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cherrynpink · 18 days ago

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freak like me

pairing: nerdy!dino x f!reader

genre: project partners, mutual pining, lots of daydreaming, smut (with a bit of plot) MDNI!

warnings: shy cutesy dino who has my heart (he is a secret freak!), idk how american uni works so just go w it pls, dino and chan are both used interchangeably, oc has nerd kink (ahem), forward oc, cursing, a bit of manipulation?, too many thirsty thoughts, kissing, choking, spit kink, unprotected sex (do not do this!), oral sex (m. receiving), fingering, clit stimulation, brat!oc, brattamer!dino, mean dino, he calls oc slut/whore, dirty talk!!!, riding, missionary position, creampie, size kink?, crying, hair grabbing, ass slapping, orgasm denial, cum eating, it is honestly filthy, lmk if i missed anything!

w.c.: 5.4k

playlist: freak like me

note: thank you so much for liking the last fic so much :( didn't expect such a positive reception so i was super motivated to write this one! plus these pictures of him did something to me like y'all don't get it like i do bcs i went crazy and HAD to write.

also u can message me here or comment if u want to be part of my taglist! my requests are open if u have something u wanna read, or just talk. feedback is highly appreciated hope u like this one hehe :3

“Right, so the semester end project will be a group project.” Your professor says as the whole class sighs in disappointment and annoyance.

“I know you all don’t like these group projects, but it’s compulsory guys, it’s worth 30% of your final grade. If it’s any consolation, I requested the dean to let it be done in pairs, so be a little grateful, I don’t want anyone coming up to me after class asking to change partners.”

Great. The only thing you hated more than group projects were the ones done in pairs. In spite of all the arguments in groups, atleast you didn’t have to do any work if you didn’t feel like it. But now not only will there be conflicts with your partner, but you’ll have to do half the work too. Just great.

“Y/n? miss y/n?” your professor calls pulling you out of your zoned out state as you raise your hand in confusion.

“You’ll be partnered with Mr. Chan.”

Oh. This was going to be fun. Not only was Chan really REALLY good at studies, but also so cute. You first met him just on the second day of class, when you asked him for a pencil because being klutz you are, you had forgotten you had that class that day and had practically rolled off your bed as your roommate woke you up minutes before it started, reaching a bit late and resulting in your professor scolding you. Chan had coyly given you the pencil, later passing you a note in the middle of the class written “you can ask me later if you have any doubts about what was taught before you arrived as you were a bit late :)”. Oh, he was so cute.

That was how your friendship started, though you never talked much outside of class- other than the occasional times he replied to your story or liked it, you and him were mostly formal with each other, never crossing the boundary of “classmates.”

Sometimes you would ask him for his notes, and being the nice guy he is, he would send the snapshots in a second. You would later leave an iced americano on his usual seat, as a gesture of thankfulness; and a note along with it. Sometimes when the professor’s voice cracked in the middle of the lecture, your eyes would find his- giving each other a slight smile.

It was always quick glances, polite words, and soft smiles, because you both never seemed to take it further. But you were tired now, tired of pretending you didn’t picture his face squished under your thighs, glasses all fogged up and your slick dripping down his chin. Tired of acting like you didn’t violate your poor pillow every other night imagining how he would sound with him in your throat.

Was he a head pusher? Or someone that just begged you to let him come? Would he let you tie him up? Or would he want to tie YOU up? you were sick of acting like he didn’t get you so so wet when he answered a question in class and fixed his glasses, and you had a plan to change that.

As the class ends, you see him coming up to you.

“Should we work at the library at 6 today? I’ll get us some coffee and snacks to eat while we work!” he says with a small smile on his face.

You could agree to the library at 6, after all he has pitched it so sweetly, but there is a devil on your shoulder that is actually so evil, because you hear a voice in your head saying no way you’re meeting him in a public place for the things you want to do with him.

“I’m a bit busy at 6 Chan, I-”

“Dino! You can call me dino too. All my friends usually call me that.” He says shyly.

You smile sweetly. “I’m a bit busy at 6 dino, I have my shift at the café.” You say pouting at him. They are blatant lies. You do not have your shift at the café today because it is closed, something about the owner being at a wedding, but he doesn’t need to know that.

“You can come over to my place at 10 if it’s okay with you? I doubt the library will be open till the time I get off work.” You feel a bit bad, but you’re just inviting him over because it’s more comfortable at home, right? Yeah! Nothing needs to happen just because you’ll be alone with him. (You are lying to yourself at this point because there is no way you don’t lose your mind at the thought of being alone with him.)

“Oh, okay sure! text me the address, I’ll be there.” He says with a sweet smile and you might crush him because of how much you want to squish his cheeks right now.

Dino might go crazy. He’s not even sure if you could see he wasn’t paying attention to a thing you said, because he was too busy staring at your lips the entire time, and then your collarbones, until his eyes travelled to your tits trapped in your blouse which was just a little too tight. Tight enough to accentuate the curve of your breasts; but not letting them spill out- just tight enough.

On top of that, if he’s left alone with you, he has no idea how he’s going to prevent a tent from forming in his pants, so he opts for a oversized hoodie long enough to cover him and a pair of grey sweatpants because it is your house after all, he can dress casual, and he doesn’t want you to know he took 20 minutes to decide what he wore so that his outfit says-“hey, I’m casual and comfortable” and “I’m put together” at the same time.

He is sharp on time, you say to yourself as the bell rings. You’re a bit nervous approaching the door in your small plaid skirt and sweater, knowing how he always stares at you whenever you wear a skirt to class. Plus, you’re wearing a something a little special underneath it, just it case. You push the self-doubting thoughts to the back of your head as you open your door and he is a sight to see. He looks so delicious in those animal print framed glasses and messy hair, there is a glow on his face and oh, those stupid goddamn grey sweatpants. It is OVER for you.

“You’re very punctual, it’s exactly 10.” You giggle. “Your hair looks a bit of a mess dino, coming from another girl’s place?” you say as you smirk, leaning against the door.

“No! No, I just came from the gym, my hair is still a bit wet from the shower.” He says as he ruffles his hair and comes in, setting his bag on the table in your living room. Oh? Pretty boy goes to the gym as well, is there anything he doesn’t do. He usually only wore oversized hoodies and t-shirts to class, never really revealing his true figure; nor did you ever see him much in parties despite his friends being a part of the frat, so this was a new side of him you were seeing right now.

“My roommate is gonna be home in a bit, so we can work in my room, mhm?” you ask, acting intentionally doe eyed and innocent. Lies. They are all lies. Your roommate isn’t going to be home in a bit, she’s at her girlfriend’s dorm. And she is not going to be home until tomorrow after class. And maybe if Chan was thinking clearly, he would’ve asked why your roommate would mind you working in the living room with him. But he’s not thinking clearly, too busy staring at your legs and imagining his face between your thighs; so, forgive him if he isn’t at his highest functioning brain activity right now.

He murmurs a quiet okay as he follows you to your room as you lead him. And your room is so you. He doesn’t know how to explain it, because he doesn’t know you so well yet, but as soon as he enters through the door, he sees plushies laid out neatly on your bed, and your scent all around him. He can see posters of bands and movies dressing up your walls and random Sanrio figurines all around the room. He lays his bag on your bed, taking out his laptop as you sit next to him on your chair, and your skirt rides up, revealing your soft thighs further. And maybe his eyes are playing tricks on him, but he can almost see pink lace fabric peaking from underneath your skirt. And maybe you’re just a bit cold, but he swears he can see your nipples peeking through your sweater.

Every passing minute, he is making it so hard for you to keep your composure. He keeps sharing his ideas about the project and telling you what you should work on. Why is hearing him talk about physics so sexy? You don’t know what it is, but you can’t help but think how hot he looks when he talks so passionately. Your panties are literally getting soaked as the time goes on. It’s been an hour, and he hasn’t even taken a second to look at you yet! You’re quite literally whoring yourself out for him and all he cares about is inductive motor or whatever the hell the project is about.

“Channie, can we move to the bed? I’m feeling a bit tired from my shift.” You say, fake yawning.

“Mmm? Oh sure.” It is over for him, he thinks to himself.

As you sit up on your bed, your skirt FULLY rides up, revealing your baby pink lace panties. You push it down gently, saying “oops” as you giggle. And something inside him snaps. All control he had, he’s lost it now and he physically cannot hold back anymore. His gaze darkens, as he pushes you down, his grip on your throat as he gets on top of you. You gasp as he takes you by surprise, but the shock lasts barely 5 seconds before you smirk.

You reach up as your lips find his, pulling him deeper into your mouth as you grab his hair. From the get go, it is passionate, and rough and messy, because both of you are left gasping for your breath- your cheeks rosy and your chest heaving. Deciding to tease him further, you bite his lip. He moans into your mouth, mumbling “brat.” Taking the opportunity, you slip your tongue into his mouth deepening the kiss, and it is so sloppy; neither of you willing to give up control. The heat between your legs grows because of the way his tongue fights with yours to take over, which has your head spinning.

“Channie” you moan, as you feel the hard press of his body against yours, the sound of your lips smacking together and your heavy gasping filling the room.

His hand reaches to lift your sweater slightly, fingers making contact with your bare skin as they keep moving upwards until they meet your lacy bra, delicately toying with the material.

“You wore this for me baby? Knew this was going to happen?”

All you do is giggle as you continue to kiss down his jaw, alternating between sucking and biting. But that doesn’t sit right with him, as his other hand wraps around your neck, squeezing just the right amount so that his grip is tight enough, but still allowing you to breathe, and suddenly you’re flooding your panties.

“This okay?” he asks, his eyes filled with concern and genuine worry, looking for any discomfort in your eyes, desperate for your approval to continue.

You nod, because it’s actually all you can do. He loosens the grip on your throat and begins to pull his hand away as he says “Fuck, if you want me to go on, you’re gonna have to answer me baby.”

You’re quick to bring his hand back on your neck, your head turning left and right in panic, “No! No, please I want it!” you say as he smirks at your desperate state.

“Yeah? Then answer me when I ask you a question baby. You wore this set for me pretty?”

“Just wanted you to notice me, pay attention to me.” You say between kisses.

“And you thought whoring yourself out would be the way to get my attention” he chuckles. “Thought it was a mistake when you flashed me, turns out baby’s just an attention whore.”

He gets off of you and the bed and a whine leaves your throat as he pulls you down by your ankles as your hips reach the foot of your bed in an instant as he begins taking off his glasses.

“No!” you protest. “don’t- don’t take them off, I like them.” You say timidly. He picks you up, flipping your previous position as he seats you on his lap, taking off his hoodie, and you cannot help but stare. You did not know he was SO built and buff, your eyes are practically eating him up as you feel drool building up in your mouth. Oh, you NEED to suck him off right now. And that’s pretty much all it takes for you as you get on your knees for him.

When you look up to him, there is hunger in his eyes, something you’ve never seen before, his gaze full of lust. He can’t remember how many times he’s pictured you like this, on your knees, so innocent, a pathetic expression on your face, waiting for him to give you your next instruction.

Those stupid man whore grey sweatpants, you need them off now.

You fumble with it’s band as you impatiently pull it down, revealing his Calvin Klein boxers, and you clearly have no time for this nonsense, rushing to pull his boxers down as well, all while he looks down on you, leaning back on the bed- hands on either side of him with a big cocky smirk on his face, because he cannot wait to see the next look on your face.

Your face: it’s so transparent, so revealing. It’s literally like you wear your heart on your sleeve. Everything you feel, you think, you want, it’s clear- plain as day on your face. And as soon as you pull his boxers off, there it is- pure amusement and shock, as his dick twitches at the sight of your wide doe eyes. You knew he was big, atleast that’s what you pictured in your nightly scenarios. But you did not know he was this big both in length and in girth as well, his angry tip staring at you, begging for your attention.

“Take your sweater off.” He demands. No pleas, no hesitance. An order. And who would you be to defy him? you teasingly take it off, all while a small smile adorns your lips as you throw the sweater somewhere on the floor alongside his hoodie.

You take his length in your hand, rubbing your thumb over his tip- spreading his pre-cum around it as your eyes go from doe like to those of a siren as they stare straight into his, spitting right on it seductively and oh, he thinks he’s in love. You pump it up and down and fuck- you can’t even completely wrap your hand around it, giving it a little squeeze as you go along, building the tension. But he doesn’t seem too happy about it as he sighs in annoyance. He’s sick of your teasing, because even after his multiple attempts to discipline you, you’ve decided to continue being a brat.

In the blink of an eye, he takes your hand off of him, grabs you by your jaw and squeezes your cheeks between his thumb and fore finger- the rest of the them lying on your jaw, forcing to you part your lips slightly.

“Do you trust me y/n?” he says softly, yet his voice dripping with dominance as you nod.

“Open your mouth, tongue out baby.”

And what he does next takes you by surprise, as he leans down, collecting a glob of spit in his mouth as it drips down from his mouth to yours, making you moan as you close your eyes, feeling the warm liquid on your tongue.

“Swallow.” he says as he caresses your jaw. And his wish is your command; you let out a loud moan as you feel it travel down your throat.

“Good girl. You’ll listen to me now, yeah? No more teasing. I’ve been holding back until now but if you don’t behave, I’ll have to fuck you like the whore you are. Better yet, I’ll eat you out, and get you so so close. I’ll be at it for hours baby, I have no place to be, but I won’t let you cum. So, tell me, you’re gonna be a good girl for me now?”

And all you can do is nod as he smirks, because now, he holds the power over you, and you want him to take over you. Don’t want to think about anything, just do whatever he says. And he can see that, see you fully slipping into subspace.

He holds his dick in his hand, and as your mouth chases his tip, he slaps it against your cheek. All he does is laugh, because you just look so pathetic under him. Tits spilling out of your see through pink lace bra, eyes on the brink of tears, fists balled up in your lap because he won’t let you touch him.

He grabs your hair in a makeshift ponytail and slaps his dick against your other cheek as he says “tap my thigh twice in you wanna stop, okay?” and finally rubs his tip against your lips, parting them immediately as you engulf it in your mouth, sucking on it as if it’s a popsicle, swirling your tongue all around it, making him groan.

Slowly, he pushes his dick in inch by inch until it hits the back of your throat, and its laughable, because half of it still can’t be wrapped around your tiny mouth even though your jaw is doing gymnastics to accommodate half of him and he lets out a loud moan due to the insane pleasure it gives him. Since he won’t let you move yet, enjoying the feeling of cockwarming your mouth too much, you drag your tongue up and down, making him hiss.

Finally, he decides to fuck your throat, sliding your mouth up and down his dick as if your mouth is just a fleshlight for him to use, making your eyes roll back. He starts slow, as to ease you in; but is quick to fasten his pace to meet his needs. But you want to do more, so your hands reach up to play with his balls, and oh does it take him by surprise. All he can do while fucking your mouth is mumble sweet nothings, praising you, telling you how good you’re being letting him use you like this. And his words are working, because at this point your slick is running down your thighs and your cunt is in a desperate need of attention, as you grind it against the heel of your foot and when you look up to him, you don’t think you’ve ever seen anything more beautiful. His glasses lay low on his nose as his head is thrown back in pleasure and his hair is messy, sticking to his forehead due to the sweat; yet his hand is precise is controlling your mouth by your hair. His buff chest heaving desperate for air as his ears and cheek are a pretty shade of pink for you.

Suddenly he looks down to meet your eyes staring at him in lust, and he doesn’t think he’s ever seen anything hotter as he sees you grind against your foot pathetically all whilst he fucks your warm mouth. He can feel the vibration of your mouth as you moan around him, and he thinks he’s in heaven. You look so dirty, spit dribbling down your chin, pupils dilated and red with desire, tears streaming down your cheeks because of how deep he’s hitting it right now. He is just so close, but no way he doesn’t cum in your pussy today, so he pulls you off his dick as you welp, a string of spit connecting your lips to his tip.

“I’ll come in your mouth some other day baby, need to be in you right now.” He says responding to your cute pout as he pulls you up to sit on his lap, your legs on either side of his thigh once again.

His hands travel to your back to undo your bra in an instant as it’s thrown somewhere on the bed behind him. Immediately his mouth is attached to your hardened nipple as you let out a loud moaning, feeling his warm tongue on your cold skin.

“I’m so fucking sick of you parading around in this stupid excuse of a skirt that barely covers your ass y/n.” He says as his hands travel down and under your skirt, making contact with your dripping lace, running his fingers up and down. He can feel your slick on his own thighs.

“Oh? You’re already soaked, baby. But I haven’t even touched you yet, wanna tell me what got you so wet?” he says as he mocks you, still not taking his attention off your breasts, sucking them and marking them up with hickeys all around and all you can do is moan as you dig your nails into his back overwhelmed by the pleasure.

“You’re so sensitive, so responsive. I love it baby, so easy for me. Need you to answer me- what’s got you dripping?” he says as he finds your clothed clit, pressing hard against it over the lace.

He’s being so mean right you. The remnants of tears on your cheeks have barely dried up before you can feel yourself getting teary eyed already.

“You! Want you so bad channie! Been wet for you since you walked in the door.” You cry out desperately.

Finally, he stops teasing your covered pussy and pulls it to the side, inserting two of fingers with no warning making you scream out loud. He’s quick to press his thumb to your clit, flicking it as he pumps his fingers into you, all whilst he’s sucking on your tits. His pace is monstrous from the start, and he shows no signs of stopping as he continues to drive them in you, opening you up preparing you to take his big dick. All you can do is drop your head on his shoulder helplessly, taking what he gives you.

“Ah! So good Chan, so- so- fuck! Right there! Need you!” you say as he repeatedly hits your g-spot all while rubbing your clit.

You’ve lost all track of time. You’ve been so close to cumming ever since you saw him walk through your front door that even the slightest touch could get you to your high, and here Chan was, touching you right where you needed, enlightening all your senses.

“I’m about- gonna- gonna cum dino! Please, let me, oh- please let me cum!” you cry out loud, begging him as he pulls out his fingers in an instant and just like that you’re crying again, dropping your head in the crook of his neck.

“What, don’t cry baby.” He says, voice dripping with fake sympathy, because inside him he knows your tears turn him on even more. His hand reaches the small of your back as he caresses it, attempting to calm you down. “Want you to cum on my cock princess. Think you can do that, yeah? You promised you’d be a good girl for me.”

“I was- I was just so close.” You say timidly between your sniffles.

“It’s okay princess, I’ll make you cum real good on my cock.” He whispers, kissing you tenderly for the first time in the evening, and it makes your heart full, reminding you that in spite of everything, this is the same dino that you see in class every day, polite and sweet and beautiful; but you’re brought back to the present as he pulls away from you, shattering your illusion.

“You wanted my attention so bad y/n, you started it. So, you’re gonna take what you wanted- gonna have to ride me.” He says with a shit eating grin that just makes you so mad right now, but eager to give him what he asks for you get off your lap and begin to take off your skirt.

“Did I ask you to take it off? Still not behaving baby. Keep the skirt on; after all you made such a show of wearing them, wanna fuck you in it. Take off your panties.”

Once the pink garment is off, you sit on his lap again, as he slaps his dick against your poor swollen cunt, running his tip against your entrance.

“You know what to do right? It isn’t your first rodeo after all.” He says as he smiles.

God, he is so cocky. If you didn’t desperately need him in you, you would not put up with it for a second. (you would probably put up with it anyway)

You take his dick in your hand as you hover over it, your pussy clenching over nothing, begging to be filled by him as you insert the tip in him; and that alone is such a stretch for you, your legs might give up then and there. But you are anything but determined. Stubborn. Firm on proving yourself. So, you accept the stretch, stabilising yourself by placing one hand on his wide shoulder while you bottom out completely, burying himself into you in one go making him throw his head back and groan in pleasure as his hands reach out to hold your waist, not letting you escape his grasp.

Slowly but surely, you begin by grinding your hips against them, building up the tension as you try to maintain a steady pace; but dino doesn’t look amused, so you begin to move up and down on him, burying your freshly done nails into his shoulders. His hand moves down as you bounce on him, giving your ass a quick slap before finding it going under your skirt and rubbing your clit, making you gasp out.

“Fuck, lift up your skirt baby.” He says, and you comply- lifting up your skirt with one hand, whilst he continues to toy with your clit and you bounce up and down his dick, showing him the mess you both are making; and he loves it.

You’re so eager to please him, prove yourself to him as you continue to alternate between grinding and moving up and down; but the pleasure is SO overwhelming with his hand on your nub and you don’t think you can last. On top of that, you’ve been working so hard to maintain a steady pace for him, that your thighs are about to give out. And he sees that- sees your movement becoming sloppy and messy, your thighs shaking and your grip tightening on his shoulder.

“Tired, baby?”

Why is he such a tease. And why is he being so mean to you when he knows you’re totally spent. You think you’re going to cry for the third time in the night.

“You know, all you have to do is admit it. And I’ll take over. You know you want me to. I can make you feel so good baby, hit all the right spots and you don’t have to lift a finger.” He whispers in your ear before slapping your ass again as he lifts his hips to meet yours in a sharp thrust, showing you how much better he can make you feel.

“I- I- tired. I’m tired channie! Thighs hurt. P- please!” you say between hiccups as he keeps thrusting into you from beneath.

That’s all he needs to hear, before he’s flipping you on your back without taking himself out of you, pressing a kiss to your lips as he begins to actually fuck you. His hands roam all over you as if he’s trying to memorise every curve and dip. He’s thrusting into you with such a force your tits bounce back and forth with every drive of his hips into you while he mumbles pretty words in your ears.

“Pussy so good baby, absolutely squeezing me. Can’t believe you were letting those stupid guys have this while I was right there. Could’ve made you feel this good all this time. Fuck! Always wanted to bend you over the desk whenever you wore those stupid skirts to class. You know, everyone could see you baby. See how much needy you were. You’re probably just too much a slut to care, no?”

His mouth reaches down to bite your nipple, where you’re already so sensitive that you can’t help but cry out. You look so dumb for his cock right now, your nails are absolutely obliterating his back as your legs wrap around him not letting him go, a chant of his name leaving your lips with each of his movement. All you can hear is the sound of his balls slapping against you and your screams. You’re pretty sure you’ll get complaints from your neighbour tomorrow but who cares; he’s just too good. His thrusts get deeper yet sloppier as you feel him reach between your sweaty bodies and rub your clit in an attempt to get you closer.

“Fuck! Gonna cum baby. Are you close?”

“Yes! Channie fuck, love- love your dick so much! So big, need- I’m almost there!”

And that’s all the motivation he needs before he picks up his pace again, angling himself to hit you exactly at the spot that makes you scream, and before you know it, you feel tears streaming down your face again because of the overstimulation.

“Chan! Gonna cum! Please, please- fuck right there, please wanna cum!”

“Where do you want me princess?”

“In! In me, wanna feel you in me, fill me up! Please, need it in me!” you babble.

And that is all it takes for you to let go. Your eyes roll to the back of your head with a loud whine as your nails dig into him deeper, your back arching- the pleasure taking over you as you see stars in front of your eyes, screaming his name over and over again. It’s like you’re floating- because your body feels numb and completely spent. He feels you clenching so much around his cock as you cum, it’s like you’re milking him, before he’s filling you up full of him too, reaching his high, and he cannot stop. Even after you’re done, you’re still rhythmically squeezing him as he doesn’t stop coming in you. You feel him warm in you, and you honestly never want him to pull out, but unfortunately, he does- leaving you empty as his essence begins to spill out of you.

He gets between your legs, watching a mixture of your cum dripping out of you, admiring his work before he’s collecting it in his fingers, tracing your swollen sensitive centre as he comes up to you, and inserting his fingers in your mouth, while he kisses your tears. You can taste him and yourself on your tongue as you close your eyes, swirling your tongue around his fingers. The sight is so hot to him, his dick twitches against you once again before he’s pulling his fingers out and gently kissing you, as he leaves your bed to bring you a towel.

He lies besides you after he cleans you up as you turn you face each other.

“Sorry if I was too rough, got carried away a bit.” He says as you lay your head on his arm and run your hand through his hair.

“You were so good, I think I need to be a little bitchy again for you to put me in my place.” You say as you kiss him, smiling against his lips.

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nicholasgoodgirl · 8 months ago

Text

that was mean- nicholas

summary: nicholas was having a bad week and gave you the silent treatment.

warning: argument, crying, happy ending

a/n: i couldn't stop thinking abt this no joke. so ofc i had to write it out

from late at night till he left early this morning for work nicholas has been either quiet rude or both.

we haven't spoken to eachother or not even silents acts of love. nothing.

he cut his alarm clock off and i tried to give him a hug before he got out the bed and he pushed me off of him "not right now" he grumbled and got out of bed

when he left for work i said 'bye' to maybe break the silence shared between us, but i got no response. it was starting to get lonely. i missed my bestfriend that was also my boyfriend

i had nobody to mess with or someone to talk to about my day.

to stop these lingering thoughts i go back to bed to maybe get my mind off of things.

i wake up around 8 am which was later than the time i usally woke up around, but today was sorta a lazy day.

it was gloomy not much sun was shining, it rained a little here and there. it was more of a slow day for me so the extra rest was very much needed

i text my boyfriend forgetting about the whole silent treatment ordeal.

me: how's your day going so far?? :)

and to no suprise i was left on delivered and soon left on seen. i messaged him periodically throught the day; hoping that maybe he would reply

it was almost time for dinner which normally nicholas cooks cause he's just better at it, but i didn't know when he was coming home or if he would even do it, so i look up some quick easy recipes and nothing struck my fancy but the pizza recipe. cause how hard could it really be?

i put a packet of yeast into my bowl along with some flour, water, oil, and salt. i let that sit for 30 minutes then im back to cooking again.

spreading flour onto the counter and placing the dough onto it; kneading it into a circle shape. this was harder than i thought

i look around for the marinara sauce and i put it into a different bowl and add a few light seasonings.

i paste that onto the dough, then i sprinkle some alot of cheese onto the pizza and my additional toppings bell peppers, spinach, and mushrooms.

i was so proud of myself especially sense i wasnt the cook, out of me and nicholas. i was really excited for him to try what i made but again i highly doubt he would even eat the food.

i put the pizza away into the oven completely forgetting to set a timer and put on a movie while i wait.

a smell of burning was the first thing that woke me up. "shit shit shit" i repeat totally freaking out remembering i left the pizza in the oven.

i get a rag and ineffectivley wave smoke out the air. when i open the oven it smelled horrible. i was coughing from all the smoke that had entered my lungs.

i take the burning pizza out and throw it into the sink, and hose it down with the water.

thats when i hear the front door open and mentally face palm. "what's that smell?" he asks "i kinda burnt a pizza that i tried to make"

"of course you did" he mutters sounding unimpressed. "and the fuck you mean 'kinda' you obviously did burn a damn pizza" he gestures to the chunk of charcoal burnt pizza

"it's not like i did it on purposes or something if thats what you think" my tone sounding a bit confronting.

"It's smells fucking horrible so open a damn window first off" he took a step closer raising his voice.

"you don't pay for shit so i don't understand why you almost had this place in flames secondly. then you also wanna blow up my phone while im working for crying out loud what do you want from me!" he yelled directly in my face

and im sure he knows by now i hate being yelled at. it's something my parents did and overall doesn't solve anything

i just take it, i didn't wanna fight so i go over to the nearest window and crack it open so the smoke clears.

my eyes watered from all the harsh words he could dish out but not the equal amount of attention "well.. you are- when i was.. ugh s'not my fault" i couldn't get a full sentence out. i felt so belittled in this moment

"im going to bed i don't have time for your stupid ass shit" those words hurt more than he thinks.

he had the most patience for me, always making time for us and now he doesnt.

"that's so mean.. you're being so mean" i wipe some tears that had fallen. i turned away from him silently crying.

the peices of my hair stuck to my tear-soaked cheeks. "wait- I'm sorry please don't cry" nicholas' voice was filled with regret.

i lazily push him away from me but he doesn't budge. his arms wrap around me bringing me into his familiar embrace. "I'm so sorry for being an asshole. I've been having a long shitty week and i know thats not an excuse so you don't even have to forgive me."

"you're everything to me. i swear i didn't mean it." he adds

the unforgettable cruel words he'd said to me earlier shoved ontop of his sweet loving words made me cry more.

i let him hold my trembling body as sobs tore through my chest, each inhale was ragged and uneven.

my hands clutched the material of his shirt "im so sorry sweetheart i never wanna make you cry" he explains in such a low voice, giving my hair strokes in attempt to calm me.

my face still burried into his neck tears now starting to dry away, and my breathing starting to even out. he carried me over to the couch and placed me in his lap

i was drained from all the crying, the tense feeling in my body beginning to melt away when i really started to feel nicholas' touch. my eyes drooped again this time staying shut for longer.

i was too tired to resist the sleep that had tooken over. and being cradled in his arms didn't help.

"I'll order pizza for the both of us alright?" he took me off of his lap and placed me on our couch. then lays one of our throw blankets ontop of me. "can we talk in the mornin'?" is the last thing i remember asking before dozing off.

a/n: can yall tell idk how to make pizza

#nicholas alexander chavez #nicholas chavez x reader #nicholas chavez #nicholas chavez fluff

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glitterypinkconverse · 2 years ago

Text

─ ⊹ ⊱ IN THE HEAT OF IT ALL

e-42!miles x fem!reader

summary after having an argument with miles, you get mad as to why he always brings up your plushies while you guys are arguing. so, you threw them all away.

request by @friedturtlewhispers ! i accidentally posted this without writing actual story, so sorry your request got deleted 😭

a/n this is a continuation of the 42!miles headcanon from these headcanons! i’m a sucker for angst so ofc i has to write this 🤷‍♀️

warnings angst to fluff, cursing

“Ma, you’re the one who sleeps with stuffed animals at night.”

You two have been fighting over God knows what for at least 30 minutes, and whenever he brought up the fact that you sleep with stuffed animals at night pisses you off. You scoffed, stuck your middle finger up at him, and went to his doorway.

“Fuck you, Miles.” That was all you said before you walked out of his bedroom, and out his apartment door.

New York at night was chilly, so as you left the building you silently cursed to yourself. You forgot your jacket again, as it was hot during the day but then it cooled down. Luckily, your apartment building was only a block away, so it wasn’t that bad of a walk.

His words still rang through your head. That was his only comeback nowadays ever since he found out. You thought he hated it, for how much he teased you about sleeping with the stuffed animals. But secretly, though he would never admit it, he found it cute that you do. It made him happy seeing you happy, although you weren’t feeling it right now.

You thought actually sleeping with them bothered him, so as your mind was overflowing with rage, you did the petty thing.

You threw them all away.

Well, not really. You just stuffed them all in a bag and put it in your closet. But, it felt like you did because your once overfilled bed was now empty, the only thing on it was your clothes, pillows, and obvious blankets.

Your phone was blowing from texts and calls from Miles. You looked over at it and rolled your eyes. You put your phone on do not disturb, charged it, and then got in bed. All you needed right now was some rest, so you closed your eyes and tried to fall asleep. Though, it was hard without at least one thing to hold.

Miles on the other hand, was freaking out. He was pacing around his room angrily, you guys never ended on bad terms. You would always make up, because he knew how important it was for you to have closure. He wanted to make this relationship work, and right now he felt like he was failing it.

“Pick up the phone, Y/N,” he mumbled, silently cursing everytime it went straight to voicemail. He groaned and left his room, saying a quick goodbye to his mom before leaving the apartment.

He walked, practically ran to your apartment where he barged in because you forgot to lock the door. Your parents were out on a work trip right now, so he reminded himself to scold you later on this. But for now, his only priority was to set things right and make it up to you.

He slowly opened your bedroom door, from the light being off he figured you were asleep. That was all until you turned around to look at the light that was entering your room, and groaned when you saw Miles standing in your doorway. “Fuck off.”

He scoffed and made his way towards you, “That’s no way to talk to me, now is it?” He joked, though you weren’t having it.

“What the hell are you doing here, Miles.” You turned away from him, so he couldn’t see the anger that was still looming on your face.

“Whatchu think I’m here for? I’m here to make it up to you. We’re not leaving on bad terms, and I swear by that.”

You didn’t respond, and that left Miles quiet. He observed the position you were in, and noticed your bed looked different.

“Ma, where’s all your stuffed animals?” He asked, concern in his voice. He shuffled around your bed, looking over you and looking at the end of your bed.

“Gone,” you mumbled. He paused in his tracks, looking over at you even though you couldn’t see him. Your back was facing the wall, so he immediately turned you around to face him.

“Fuck you mean gone?”

“I mean, gone, Miles. Like, they’re not here.” He was shocked, you loved those things more than anything. He looked around your room, for any sign of them.

None.

“I’ll be right back,” he mumbled before hurrying out of the room. You rolled your eyes and turned around in your bed again, feeling slightly bad that you lied to him.

However, Miles was going to the nearest store to get you something. He walked down the aisles of the store, searching for the perfect plushie. He grimaced at all of them, as they all looked unintentionally creepy. He decided on a pink teddy bear, as it looked the most tame and he knew how much you liked teddy bears. He went up to the register and paid for it, then rushed back to your apartment.

You were almost asleep when he barged in once again and sat on your bed. “Turn around.” When you didn’t, he turned you around himself and what you saw in his hands shocked you.

You sat up to face him, you didn’t expect him to buy you a teddy bear. You took it from his hands, admiring it slightly. “I’m sorry, Y/N. Y’know, I actually find it cute how you sleep with these.” You looked up at him and smiled, then fell into his arms.

“It’s alright, I guess. Thanks for the bear,” he hummed in response, to which you continued, “there’s a bag in my closet, do you think you can get it?” He pulled away slightly and raised an eyebrow at you, watching as you giggled against his chest.

He peeled away from you and walked to your closet, silently cursing when he saw the bag full of stuffed animals. “You’re full of shit, y’know that right?”

You laughed as he threw the bag at you, you throwing one of your pillows back at him in response. “You loooove me though.”

He walked back to your bed and put the pillow you threw at him back on the bed, and laid down with you. “You got one thing right,” he said as you adjusted in his arms.

“Oh, and also, don’t forget to lock your door. Can’t let anyone taking m’ girl away.”

“Go to sleep, Miles.”

TAGS ↣ @xx-all-purpose-nerd-xx

#across the spiderverse #spider man: across the spider verse #x reader #miles molares #atsv #miles morales x reader #spiderman atsv #42 miles morales #earth 42 miles morales x reader #earth 42 miles x reader #earth 42 miles morales #earth 42 #miles g morales #miles morales fanfiction #earth 42 miles x you #earth 42 miles

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dearlenore · 1 month ago

Text

COCONUT MILK. / A.HOTCHNER / SUMMARY - Aaron can’t look away from your chest …

PAIRING: bimbo!reader x aaron hotchner / w/c: 1.0k / fluff

a/n: sorry for writing about boobs so much in only human and very very gay. also first time writing for Hotch, I write for all characters now btw

You were a vision in glitter.

From your sparkly flip-flops to your floral bikini top that left very little to the imagination, you looked like you belonged on the cover of a beach magazine—or maybe in a pop star’s music video. With oversized sunglasses, glossy lips, and a floppy hat so big it could cause shade envy, you were definitely not blending in.

And yet, walking beside you, in a plain black t-shirt, swim trunks, and a face that screamed “I’d rather be anywhere else”—was Aaron Hotchner.

The contrast between you two was almost hilarious. People were definitely staring. A few whispered. One guy even elbowed his friend and pointed. Hotch didn’t react.

You bounced along the sand with excitement, juggling three oversized tote bags and an obnoxiously pink beach umbrella while sipping from your tumbler like it was a wine glass at brunch.

“Okay, okay, hold on,” you said, stopping suddenly. “This spot is so cute! You can see the water and the people, but we’re like, just far enough not to get splashed. Also, the lighting? Chef’s kiss. Perfect for selfies.”

Hotch blinked behind his sunglasses. “That was a lot of criteria.”

“And yet I delivered,” you grinned.

He took the umbrella from you and stabbed it into the sand with the ease of a man trained in all things practical. You laid out your fluffy beach towel—naturally, it was baby pink with glittery flamingos—and flopped down onto it dramatically like you’d just completed a triathlon.

Hotch sat beside you, crossing his arms, watching the water.

You looked him over shamelessly. “You’re not even sweating. That’s kind of hot.”

He raised an eyebrow, not responding, but his mouth twitched slightly like he was trying very hard not to smile.

You rummaged through your tote bag and pulled out a bottle of shimmery sunscreen. “Alright, Hotch. Time to do your civic duty.”

He glanced at the bottle. “What?”

You turned your back to him, letting your hair fall to the side, revealing smooth skin and the bow tied at the back of your bikini. “My back, please.”

He hesitated for just a moment before taking the bottle. “You own sunscreen with glitter?”

“It’s called Summer Seduction SPF 30, and it works really well,” you said. “Plus it smells like cotton candy and fruit.”

He gave the bottle a skeptical look, then uncapped it. You bit back a smirk.

His hands were warm—firm but gentle as they spread the lotion across your back and shoulders. You hummed in satisfaction, leaning into the touch.

“Mmm… You know, for a stoic FBI unit chief, you’re, like, really good at this.”

“I’ve had to apply sunscreen to Jack more times than I can count,” he replied, tone even.

“You comparing me to a kid?”

“No,” he said. And then after a pause: “Only you ever moaned when I did this.”

You froze mid-breath, then looked over your shoulder, eyes wide. “Aaron!”

A smirk was tugging at the corner of his mouth now.

“You’re teasing me.”

“Maybe.”

You turned back around quickly, trying to hide your grin—and your flush. Your heart was fluttering just a little too fast for comfort.

When he finished, he leaned back on his elbows beside you, and you flopped onto your stomach, kicking your feet lazily in the air.

“I brought snacks,” you said after a minute. “And a mini fan. Oh—and cherry lip balm.”

He turned to look at you, and unfortunately—or maybe very fortunately—your cleavage was front and center thanks to the way your bikini fit and how you were leaning forward on your elbows.

His eyes flicked down.

It was quick. Almost imperceptible.

But you saw it.

You said nothing at first. Just smiled and tucked your hair behind your ear, pretending to be oblivious. And then, very sweetly:

“Do you want some lip balm? It tastes really good.”

“I don’t need lip balm.”

“But it’s cherry. Don’t you wanna match me?” you teased, applying it slowly, dragging it across your lips with deliberate slowness.

His jaw tightened. “You’re doing that on purpose.”

You smiled innocently. “Doing what, Hotch?”

He turned away, shaking his head, but you didn’t miss the slight flush on his ears. Victory.

A little while later, after a few selfies and a brief period of you trying to get him to pose with you (he refused, though he did agree to hold your phone while you posed), you ended up sprawled next to each other on the towel, staring up at the umbrella.

“So,” you said lightly, “be honest. This isn’t that bad, right?”

“It’s… peaceful.”

You smiled. “I’m taking that as a glowing review.”

He tilted his head slightly toward you, his voice quieter. “I like when it’s just us.”

Your heart did a little somersault.

“Aaron Hotchner,” you said dramatically, pressing a hand to your chest, “you keep this up and I’m gonna start thinking you like me.”

He looked at you for a long moment, his sunglasses now pushed up onto his head, revealing his eyes. They were dark, serious—but soft, too.

“I do like you.”

Your smile faltered. “Wait. Seriously?”

“I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t.”

You blinked, thrown off balance. “Okay, but like, I thought I was annoying. You know, glittery. Talkative. High-maintenance?”

“You are.”

“Wow. Rude.”

“But you’re also smart. Kind. Funny. You make me breathe,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t do that enough.”

You didn’t know what to say to that. Your brain short-circuited for a moment. Your glittery tumbler tipped over onto the towel and you barely noticed.

You swallowed. “You’re gonna make me cry and ruin my waterproof mascara, you know that?”

He smiled, reaching out to brush a speck of sand from your cheek. “You’ll survive.”

You cleared your throat, desperate to bring back the playful tone before your heart exploded. “Okay, but, real talk—would you still like me if I got a glittery surfboard?”

“Absolutely not.”

“I could match it to my bikini!”

“No.”

“…What about a glittery boogie board?”

He closed his eyes, like he was begging for patience from the heavens. “Please don’t make me arrest you for crimes against water sports.”

You laughed and leaned your head on his shoulder, sighing happily.

And even though he was probably overheating in his black shirt and completely out of his element, Hotch didn’t move away.

Instead, he brought one hand to rest over yours and gave it a gentle squeeze.

#criminal minds #x reader #aaron hotchner #fanfic #aaron hotch x reader #criminal minds fluff #cm #fluff

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ghstyles · 1 month ago

Text

Ethics | His Angel

· · ─────────────────────── · ·

Pairing: College!Yn x CrimeBossl!Harry

WC: 5k

Summery: You interview Harry for your business ethics class. Desperate times call for desperate measures. Hope you know how to sugarcoat

His Angel Masterlist

· · ─────────────────────── · ·

The phone's vibration pulls Harry from a light sleep.

He never sleeps deeply, years of survival instinct ensuring he remains aware of his surroundings even in rest. His hand moves automatically to the gun beneath his pillow before his brain registers the custom ringtone.

Y/N.

A spike of adrenaline hits his system as he answers immediately, mind cycling through worst-case scenarios.

"What's wrong?" he demands, already sitting up, calculating how quickly he can get to you.

Your voice comes through, not panicked or frightened, but rushed and slightly frantic in a different way.

"Yes, I'm calling at three am. Don't ask why I'm still awake," you begin without preamble. "Anyways, I checked my assignment last minute thinking I can do it in an hour. It turns out I have to interview someone in business. It's due tomorrow. Please save me."

Harry blinks once in the darkness of his bedroom, processing. The tension in his shoulders eases slightly, but irritation quickly replaces concern.

"Let me understand this," he says slowly, voice rough with interrupted sleep. "You called me at three in the morning because you need...a business interview."

He runs a hand through his hair, glancing at the clock on his nightstand. The red digits confirm the ungodly hour.

"Christ, Y/N. I thought you were hurt," he mutters, but there's more relief than anger in his tone.

You make a pleading sound on the other end of the line.

"I'm sorry! I know it's late, but I'm desperate. The assignment is worth like 30% of my grade and I completely forgot about the interview part until now and—"

"Breathe," he interrupts, already swinging his legs over the side of the bed. "What exactly do you need from me?"

Your sigh of relief is audible.

"Just answers to some basic questions about running a business. Challenges, opportunities, that kind of thing. I can make it quick, I promise."

Harry glances at his watch, calculating.

"I'll be at your place in twenty minutes," he decides. "Have coffee ready."

"Wait, really? You're coming over?" Your surprise is evident.

"Did you want to do this over the phone?" he asks dryly.

"No! No, coming over is perfect. Thank you! I'll make coffee."

Harry ends the call and stands, stretching briefly before reaching for clothes. As he dresses, he shakes his head slightly, wondering when exactly he became the type of man who would leave his bed at three in the morning to help with homework.

Only for you, he thinks.

Fifteen minutes later, his car pulls up outside your apartment building. The streets are empty, the city quiet in these early morning hours. His security team follows at a discreet distance, used to their boss's unpredictable schedule when it comes to you.

As he walks toward your building, he's already mentally editing his business history into something that won't implicate him in multiple felonies. Some truths can be told while some must remain buried.

Either way, he's certain this will be the most interesting business interview your professor has ever received.

The soft knock at your door comes sooner than expected. When you swing it open, Harry stands in the hallway looking surprisingly put-together for 3:20 AM with dark jeans and a black sweater that clings to his shoulders, hair slightly tousled but intentionally so. The only sign of the hour is the faint shadow along his jaw where stubble is beginning to form.

Before he can speak, you launch yourself at him, arms wrapping around his neck.

"Hey you! My wonderful, spectacular, brilliant, handsome boyfriend," you gush with exaggerated enthusiasm, the words tumbling out in a caffeinated rush.

Harry catches you easily, one arm wrapping around your waist while the other hand moves to steady himself against the doorframe. His expression shifts from mild annoyance to reluctant amusement.

"Laying it on a bit thick, aren't we?" he murmurs, but his arm tightens around you nonetheless. "How much coffee have you had already?"

He steps inside, guiding you backward and closing the door behind him with his foot. His eyes scan your apartment automatically, a security check that's become a habit, before settling back on you.

You're wearing pajama shorts and an oversized university sweatshirt, your hair piled messily on top of your head. Textbooks and papers are scattered across your small dining table, your laptop open and surrounded by empty energy drink cans.

"Three cups and two Red Bulls," you admit sheepishly, releasing him to gesture toward the kitchen. "But I made you the good coffee. The expensive one you brought over last time."

Harry takes in your frazzled appearance. The dark circles under your eyes, the slightly manic energy in your movements. His expression softens fractionally.

"When's the last time you slept?" he asks, following you to the kitchen where a fresh mug of coffee waits.

You wave dismissively at the question.

"Sleep is for people who don't have a business ethics paper due at noon. I can sleep after I turn it in."

Harry accepts the coffee, taking a sip as he leans against your counter. He watches you over the rim of the mug, something like fond exasperation in his gaze.

"So," he says after a moment, "what exactly am I being interviewed about at this hour?"

You grab your notebook and pen, suddenly all business despite your disheveled appearance.

"Business ethics, leadership challenges, how you handle competition, your five-year growth strategy," you list off rapidly. "Oh, and don't worry, I'm using a pseudonym for you in the paper. Professor Johnson will never know I interviewed the most feared man in the city's underground."

You deliver this last part with a wink, as if it's a joke, but Harry's expression doesn't change.

"Thoughtful of you," he responds dryly. "Shall we begin before the sun rises?"

You settle on your small couch, notebook ready, while Harry takes the armchair across from you. The coffee mug looks almost comically delicate in his large hands.

"Okay, so for the paper, I'll be interviewing..." you pause dramatically, flipping to a fresh page in your notebook, "Mr. Bartholomew Whiskerton, CEO of Cuddly Kitten Enterprises."

Harry's expression freezes mid-sip of his coffee. He slowly lowers the mug, his eyes narrowing dangerously.

"Absolutely not," he says flatly.

You bite back a grin, enjoying his reaction.

"What? It's a great cover! No one will ever connect it to you."

"Because it's ridiculous," he counters, setting the mug down with deliberate control. "I'm not being quoted in your academic paper as 'Bartholomew Whiskerton.'"

You tap your pen against your notebook thoughtfully.

"Fine. How about... Duncan Powers? That sounds businessy."

Harry's expression remains unimpressed.

"That sounds like a porn star."

You laugh, the sound bright in the early morning quiet of your apartment.

"You would know," you tease, earning a dangerous look that only widens your smile. "Okay, okay. Sebastian Reynolds?"

Harry considers this for a moment, then shakes his head.

"Too pretentious. Even for me."

You huff dramatically, flopping back against the couch cushions.

"You're so picky! It's just a name for a paper no one except my professor will read."

"A paper about business ethics," Harry reminds you pointedly. "Starting with a completely fabricated identity seems...counterintuitive."

Your eyes roll skyward.

"Says the man who probably has seven different passports."

Harry doesn't confirm or deny this accusation, which is answer enough.

"James," he says after a moment. "James Harrington. Simple, forgettable, professional."

You consider the suggestion, head tilted.

"James Harrington," you repeat, testing it out. "Fine, but he needs a middle name. James H. Harrington sounds more official."

Harry sighs, rubbing a hand over his face.

"It's three-thirty in the morning, and we're debating fictional middle initials."

You lean forward eagerly.

"I'm thinking 'H' for Hector. Or maybe Horatio?"

The look Harry gives you could freeze fire.

"H for Harry," he says with finality. "James Harry Harrington. Now can we please start the actual interview before I reconsider my life choices?"

You grin triumphantly, scribbling the name at the top of your page.

"See? That wasn't so hard. Mr. J.H. Harrington it is.And considering all that you do, this, shouldn’t be what makes you reconsider life choices. Just last week you…” You take a breath, “you know what? None of my business. Let’s start”

Harry's eyes narrow at your comment, the humor in his expression fading slightly. There's a moment of silence as he studies you across the small space between your seats.

Harry sets his coffee mug down slowly, that calculating look in his eyes.

"No, please," he says, voice deceptively soft. "Continue that thought. Last week I what, exactly?"

You clear your throat, suddenly very interested in organizing your interview notes.

"Nothing. First question! What would you say are the biggest ethical challenges facing business leaders today?"

Harry doesn't take the bait, his gaze unwavering.

"Last week I had three men taken to the warehouse for questioning about missing product," he supplies calmly, as if discussing the weather. "Is that what you were referring to? Or perhaps the negotiation with the Italians about the new territory lines?"

His tone remains conversational, but there's an edge to it. Not anger, but a reminder of exactly who and what he is.

"I'm reconsidering my life choices because I'm sitting in a college apartment at half past three, helping with homework, when I should be sleeping before my meeting with the harbor commissioner at seven."

He leans forward, elbows on his knees, closing some of the distance between you.

"Yet…you came" you say softly in a way that sounded like a question.

"Because you called."

There's something unexpectedly vulnerable in that simple statement. An admission that carries more weight than any declaration.

Your expression softens, the teasing fading into something more genuine.

"Thank you," you say quietly. "I really do appreciate it, Harry."

He holds your gaze for a moment longer, then leans back, picking up his coffee again.

"Now," he says, voice returning to its usual controlled tone, "I believe Mr. J.H. Harrington has an interview to complete before sunrise, or his very sleep-deprived girlfriend will fail her business ethics class."

You smile gratefully at the shift back to safer territory, picking up your pen.

"Right. First question for the distinguished Mr. Harrington: What would you say is the biggest ethical challenge facing business leaders today?"

Harry's lips quirk slightly as he considers the question, slipping effortlessly into the role of legitimate businessman.

"Balancing profit motives with social responsibility," he answers smoothly, as if he's given this response at actual business conferences. "The pressure to deliver quarterly results often conflicts with long-term sustainable practices."

You blink, surprised by how convincingly normal his answer sounds.

"Wow, that was actually good," you comment, scribbling it down. "Have you been practicing legitimate business speak?"

Harry's expression remains perfectly serious, but there's a glint in his eye.

"I attend chamber of commerce meetings every third Thursday, angel. Bring donuts and everything."

The deadpan delivery makes you snort with laughter, the earlier tension completely dissolved as you continue the interview, Harry crafting increasingly plausible answers for your paper while carefully omitting any details that might raise eyebrows—or federal investigations.

Looking at the next question, you snort, “this one might be hard to sugarcoat. How do you handle managing difficult employees or conflicts within your team?“

Harry takes another sip of his coffee, a dangerous amusement flickering in his eyes at your question. He sets the mug down deliberately, considering his answer.

"How do I handle difficult employees," he repeats slowly, as if testing the words.

You bite your lip to suppress a laugh, knowing exactly what's going through his mind. The images of concrete rooms, of Marco and his particular set of persuasion skills, of the rumors you've heard whispered about what happens to those who cross Harry Styles.

"Yes, Mr. Harrington," you prompt innocently. "Your conflict resolution strategies. For the paper."

Harry leans back in the chair, stretching his long legs out in front of him. The early morning light filtering through your blinds casts shadows across his face, highlighting the sharp angles of his features.

"I believe in clear communication of expectations," he begins, his voice taking on that smooth, professional cadence that would be perfectly at home in any boardroom. "When someone joins my...organization, they understand precisely what's required of them."

He pauses, choosing his next words carefully.

"Conflicts typically arise from misunderstandings or competing priorities. I address these directly, one-on-one, rather than allowing tensions to fester."

You raise an eyebrow, scribbling notes.

"And if direct conversations don't resolve the issue?" you press, unable to help yourself.

A cold smile touches Harry's lips.

"Then more decisive action becomes necessary," he replies smoothly. "Sometimes people need to be...reassigned to positions better suited to their capabilities."

You snort softly. "Is that what we're calling it now?"

Harry's expression doesn't change, but his eyes hold a warning.

"For your paper? Yes, that's exactly what we're calling it," he says pointedly. "I find that most workplace conflicts can be resolved through clear consequences for underperformance."

You're still writing, struggling to translate mob boss tactics into corporate language.

"In extreme cases," Harry continues unprompted, "separation from the company becomes the only viable solution. I don't believe in maintaining relationships that no longer serve mutual interests."

You look up from your notebook, meeting his gaze.

"That's actually...not terrible business advice," you admit. "Though I'm guessing your definition of 'separation from the company' is a bit more permanent than a severance package."

Harry's expression remains impassive, but there's a hint of appreciation in his eyes for your quick mind, for the way you don't flinch from what he is.

"Write that I prioritize team cohesion over individual egos," he suggests, redirecting slightly. "And that I reward loyalty and results equally."

You nod, adding his suggestions to your notes.

"So basically, do your job well, don't cause problems, and stay loyal, or you'll be 'reassigned' to a position six feet underground," you summarize quietly, a ghost of a smile playing at your lips. "Very ethical, Mr. Harrington."

"It's a competitive industry," Harry replies with perfect deadpan delivery. "Only the most dedicated professionals survive."

“Speaking of competitive industry” you roll the eraser on your chin, trying to pick a question that can be sugar coated, “What strategies do you use to stay ahead of your competitors and how do you differentiate your business from others in the same industry?”

Harry shifts slightly in his seat, a predatory gleam entering his eyes at the mention of competition. This is a topic that clearly interests him and perhaps too much for your academic paper.

"What strategies do I use to stay ahead of competitors," he repeats thoughtfully, running a finger along the rim of his coffee mug.

You watch him carefully, aware that you're treading into territory where his actual business practices might be difficult to translate into acceptable corporate strategy.

"Market research," he begins after a moment, his voice taking on that smooth, professional tone again. "Understanding what others are offering and identifying gaps they've overlooked."

You scribble this down, nodding encouragingly.

"I maintain a comprehensive intelligence network," he continues, choosing each word with precision. "Information is power in any industry. Knowing your competitors' moves before they make them gives you an undeniable advantage."

You look up from your notebook, raising an eyebrow.

"Intelligence network? Is that what we're calling Marco and his guys who hang out in bars listening for gossip?"

Harry's expression doesn't change, but there's a warning in his eyes.

"For your paper, yes," he says pointedly. "Industry analysis and strategic information gathering."

You press your lips together to suppress a smile and continue writing.

"As for differentiation," Harry continues without prompting, "exclusivity and reputation are key. My business provides services that others simply cannot, or will not, offer. Our clients understand that working with us means a certain level of...commitment and discretion they won't find elsewhere."

You pause in your writing, pen hovering over the page.

"So...unique value proposition and customer loyalty," you translate, looking to him for confirmation.

Harry inclines his head slightly, the ghost of a smile touching his lips.

"Precisely. We also maintain strong relationships with key stakeholders across various sectors, ensuring smoother operations."

"Stakeholders," you repeat dryly. "Like Judge Reynolds who mysteriously dismissed those charges last month?"

Harry's expression remains perfectly neutral.

"Strategic partnerships," he corrects smoothly. "Write that I emphasize the importance of a robust network across complementary industries."

You add this to your notes, shaking your head slightly.

"Anything else about your competitive strategy, Mr. Harrington? Perhaps your approach to mergers and acquisitions?" you ask, unable to resist the double meaning.

Something dangerous flashes in Harry's eyes, but it's gone so quickly you might have imagined it.

"I prefer organic growth to hostile takeovers," he says, his voice dropping slightly lower. "Though when presented with a particularly valuable opportunity, I'm not opposed to aggressive expansion."

He leans forward, elbows on his knees.

"The most important differentiator, however, is reputation," he adds, his tone suddenly serious. "In business, your word must be unbreakable. When I make a promise to clients, to partners, to employees, it's kept. That reliability is rare in any industry."

You look up from your writing, struck by the sincerity in his voice. This, at least, isn't a translation but rather a genuine principle he lives by, criminal enterprise or not.

"That's actually...really good," you admit, finishing your notes. "Professor Johnson is going to think I made you up."

Harry shrugs smugly

You flip to the next page of your notebook, stifling a yawn despite the caffeine coursing through your system. Harry watches you, noting the fatigue beginning to show in your movements.

"I think that's it but I'll ask a few more just in case I don't meet the word count," you explain, scanning your list of questions.

You look up at him, mentally bracing yourself.

"So, uh... how would you define ethical leadership?"

Harry's carefully constructed business persona seems to slip slightly. He leans back in the chair, something cynical flickering across his expression.

"Ethical leadership," he repeats, a hint of dark amusement in his voice. "In my world? It means not killing someone unless they deserve it."

Your pen freezes mid-air.

"Harry..."

He shrugs unapologetically.

"You wanted honesty. Ethics are relative, angel. I have my own code. I don't hurt innocents. I don't deal with children. I keep my word. More than most 'legitimate' businessmen can say."

He takes a sip of his coffee, now gone cold.

"Politicians take bribes to let corporations poison water supplies. Banks foreclose on families while paying their CEOs millions. At least I'm honest about what I am."

You sigh, trying to formulate a way to translate this into something you can actually include in your paper.

"Okay, let's try this. What's the hardest leadership decision you've had to make?"

Harry's expression darkens, his eyes growing distant.

"Killing Michael Hayes," he answers without hesitation. "He was like a brother to me. Taught me everything when I was just a kid on the streets. But he was skimming money, selling information to the Russians."

He says this so matter-of-factly that a chill runs down your spine despite your familiarity with his world.

"I did it myself. Owed him that much. Quick, clean. More mercy than he deserved for the betrayal, but..." he trails off, then refocuses on you. "That's leadership. Doing the necessary thing, even when it breaks something in you."

You stare at him, pen completely forgotten. These glimpses into his past and into the events that shaped him are rare and always unsettling.

"Where do you see your business in five years?" you ask quietly, trying to move to safer ground.

Harry's laugh is short and without humor.

"Alive," he says simply. "In my line of work, five-year plans are a luxury. I see myself either expanding to the east side, or dead. There's not much middle ground."

He notices your expression and something in his face softens slightly.

"But if you're asking what I want..." he continues, surprising you, "I want enough security that I don't have to look over my shoulder every minute. Enough power that no one would dare come after what's mine."

His eyes meet yours, and there's something unexpectedly vulnerable in them.

"Maybe a place on the coast. Somewhere quiet. With you." The admission seems to surprise even him. "That's assuming I don't get shot or arrested first."

The casual way he references his potential violent death or imprisonment hangs in the air between you, a stark reminder of the reality of his existence and by extension, yours as his partner.

"Write whatever sanitized version of that you need for your paper," he adds, his walls coming back up. "I don't imagine Professor Johnson wants the unvarnished truth."

The sudden shift catches Harry off-guard.

One moment answering questions, the next with an armful of you. His body tenses briefly in surprise before relaxing, arms wrapping around your waist automatically.

You climb into his lap and bury your face against his neck, saying nothing but holding onto him fiercely. The warm, familiar scent of his cologne envelops you. Expensive and subtle, mixed with something that's just him.

For a moment, Harry remains still, processing your reaction. Then one hand moves to the back of your head, fingers threading gently through your hair while the other arm tightens around you, securing you against him.

"What's this for?" he asks quietly, his voice a low rumble you can feel against your cheek.

You don't answer, just hold him tighter, overwhelmed by the casual way he spoke about his own mortality about a future that might include you, or might end abruptly in violence.

Harry seems to understand your silence. His hand continues its gentle movement through your hair, a soothing rhythm that contrasts with the dangerous life he described moments ago.

"Hey," he murmurs against your temple, his voice softer than it ever is with anyone else. "I'm still here."

The simple statement acknowledges everything unsaid between you. The danger, the uncertainty, the reality of loving someone who lives with death as a constant companion.

For several minutes, you stay like this, the early morning silence of your apartment broken only by the sound of your breathing and the occasional distant car passing outside. Harry holds you patiently, his usual restless energy contained, giving you whatever time you need.

One of his hands moves to trace gentle patterns along your spine, and you feel him press a kiss to your hair. A rare tenderness he shows to no one but you.

"I shouldn't have said that," he finally offers, his voice low. "About being dead or arrested. It was...unnecessary."

You can count on one hand the number of times Harry Styles has come close to an apology. This is as near as he gets to an acknowledgment that his words affected you in a way he didn't intend.

His fingers find your chin, tilting your face up to meet his gaze. His eyes search yours, more open than they've been all night.

"That place on the coast," he says quietly. "I meant that part."

"What if I hate the ocean?" you mumble against his chest, trying and failing to keep a straight face.

His eyebrow arches slightly, calling your bluff. He studies your face for a moment, catching the telltale twitch at the corners of your mouth. His expression remains serious, but something playful enters his eyes

"Bullshit," he says simply, his thumb tracing the curve of your jaw. "You've got that painting of the coast in your bedroom. You wear that shell necklace your grandmother gave you. You fall asleep to those ridiculous ocean sound recordings."

The fact that he's noticed these details, small things about you that most people would overlook, makes something warm unfurl in your chest.

"Besides," he continues, his voice dropping lower, "I've seen your face when you talk about the beach house your family rented that summer. Your eyes light up."

His hand slides to the nape of your neck, fingers tangling in your hair.

"But if you've suddenly developed a hatred for ocean views and sea air," he adds with mock seriousness, "I suppose I could consider a mountain cabin. Somewhere remote. Defensible position. Good sightlines."

You roll your eyes at his tactical assessment of romantic getaway locations.

"Of course you'd evaluate a vacation home based on its defensive capabilities," you tease, some of the earlier tension dissolving.

Harry's lips quirk in that rare, genuine smile.

"Old habits," he admits, then adds more softly, "But I'd make sure it had a good kitchen. Those windows you like. Space for your books."

The casual way he includes these details about your preferences and things that matter to you, reveals more than any grand declaration could. Harry Styles notices everything, catalogs it away, uses the information to protect what's his. But sometimes, like now, he uses it simply to make you happy.

"I'd still need to come back to the city for business," he adds, his tone shifting back to something more practical. "But a place just for us...somewhere no one could find us unless we wanted them to..."

His eyes grow distant for a moment, as if he's actually visualizing this future. A safe haven away from the violence and chaos of his world.

Then his gaze refocuses on you, something possessive and tender mingling in his expression.

"Don't pretend you hate the ocean, angel," he murmurs, leaning closer. "You're a terrible liar."

"It's rude to call your girlfriend a liar," you mumble indignantly, settling more comfortably against him. "Were you absent that week from boyfriend school?"

Harry's chest rumbles with a low chuckle, the sound vibrating against your cheek as you rest your head on him. His fingers continue their gentle path through your hair, occasionally massaging your scalp in a way that makes you want to purr like a cat

His arm tightens around you, adjusting your position slightly so you fit more perfectly against him. The expensive fabric of his sweater is soft against your cheek.

"Boyfriend school," he repeats dryly. "Must have missed that lesson between 'How to Intimidate Rival Organizations' and 'Advanced Weapons Handling.'"

You make a small sound of amusement against his chest.

"I never attended boyfriend school," he continues, his voice a low rumble beneath your ear. "Had to figure it out as I went. No instruction manual for dating a college student when you're..." he pauses, searching for the right words, "...in my line of work."

His hand shifts to trace lazy patterns along your spine, the gentle touch at odds with the dangerous man delivering it.

"Though I'm fairly certain rule number one is 'don't wake your boyfriend at three in the morning for homework help,'" he adds, but there's no real reproof in his tone.

You tilt your head to look up at him, finding his expression softer than usual in the dim light of your apartment.

"And yet here you are," you point out quietly. "Helping with homework at three in the morning."

Something passes across his face. A flicker of surprise, as if he's just realized the same thing. Harry Styles, feared mob boss, holding his girlfriend in the early hours, discussing ethical leadership for a college paper.

"Here I am," he agrees, a note of wonder barely detectable in his voice.

His hand comes up to brush a strand of hair from your face, the gesture unexpectedly tender.

"Maybe I need to reevaluate what makes me dangerous," he murmurs, more to himself than to you. "Agreeing to be interviewed as Bartholomew Whiskerton seems like a significant weakness."

You can't help the laugh that escapes you, the sound bright in the quiet apartment.

"It was James Harry Harrington, and you know it," you correct, poking his chest accusingly. "Don't pretend you forgot."

His lips quirk upward, that rare, genuine smile making another appearance.

"How could I forget the distinguished Mr. Harrington?" he asks, his voice taking on that smooth, professional tone he used during the interview. "CEO of...what was it again? Legitimate Business Ventures, Inc.?"

You giggle, the sound slightly slurred with fatigue now that the adrenaline of your academic panic is wearing off.

"You're ridiculous," you tell him, stifling a yawn.

Harry's expression shifts to something more assessing as he notices your fatigue.

"And you're exhausted," he observes, his hand resuming its gentle stroking of your hair. "Did you get any of that paper written before you called me?"

Harry watches as you fight to keep your eyes open, your words slurring with exhaustion. Your head grows heavier against his chest as you lose the battle with consciousness.

"Gonna...do that...now," you mumble through a yawn, even as your eyes drift closed.

He feels your body relaxing against him, your breathing beginning to slow and deepen. A ghost of a smile touches his lips. Something no one else would ever see.

"Of course you are," he murmurs, his voice soft with an affection he shows to no one but you.

For a few minutes, he simply holds you, one hand continuing its gentle path through your hair while the other secures you against him. The first pale light of dawn has begun to filter through your blinds, casting long shadows across the floor.

Harry glances at your laptop, still open on the table surrounded by textbooks and empty energy drink cans. The business ethics paper that was so urgent at 3 AM now seems to have taken a backseat to sleep.

With a quiet sigh that's more resigned than annoyed, he carefully shifts, gathering you more securely in his arms as he stands. You murmur something unintelligible but don't wake, instinctively curling closer to his warmth.

He carries you to your bedroom, laying you gently on the unmade bed. You immediately roll to your side, face pressing into the pillow with a contented sigh.

Harry pulls the blanket over you, then stands for a moment, watching the rise and fall of your breathing. The dangerous mob boss, the feared enforcer, the ruthless businessman—all those versions of him fade slightly in this quiet moment.

Then he turns and walks back to the living room, rolling up his sleeves as he sits down at your laptop. The screen illuminates his face as he begins to type, occasionally referring to the notes you've taken.

By the time you wake up, groggy and disoriented hours later, you'll find a completed draft of your paper saved on your desktop, a fresh pot of coffee in the kitchen, and a note on your table written in his precise handwriting:

"Mr. J.H. Harrington sends his regards. Paper needs your final review before submission. I have meetings until 3. Call if you need anything. - H"

And beneath that, a postscript that would surprise anyone who knows his reputation:

"P.S. The ocean house remains on the table. Sleep well, angel."

Taglist: @silastylesswift @babegoals @harryssunflower17 @puzio19 @goldensunflowerss-blog @drewrry @tinawritesstuff @dipmeinhoneyh @spinninc @harrystyleshotwife

#his angel #ghstyles #harry styles x reader #harry styles #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fic #harry styles x y/n #harry styles imagine #one direction #harry styles au #harry styles writing #harry styles one shot #read

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asxgard · 2 months ago

Text

Companionship | pt. 3

Dr. Michael “Robby” Robinavitch x f!reader

Previous | Next

Summary: A few moments where Michael is finally honest and a few where he is not.

[ Series Masterlist ]

Note: y’all are so lovely!! I’m so glad that you guys are enjoying this as much as I am lol Thank you for all the likes, comments, and reblogs!! and shoutout to all my new followers, like omg hi💜

I caved and posted to AO3 with a f!oc so I could explore a character more in depth without imposing too much on the reader, so if you’re interested: AO3 Companionship

Word Count: 3.3k

Warnings: age gap, foul language, death mentioned (a patient), Robby still trying to bottle up his feelings, alcohol

not beta read

that damn smile

The days passed slowly considering how busy they had been. Between projects, homework, the office, and your half-assed chores, you were beat. That Friday morning was uneventful, a foggy start where you ran from your two classes, hoping it wouldn’t rain. You regretted not signing up for online classes, foolishly thinking being present would make you more productive. Maybe it did, but you longed to be home. As selfish as the thought was, you missed the time when you worked from home.

A weird thing happened around lunchtime: you were sitting at you desk with a homemade sandwich, lunchtime ticking away far too quickly. Your phone rang, and half expecting a scam call, you were surprised to find Michael’s name lighting up your screen.

You swallowed a bite of your sandwich before answering, “Hello?”

“Hello, hi.” His warm voice greeted her.

“I’m sorry. Did I forget we had a call right now?”

“No, no.” He suddenly sounded awkward again. “I, uh, I only have a few minutes, but I was hoping we could talk tonight? My shift should end at 7, but they never end on time.”

“Oh, yeah, sure.” You said without thinking about it. “Usually you text me.”

A moment of silence passed. “I usually don’t have time to check my phone, and I just wanted to make sure you could talk tonight. You know, make sure you had a decent amount of notice. I’m sorry, I should’ve—”

You ignored the way your stomach flipped, clearing your throat, “It’s okay, don’t worry about it.”

In his silence, you picked up on the array of beeps that grew louder on his end.

“I’ve gotta go, but I’ll call you tonight? 8:30, maybe?”

“Yeah,” you said quietly. “That works.”

“Good, uh, okay. Yeah. Talk to you later.”

“Talk to you later.”

—

In a rare lull of the Emergency Department, he had had his phone out before he had even thought about it, stepping into the staff lounge, and clicking on your contact. Usually it was a quick text sent in between patients, but then the phone had been ringing, your voice on the other end.

Michael stared at your contact after the call ended for a long moment, the chaos around him that had been quiet while talking to you slowly becoming louder and louder. Stuffing his phone back into his pocket and ignoring the feeling churning around his stomach, he jumped back into it. Dana had been the one to alert him of a car crash incoming, and he hoped she had not caught him staring at his phone.

Despite the fact that his shifts usually blurred together with how quickly they seemed to go, this one had seemed to slam on the brakes. It was no less busy than normal, but each minute ticked away like an hour, driving him mad.

It was a relief when Jack Abbot walked into the ED to take over. Not wanting to seem too off, Dr. Robby lingered, helping out with a few more critical patients before Jack finally shooed him out.

His watch read 7:39 when he collected his things from behind the charge desk.

Part of him really wanted to open up to you — the anonymity was tempting, but so was your voice — but the other part hated being so vulnerable. Not talking about it had worked out pretty well so far, but it left his chest feeling so tight and made his nights nearly always restless. Or maybe it was the grief. Or the stress. Or the loneliness.

Maybe not so much the loneliness anymore, Michael thought to himself.

Michael walked into his apartment and discarded his backpack by the door, along with his shoes. His entire body sagged, exhaustion running through his system. He realized how hungry he was and knew there was not much in his apartment to eat.

Before he knew it, it was 8:31, making his heart jump. Reaching for his phone, his finger hovered above the call button before he took a deep breath and pressed it.

You answered after two rings, ever reliable, “Hi.”

His lips turned upwards at the sound of you. “Hi.”

“How are you?”

He digested the question. From your handful of calls, it seemed to be your way of judging if he wanted to talk or just listen.

“It wasn’t a bad shift,” passed his lips before he had the chance to think about it. “I’ve had worse.”

“That doesn’t mean you can’t feel bad or stressed about it.” You said, not missing a beat.

“I lost a patient.” He told you. “And I don’t want to talk about it.”

You went silent on the other end and guilt ate away his insides. It wasn’t about this patient in particular, or how he lost them, not really. Sure, that weighed on his mind, but nothing compared to Adamson, or the pandemic.

Despite the fact he didn’t want to talk about it, he kept going, “There was nothing we could do. I tried—we—”

“It’s not your fault.”

That struck down his spine, making him sputter. Maybe he was looking for a reason it was, maybe it wasn’t about this patient at all. He had a hard time distinguishing sometimes.

“I’m sure if you could’ve saved them, you would’ve.” You told him, and everything around him was completely silent. “I won’t pretend to understand the weight you carry, or how hard that has to be, but I know you did everything you could. You’re a good man, Michael, and god forbid anything were to happen to me, I know I’d be lucky to have a doctor like you.”

You said it like it was nothing, like the weight of your words did not scoop up the weight on his shoulders and carry it for just a moment. For a single minute, he felt okay. Then, the thoughts crept back in: but you don’t know me.

But maybe I want you to. He shook that thought off just as quickly as it came.

“I’d like to take you to dinner.”

“What?”

What? echoed in his own head, and he quickly started rambling, “You know, maybe talk in person. Might be nice. Only if that’s okay with you? We don’t have to, I—”

The weight of it burned heavily in his mind, churning his stomach. Would you want more money for that? Would you just consider it your weekly talk? Would you—

“That would be nice.”

His racing mind screeched to a halt. “It would?”

“Yeah, did you have a place in mind?”

Fuck! “...no.”

“Well, dealer’s choice.” You told him, your tone light like you were smiling again.

He sat on that for a minute. Did he take you somewhere fancy? Someplace miles away to ensure no one caught you? He still wanted to make sure you stayed far away from his professional life, and he certainly did not want to answer any questions if anyone he knew saw you.

“There’s this Italian place just outside the city. I’ve been meaning to go back.”

“Italian sounds good, actually.”

He smiled.

—

This isn’t a date. This isn’t a date you repeated to yourself over and over again, trying to quiet the anxiety raging through your system. You weren’t all that surprised when he had asked to meet in person, it had been part of the conversation at the cafe. Phone calls had just been easier for him to fit into his schedule up until this point. Or maybe it was easier for him to talk when it wasn’t face-to-face.

According to Google, the Italian restaurant was more of an upscale place, which led to your anxiety on what to wear. Their menu was on the expensive side when you browsed their website. You felt guilt rise in your chest, knowing he was going to be paying.

How the hell did Erin do it? Let those men spoil her with things much more expensive than a nice Italian restaurant with zero feelings of owing them?

Erin’s arrangements are different, you told yourself, sighing deeply through your nose. This is still well in line with what we agreed to. So why on earth were you overthinking it?

Staring into your closet, you weighed your options. There was the knee-length navy blue dress you had worn to the interview for your job, or the pretty black dress that complimented your figure that you wore to graduation, or your most recent splurge: a dress in your favorite color with a flowy skirt. It wasn’t fancy by any stretch, but you certainly would not wear it out for a casual night either.

It seemed like a happy medium between something modest and something you would wear out with your friends.

After fixing your hair, you started your ‘get ready for a night out’ routine. Your mind wandered to what he would wear; would he dress up? Simple shirt and slacks? Would he wear cologne, or—

This isn’t a date, you reminded yourself, why does it matter?

Taking a long look at yourself in the mirror, your eyes took in your appearance. The dress was flattering in all the right ways. You took a breath, smoothing out the dress.

You took your purse from the table by the door, putting on your black heels and light jacket before walking out the door. You left early, stuck between wanting to be early and not wanting to be there first.

The drive did little to soothe your nerves, traffic proving to be as frustrating as usual. You tried to coach yourself through it. This was two acquaintances getting dinner, nothing more, looking to simply talk. Your standards were not high — he would either want to talk or listen, and you had plenty you could still tell him about your week. This was just going to be like a phone call…just in person.

When you pulled up to the venue, you parked your car and sat there — anxiety eating you up. You debated waiting a little longer, eyes flickering to the time: 6:25. Biting your lip, you gathered your purse, tucking your phone away before getting out of the car.

Michael was waiting for you once you reached the lobby, greeting you with a warm smile. You drank in the sight of him in the dim lighting of the restaurant, your cheeks heating. He was wearing brown chinos, a soft grey-blue sweater and a blazer — and your heart nearly stopped just looking at him.

The host walked you both to your table. As you walked past, you took notice of several of the other women, noting you were not overdressed and relief washed through you. Your table was tucked away near a corner of the restaurant, next to a window.

When you were seated, you looked over at Michael across from you and smiled. The lines on his face were softer in this lighting, but he was remarkably handsome regardless, with his lips in a soft smile.

“How—”

“I—”

You both laughed, before Michael gestured for you to start.

“How are you?” You asked, figuring it was as good a place as any to start.

“I’m okay,” he told you, but it looked like he was trying to convince himself more than you. “Uh, how was your day?”

His voice sent shivers down your spine, so used to hearing it on the other end of a phone call. It did so many things in person.

You sipped the ice water in front of you. “I’m well, thank you.”

“How’s that fraud project going?”

You smiled, finding it nice that he remembered some of your ramblings. You had wondered how much he actually listened to vs just needing a voice on the other end of his call.

“It’s going really well, actually. I’ve been really enjoying the course.”

“Good, that’s good.”

The waiter came by to take your drink order, and Michael surprised you by allowing you to order for both of you.

“I’ll have whatever the lady is having.” Michael said, turning his attention back to you.

“Do you like reds?” You asked, deciding wine would be the safest bet, shoving away the thoughts of him not liking wine at all.

He gave a simple nod, and you turned back to the waiter to order a simple pinot noir for each of you. You waited for any sign from him that you had made the wrong choice, but he was sitting happy as could be across from you. You looked down at the menu, weighing your options. You could try to be cheap and order something simple, or forget about the price next to the dishes and allow yourself to be spoiled.

“Tell me about your day.” He said.

That felt as easy as breathing, “I slept in, a rarity for me, but then I got caught up on studying. Between that and some of my reports, that ate up most of my day. My laptop is on the fritz, but as long as it’s plugged in, it’s been fine. Not an impossible work around, but thankfully I didn’t really need to be anywhere with it today. I bring it to classes with me sometimes, but hand-written notes are just as reliable, though they sometimes just look like chicken scratch.” You chuckled.

“Oh, please,” he laughed, “I bet yours are worlds better than mine. There’s a stereotype about doctors' handwriting for a reason.”

“At least I’m the only one who needs to read mine.” Smiling, you continued, “Why’s it so bad anyways? Is legibility an offense to you, or something?”

“The name of the game is speed, unfortunately. I’m so busy I’m lucky to sit down at all. Charting on the computer helps, but those physical files are not going anywhere.” He laughed. “You get used to it.”

You continued like that, jesting and enjoying the company of each other. The waiter came back to take the food order, Michael settling on a pasta ragu — you quickly glanced at the price of his item and found your second choice was just below how expensive his was. It made you feel better when you ordered it.

When dinner came, you settled back into small talk, trading conversation about the cooling temperature and the most recent Penguins game. After taking a sip of wine and placing it back on the table, you let your left hand rest next to the glass. Absentmindedly, you brushed your fingers softly against his, his hand beside his own wine glass. Your mind halted, your eyes taking in your hands touching — his fingers were warm beneath yours.

There was a clang! of his fork hitting his plate and your hand quickly retreated from the tabletop back into your lap with a jolt. Your eyes looked up, catching his flustered face, and anxiety invaded your stomach.

You swallowed, “Did you want to talk about your day? Or work, perhaps?”

He blinked at you, before clearing his throat lightly into his fist and grabbing his fork again. His eyebrows furrowed inward, but he was silent as he slowly chewed his food.

“Yeah,” he started, finally meeting your eyes. “I finally got some pesky chores done around the house that I’ve been putting off.”

With each word he spoke, he sounded like he was avoiding anything with substance. You accepted it regardless, mildly frustrated that he had a hard time opening up — but who were you to demand any more from him?

Taking in your raised eyebrow, he sighed, “I’m not good at this, I’m sorry.”

Blinking several times, “Why are you apologizing? You’ve no need to. I’m enjoying our conversation. I’m just ensuring I don’t talk your ear off.”

His lips flicked up, “Definitely not.”

You laughed, “Good.”

After several more bites between them, Michael sipped his wine, “Actually, I would like to be honest.” A long sigh escaped his nose while he avoided eye contact. “My job is…my job is stressful. I used to think I was good at compartmentalizing, but...” He shook his head, shrugging, “I don’t know. It’s been tough lately.”

You waited, watching him.

“You know, most days, it’s just trying to keep our heads above water. Some days there’s hope…others…” He was shaking his head again, taking a careful sip of his wine. His eyes looked far away, his face scrunched together.

Your thoughts flickered back to the other day when he had mentioned losing a patient and your heart ached. He was struggling to carry the weight of all of it, what possibly could you say to make it better?

You sat like that for several minutes in tense silence. You kept overanalyzing what to say, not wanting to say the wrong thing.

He suffered a small smile, rubbing the back of his neck. “It’s been nice to talk to someone outside of that environment, you know? To talk about anything else, or listen to you talk about your days, even when I don’t say anything.”

A tiny smile graced your face, “I’m glad I can do that for you. I’m glad I haven’t been boring you.”

He exhaled, lips turning upwards, “Not at all. I’ve enjoyed our conversations.”

“I have too.”

You held each other’s gaze for a long moment, before the waiter came by to offer dessert. Your gaze lingered on Michael’s face before you glanced down at the dessert menu. You thought perhaps dessert was too much, so you went to say “I think I’m just too full.” but Michael beat you to it.

“Make it two of whatever she wants.” He was grinning again, mood slightly lifted, watching you with an amused glint to his eye.

You raised an eyebrow at him, but did not question it, quickly deciding on one of the options.

Dessert came with coffee, decaf for him, and lighter conversation. As the night wound down, you found you wished the night had been longer, enjoying his company. You wondered if you would be seeing more of him in person after this. You hoped so.

He paid the bill without allowing you to even glance at it, which after a few seconds of thought, you were thankful for. You knew it was not likely to be an outlandish amount, but you were glad to not have a number in your head to overthink.

Getting up from the table, you walked close together, arms brushing until you made the split second decision to grab hold of his arm. To avoid bumping into any tables or other patrons, of course. He had not been expecting it, by the way he glanced at you, but you kept your eyes forward. He didn’t say anything. Once back in the lobby, you loosened your hold, but he did not let you go.

“Let me walk you to your car.”

“Oh, thank you.”

You walked in the direction of your car, anxiety bubbling back up. This was usually the bit where your past dates tried — or succeeded — in kissing you. This isn’t a date this isn’t a date this isn’t a date, echoed loud in your head. Did you hug him? Just say goodbye?

“This is me.” You said awkwardly, stopping in front of your car.

He nodded his head, turning to look at you again.

“I’ll—”

“I—”

You smiled at each other, and you gestured for him to go first.

“This was…nice. Thank you.”

“Thank you, I had a good time.”

He shuffled his feet awkwardly, putting his hands in his pockets.

“Have a good night, Michael.”

“You too.” He said, turning to go, before turning quickly on his feet. “Let me know when you get home safe, yeah?”

Opening your car door, you looked back at him and grinned, “Yeah, I will.”

Offering a final smile before you got into your car, Michael walked in the opposite direction.

The drive home was much better than the drive to the restaurant. You felt warm on the inside, going over the dinner in your head again and again. You smiled the entire drive.

Walking into your apartment, you set your things down before pulling out your phone and pulling up Michael’s contact.

Home safe :)

[ Next ]

want to join the taglist? shoot me a message!

Companionship Taglist: @queenslandlover-93 @clementine111002 @virgomillie @emily-b @kaygilles @lt-jakeseresin @imonmykneessir @kniselle @cannonindeez @gabsgabsvaz

All Dr. Robby content: @cherriready

that damn dinner scene gave me trouble for some reason — sorry it took awhile!

Also?? Hozier’s Too Sweet is so Companionship coded

#michael robinavitch x reader #michael robinavitch #michael robinavitch x you #michael robinavitch x female reader #michael robinavitch/you #michael robinavitch/reader #the pitt #the pitt x reader #companionship series #asxgard writes #dr robby x reader #dr robby

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seokgyuu · 3 months ago

Text

Before you started dating Seungcheol, you had been best friends with him for all of your life. Simultaneously, Seungcheol has been best friends with Jeonghan - whom you despise. He has been your rival since first grade and not just in terms of Seungcheol’s friendship but everything else too. Academics, sports, and now the attention of one very special professor who could open every door you ever wished to open…

Pairing: Seungcheol x Fem!Reader x Jeonghan Genre: Smut, Comedy, established relationship, enemies/rivals to lovers, academic rivals, Warnings: Mentions of food, Jeonghan and reader are mean to each other (lol), pet names (sweetheart, darling, princess), poly themes Smut Warnings: Car sex, unprotected sex, semi-public sex, creampie, manhandling, degradation (usage of the word: slut) Word Count: 7.2k Rating: Mature/Explicit A/N: Hello, hello! This one goes out to @svtiddiess! I am your secret valentine, hehe. I hope you like it!! Had so much fun writing this so thank you for hosting this fun collab @ddeonghwa-s, you were amazing at organizing it <3 Also big shoutouts to my beta readers: @c-oupsie, @chanranghaeys & @gyubakeries, I loved all of your comments and input, thank you so much! and of course, once again big thanks to @aaagustd for the absolute masterpiece of a banner!

The cake smashing into your face was vanilla-flavoured. Most of it dropped to the floor two seconds after hitting you, but there was still a good amount of cream left all over your face.

How wonderful.

More cakes were flying around the room, joined by other types of food and you moved aside to shove the remaining dessert off your face, knowing exactly who had thrown it at you and started this whole thing.

Yoon fucking Jeonghan.

He stood a few meters away from you, a smug grin on his face as not even a single piece of food was on him. It looked like a shot in a music video; so many different dishes flying above and behind him, cupcakes and hors d'oeuvres, and even a whole lasagna. Somehow, none were aimed at him and none missed their target.

Shaking with rage, you looked to your side and found a perfectly fine-looking dish of tiramisu standing on the table. You grinned as you picked it up.

Jeonghan watched the tiramisu fly. He wasn’t quick enough to move out of the way as it landed right where you had aimed—his annoyingly pretty face.

“What on earth is going on?!” Seungcheol’s voice disrupted the moment and you were snapped out of the trance you’ve been in. Instead, it made room for the bitter reality of about 30 students throwing around and wasting perfectly fine food.

The towel in your lap was full of vanilla cream and felt extremely heavy - just like the rest of you. Seungcheol was pacing back and forth, his arms crossed and one hand resting on his chin. He looked troubled, he was troubled, and for good reason. His best friend and his girlfriend had once again proven themselves as nutcases.

“Just—” you started, but one look from him and you shut your mouth, pressing your lips together tightly. Your eyes quickly shot to Jeonghan sitting on the other side of the small office with a bored expression on his face.

Oh, great. Your relationship was crumbling and he was bored!

“So, let me get this straight.” Seungcheol finally began speaking and your eyes darted back to him.

“I leave the reception for my graduation for five minutes and you two start a food fight?”

“He started it!”

“You made me!”

“Oh my god!” Seungcheol threw his hands in the air. “Frankly, I don’t care who started this. All I care about is that I needed the two of you to behave like human beings around each other just for one evening. I just wanted to take my girlfriend out for this special occasion and have my best friend join us without any drama. Just once!”

His eyes were burning on your skin and you couldn’t help but lower your gaze, feeling your cheeks heat up from shame. He was right.

“Look, Cheol, I love you and all, but did you really think this was gonna work?” Jeonghan sighed, getting up from his chair and throwing the used towel on top of it, “She infuriates me just by existing.”

What a fucking douche.

Seungcheol took a deep breath.

“Jeonghan. You’re my best friend, you know that. But she’s my girlfriend and I truly do not give a fuck about any past rivalries. I just…god, I just need you two to act like adults. If not for the sake of each other then at least for the sake of me!”

The scoff Jeonghan let out made your blood boil. You knew Seungcheol was right and the fact that Jeonghan was so blatantly ignoring that…

You stood up as well, stalking over to the two men.

“I’m sorry, Cheol. You’re right. This wasn’t okay, we shouldn’t have started a food fight.”

Carefully, you tried to reach for his hand, but he hesitated, his pretty eyes not yet convinced.

“The two of you have to get over this grudge, or whatever the fuck is going on between you two. I don’t care if you do it by talking it out or fucking it out, but please. Just get it done.”

He turned around then, walking out of the room and slamming the door behind him.

It was silent for a while, just you and Jeonghan staring at the door with your jaws dropped and your cheeks hot. Did Seungcheol just—did he really say that? Something you couldn’t really describe began to form in your stomach, something like an ache mixed with need, and you began to shift from one foot to the other, not daring to look at Jeonghan.

Only when the man left in the room began to speak, did you let yourself gaze upon him.

“Did he really just suggest we fuck it out?” He asked, his head slowly turning to face you.

“Yup.” You nodded.

“Does he—? Do you—does that like, ever happen?” He continued, scratching the back of his neck.

“What? That I fuck someone I hate?” Your eyebrows rose and Jeonghan rolled his eyes.

“No, dumbass, that you fuck other people, period.”

“I don’t think that’s any of your concern.” Fiercely, you turned back around and walked over to the chair you sat on earlier, grabbing your purse.

“My best friend just offered me to fuck his girlfriend, I think it does concern me.”

Throwing your purse over your shoulder, you let out a scoff.

“Don’t be silly, Jeonghan,” you moved back to him, your eyes meeting his with a small smirk on your lips, “we both know you can’t handle me.”

Jeonghan’s mouth dropped once more, watching you, the girl he despised more than anything, walk out of the room and leave him with absolutely nothing to say.

Two weeks later, Seungcheol had finally gotten over the whole ordeal at his graduation reception. No one had really figured out who had started the food fight, so a punishment for the students had fallen through. Instead, cleaning personnel had been called in to get rid of the mess in the Eisenhower ballroom. Perks of attending a private university.

Getting your usual vanilla matcha latte from the small coffee shop inside the economics building, you listened to your best friend Seungkwan’s story about this guy he met at a club who just so happened to become the best one-night stand of his life.

“You don’t understand,” he said, “I need to see him again or I will die!”

Chuckling, you thanked the barista handing you your drinks.

“I doubt you’ll die, Kwan.”

He sighed.

“No, I will, I swear. How can I go on like this? Knowing I’ll never get dicked down that good again?”

“You didn’t get his insta or something?” Pushing open the door, you were greeted by the mild air of spring.

“No! That’s the issue, he doesn’t do two-night stands. He literally just fucks once and dips.”

You clicked your tongue.

“Sorry to hear that. Oh, did I tell you I finally heard back from Professor Jones?”

Professor William Percival Jones was the professor for international management. No one had ever come close to his level of expertise in the last twenty years. It was every student’s dream to be accepted into his internship program which only held one spot every semester. And while this term was almost over, the spot for the next had suddenly been posted again, so of course you had to apply!

Seungkwan didn’t seem too happy about the change of topic but he allowed it considering how important the whole Professor Jones topic was to you.

“And?” He asked, taking a sip from his white chocolate mocha.

“I’m in the next round!” You grinned widely, remembering the e-mail you got just last night. You had celebrated with Seungcheol—dinner, a movie, and you on all fours getting what you deserve.

“Congrats, bestie!” Seungkwan gave you a side hug, smiling at you, “You deserve it. Do you know who else is in the run?”

You shook your head. “Not yet. Gonna find out later this afternoon for the interview prep. But I’m not too worried about competition. How good can they be?”

Yoon fucking Jeonghan was the one to greet you when you walked into the interview prep room at 4pm sharp. Of fucking course.

“Oh, Y/N, fancy seeing you here,” his smirk told you well enough he already knew you were coming.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” you mumbled as you sat down on the chair next to him. There was no one else here besides the two of you.

“We’re the only two people who made it to round two,” Jeonghan explained, crossing his legs, “didn’t Cheol tell you?”

Cheol knew?! It was by pure self-restraint you didn’t jump Jeonghan and strangle him.

“I fear he forgot with all the sex he got last night,” you put on your most innocent smile, “How’s that going for you by the way?”

Jeonghan didn’t even seem fazed by your words. He just looked at you with yet another one of his bored expressions.

“How cute of you to think I don’t get to fuck whomever I like.”

Something about the way he said those words…they brought back that feeling from two weeks ago, when Seungcheol had asked you two to fuck it out if necessary. Clearing your throat, you averted your gaze, hating yourself for the way your cheeks began to heat up.

Thankfully, Jeonghan didn’t get to say anything else when the door opened and Professor Jones’ current intern walked in. You thought to remember his name being Vernon. He stalked over to the desk at the front, basically throwing his bag onto it.

“Congrats, you two are the finalists for the internship position,” he said, his sheer lack of enthusiasm almost comical.

He leaned against the desk now, a stack of papers in his hands. You watched him with slightly raised brows, wondering how on earth he got this job when he, judging from what you’re seeing right now, doesn’t even want to be here.

“The interview process won’t be as lengthy as it usually is, considering it’s already for next term. Please don’t ask me why Professor Jones isn’t just asking the intern for the term after to take over, it truly is beyond me. Anyway, it will still be hard and time-consuming. Normally, it would be at least one month of tasks you need to hand in, research, as well as possible curriculum changes. Anything innovative, basically.”

Vernon returned to you and Jeonghan, giving both of you half of the stack of papers he’d been holding.

“This file is basically your timetable as well as your tasks for the next two weeks. I hope you don’t have any other deadlines left this term or you’re, how should I say this, fucked.” He presented you with something like a pained smile. You felt the strange need to pat his head.

“Is that all?” Jeonghan asked, still that god-forsaken bored tone in his voice. Vernon shook his head, walking back over to the desk.

“Nope. Still got a surprise up my sleeve,” he turned around and opened his bag, pulling out yet another little stack of papers. Jesus, couldn’t they have e-mailed? What about the trees?

“Surprise quiz, woohoo.”

His woohoo sounded as dry as leaves in summer.

“Are you serious?” Jeonghan snorted, “A quiz?”

“Yup. To evaluate your knowledge on all things international management.”

Vernon handed out the two pages each (with the backs also containing questions) to the two of you and checked his watch.

“You have forty-five minutes. Good luck.”

It was worse enough being in almost every class with Jeonghan, but having to be in the same interview process was definitely going to take the cake. It had barely even started and it already felt like a competition—who was gonna finish the quiz first and who was going to do better?

Time seemed to fly by; answering all the questions to your best ability while checking on how far Jeonghan was, or at least estimating, considering he wasn’t close enough for you to get a good look at his paper.

“Five minutes left,” Vernon said then, sitting comfortably at the desk, his legs on top of it. He had been scrolling through his phone the whole time, once again making you question how on earth he had gotten this job. Had he really been through this same process? Seemed highly unlikely, if you were honest.

Quickly, you checked your answers again to see if you really hadn’t missed anything in terms of spelling, grammar, or content.

Just as you were about to get up, Jeonghan one-upped you and handed in his finished quiz to Vernon with one swift motion. Fuck those gorgeous long legs.

Grinding your teeth, you got up as well, giving Vernon your quiz approximately two seconds after Jeonghan. You tried to ignore the gloating look on his handsome face.

“Great. You’re dismissed then. I’ll email you about the results sometime tomorrow.”

How specific. Without saying goodbye, you grabbed your bag from the floor next to your desk, beginning to walk out and groaning when Jeonghan suddenly appeared right next to you.

“And once again I beat you. Doesn’t it get tiresome to always lose against me, sweetheart?”

Pure red anger made its way through your system.

“Doesn’t it get tiresome to always be an asshole, sweetheart?”

Jeonghan laughed raspily and for whatever reason you felt it right there in the lower part of your stomach. “Oh, darling. Assholes make it the furthest in life, haven’t you heard? They also finish quizzes first and leave pretty little things like you behind.”

Pretty little things?!

The two of you had barely made it out of the classroom when you swirled around to face him, your eyebrows knitted together and clear anger displayed on your face.

“Never would have guessed you’re proud of finishing first, Yoon,” you smiled, “but looking at you, I’m not surprised you are.”

He was in your space before you could blink.

“Believe me, princess, this quiz and the finish line would be the only things I’d finish first. In any other situation and especially in the one you’re thinking of right now, I would make sure to be the last to finish. I’d make sure you finish first, quicker and better than anyone else before."

Oh.

What?

Jeonghan’s lips were right by your ear and his hands found their place on the small of your back, and it was embarrassing how much this turned you on.

“You—You’re disgusting,” you somehow stuttered out and Jeonghan smirked again, parting from you and meeting his gaze with yours.

“Sure I am, Y/N. But so are you, isn’t that right?”

God, if only he would take those damn hands off your body and go far, far away. And if only you could speak, open your mouth, and say anything, really, anything at all! But it was like he had caught you in a trap, made you forget all your words and thoughts and replaced them with want.

“I love to see that I still have an effect on you, darling.” His face was so slapable right now. Smirk and arrogance and hotness that made you wanna scream.

“Are you turned on right now, hm? Wish for me to touch you? Maybe do what Seungcheol asked of us?” His breath on your face was almost enough for you to snap and just give in. But this urge was foreign. Foreign because it never made it past the wet dreams you immediately suppressed once you woke up. Never in a million years were you going to let him win, never would you ever let him know he did in fact have this effect on you, even now, even when you were with Seungcheol.

“Fuck off.” Finally, you managed to push him away. It wasn’t exactly with grace how you ran away from him, leaving him behind with the smirk never leaving his lips and the heat never leaving your body.

The heat hadn’t left you even an hour later when you found yourself in the backseat of Seungcheol’s car, his cock straining against his jeans and your thigh.

“Fuck, baby, what got you so worked up?” Cheol groaned when you bit his earlobe and shoved his jeans down finally.

“Stop talking, just fuck me, please.”

Your lips met his again and Cheol was happy to oblige. His huge hands grabbed your hips and pushed you further back, easily slipping between your thighs. He was bare now except for his briefs and he placed his bulge right between your drenched lips. The friction caused you to moan and gush another wave of slick into your panties.

Your boyfriend moved to shove his fingers beneath the fabric, swearing when he felt just how wet you were. Still obeying you, he didn’t say anything and instead pressed two of his fingers into you. You arched your back, your fingers finding the back of his neck.

“God, yes.”

He began to thrust into you with his fingers, lips finding yours once more as he shoves his tongue into your mouth. You happily accepted him, your own tongue beginning a fiery dance with his, all thoughts of Jeonghan slowly ebbing away.

Just that when you thought about how they were ebbing away…his words suddenly came right back to you.

“Are you turned on right now, hm? Wish for me to touch you? Maybe do what Seungcheol asked of us?”

Shit, he was so hot. So hot and infuriating and, fuck, Seungcheol just hit your sweet spot perfectly. You whimpered, nails digging into his skin and he chuckled lowly against your lips.

“Need your cock, please, please, please.”

Your desperation was out of the roof and Seungcheol felt himself twitch in his briefs, shoving them down the next second. His cock sprung free, angry and red at the tip with drops of precum inviting you to take it into your mouth. But there was no time, no, you needed to get this out of your system now.

You moved your fingers down, shoving your panties down your legs.

“God, so eager, my love,” Seungcheol smirked, jerking his cock off as he watched you.

“Yeah, need you now, Cheolie, please.” You panted, and when he finally lined up his tip with your core, it almost felt like an ascension to you.

As he pushed his whole length into you, Cheol wondered how it could feel this good every fucking time. Your pussy gripped him right away, sucked him in, made him feel like no other ever had. You were perfect for him, that was for sure.

When he thrusted for the first time, you moaned his name loudly, which only spurred him on. His hands grabbed your hips and your legs found their way around his back, his hips now beginning to move at a relentless pace. If you wanted to be fucked, oh he would gladly fulfill that want.

There were going to be marks left on his back, you were sure of it. Your nails dragged along his smooth skin as he fucked you, the windows slowly but surely beginning to fog up.

“Yes, fuck, just like that!” You cried out when he hit that sensitive part within you perfectly. He groaned and nodded, trying his best to continue fucking you just like that.

“You like that, hm? Getting fucked in the university parking lot? Couldn’t even wait ‘til we got home, my little slut?”

“N-no! Couldn’t wait, needed your cock right now, Cheolie!”

You said his name and had his cock inside of you, and while you loved him and the way he fucked you—right now, you weren’t really thinking about him. It was horrible and wrong, but you couldn’t help but wonder about Jeonghan and his words. He had said he’d be able to make you come better and quicker than anyone else. Was that true? Could he fuck you better than Seungcheol did right now? Hold you down the way Seungcheol was, drag his cock along your walls at the same speed and with the same delicious force?

“Fuck, you’re so tight and wet, baby, gonna make me cum,” Seungcheol moved forward, his hands now next to your head as he buried his face in the crook of your neck, moaning and groaning at the way you felt around him.

Would Jeonghan sound like that? Desperate and breathless as he fucked you? The image of Jeonghan on top of you filled your mind and made your breath hitch, your pussy squeezing hard around Seungcheol and bringing him over the edge, his cock twitching as he thrusted once, twice, and finally emptying inside of you. Ropes of white painted your insides, leaving you hot and wanting more. Thankfully, Cheol didn’t stop, no, he picked up the pace once more and finally, with the thought of Jeonghan cumming inside of you, you felt your orgasm rush over you, a high-pitched moan accompanying your high.

Cheol collapsed on top of you, both of your chests heaving.

Then, after some silence, Cheol slowly raised his head.

“Did you… just say Jeonghan’s name?”

The first task on your and Jeonghan’s list was easy enough: prepare a presentation on a specific topic and present it in front of Professor Jones, Vernon, and your competitor. Professor Jones had picked out topics for the two of you which made the whole ordeal even easier. No research of your own for a perfect topic, just good old finding information on the web and in the library.

The distraction was welcome, especially after that horrific incident in Seungcheol’s car where you had, well, done what you did. The thing about it that irked you the most was that Seungcheol wasn’t even mad at you. No, he had laughed at you. Laughed for days. He had even brought it up the next time you had sex, asking if you wished Jeonghan was here to see how good you were behaving for him. Like, hello? How could he do this to you!

(It didn’t matter at all that you had cried out a yes and begged Seungcheol to let Jeonghan watch you get fucked. No, that wasn’t important at all!)

You threw yourself into work for three days straight, the fourth being the day of the presentation. And it all went perfectly, smoothly even, without any problems - until the day of the presentation came and the powerpoint on the screen was not the powerpoint you had worked on for hours on end.

Projected onto the whiteboard in front of one of your idols, Vernon, and Jeonghan was a presentation that most likely had been made by a fourth-grader. Rainbow-colored Comic Sans wrote out the topic with pictures of unicorns around it forming a heart. This has got to be a joke.

And when you looked at your small audience, horrified and confused, you asked yourself how you hadn’t figured this out right away.

Jeonghan was smiling. Smiling as evil as the devil, if not worse. He had done this—swapped out your presentation at some point when you hadn’t been looking. Ice runs through your veins when you remember last night at the library, when you had left to go to the bathroom one more time before heading home, your laptop still propped on the desk. Jeonghan had been there too, further away, but not too far to come over and switch out presentations while you were gone.

You were going to kill him.

“Miss, what exactly am I looking at right now?” Professor Jones asked, adjusting the specs on top of his nose. You opened your mouth but closed it again.

“I—Sir, this is, uhm—” You sure as hell couldn't just blame Jeonghan. There was no proof and you’d sound absolutely bonkers. So, instead you clicked the next slide and found the table of contents. It had the same font and colors as the slide before, the transition between this and the last slide being a tornado. Oh good fucking lord.

Professor Jones wasn’t happy and didn’t let you finish the presentation. Instead, Jeonghan was the one to outshine you right away and you felt like your whole life was over.

But it wasn’t over. Neither your life nor this interview process and there was only one way to go on.

This meant war.

Jeonghan stood in front of you and Vernon, and Professor Jones was going off on him. You tried your very best to hide the smirk wanting to creep onto your lips.

“How on earth can it be that you’re sending me pornography, Mr. Yoon, instead of your research essay? Do you even know how inappropriate and unprofessional that is?!”

Ah yes, if Jeonghan thought he could swap out your presentation without any repercussions, he had thought very, very wrong. One moment of Seungcheol distracting his friend and, voilá, the attachment to his e-mail addressed to Professor Jones was conveniently swapped out to a doc full of naughty pictures.

“This is a fail, Mr. Yoon, I hope you are aware!” Professor Jones pointed at the free chair and Jeonghwan walked over and sat back down, defeated.

“How could this happen?” Vernon leaned to the side, looking at Jeonghan with genuine confusion.

Instead of answering, Jeonghan slowly looked up and turned his head to you. When his eyes met yours, you knew that he was well aware of how that could happen. Giving him a sweet smile, you prepared yourself to present your essay instead of Jeonghan.

This game between the two of you went on for the rest of the interview process. Jeonghan switched out the documents you were supposed to bring to the professor with a study on infidelity in unhappy marriages, knowing very well that Professor Jones’ wife had cheated on him three years ago. You told Jeonghan the wrong topic for your shared presentation, having him be completely clueless about the actual theme and standing in front of Professor Jonesand Vernon like a fool while you, conveniently, knew everything about each of your parts.

After that sacred moment of Jeonghan storming out once you were dismissed, you grinned to yourself proudly. Seungkwan walked in just then, looking after Jeonghan with his brows raised. He was well aware of the game you two had going on and was on a bet with Cheol about how long it would take the two of you to finally give in and just do it.

“I’ll be right there!” You waved at your best friend and he waved back, his eyes roaming the classroom he hadn’t been in before. Just that, besides you, there was another person he surely had been in before. And vice versa.

“Hansol?” He said, his eyes wide. Hansol—Vernon, looked up from his notes and his eyes widened.

“Seungkwan?”

Your eyes darted between the two, confusion displayed on your face. How on earth did they know each other? Wait, did he say Hansol?!

Professor Jones bid his goodbyes as well and left the room, just at the right time.

“Vernon is the best sex you’ve ever had?!” You almost yelled in disbelief, your thumb pointing at the intern behind you.

“Dude!” Seungkwan gave you an annoyed look, obviously asking why the heck you had to air that out in front of him.

“Wait, Vernon?” His face changed to confusion, much like yours earlier.

Meanwhile, Hansol-slash-Vernon packed his bag and swung it over his shoulder, a grin on his face.

“Best sex of your life, huh?” He walked over to Seungkwan, catching him off guard.

“I—well,uh,” Seungkwan didn’t know what to answer. He was too mesmerized by seeing him again, the man who had not left his brain, who he could not stop thinking about.

“Wanna grab dinner with me?” Vernon asked now, licking over his lips, his eyes darting to Seungkwan’s.

“Actually, we—”

“I’d love to!” Seungkwan interrupted you and, without giving you even another look, left the room with Vernon.

Wow, what about bros before hoes, huh? Oh, well. Not your problem.

What was your problem, though, was when you stopped in front of the closed door of the usual meeting room two days later and found a note pinned to it, telling you and Jeonghan to meet Professor Jones in his office instead of prep today.

Shit.

You arrived after Jeonghan, who was already seated on one of the chairs in front of Professor Jones’ grand mahogany desk.

“Wonderful, please take a seat.” Professor Jones leaned back in his chair, eyeing you and Jeonghan with one of his eyebrows raised.

After you did as asked, he clicked his tongue.

“I have been doing this job for twenty years and never during all this time have I encountered a pair quite like you,” he said, “Two of the brightest students in this field, maybe even this university, and yet that fact gets tainted by the rivalry you have going on. I don’t believe you two to be gullible enough to think I wouldn’t notice. Swapping out presentations and attachments to emails? Telling each other lies so the other looks a fool? We’re in university, I shall remind you, not kindergarten.” He rose from his chair.

“Sir—” Jeonghan began, but Jones held up his hand and made him halt.

“I am sure the two of you would both be capable interns next semester. Judging by the assignments you did hand in, as well as your grades and presentation skills, you might even be the best interns I’ll ever have. Still, this behaviour is unacceptable.”

He walked over to you and Jeonghan, his eyes scanning the two of you with severity.

“Which is why I have decided to let the two of you make that choice for me.”

All the blood drained from your face.

“What do you mean?” You asked, even though you were already sure of the answer. Professor Jones chuckled slightly.

“Oh, I think you already know, Miss. You and Mr. Yoon will decide who gets to be my intern next year. And while you’re at it, you will also resolve whatever problem you have with each other. I give you,” he looked at the clock hanging above the bookcase to your right, “exactly forty-five minutes. Good luck.”

Just as he was beginning to walk to the door, he turned around again.

“Ah, and if you don’t get to a conclusion, neither of you will become my intern. Just in case you were thinking of a loophole.”

He winked at the two of you, before finally leaving the room and shutting the door behind him.

Jeonghan and you stayed seated in silence for a while, contemplating the situation. This wasn’t really happening. He didn’t just lock you into his office (no, he did, you definitely heard a key turn) to talk it out.

You hadn’t been alone with Jeonghan since that day when he…well, when he had done that and you had, uh, done Seungcheol.

“What a cheeky little bastard,” Jeonghan mumbled now, getting out of the chair and pulling his hand over his chin. You watched him walk around the room, trying to ignore the pit in your stomach mixed with the urge to press him against a bookshelf and kiss him breathless.

You know the pit isn’t because of the fear of Seungcheol being mad at you for these thoughts. No, you know he is totally on board with you and Jeonghan fucking it out and…getting it done. It’s just that in all the years you’ve known Jeonghan he has always been your rival. Starting in first grade and lasting until now. How could you let yourself feel this way about someone you loathed? Or were supposed to loathe?

“Maybe he’s right,” you found yourself saying, heat back in your face, “Maybe we do need to talk this out.”

“What? Come on, don’t fall for this. This surely is another task. Yeah, I know I am great and I guess you’re fine too, but making this our final task? What the fuck is wrong with him?”

You stood up, hands balling to fists at your sides.

“You guess I’m fine too?” You repeated, scoffing at him, “I know your head is deep up your own ass, but you have got to give me some credit, Jeonghan. If it wasn’t for us having the same capabilities, we wouldn’t be in this situation.”

It stung you when he laughed, his hands pulling through his hair.

“Oh really? We’re the same amount of capable? For fuck’s sake, Y/N, you switched out my essay with porn!

”And you switched my presentation out and made it look like a goddamn fourth grader made it!” You threw back at him, your eyes glaring at his face that looks just as angry as you feel.

“At least that didn’t involve fucking porn!”

“Don’t go and paint yourself as the victim, Yoon Jeonghan, you started this whole thing!”

“I did? I started this?!” He laughed again, “You can’t be serious. This is all your fault! You were the one who told Mrs. Perkins I had a cheat sheet underneath my desk in first grade!”

Your face grimaces in confusion. “Excuse me? I’m pretty sure you told the class I was still wetting my bed way before that happened.”

“Absolutely not. That happened after the cheating incident!”

There was nothing else for you to do than scoff time and time again. He was spewing utter nonsense! He had started this whole thing back in elementary school, not you. Definitely not you.

“I can’t believe you’re trying to pin this on me, Jeonghan, you’re such an asshole.”

“Yeah, we have established that, sweetheart, many, many times before.”

“Stop calling me that,” you took a step forward, your finger pointing at Jeonghan and heat basically radiating off your body. Jeonghan clicked his tongue.

“What? Sweetheart? You don’t like it?” He stepped closer too and just the same amount of heat was radiating off him.

“Do I look like I like it?” You asked back, staring at his face that somehow came closer with every passing second.

“Do you want me to give you an honest answer to that? Or just lie to keep up the picture that you’re not even slightly attracted to me?”

Your breath got stuck in your throat and your eyes widened at his words. How could he!

“I am not! I—I am not attracted to you, Yoon Jeonghan, I hate you!”

“Oh, yes, and I hate you.” Somehow he was right in your space then, his breath hitting your face, “But that doesn’t cancel out the fact that I have never wanted anyone as much as I want you.”

And then he kissed you.

Kissed you with every emotion he had ever felt for you: hate, envy, lust, love. Something within you snapped then, snapped and showed you a whole new world, a world in which this was your normal, your everyday. The realization was soon clouded by pure want, your fingers somehow ending up in his blonde strands, his body pressed flush against yours.

The kiss seemed endless and still not long enough, your hearts beating at the same speed when he pressed you against the large desk behind you. It didn’t matter, nothing mattered when his hands found their way from your back to your face, holding you so lovingly it made your knees weak.

Then, he changed courses. The softness turned hard, his hands wandering once more, back down and onto your ass, and your core met his, a small gasp escaping against his lips when you felt just how hard the softness had turned. He smirked before he deepened the kiss, pressing his body closer to yours, as close as humanly possibly.

Never would you have imagined the breaking point to happen inside Professor Jones’ office, and he probably didn’t expect this either when he locked the two of you in.

Jeonghan’s tongue was exploring your mouth now, licking against your own and causing goosebumps all over your body. So distracted by his lips, you only faintly noticed him lifting you onto the desk, neither of you caring about the cup with pens falling over when your ass hit the surface.

He stood in between your legs now, hands roaming over your legs while his mouth moved over your lips down to your chin and finally along your neck. Softly moaning, you shoved his jacket off his shoulders, waiting for it to hit the ground before you began to unbutton his dark green dress shirt. He sucked on your skin, licked over the spot and moved on, nimble fingers moving underneath your skirt to touch your sensitive skin.

“How wet are you right now, sweetheart?” He breathed then, a shiver running down your spine.

Not waiting for you to answer, he let his fingers slip underneath your soaked panties, his breath getting stuck in his throat when he felt how drenched you were.

“Fuck.” His lips found yours again, pulling you into yet another perfectly heated kiss. Your arms wrapped around his neck and you pushed your hips forward, inviting him to fill you with his fingers. Really, you needed him to touch you or you’d probably die on the spot.

As if he had read your mind, he let his fingers glide through your folds before finally letting one of them sink into you, licking over your lips when he did and making you cry out in pleasure.

“Aren’t you a sensitive one,” he whispered, kissing you again. Had kissing always been this fun?

He began to thrust his finger inside you slowly, your panties being slightly in the way. Only when you began to whimper desperately, did Jeonghan take a few seconds to pull them down your legs, all while holding eye contact. You feared he was a little insane.

Back between your thighs, his hand grabbed the back of your neck, pushing you against him. Another kiss lured you into his embrace and your body began to shake when his other hand reached your core again, fingers softly sliding through your lips.

“Please, Jeonghan, please,” you pleaded against his lips then and he bit down on his own bottom lip when he finally pushed in two of his pretty long fingers. Your moan was only held back because he kissed you.

The pace changed yet again. He fucked you hard and fast with his fingers, while his tongue danced with yours, all of your thoughts consumed by him and him and only him. But you wanted more, wanted him fully, wanted to feel him inside you. Feel him throbbing and wanting and twitching. And so, your hands moved to his belt, quickly opening it as if you had done this a million times before.

He didn’t respond verbally, instead he helped you shove down his pants and briefs, his hard cock springing free. You allowed yourself to part from him for a second, admiring his length and biting down on your lip. The second was over soon enough when Jeonghan pulled his fingers out of you and instead grabbed his cock, bringing it to your dripping, waiting core.

“You have no idea how many times I’ve fantasized about this.” Jeonghan’s voice sounded like music to your ears and you pulled him closer by the nape, pressing another kiss to his mouth.

“I think I have an idea.” You grinned.

When he sank into you, his eyes were still fixed on yours and both your mouths hung open, ragged breathing coming out of them. And when he finally bottomed out, his forehead pressed against yours, neither of you could stop the moans from coming out.

His first thrust made the desk shake and the ones that followed did too. He felt insanely good inside you, filling you up just the perfect amount. The air around you felt hot and you held on for dear life, fingers digging into his nape as he fucked you rough and hard, hands on the small of your back.

“You feel so fucking good,” he breathed, lips finding your neck again. You threw your head back, legs fully wrapping around his waist now, his cock seeming to sink even deeper into you.

“And you fuck me so good,” you replied in a moan and he groaned, picking up the pace.

Not even for a second did either of you question the sounds of the desk, maybe causing people outside to be concerned. Too focused were the two of you on the way it felt to finally give into the tension that had built up for years and years.

“Yeah? Like how I fuck you on our professor’s desk? Like a naughty little slut?”

“Fuck, yeah,” Your pussy clenched around him and he chuckled, another hard thrust making the desk shake.

He was relentless, perfect, and just…everything. Maybe it was all of the anticipation or maybe it was just the insane arousal, but it felt better than almost anything you had ever felt.

You couldn’t stop the moans and the pleas for more, couldn’t help the climax that was nearing with every thrust. And when he brought his thumb down and began rubbing circles onto your clit, you most certainly couldn’t help the orgasm rushing over your body, your pussy spasming around his cock over and over again, begging him to fill you, to pump his cum into your awaiting heat.

Jeonghan came inside of you after three more thrusts and just in time for the door to open and Professor Jones hurrying in, Vernon in tow.

“What the actual fuck?!”

You had never heard the Professor curse before. You doubted anyone had ever heard him curse before. Well, shit.

Neither you nor Jeonghan ended up getting the internship, which was fine. All that really mattered was that Jones didn’t tell the dean and had you expelled. Perhaps Vernon had convinced him that it was basically his fault, too. If he hadn’t locked you in, you wouldn’t have fucked on his desk. Simple as that.

And in reality, Professor Jones wasn’t the scary part about the whole story, it was the fact you and Jeonghan had fucked and not just fucked but also felt as you fucked. So, yeah. It hadn’t been just sexual tension between the two of you. As much as you would have pretended it was, you couldn’t really do that anymore.

Not when he began to spend more time with Seungcheol and you, not when Seungcheol was so clearly on board with the idea of Jeonghan being a part of your life the same way he was. You had never allowed yourself to think of the situation with Jeonghan as anything more than attraction, and having this now…it felt like all the puzzle pieces had suddenly found their way together.

“I told you so,” Seungcheol said when you finally admitted to Jeonghan being your boyfriend. And when you rolled your eyes and looked at the new addition to the relationship humming a tune in the kitchen, you couldn’t even really be mad at him.

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benevolentbones · 11 months ago

Note

gideondaughter!reader and spencer first time talking when the team goes to dinner and spencer is just a mess talking to her

thank you sm for the request!! hope you enjoy<3 requests are still open i’ll be working through them!

kids table | spencer reid x gideon!reader part 1

part 2

warnings: mentions of alcohol, light flirting.

word count: 1.5k

summary: it’s gideon’s birthday dinner and the team are here to celebrate.

“are you sure he booked it for 8:30?” jj hummed, holding her clutch purse close to her sage green maxi dress.

“yes. gideon party of nine at mastro’s, 8:30pm.” spencer recalled, having the time and place drilled into his mind in fear of being late.

“party of nine? but there’s only eight of us?” elle’s brows contorted, she counted everyone in the room. jj, morgan, reid, garcia, hotch, prentiss, herself and then gideon who was yet to show, that was only eight.

“maybe he’s bringing a date?” penelope chuckled, her hands smoothing down the hem of her fitted pencil dress.

“gideon? with a date? i highly doubt that.” morgan snickered, leaning against garcia.

the group of agents waited rather impatiently for gideon to arrive to the restaurant. all adorned in their best dress for the awaited man of the hours birthday dinner.

hotch sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose with his pointer finger and thumb.

“it’s only 8:25, he will be here.” he muttered out.

spencer began to fumble with his hands, he would class himself as a fairly patient man, the only thing on his mind currently was who the mystery ninth guest could be. he didn’t like not knowing things, it was part of being a profiler he guessed.

the doors to the dimly lit restaurant swung open, jason gideon walking in full stride with a grin on his face. he wore a navy blue suit jacket paired with his signature chinos.

“finally you’re here, they’ve been complaining for the last ten minutes.” prentiss sighed, placing a hand on her hip.

“its not even 8:30, i said i would be on time- but y/n here couldn’t find the shoes she wanted to wear.” gideon let out a small chuckle as a figure walked through the doors behind him.

a girl, roughly in her early twenties stood beside gideon. her hands clamped together in front of her, a black satin dress adorned her figure, hugging her nicely, which she paired with matching black heels.

“well i found them in the end, dad.” she mumbled out, greeting the group with a small smile.

half the team stood there it awe, mouths gaped and eyes locked on the latest arrivals.

“you clean up nice, jason.” hotch nodded towards the older man, then turning his sights on you.

“beautiful as ever.” he smiled, which he rarely did, and leaned over to give you a hug.

“thanks uncle aaron.” you grinned back, embracing his warm hug.

“i’m sorry you need to catch us up real quick- dad? uncle?” morgan titled his head like a confused puppy.

“i didn’t realise you’d have trouble putting two and two together, morgan. this is my daughter, y/n.” gideon mused, ushering you further into the room.

you held out your hand, derek quickly took it in his, giving it a small shake, cogs in his mind still visibly turning.

“and aaron isn’t actually my uncle- he just acts like it.” you pulled your hand back, returning it to your side.

gideon quickly introduced you to the rest of the team, everyone seeming to come to terms with the fact gideon had a ‘secret’ daughter that he never once brought up.

all the while spencer stood, hands glued to his sides as he eyed you. he had never seen someone so perfect, the way the dress hung from your frame, the way you politely greeted every member of the team.

when gideon had finally reached him to introduce y/n to him, he was caught off guard.

“reid, meet my daughter y/n, im sure it’s not as hard for you to understand.” gideon hummed, making a dig at morgan who had migrated with the group to where the table was set up.

unlike the others, you kept your hand to yourself, but shot spencer a sweet smile.

“it’s really nice to meet you dr. reid- my dad has told me so much about you, i know you’re not big on handshakes.”

spencer’s heart was practically doing backflips at this point. he was completely enamoured by you.

“really nice- to meet you too.” he managed to stutter out.

gideon internally rolled his eyes, knowing exactly what was happening.

“how about we sit down and look at the menu.” he began to usher his daughter towards the table, spencer following quick at his heels.

by the time the three of them had reached where the table set for nine was, the rest of the team were sat, eagerly awaiting them. the only free spaces were at either end of the rectangular table, and an extra place next to the end seat.

“hey gideon come look at this” jj beckoned the older man over, to the head of the table. he briefly turned back to his daughter, before he could utter a word she nodded, knowing that she wouldn’t be sitting with him.

“guess we can sit down at the end together.” you affirmed, shuffling to the free seats with spencer by your side.

once seated, everyone began flipping through the menu, all besides spencer who’s gaze every so often flickered over to the girl beside him, who seemed deep in thought about what she was going to order.

“what are you going to get?” she asked, attempting to make quiet conversation with the man at her side.

spencer hummed, he had researched the restaurant before hand noting all of the dishes he might like.

“the uh- the pasta, i think.” he paused for a moment. “what about you?” he cursed the heat that rose to his face, lifting his hand to loosen the dark purple tie around his neck.

you smiled, still scanning the menu, taking glimpses of spencer in his flustered state.

you had heard many things about most of the team throughout your fathers years of working with them, and when he finally allowed you to meet them, you were most excited to meet spencer.

“i might have that too, it sounds good.”

a few hours had past since everyone had sat down, everyone had finished eating and were now onto their fourth round of drinks, all besides you and spencer.

everyone was deep in conversation about a case from a few years back, obviously you had no clue what they were talking about.

you turned to spencer, who seemed to have gotten more comfortable being in such close proximity to you.

“i swear it feels like we are sitting at the kids table at a christmas dinner.” you giggled to yourself.

“i know right- it’s it’s like we aren’t even here.” spencer returned the chuckle, his heart beating a little faster.

“how are you enjoying the night- i hope im not boring you too much, if you want to join the rest of them feel free.” you mumbled out, eyes migrating to your hands that you had placed on your lap.

“no no- i like it here, i like you- i mean i like being with you i-“ spencer fumbled on his words, causing you to smile. god he was a complete mess.

you reached a hand over, placing it on spencer’s forearm. he could swear his skin felt like it was burning from your touch.

“i like being with you too, spencer.” you whispered out, a soft pink blush dusting your cheeks.

his hazel eyes locked with yours, and he felt his breath hitch in his throat. he was partly confused as to why someone like you had enjoyed his awkwardness and rambling.

to say he had little experience talking to women in more than a friendly way, was an understatement.

he was completely out of his depth, and the fact that your father, his boss, sat at the other end of the table made things a little more awkward for him.

“you look really-good tonight, by the way.” he managed to mumble out, without sounding like a complete idiot.

this caused your face to flush, darting your eyes away from him briefly.

“thank you spencer.”

“would you maybe want to-“ before he could continue, gideon had stood up from the table, all eyes were on him.

“lets go y/n, your old man is getting too tired for this.” he joked.

“oh right-“ you stood up quickly brushing off your dress, you did a small lap of the table thanking everyone for the lovely evening and telling them it was great to meet them.

you then followed gideon out of the room, all remaining eyes were now on spencer who slumped down into his chair.

“that’s rough man, you had all night and didn’t even ask her out.” morgan shook his head lightly, feeling somewhat bad for the boy genius.

before spencer could say anything, he watched you dart back into the room, a piece of paper in your grasp. you quickly placed it in spencer’s hand before pressing a light peck to his cheek and running off out of the restaurant again.

the now flustered brunette un crumpled the paper, scanning the scribbled words.

thanks for talking all night, id love to go out with you sometime x

555-555-555 - y/n

“never mind- atta boy!”

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid #fluff #jason gideon #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds #aaron hotchner #derek morgan #penelope garcia #jenifer jareau #elle greenaway #emily prentiss

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no-144444 · 3 months ago

Text

marco polo- o.piastri

summary: your first season as an f1 driver doesn't start the best, and you quickly realise McLaren doesn't like women very much. On top of that, your race engineer is as smug as the rest of them, and you have to deal with him all the time.

pairing: race engineer! oscar piastri x f1driver! fem! reader

warnings: lots of misogyny, lando is an asshole in this, illusions to ed behaviour, reader is not in a good head space, all of mclaren is super sexist, mentions of crashes and injuries.

୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅

Things had been a little awkward since coming back to Monaco. Oscar had noticed the way you’d become a little bit more… closed off, or just a bit less talkative. That didn’t bother him. If Oscar Piastri could do anything, he could definitely talk. It took a few days for the two of you to get back into a flow of things, but no matter, he just kept suggesting things you could do together, and you didn’t have anything better to do, so off you went.

୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅

“When do you leave for Kigali?” Oscar asked, sipping on his smoothie. You’d think it wasn’t December with the Monaco weather around the two of you. You and Oscar had decided to go for a quick training session (in the form of a swim) before you left for the awards. The FIA prize-giving. The one night of your life that, if you could, you’d pay any half-good impersonator to be you, and you could fuck off and enjoy your break.

That, alas, would not be happening this year. You had to go. You were World Champion after all.

“Tomorrow morning I think,” you huffed, swiping your card into the gym. “Want to come by any chance?” you asked, awkwardly.

He raised an eyebrow. “Don’t you have a date?”

You rolled your eyes, walking away. “I don’t want one,” you sighed. “I have you.”

And with that bombshell, you walked into the women’s dressing room.

He genuinely didn’t know what to do for a solid minute. He just stood there, his arms out in front of him and his jaw dropped. One of the gym employees had to ask if he was alright. He went into the changing room with a lot on his mind. You hadn’t meant it like that, surely?

୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅

You hadn’t meant it to sound like that, really. You just meant, ‘oh, I don’t want to bother with asking someone to go with me and dealing with the online chatter about the prospects of my dead dating life, and you’re here and my best mate and people know we’re mates so that’s easier and I’d have much more fun with you anyways so yeah’, but you seemed to have a way with words. A way that made everything coming out of your mouth to him, deeply, deeply awkward.

୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅

He honestly couldn’t get over the earlier comment, but when you came out in a bikini, his brain stopped altogether.

“25 metre pool… 40 laps?” you suggested, pulling on your goggles. Granted, the goggles made you look a little bit less sexy, but much more you, and he felt his shorts get tighter again.

“Sounds good,” he nodded, following you into the pool. That did not sound good. Oscar was a good swimmer, but you went every day you could. He was fucked, but he didn’t notice that since he was too busy staring at you.

You enjoyed swimming, you found it relaxed you. Your favourite was sea-swimming, but Monté-Carlo beaches are pretty swamped with fans, and you don’t enjoy people taking pictures of you in your swimming togs. You shot off in the pool, a simple breast stroke as Oscar followed behind you. After about 30 minutes, you’d done 46 laps, and Oscar had given up halfway through and had somehow ended up in a marco polo game with a few kids. When you walked over to get him, you sat at the edge of the pool, watching the game with a soft smile on your face.

“Is that your girlfriend?!” one of the girls gasped. “She’s so pretty!”

Oscar opened his eyes and smiled when he found you, then he looked back at the girl. “She is, isn’t she?”

The girl swam off again, giggling as she swam around one of her friends. He didn't deny it. He didn't try to correct her. He just smiled and agreed. As much as every voice in your head screamed that he should be ashamed of you, he never was. He wasn't ashamed of you

“You playing?” one of the teenage boys asked, coming up beside you and holding a hand out.

You looked up to Oscar who smiled and nodded. “I’ll be on again,” he promised.

You grinned.

୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅

“Marco?” he called out. You’d both been playing with them for about 20 minutes, but you were genuinely having too much fun to notice.

“Polo!” you called back, and he could hear the smile on your lips. God, it was good to hear you laugh again. The last triple header had been nothing but work (except from the party but he hadn’t had gained the courage to talk about that yet), and it was nice to see you let loose.

He reached a hand out and brushed your midriff, making you laugh, and he wrapped his arms around your waist and pulled you into his arms, opening his eyes as he laughed with you. He loved this, loved you, loved being around you.

Your giggles died down, as did his and you smiled at him, looking up. “Alright?” he asked, pulling his arm around your shoulder as you both turned back to the kids. You nodded at him as they started explaining the next game to you both. You didn’t mind how his hand stayed around your shoulder. You didn’t mind it one bit.

୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅

You ended up back at your house, enjoying the setting sun as Oscar cooked dinner on your barbeque. You were busy staring at your garden while he was busy staring at you (and the dinner).

“I meant it earlier,” you told him, joining him beside the grill. “I want you to come to the awards.”

He shook his head, smiling. “Take someone else,” he insisted.

“Who else would I take?” you questioned him. “Some random male celebrity who everyone will think I’m dating?”

He tried to ignore the fact that the thought of you with someone else made his stomach flip, but he couldn’t really. He turned to look at you. “People think we’re dating.”

You stared back at him for a second, then rolled your eyes. “That’s different.”

“How?” he pushed. Again, you just looked at him. It was weird. The air changed.

“It just… is,” you said, your voice small. “Look, if you don’t want to come, you don’t have to. I was just asking because you’ve really been the only person there for me, and I think the trophy is as much yours as it is mine,” you huffed.

He stilled for a moment. Of course he was going to go, from the second you asked. He’d literally do anything you asked. He just… he wanted to give you an out, just in case the offer wasn’t genuine. He was happy to say that it was. And he planned on taking it.

“Of course I’ll come,” he smiled, wrapping his arm around your shoulders again, and pressing a quick kiss to the top of your head. “I love supporting you.”

The both of you stilled. Your stomach churned and he just couldn’t believe what he’d done. He hadn't even meant to, it was a complete accident, but it happened. He liked it. He loved days like these, and he hoped that he hadn’t just fucked everything up with one little action. You honestly held your breath for a few seconds, shock taking over, then decided that it was alright, and leant into him more.

“Thanks Osc.”

Like he’d said earlier, whiplash.

୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅

Oscar was an ‘Airport Dad’ in the worst sense of the word. He made sure you two got to the airport 3 hours early (you were flying private), made you triple check your passport and boarding pass three times before he let you get out of the taxi, and demanded the window seat you were sitting in even though it was a private plane.

The plane ride was enjoyable though, a night of playing uno with him, Max, Charles, Yuki, and George.

“He’s cheating!” George argued, slamming his cards down after Oscar won a fourth time.

“How?!” Oscar laughed, arguing back as both Charles and Max rolled their eyes at him, throwing their cards on the table.

“I don’t know, but he’s doing it!” George seethed, getting up. “I’m getting another drink and by the time I get back Y/n, I expect your race engineer to be sorted out!”

You laughed at the exchange, taking no sides. Oscar turned to you with a bright smile and roll of his eyes while you started fixing the cards up for the next round.

“You two are insufferable, aren’t you?” Yuki sighed.

“What do you mean?” you scoffed, throwing a card at him.

“I’m so single!” he groaned, letting his head rest on the table. “You two keep reminding me of that!”

Max laughed as Yuki groaned again, and you gulped back a shocked chuckle. Oscar excused himself to the bathroom for a moment.

“We’re not dating,” you reminded Yuki.

He scoffed. “Yeah, it’s not like he’s madly in love with you or anything as well then,” You stared at him for a moment and he rolled his eyes. “I mean come on! The way that man looks at you? It’s insane!”

You shook your head, brushing him off. “We’re friends, nothing more.”

“Oh sure.”

୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅

You all landed and were driven straight to the arena to get ready. You were immediately thrown into makeup and getting dressed, and basically separated from Oscar because Max stole him away.

You were nervous, there was no point in lying about it. You hated making speeches, you hated being on stage, and you hated being celebrated. You knew you just had to remind yourself that Oscar was somewhere in that audience and he was there for you. He didn’t care what happened, he’d sit there with a smile on his face no matter what.

Knock knock.

“We want to see the dress!” Max called from the other side of the door. Good thing you were almost ready. You smiled awkwardly as you opened the door, trying to show off the dress but it just ended up looking like a weird pose. Oscar’s jaw dropped anyway, but you didn’t see since Max was busy pulling you in for a hug.

Oscar’s slacks got a lot tighter as he watched you in the dress, and he realised the night had become nearly impossible, but he’d do it for you. It would just be slightly tortuous. The way the dress clung to you made him crazy. The red, a stark contrast to the regular papaya racesuit or dark workout clothes he was used to seeing you in. It was maddening how badly he wanted to just reach out and smooth a hand on your hip, or just run a hand through your perfectly styled hair. You were goregous, to put it simply.

“What do you think?” you asked, your voice uncomfortable.

He smiled down at you. “I think you’re beautiful,” he whispered. “I think you’re always beautiful.”

You wished he didn’t say the sweetest things. You still felt like you didn't deserve them.

He knew you did.

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playnextdoor · 4 months ago

Text

dating modern abby headcannons

cw: both sfw and nsfw

Abby didn’t know naps could be a luxury until she met you. She was always on her feet, never stopping long enough to close her eyes for a "weak" 30 minutes. But now? That quick nap became her personal slice of heaven. Her cranky, sleep-deprived self would curl up next to you, her face buried in your neck. By the time she woke, she’d be all sunshine, grinning like she hadn’t just been grumbling an hour ago.

Sweet tooth!!!!!!! She loves sweets, especially dark chocolate. If you ever peek into her bedside drawer, you’ll find a nearly demolished chocolate bar waiting for her nightly ritual.

“What?” she says with a shrug, stuffing a square into her mouth. “I like a piece of chocolate before bed,” Her eyebrows furrow as she chews, eyeing you like you’re judging her life choices.

“Nothing,” you chuckle, watching her puffed cheeks work overtime. “I never met anyone who would do that.”

Her arms crossed immediately, mock-offended. “And what’s that supposed to mean?”

“Oh my god, Abigal, nothing, it’s cute.” You lean in, silencing her pout with a kiss, the faint bitterness of chocolate lingering on her lips.

Abby has a thing for books. Not just reading them—collecting them. We’re talking first editions, special releases, and rare overseas copies. This girl gets down. Her study practially a library, shelves nearly touching the ceiling filled with books, some on display and some in special casings. You even catch her one day, headphones blasting as she carefully and meticulously cleaned some of the books. The music was so opposite to what she was doing, her hands handling the covers so carefully. Instantly wet holyyyyyy

This goes with her being veryyyy clean and organized. It was so cute when you snooped in her drawers, her undergarments folded up so neatly in rows, and her socks in perfect little squares.

She likes her space, which you understood very early in the relationship. Sometimes, the two of you would be on separate ends of the couch, her playing some game on the TV while you color in your coloring books, or when she would carve out days for the two of you and then days for just her. She loved you dearly, and it was just that she needed the only time to recharge.

Really into speakeasies. It’s her preferred place to grab a drink with you. The dim lighting, quiet atmosphere, and cozy corners make it her ideal date spot. She also likes sitting with you in some dimly lit corner, you more tipsy than her, laughing hysterically at some awful joke she said. If you really wanted to go to a club and shake ass, you bet Abby is going to take you, but she’s just gonna stand behind you like an awkward teenage boy getting grinded on for the first time.

This girl is not big on PDA, sorry not sorry. She’ll hold your hand, wrap her arm around you, maybe a kiss here and there, but she will most likely shy away from anything else, not that she’s embarrassed, she prefers to keep things just for you and her.

Food is Abby’s love language! Loves cooking, loves trying new places, loves eating, period. How else do you think she keeps her physique?

Speaking of muscles, the gym is practically her second home. She’s not a gym rat per se, but she’s got a solid routine, especially when it comes to upper body days. She loves how her arms look in T-shirts, but she loves that you love them even more.

Keys clanked into the trinket dish as Abby slipped off her shoes. Just getting back from the gym, all she is thinking about is going straight to the shower; once wet with sweat, her shirt feels disgusting on her. She sees you eyeing her from the kitchen, occasionally looking up from your phone, eyes lingering on her bulging arms; the pump did her good today because you’re ready to strip naked right there. She flashes a knowing smile as she puts her things away. She strides towards you, coming next to you to place a kiss on your head.

“How was the gym?” turning off your phone to provide her the full attention she most definitely deserved, hand creeping to caress the veins that littered down her forearms all the way up to the hard muscle on her bicep, squeezing it.

Abby just watches you, smile bitten back as you look almost in awe at how fucking massive her arms are, your sweet eyes meeting up to hers.

“Good,” she murmurs, watching your fascination. Her voice drops, low and teasing. “Something on your mind?”

“Mmm,” you hum, nails raking lightly over her back. She groans softly, and you know exactly where this is going.

nsfw

Boobs. Loves boobies. Likes to look at them, have them in her hands, in her mouth. Sure, she appreciates your ass—who wouldn’t? But there’s just something about slipping your nipple into her mouth, especially in those early morning hours. The sensation wakes you in a frenzy, loving how Abby does this for herself. Or when the two are cuddling, she’ll sometimes lay her face in them, the warmth of your scent lulling her to sleep.

Pronebone is her favorite position aside from missionary. Any time and any day, she is tightening the straps and fucking you into the mattress.

Speaking of tightening straps, the first time you did it, Abby nearly came, hips stuttering as she felt the firm tug of your hand tightening one of the straps that sat at her hip. Lord have mercyyy just thinking about how she would just pant above you, her golden hair cascading around your face like a curtain. Her hips moved against yours in a rhythm so devastatingly slow hnghhhhhhh

Stone top AT FIRST. She told you right before your first time together, you didn’t mind, genuinely. You have always been on both the receiving and giving end, so you were willing to be open for your girlfriend. And fuck how much it turned you on when Abby would slip a hand in her own pants as she ate you out, nearly heaving into you as you both came. It wasn't until a couple of months into the relationship that you asked.

Grinding down on her jean-clad thigh, the rough seam pressed perfectly against your cunt, drawing out a needy whimper that matched the low groans spilling from Abby’s lips. Her soft “mhm’s” spurred you on, the delicious friction pulling the two of you deeper.

Abby didn’t know what shifted in her—it might have been when you slid to your knees with a slow, deliberate grace, your nails dragging down her thighs. Her body moved instinctively, thighs spreading wide as if something had taken over her.

Or maybe it was when you pressed your cheek near where you needed her the most. Her hand came to caress your head, finding it so endearing how eager you had been all night, your fingers lingering for just a second longer, lips finding solace in her neck as you murmured how bad you needed her. She should have known you were going to beg eventually.

“Abby, please.”

You didn’t even need to elaborate, eyes were locked on the belt still fastened at her waist, the buckle catching the light and taunting you. Her own gaze, glossy and heavy with want, flickered down to meet yours.

Fuck. How could she possibly say no?

She can get rough if you would like, but she prefers to cuddlefuck than to fuck you upside down and sideways.

This goes back to the pronebone position, something you didn’t even know had a name until you tried explaining it to Abby in a very clumsy, very horny way. After that, Abby does it at least once when you guys have sex.

She’ll have your face down, your elbows digging into the bed as she fucked your leaking cunt with two thick fingers. Abby always took her time, kissing up the curve of your ass, her lips soft and warm against your heated skin. When she finally slipped her fingers out, you’d whimper in protest, only for her strong hands to press you further into the bed, spreading you open as her groan mingled with yours. The blanket so warm underneath you, mixing with the weight of her body and hands on you, have you in such a blissful haze.

“Yeah?” Abby asked, her voice low and breathless. You could barely process what she was saying, too lost in the feeling, but you nodded eagerly into the pillow, pushing your ass higher in response.

Chuckling, she sat perched on the backs of your thighs, holding you in place as she made your body tremble with anticipation. Sliding up and down with the tip of her black 6 1/2-inch faux cock it only makes you wiggle around impatiently. With a teasing pinch to your thigh to remind you to relax she finally shifts, pushing its length into you so slow you nearly grab it to put it in yourself. The stretch had your whimpers climbing into desperate, high-pitched cries muffled by the pillows. The pillows do what you need them to do because if you remove them, people will think someone is dying in there. Well, kind of, don't the french say orgasm means "tiny death"? Yeah that was happening.

Prefers if you orgasm first. She claims her own release isn't as satisfying when you don't.

“I dunno, Abby.”

The words escaped in a soft gasp as you abruptly sat up. Abby’s lips popped off your mound, glossy and parted, her wide eyes locking on yours in utter confusion. “I can’t…”

Her brows furrowed, her head tilting slightly as if to ask why in the world you’d stop her now. “Can’t what?” she asked, inching closer like she didn’t plan on letting you go anywhere.

“Cum,” you admitted, pushing her head away gently, though you both knew she wouldn’t take kindly to it.

Sure enough, she shook your hand off and gave you a look that could only be described as determined.

“Stop. Lay your ass down."

Before you could protest, she scoots you closer, which causes you to fall back into the mattress, her lips finding the inside of your thighs, skin slightly tacky from her spit and your slickness.

“No, like actually,” you said again, sitting up despite her best efforts to keep you in place, your legs starting to close instinctively.

Abby pouts, and you can’t help but mimic her expression because this poor girl has been following you around like a lovesick puppy ever since you got home from work, clearly bored and horny, while you were too stressed and tired to even think about anything else. She was all smooth with it, too, claiming she was going to “put you to bed,” but your head was still spinning with thoughts of annoying coworkers and unfinished tasks. You were too far in your own head to focus on the woman between your legs who was clearly trying to help.

Her warm hands found your shoulders, pressing with that unique weight only she carried, her thumbs kneading gently. The gesture softened you immediately.

“We can totally stop, it's just..." Her lips find yours in a gentle yet hungry kiss, her teeth nipping then soothing it with the wet of her tongue. You nearly moaned into her mouth, your body betraying every word you were about to say. “I have been wanting to taste you all fucking day. I know you had a shit day, but please, baby, I don’t think I’ll sleep tonight if you don’t come on my face”

You couldn’t help it; you burst into laughter, and Abby froze, staring at you ???????

“Oh, you’re serious,” you managed between fits of giggles, your eyes watering as you met her utterly unamused glare.

Two minutes of laughing later, Abby had had enough. With a firm nod, she launched herself forward, tackling you onto the bed and pinning you beneath her. Her body weight pressed you into the mattress, her lips hovering over yours, and you could see that look in her eyes that she was really going to put you to bed this time.

a/n: this sucks butt lol but i hope you all enjoy still.

#abby anderson #abby anderson smut #abby anderson x reader #abby anderson x reader smut #abby anderson fluff #abby anderson fanfic #abby x reader #abby tlou #orion’s writing

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shockercoco · 1 year ago

Text

Unconventional Confessions

Austin Butler x reader

Warnings - 18+, smut, fingering/fingering in front of mirror, dirty talk, squirting, oh no he's hot!

Word count - 1759

a/n - It took me 30 minutes to choose a gif and I’m still not happy with it lol. Here's the winner of the poll so I hope you enjoy :)

“So, did you enjoy it?” Austin asks you over the commotion in the theater.

Austin had brought you as his date to the premiere of Dune, a new movie he had a part in. As soon as the credits began rolling, everyone in the audience stood up to applaud the performance of the cast members, including you. Although, your applause was targeted more towards Austin and his performance.

You walked into the movie not expecting to find your boyfriend’s character attractive, like you have in the past with his other roles. After all, he played a pale, bald psychotic sadist with black teeth – someone that most people would be disgusted by.

Not you, though, because as soon as Feyd came on screen you were drawn in, not just because of how good he looked shirtless, but from his strange and deviant behavior. The way he dragged his tongue against his blade, how unsympathetic he was for human life, how he laughed and drooled in the face of danger all weirdly had an affect on you.

You noticed this when you felt your insides turn, and when you glanced down at your lap you saw that you had unconsciously crossed your legs. You knew how much Austin takes his career seriously and how easily it was for him to immerse himself into his roles, but you never expected this from him.

“I loved it. The sound, the acting, the cinematography – it was all amazing,” you smile as you turn to look up at him. You’ve always had a love for film, and Austin knew this and loved that about you.

A smile forms on Austin’s face at your response as he leans down to hug you and to place a quick kiss on your lips.

The ride back to the hotel was long due to New York traffic, but Austin decided to take this time to pull up the partition and put you into his lap and kiss you. He always did this in the car after an event or party, and each time you would tell him no, given the fact it was dangerous to not have your seatbelt on, but you always end up caving in the end.

You decide to take a shower when you arrive back at the hotel, not only to get clean, but to calm your nerves. After you get out and begin your skin care, Austin enters the bathroom and wraps his arms around you from behind, placing his chin atop your head.

“I know I already asked you if you liked the movie, but what did you think of me?” he asks as he looks at you through the mirror. Austin would always overthink when it came to his acting and would come to you for reassurance.

“You were great, just like you always are,” you tell him as you continue on with your routine.

He groans and gives your hips a squeeze. “Come on, you gotta give me more than that.”

You smile at him through the mirror. “I really enjoyed your performance, given the fact you’ve never done anything like that. You were unrecognizable, and not just because of the makeup,” you laughed,” Your deduction really paid off.”

You watch as Austin beams at your response. “Really?”

“Yes, really.”

“Anything else?” he asks you.

Yes, yes there is.

“Well, I may or may not have found Feyd attractive, even though he’s mentally unstable. Too bad we won’t see him in the next movie.” you fake sadness towards the end. You talk casually as if what you said was minor.

You watch as Austin lights up and lifts his head. He raises his eyebrows with a smirk. “Is that right?”

“Mhm,” you nod your head, “it just sucks that you’re not him.”

And you guess that set him off because next thing you know he’s pulling you even closer into him as he places soft kisses on your neck. You laugh and playfully try to shove him off, but Austin just laughs into your ear and continues as one his hands begins to slowly travel south. When you feel his hand reach the waistband of your pajama shorts you freeze. You look at Austin through the mirror to see that his gaze is already on you, a sly smile showing on his face.

“If you couldn’t tell, I’m a little busy right now,” you joke.

“Oh, don’t stop on my account. Just pretend I’m not even here,” he says without taking his eyes away from yours. You stare back at him for a second before starting the last step of your routine – brushing your teeth. Austin keeps his focus on your face.

Just as you were reaching for your toothbrush, his hand dips inside your shorts and stops when his fingers reach your clit over your underwear. You tightly grip the toothbrush in your hand when you feel his fingers start to lightly rub circles into you through the fabric. You can already feel yourself getting wet from the teasing, warmth pooling in your lower half. As you reach for the toothpaste, he adds more pressure to your clit, and you clench your teeth to keep the sounds in your throat from escaping.

Austin smirks to himself once he notices the tension in your jaw, which you feel as it forms on his lips that are still attached to your neck. When you reach for the toothpaste, he begins to glide his fingers up and down your slit through your underwear, feeling the damp fabric.

As you begin to squeeze the toothpaste on your toothbrush, you feel Austin’s hand quickly dip inside the waistband of your underwear and collect your arousal on his fingers before spreading it through your folds. This time you can’t stop the moan from escaping your lips as your mouth falls open.

“I said don’t stop,” he whispers into your ear and ends the sentence with a kiss behind your ear, causing a shiver to make its way through your body. You look at him in the mirror to see his eyes still on you, feeling another wave of heat run through your body from the eye contact.

You go to squeeze the toothpaste on your toothbrush only to feel Austin shove a finger into your opening. You have to brace yourself against the counter as you feel your walls welcome him in, but Austin keeps his finger still inside of you, waiting for you to continue.

When you lift the toothbrush to your lips with an unsteady hand, he pushes a second finger into you. Another moan leaves your mouth as you feel yourself stretch around him, and once you feel his fingers move inside you, you immediately drop the toothbrush and toothbrush for it to land in the sink. There’s no way you can carry on now.

Austin laughs at your reaction and continues to thrust his fingers inside of you as he finally lifts his head away from the crease of your neck to fully watch your facial expressions. He gradually increases the speed of his fingers and tightly wraps his unoccupied arm around your waist when you begin to squirm against his front. You feel his hard length against your backside, turning you on even more, but your main focus is the fingers pushing in and out of you with persistence.

You place one hand back on the counter and use the other to cling onto the arm around your waist. You feel your head drop and your eyes squeeze shut as whines fall out of your mouth, but Austin isn’t a fan of this. He removes the arm from your waist and grips your chin, forcing you to look up.

“Keep your eyes open,” he says, and you whine at his words.

“Austin-” you start, but he cuts you off.

“Keep your eyes open.”

You pry your eyes open and look at the hand moving in your shorts. Austin gives your chin another squeeze and pushes it up for you to look at him through the mirror. He smirks at your present state, and if it wasn’t for him currently pleasing you, you would slap that smirk off his face. He knows you hate prolonged eye contact.

“You fall apart so easily, don’t you?” he asks, and you weren’t aware he wanted you to answer until he repeats, “don’t you?”

“Yes,” you breathe out.

His fingers arrive at that special spongy spot inside of you, making your body jerk and your jaw go slack. He continuously hits the area with precision as he curls his fingers into you. His arm finds its place around your waist again once you start to writhe against him. You squeal as he speeds his fingers up even more, causing wet squelches to fall out of your soaked cunt, the sound echoing in your ears.

You feel the pressure in your quickly building up, and you close your eyes again – it’s taking too much energy to continue holding them open. This time Austin lets you. One of your hands moves down towards his wrist, but he quickly grabs it and holds against you as his arm wraps around you once again. Your thighs squeeze together as the pressure becomes too much and you come closer and closer to your climax, but this doesn’t stop him.

Austin feels your walls tighten and flutter around his fingers, and he does everything to make you fall over the edge. You let out a silent cry as your orgasm makes its way through your limbs.

He continues to push his fingers in and out of you to prolong your pleasure, and you let out a cry as you feel a gush of liquid fall out of you. It soaks your underwear and shorts as it makes its way down your leg. Austin still doesn’t let up on his pace so you go to squeeze his wrist, and he begins to slow his movements.

When he finally stops, he pulls his fingers out of you and brings them up to his mouth to suck the taste of you off. Despite your energy being drained, you still manage to roll your eyes at him.

“Come on, sweetheart, round two in the bedroom. You need to lay down, your legs must be tired from standing,” he smirks and gives you a wink as he backs away from you and heads out the bathroom.

You grab the tube of toothpaste from the sink and chuck it at his head, but you miss, making Austin laugh.

#austin butler x reader #austin butler smut #austin butler #austin butler imagine #smut #feyd rautha x reader #dune part 2 #feyd rautha #feyd rautha smut

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dearsnow · 11 months ago

Text

YOUR REAL BOYFRIEND

- you go on your first date with your “bar boyfriend”, who seems a whole lot nicer than the guy that tried to pick you up earlier. (bob floyd x fem!reader, fluff <3, you don’t necessarily need to read part 1 but it provides some context)

PART 1

word count: 1,686

a/n - i did not expect part 1 to do so well, omg 🥹 thank you all for the love. if i had the writing stability I would’ve turned this into a series, but there is still time for that yet lol. enjoy this fluffy part 2 <3

You sit in your small apartment anxiously. Your first text to Bob has just gone through, and in the heat of the moment, you threw your phone across your bed and smothered it with a pillow. It was a simple thing, just saying “Hey! I’m Y/N from the bar :)”, and you really have nothing to be scared of, but your breaths are uncomfortably quick in the early morning. It’s like you just took a five mile run. You pick up the book on your bedside table and flip through a few pages, failing to read a single word.

You only put down your fruitless attempt at calming yourself down when your phone gives a muffled buzz from underneath your pillow. You grab it quickly, seeing his just-saved name flash across the screen.

Bob: Hello, Y/N from the bar! I was a bit worried you weren’t going to reach out, but I’m really glad you did.

You: Of course I reached out. You’re a nice guy, I would be stupid not to.

You internally groan before hitting send. He makes your insides turn to mush just by typing on a screen. At this point, you’re scared of professing your undying love.

He is a nice guy, and a polite guy, and honestly an everything-you-could-ever-want guy. You barely spent thirty minutes with the man and you already find yourself wanting to slip a ring on his finger. He’s different, a really good kind of different.

Bob: I’m flattered.

Bob: This might be too soon, but would you want to go out sometime? I know this nice place by the beach where we could get to know each other better.

You: I’d love to!! Lmk the details and I’ll be there <3

As you fling your phone across your bed again to kick your legs, you almost feel bad for it. The man of your dreams is asking you out, and you can’t physically handle the joy that’s pouring out of you right now. You can just imagine his quiet, smooth voice talking away while his eyes light up. When you get the date plan, you eagerly type it into your calendar.

Saturday, 5:30 PM, Ocean’s Cove Seafood and Bar. It’s perfect.

You don’t know how you can get through the rest of the week with the date looming in your mind, but, somehow, you’ll have to find a way to manage.

Your management ended up being text conversations with Bob so frequently it felt like you were always checking your phone for a new message. For the first time in your pitiful dating history, he was the one reaching out often and matching your energy. Talking with him is like a breath of fresh air. It’s almost better than than the fresh air you’re breathing now, walking through the open entrance of Ocean’s Cove. You immediately notice a very handsome man sitting at the table you’re directed towards, with his sandy hair styled perfectly.

As you walk over, he stands and pulls out your seat for you, only sitting down himself when you’re situated. His cheeks are tinted pink. “Hi.” He offers, clearing his throat. “You look really beautiful.”

“Thank you, Bob. You look amazing too.” You say, reaching out to brush against his blazer’s collar. “You always do.”

His face grows impossibly redder.

Just like the first time you met, you fall into the rhythm of conversation easily. It’s awkward, at first, as things often are, but it quickly becomes one of the best talks you’ve ever had. Your food is eaten between giggles and playful comments.

“He seriously made you do five hundred push-ups for someone else’s mistake? Man, you must hate this Hangman guy after he pulled that.”

“Oh, everyone hates him. In a loving way, mostly. Just be glad you’ve never been around him while he’s drunk.” Bob’s eyes are lit up, and the sight is better than you could’ve ever imagined.

You wipe your mouth with your napkin gently, trying to not rub your makeup on the soft cloth. “Wait, what’s he like drunk? He’s gotta be a character.”

He lets out a soft chuckle, and you engrave the sound in your memory. This is amazing. “He gets so competitive, but he’s too drunk to throw the darts straight or hold the pool cue proper. It’s really funny, because he thinks he’s doing well until the darts end up pinned through Maverick’s uniform.”

“Oh geez,” you laugh. “That reminds me of my old friend. She drunkenly spilled tequila down the front of our boss’s suit while trying to impress our coworker.”

“It seems like we’ve got a lot in common.” He smiles. He’s about to say something else, but your waiter stops in front of your table before he can get the words out.

“I’m sorry, ma’am, sir, but we have another couple waiting for your table. We have a three hour policy.”

Three hours? You’ve been here for three hours? You check the dimming light and realize that what you thought was forty minutes was, in fact, a hundred and eighty. Bob pulls out his card and signs the receipt, seemingly a little embarrassed that he also didn’t realize the time. “Here. Sorry for the trouble.”

The card is whisked away before you can even request a separate check. “I would’ve paid for that.”

“No can do.” Bob says, placing his hand over yours gently. “It’s my treat.”

You try to formulate a response to his kindness, but your mouth falls dry. All you can do is whisper a “Thank you,” as the waiter comes back with his card and ushers you out politely.

The outside air is heavy and chilly, cut with the smell of sea spray. As the sun dips below the horizon, you shiver. Without a word, Bob drapes his blazer around your shoulders. You turn to him, eyes slightly wide. “Are you sure?”

The question is about more than just the blazer. It encompasses everything you’ve wanted to say to him, everything that you’ve been worried about from the beginning. Is he sure that he wants to do this? That he really actually likes the person he just so happened to save at the Hard Deck?

“Always.” Is his simple reply. Your hand finds his, and he entwines your fingers like it’s natural. “I apologize if this is overstepping-“

“Do you want-“

You both start and stop at the same time. “Continue.” You say, a smile working its way up to your eyes.

“No, you go.” He insists. He swings his arm a bit, taking your hand with him. You can feel his blazer dip past your hand and onto his, as the sleeves are too long for you.

“I was going to ask if you wanted to go down to the beach with me. It might not be good for our formal clothes, but I really like you, and I want to spend more time with you. As much time as possible, actually.”

This time, it’s his eyes that widen. “You read my mind. I was thinking the exact same thing.”

You laugh, a sound that’s music to his ears. It’s perfect, like everything about you. Like your humor and your storytelling ability, like the slope of your shoulders and the softness of your hands. He could spend his whole life drowning in you. “Then let’s go, before we miss the entire sunset.”

You pull him along, your thumb smoothing over his own, and he thinks he’d let you lead him anywhere. “Look, the beach is so pretty at this time of day! It’s like something out of a magazine.” You exclaim, expensive heels digging into the sand. You can’t bring yourself to care about washing the sand off, not right now.

“It’s almost as pretty as you.” Bob breathes. He doesn’t expect you to hear it, but you do. You turn around and slide your palm over the smooth fabric of his shirt, playing with the collar, before kissing his cheek softly.

For once, you take initiative in your movements. You can’t let him slip away; you think you’d be devastated if you didn’t see him again, if you never told him exactly how you feel. “I’d say it’s nowhere near as pretty as you.” You can tell your face is warm, and his definitely is. “We need to do this again.”

“For sure.” He murmurs. His expression is conflicted, and you feel a small bit of insecurity bubbling up. Does he not want this as much as you do? He takes a small breath of air, eyes flicking up to the sky for a brief moment. His glasses slide down his nose just a bit, but he doesn’t push them up. He’s only focused on the words timidly making their way out of his mouth. “Please stop me now if you don’t feel the same way.”

“If ‘feeling the same way’ means wanting to continue talking, I wouldn’t stop you for the world.” You can feel a hint of anxiety in your tone. Bob takes both of your hands, and the small butterflies are eaten by larger, rougher butterflies. Think atlas moth sized butterflies.

“In that case,” he almost whispers, “would you let me be your boyfriend? For real this time. And I won’t hold it against you if you say no, or want to wait, because I know we’ve only really been talking for a week, and-“

You cut him off with a kiss. His lips are soft and don’t demand anything from you. He reaches for the back of your head, cradling you like you might break. When you finally break away, his glasses are just a bit crooked. You reach a hand up to fix them. “Yes. Yes, I’d love it if you were my real boyfriend.”

“Awesome.” Is all he can manage to say. You giggle anyways, placing your hands on his chest.

“Next time, if a creep hits me up in a bar, we won’t have to lie.”

He places a sweet kiss on your forehead. “If I’m there, I hope he wouldn’t even think to try.”

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