped your head up to glare at her.
âSchemmenti, what the hell is this?! Are you out of your fuckinâ mind?â
She smirked, her wicked expression unapologetic. âOh, now youâre paying attention. Mommy already told you, doll, I donât like being ignored.â
You tried to respond, but the intensity of her gazeâso confident, so knowingâleft you speechless.
Instead, you bite your lip, feeling the heat pooling in your stomach as her gaze holds you captive. She stands up, her eyes never leaving yours, and gestures to the bag she bought from the living room with a slight nod of her head.
âGo on,â she says softly. âPut it on for me, babydoll.â
Your cheeks flush as you stare up at her, feeling the pull of her words, the irresistible command in her tone. Sheâs challenging you, daring you to step out of your comfort zone, to let yourself be vulnerable in a way youâre not used to. And as much as you want to keep up the act, to play it cool, you can feel yourself caving under her intense presence.
With a shaky breath, you stand up, taking the bag with you and retreating to the bathroom. Your heart is pounding as you slip out of your clothes, unfolding the delicate purple lace, feeling its softness between your fingertips. The thought of her olive eyes on you, her hands on youâher mouth on you makes your skin tingle, every nerve ending coming alive with anticipation.
When you finally gather the courage to step out of the luxurious bathroom, you find her sitting on the edge of the bed, her gaze immediately locking onto you as you enter the room. Her eyes darken as she takes you in, her expression shifting to something almost predatory like a wild animal.
âCome to Mommy,â she says, her voice soft but filled with authority. âBe a nice pet.â
You walk toward her, each step bringing you closer to the edge of a cliff youâre not sure youâre ready to dive off of. But as you stand before her, she reaches out, her hands resting on your gorgeous hips, pulling you close until youâre standing between her legs.
The older woman looks up at you, her face filled with pride and admiration, her strong hands running up your sides, tracing the curves of the lingerie, making you feel like the most beautiful thing in the world. âYou look stunning,â she murmurs with genuine awe. âEven better than I imagined.â
Your breath catches as her hands continue to explore, her touch both gentle and possessive. Melissa pulls you down onto her lap, one arm wrapped around your waist, the other hand coming up to cradle your cheek.
âI knew youâd look perfect in this,â she whispers, her thumb brushing over your cheekbone. âDo you know how much I want you right now?â
Her words make you shiver, and you canât help the small whimper that escapes your lips. She smiles at that, her thumb brushing over your lower lip before she leans in, capturing your mouth in a slow, lingering kiss that leaves you breathless. Before you can even process the moment, she pulls back, her hands gripping your hips with a new intensity. Without warning, she swiftly pushes you onto the bed, your body sinking into the soft sheets as she hovers above you, her eyes dark with desire.
Her chest rises and falls with each quick breath, and you can feel the heat radiating off her. âStay right there,â she commands, her voice low and commanding, yet tender in its own way. You lay there, heart pounding, the anticipation building as she hovers over you, her body a perfect blend of control and affection.
The redheadâs lips trailed down your stomach, soft and slow, leaving a hot trail of kisses in their wake. Each touch of her wet mouth made your body tremble, a wave of heat rolling through you with every caress. You could feel her breath, warm and steady, against your skin, and it sent shivers of anticipation down your spine.
âGod, youâre perfect,â she muttered under her breath. Her hands roamed over your body, her fingertips grazing your sides as she took her time, savoring every inch of you. When she reached the waistband of your panties, her fingers lingered, and you held your breath, feeling the anticipation coil tighter and tighter inside you.
Then, without warning, she sucked at your tummy, just above the line of your purple underwear. The sensation sent a shock of pleasure through you, and you gasped, your hands instinctively grasping at the sheets beneath you. The feeling of her lips on your skin, the way her mouth moved against you, was almost too much, and you couldnât help but moan.
But then, something shifted. Melissa pulled away abruptly, her body stiffening. Her gaze flickered down to your lacy underwear, and the moment she saw the giant wet spot there, her expression changed, hardening with something you couldnât quite place.
Her pupils darkened with lust, but also something elseâsomething that felt almost like a challenge. She stared at the spot for a long moment, her breath coming faster now, before she let out a low curse.
âWell, well,â she said, her tone thick with arousal, but edged with something else, something dangerous. âLook at you. Youâre already soaked as fuck. And I havenât even touched you like I want to yet.â
You stopped, caught in the intensity of her gaze, feeling the wetness between your legs become even more noticeable, your body betraying you in ways you hadnât fully processed until now. Melissaâs eyes flickered back up to yours, and the look she gave you was one of pure, unfiltered desire.
âYouâve been waiting for this, havenât you?â she asked with an edge of authority that made your breath hitch. âTell me, baby... whatâs going on inside that head of yours?â
You opened your mouth to respond, but nothing came out. The weight of the moment, the fire in her eyes, had you frozen in place, unsure of what to say. You stared back at her, caught between wanting to speak and the overwhelming flood of emotion and need she stirred in you.
Melissa didnât wait for you to answer, though. Her hand slid down to the waistband of your panties, and without breaking eye contact, she tugged them down slowly, her fingers brushing over your skin with deliberate slowness. The tension between you two was palpable, and you could feel the urgency building, the need to be touched, to be consumed by her.
When the panties were fully off, she threw them aside carelessly, her hands now sliding over your hips, pulling you closer to the edge of the bed. Her lips returned to your skin, this time moving with an almost possessive energy, as though she was claiming you, marking you as hers.
You let out a shaky breath, unable to look away as she kissed her way lower, her hands parting your shaky legs just enough to let her settle between them. There was no hesitation now, only the heat of her mouth moving down, down, until she was at the apex of your thighs.
And then, just as you thought you couldnât take it any longer, she paused. Her breath hot against you, her eyes flickering up to yours with that same fire. âYou ready for Mommy, sweetheart?â she asked, her voice rough and low.
You nodded, your body aching for her touch, but still, Melissa waited. She let the silence hang between you, knowing just how much it was driving you wild. Finally, she leaned in, kissing the soft skin of your inner thigh, right near where you needed her most. The moment was electric, charged with tension, but before she could go any further, she pulled away again, looking down at your body with a satisfied grin.
âMelissa?!â you protested.
âDo you see what youâre doing to me?â she scoffs, picking up your discarded panties from where they lay crumpled beside her. Her fingers curled around the damp fabric with a deliberate slowness, her movements unhurried, as if savoring every second. She held them up, the wet patch glistening faintly under the soft light, and her lips curved into a smirk.
You supported yourself in your elbows, gasping realizing what she was about to do. Melissa brought the fabric closer to her face. Her eyes flicked up to yours, watching you closely, reading every flicker of nervousness and arousal on your face. You swallowed hard, your body frozen under the weight of her attention, and when she finally closed her eyes and inhaled deeply, your breath caught in your throat.
âGoddamn,â she muttered, as her lips parted slightly. Her eyes remained closed, and she looked almost lost in the sensation, like she was savoring something sinful and exquisite. âYou smell... so good. So fucking good.â
Your cheeks burned, your body tingling as her words washed over you. You couldnât believe what you were seeingâMelissa Schemmenti, the confident, composed woman you secretly and strangely adored, utterly undone by a piece of your underwear.
She opened her eyes slowly, the hunger in them making your heart pound. Then, without breaking eye contact, she licked the damp fabric, her pink tongue sliding over the spot that carried the evidence of your desire. The motion was slow and deliberate, her expression one of pure satisfaction as she let out a low whimper.
âJesus,â the redhead murmured, her lips curling into a wicked grin as she savored the taste. "You taste even better than I imagined."
You couldnât move, couldnât speak, your body trembling under the intensity of her gaze. She tossed the panties aside carelessly, leaning over you once more, her hands braced on either side of your hips. Her face was inches from yours now, her breath warm against your lips.
âYouâre mine,â she growled.
Before you could say something else, Melissaâs lips crashed against yours again, and the fire sheâd stoked between you finally ignited into an inferno. Her kiss was full of hunger and need, stealing the breath from your lungs. Her hands gripped your hips firmly, holding you in place as she devoured you with an intensity that left you trembling. Her tongue brushed against yours, and the taste of her, mixed with the faint saltiness of your own arousal from her earlier tease, made your head spin.
She pulled back just enough to speak, her breath hot against your swollen lips. âYou have no idea what youâve started tonight,â she murmured, her fingers tracing slow circles on your thigh. âThereâs no turning back now.â
That hung heavy in the air, a promise and a warning all at once. Your pulse raced as you stared into her eyes, which burned with a fire youâd never seen before. This was a side of Melissa that you hadnât fully understood until nowâpowerful, commanding, and completely unrelenting.
And as her lips trailed back down your body, stopping just above the apex of your thighs, you realized she was right. Whatever line had been crossed between you tonight, it was far behind you now, and there was no going back to the way things were before. Not when you wanted her this much. Not when you were hers, completely.
It hit you like a tidal waveâyouâd sold your soul to her. You hadnât realized it at first, back when this arrangement had seemed simple. Back when it felt like you were just playing a role, dipping your toes into something thrilling and temporary.
But it wasnât temporary anymore. It had never been.
From the moment you agreed to this dynamic, every look, every touch, every indulgent gesture from her had pulled you deeper. The woman didnât just spoil you with gifts and attention; she consumed you. Sheâd made you hers in ways you hadnât fully understood until now. The luxury, the power she exuded, the way she looked at you like she owned every inch of youâit was all a part of something bigger. Something you couldnât escape from even if you wanted to.
And right now, with her mouth teasing your body, the reality of it settled over you like a weight you couldnât shake. You werenât just playing a role. You werenât just letting her take the lead for fun or indulging in her dominance out of curiosity. Youâd given yourself to her, willingly, piece by piece.
There was no turning back. Not anymore.
Speaking of her, Melissa pulled back just enough to look at you, her thumb brushing against the sensitive skin of your mound as she smirked. âYouâre quiet, hon. Whatâs going on in that pretty little head of yours?â
Your breath hitched, your voice catching in your throat as the truth clawed its way forward. She wasnât just your sugar mommy now. She was everything. And now, she had youâcompletely, undeniably, irrevocably.
You couldnât bring yourself to say it, but Melissaâs knowing expression told you she already knew. She always did.
#melissa schemmenti x reader#melissa schemmenti x you#melissa schemmenti x y/n#lisa ann walter#melissa schemmenti#abbott elementary#abbott elementary fanfiction
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19. âThatâs where you belong. Worshipping me on your hands and knees.âFrom starbabytea yandere prompt list, for yandere Crocadile with a darling who keeps trying to escape from him.
Oogh, my favorite villain, here you go!
Prompts Here
Yandere! Sir Crocodile Prompt 19
âThatâs where you belong. Worshipping me on your hands and knees.â
Pairing: Romantic
Possible Trigger Warnings: Gender-Neutral Darling, Obsession, Manipulation, Possessive behavior, Controlling behavior, Dehumanization, Violence, Isolation, Kidnapping, Forced relationship.
Sir Crocodile is infamous in the seas. He's a Warlord, the leader of Baroque Works, and yearns to be a king. Not only that, but he is a wielder of a Devil Fruit.
Sir Crocodile is a master of manipulation. Others may view him as a hero, others may view him as a villain. It's all in perspective... but both sides agree that he is strong.
How do you view Crocodile?
He's more than a villain to you. To you, Crocodile is your captor. He's a tyrant who picked you to be the closest one to him. Sir Crocodile does not trust many.
You doubt he even fully trusts you, if anyone at all.
Despite that, Crocodile treats you as though you two are closer than you are. You can't tell if Crocodile intends to view you as a lover... or some sort of toy. Regardless...
You always feel sick when the people of Arabasta view him as a hero.
He's no hero. As someone who's been trapped beside him below Rain Dinners, you know what he is. He's still very much a pirate... and a crime boss with many under him.
While you hate his guts, you could care less what he does. What you don't understand is why he dragged you into it. You don't know what Crocodile truly wants from you.
Are you useful to him? Are you a hostage? Does he just want to be entertained? Are you meant to be a good servant?
There's no way he's keeping you because he likes you... right?
You wish Crocodile just let you leave. You wouldn't tell a soul about his true nature. You'd live your own life, alone, happily.
It's never that easy.
In fact, you should've known it wouldn't be when you made your escape attempt.
Crocodile never leaves you alone. He usually keeps you on his lap during paperwork or meetings. That or he gives you something to do while he watches you and smokes.
It really felt... wrong that he left you unattended.
Yet you're desperate.
The moment you were given a chance to leave Rain Dinners, you took it. You knew you should've hesitated, built more trust with Crocodile. Unfortunately...
There's no building trust with Crocodile.
It was an obvious trap. Crocodile is no doubt used to your escape attempts, running out of your 'home' like a curious dog every five seconds. You were always defiant.
So he got used to it... always ready for your next move.
It was a pattern your desperation always made you fall for. Crocodile always managed to find you. Yet he made when he found you take longer and longer...
Making you think you'll get away this time... Only to find you once again.
Just to see the hope in your eyes shatter.
To show you your place.
Crocodile never likes to let go of what's his. In his mind, you belong to him. You're meant to respect him... to praise and bow to him.
So he'll catch you as many times as he needs to... Just to make sure you get the message.
"I'd think you'd learn by this point...."
Sand always managed to catch you in the end. Really, there was never anywhere you could go. Crocodile has power over the entire country... Even if you made it out of one city, let alone got to sea...
Crocodile would always find you... and obliterate anything in his path to drag you back.
Yet, as fun as that would be for him, he never lets you get that far. He likes to stop you once you realize your efforts are futile. He likes to use his powers to hold you in place... as he approaches with a smile on his face.
"This is exactly why I don't trust you... You disobey, you run, and I'm forced to take time out of my day to hunt you down." Crocodile clicks his tongue, smoke leaving his mouth from his cigar.
You stare blankly at him when you are eventually dragged back to his underwater base. Sand still seems to bind you at his will as he speaks. He looks disappointed... but not surprised.
"I don't understand you. You escape and for what? You act like you'll get far. The heat will kill you if someone from Baroque Works doesn't find you... You never seem to learn your place."
Crocodile urges you closer and you reluctantly follow. His large golden hook wraps around the back of your neck before yanking downwards. You gasp, falling to your knees as Crocodile chuckles, sitting in his chair in front of you.
"Thatâs where you belong. Worshipping me on your hands and knees." Crocodile hums, watching you as he uses his hook to force you into staying bowed.
"Is this life so hard to get used to? I can give you anything you want. I can spoil you, yet you fight me. All I ask for is your adoration... your devotion..."
You feel his other hand tilt your chin up, just to make you look in his eyes.
"You crave freedom over what I can give you? It's foolish. The faster you accept me as your ruler, the faster things will be easier for the both of us." Crocodile scoffs, his thumb stroking your chin and cheek gently.
You try to pull away, yet Crocodile merely pulls you forward with his hook. You're soon hoisted onto his lap despite you're struggling. You hear him laugh again... and he holds you tighter.
"You are such an annoyance..." Crocodile sighs, yet grins down at you. "But you entertain me. Someday, I'll break you. Someday you'll accept your place as mine... and when that happens..."
Crocodile leans closer, his lips ghosting your ear even as you try to pull away.
"I'll relish the day I make you mine... we'll both enjoy it, you'll see, sweetheart."
With that, you feel the warlord kiss you...
Which only seems to make you think of other ways to make his life hell... just like he did to you.
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đđđ | đ§đšđ đđŻđđ«đČđšđ§đ đ đđđŹ đđĄđđ đ©đ«đąđŻđąđ„đđ đ
She don't give a fuck about nobody
And she got her whole crew poppin'
And she bend it over like she got no back bone
đ§ six feet under - the weekend
â ËïœĄâàšà§ s.w.m masterlist àšà§â ËïœĄâ taglist â ËïœĄâ àšà§
001 | next
pairings : ot8 x reader, (with a focus on Mingi and Wooyoung this chapter)
wc: 7.2k ( not fully proofread yet so sorry for any mistakes đ„ș)
cw: mature themes, MINORS DO NOT INTERACT, clubbing, alcohol, futuristic stuff that I had to google cause itâs been years since I watched Star Wars or scifi movies, nud1ty, hints of violence, hints of crime, slow burn, eventual smut, lots of teasing, reader is referred to with she/her pronouns and y/n, fembodied reader, mentions of segss work ( mostly just stripping), hints of violence
REMINDER : my works do not represent the irl members in any way, this is purely a work of FICTION.
a/n: this is long I know đ but YES, look forward to part 2! Also I would really appreciate and enjoy like your thoughts in the replies or in my ask box hehe we can fangirl together for whatâs to come
The former noble turned galactic nomad sighed as he stared out at the endless darkness littered with twinkling stars that maybe was a part of another system. It wasnât that he found his life on the spaceship boring, in fact, he wouldnât have had it any other way.
When his childhood best friend and also former crowned prince of their home planet, Jupiter, showed up after a year of escaping and denying the future laid out for him by the King, he had to know what he was up to. He had to talk to him and hear all about the life outside their planet and without the protection of their standing, the dangers, the perils, the thrill of the unknown and more.
Wooyoung then had not believed that his best friend, glowing with the freedom he had given himself, was right there in the bustling cityâs downtown market. He had thought he had hallucinated and mistook the cloaked figure to be someone else but when his feet carried him to follow him, he was able to confirm that it was indeed his best friend.
Their reunion gave Wooyoung a chance at the same freedom Yeosang had sought after and a chance at meeting the band of brothers that he found that shared the same ideals. On his own volition without even consulting the Captain of the crew that Yeosang had become a part of, he decided that he was going with his best friend. Plus, what better way to create a reputation for himself as former noble turned space pirate? He liked how that sounded.
Which leads us now to the presentâŠ
Now he was part of one of the most revered and hunted group of pirates of the galaxy. Not what he had in mind really but he liked the life. The thrill, the danger and the excitement of it all. The not being told to act a certain way nor have his whole life planned to every second.
Was he buddy buddy with a bunch of rogue, violent and defiant pirates? Yup. He was one now too and the crew were like his brothers.
Sure heâs only known them for six months but thereâs only so much you could do in a ship when you travel from one planet to the next, never ever really having a permanent dock. The ship was their home, his homeâŠand the members of this crew were friends that he felt he was fated to meet.
But he hasnât met one person of the crewâŠand he didnât know that.
âWoo. Wake up. â A firm hand shook him by the shoulder âWe just docked at Xileon.â The calm and pleasing voice of their youngest slowly being heard in his ears as he gained consciousness.
âX-Xileon?â Wooyoung muttered, brows furrowing as his eyes blinked and squinted, adjusting to the soft light coming from his open door.
âYeah, little fun rest stop. Well fun for me,â Jongho chuckled, excited to see all the cool technology and city life Xileon offered. Heâs only ever been once when he had been an apprentice. Xileon was every science, engineering and tech geeks favorite planet, other than that the bustling fun night life it offered attracted all kinds of travelers across the galaxy. âCâmon, Captain says weâre free to do what we want while he contacts one of his informants.â
âWhat if I want to sleep, Jongho?â Wooyoung whined, sitting up despite his words.
âI know youâre always up for a party.â
âNow where did you hear that from?â
âYeosang.â He shrugged, getting up from the edge of Wooyoungâs bed. âCome on, everyoneâs going .â He clapped the raven haired man on the back, the impact making a little âoofâ escape Wooyoung.
âYeahâŠyeah,â Wooyoung made a face, rubbing the back of his neck as he woke up. âIâll be thereâŠjust wait a bit. Let me freshen up.â
âDonât make us wait too long,â Jonghoâs lips pursed in a childlike way, making Wooyoung chuckle a bit. As strong and intimidating as Jongho was, he was still their youngest and had an inner child that came out now and then.
âI wonâtâŠI donât want an earful from you anyways,â he snickered, playfully jabbing at him.
Jongho glared at him before leaving.
Xileon was a colorful fluorescent modern, futuristic jungle of a planet. The most high tech flying vehicles and motorcycle cruisers sped by the roads and streets, the avant-garde and neo-futuristic skyscrapers and buildings glimmered during the lively evenings of *Night City*. Clubs and the grandest of parties happened every night. The pounding music, the flashing lights and glittering champagne, and the vast choices of alcoholic concoctions called many for a good time but underneath all of that, it provided many individuals a guise to have dealings of a far more less than lawful nature.
If youâre lucky, Night Cityâs police would turn a blind eye. Just make sure you donât get caught or were one of the most hunted wanted individuals of the galaxy.
Luckily for ATEEZ, they were never really caughtâŠexcept for that one really disappointing and poor depiction of Mingiâs profile that was being plastered in every back alley or lamp post. It was a good thing it looked nothing like him and that that day, Mingi had been wearing an oversized leather cowboy hat that casted a shadow over his eyes so the wanted poster was practically useless. All Mingi had to do was not wear that hat ever againâŠhe grumbled about it for a bit but he had let it go eventually.
The eight men stood in line for one of the top venues to experience the night life the city offered.
While their Captain and First Mate were here to do conduct business, the rest decided to enjoy the establishment as well as make sure they were there should anything go south. But as they entered, guided by a bouncer with a metallic high tech prosthetic arm, Hongjoong dressed in an exquisite Aegean velvet suit tailored to his frame like a glove, turned to them once more to remind them that this whole affair was likely not to be any trouble.
âDonât worry too much and try to enjoy yourselves,â he ran his fingers through his dyed azure hair before adjusting the lapels of his blazer, some tipsy club goers passing by to leave eyed their captainâs slightly exposed skin. The rest of them garnered looks as well the more they walked into the place, the music pounding and colored lights flashing. âIf anything,â he tapped by his ear, earrings glimmering as theyâre caught in the lights, the little communication device Jongho fashioned for them hidden behind his and their earlobes. âIâll call you.â
âBut, really, please do enjoy yourselves.â Seonghwa smiled, raven dark hair sweeping perfectly to frame his handsome face. âWe rarely get days like these. Have fun.â
The newest addition to their crew grinned like a cat who got the cream, eyes looking over the dance floor with a glint of mischief and the full intent to indulge himself in pleasures he was used to having. âDonât worry, Seonghwa. I plan to do just that.â He winked at the women who looked his way.
âOh, heâs in his element.â Yeosang chuckled, throwing an arm over his best friend. âDonât get into that kind of trouble, Woo.â
âItâs trouble they want anyways.â
âWere you always this cocky?â Mingiâs nose scrunched up at his friendâs obnoxiously flirty behavior.
âDonât act like youâre not a flirt when you want to be.â Yunho teased the crewâs gunner, poking his side.
âI know I said to have fun,â Hongjoong spoke as they made their way through the spread wide and lively establishment, passing several tables, booths and private rooms. âBut do behave.â
That was their last exchange with the group before Seonghwa and him continued down towards the part of the club with another set of bouncers that led to the private and premium rooms. Straight to business while the rest stood by the railings that overlooked the dance floor and bar below, eyeing what entertainment tonight had to offer each of them.
âYouâre awfully quiet.â Jongho turned to San, their agent, who stayed close to them, rather protectively, almost like a bodyguard. His posture was straight yet elegant with an air of quiet and unquestionable confidence, almost making one think that he may have come from royalty.
âPlaces like theseâŠâ Sanâs cat like eyes scanned the room, processing possible exits and blind spots. âCanât be too careful.â
âMaybe some alcohol in your system will help loosen you up.â Wooyoung came to his side, eyes on the dance floor eying for a partner for one night, the ocean of people reminding him of the days heâd sneak out his fatherâs manor to party with the other elites.
âHe doesnât hold his liquor well,â Jongho stated, crossing his arms over his chest, a group of what seemed to be innovators, inventors and scientists out to have a good time catching his eye as one of them boasted their interactive hologram that displayed a model of an advanced hover cycle. âIâll be doing some mingling.â He clapped Yeosang on his back as he made his way to the group cooly while simultaneously getting a shot from a hostess passing by.
âSeems like heâs done this before. Not so baby as I thought he was,â Wooyoung hummed with narrow eyes, watching Jongho easily join the groups conversation and a random woman sizing him up flirtatiously.
âWe should get a table,â Yeosang suggested.
âA booth.â San inputted. âSpecifically in that corner.â He gestured with a tilt of his head to the far right corner of the dance floor below. âI can keep an eye on things there better.â
âTo give Sannie some peace of mind, we should follow his request.â Yunho placed his hands on their agents broad and stiff shoulders.
âIâll get us drinks.â Mingi decided, heading down the aesthetically pleasing steps to the bar. His tall, muscular figure was clad in a fitting white shirt with sleeves rolled to his elbows topped with a vest that cinched at his waist, boasting his defined v-tapered back. Little did the people who gave him double takes knew, beneath the leg of his trousers, strapped to his ankle was a knife and at the back of the waistband was a gun.
With Yeosangâs charm, the boys were able to secure the corner table booth that was a bit further away from the dance floor, it was private and one that definitely were for VIPs. What they liked was that it was close enough to where the party was but far enough that they can speak to one another while the music drummed at a less overwhelming volume. San sat took his spot on the dark violet cushioned seat that gave him a view of all the exits and entrances and for now, since it was just the start of a long fun night, they decided to have a couple of drinks and some food while enjoying each others company and the music.
âYou need to relax,â Wooyoung tutted at San, unbuttoning another button of his shirt to expose more of his honey skinned chest. âWhen was the last time you fucked, huh?â He asked the former assassin.
âW-what?â San stuttered, eyes growing wide and ears tinting pink at the sudden question. For such an intimidatingly handsome man, he sure flustered easily.
Yunho looked over at San with concern, the last time San had been with anyoneâŠwas before Wooyoung had joined the crewâŠbeforeâ
âYou never really told me your type?â Wooyoung wiggled his groomed brows, relaxing in his seat as he watched people dance, bodies pressing against one another, some fitting perfectly and rolling in tandem with whomever they danced with.
Yeosang quietly observed his friends, savoring each sip of his drink and mindful of their interactions.
âI-I donât have a type.â San murmured, reaching for a glass from the tray Mingi returned with, who settled next Yunho on the other end of the couch.
âSanâs not really the sleeping around kind of person,â Mingiâs deep voice almost melded with the low hum of the bass music.
âAnd you are?â Wooyoung scoffed at their gunner, his newly dyed pink hair catching the eyes of those that passed by them.
âPleasure is pleasure,â Mingi shrugged his broad shoulders, ringed fingers cradling his whiskey sour. âBut,â he reached for one of the thinner silver chains around his neck. He pulled out a specific one with a pendant. âIâm a loyal man.â
San stared at the pendant, a wave of melancholy washing over him as he recalled memories of who that butterfly pendant belonged to and who it signified.
âYouâve got someone?â Wooyoungâs interest was piqued immediately, forgetting the women he had been eying across the dance floor and now staring at the pendant that Mingi displayed proudly and pressed to his lips.
His smirk was answer enough for Wooyoung.
âIt must be hard for them.â
Yeosang tilted his head. âWhyâd you think that?â
âBecause weâre rebels, bandits/pirates? Shall I go on and list the colorful achievements of our crew? Plus,â he turned his gaze to the dance floor, locking with a pair of eyes so magnetic that even behind the intricate lace masque she wore, just a small moment had him looking for them when he lost it. âIsnât it cruel to make her wait?â
Mingiâs reaction caught Wooyoung off guard. He scoffed with a slight amused smirk on his face, as if what Wooyoung had said was funny.
âSheâs not doing all the waiting.â San spoke without thinking before Mingi could reply, his eyes transfixed on the pendant until it disappeared back beneath Mingiâs shirt. His eyes returned to observe the happenings around him.
Wooyoung wondered what San meant but he didnât have enough time to think much of it when another round of drinks arrived.
As the night progressed, the drinks emptied were quickly refilled and Wooyoung danced, mingled and flirted like he did back in his old life. Seonghwa and Hongjoong after having met with their informants had joined them at their table, while Wooyoung and even Yeosang danced, the rest deciding to play a game of pool.
Wooyoung was not blind to the wandering eyes that were on him and his very attractive crew members. Many flirted with them but it was never more than that. His friends entertained their advances but were quick to turn them down when they asked or suggested for more.
But he didnât worry much about it, not when he was searching for that pair of eyes he locked with earlier. Where was she? He would catch glimpses of her now and again but she was always a distance away from him, and every time he tried to head to her direction and he lost her in his peripheral, she was gone.
Was he hallucinating ? He wasnât even that drunk.
Soft fingers brushed the nape of neck, nails scraping delightfully on his skin. He knew what that meant. Grinning and letting himself go, he turned to entertain another flirty party goer, only to meet the masked beauty he was searching for all night.
Sporting what clearly was a shoulder length pink bob wig with bangs, her eyes were hidden behind a white lace masque and she wore the most alluring Mona Lisa smile that haunted his mind since he had seen her.
Wooyoung with his experiences back in his and Yeosangâs home planet, girls like her, like you, who came to happenings like this dressed almost incognito, meant that you were here for a very good time that not even your identity can be disclosed.
He smirked and placed his hands on your waist, pleasantly surprised to feel warm skin against his palms. With how packed the dance floor was, he couldnât really get a good look of your outfit but from what he could see, you wore a bejeweled bralette with straps that were lined with tiny crystals and brushing over his knuckles as you both swayed were long beaded shimmering strings hanging by the band.
So who were you? Some elite socialite whose reputation was too good to ruin in a scene like this? A noble like he was looking for a good time? A princess of some other planet?
âHey,â your sultry voice, like honey to his ears. âMy eyes are up here.â
Your arms hung over his shoulders, giving the handsome stranger a quick look down as if you hadnât been observing him all night.
The buttons of his black silk dress shirt revealed his toned chest, honey skin glistening with a thin sheen of sweat beneath the party lights and his pretty neck was wrapped in a matching silk black choker with the extra fabric dangling in a classy fashion.
âAnd mine are up here too,â he teased back and pulled you against him. âIâve been looking for you.â
âOh?â Glossy pink lips stretched into a smirk and shimmering eyes locked with his. âAnd why would you be doing that?â
âBecause Iâve decided,â he turned you around, his hands on your hips keeping you in place against his own as the two of you danced to the music. His lips were hot against your ear while your hand rested on the back of his neck, rolling your hips sensually. Wooyoung smirked against your ear.
You wanted him just as much as he did.
âThat youâre mine for the evening.â
âYeah?â You tilted your head slightly to give him access to your neck, your eyes falling to his group of friends by the pool table.
âNot everyone gets that privilege, baby.â He husked, brushing his soft and hot lips along the column of your neck, breathing in your addicting scent.
Wooyoung wasnât sure if it was the alcohol and the heat of the dancing crowd that was getting him so easily riled up but something about your aura was so magnetic and intoxicating. Was it because he hasnât slept with anyone since he left Jupiter?
âWell arenât you arrogant.â You raked your nails through his hair, shivers going down his spine and sending pulsing heat to his crotch. âWas that supposed to flatter me?â
His eyes shut at the delicious sensation of your touch. He wanted to get you alone, heck, he would have you on the dance floor if he could. He almost forgot how good it was to fuck after months of traveling the galaxy. He wanted to fuck. He wanted you.
âDonât lie to yourself and say youâre not.â He brushed his lips on your earlobe, his hot breath against your ear and the way his hands roamed your body felt good.
God, how did his friends put up with his cocky flirty attitude?
âIs that what you want me to do?â You rolled your hips against his, completely aware of the growing hardness pressed against your ass as he ground his hips to the music. âLie?â
âTrust me sweetheart, thereâs many things I want you to do.â
âAnd what are those things?â You purred whilst tugging at his hair, your voice and your gesture spurring his desire further.
He gripped your hips tighter and lowered his lips to your neck, to the spot just below your ear. He pulled you closer to his body to feel the heat of your form on his own before letting his hands roam freely again, feeling the exposed skin beneath the beaded strings that teased every spectators eyes.
âI want you,â he growled against your skin, pressing his lips just a little bit. âLegs spread apart with my head between your thighs.â
The warmth of his hot lips and the lust in his words undeniably sent heat to your core, and the image he painted with his words was so tempting. Plus, the fact that that was his response set him apart from other men. Usually the response youâd get were more about their pleasure never yours.
You hummed at the thought before turning around to face him and meet his eyes. He wore that flirtatious grin and his eyes were blown with lust. They had a look in them that you found so sexy, you couldnât help but play a little.
âYouâre very bold.â
âIâm honest.â
âAnd whatâs an honest man such as yourself doing here?â You caressed his cheekbone with a gentleness that made Wooyoungâs heart skip a beat.
âWhat do you know about honest men?â
âWell for one, they donât spend their time in a place like this.â You swayed to the beat closer to him. âSecondly, an honest man always ends up with an honest woman. Iâm far from honest.â
âThen maybe weâre just two dishonest people.â
He watched your pretty lips stretch into an endearing grin, their glossiness and plumpness pulling him closer to you.
âMaybe we are.â Your sweet breath fanned over his lips, your foreheads touching, so dangerously close.
âI wonder what you taste like.â His thumbs caressed the skin of your waist.
You grazed your lips over his just a little and Wooyoung could get a little taste of cherry from the gloss you wore while you slid a hand between the two of you. Your fingertip brushed along the exposed skin of his chest then the silk of his button up shirt before they lingered at the waistband of his trousers. Before he could even think about pressing his lips on yours, you turned your cheek and leaned in his ear. Your right hand skimmed over the hardness of his crotch, making a cute little gasp escape the strikingly handsome man.
His cock twitched beneath your teasing touch.
âLike heaven,â you purred.
His forehead fell on your shoulder as he bit his lip, holding back a moan as you palmed him through his pants.
âButâŠâ your touch left his hardened member, the loss of friction making him groan. âNot everyone gets that privilege.â You echoed his words back to him.
Before he could react, his head dizzy and spinning from both the alcohol and your hot touch, you slithered your way through the crowd.
His eyes watched the pink of your hair amongst the dancing and close proximity of people. You headed to the back, to the dark red velvet decorated motif which was below the second floor where the premium private rooms were. You nodded at the two bouncers who guarded the velvet draped entrance, who smiled back at you.
Did you work here?
Before you disappeared behind the curtains to what he assumed was the private entertainment rooms, you casted him one last glance. It was like you were telling him to follow.
Wooyoung wasnât the type to be whipped by just anyone. He knew what was worth his time or not but with you, he wasnât even thinking. His feet moved on their own to follow you like he was under some spell.
âHey, I found you.â
Jongho entered his peripheral.
âHuh?â
âCaptain said his informant got us a private room as a treat.â Jonghoâs hand on his shoulder started to guide him through the crowd, towards the dark glowing red area.
âFor what?â
âFor taking care of the man who was his competition. Even though that wasnât our intention.â
Wooyoung frowned, adjusting his pants to hide his erection. Not really how he wanted to spend the rest of his night but if Captain calls, you do not make him call twice.
âUgh,â he ran his hands through his hair, missing and imagining your touch. âFine.â
If he was lucky, he was going to find youâŠ
âThis isâŠodd.â San spoke, sat on the curved plush couch between Yeosang and Mingi of the rather compact red room with just enough space for ten people.
âWhy is that?â Jongho asked, pouring himself another drink, the golden liquid in his glass like honey.
Hongjoong made himself comfortable at his spot on the left curve of the couch, legs crossed classily as his eyes stared at the empty little platform in the center of the room, the silver pole glowing cause of the mood lights..
âIsnât entertainment like this supposed to be for one set of eyes?â San wondered out loud.
Itâs not that he hasnât ever experienced this before. He has. Itâs just more private when itâs him and the performer. He never thought of doing an activity with his friendsâŠthough they have indulged in some acts on the ship when a certain someone was around.
âYeosang and I used to do this all the time,â Wooyoung shrugged nonchalantly, making his best friendâs eyes widen at how he threw that info out so easily. âOh câmon, they donât care about your Perfect Prince Yeosang reputation.â
Mingi chuckled at their interaction and Wooyoung narrowed his eyes at his friend.
âWhy are you here? Arenât you a loyal man? Now I feel even sadder for your girlfriend.â
âIâm not worried about that,â Mingi pushed his black shades up higher to shield his eyes. âI am a loyal man cause no matter what, no one can compare to her. I wouldnât be in this room if Captainâs informant wasnât a dickhead who will take offense if not all of us accepts his âtreatâ.â
âAlso, this club has a policy of not touching the dancers unless they consent,â Seonghwa added. âWe just enjoy the show the lovely lady assigned to us will put on, tip her extra and thatâs it.â
âAnd we canât just leave why?â San sighed, leaning back and crossing his arms over his chest.
âBecause the informants goons will report back to him if we turn down his gift,â Yunho explained, knowing the character of that rich man all too well. âHongjoong still needs to be on his good side til he gets information of the location of the Cromer.â
A soft knock on the door silenced them and all that could be heard now was the vibrating hum of the music that played in the room.
âBoys,â Hongjoong spoke lowly, casting them a glance. âPlay nice.â
Jongho raised his glass at that, leaning back into the other end of the curved seat.
âGood evening, gentlemen.â
Wooyoung stopped breathing. No fucking way.
Too lost in his own surprise of coincidence, he wasnât able to catch the way his crew mates interest were suddenly piqued.
With you only being the one standing, Wooyoung was able to see you in your full glory. The purple lilac bralette bedazzled with sequins cupped your breasts so perfectly and the crystal beaded strings caught the fluorescent light in a way that made you shimmer and appear like a goddess. Behind the curtain of beads, all of them could see your naked skin but compared to when Wooyoung had danced with you earlier, the silk mini skirt you wore was gone.
Feeling all their eyes on you, you smiled coyly at their Captain, stepping your foot onto the circle platform in the middle of the room, showing off the skin of your legs that were elongated by your silver heels.
âShall I get started then?â You asked, running a finger from your ankle to the purple garter on your thigh, aware of how their eyes followed the trail of your chrome lilac painted nails.
âItâs you.â Wooyoung breathed out, eyes tracing the waistband of the sorry excuse of an underwear that matched your bralette. It was tiny and flimsy, and almost left nothing to the imagination, except for what your pussy would look like. Wooyoung wanted to know.
Yunho glanced at his friend. How did he know you?
âOh? Well if it isnât, Mr. Arrogant.â You gracefully stepped your whole body onto the platform, circling around the pole while playing with the little crystal studded purse you brought with you.
Your words made Jongho chuckle.
âYou work here?â It was a dumb question, Wooyoung knew that.
âWhat does it look like?â You shrugged your shoulders cutely before throwing your tiny purse to the curved platform behind them where you could play around some more if you wanted to.
âHow long have you been working here?â Hongjoong asked, taking your attention from Wooyoung.
Smiling his way, you slowly sunk to your knees and ran your hand on your left thigh where your purple lace garter was.
The man before you smirked knowing what you were silently telling him.
Hongjoong dug into the inner pocket of his blazer and in between his fingers was a 50 Zaire bill. He leaned forward and without touching your skin, slipped the bill beneath the garter.
âThree months.â You answered him, sensually getting up to lean against the pole with your arms over your head, elongating your body for their viewing pleasure.
âI like your wig.â Jongho commented, eying you with a knowing gaze.
âThank you.â
Wooyoung watched as you moved seductively on the pole, unaware of how San became completely relaxed and excited at the same time.
âDoes all of this turn you on?â Wooyoung asked, eyes raking your body and feeling his throat dry at how drawn he was to you.
âSometimes.â You purred nonchalantly, bending over a little to show the arch of your pretty back before expertly twirling around the pole.
âEarlierâŠwere you lying to me?â He leaned forward, elbows on his thighs as he tried to meet your gaze.
âNo.â You replied, locking eyes with the man in the middle whose hair matched your wig.
He lowered his shades close to the end of his nose, his eyes locking with yours and sending a shiver down your spine.
âYouâre a good dancer. I had fun.â You admitted still looking at the tall man before you even though you were addressing Wooyoung.
âAre you having fun now?â San asked, surprising Wooyoung that he was interacting with you, his cat like eyes set on you and no one else.
âBecause Iâm here with eight handsome men rather than the sleazy ones? Yes Iâm having fun.â You stepped your heel onto the plush couch, the men making space for you as you stood between Mingi and Wooyoung, your gaze down at Mingi who looked at you with stars in his eyes while the one behind you, going crazy with desire let his eyes wander.
Placing your hand delicately on Mingiâs shoulder, you slowly bent over, giving Wooyoung and Jongho the view of the back of your legs, your ass and your clothed cunt.
âI thought thereâs a no touching rule.â Yeosang spoke, feeling himself grow hot, knowing the body his seeing all too well.
âI can touch any of you while I do my business since thatâs what I was paid for but none of you can touch me unless I say so. So keep your hands to yourselves unless youâre putting a bill under the garter.â
You traced your finger along the side of your thigh, knowing full well that Wooyoung was watching your every move more intently than the others.
âAre you flirting with us?â Wooyoung licked his lips, mind racing with thoughts of kissing and feeling your skin.
âMaybe.â You winked at Mingi, making him smirk.
âAre you allowed to flirt with us?â Yunho asked this time and you moved to perch yourself on the platform/back rest of the couch.
âYes I can flirt with you,â you nodded, placing your hands on your closed knees.
Wooyoung driven by desire, took out a 100 Zaire bill from his wallet and waved it your way.
âOpen your legs.â
You obliged him, opening them an inch apart, entertained by how impatient he was with your teasing behavior.
âWider.â
A little bit more.
âMake this worth all our time, sweetheart.â
Rolling your eyes at his demanding yet bratty tone, you surprised them all by spreading your legs wide, unfolding them into a flexible split on the surface you were on.
âFuck,â San swore under his breath.
Wooyoung revealed to you another 100 bill. âShow me.â
Looking him dead in the eyes, you pulled your purple panties to the side, revealing your bare mound to their eyes. Some of them swore, some of them let out a groan and some of them just continued to look while they bite their lip. All of their reactions made you suppress an amused giggle, you kind of feel bad for them but you kept a straight face, not wanting to give Wooyoung the satisfaction of winning in the cat and mouse game you were playing.
âOh baby,â Jongho cooed lowly, the familiarity of the pet name causing a chink in your armor.
âBy the way, we canât fuck.â You threw the rule out there, enjoying the way the handsome man you danced with was breaking at the seams.
âWhy not?â Wooyoung scoffed, eyes on the pretty pink folds of your pussy.
âIâm a stripper not a whore.â You adjusted the panties back to cover you and you closed your legs, deciding to crawl to the side where Hongjoong, Seonghwa, Yunho and Yeosang was.
âLike I told you earlier,â you could feel Wooyoungâs eyes on your ass. âNot everyone gets that privilege.â
Mingi swiped the bills from Wooyoungâs hand and handed it over to Yeosang, who nicely slips it beneath the garter. You thanked him.
âNow, Captain,â you turned to Hongjoong, who was looking at you with his signature smirk and his pretty brown eyes shimmering with amusement. âTell me, where on earth did you find this arrogant, cocky and bratty thing?â
Wooyoung frowned at the sudden shift in your tone. The way you spoke with Hongjoong was as if you two were familiar with one another.
âBlame, Yeosang.â Hongjoong sipped his whiskey.
âHeâs not as bad as you think, love.â Yeosang sweetly spoke to you, his hand moving to tuck a strand of your wig behind your ear to get a better look at you.
âHeâs just a little dramatic,â Mingi inputted, tapping at his thigh and like a pet called to their master, you moved yourself to Mingiâs lap, straddling his hips.
âMore dramatic than you?â You pouted cutely, running your hands through his pink hair. âSoâŠhow long did it take you all to know it was me?â
âNot long. We know your voice anywhere.â Seonghwa answered, quietly admiring you with just a small smile on his face. âBut it is a big surprise to find you here out of all places.â
âHi baby,â you couldnât hold back your smile anymore as you cupped Mingiâs face with your hands. âDid you miss me?â
âMore than you could possibly fathom.â Mingi replied, leaning in to kiss you but you leaned back.
âYou canât kiss me. WellâŠnot here. Theyâre watching.â You tilted your head to where Jongho sat. âThey can see us but they canât hear us.â
âThereâs CCTV on the right corner of the ceiling.â San told the group.
âW-wait. Wait a god damn fucking minute.â Wooyoung exclaimed, looking at you, settled on Mingiâs lap like you belonged there. Were you Mingiâs girl? What were you doing in a place like this? âYou all know her?â
You pursed your glossed lips and turned to them, feigning hurt. âYou guys didnât tell him about me?â
âIt was a topic that didnât come up.â Yunho admitted, rubbing the back of his neck. âSorry, Y/N.â
âItâs not our fault anyways, Mingi was gatekeeping you.â Jongho added, making the big man in front of you pout, a reaction that made Wooyoung reel at the sight. It was unfamiliar to see their intimidating gunner all soft and notâŠscary?
âWhen did he join?â
âThree months after you departed on your mission. We had to make a stop at Jupiter and Wooyoung recognized Yeosang, and he followed him, and now heâs one of us.â Seonghwa answered, eying the size difference between you and Mingi.
âAnd none of you mentioned me?â
âMingi was gatekeeping you.â Jongho repeated, making everyone but Wooyoung laugh. He was still trying to grasp the new information of how you were Mingiâs lover and a member of the crew???
âSure he was.â You rolled your eyes, moving from Mingiâs lap to the round platform to continue your little show for them.
âWhat are you doing undercover here?â Hongjoong asked, placing another bill on the platform to keep up with appearances and you bent over sensually to pick it up.
Was Mingi okay with this? Wooyoung glanced with wide eyes at their gunner. Was he okay with all of them seeing you like this?
Mingi was watching you with desire. He was reclined so comfortably on the couch, his thighs spread apart as he bit his plump lips at the sight of you entertaining them in the sexy skimpy number you wore. Was this a kink of his? Wooyoung wondered, unable to stop the way his face scrunched at his many unanswered questions.
âBecause the information Vix wonât give you, I was able to get.â You told Hongjoong with a smile, and the leaders smirk morphed into a grin. âItâs amazing how flowery words and too much alcohol was all it took. I didnât even have to take my top off.â
âGood cause I wouldâve gauged his fucking eyes out if he saw what was mine.â Mingi growled, hands closing into fists to restrain himself from holding you to him.
âWill you?â Jongho confidently suggested with smirk.
âWill I what?â You coyly smiled, acting innocent.
âTake your top off?â
âWas seeing my pussy not enough for you?â
Wooyoung couldnât believe the conversation flowing in front of him. He was painfully hard but his confusion and shock had his mind a mess. He didnât know what thought to entertain or what he wanted to ask.
âNothing is ever enough when it comes to you, doll.â Mingi muttered, tilting his head a little to the side as if to get a better look at you.
âSo you have what I want?â Hongjoong casually glanced at the CCTV keeping watch of all of you.
âYes I do. The timing of everything is kind of funny. It was Vix I was supposed to be dancing for tonight,â you told them, twirling around the pole. âI was going to get rid of him for you since heâs not of use anymore then I wouldâve found a way to get to Xeres since that was your next destination for a restock of supplies on the ship.â
âWell it seems destiny is always in our favor.â
âSo shall I finish him off?â San asked, rolling up the sleeves of his button up.
âWill he be any trouble to us if we let him live, angel?â Seonghwa turned to you, licking his lips when you were on your knees, sitting prettily before them.
âHeâs not much of a threat. We should be more worried about his boss because he asked for me after I finish with you boys.â
Seonghwa leaned over to add more bills to your garter and Sanâs defensive posture softened.
âWhich is why Iâm amazed at the timing of finding all of you here tonight.â
âIs it the first time heâs asked for you?â
They saw your eyes flicker with fear for a split second and you shook your head.
âBut he scares me.â
Mingi and Sanâs aura darkened at your words. It took a lot for you to be scared by someone.
âHe knows a lot of things he shouldnât know. He mentioned and boasted about the Academy when I met him. I was sure then that my cover was going to be blown.â
âSo whatâs the plan now?â
âWell since I hacked into his data systems earlier in his penthouse just above this club and took more than I came for. At exactly 2:27 am, the club will black out and we can make our escape then through the back door here thats used usually by the dancers to get in and out quicker for shifts.â
âWhat did you take other than the information about where the Cromer could be?â Hongjoong called your attention while his hand raised slightly in a gesture that the rest understood except for Wooyoung.
âJongho, can you please hand me my purse please?â
They watched as you opened the bedazzled flap of the purse and took the bills beneath your garter and stuffed them inside, giving Hongjoong a glimpse of a glowing crystal that was one of the most sought after items of the galaxy.
Hongjoong only shook his head with a smile and you decided to turn to the new crew member.
âSo, Wooyoung, right?â
He was caught off guard by your sudden attention.
âItâs nice to meet you and I hope we can get along well,â you warmly smiled at him, your pretty face glowing beneath the colored lights.
âTwo minutes,â San checked the time on his watch.
âOh, fun.â You giggled, sitting on the edge of the platform.
âCan you even make a run in those?â Wooyoung glanced at your very high heels, trying to remove the image of your pretty pink pussy that you had flashed to them.
He remembered your exchange from earlier.
What do you taste like?
Like heaven.
It was against his morals to want to fuck someone that was someone elseâs lover. You were Mingiâs and Wooyoung couldnât deny the fact that he was burning with jealousy with the thought of you being touched by Mingi.
âShe could kill in those,â Yeosang answered for you. âSo back door?â
âEnd of the hall, camouflaged with the wall.â
âI missed you so much baby.â Mingi groaned getting up and placing his large hands on your waist.
âMe too. More than you know.â Your voice softened, no longer in the facade of the identity youâve been using.
âTen seconds.â San announced.
âIâm not gonna let you run around like this.â Mingi slid his hands to your hips, biting his lip at the tiny piece of underwear covering the heaven between your thighs.
âHere, Y/N.â Yunho handed you his blazer. âWear that.â
âThank you, Yuyu.â
His blazer was like a dress on you and it made you look so tiny. Wooyoung pushed his hair back, trying to ease his frustration of both lust and knowing too late about who you are. He was also a little scared of how and when Mingi will confront him later because he was flirting with you.
âGood to have you back, Y/N.â Was all Hongjoong said before the whole establishment was enveloped in darkness and the nine of you made your escape.
A small squeak came from you in the darkness because Mingi had thrown you over his shoulder like you weighed nothing, and he carried you easily as you all made your exit.
When the bouncer, one of Vixâs goons, checked the room when the power came back on, he began to sweat nervously at the emptiness he was met with. He was going to be in big trouble.
Jongho hijacked a black van and used it to drive the nine of you to where the ship was docked, which was going to be a solid thirty minutes to get to.
Your soft giggles was a pleasant sound to all their ears as Mingi was all over of you in the back of the van.
âWeâre glad to have our favorite girl back.â Seonghwa smiled fondly, watching as Mingi attacked your neck with kisses and his hands tickled your sides causing the very missed melodious laughter to fill the van.
The Vice Captain looked to his left to check on the members all of them well and in one piece minding their own business and checking the parameter if anyone was chasing the crew. Seonghwa spotted Wooyoung staring at you and Mingi through the tinted windows, his Adamâs apple bobbing deeply as he swallowed what he could see was envy mixed with desire.
âYou okay there?â He quietly asked their new member.
âHuh? What?â Wooyoung responded as if broken out from a trance. âOh,I- uh, Iâm fine.â
âYou sure?â
âY-yeah. JustâŠâ he paused wondering if he could confide in Seonghwa but the handsome older manâs gentle eyes was hard to say no to. âJust shocked thatâs all.â He decided to not share his deep feelings.
Seonghwa knew and could tell that Wooyoung was attracted to you, and he knew he was feeling conflicted for feeling that way especially after seeing how you and Mingi acted.
Wooyoung gave him a small smile before turning to the window again, staring at the buildings they passed by.
As Seonghwa left him with his thoughts, he wondered how he was going to break it to their newest member the true nature of the crews relationship with you. How kind of unorthodox it wasâŠ.How Mingi was not your only lover but theirs as well.
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hey. i really like the fic about shapeshitfing!reader x wednesday. i was wondering if u could do thing and reader being absolute besties and playful with each other which makes wednesday annoyed and sorta jealous.
Best friends
Wednesday Addams x fem!shapeshifter!reader
Words: 1.4k
A/n: lowk shapeshifter!r is so fun to write, thanks for all the requests about her :) hopefully you like reading about her a lot because honestly iâm a little obsessed with this universe
Warnings(?): wednesday being wednesday, ooc wednesday, mentions of knives and blood
âWhy are you adamant on annoying me.â Wednesday opens her door to you, whose rapidly knocking stops when the look on Wednesdayâs face doesnât give much room for explanation. But you love being defiant so you donât really care
âThing and I planned to go on a date today!â
The Addams looks behind her to see the appendage with the tiniest little crocheted messenger bag that was worn on his wrist like a bracelet. You can see Wednesdayâs forehead wrinkle when Thing saunters over to your feet for you to put him on your shoulder, just as youâve seen Wednesday do countless times before
âI asked Thing if he had any rings to wear and he said no, so naturally Iâm going to treat him on a day outâ The appendage taps excitedly on your shoulder, poking at your face to signal he wants to go
âAnd when did you plan this?â
âAfter we played tag, you wanna come with us?â You ask with a turn of your head
âShopping isnât my strongest suit. Iâd only slow you two down.â
âWeâll be off doing hot girl things. I promise Iâll have him home before curfew, Miss Addamsâ You treat Wednesday like sheâs a disapproving mother, when in reality she looks unfazed and honestly a little annoyed. You and Thing wave goodbye, leaving Wednesday with her own thoughts as her roommate is doing god knows what with her friends
Time alone could be good for Wednesday. Sheâs been around people far more than she preferred. With maybe an hour on her hands before someone interrupts her, Wednesday sits at her desk to write
Her fingers drum against her desk, a habit she picked up from Thing. The appendage you were taking out on a date. For gods sake, he was a hand! You asked a singular appendage out on a date. Not even a full human. A fucking hand. A hand that didnât have a voice, yet you were still infatuated with him nonetheless
And maybe Wednesday is smart enough to recognize sheâs feeling a little peeved over a hand. Maybe Wednesday is smart enough to know Thing does have a voice; a sassy one at that. Maybe Wednesday is coping with the fact you wanted to take Thing out more than someone you actively sought out and saw every day
And maybe youâre the reason why Wednesday had to buy a slightly bigger trash can for the more recent mistakes sheâs been making during her writing time
You were a disease. You forced your way into everyoneâs life, but somehow you always came out with more friends and acquaintances than you started with. It was annoying how unforgivably social you were.
Your dumb smile with your pearly white teeth. Wednesdayâs tapping on her desk got a little faster
Your need to include everyone whether you knew them or not. It was why you were on a date with Thing in the first place
Your everlasting hunger to be around someone. Wednesday knew you didnât like to be alone
Your voice that Wednesday knew so well.
âŠ
Fuck.
âHey, Wens!â Enid makes her presence known with a sing-song tone while placing her jacket on the coat hanger near the door
âWhereâs Thing? Itâs quiet in hereâ The blonde immediately notices
âHeâs on a date,â Thereâs a small pause after Wednesday talks âwith (Y/n).â
â(Y/n) took Thing on a date?â
âCorrect.â
âHowâs your writing going?â Enid peers over Wednesdayâs shoulder to look at her once again, full trash can. Enid notices that happens a lot when youâre on Wednesdayâs mind for some reason. The Addams glares at Enid when she makes another mistake, crumbling up the piece of paper while maintaining eye contact with her roommate
âGreat.â
A beat of silence.
ââŠdid you seriously get cucked by a hand?â
âRepeat such degenerate nonsense and Iâll be forced to make sure you never will.â
âI dunno, youâre looking a little jealous over thereâ Wednesday doesnât have to turn around to hear the wolfish grin in Enidâs voice
âThe urge to push a knife through your skull is an insatiable hunger that cannot be fed by anything that isnât your blood.â
//-//
âDo you like this one? See look, the dragon is the ring!â You place the ring on Thingâs middle finger. The appendage shows his approval with another few taps
âYes, it makes you look tough. You want another one?â He nods. Well, at least makes it look like heâs nodding. You grab a silver ring from the display, putting it on his thumb
âWill Enid like the rings?â Thing signs
âEveryone will love them, especially Enid. You running out on lotion?â
âNope! How can I repay you?â
You pretend to think for a second
âIf you delete Enidâs blackmail on me off of all her devices Iâll take you out again, free of chargeâ The employee at the front is probably wondering why your back is turned to her while youâre whispering into your hands
Thing holds a thumbs-up and you take the two rings off his fingers and put them on the check out counter along with a few other little trinkets you liked and stuff for your friends
A pink and white bracelet with charms you knew Enid would find cute, scale earrings that twinkled in the sun that Bianca would look stunning in, a bee pin that was too perfect for Eugene, and a black snake that curled into itself as ring for Wednesday
You only assumed Thing gave you a blank stare when the cashier said your price was a bit more than a hundred fifty dollars. Your mom would definitely chastise you for your spending issues, but that was a problem for another day. Your current problem was that you had to get Thing home by curfew like you promised
//-//
Thing might not want to take up your invitation on another date anytime soon.
Currently youâre turned into a bird with the appendage hanging on for dear life on your back as you carry the bag of items you bought in your beak. Thing pleaded you just run on the ground like any normal animal, but you promised youâd get him home by curfew. Running wouldâve taken too long and your ass would get tired
So instead, you went for the skies without Thingâs approval
He might hate you now, honestly. In your defense, it was too late when he told you he had a fear of falling when you were above tree height
You asked if he wanted to sit in the bill of a pelican instead and you felt him pluck one of your feathers. Lucky for you both, Wednesday and Enidâs room wasnât too far away
When you land on the balcony of their dorm, Thing hops off your back and apologizes for your now lost feather. You also apologize for not planning correctly and having him on your back with little to no safety
Enid looks a little confused when Thing starts to hug the bird that landed on her balcony, but she eventually figures out itâs you. The blonde looks away for a second and youâre already a cat desperately knocking against their circle window to be let in
You walk in like you own the place, and Wednesday checks the clock if you actually got Thing home by curfew
âWith minutes left to spare, too.â Wednesday says. You smile proudly
You jump up onto Enidâs bed, bag still in mouth. You push it over so itâs parallel to the bed, digging your head in until you find what you need. The pink and white bracelet with charms you got from Jericho. Enid makes sure to ruffle your fur so much it starts to stick out until she pats it down. Thing makes sure to tell Enid all about his day
Grabbing your bag, you make your way towards Wednesday, whoâs reading a book with a dark cover on her bed
You look through the bag again, but this time with the aforementioned snake ring in your mouth. You keep your tongue away from the ring as much as possible to stop you from getting your saliva on it
Of course you thought about your friends while on a date.
Wednesday reaches out her hand, taking the ring from your mouth. She places it on her left ring finger and it seems to be a snug fit. Thereâs a wordless thank you in Wednesdayâs eyes when she uses the same hand to scratch under your chin, making you purr
The happy expression on your face and the way you lean into her touch makes Wednesdayâs heart melt the tiniest bit.
You crawl into Wednesdayâs lap as she reads her book. Every now and again you can feel the now cold ring against your skin, sending shivers down your spine
You end up spending the night with Wednesdayâs lips against the back of your ear and her hand on your stomach. It wasnât your fault you were a cuddly cat.
#jenna ortega x reader#jenna ortega#wednesday addams x reader#wednesday x y/n#wednesday (2022)#wednesday x you#wednesday addams#enid sinclair#thing addams
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Home Movie / Negan x Reader / S7 / 18+
Warnings: daddy kink, oral, unprotected/rough sex, slight dom!negan, talk of masturbation, Negan references himself as âthe big bad wolfâ (cringe but I love it), creampie, forbidden attraction, talk of voyerism, use of derogatory language, glove/leather kink (slightly)
Summary: Negan finds a smut tape of you on the video camera at Alexandria and makes it his mission to seek you out.
A/N: I got this idea in my head while I was watching the episode of season 7 where the saviours first visit Alexandria with Negan and he finds Rickâs confessional video as heâs emptying the houses out. also inspired by another Negan series called Polaroids by @reevesdriver on here as itâs one of my faves ever! đ«¶đŒ I just had to write a Negan imagine in the TWD universe again bc as much as I like pre apocalypse Negan, I needed to write apocalypse Negan because there isnât anything sexier to me than a murderous man swinging a barbed wire bat and talking about his dick, hope u enjoy đ€ x
âGoddamn it.â You huffed out, a long breath leaving your lips as you shoved the deer that was on your shoulders further up to prevent yourself from dropping it on the ground. Youâd been gone since the crack of dawn, with Daryl gone at this point in time, you were one of the best hunters that Alexandria still had. While you felt some type of way about putting in so much effort for someone else to just take the shit youâd risked your life for, you knew Rick needed people on his side at the moment. It would be foolish to try and be defiant right now, too much blood had been spilt recently and you didnât want to be the reason it continued. Yeah, youâd played your part in the attack on the outpost but youâd all been in acceptance that it was just that outpost. That once that was cleared, you were rid of the foreboding threat that was the Saviours. How wrong youâd been in that moment, it was only the beginning.
You were now dealing with the aftermath of Negan, having to risk life and limb, bend over backwards to make him happy, the asshole. You couldnât count the amount of times youâd had to hold your tongue to stop yourself from verbally berating his people, knowing what the consequences of giving them a piece of your mind would be. You hadnât been there when he had killed Abe and Glenn, only hearing the horrid, sordid details after the fact.
The blood from the deer that youâd managed to kill was seeping into your white tee, making your shoulders feel sticky and matting up in the tips of your hair. You signalled a high pitched whistle, waiting for the large dark beige gate to be opened, allowing you enter back into Alexandria. Your eyes found the large sign, âAlexandria Safe Zone: Mercy for the Lost. Vengeance for the Plunderers.â You scoffed, how fucking ironic. The gate began to be moved, revealing three large vans parked up just a couple feet away from the entrance, the Saviour vans. âFor fuck sake.â You thought, what could that bastard want with you now, you couldnât help but feel slightly nervous.
âNegan, youâll want to see this.â Negan turned to look at the saviour approaching him, holding out a small silver video recorder. âWell, what do we have here Grimes? Got my fingers crossed for a little freaky deaky!â He grinned, crossing his fingers in front of Rickâs face. He slid his hand into the leather handle of the camera, a video of Rick coming into view, looking a lot more threatening than he did now. He could barely make out it was Rick, with the massive beard grown on his face he wasnât used to seeing. âWoah! Is that you? Underneath all that man bush? Holy shit, I would have not of messed with that guy⊠but you arenât that guy anymore. Are you Rick?â He grinned, Rick stood with a stern look on his face, not moving. Negan continued to watch the interview, Rick speaking candidly about the amount of people that heâd killed. The video started to go static, indicating there was a tape that had been recorded on top of the original. Neganâs eyebrows furred in confusion, before his eyes widened at what the camera had blessed his eyes with. He watched as you were stood in-front of the camera, a light pink lace open cut babydoll set on, your breast sat in the cups, nipples on show for the camera. You started posing for the camera, running your hands through your hair, holding it up Pam Anderson style. A large sexy smile on your lips, turning to do a 180 spin, your smooth backside coming into view for the camera, Negan pulling the camera closer to his face, almost not believing what he was seeing. He didnât recognise you, maybe it had been someone that used to be in Alexandria, wasnât a member anymore. He growled lowly, that would be just his luck, the sexiest woman heâd seen in recent history just missed by a couple weeks. He moved his attention back to the camera, now watching you spread out on the bed, playing with your nipples while starting to rub your folds underneath your panties before the camera cut out, showing Rickâs interview once again.
âFuck! Just when it was getting good!â He cursed, snapping the cameras screen back into place. A fire now in his stomach, his jeans now contracting around his hard bulge. He couldnât get you out his mind, he knew heâd remember if heâd come across you before, so who the hell were you?
Youâd managed to get the deer half way back to your house before being stopped by one of Neganâs minions, asking what you were doing. You ignored him, just wanting to get back, the saviour hadnât liked that, grabbing you by the waist, dragging you towards the circle of people that were gathered around one of the vans. You could hear Rick talking about some guns that heâd found, apparently Negan thought you were trying to stash items, to prevent having to hand them over to his people.
âNegan. Got a rude bitch here for you, was about to run home, sneak this thing back with her.â You slightly rolled your eyes. âHow am I meant to sneak a deer back, smartass?â You questioned, not believing someone could be so stupid. The manâs face contorted into a rage fuelled look, his hand raising up to you, before he had the chance, Negan whistled. âHey! We donât raise a hand to a woman, you know the fucking rules.â He stepped forward, now coming into full view of you, his eyes glancing over your body, looking like a kid on Christmas. You were still here, he couldnât believe his luck. Lucille sat on his shoulder, his one gloved hand wrapped tightly around the bottom of the wood. âNow I donât think weâve been properly introduced. Iâm Negan.â He smirked, holding his free hand out for a handshake, his large frame towering slightly over you. You were met with a slight musk, you recognised it as an old spice fragrance, masculine and powerful. You looked at it, questionable look on your face before your hand met his, engulfing you from the size of it. His rough skin a stark contrast from the softness of yours, the movement felt foreign, you shouldnât feel this way, especially when itâs him.
You saw Rick tensing up as he watched on from the sideline, wondering what Negan was up to, showing such civilness to you. âNice to meet you, sir. Iâm Y/N.â You stated, his smirk getting wider. âSir? Oh, you my dear, are like the gift that keeps on damn giving!â He exclaimed, bewilderment sitting on the faces of those around you and yourself. What the hell did he mean by that? âLoad em up, weâre leaving.â He commanded, the saviours starting to retreat back to their vans, Negan not moving from where he was stood.
A few of the Alexandrianâs moved away as well, not wanting to be in his presence for a moment longer than they were required to. âNow doll, take that damn thing off your shoulders, wouldnât want you to hurt yourself.â You reluctantly agreed, placing the deer just behind you, before Negan nodded at two remaining men, them coming behind you to take your prized find. You scowled, fury raging inside your soul, youâd risked your life trying to get just one actual nice, fulfilling meal for everyone, just to have your hard work stolen off you. âI believe thatâs mine.â You spat out, the fire showing from your eyes as you glared up at him. âWhatâs yours is now ours doll, or hasnât Rick drilled that into you yet?â He asked, aware of the sexual innuendo of his words, his tongue rolling across his lower lip. You huffed, knowing if you talked back further, it wasnât going to end well for you. You felt like you were tasting blood from how hard you bit down on your tongue, fists balled up.
Negan walked over slightly to the back of the last truck, the doors open, a load of stuff that you recognised from peoples homes in the compound. Picking something up, he walked back over to you, Lucille still sat on his shoulder. You saw the small video camera, not thinking much of it, not knowing there was a tape inside that you probably would have never wanted him to see. He placed it on your chest, it digging into your skin, sat just on top of your heaving breasts.
âYou should be careful with such sensitive material, never know what kind of perverts going to come across it!â He joked, your eyes widening in embarrassment as you finally understood what he was talking about. You got a look of disgust rise on your face, you couldnât believe heâd seen such an intimate piece of film. You went to grab the camera from him before he gripped tight on it, making it harder to move. âNow doll, itâs a good job I found this before any of my men did, you know that right? They would have taken this back with them and sat around in a circle jerk together, I however am returning this to you, soooo⊠How about a thank you, Negan?â He demanded playfully, leaning closer to your face, nose almost touching your cheek. You gulped shallowly, your hand moving over his that was holding the camera to your chest. âThank you, Negan.â You managed to get out, the words tasting like poison to you.
He laughed, letting go of the camera, allowing you take it back with a yank. âYou are more than welcome, baby. Also, in case you were wondering, you are most definitely my favourite Alexandrian now.â He winked, walking backwards before getting in the truck, holding his head out the window, giving a small wave to you as they drove out the front gates. You huffed, letting out a breath you didnât realise you held in your throat.
It had now been a couple weeks since Neganâs last visit, heâd sent groups of his saviours in between but never actually visiting himself. You were thankful that this had been the case, youâd found yourself thinking about what could have been. Youâd began to let your mind wonder to the scenario of meeting Negan in another situation, you couldnât help but be attracted to him. He was one of the most attractive men youâd ever come across, it was just a shame he was also the most evil men youâd ever come across.
Unbeknown to you, heâd found himself thinking about you too, that fucking video. Heâd managed to score some old age dvd porno films from supply runs over the years but he couldnât even watch them to get off anymore, only thinking of your little smut tape. It wasnât even like youâd done anything massively explicit on the tape, it shutting off before it managed to get that far but he had concluded that was probably worse. It allowed his mind to run at all the different possibilities, what did you sound like when you moaned, what would you sound like whimpering out his name as he was filling you up? What did you look like when you reached climax? All these unanswered questions racing through his mind as he got out his sexual frustration on his wives, not caring which one it was as all he pictured below him was you. Moaning out your name instead of theirs, the women not caring that much as they were only there to be used by him, no affectionate feelings connecting them to him.
You were currently in the garage, clipboard in hand, biting on the end of your pencil in anxiousness as you went over inventory. You were expecting another visit today, making you want to double check over everything to make sure there wasnât any discrepancies in the numbers. That was the last thing you needed, especially since you were now actively trying to get plans in place to take the fight back to the Saviours. You were just finishing up when a loud knock startled you, the garage door vibrating at the motion. You put the clipboard down on the side, bending down to pull the door up.
âWell well well! If it isnât my favourite Alexandrian. Iâve missed you, doll.â It was Negan, that signature grin on his face once again, eyes raking over your body. You felt sheepish under his wandering eyes, now knowing heâd practically seen you naked since heâd come across that video of yours. You sighed, hands resting on your hips. âWhat do you need, Negan?â You asked, him walking into the garage now, the door slamming back shut. The anxiety started to kick in as you were now alone with just him, as he looked over the shelves, picking up random items and studying them. âNothing really, just wanted to see your pretty face. I just cannot stop thinking about you, doll! I wonder why that is, huh?â He laughed, you knowing what he was alluding to. He noticed how you crossed your hands over your chest, almost trying to shield yourself from him.
âOh no no no! Thereâs no need for all that, Iâve seen those pretty babies already, youâve nothing to be ashamed of, doll.â He sauntered over to you, towering over you again like last time, practically feeling the heat from his body on yours. You couldnât take your eyes off his, the way he looked at you making you get slick. He wasnât one to hide his true emotion, his jeans getting tighter as he imagined you as he saw in the video, putting on a little private show for him. âIâve gotta know, what made you film something like that? You must of known someone could come across it, why take the risk?â He questioned you, hand coming to rub over his bearded chin. âIn this world, thereâs not much opportunity to feel sexy. I just wanted something to look back at when I felt down about myself.â You squeaked out, feeling very intimate. Here you were telling the leader of a rival camp your biggest insecurities, possibly giving him ammunition to further torment you and your people.
âOh doll, you could be covered in damn walker guts, and Iâd still think you were the sexiest thing on this damn shithole planet.â He purred, grabbing you slightly by the chin, making you smile slightly. You shook your head, pulling yourself out of his grasp. âWhat are you doing Negan? We canât be thinking like this. I canât be thinking like this. You⊠you are the enemy.â Your hands resting on the lapels of his leather jacket, the slight coldness of it sending shivers down your spine. You leaned dangerously close to Neganâs lips, his beard scratching the surface of your skin. âRick would fucking kill me, heâd fucking kill me, if he knew I think about you the way I do. Think about you when I touch myself, wishing it was you.â You whispered, getting more confident in your tone, your eyes staring at his lips, then back up to his dark eyes, your lips partially open as you let out shallow breaths, anything you could to try and lower your heart rate that was pumping under your chest. The silence in the room was deafening, you started to get nervous again, like you were just waiting for him to recoil away from you and laugh at your confession, that this had all been a massive joke to humiliate you further. âGoddamn it doll, looks like great minds think alike because Iâve been doing the same damn thing since I saw that little treat on that fucking camera.â He chuckled, picking you up in one swift movement, placing you on top of the workplace bench.
âDid you think about me claiming your pussy, doll? Fucking you until you can barely remember your goddamn name? What would Ricky say if he saw you submitting yourself so easily to me, the big bad wolf?â The dark tenor of Neganâs voice caused you to whimper in half fear, half pleasure. You could tell his personality was darkening to the more intense side, the jolly joking and fucking about traits were completely absent. You didnât feel terrified though, like you did when he committed some of the horrific atrocities in front of you, the feelings of excitement causing your hairs to stand on edge and your pussy getting wet with every word that spilled out of his mouth.
âI did, god I want you inside of me.â You confessed, as Neganâs hands ghosted over your cleavage that was exposed by your tank top, before he pulled it over your head, your breasts spilling out of your lace bra. He shoved his gloved hand into your mouth, commanding you to suck. You obliged, your hands holding his arm in place as you swirled your tongue around the two thick fingers, head bobbing up and down as you did. The leather of the glove rubbery on your tongue, causing you to moan onto his fingers.
He grinned at you, a deep grunt as he leaned over capturing your right nipple into his mouth, suckling it, swirling his tongue around and biting it with his teeth causing you to moan and pull his head against your chest as you kept sucking hard on his fingers. He did it again, giving you light bites and licks, alternating between your two erect nubs. Negan removed his fingers from your mouth with a pop, bring them down to give one final pinch to your nipples, the wetness of his one hand causing the cold air to make your nipple more sensitive.
âGet on your knees, I want to see your mouth full of my dick, doll.â Negan grinned with a wicked smile, his hands undoing his jeans, letting them fall to pool at his boots. You felt your mouth salivate, eager to take him as slid off the table onto your knees. You started to lick him, going from bottom to top slowly, teasing him like he did to you with his dirty sweet nothings in your ears, hearing his low groans. You sucked the precum from his tip and swirled your tongue under his head, and then looked up at him, making sure you held eye contact with him, opening your mouth and taking him in little by little, bobbing your head up and down. Your mouth was being stretched wide, you started to move a little faster, sucking him, licking him, taking him deeper and deeper until you felt him in your throat. He was big, causing you to gag a little as your eyes began to water, your throat starting to get a sore feeling within it as he fucked your throat at a quick pace. He gave a slight gasp and his hand took a firm hold of your head keeping you in place, as his hips bucked, making it his mission to get as far down your throat as possible.
âI need to fuck you now, doll. Get up here.â Negan pulled back to your feet, slamming you stomach down onto the table, almost ripping your jeans as he pulled them down your thighs, your moist panties now on show, one tug and the flimsy material broke in two halves, now fully exposing your slick entrance to Negan. He rubbed his dick up and down your slit eliciting a pleasurable moan from both of you, pushing his length inside and then pulling out and rubbing it down your slit again.
âPlease... Negan! Please!â You whimpered out, pinching your nipples, trying to get some relief from his teasing. He smirked down at you, that dark gaze watching your every move. âPlease what? I want to hear you saying you want daddy's dick. I want to hear you beg me. Come on little girl, say it.â he demanded as he rubbed his length along your wet slit. âPlease daddy! I want you deep inside me, please fuck me!â He groaned and pushed himself hard inside your walls, with no hesitations. You screamed, even being sopping wet, you were too tight around his shaft. He leaned on top of you and started to kissing your neck, biting lightly. Negan felt you getting used to his girth, you started to move your hips against him, wanting friction. He started to thrust in slowly, checking for your reaction to his movements. âI'm fine, please, fuck me daddy!â You moaned out, Negan pulling almost all the way out of you and then thrusting in hard making you gasp.
âYou're loving this doll, arenât you? Yeah, you're loving having my dick inside of you. Iâd love good old Rick to walk in right now, see you bent over for the big bad wolf.â he chuckled, turning you on even more. Thrusting again and again building up speed, going faster and harder, just like you had imagined he would in your dirty dreams, but so much better than your imagination. âI'm going to fuck you like the slut you are and you are going to thank me for it.â He whispered in your ear, pulling your hair with one hand and holding your hips firmly with the other as he snapped his groin into you, making your ass ripple with the powerful movements. âI want to hear you doll, thank me.â You almost rolled your eyes at the narcissistic request but your brain was too blank to comprehend it. âThank you, thank you Negan!â
You focused on the obscene sounds of your bodies echoing around you, amplified by how small the garage was. Negan continued fucking you rough and hard, until you felt the orgasm surging inside of you, building fast and strong. When it finally hit you, you screamed with the intensity of it, your body shook with the pleasure waves, running through your core. Negan released your hair to hold your hips so he could keep fucking you. His thrusts shortened, you clenched around his length, a groan leaving his mouth, feeling him finally release just after you. Negan pulled himself out of you, watching as his cum spilled out of your hole, dripping slightly onto the concrete floor below you. He leaned on top of you, leaving small kisses on your spine, body covered in a light sheen of sweat.
âY/N! We need you out here! Negan is on his way!â You turned to Negan, a confused look on your face, heâd snuck into the compound to fuck you and now you had to act like he wasnât even here.
#negan#negan fanfiction#negan smut week#negan smith#negan smut#the walking dead negan#negan x reader#negan imagine#negan fic#negan's thirst squad#negan twd#twd negan#negan x you#enemies to lovers negan#negan the walking dead#twd#twd negan imagine#twd imagine#twd smut#imagine#imagines#the walking dead#season 7 negan#negan imagines#dom!negan#negan x y/n#negan x reader smut#the walking dead Negan smut#the walking dead imagine#the walking dead imagines
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I saw your fluff post for Gojo, and sheesh it was so good! If you're still taking requests for your event, can I request fluff #12 for Gojo? đ
đđđđđđđđđ
~ satoru gojo ; jujutsu kaisen
â§Ë · . S Y N O P S I S : it isnât like satoruâs known for being the most serious of sorcerers out there, so why wouldâve you taken seriously all of those flirty jokes of his?
â§âË c o n t e n t s : gn!reader, fluff, friends to lovers, first love coded so this oneâs about younger gojo!
â§âË a / n : youâre so sweet anon thank you so much ! hope you like this one, i feel like itâs a little bit all over the place, but hopefully no one will pick up on it đđ»
Toge ver. || Sukuna ver. || Gojo ver.
âWhatâs so good about this movie anyway?â Satoru had rolled his eyes behind his glasses with a mocking smile, but still didnât bicker much more when you sat him down in your couch to watch it.
Surprisingly, you found yourself asking that exact same question in your head. You were eager to watch it because it was an adaptation of a book you had read a long time ago, but now watching it in your TV screen you werenât sure if was just a terrible adaptation or the book had been this bad too. Maybe you had just been a bit too impresionable when you read it. Maybe if you re read it youâd find out it was trashier than you thought.
Whatever it was your eyes had started to give up after a while, eyelids trying their best to close in search of some nice rest. And you probably wouldâve fallen asleep already if it werenât for this weird sensation of someone watching you. You were alone in your living room with Satoru, so there was no way anyone else had their eyes set on you, but every time you glanced at him he was absorbed in the movie.
You closed your eyes for a second, just a small bit of time to rest, but there it was again. Someone was watching you. So you turned to Satoru for like the fourth time, his blue eyes staring intently at the screen⊠a little too intently, honestly. You squinted, studying his facial expression. His lips were slightly pursed in an attempt to hold back a smile, and he was so stiff he wasnât even blinking. Satoru was always up to something, and the fact that he kept you on your toes all the time was probably one of your favourite things about him. So you sighed and opened your mouth to ask what the hell was he up to, but he quickly turned to you with a cheeky smile.
âHow long are you planning to stare at me?â
The question took you by surprise. Of course it did, he always did.
âAre you serious?â you quirked an eyebrow.
âYeah? This is like the fourth time you glance at me. Am I really that handsome?â
You giggled at that, you had always thought he was handsome, but⊠he was just your friend. Right?
âAm I really that beautiful?â you went along with his joke âI canât fall asleep when I feel your eyes on me like that.â
âIs that so?â he smiled wider, moving closer to you and forcing you to pick up your legs against you chest to give him space âstaring at you like what?â
Defiant, you moved closer to him too.
âThatâs what Iâd like to know. You keep staring at me instead of watching the film, so whatâs up?â
âMe?â he tilted his head, pretending to be confused, biting his lip âI just asked you why you were glancing at me all the time, it was totally not the other way around.â
âYou just did it before I had the chance to ask!â
âNah, you were staring at me firstâ he winked, a cocky grin on his lips.
âWhy are you so desperate for my attention?â rolling your eyes, you let your legs hang from the side of the sofa and straightened your back, leaning towards him just slightly.
âBecause I keep trying to flirt with you and you keep dismissing me!â he whined, but his statement only made you laugh.
âWhat are you talking about?!â
He sighed and rolled his eyes, letting his shoulder hit the sofa.
âYou know what Iâm talking aboutâŠâ his irises stared at you above his glasses, almost looking like he was giving you puppy dog eyes âI wouldnât be here watching this trashy movie otherwise.â
You just stared at him, eyebrows almost meeting in confusion. Yeah, he had always played around like that. But it was just playing! He was always playing! ⊠or was he?
â⊠'Toru, are you being serious right now?â
âHonestly, how many times do I have to tell you I am being serious!â
âListen to you! All whiny and childish, how am I supposed to take you seriou-â
In the blink of a eye, Satoruâs lips were on yours. It took you a second to warm up to his gesture, but your body relaxed. You closed your eyes, lifting up your chin and kissing him back. Your heartbeat quickened and your chest felt like it was on fire. Was your friend Gojo Satoru really kissing you then or had you fallen asleep? Maybe you were dreaming about it. Maybe you were dreaming about the way his lips insistently kissed yours, or about the way your hands held his face to keep him from pulling back. About the way his hands reached out to hold you by your hips, that tiny moment where he gasped for air and kept on kissing you passionately, until his body was hovering over yours and you werenât sure if you were gasping for air because of the kiss or to calm down the fire he had started inside of you. He inhaled sharply too, your lashes fluttering in confused blinking. There was this longing in the air around you, a need for more of his kisses so unfamiliar to you and yet so alluring.
âDo you think Iâm serious now?â
It was just finally making sense, all the pieces of the puzzle finally being completed in you head. All that playing around, smiles and jokesâŠ
âMaybe. Iâm not sure. You should kiss me again to see if that works.â
Satoru snorted, but heâd lie if he said he didnât eagerly comply to that request.
#; fluffy belle#jjk#jujutsu kaisen#jjk x you#jjk x y/n#jjk x reader#satoru gojo#gojo satoru#gojo x you#gojo x reader#gojo x y/n#gojo satoru x reader#jjk gojo
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[Suhyeok x Bully!Hambie!Gwinam's Sister!Reader / All Of Us Are Dead]
Warnings: NONCON (Well, sort of? Suhyeok's saying no but he actually wants it?), Female Reader, Sub!Suhyeok, Dom!Reader, Smut, Degrading.
(A/N): So i just finished AOUAD and hOLY FUCK i need more Suhyeok smut. I'm a massive fucking domme so had make this idea into a fanfic!! I might make a longer one tbh, like a book on wattpad or something haha. Anyways, filth under the cut!
"What are you smirking at, you brat, huh? Answer me.â
You moved like a predator, dangerous and calculating, and Suhyeok panted pathetically before you even touched him. You'd roughed him up a little so he was too exhausted to dare to escape your clutches.
âNothing! None of your business, Yoon (Y/N)."
As defiant and brave as ever, Suhyeok wasnât going to give himself up without a fight, even if he didnât want to win that fight anyways. You'd found him alone in a classroom full of zombies, fighting for his life. Luckily, you were there to help him out of that sticky situation...and into another one. You and your psycho brother, Yoon Gwinam, had both turned into a Hambie. Conveniently, Gwinam told you that Suhyeok was yours, as long as he have Cheongsan to torment. Nightmare siblings, everyone called you.
"Lee Suhyeok. I saved you. How are you going to repay me, huh?"
You picked him up from the floor like he weighed nothing, ripping his blazer and shirt apart almost instantly, shocking him. A part of Suhyeok felt violated, but another part excited him. He'd hanged with the school bullies before, hence he knew you, and secretly liked you and your fierce attitude.
"Come on, thats enough, (Y/N). Let me go. I have to get back to the others."
Your eyes widened in anger.
"Say that again. I dare you. Do you know what fucking bullshit i had to go through to finally capture you?!"
Suhyeok accidentally moaned as you cornered him and tangled a hand in your hair, tugging on it. You basically hissed, nails leaving tracks across the tanned, unblemished skin of his chest. He gasped, attempting to push you away as you sucked on his neck harshly, making sure not to bite him...yet.
âWha- (Y/N)..stop - nnghh..."
Suhyeok trailed off, groaning, his adams apple bobbing up and down as you traced his neck. It made you thirsty for more; to claim him as yours, to hurt him more. There was nothing more erotic than a strong fighter submitting to you completely, unable to defend himself from your advances. The truth is, ever since Suhyeok stopped talking to you, your brother and the other bullies, day by day you grew more frustrated with him. And his stupid bravery. The fact that he's not yours. That hes so perfect and good and distancing himself from you. From evil.
"Please, (Y/N). I have to help our classmates -"
Oh come on. Even when he was being violated like this, Suhyeok was thinking of others. At this point he knows heâs going to be punished for even believing that you were a nice person. Because you were a possessive freak. A weirdo. Someone whoâs entire existence is frowned upon. If only he knew what it was like to be infatuated with someone until youâd either kill a person, or them.
SLAP.
âDonât you get it? Youâre mine. Stay out of everyoneâs sight. Donât touch them, talk to them, look at them, or even breathe in their direction. I'll kill you if you go back."
Before Suhyeok could say anything else, he choked on his next words as you peeled your panties off and picked him up, thrusting straight onto him, his cock completely filling you up. In that moment, he felt himself crumble in front of you. In this very moment, all Suhyeok wanted was to feel alive again. To forget about the damn zombies. You felt the sweet sting of him stretching you open, filling you to the brim and you know youâd never feel this with anyone else. No matter how shady and unethical and terrifying you were, Suhyeok knew you were not the kind of woman you find twice.Â
âAre you fucking with me? You like this donât you? You dirty little whore, Lee Suhyeok, enjoying being used by a filthy possessive girl like me. You want to be owned. Be thankful i haven't turned you already."
You werenât taking your time, the way youâre fucking him into the wallâbucking your hips into his at a frantic pace and making him whineâit wasnât for pleasure. No, he could tell by the way youâre keeping him close, not trying to change your angle to get deeper, that you wanted to possess him completely.
"Harder..."
He finally whispered, his eyes averting from your gaze as you fucked him into oblivion. The slapping of flesh was loud, and so was the sound of Suhyeok's ever so needy moaning. And your heavenly whimpers.
"(Y/N), fuck, im yours. I'm yours, so own me."
That's what you liked to hear.
[END]
#suhyeok#lee suhyeok#kdrama imagine#kdrama x reader#suhyeok x reader#suhyeok smut#suhyeok imagine#all of us are dead#all of us are dead imagine#all of us are dead x reader#all of us are dead smut#smut#dom!reader#sub!character#aouad#aouad x reader#aouad smut
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(Full work now posted here.)
This current piece is taking longer than I'd expected to finish, but I think y'all will like it. Thank you, as always, for your continued patience. Needless to say, I am a big sucker for darker (but still sweet) portrayals of Prewar!Cooper that play into the parts of The Ghoul that already live inside him.
Here's a little 500-ish word sneak peek for those interested:
Duplicity
Pairing: Prewar!Cooper Howard x Female Reader
Warnings: smut (18+), DEAD DOVE: DO NOT EAT, Possessive!Prewar!Cooper, jealousy, dubious consent, infidelity (physical and emotional), decomposing marriages, acrimonious divorce proceedings, alcohol use, choking, biting, degradation, mild exhibitionism, unprotected sex, breeding kink, creampie, love confessions, soft ending.
Things were heating up quickly between you and Cooper. Maybe too quickly. Your lover's lips were attacking the exposed side of your throat, your back pressed firmly into the plush mattress as you wriggled beneath him. Your entire body felt like it was on fire, between the one-too-many cocktails you'd had during the party and the way he was touching you, moving you, positioning you the way he wanted as he moved in between your legs, standing over you at the edge of the bed. "Maybe we should wait." you breathed, your breaths deep and deliberate as you tried to sober yourself up enough to string together a clear thought. It would've been difficult enough simply trying to resist his kisses, but this was some random Vault-Tec executive's guest bedroom. There was a party going on. Your husband was likely still outside mingling, possibly looking for you. The odds of that weren't high, but they weren't zero. While the two of you had fooled around a bit up until now, you couldn't help but feel like you wanted things a little different for the first time you really had sex, for when you fully took that plunge and committed to this path. The man on top of you seemed to feel differently. "Don't think so." he purred lowly into the crook of your neck, running his teeth along your collarbone and making you shudder. You could smell the gin martini he'd been holding earlier on his breath. "You made me watch him touch and kiss on you all night, and now you're gonna make it up to me." Cooper's warm, softly calloused hand found your throat, holding you firmly as he gazed down at you,. He wasn't choking you, per se; at least, not in the way that you would've anticipated someone would choke you, squeezing around your airway until your breathing was cut off. No, instead, he pressed his fingers and thumb into the soft flesh on each side, digging into your twin pulse points and slowing the flow of blood to your brain. It didn't hurt or make you feel panicked. In fact, quite the opposite happened, your squirming finally ceasing almost entirely, your brain buzzing with warm, tingly docility. Between that and the already toasty feeling coursing through your veins, you haltingly allowed your defiant thighs to fall open halfway, slowly forgetting the reasons you'd been resisting, forgetting where you were. "That's a good girl. You know who you belong to, don'tcha?" he praised, his free hand stroking the sensitive inside of your thigh reverently. The feeling of two of his thick fingers sliding inside of you suddenly sent you whining in response, both at the stretch and the slight sting of it. That sent a smirk ghosting across the actor's face, leaning in to run his lips along the soft, flushed skin of your cheek. "Pretty little cheatin' slut. Now, be quiet and let me have what's mine."
#cooper howard#the ghoul#prewar!cooper howard#cooper howard smut#cooper howard x reader#cooper howard x you#fallout tv show#fallout prime#ghoulcy#vaultghoul
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Cable/GN!Reader Okay, so I'm on my Cable shit again. I found this WIP and a couple others for him and GODDD UGH I'm so fucking obsessed. Love a good danger room sparring scene so this one was just for fun ;) I'd consider it part of the tender moments series I have going on, but you don't need to read the other two to understand this one. TWS: Kinda spicy, no smut. Making out, sparring, Nate being an absolute goofball in his own way. Caught by the parents trope (sorry Scott). Short but cute.
    Cableâs gun was smoking by the time the two of you cleared the last level of the danger room, and you were having the time of your life. You were tired, sure. But there was just something about the danger room that gave you such an adrenaline rush, and you were sure it might just be that you donât actually have to worry about dying in here compared to real fights (mostly, at least).Â
    You were having fun, but that didnât mean you didnât have a plan to excite the day a little further.
    âAlright, Last level finished. We should clear out for the others.â Cable says to you, switching the safety on his gun as he sets it to the side, stretching his arms and shoulders.
    âWell, actuallyâŠâ You donât even have to finish the thought, Nathan raising an eyebrow at you as he stands up to his full height, crossing his arms at you.
    âSeriously? You requested extra time to spar?â He asks, and even though heâs frowning, you can tell heâs poking fun at you. You shrug at him, looking up at him with an excited smile on your face.
    âYeah? Why not?â You ask, knowing full well that you had never sparred with Nathan before despite the many years the two of you have been a team. Nate lets out an amused hum, looming before you as he squares his shoulders.
    âYou realize that Iâm twice your size, right?â Nathan says, an amused smile on his face.
    âAnd? Come on Nate, Itâs not like I haven't fought someone your size before.â You tell him, and it makes Nathan laugh.
    âYou mean the times I had to step in to save your sorry ass?â He says, causing your smile to drop into a pout as you start to deny it, just for him to flood your mind with somewhat embarrassing memories of him doing just that.
    âI- would you cut that out!â You scold, slapping his arm just to immediately try to hide the fact that it hurt- the sting of the metal a sharp pain across your palm. He chuckles at the action anyway- but youâve never been a quitter.
     â-Itâs starting to sound like youâre just making excuses, old man.â You say instead, and his eyes narrow at the name. He tilts his head at you with a dry expression like heâs asking if you're absolutely sure you want to play this game today, only for you to stubbornly meet his gaze with a defiant smirk.
    He doesn't stop to reply, instead immediately rushing you.
    He catches you off-guard at first, taking the breath out of you for a moment before youâre quickly ducking under his arms. Escaping him before he can get a good grip on you. If there was one thing that always surprised you, it was how Nathan managed to be so quick despite his huge stature. Itâs hard to go blow to blow with him due to the size difference between the two of you, but you manage to get more than a few good hits in. You donât know how long the two of you spar for, but when Nate finally kicks your legs out from underneath you and pins you to the ground, youâre too tired to fully fight back.
    The two of you are heaving, grinning at each other as your gaze stays locked, and even though youâre outmatched, youâre still unwilling to give up. Nathan gives you a judging stare as he hears the thought, unable to understand why youâre just so stubborn. Sure, he technically had bested you- calling just about every move you made down to the T due to his abilities, but you found that the best way to take Nathan by surprise was to act on impulse.Â
    âDonât be stubborn. You know youâve been-â Nate lets out a surprised noise as you cut him off with a kiss, dragging him down closer to you by his broad shoulders. Heâs stiff and surprised for a moment before he relaxes into the kiss. You had originally planned for this to be a distraction, but lord knows that you should have realized you would quickly be too caught up in the feeling of him against you to remember or care about what you were doing before.
    Nathan nips at your lips as one of his hands slides under your back to support you, the other keeping himself propped up against the tile floors. You let him take charge in the kiss as your hands wander up and down his clothed chest, drifting down to yank his shirt out of his belt so that you can touch his bare abdomen instead. Nate sighs into the kiss, adjusting so that he can press his knee against your core, causing you to moan into the kiss as his hand begins to slide your shirt off and he begins to kiss down your jaw and neck, just barely beginning to ravish you completely when the door slides open with a swish.
    âWOAH!â A voice calls out from the doorway, one you recognize instantly. You and Nathan separate, both startled by the sudden intrusion. Scott quickly covers his sunglass-covered eyes he looks away, embarrassed. You swear that you and Nate had never separated so quickly before, trying to make yourselves proper as you stand up and turn to face his young father.
    âI was- Uh, I was going to tell you two that dinner was ready.â Scott stutters out, still covering his eyes.
    âOh! I didn't notice how long we had been in here!â You ramble, nervously fidgeting with your hands as you pretend to check the time. âThank you for coming to get us.â You continue nervously, knowing for a fact you were only digging your hole deeper. Maybe once youâre done digging you can lie down inside of it and die from this horrible embarrassment.
    Thank him or apologize or something! You think pointedly at Cable while you're standing there, and all he does is give you an incredulous look.
    Iâm not doing -either-. He interrupted us! Nathan tells you, returning the thought without so much as speaking a word.
    Thatâs because we were about to- You can't bring yourself to finish the sentence, blushing intensely at the images you think of as you picture exactly what you wanted him to do to you on the danger room floor. You see a light blush rise to Nathanâs cheeks too, despite his ever-grumpy expression. -WAIT!- Not the point! It- Damnit! PUBLIC space, Nathan! Public space!!! Damn your stupid intrusive thoughts! You know youâre completely flustered and embarrassed, unable to actually believe that you were just walked in on by Nathanâs young father.
    Scott finally turns to leave for a moment, and you feel the tension in your shoulders let up a bit when the doors slide shut, only for your anxiety to spark immediately after when the doors swoosh open again, Scott still standing there with his eyes covered.
    âI, uh, since youâre both grown adults and everything, I assume I donât need to give you the talk, Right?â Scott asks, and if you could shrivel up and die right at this moment in time, you would gladly do so.
    âOh my god.â You sat, covering your red face.
    âNo, Dad! Could you just leave already?!â Nathan finally yells, and for a moment you wonder if all this embarrassment youâre feeling is coming from him, too. Scott nods vigorously, letting out a quiet, âYeah, Yup.â as he quickly and finally leaves the room.Â
    Both of you let out a sigh of relief when heâs gone, still embarrassed to the very core at bening caught like that.
    âJesus Christ, we look like a couple of horny teens or something, getting caught like that.â You mumble after a long pause, trying to shake it off. You hear Nathan snort from next to you, and you give him a confused look.Â
    âWhoâs we?â He asks. You roll your eyes and he lets out an amused huff at the sight.
    Iâve seen every corner of your mind, Sweetpea. You canât hide your thoughts from me. Nate tells you, flashing the images of some of your dirtiest and most inappropriate thoughts about him in your mind. You were sure there was so much blood rushing to your face at this point that it was about to explode.
    âWould you, please, stop that!â
#x men#x men 97#x men comics#x men headcannons#x men 97 x reader#cable x reader#cable x men#x men cable#cable xmen#Nathan summers#nate summers#nathan summers x reader
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what do you think of waymar đ george wanted us to dislike him?
no, i donât think george wants us to dislike him at all! rather, i think waymar is our introduction to the themes george is most fond of - the arrogance of the noble class, the concept of a true knight, and the randomness of death.
our introduction to waymar royce is kind of quintessential spoiled little lordling. his clothes is too fancy, heâs dismissive of the smallfolk who clearly know better than him, heâs got that shiny knighthood but heâs not all that impressive, he doesnât even have the right type of horse for ranging! he mocks both gareth and will, despite them being more experienced than him, and despite gareth being an âelderâ of a sort. for waymar, the idea that gareth could have a better understanding of the situation is unthinkable. when gareth tells the story of frostbite in an attempt to get waymar to turn back, waymar dismissed him wholesale. he leads them, unknowingly, to their doom because he is simply too arrogant to see the sense in what gareth is saying. not only is that entire dismissive attitude prevalent in the story, but someone marching themselves and several innocents straight to their doom over their pride is a HUGE issue throughout the series as well. just as varys says - it is always the innocent, the peasantry, who suffer the most and here, poor gareth and will are forced to pay a price for the foolishness of someone they KNOW is less experienced.
and then the others come.
There was a faint blue shimmer to the thing, a ghost-light that played around its edges, and somehow Will knew it was sharper than any razor.
Ser Waymar met him bravely. "Dance with me then." He lifted his sword high over his head, defiant. His hands trembled from the weight of it, or perhaps from the cold. Yet in that moment, Will thought, he was a boy no longer, but a man of the Night's Watch.
The Other halted. Will saw its eyes; blue, deeper and bluer than any human eyes, a blue that burned like ice. They fixed on the longsword trembling on high, watched the moonlight running cold along the metal. For a heartbeat he dared to hope.
He wonât win this fight. He knows it, the Others know it, and Will knows it. But the fact that Waymar has doomed himself and his men to death doesnât matter here; what matters is that he doesnât give up! When faced with a monster from a story book, an impossible nightmare, Waymar picks up his sword and he fights, and for a moment, Will has hope.
Thatâs why itâs Waymar in the prologue. Heâs not an exemplary sort of man, heâs not particularly smart or skilled or kind or even overly cruel or stupid. He is a very normal, common type of man who led a very normal life until this moment. But he still tries.
And so does poor Will! And so does Gared! Will is terrified as he hides in the trees, watching Waymar fight and die, knowing that going to help will just get them both killed. Heâs not particularly brave, but I would say heâs smart! Genre savvy even, when he knows the fight is hopeless and makes the decision to keep hidden and fight another day. Gared flees (and itâs interesting that we have the theee main fear responses here - fight, hide, and flee) but heâs so traumatized by what heâs seen that as heâs questioned he canât give a good, clear answer. And then heâs uselessly, needlessly killed by our shining example of chivalry and honor in Ned Stark, his head kicked like a toy by Theon Greyjoy. As Jon says, he only dies âwellâ because heâs shell shocked - he is confused and deeply afraid in his last moments.
the three of them - gared, will, and waymar - are the entire series diluted down to one chapter, to three unextraordinary men. but with them lies a lot of the point of the whole story. and waymar specifically, for me, is about all those moments of bravery in the face of unbeatable odds. heâs a very normal, very flawed person who reaches down deep in himself and finds something good and brave at the very end.
#asks#anons#waymar royce#valyrianscrolls#there is always a lighthouse. there is always a man. there is always a city.#i say gareth instead of gared a few times and iâm too lazy to change it#i might spell waymar wrong too aksjdjd
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