#to give him some private instruction

[rowanthestrange]

one minute of silly puppy playing with and teething on his nylabone, to the background restaurant noise of a silent travelvlogger (to get him used to the television and different kinds of ambient sounds).

[brightlotusmoon]

Copied from a Facebook page:

When Wallace Shawn first read the script for "The Princess Bride," he paused over a single word that would later define his character, Vizzini. The line simply read: “Inconceivable!” with no instruction on delivery or emphasis. In an interview with "Entertainment Weekly," Shawn recalled sitting alone in his apartment, repeating the word again and again into a tape recorder. He felt that a straightforward reading would flatten Vizzini’s absurd confidence. He wanted to infuse the exclamation with a rhythm that matched the character’s inflated sense of superiority.

He began experimenting with dozens of pronunciations, from a drawn-out lament to a quick bark. Finally, he settled on a clipped, high-pitched version that turned the word into a sneering challenge. He explained that he aimed to create the impression Vizzini believed he was the only intelligent person in any conversation. Shawn described this process as a kind of “private laboratory,” where he tried to craft something that sounded musical and sharp without losing the comedic edge.

During the filming of "The Princess Bride" in 1987, he quickly learned his instincts had struck a chord. Mandy Patinkin and Cary Elwes often repeated “Inconceivable!” in the same singsong tone during breaks. At first, Shawn worried they were mocking him. He admitted in a conversation with the "New York Times" that he would return to his trailer feeling uneasy about whether the cast respected his performance. However, Patinkin later assured him they repeated the word because it had become an instant favorite.

Shawn also revealed that the director, Rob Reiner, encouraged him to keep pushing the exaggeration further. Reiner wanted Vizzini to feel like a man so certain of his brilliance that even obvious contradictions never shook his faith in his own conclusions. Shawn credited this encouragement for giving him the freedom to take the line to its most ridiculous extreme.

During one of the early table reads, Reiner had asked Shawn to deliver the line in as many different ways as possible, just to hear how far they could stretch its comedic potential. Shawn later shared with "Variety" that this exercise led to some hilariously overblown attempts, including one where he nearly lost his voice from shouting “Inconceivable!” across the rehearsal hall. Though many of these takes never made it to set, they helped him discover the precise delivery that would define Vizzini’s character.

Cast members were not the only ones fascinated by Shawn’s performance. Crew members began joking that no one could pronounce the word the same way twice once they had heard his version. During an interview with "The A.V. Club," Cary Elwes remembered that whenever Shawn stepped into a scene, everyone braced themselves for the moment he would declare something “Inconceivable!” and break the tension with laughter.

Shawn found the attention both flattering and bewildering. He said he never imagined a single word could eclipse everything else he had done in the film. Yet over time, he accepted that it was this very fixation that proved how effective the choice had been.

He also shared that he kept a small notebook from that period where he wrote different ways to say the word, each one labeled with a description like “arrogant,” “smug,” or “singing.” That notebook remains one of his favorite mementos from the production, a record of the painstaking, almost obsessive process of turning a simple line into a cultural phenomenon.

He explained that even decades later, strangers would approach him with wide grins and deliver their own interpretations of “Inconceivable!” Some would lean in close, lowering their voices to a conspiratorial whisper, while others would shout it across a crowded street. Shawn often responded by nodding appreciatively and thinking back to those early days in his apartment, alone with his tape recorder, determined to find the version that would sound just right.

Shawn’s careful crafting of Vizzini’s signature cry proves that even a single word can become unforgettable when an actor is willing to explore every possibility until the perfect sound emerges.

[jungwnies]

f1 grid | who wears the pants... and who doesn't

୨ৎ : featuring : all drivers on the grid (ft. seb & kimi as requested) ୨ৎ : synopsis (requested by @sonichkkaaascreams) : who on the grid wears the pants in the relationship, and who doesn't >.>

୨ৎ : genre : mature & romance ୨ৎ : tws : def suggestive for some ୨ৎ : word count : 2145

୨ৎ masterlist ୨ৎ

ᡣ𐭩 a/n : another rare monday grid post AND a double post >.<

ʚ・red bull

max verstappen

pretends to be in charge until you say something like “on your knees” and he obeys like it’s instinct.

constantly teases you in public, but it’s all bark behind closed doors, he folds under your tone.

you tell him when, where, how. he lives for being told exactly what to do.

rarely talks back, but when he does, it’s 100% to rile you up so you’ll put him in his place.

after? he’s extra clingy. won’t stop stroking your thigh and calling you “babe” like you didn’t just ruin him 10 minutes ago.

subby max. bratty when bored. melts when you’re in control.

yuki tsunoda

fights it for about 0.2 seconds before giving in with a flushed face and a quiet “okay…”

melts the second you use a firm tone. especially if you call him out — “yuki. focus.” he’s instantly obedient.

loves being praised more than anything. you say “good boy” and he makes the softest noise you’ve ever heard.

whiny, needy, and eager to please. he’ll ask “am i doing okay?” with wide eyes and desperation in his voice.

clings to you after, burying his face in your chest while you play with his hair and let him come down slow.

subby yuki. zero resistance. just wants to be told what to do and loved after.

ʚ・mercedes

george russell

you try to boss him around once and he just raises an eyebrow like, “you done?”

he doesn’t tell you what to do — he instructs you, and somehow you always end up listening.

real composed until it matters, and then it’s all “hands where i want them. now.”

praise kink? yes. but for you. he’ll have you whimpering “yes, sir” and he’ll smile like it’s his life’s mission.

absolutely ruins you with that quiet authority voice and the way he looks at you like he owns every inch of you.

dommy george. calculated, commanding, never raises his voice — he doesn’t need to.

kimi antonelli

tries to act cool and composed, but the second you touch his jaw and say “sit. be good,” he’s gone.

wants to be the one in control, but gets flustered when you take over — and honestly? he kind of likes it.

gets so soft when you’re gentle but firm with him. your praise sticks in his head for days.

will try to return the favor and be dommy sometimes, but ends up red in the face and overly polite about it.

“can i… uhm… maybe touch you now?” yes baby. yes you can.

soft dom in theory. submissive in practice. let him be your sweet, eager-to-please rookie.

ʚ・ferrari

charles leclerc

always looks like he’s in control — clean-cut, charming, arm around your waist in public like he owns the place.

but in private? he’s a soft dom who lives to please you. will let you lead anytime if he sees that glint in your eye.

“you want to be in charge tonight?” he asks, smiling against your neck. “good. i like watching you work.”

still guides you gently when he’s domming — whispers in your ear, hands on your hips, praise always dripping from his lips.

you switch off control easily. for him, it’s never a power trip — it’s about intimacy. trust. making sure you both fall apart in the best way.

switchy charles. publicly confident, privately obsessed with your pleasure. gives and takes control like it’s an art.

lewis hamilton

you try to tell him what to do and he just chuckles low in your ear like, “you’re cute, baby.”

always puts you first — mentally, emotionally, physically — but he’s the one setting the pace.

hands around your throat with the softest voice in your ear: “you take what i give you. nothing more.”

doesn’t need to raise his voice — his presence alone is enough to have you falling apart.

aftercare king. whispering affirmations, kissing your skin, running you a bath while you’re still breathless.

dommy lewis. slow, smooth, and absolutely devastating — in the best way.

ʚ・mclaren

lando norris

tries to be all dominant and cocky until you pin him down and say

“is this what you wanted?” — instant blushing, stuttering.

loves the playful power struggle — but secretly lives for you winning it.

in public, it’s balanced — you both tease each other, both have control… until he accidentally calls you “ma’am” under his breath.

absolutely loses it when you give him commands — especially if you use that soft, deadly tone.

post-mess: clings to you, giggles into your chest, and says, “you’re actually evil. i’m obsessed.”

switchy but flustered sub when you take charge. tries to fight it. fails. loves every second.

oscar piastri

lets you run the show right up until he doesn’t — and when he flips it? you feel it.

quiet dom. doesn’t say much, but his hands know exactly where to be, and his eyes never leave yours.

doesn’t need to ask what you want — he already figured it out five steps ago.

you try to take charge and he’ll raise a brow, lean in close, and whisper, “you really think i’m going to let you?”

after? total softie. pulls you in, murmurs, “did i give you what you needed?” like it wasn’t the best night of your life.

quiet dom oscar. subtle, intense, and always one step ahead — no games, just precision.

ʚ・aston martin

fernando alonso

always in control. always. you try to take over and he just smirks, leans in, and says, “you can try, cariño.”

knows exactly how to tease you — slow touches, low voice, making you beg without ever raising his own tone.

smug as hell but gentle with it. “you’re doing so well for me. look at you.”

physically overwhelming when he wants to be — hand around your throat, body pressed to yours, but still murmuring “beautiful” like a prayer.

after? genuinely cuddly. loves holding you close, tracing circles on your back, pressing sleepy kisses to your shoulder.

lance stroll

calm, cool, and confident in public — hand on your waist, guiding you through a room like he owns it.

but in private? one firm order and he’s already pulling his shirt off, flushed and eager.

gets so quiet when you take over. just wide eyes and breathy little “okay…”

melts when you praise him, but he’ll never admit how much he craves it.

still tries to act cool after, all like “that was good, huh?” while clinging to you like a needy puppy.

ʚ・williams

alex albon

teases you constantly — “oh, you’re in charge tonight? should i be scared?” (he’s not. he’s excited.)

loves when you take control, but every now and then he flips it just to see you squirm — and he loves that power struggle.

whispers filthy things with the softest voice and the most angelic smile.

in sub-mode? whiny, clingy, desperate for your praise. in dom-mode? smug, cheeky, and way too good with his hands.

always laughs after — pulls you close and says, “we’re so good at this. we should win medals or something.”

true switch. playful, sweet, and dangerous when he’s in control — but melts beautifully when you are.

carlos sainz

commands the room in public — hand on your back, eye contact like a promise, speaks for the both of you sometimes.

dominant in bed, yes, but not controlling — passionate, intentional, all heart.

still lets you take over when you want, especially if you whisper in spanish. immediate obedience.

mutters soft, sweet things while you’re in charge — “tan guapa… mi amor, look at you…”

always cuddles after. always. loves tracing your spine and mumbling how good you made him feel.

passionate dom in public. sweet, lowkey switch in private — soft for you, always.

ʚ・haas

ollie bearman

always talks big — “i’ve got this. i’m in charge tonight.” …sure, babe.

immediately flustered when you call his bluff. “wait, you’re serious? you’re—oh. okay. yes ma’am.”

lowkey loves being bossed around, but he’ll never admit it unless you’re teasing it out of him.

will try to brat his way into more attention. it works. every time.

whiny, dramatic, and totally obsessed with you taking over — grumbles about it after, but melts into your touch like a puppy.

bratty sub ollie. loud, chaotic, and completely soft when you take control.

esteban ocon

always tries to be polite and in control — you take over and he immediately forgets how to function.

quietly submissive. doesn’t say much, but the second you tell him what to do? he listens. every time.

loves structure and order, which makes him thrive under your rules — “yes,” “no,” “stay still.” it calms his brain.

eye contact turns him to mush. especially when you praise him in a low voice.

gets so soft after — arms wrapped around you, forehead to your chest, whispering “thank you” like you gave him peace.

subby esteban. quiet, obedient, and so soft when he’s in your hands.

ʚ・racing bulls

liam lawson

lets you play bossy for fun, but always with that knowing smirk — “you done pretending yet?”

dominant without being intense — guides you with a firm hand and a wicked sense of humor.

teases you relentlessly mid-moment, just to make you blush. “a little bossy today, huh? you’re cute when you try.”

loves taking care of you in a subtle way — holding your jaw, whispering in your ear, making you fall apart calmly.

afterward? pulls you into his lap like it’s second nature and says “told you i’d handle it.” (he did. you’re still shaking.)

confident dom liam. playful, relaxed, and always in control — without ever needing to raise his voice.

isack hadjar

walks around like he’s got it together but absolutely folds the second you give him a direct order.

chaotic energy, yes — but he lives for the structure you give him when things get heated.

will absolutely talk himself in circles trying to flirt until you shut him up with a hand around his throat.

gets so flustered when you praise him — covers his face, mutters “stopppp” while blushing like hell.

comes completely undone for you. every. single. time.

subby isack. chaos in the streets, soft and obedient in the sheets. you say jump — he asks how high.

ʚ・alpine

pierre gasly

all charm and teasing in public — “she’s the boss. i just look pretty.” (he’s not wrong.)

tries to act in control but gives in the second you tell him to sit down and shut up.

total flirt when you take over — “you’re so hot when you’re mean to me.”

lowkey loves being overwhelmed by you. handsy, needy, and completely obsessed with how you handle him.

posts after with a smug grin like he did something — while still recovering from the way you wrecked him.

subby pierre. flirty, dramatic, and totally yours to control. he lives for it.

jack doohan

calm and obedient in daily life — does what you ask without question, super sweet, totally reliable.

but in the bedroom? switches fast. grabs your waist, leans in close, and says “let me take care of you tonight.”

doesn’t raise his voice — just gives one sharp look and you’re listening.

will let you lead sometimes, but only when he lets you — and even then, he takes back control when you least expect it.

soft hands, firm grip, and the kind of focus that ruins you slow.

quiet dom jack. sweet and obedient in life, deadly in bed. respectful menace.

ʚ・kick sauber

nico hulkenberg

dry humor and sarcasm in public and makes fun of everything, especially the idea of being bossed around.

but behind closed doors? instantly obedient when you drop your tone. “yes ma’am,” with no hesitation.

loves when you call the shots, especially if you get bossy mid-moment, it gets him feral.

whispers things like “you’re really gonna do me like that, huh?” while letting you pin him without resistance.

afterwards? smug. kisses your shoulder and says “didn’t know you had that in you.” he did. he wanted it.

subby nico. playful, snarky, and totally down bad. lets you take control and begs for more.

gabriel bortoleto

all sweet smiles and soft hands until you push just a little too far and he flips you like it’s second nature.

tries to be respectful and let you lead, but his need to impress you always wins out.

can be so quiet and gentle one second, then breathless and possessive the next, “mine. you hear me?”

you call him “good boy” once and he blushes so hard he forgets how to function.

but then he gets confident. cocky, even. will absolutely ruin you with a shaky voice and a death grip on your waist.

subby with dom bursts gabriel. soft outside, secretly intense, and fully addicted to you.

ʚ・special feature

sebastian vettel

kind, warm, and always listening — until he shuts the door and says “take your clothes off. now.”

patient dom. watches you try to boss him around, smiles, then flips it on you with one sentence and a hand on your throat.

he doesn't need to overpower you — he just knows what you want before you ask.

utterly obsessed with making you feel good. whispering praise in your ear while taking you apart piece by piece.

aftercare is religion to him. warm towel, water, kisses to every part of you he touched. “you were perfect. every second.”

soft but commanding dom seb. gentle hands, sharp control, and worship-level devotion.

kimi raikkonen

lets you make all the plans, pick the restaurant, organize the flights — he’s chilling.

says “okay” to everything you want, barely looks up from his phone… until you're in bed. then it’s “lie down.”

silent dom. barely says a word — just grabs your hips, flips you over, and ruins your entire attitude.

loves when you’re mouthy, though. just watches you with that cold stare and mutters “you done?” before making sure you are.

after? goes right back to letting you do everything while he steals your blanket.

silent dom kimi. doesn't run the relationship, but absolutely runs the bedroom — no discussion.

2021-2025 © jungwnies | All rights reserved. Do not repost, plagiarize, or translate

[baby-yongbok]

Come Back Soon

Bang Chan × afab!reader

✮ Genre: Smut, Sex Worker!Bang Chan ✮ Word count: 5k ✮ CW: Explicit sexual content (minors DNI), sex work (Like a sexy host club kinda?), oral (m rec.), nipple play, unprotected sex, Reader is called pretty (a lot..) ✮ Summary: Who's the cute guy with the white jacket and the thick accent? ✮ A/N: Bang Chan + Bed Chem by Sabrina Carpenter as requested by this anon! Enjoy! + reader is depicted as chubby/plus size and is a POC ♡

✮ Masterlist✮

In your defense, it’s not a brothel. It just kind of operates like one.

You heard about Railway from a friend of a friend. It’s a hole in the wall club that she swears is a gem. You looked it up and found close to nothing. There was only a small reddit community of people in your area asking questions about this mystery place. Here’s what you gathered:

It’s a club where women can meet men and pay for attention. Whether or not that attention includes your clothes being ripped off in a private room or a tongue down your throat is up to you. 

You decided to visit one Thursday when your Tinder match was being flaky and you were sick of waiting for replies from men who were either a catfish or can’t find the clit. 

The place was hard to find. You walked passed it twice before you realized that you needed to go down the sketchy staircase next to the hotpot restaurant. 

You expected a place packed and run down with women all over the men working there. You expected a mess and you were met with the opposite. The space was clean, pretty and not nearly wild enough to be considered a club. There are red curved couches and lounge nooks all around. A fully stocked bar and music playing loudly but not so loud that you need to yell. This is not at all what you imagined. 

You learned that night that the only guys in the club were the ones working there. They come up to you, charm you, and only stay if you want them to. If you decline they’re onto the next. 

You spent some time there, got some attention but it wasn’t until your eyes met his that you really felt like you were getting the attention you desired. He was in a suit, no shirt underneath the jacket and looking damn good while doing it. He walked into the room like he was six foot two even though he’s just about average height, it doesn’t matter to you though - he’s hot. 

Once he saw you he went straight for you, walking over like he had all of the time in the world. You sat pretty on the couch, sitting up a bit straighter and sipping your drink like you didn’t even notice him. He thought that was cute. 

“Excuse me.” Oh? Is that an accent you hear? You hum, looking up at him like he didn’t have your attention from the moment he walked in. “Is this seat taken? Or can I join you?”

That’s how you ended up meeting Chris. 

The two of you sat and spoke for at least thirty minutes before his cautious touches turned into much more and a make-out session in one of the lounge nooks. 

He pulled you into his lap, hands on your hips and pretty sounds clashing with yours. You considered taking it further for a second, just a second before your phone rang and your friend effectively cockblocked you. Chris thought it was funny. He smiled while you pouted about having to leave but he didn’t let you go without another kiss - deep and lingering. His tongue on yours and those pretty hands on your hips.

“Come back soon, yeah?” He smiled up at you, his eyes turning into gleaming crescents and you were hooked. Unfortunately, the soon that you promised him wasn’t as soon as you wanted. 

Work has been hectic, your friends have been messy and you’ve just been busy. Every plan that you had to return got canceled until tonight, Christmas Eve. You threw on a red sheer dress and put your phone on Do Not Disturb. When you get to the club this time there’s a guy at the door, a cute blonde with a deep voice and pretty accent. He gives you a card with some instructions for the night. You look it over and turn to him.

“Wait, how does this work?” He smiles - fuck, he’s hot - and points out the QR code on the card. 

“You can scan this to get the clubs app. Then you go to the event tab, press the holiday party chat and it will match you with a random guy from the club. You chat anonymously and if you like him you can take it further. If you don’t like him you can unmatch the chat and try again.” You nod, half entranced by his voice and half listening. 

You nod at him, smiling sweetly but his smile has got you beat. Is he on the app? Gosh. 

You head over to the bar and order a drink then scan the code. You open the app and it’s surprisingly smooth. You follow the instructions that the hot blonde gave you and go to the holiday party chat. A button pops up with big pretty letters reading “Spin”, so you do. Two seconds pass and the bartender is sliding you your drink while you get connected to a chat. This is interesting. 

So, the guys are nice. Really nice, but there’s no spark. You’re on your second drink and you just unmatched your second chat. You look around the club, the men are dressed in sexy, festive all white outfits with their main charming point on display to lure attention. 

 You scan the room looking for that familiar face you made out with a month ago but there’s no sign of him. You sigh, deciding to try your luck and press the pretty button on your phone again. You get connected to someone new and they start off the conversation just as the others did, sweet.

“What’s a pretty thing like you doing here alone on Christmas eve?”

You sip your drink, typing a reply and waiting less than a second to get one back. 

- You think I’m pretty? You don’t even know who I am yet. - “Let’s play a game then, yeah? I’ll guess.”

Oh? This is getting interesting.

- And if you guess the wrong pretty girl? - “Then unmatch me.”  - “If I don’t recognize you then I don’t deserve your time.”

Wait… did he say recognize? Like he knows you? Knows what you look like? You look around again, searching for Chris. You’d recognize him in a heartbeat but he’s nowhere to be found. You turn your attention back to the app to see that your match has texted again. 

- “Deal?”

You hesitate but agree. You wait with bated breath as you watch the little chat bubble pop up.

- “By the bar? Sinful little red dress.”

You stare at his answer then look around again. What the hell?

- “You didn’t unmatch. I knew I had the right pretty lady.” - Lucky guess, I’m not the only pretty girl in a red dress. 

You scoff, getting ready to unmatch when he texts back.

- “But you’re the only one here tonight that I was hoping to see again.” - “The only one here that I’ve had my eye on for far longer than I should.” - “The only one I was hoping to match with so I can kiss those pretty lips again.”

Oh fuck, it’s him. Thank the heavens.

- Oh? Is this the guy with the cute accent? - “Pretending that you don’t remember my name? I’m hurt.”

You smile, finishing your drink and texting back. Suddenly you’re having a good time. A very good one. 

- Remind me of it. - “Oh, I plan to”

The chat is ended before you can text back and your heart drops. What happened? Did you actually hurt his feelings? What does he mean he plans to? The bartender interrupts your flurry of wonder before you can go any deeper. He slides you a shot and you furrow your brows. 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t order this.” The bartender smiles at you and nods to the other side of the bar. “It’s from him. On his tab.”

You turn around and your heart drops to the center of the earth. Chris is there. White fur jacket, white pants and no shirt. He’s leaning against the bar with a grin that you’d like to kiss off of his stupidly handsome face. How could you forget to look behind you? 

You lock your phone and turn your bar stool to face him. He’s sipping on something while his eyes roam down from yours and over the curve of your neck then the swell of your chest. He’s practically eye fucking you and you have no idea what to do about it. So you take the shot. 

The burn of the alcohol along with the desire bubbling in your core is enough to steel you for the moment that Chris pushes back off of the bar and makes his way over to you. You get a full view of him as he walks over and part of you starts foaming at the mouth while the other part of you has to hold down the fort and act normal about this. 

“Excuse me.” His thick accent rings through your ears and you grin. “Is this seat taken? Or can I join you?” 

“Is that your pick up line or something?” The dopey smile on your face gives Chris all the confirmation he needs to take the empty seat next to you. “You should come up with something new.”

“Is that right? Any suggestions?” Damn it, he’s still as hot as you remember. “I could just tell you how stunning you look in this dress instead.” 

You feel a flush creep up your neck at his compliment. "That's a start," you manage to say, trying to keep your cool. "But I've heard better."

Chris smiles leaning in a tad bit closer. Just enough for you to notice, "Oh? Then I'll have to up my game." His eyes sparkle with mischief. "How about this - I've been waiting to see you again every night for a month. I was starting to worry I'd lost my touch. What good am I if I can’t get the prettiest woman coming back to see me?"

You laugh, the tension easing slightly. "Maybe I was just playing hard to get."

"Were you now?" Chris raises an eyebrow, a smirk playing on his lips. "And here I thought you forgot about me."

"Trust me, it's impossible to forget about you," Your mouth was moving before you could stop yourself. We’ll blame that on the alcohol. 

“You’ve thought about me then?” He asks with a smile that’s much sweeter than any other that you’ve seen tonight.

Fuck it, let loose, It’s Christmas eve. 

“Maybe I have, but the details are classified.” That takes his sweet smile and turns it into a blush real quick. You can’t help but mirror him since you just indirectly admitted to thinking of him while you had some solo play over the past month - which is one hundred percent true.

“Classified, hm?” He speaks up, nodding. “I’ve thought about you too. And those details are free to the public. If you ask for them.”

Your heart races at his bold admission. That was unexpected. You lean in closer, your voice lowering to a sultry whisper. "And what if I did ask?"

Chris' eyes darken ever so slighty. He leans in too, his breath hot against your ear. "Then I'd tell you how I've imagined your soft skin under my hands, the taste of your lips, the sound of your moans as I..."

He trails off, pulling back slightly to gauge your reaction. Your breath catches in your throat, heat pooling low in your belly.

"As you what?" You breathe, unable to look away from his intense gaze.

Chris grins, hoping that he has you hooked. "On second thought, that information is classified. The rest you'll have to find out from experience."

You swallow hard, your mind racing with possibilities. "And how exactly would I do that?"

He reaches out, his fingers trailing lightly over your hand that’s resting on the bar. 

“Come with me downstairs.” There’s a downstairs to this place? “I’ll get you away from the noise and then we can make some of our own.” 

Your heart races as you consider his offer. Every bit of you is screaming at you to take his offer and bring your lingering fantasies to life but you still try to play hard to get. At least you were going to before the alcohol and desire coursing through your veins drowned everything out and had you nodding in a quick second. 

"Lead the way" You say, your voice huskier than intended.

Chris' eyes light up with a mix of surprise and excitement. He stands, offering you his hand before you could even dare to change your mind. You take it, relishing the warmth of his skin against yours. As you slide off the barstool, you take him in and realize just how little justice your memory of him does for his insane body.

He guides you through the semi-crowded club, his hand on the small of your back sending shivers up your spine. You follow him down a narrow staircase, the music fading as you descend. The basement level is dimly lit, with plush velvet sofas and private alcoves tucked away in corners.

He leads you over to one of the private spaces, very few of them are free but he leads you to the one in the corner like it was reserved just for him. “After you.” You step into the cozy space. There’s a couch on one side, a semi-sofa on the other with a small table next to it, then there’s nothing but a bare wall.

Chris slides the door shut behind the two of you as he steps in and it’s almost like you’ve entered your own soundproof barrier.

He almost looks sheepish when he steps forward to close the space between the two of you. His hand finds its way back to the small of your back, his touch gentle and warm. You turn to face him fully, his proximity making your heart race.

"Now where were we?" He whispers, his shy smile turning into a more sly one. You look up at him, unable to tear your gaze away from his. 

"I like your coat." You comment, changing the subject to buy yourself time to calm down but the desire thick in your tone lets you know that there’s little that you can do to calm yourself. "It looks good on you."

He grins, "It would look better on you." Before you can protest he's shrugging the long white fur off of his shoulders, leaving his broad build open on display for you. You stare, taking in each dip and curve of his chest and stomach. How could you not?

He drapes the coat over your shoulders and you smile in a nearly futile attempt to stop the moan clawing up your throat when you realize that the warm fabric smells like him. You slip your arms in the sleeves and Chris hums in approval.

"Now..." He brushes your hair back, his gaze shifting into something more possessive now that you're wearing his coat. "Where were we?"

"Right about here, I think." 

Before he can react your lips are on his in a hungry and demanding kiss. We'll blame this on the alcohol too.

 You melt into him, your hands indulgently taking in the soft skin of his bare shoulders while he returns your passion. His tongue traces along your bottom lip and you part them, allowing him entry. 

He groans into the kiss, his hands finding purchase on your waist for just a second before he lets them trail up under the fabric of his coat and over the sheer of your dress. Every inch of you that he takes in is better than anything he could've imagined in the month that you've been on his mind.

 He pulls you closer, his desire getting the better of him. He has to know what you feel like against him. He just has to.

 You can feel his erection pressing into your hip and a rush of arousal floods between your thighs. 

Your hands explore his chest, his muscles tensing beneath your touch. He pulls back slightly, his breathing heavy as he looks down at you, his eyes dark with need.

"God, you're beautiful," he murmurs, his accent sending shivers down your spine. "This is part of those classified details, ya know."

"Mine too." you admit, biting your lip. "So don't stop."

With a growl, Chris captures your lips once more, his hands sliding further up your back just to slide back down to your waist. You press yourself against him, craving every bit of him you can get your hands on. The proximity deepens the kiss, his tongue exploring your mouth, leaving you breathless.

His hands cup your breasts, his thumbs brushing over your nipples, teasing them through the fabric of your dress. A soft moan escapes you and he swallows it, his lips trail kisses along your jaw and down to the sensitive spot on your neck. You squirm against him, his touch driving you crazy.

"Fuck, Chris," You gasp, gripping his shoulders tightly.

"Say my name again," He breathes, his teeth grazing your skin.

"Chris," You whimper, his name slipping from your lips without a second thought.

His hands leave their exploration of your curves and trail their way up the backs of your thighs and over the curve of your ass. He lifts you up, bypassing both sofas to pin you against the wall. Your legs wrap around his bare torso, pushing his pants down lower on his hips. Once he has you settled he begins to work his way down your neck, his lips setting off a blazing trail of fire across your skin.

"So soft," he mumbles, his accent thicker now, betraying his growing desire.

His mouth trails back up to yours, stamping a hot kiss against your lips and pulling away right after. You whine, chasing his lips with yours. 

"Impatient, are we?" He chuckles, his hands pushing the bunched up fabric of your dress further up your thighs. You shiver, goosebumps forming where his fingertips brush against your skin.

"You're doing everything right, how could I not be." 

"Oh? Is that so?" He hums, his lips brush over yours teasingly.

"It is." You breathe, your hands moving over his shoulders to tangle in his hair. This time you kiss him, it’s deep and indulgent but then you break it to kiss over his jaw. 

"You're a fucking tease, you know that?" He groans, his thumbs stroking the smooth skin of your thighs. It’s taking all of his self control not to absolutely rip you apart.

"Me?" You breathe, smiling against his skin as you place another kiss. "I'm not the one whose been flaunting around the club half-naked all night. And now you’re here teasing me."

Your teeth graze over the shell of his ear and his cock jumps in his pants. He moves swiftly yet gently, turning to lay you down on the sofa. 

“Am I being a tease?” He asks, staring down at you with those dark brown eyes while his hands work on his belt. You watch the way his fingers move so strategically. The veins in his hands alone are enough to get you feeling hotter. “How can I make it up to you?”

He’s diving down to attach your lips before you can even answer. His hands smooth over your curves hurriedly until he reminds himself to take his time with you. His hands are back on your breasts, pulling down the red fabric of your dress to expose you to him. He catches himself, stopping and pulling back just a bit.

“Can I see you? Is that alright?” You nod, whimpering a hasty “yes” then crashing your lips back to his. He moans against you, pulling down the last of the fabric containing your breasts until they’re resting in his palms. He groans and you swallow it. 

Chris lighty pinches and pulls at your nipples, the buds rise at the attention and you moan in response. "You like that?"

"Yes," Your fingers tangle in his hair and tug. "How about this?" He rolls one of your nipples between his thumb and forefinger, sending a jolt of pleasure straight to your core.

"Oh, fuck," you whimper, your head falling back.

"That's it, baby. Let me hear you." He dips his head down and takes one of the stiff peaks into his mouth. The sound it pulls from you is unbecoming but you ignore the embarrassment lingering in your chest and let the pleasure spread further. 

Chris on the other hand, is in love with every sound you make and he’s determined to hear more. His teeth graze over your nipple. Your grip tightens, a louder moan escaping you. "Just like that."

His hands trail down, pulling your dress further up your thighs until the black lace covering your soaked sex is in full view. His hands stroking the underside of your thighs, teasing you further and you nearly fall apart at the seams.

"Chris," You moan, grinding up into him. Begging for him to touch you where you need him most.

"How wet are you, pretty girl?" He coos, his hand slides up between your legs. You gasp and he groans when his fingers trace over the lace of your panties. "Fuck, you're soaked."

"Please," You beg, bucking against his hand. "You’re driving me crazy." His thumb circles over your clit and your hips rock in time with his movements. You're already so close, and he's barely touched you.

His tongue darts out to lick over your neglected nipple. You shudder, your nails dig into his shoulders and he hisses at the sweet sting.

"I want you," you plead, trailing a hand down the expanse of his back. He continues his ministrations, kissing and nipping at your sensitive bud while his fingers work smooth circles over your clit. 

Your legs are practically shaking with desire but your needy whimpers are nothing compared to all that Chris is holding back while he strokes himself on his knees in front of you. You’ve hardly noticed that his hard cock is in his hand, leaking and angry red at the tip but that’s only because he’s swallowing every moan that he possibly can just so that he can hear you clearly. He wants to remember this.  

"Chris," you moan, grinding up against his touch. He pulls back, letting your nipple go with a faint pop.

"What is it, love?" His face is twisted in pleasure as he pants, trying desperately to keep himself in check.

"I need you," You whine, grabbing and rubbing over his bare chest until you grab hold of one of his chains.

"Tell me what you want." He wants to hear you say it. He needs to.

"Fuck me." You breathe, your cheeks flushed. "Please."

Chris doesn't need any further encouragement. In a swift motion, he's standing and lifting you up again. His lips find yours in a hungry kiss and you melt against him.

He turns around and sits down with you straddling him. His bare cock rests against the soaked lace of your panties and he can’t help but to make a sound that he didn’t know was possible. 

His hands grip your hips, digging in like you're the only thing grounding him to reality. "You're sure about this?" 

He asks, his voice low and rough. You nod, reaching between you to move your panties to the side and sit your bare cunt over his length. He hisses, his breath catching in his throat "Oh, fuck." His head falls back against the sofa.

"Let me ride you," You whisper, leaning in and pressing a kiss to his neck. Chris’ face is red, blushed crazy with desperate desire and restraint. You lift up and pump his cock, spreading your dripping slick and getting him nice and wet before you sink down. 

You two are a splitting image of each other. Faces twisted in pleasure, fingers digging into the other and choked moans spilling over your kiss swollen lips. 

"Fuck, you're so wet." He groans, holding his breath just to make sure he doesn’t bust too fast. "So tight."

“You’re fucking big. Oh god.” Your head falls back, eyes shut tight as you take in the stretch of him. 

Chris hisses, his hips instinctively bucking up into you. "Shit, sorry. Are you okay?" 

He holds still, his hands massaging the swell of your ass. You nod, adjusting to his size. "Yeah, just please move. Don’t stop." 

You're impatient, rocking your hips against him. Chris is quick to give in, rocking his hips up slowly until he loses it and starts snapping his hips up into yours. He drives his cock deep and hard into your fluttering cunt and you clench around him wildly, fucking down onto him like he’s the last man you’ll ever touch. 

You can feel every inch of him, his length dragging along your walls and hitting every spot inside you. It's like the two of you are a perfect fit. Chris' hands roam over your body, mapping every inch of exposed skin. 

"So fucking beautiful," he mutters, his teeth sinking into his bottom lip as he watches the way your tits bounce in his face. "Look at you, taking me so well." He holds your hips still, keeping you in place while he fucks his thick length up into you. You cling to him, burying your face in the crook of his neck as he fucks into you. 

Chris' eyes flutter shut, a string of curses falling from his lips. His fingers dig into your hips with each bounce of you on his cock. 

"Is this what you wanted, pretty girl?" He grunts and you clench, driving him closer to the edge. “Is that what you thought about?”

The sounds coming from the both of you are filthy. Pornographic in nature and incessant. 

"Y-yes," you manage to gasp, your fingers digging into the muscles of his chest, surely leaving marks to remember you by. "Just like that. Oh, oh fuck, Chris. You're gonna make me cum." 

Your words send him reeling, his thrusts faltering slightly. "Do it, baby," he rasps, his eyes burning into yours. "Cum all over my cock." 

The coil in your belly snaps, his name spilling from your lips as you cum. Your release has his head spinning. The tight squeeze of your cunt and the sounds he has vibrating from your chest drag him closer to his own blinding release. He holds back, fucking you through your high with a sloppy rhythm. 

"Fuck, I'm close." You pry his grip from your hips and lift up off of him, sinking down to your knees. You look prettier than Chris can handle, on your knees with his fur coat pooling around you. Your lips wrap around his throbbing cock and he moans, his hand finding purchase in your hair immediately.

"Shit, yes, oh god." He breathes, his hips rocking forward. "So good, jus’ like that." A deep, guttural moan escapes his lips and his hips stutter. "Fuck, oh fuck." 

His eyes shut tight as you bury his cock deep in your throat, swallowing around him and milking his chest dry of every last ounce of oxygen he possessed.

You hum, reaching down between your legs and rubbing your throbbing pussy while he makes such pretty sounds above you.

"’M gonna cum," He groans, his accent thick and his grip on your hair tightening. You keep your pace, bringing your hand up to stroke what can’t fit into your mouth as you suck and lick him like you know everything that drives him crazy - because somehow, you do.

His jaw clenches, his abs tense and the muscles in his neck strain and suddenly you wish that you were still on top of him, letting him fill you full of his sticky seed but that will have to wait until next time. 

Chris tenses above you, a loud groan erupting from him as the first spurt of hot cum falls against your tongue. 

"Fuck, oh, fuck. Just like that, baby. ‘M cumming for you, take it all." He shudders, rambling as his body jerks as he spills himself down your throat. You swallow him greedily, his sweet taste lingering on your tongue. 

Chris' breathing is heavy, his chest rises and falls rapidly while he watches you. You pull up off of him, kissing the head of his twitching dick while his heart races.

You smile at him, "Good?" You ask, wiping the corners of your mouth. “Are you kidding me?” Chris huffs out a breathy laugh. "So fucking good." 

"Come here," He mumbles, lifting you up and bringing you to his lap. His coat drags behind you and he runs his hands up under the furry fabric and over your back. “You look so good in this.”

He fixes your dress, bringing it up to cover your exposed chest and smoothes the fabric over your thighs. “Do you say that to every girl you let borrow your clothes?”

Chris smiles, shaking his head and running his greedy hands up your thighs. 

“You're the only girl I’ve ever let wear something of mine. And I’ll keep it that way under one condition.” You smile, resting your own greedy hands over his chest and leaning into him. 

“What would that be?” He cups your cheek bringing you in for a soft kiss, much softer than what’s in his job description. In his defense, he’s never felt this much chemistry with any other lady who’s walked through the front door of this club.

“Come back soon, okay?” He smiles against your lips and kisses you again, whispering this time. “And I’ll make sure that you’re the only one wearing my clothes both inside and outside of the club.”

You mirror his smile, kissing his lips with a tenderness you didn’t foresee when you first met him. 

“Deal.”

Thank You For Reading! 💕

Divider credit to @bunnysrph

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[mattsundaes]

thank you for the venom ♱ pt. i

— vampire!oliver aiku x f!reader

There are worse jobs than working as a human at a vampire nightclub. It pays well enough to help you keep your head above water, at least. As long as your clients don't try feeding from your neck. But when the last person you're expecting to see comes walking in during your shift one evening, every long-forgotten feeling you've spent years putting behind you flares to life again under the familiar, careful gaze of your older brother's best friend.

word count ; 2.9k

content ; 18+, vampire!oliver, brother's best friend!oliver, feeder!reader, childhood friends, blood drinking, (eventual smut in later parts)

THE REUNION. —

“We’re up.”

You glance over at your co-worker, Hayami, who’s currently nodding in the direction of a table of clients that just sat down. 

It’s not exactly what you’d call fun—working as a human at a vampire nightclub. 

But the night shifts fit with your class schedule, the pay is generous, and you no longer have to miserably juggle three jobs to pay for tuition and rent. It’s been working out for you well enough in the six months since you started here. Blue Lock is also, arguably, classier than most places that you’d find on a random street corner in Tokyo. For one, you’re not expected to fuck the clientele. 

You just have to feed them.

–

“Wrist, please,” you murmur quietly to the man whose lap you’re currently sitting in, trying to carefully adjust yourself away from the lips hovering near your neck as you lift up a hand, letting him see the delicate gold bracelet that hangs from your right wrist. 

Blue Lock is strict about giving staff the autonomy to choose where they are and aren’t comfortable allowing clients to feed from, with gold jewelry used as a subtle signifier. Guests who choose to ignore it are typically thrown out without preamble. 

Most of your co-workers are fine with neck feeding, some even prefer it, but it’s just too intimate for you. Not with a complete stranger. 

The vampire grumbles, glancing over at one of his companions with thinly veiled jealousy as she sinks her teeth into Hayami’s neck, drawing a shameless moan from your co-worker’s lips.

You shudder, wincing only slightly at the prick of pain as your client bites you as well, albeit on the wrist like you’d instructed. 

It doesn’t hurt as much anymore, now that you’ve grown used to it. 

–

It’s early still when the first group of clients strolls in through the doors on Friday evening, pink and orange staining the lower edges of the sky as the sun lazily eases its way down into the horizon.

Your boss motions for you and Hayami to take care of them, as most of your other co-workers aren’t due to start for another hour yet. 

Waltzing directly ahead of you and swinging her hips in anticipation, Hayami gets a clear view of the vamps before you do, and she spins on her heel to turn back to you and whisper, “You know, I wouldn’t mind if fucking customers was a part of the job if they all looked like that.”

Rolling your eyes is a knee jerk reaction to her salacious tone—she enjoys flirting with clients far more than you do. But any response quickly dies on your lips when you actually see the group as they settle into a private booth. 

More specifically when your eyes land on one of them in particular—a tall man with two different colored eyes, a jaw shaded ever so slightly with stubble, and a flash of green tucked beneath the lower edges of an otherwise dark head of hair.  

It’s been a very long time since you’ve seen him in person, but you’d recognize him beyond a shadow of a doubt anywhere.

(Your stupid heart would, anyway.)

Oliver.

Your brother Haru’s best friend. 

Oliver and Haru played soccer together in high school, and they were virtually inseparable for years. Most days, he could be found at your house after school, kicking around a ball in your backyard and teasing you as you labored over homework assignments at the kitchen table. 

And most days, you couldn’t bring yourself to care about catching the interest of any of the boys in your grade, not when your thoughts were constantly tangled up in the way Oliver sent your heart spinning off its axis with every stupid grin and wink. 

Realistically, he was only two years older than you. 

But even if he had seen you in that way, Haru probably would have wrung his neck if he tried anything, given Oliver’s downright awful reputation with girls at school. 

(A reputation that’s only become more notorious in the years since he skyrocketed to soccer stardom.)

But a girl could certainly dream. 

The long-buried crush rustles awake in the depths of your chest cavity now, unfurling warmly as you stare at him, rooted to the spot. Feelings greet you at the door like an old friend, the brush of a cat’s tail at your ankle, a dog’s cold nose nudging at the back of your hand. You want to reach out, to grasp them—

But the longer you look, the more unsteady you become on your feet as your heart remembers the weight of it, of this near-magnetic pull that used to always exist behind your ribcage in his vicinity.

It’s not news to you that Oliver was Turned—it happened years ago, according to your brother. But it sends a shiver down your spine all the same to see him here. Now.

Of all the places…

Hayami’s quick to busy herself chatting with three of the men in Oliver’s group. Meanwhile, Oliver remains engrossed in conversation with the other one; he’s yet to notice you. 

The man he’s talking to does, though, and his lips quirk upward when he meets your eyes. “Well hello beautiful.”

You offer him a polite smile in return, shoving aside the distracting wave of nostalgia gripping at your ankles as you remember that you have a job to do. 

Pining doesn’t pay the fucking bills, after all. 

“What can I get for you tonight?” you ask. 

It’s a bit of a joke, because there’s really only one reason vampires come here.

But it lands, because he doesn’t miss a beat as he laughs, “Well, my friend here says he likes to take his partners home to feed, so I think he might just be a boring cuck and watch tonight, but—”

He’s cut off suddenly by the sound of your name, and he whips his head sideways to look at Oliver, who’s currently staring at you with a completely bewildered expression on his face.

It would be cute, almost, if your heart wasn’t violently lurching in your chest. 

You breathe in through your nose, trying to steady the way the room threatens to sway beneath your feet. “Hey, Aiku.”

He physically recoils at your use of his surname; you can’t remember the last time you called him that, not even when you were teenagers. 

The man beside him raises a brow, looking between you and Oliver in blatant confusion. “Do you two know each—”

“Yeah. So you should go and find somewhere else to be, Sendou,” Oliver answers pointedly as he cuts him off again, eyes still locked with yours.

Sendou scoffs under his breath, “You can’t just hold one of your fuck buddies hostage if you’re not going to feed, I’m sure she wants to make money tonight.”

Oliver looks over at him, unimpressed and blinking slowly, before he turns back to you. “She’s my friend’s little sister.”

Sendou snorts. “Sounds like something you’d do, Aiku.”

The gap between their bodies closes quicker than you can blink, and the size difference between the two becomes wholly apparent as Oliver leans in close, all traces of amusement wiped from his face when he slowly rasps, “I’d watch your mouth if I were you.”

Something akin to surprise works its way across Sendou’s face, which then morphs into pinched annoyance as he subtly shrinks away from Oliver’s form, dragging a hand through his strawberry locks and petulantly letting his gaze fall back on you. “Yeah, well I’m hungry, and I have money.”

He thumbs at one of his fangs, frowning. 

“Not my goddamn problem, Sendou. Go find someone else to feed on,” Oliver flatly replies to him as he lifts his hips slightly to pull his wallet out of his back pocket, though his eyes are solely focused on you. “And I never said I wasn’t paying for her time.”

Sendou collapses backward on the couch, blowing his hair off of his forehead as he crosses his arms and huffs, “Well if you’re paying anyway, doesn’t it make sense for one of us to at least feed on—”

“Sendou,” Oliver says his name calmly, despite the way the dangerous look in his eyes betrays his tone entirely. He smiles, and it’s more a show of dominance than anything else as the whites of his fangs flash against his lips. “Get the fuck out of here. Now.” 

His friend rolls his eyes, muttering something under his breath about wasting your time before eventually getting up moving over toward the rest of their group.

“Is it Aiku now?” Oliver finally asks when you’re alone, head tilted slightly to the side as he stares up at you. 

He says it like it bothers him. 

You shrug, sitting down on the couch beside him but leaving a respectable amount of space between your knee and his. “You don’t have to pay if you’re not feeding.”

He ignores you and says again, “Aiku, really?”

You sigh, pinching the bridge of your nose. “How long has it been, six, seven years? It seemed impolite to assume—”

“It’ll always be Oliver for you,” he interrupts, though not unkindly. “And do you know how much money the league throws at me? I’ll pay if it means you’ll sit here with me instead of letting one of those idiots feed from you.” He jerks his head toward the other guys that Sendou went to join. 

Warmth churns again in your gut, whether you want it to or not. 

“Oliver,” you nod, trying to fight the smile tugging at your lips.

His lips quirk upward in turn, a real smile this time, and you try not to think too hard about the fleeting sensation that dances up the notches of your spine at the sight of the white points of his fangs that rest against his bottom lip when he does it. 

It’s easier than you were expecting—catching up with Oliver. In a way, it feels like no time has passed at all as you slip back into the familiar, easy comfort of conversation with him. He asks what you’re majoring in, if you still hate math. If you’ve been traveling at all like you always said you would.

If you’re seeing anyone.

(Your stomach flips at the question, even if there’s nothing suggestive in the way he asks it.)

He asks if it bothers you—the fact that he was Turned. 

(It doesn’t.)

Oliver doesn’t look at you with pity or judgement on his face when you tell him that you started working at Blue Lock to help pay for your tuition—he knows that your mother had enough trouble sending your brother to university. Though he does ask about the gold bracelet on your wrist. This must be his first time here. 

“This is the only place I let clients feed from me.” 

You nod toward Hayami, who’s currently straddling Sendou. He makes eye contact with Oliver as he nudges aside the gold chain around her neck and sinks his fangs in. She throws her head back, burying her fingers in his hair. 

Yeah, she may very well end up fucking him tonight.

Oliver looks away, expression wholly impassive despite their near-vulgar display, and you continue, “My neck is off limits at work.”

Unconsciously, you rub your collarbone, and Oliver’s eyes track the movement. Your skin feels hot in the wake of his gaze, even if it only lingers for a moment. 

He quirks a brow. “Only at work?”

You blink at Oliver several times, a sudden flash of heat searing its way between your legs at the boldness in his question.

He laughs then, shaking his head, as if thinking better of it. “Sorry, ignore me, that was inappropriate—”

“No, it’s okay. I…just feel like neck feeding should be reserved for romantic partners,” you tell him, and saying that to Oliver of all people makes you feel somewhat embarrassed. “Or sexual partners, whatever. It’s just too intimate for me to let a complete stranger do it.”

You shrug, fiddling with the bracelet on your wrist. And out of the corner of your eye, it looks like Hayami’s dry humping Sendou as he continues to feed from her (clearly he’s tipping her well, if she’s yet to slide into the lap of another one of Oliver’s teammates yet). 

Case in point.

It’s probably a trick of the light, but you swear Oliver’s eyes darken for just a moment as your words sink in.

Hayami outright moans, but Oliver doesn’t take his eyes off of you. 

“So you don’t sleep with vampires,” he says, more a statement than a question.

It feels layered, thick with something you’re not sure you want to peel back and inspect too closely. Not when Oliver’s proximity alone has desire creeping its way through the slats in your ribcage like greedy, reaching vines. 

You wonder if he knows—just how much you used to think about him.

How badly you used to want him.

(How badly you might still.)

You wonder if he still sees you as his best friend’s little sister.

“I haven’t,” you tell him. 

(Not “I won’t.”)

Oliver tilts his head to the side ever so slightly. “You shouldn’t.”

Your lungs burn on a silent inhale as the two of you stare at one another, and your lips part, as if to say something—until a raucous outburst of laughter nearby distracts both of you momentarily, and the moment collapses like a deck of cards.

The charged feeling in the air ebbs (if only to find shores at the base of your ribs). 

You blink, and Oliver coughs. “Hey, remember that old abandoned building your brother swore was haunted?” he asks, changing the topic abruptly without missing a beat.

And you don’t know whether to feel thankful or regretful for it as you try to reconcile the disorienting feelings stirred up inside of you.

The next hour goes by without incident. Oliver talks about himself and what he’s been doing with his life, what it’s like playing soccer in a vampire-based league these days. You learn that the rest of the men with him are on his team as well. Professional sports leagues for the Turned have become more popular in the last decade or so. And when you heard the news about Oliver—that was your first thought. Because you knew how much he’s always loved soccer.

The rest of his group eventually stands, cheeks flushed in a way that only happens when a vampire feeds, and Oliver hands you his phone, silently asking for your number.

Somewhere, your teenage self is flopping back in bed and screaming into a pillow.

You stifle the foolish thought as the pads of your fingers tap the screen, hand briefly brushing against his cool skin when you give the device back to him. 

Oliver goes to slide his phone into his back pocket, and for whatever reason, you blurt out, “Are you sure you don’t need to feed?”

He freezes, gaze slowly returning to yours, and he stares at you for a moment before he finally responds, “When I feed, it’s in my bed.”

You remain rooted to the spot long after Oliver leaves with a wave and a smile that once again shows the barest hint of his fangs, not trusting your legs not to give out on you. 

And when you eventually go to head to the back for a break before entertaining another group of customers, your boss catches you and tells you Oliver paid for you up through the end of your shift. So you can either take another client and earn extra for the evening, or head home early.

You choose the latter with a knot of warmth in your chest, electricity fizzing at the edges of it. 

–

Later, tucked beneath a blanket on the corner of your couch with some awful reality show playing quietly in the background, you hate the way you find yourself staring down at Oliver’s Instagram profile.

It’s been a while since you’ve let yourself peruse his posts.

The grid of photos is mostly a mixture of professional shots from his games and promotional ones, with some various shots of food, city landscapes at night, and a rare selfie here and there. 

You panic when your thumb slips and you nearly like a shirtless photo of him standing in his bathroom mirror, too focused on the large, dark bruise that blooms across his ribs.

oliku23: note 2 self, don’t block sendou’s penalty kicks at practice from 3ft away 

After that, you decide it’s safer sticking to the thumbnails, but still you find yourself unable to resist the urge to carefully tap open another selfie—he’s grinning in this one, nose, cheeks, and teeth covered in blood, and a red-stained soccer ball perched in one hand.

oliku23: promise i didn’t bite anyone

Snorting softly, you put your phone down on the couch beside you, resting your chin on your knees. It doesn’t look like he has a girlfriend, or if he does, he’s completely private about her. Either that or—judging by Sendou’s comment earlier—he’s probably the same Oliver you used to know: a professional at sleeping around and not getting attached.

Your phone lights up again from where it’s perched on the cushion beside your socked foot, a notification hovering on the lock screen.

Unknown: It was nice seeing you tonight.

♱ TO BE CONTINUED.

[mariasont]

hi hiiiiii!!! could you do a hotch x bau reader where there’s an age difference between them like she’s in her 20’s and she has a crush on him and thinks it’s stupid and the team tease her about it but apparently he has a crush on her too? thank youuuu i love your work so much

Stupid Crush - A.H

a/n: your wish is my command, thank you so much for requesting i hope you love it <3

masterlist

pairings: aaron hotchner x fem!reader

warnings: idiots crushing on each other, age gap (20s and 40s), garcia spilling the beans about reader's crush (not cool penelope!)

wc: 1.4k

Your tennis shoes were scuffing into the padded floor, hands resting on your hips while your bottom lip bore the brunt of your anxious chewing. You were here to train, led by your favorite boss.

But your concentration was slipping, stolen by the sight of that same boss, Aaron Hotchner, who managed to make even the simplest training gear look exceptionally good.

You were trying to be discreet, but with your track record, you were sure that wasn't the case. As the youngest member of the team, you'd grown accustomed to the good-natured teasing--a sort of rite of passage, really. But the teasing took on a new intensity whenever it involved your poorly concealed crush on Hotch.

The whole team knew, and they would never let you forget that they knew, constantly reminding you of the way you laughed a little too hard at his dad jokes, how you were the first to agree with his plans, and how you were always finding an excuse to stay late and help him with paperwork.

And to your absolute horror, their teasing was as subtle as a sledgehammer. Morgan winking at you when Hotch compliments your work, Prentiss sending you mortifying texts anytime he was near, and Garcia had taken to called you Mrs. Hotchner when in private.

You blinked--once, twice--as you attempted to refocus your attention to where Hotch's mouth was moving, explaining something about a wrist release move, meant to disarm a larger attacker from behind--a lesson you definitely should be absorbing. Instead, it took the unexpected call of your name from his direction to snap you out of your daze.

He was motioning you to the front. Your brows leapt upwards, and you looked around, hoping for an out of some sort. Bu the knowing looks and suppressed chuckles of your teammates made it clear--they wouldn't dream of intervening, not when they were about to be so thoroughly amused.

You let out a small, defeated sigh as you allowed your legs to carry you forward, all the while ignoring the team's exchange of looks as if they could just sense how flustered you were sure to get.

"How do you want me?"

You resisted the urge to slap a hand over your mouth as soon as you said it, the room filled with muffled snickers. Hotch didn't bat an eye, all but manhandling you, turning you to face the wall with him at your back.

"Now, when the unsub grabs you from behind, like this," he says, his arm a firm band across your chest in a way that made you have to remember how to breathe. "Your first instinct is to panic. But you need to stay calm and think about your next move."

"That might be kind of hard for her." The comment, possibly from JJ, washed over you, igniting a wave of heat that spread like wildfire across your skin.

"The key here is to use the unsub's grip against them. You're going to twist your wrist towards their thumb. The thumb is the weakest part of their grip. So you'll rotate like this," he guides your hand, "and pull down sharply."

You followed his instructions, doing your utmost to overlook just how close he was to you and the way it was sending your senses into a tailspin, especially as his voice seemed to echo intimately in your ear. 

"Now, as you're doing that, you want to step to the side, out of their immediate reach. This will give you the space to turn and face the threat. Then, with your free hand, you deliver a strike to the unsub's face or neck to incapacitate them."

As he stepped back, air filled your lungs once more. You managed to move independently, but you kept your chin dipped low, hiding your face, terrified by the thought of him noticing the fluster all over your face.

"Let's try that again, but this time, I want you to do it without my guidance," he instructed. His voice was clear, but your attention had drifted to the curve of his cheek, the focus in his eyes. "Remember, swift and precise movements. And don't forget to breathe."

Another round of giggles. You were going to hide all of their favorite mugs later.

You returned to the starting position, fitting snugly against him. This time, his hand on your hip brushed against bare skin, eliciting an instinctive twitch and a giggle from your lips.

"You okay?"

You pressed you lips together, silently thanking the gods as his hand found a new home on your shoulder. A mute nod was all you could muster, not trusting your own words as you repeated his instructions, ignoring the searing heat that seemed to engulf your body.

"Good. That's exactly what you need to do." Your nose and ears were burning. "It's not about strength; it's about leverage." He pressed a hand to your back as he faced the rest of the team. "Alright, take five."

After the demonstration, you and Garcia were huddled by the water cooler, taking a generous sip as if that would somehow cool down your insides.

Garcia leaned in, pushing her glasses up her nose, and murmured, "You know, if you keep acting like that, Hotch is going to figure out that you're not just for his profiling skills."

You sputtered, water dribbling down your chin as you tried to form a denial, but what emerged was nothing short of babble, and you were acutely aware that your expression was likely revealing everything you wished to hide.

A throat cleared behind you, and you felt a chill run through you, your hand automatically setting the cup down. Garcia's eyes turned to saucers, and you didn't need to turn around to know who it was--your body's instinctive response to his nearness said it all.

"Could I see you in my office?"

You whipped around, thumb jabbing into your chest as your gaze collided with his. "Me?"

"Yes, you."

Your heart seemed to sink, but still, you obediently followed him, like a puppy. Morgan's elbow connected with your side as you walked by, mouthing a good luck.

Alright, new plan, you weren't just going to hide Morgan's favorite mug, you were going to throw it out the window.

You trailed Hotch into his office, gesturing to the chair in front of his desk, your heart pounding as he closed the door with a click--never a good sign.

"I'm really sorry, sir. Garcia's just, you know, she's probably drunk, and I don't have—well, you're definitely hot, obviously, I mean, not obviously, but I didn't mean—,"

Hotch cut you short with the raise of his hand, moving so he was sitting in his chair behind the desk. "What are you talking about?"

"Garcia's comment, about me having a crush on you," you admit, and then your mouth forms the perfect o of realization. "Unless you didn't hear that, and I just outed myself for no reason?"

His brows nearly disappeared into his hairline. "You have a—,"

"Right, so you didn't hear that. Forget I said anything. I'm sure there's something I need to do... somewhere else, so I'll just—,"

You were scrambling out of your chair, silently pleasing for the floor to open up, but you didn't get far, a hand wrapping around your wrist, keeping you firmly in place.

"Hold on a second."

"Please, Hotch. I've humiliated myself enough, don't you think? If you have any respect for me still, let me leave with at least some of my dignity intact."

You were already mentally mapping out your options: transferring, resigning, even fleeing the country. A different name, a new passport--Garcia could probably help with that.

"I hold you in a higher regard than just respect." Each word was diminishing the space between you.

Maybe you could go to Puerto Rico? That's still technically U.S. territory. Or maybe Mexico, though, given Reid's history, it's probably best to steer clear.

"Well, that's good, I guess."

He pauses, pinching the bridge of his nose before looking up. "I'm not good at this."

"Good at what?"

"Asking pretty women on dates."

"Who are you asking on a date?"

"Christ." He exhaled sharply before leaning forward, pressing a soft, firm kiss to your lips. 

When he pulled away, you blinked up at him, raising an eyebrow. "Oh, am the pretty woman you're trying to ask out?"

"Is that a yes?"

You couldn't help the wide smile that spread across your face. "That's sooooo a yes."

You looped your arms around his neck and pulling him down for another kiss. This time, it was deeper. You decided that you could kiss him forever, and it would still be your favorite pastime.

Maybe it wasn't such a stupid crush.

taglist: @hotchhner @khxna @readergf @sarcasm-and-stiles @edencherries @aurorsworld @princess76179 @malindacath @freyy253

[sstan-hoe]

𝐀𝐧 𝐈𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐯𝐢𝐞𝐰 𝐭𝐨 𝐑𝐞𝐦𝐞𝐦𝐛𝐞𝐫

𝒑𝒂𝒊𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈 — congressman!bucky barnes × journalist!fem!reader

𝒔𝒖𝒎𝒎𝒂𝒓𝒚 — interviewing congressman James Buchanan Barnes didn't seem like a big deal, if he wasn't known for getting the journalists fired...but with you...he had other ideas...

𝒘𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔 — SMUT: p in v, unprotected, fingerings, sir kink, kind dark, kinda not, not aftercare cuz I didn't write it, bucky barnes, yeah that's a warning, did I forget anything?

𝒏𝒐𝒕𝒆 — okay, yeah, I jumped in that train, but how could I not? We can all agree I'm fucking rusty, idk what this is, I didn't even know how to end it? Where is my writing talent, like look at this? well, feedback is appreciated but ehh yeah I understand if not haha, also no beta, English is not my first language, yk all that stuff

You took a deep breath, bracing yourself for the chaos that would follow in the next two hours. It was your first major interview, before all you did was write a few articles and do research. Therefore, you were even more anxious with the task you got from your boss.

Disappointing her was not an option but you knew how difficult today would be, in preparation for this moment you watched many interviews with the congressman. You observed actions of journalists he would criticise or how he would react to certain questions.

This way you were able to tell yourself it would be a great interview. All while hoping your boss was not searching for a reason to fire you and this was her way of getting rid of you.

You had set questions, which couldn’t be changed and some you weren’t even allowed to ask. So, a waterproof plan, right? Well congressman Barnes wasn’t known for his flawless interviews or his friendly answers.

No, he was rude and harsh. Many journalists before you had lost their job or swore to never interview him again – or more like weren’t allowed to come back. His answers were short and often left no room for arguments. If a reporter even messed up a tiny bit, he would immediately call them out on it.

Walking into the tall building felt like you would crumble under the pressure, everything was so massive and intimidating. Well, a place fit for a man like James Buchanan Barnes.

They checked your ID and instructions. Simply what to do and not to do, nothing new. Still, it felt like you committed a crime, after all the secruity never left you alone, which made sense as they wanted to make sure Barnes was safe.

Although, he could protect himself with that metal arm of his – also something you were under no circumstances allowed to ask about. The last one who did, has never surfaced again.

“You can sit there, he will be with you in five minutes,” a man with broad shoulders and blonde hair told you. He looked like the typical American golden boy, he did seem a bit scary, but you would bet he was a true sweetheart.

“Okay,” you answered, though he probably didn’t even hear you as he walked right out of the door again. It gave you a chance to take in the room, it wasn’t like the usual interview rooms you saw on TV, no it seemed more private and secured.

In hopes to be perfect, you set everything up. Everything had to align, the papers, the pen and water of course. You could not give him any reason to snap at you.

Just as you finished, the man of the hour stepped in with five secruity men. Barnes entrance came with an unstoppable aura, like everyone would cower under his presence and most of the time they did.

He glared at you, as if you had just called him an asshole – which you didn’t. You tried your best not to show him how much it bothered you, so you just smiled brightly at him.

“Good morning, Mr. Barnes, I’m really honoured that you agreed to this interview,” you politely said once he sat down. “You’re welcome,” he answered, voice a lot deeper than you thought and awfully sexy. How could he be single? Also, a question no one was allowed to ask, but it was unusual for a congressman to have no partner…right?

He nodded at his men, and instantly they cleared out which confused you. “Aren’t they supposed to protect you?” you questioned, already regretting it.

“Yes, they are right in front of the door and the room has cameras everywhere,” he explained, voice monotone. Lightly he tilted his head, he gave every reporter three strikes – not telling them of course – and once they hit them, he would make them leave.

After knowing who would interview him, he did his research, and you were the first one he barley found any information on. You weren’t known yet, which was probably the reason they send you.

However it made him curious, the articles you had written so far were good – some even better than the ones of his previous reporters. Besides you were a lot prettier than them.

“Oh, yeah…that makes sense,” you nodded in agreement, trying to hide the fact that you still found it weird. “Okay, then we should start. I will ask you questions, and you answer them however you want, and-,” “I know how to answer questions doll,” he cut you off in a sharp tone, eyes quite dark.

Great, this was going fucking great, you told yourself, “I know, of course, I just…I’m used to doing it this way,” you tried your best to explain, keeping a smile on your lips. In response Barnes lifted his eyebrow, “you’re used to making the person oppisite of you look stupid?”

Couldn’t there be a fire, or an attack or anything? Anything that would make you end this interview, “no, no I’m not. We will just start, first question: not everyone is happy that you won the election, is there a way you want to proof yourself to them?”

“No, I won’t do anything. Everyone has their opinion, and they should keep it, I proofed myself enough, if I didn’t, I wouldn’t be here,” he answered, leaning back against his chair. You knew he had good answers but damn.

“Sounds good, I mean there was never a congressman everyone liked,” you agreed, writing his answer down. “Yes, thank you,” he said with sarcasm and only then you realised what you had actually said, with wide eyes you began apologizing, “I didn’t mean it like that, it’s just you know slang,” that what bullshit, it wasn’t slang you only needed an explanation.

“Slang?” he repeated, he knew you were nervous – everyone was – but he didn’t expect to enjoy it this much. You pressed your lips together, nodding along, “yes.”

“Next question,” you put a bright smile back on your face, “your term is rather young, but in this time, you already accomplished a lot, what are you most proud of?” For a moment there was a silence, it gave you a chance to take a closer look at Barnes.

Suddenly he had a small smirk on his lips instead of the normal stoic expression, you’d never seen him act any different in recent interviews. Maybe it was a good sign, maybe he wouldn’t end your carrier right after today.

“That every woman has the right of an abortion without fear,” he stated, crossing his fingers on his lap. You had no arguments there, it was truly remarkable.

Quickly you scribbled his answer down and checking the question off your list. “The other journalist had a recorder, are you not professional enough for that?” And there he was again, the friendly congressman everyone knew. It sounded almost as if he was taunting you.

“I am, just because I don’t fit your standard does not mean I’m unprofessional,” you snapped, then instantly clamping a hand over your mouth as you realised how you just spoke to the congressman.

Said person didn’t care, now he fully smirked with satisfaction, “so you actually can speak louder than a little mouse.” Oh, he looked so proud of himself for say that.

His words came unexpected, from your research you knew that he had a sharp tongue, but this was entirely new. From his answer you gathered he did it on purpose, but why would he want you to be rude? You could be reaching, but maybe your boss did want to get rid of you and asked him for help…okay that was crazy.

“Moving on,” you ignored his words, shaking your head a little as an idea popped in your head, if he could be an asshole so could you. “Many people wonder what happened with your arm, were you in the army or maybe an accident?”

“Come again?” he almost growled, features becoming dark and almost scary. Body moving a little forward, even though a small part of you was scared, you were extremely turned on.

You didn’t know what to say, should you really repeat it? Fuck it, yes. “What happened to your arm?” eyes staying on his, noticing how he flexed said arm.

“Becoming quite bold, are we? I remember this being a question you’re not allowed to ask,” he lifted his chin as if challenging you. This was exactly what he wanted, to see if you were really as shy as he read and he was positively surprised.

“I told you I’m not like the others,” suddenly you forgot who you were talking to, forgot how he was one of the most important and powerful people in the world.

Then he stood up, his huge body towering over you. Bucky rested his hands on either side of your chair, face dangerously close to yours. It was as if he could feel how nervous you became.

“No, you’re not…,” he whispered, hands taking yours and guiding you to stand up. As if in trance you followed him, looking up at him with big eyes.

“You’re far more beautiful,” he continued, letting his hands glide up your body to your face. Was this actually happening? No, you had to be dreaming, there was no other explanation.

You had no words, you were speechless, and your mind was running wild. Is that why he chose you? Because he wanted a quick fuck? As if he couldn’t get anyone, he wanted but you would surely not cave and lose your job – wait would you lose it if you did not sleep with him?

“This is unprofessional,” you stated, trying to move your chair a little further away from him. However, your words only made the man smirk with a devilish glint in his eyes.

“Who is to say we should not do this? There is no one with more power than me doll,” he whispered, closer than he was before. He would be lying if he said he didn’t do his research on you and if he would deny how captive, you held him.

Your work stood out, you really seemed to care the people you interviewed and wanted to give the audience a look behind the curtains. Every other reporter he had before was full of themselves, proud to be interviewing the congressman and only getting what was necessary.

His agenda may or may not have been unprofessional. But who could blame him? You were the prettiest girl he had ever seen, it was remarkable, and he wanted you.

“I’m not sleeping with you, I’m not some girl you can use to get off,” you continued, trying to stand up but Bucky gripped your waist instead. Was this truly your life? Of course, James Barnes was a walking god, but this felt like a situation right out of a romance book.

He chuckled at that, he loved how you played hard to get. “Sure,” he nodded before pulling you flush against his hard chest, reflexively your hands flew against his broad shoulders.

“Prove me wrong,” he challenged you, then pressed his lips against yours, tongue gliding along your upper lip. Caught up in the moment you accepted his tongue into your mouth, his kiss was hot and filled with hunger.

It felt like he was swallowing you and you hated to admit how damn good he felt. Not only his aura was screaming dominance but also actions did as he lightly bit into your bottom lip to keep your mouth open.

You moved into him, hands wrapping around his neck. With a heavy breath Bucky broke the kiss, wearing a satisfied smirk, “you seem to quite enjoy this doll.”

In response you rolled your eyes, “it is highly unprofessional, you should know this,” you tried to keep your voice hard, in order to convince yourself to not fall further into his schemes.

Again, he didn’t take you seriously instead he placed hot kisses along your collarbone, and you couldn’t help but let out a whine by the way his slight stubble was rubbing against your skin. It was rough yet set you on fire.

“Does that normaly work for you?” he questioned in between kisses, suddenly you sensed pressure just above your pulse. The congressman was marking you up, like you were his possession.

“What?” you asked confused, eyes fighting to stay open as you gripped onto his hair. In response he shook his head, continuing his way down your cleavage. Meanwhile he let his hand slide up to the collar of your blouse and without hesitation ripped it open.

His actions pulled you from your bliss, gasping loudly, “I just bought this one!” “Please, I will buy you a new one if you’re so attached,” he rolled his eyes, slipping your blouse off and revealing your black lace bra.

God, you looked amazing, if Bucky wasn’t on a time limit, he would take the time to worship your tits properly.

“No, no, no, I told you this is wrong!” you let go of him and put your hands on his chest to keep a distance. You couldn’t let this go any further than it already had, but the man in front of you was so hard to resist.

“Doll, if it’s wrong than why does it feel like the right thing to do?” he whispered against the shell of your ear, resting his hands once again on your waist, however now you felt the contrast of his warm flesh hand and cold metal hand.

Letting his metal hand move down to your thigh, he lifted your leg to pull you closer to him. The way he manoeuvred your body made you feel his hard erection.

You whimpered in order to supress a moan slipping from your lips, “Mr. Barnes,” you argued. He knew exactly what he was doing, “I like the way you say my name, so be honest…if you’re so against this, then why are you reacting this way, mhm?”

“Come on doll, tell me,” his lips ghosted over yours before he hosted you up completely. “Sir…please,” you tried again, voice cracking as you tried to stabilize yourself.

He chuckled walking towards his desk, laying you down on the hard wood. “That’s what I thought,” he grinned, kissing down your stomach to your heated core. You thought you would explode, the congressman was about to pleasure you, the same man who you were scared would fire you.

“Let’s see if I really don’t have any effect on you doll,” you got goosebumps from the way his hot breath hit your skin. Bucky opened your trousers, pulling them down your legs.

He hooked his fingers around your panties, revealing how right he was. “Look at that, you’re fucking wet for the congressman,” he sounded taunting, but you would bet he was satisfied with himself.

However, his words only made this moment feel even dirtier than it already was. You propped yourself up on your elbows and suddenly realised you were completely naked yet the man in front of you wasn’t.

“Don’t you think it’s a bit unfair how you’re still fully dressed?” you questioned with raised brows, not knowing you could muster up this much confidence at the moment.

“Do you think this is any way to speak to me?” his tone became dark, throwing your panties across the room. With one sentence he destroyed your confidence, “I’m sorry sir,” you instantly apologized which played right into Bucky’s cards.

Smirking he shrugged of his blazer, loosened his tie and unbuttoned his dress shirt a little. It gave you a view onto his god-like chest.

“That’s a good girl,” he told you, pulling his tie over his head and stuffed it into your mouth. While it was extremely hot you felt a slight disappointment, “aww, don’t worry doll, you’ll get the chance to scream as loud as you need but not today.”

“Sadly, we’re on a tight schedule, so I will have to eat you out another time,” he said it like it was the most casual thing there was while you almost choked, there would be a second time?

His fingers traced along your cunt, spreading your juice over your skin, “feel how wet you are for me? And here you were saying that you didn’t want this,” he tsked, pushing his middle and pointer finger into your pulsing core.

You bit down on his tie, suppressing a moan and muffling his last name. Even in this situation you were too scared to say his first name.

“Squeezing my fingers huh, doll?” Bucky pulled his fingers from you and smeared his cock with your wetness. Then he undid his pants, letting his hard member free. Your gaze fell down to his cock, his leaking tip hitting his stomach.

You’d never thought you would say this, but he looked too pretty, and thicker than anyone you had before. “You’re so pretty,” you mumbled, your mind wasn’t function properly, so it didn’t even surprise you as those words left your mouth.

Bucky could barley make out what you were saying, he had an idea though and turned him on even more. With no warning he thrusted his cock inside your aching pussy, not caring if it hurt.

This time you couldn’t contain any sounds, you screamed loudly, clawing onto the wooden desk. “Feel me stretching you doll?” he smirked, pulling out but leaving his tip inside, just barley to tease you. Then he pushed in, with a hard pace he pummelled in and out of you.

You couldn’t help but clench around him, wrapping your lags around his hips which made him grin, “don’t want me leaving ya?”

Shaking your head you tried to keep the grip as tight as possible, he felt like heaven, he filled you perfectly and hit your sweet, sensitive spot in all the right ways.

His metal hand came down to rub circles on your clit, putting pressure on the sensitive bundle of nerves to drive you closer to your high. Given the fact he was still stronger than you, he had no problems moving with you pressing your legs against him.

In fact, it only made him enjoy it more. Your eyes rolled in the back I’d your head as you felt a shot if ecstasy crash through your nerves. Bucky was admiring how fucked out you looked, trying to hold onto one single though; him.

“I can feel you getting tighter doll, be a good girl and come...then you can milk my cock of every last drop,” he leaned down, whispering into your ear, flesh hand coming up to your throat to keep you in position.

“I can’t-“ you whimpered, it was too much, never before had you felt this much pleasure, never before was anyone able to make you come with his cock.

“You will, slut,” the congressman growled, demanded. This was exactly the man you feared just moments ago. Now you felt different, now you wanted to make him proud.

“Yes, sir,” you caved, letting everything happen, let the tight knot in your stomach explode. You tried holding onto his wrist, but your grip slipped.

With satisfaction Bucky fucked you through your orgasm, know it would push you even further into submission. He bit his lip, trying not to let out a strangled groan at the way you gripped him like a vice.

Seeing you have you climax made him sure to follow you suit, roads of white cum painted your swollen walls. It took everything in him to keep moving, to make you would get every last drop of him. “I could get used to being interviewed by you, doll,” he grunted, slightly tighting his hold on your throat.

Tears rolled down your cheeks, too overwhelmed with the situation. What had he done to you? Why did he give you an amazing orgasm ? What would happen now?

It was too much running through your brain, you just needed a nap, just for five minutes.... “Oh, doll, this was just the beginning.”

told ya, shit ending

[magical-reid]

Tying Hearts Into Knots

Pairing: 40s!Bucky x Nurse!Reader

Word Count: 700

Prompt: 29: "“I can braid your hair for you—I mean, only if you want,”

Summary: Bucky Barnes, the confident and charming sergeant, is thrown off balance by the cool and composed nurse tending to him, making him stumble over his words in a way no one has ever seen. As their unlikely friendship grows, the tough soldier finds himself nervous and flustered around her, while she begins to see a side of him that’s more than just swagger and charm.

The low hum of the hospital ward was punctuated by the occasional scrape of a chair leg or the soft murmur of a nurse giving instructions. You were busy checking bandages when you first noticed him—Bucky Barnes, the charming sergeant everyone seemed to swoon over. He had a grin that could disarm even the most stoic of nurses and an air of confidence that could walk right into any room and make it his.

Except, apparently, when it came to you.

You’d caught him staring once or twice, his expression a strange mix of curiosity and… was that nervousness? Hard to tell with a man like Bucky, who usually exuded confidence like it was as easy as breathing. But right now, he sat stiffly at the edge of the cot, his usual smirk absent. His hands fidgeted in his lap, fingers curling and uncurling.

“Sergeant Barnes,” you greeted, pulling his chart off the clipboard. You didn’t look at him right away, too preoccupied with reading the notes. But when you glanced up, his blue eyes were already on you, wide like he’d just been caught red-handed.

“Uh, hey.” He cleared his throat, rubbing the back of his neck. “You can call me Bucky.”

You smirked at that, writing something down on his chart. “I’ll stick with Sergeant Barnes for now. How are you feeling?”

“Better,” he mumbled. Then, after a beat: “Thanks to you.”

That was new. The great Bucky Barnes, nervous and stumbling over his words? You raised an eyebrow at him, unsure if he was pulling your leg. But the way his knee started bouncing, you decided he was serious.

“Well,” you said, moving to check his bandaged arm, “you’ve got a long road ahead, but it’s nothing you can’t handle, right?” You gave him a pointed look, one you often used on stubborn patients.

“Right,” he said, his voice a little too high.

You chuckled softly, brushing a stray strand of hair from your face. It was a hot day, and the humidity in the ward wasn’t helping. Your hair kept falling loose from its pins, and you huffed in frustration as you tucked it back again.

Bucky shifted on the cot. “I can braid your hair for you—I mean, only if you want,” he blurted.

You froze, mid-motion, staring at him. His face went red as a beet.

“I—uh—used to do it for my sister,” he stammered, his words tripping over each other. “It’s—it’s not weird or anything, I just—” He cut himself off, looking like he wanted to sink into the floor.

You bit back a smile, deciding to take pity on him. “You braid hair, Sergeant Barnes?”

His laugh was awkward, his eyes darting around like he was searching for an escape. “Yeah, uh, like I said… for my sister. But I’m sure I could, y’know, do a good job if you needed help or something.”

You tilted your head, pretending to consider it. “I might take you up on that.”

Bucky looked like he wasn’t sure if you were joking or not, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed nervously. “O-okay.”

Leaning closer, you dropped your voice. “You know, I think this is the first time I’ve ever seen you nervous, Sergeant.”

“I’m not nervous,” he said too quickly, his shoulders straightening.

“Really? Your face is redder than Private O’Malley’s sunburn,” you teased.

He opened his mouth, then shut it, and you couldn’t hold back your laughter. For a man who could charm his way out of anything, he was absolutely flustered.

“I’ll tell you what,” you said, your voice softening. “If I ever need a hairdresser, you’ll be the first person I call.”

Bucky’s lips quirked into a smile, some of his usual swagger creeping back in. “Careful, doll. I might hold you to that.”

You shook your head, stepping back. “Rest up, Sergeant.”

As you walked away, you could feel his eyes on you, and when you glanced back, sure enough, there he was—grinning like an idiot.

You couldn’t help but grin back.

[inkdrinkerworld]

Spencer and sunshine!reader have to go undercover as a couple at like a bar or something to catch an unsub!!!! The team would be like “make it believable!”…but they’re literally not pretending. Just acting how they usually would with more ‘free-spirited’ hands. 😭

“Just make it believable okay?” Was the only instruction Emily had given you both. 

You’re currently in a bar with Spencer, a strawberry vodka in your hands as he sips on a coke. 

“Spencer, are you scared to put your hands on me?” you ask when your shoes brush the toes of his, trying to get Spencer to hold onto you as you scan behind him for the unsub. 

“You know that I’m not,” he only steps a little closer, his hand falling to the middle of your back. 

You don’t say anything for a moment, trying hard to find the man you and Spencer were sent to ensnare. 

The unsub you’re trying to catch has a thing for voyeurism that turns into him wanting to insert himself in a couple’s dealings which had a funny way of turning into a very sex and murder type of party. 

The minute your eyes lock with his, Spencer’s hand falls into the back pocket of your skin tight jeans. Even through the thick denim you can feel the warmth of his palm. 

“Too much?” he licks his lips as you shake your head, eyes still locked on the unsub. “Do you see him?” you nod again and Spencer smiles. 

“He’s near the restrooms, blue polo and khaki pants.” you whisper the information hoping that Emily hears you. There’s a bit of static then her affirmative and you nod.

“Look up at me,” Your heart races when you look up and find Spencer’s eyes darker than usual. He leans down, nose brushing yours and you’re only vaguely embarrassed by the surprised squeak that left your lips the moment Spencer’s hand groped your bum. 

“Spencer,” you gasp, lips brushing his. You can feel your heart in your throat. All you can smell is him. That godforsaken cherry and spiced chocolate cologne that he wears filling your head.

“Sweetheart,” he murmurs, eyes leaving yours for a brief moment. “Is he coming this way?” 

Who is Spencer talking about? 

“Blue polo,” he reminds you, it takes a moment for your eyes to land on the moving man but when they do you nod. “Good, kiss the corner of my mouth.” 

You find your voice then, “Are you usually this bossy?” Spencer smirks but instead of an answer he just taps beneath your chin forcing you to tilt it further up. 

“Would you prefer it if I do it?” Spencer Reid is on his own private mission to end you, you’re sure of it. 

“Yeah,” when you tell Penelope of what happens later on tonight, you’ll be sure to leave out how breathless you were when you agreed. 

The kiss is chaste and sweet, a quick little nip. It gives the unsub enough time to reach you both and try to put his hands on you before Spencer is pulling out his badge and you’re attaching handcuffs onto his wrists. 

“FBI, we’d like to ask you some questions.” 

You can’t look anyone in the eye when you walk back into the precinct, flushed and flustered and fighting the urge to touch the corner of your lips where Spencer’s had been.

[marvelwitchergilmore]

Lunch Date

Summary: Steve Rogers x fe!Reader -> You have a lunch date with Steve Rogers before you realise who he is to the rest of the world.

Disclaimer: This has been sat in my WIP for a while. Mostly fluff, humour? Reader works as a historian. I haven't written for any MCU characters for a while so hopefully this isn't terrible. Not Proof Read.

If someone had told you when you were six years old and running through the park playing superheroes that one day you would be having lunch with the Steve Rogers…

You probably would have believed them since you were six and was going to have lunch with your next door neighbour who was the one with the trash can lid as a shield. 

But it was true. 

You’d been working at the museum since you graduated from University. First as just a tour guide but it wasn’t long before a spot opened up to become one of the curators. Mostly you worked with war artifacts. You still did the tours, though. 

You found it fun, walking a new group around every couple of hours, seeing their faces light up with wonder as they looked at the plane parts and the genuine diaries of some of the soldiers. 

Then one day after finishing the second tour of the day, you took your lunch break. 

“I’m sorry, is this seat taken?”

You looked up and found a man dressed in a blue shirt and black trousers. He was handsome, but the thing you noticed was the look in his eyes. 

Kindness. 

“No, go ahead.”

You were a little surprised when he sat down, rather than taking the chair to another table. But when you looked around, you noticed how busy the place had gotten. 

“Sorry for disturbing you.” The stranger nodded over to the book that was laid open at the side of you. 

You shook your head. “It’s no issue. Besides, I think I’ve read the same page three times.”

It was from him asking what you were reading that you started continuing the conversation to the point where you’d learned he’d actually taken one of your tours once. 

“Be honest with me, is it boring?”

“Boring?” He shook his head. “No. Not at all.”

You gave a sigh of relief. “Are you sure?”

He gave you a genuine smile. “Of course, I’m sure. Why? Did someone give you a bad review?”

You shrugged. “Something like that.”

“Sounds like there’s a story there.”

You laughed a little. “There is-” 

You caught a glimpse at your watch and almost died. “Shit- sorry. Shoot, I’m gonna be late.”

He panicked along with you. “I’m sorry if I kept-”

You shook your head as you went to stand and pack your things away. “No, no. Trust me, it’s not often I enjoy a conversation so much that I lose track of time. I-I have to get to another tour but if you…” You were about to offer him your number but then you thought of something a little better. “Actually, would you like to tag along? I-I know you’ve seen it before but if you’re not doing anything…”

And for a moment, you thought you’d fucked up. But then he smiled. 

“I’d love to.”

“Great.” You looked at your watch again. “I-I will meet you there. I have to hand out the fact sheets and- you already know. See you there?”

He smiled. “See you there.”

You smiled too before rushing off in the opposite direction. By the time you were catching your breath, half way through handing out instructions, facts sheets, some promotional sheets, too, he met you there. 

“Hi, again.”

You smiled, handing him his pile. “Hi.”

And for the next hour you led him and the rest of the group on a tour of the museum giving every fact you already knew and each time you looked back to the tour group, he caught your eye and you found yourself unable to stop smiling. 

You probably looked like some mad cheshire cat by the end of the tour; especially after you and him continued your conversation privately as the tour group were given freedom for ten minutes to look around one of the larger exhibits. 

“You know what I’ve just realised?”

“What is that?”

“I don’t know your name.” You said as you looked up at him. “I’m Y/n, by the way.”

He smiled and shook your hand. “Steve.”

“Nice to officially meet you, Steve.”

“Same to you, Y/n.”

By the time the tour finished and everyone dispersed either to go home or return to the exhibits they wanted to spend more time in, you and Steve took a walk back around the museum. 

“So, what brings you here? If you’ve already been before, why come again?”

Steve shrugged. “I had free time and I was in the city. Plus, it’s nice to come somewhere that feels familiar.”

“Familiar?”

Steve didn’t know how to answer your question without completely telling you who he actually was, or completely lying. 

“I grew up with a lot of historical stuff so sometimes walking around a museum can feel like home.”

You smiled and looked around. “I know what you mean.”

The museum, ever since you were a kid, had felt like a second home. One filled with even more wonder and amazement. 

Then Steve asked you a question. 

“Forgive me if this is a little forward, but would you like to have dinner with me this week?”

You stopped walking and turned towards him. 

“I’ve been told I’m meant to direct message and do a lot of ‘in between’ conversations but, if I’m being honest, I don’t see the point in it.”

You couldn’t help but smile. 

“But if you have someone already, or if you don’t want to, you can just…tell me to leave and you never-”

You stepped forward a little and laid your hand on his arm. “Steve, Steve, Steve. Stop. I would love to have dinner with you. And thank you for asking me.”

Then that smile that you’d come to find comfort in, despite only meeting him a few hours ago, flashed onto his face. 

“Thank you for saying yes.”

It took two days from swapping numbers at the museum for you to both find a time you were available and for Steve to turn up outside your apartment with a bunch of flowers in his hand. 

“These are for you. I-I didn’t know if you were allergic to any so I picked the ones that shouldn’t affect you as much if you were.”

You politely took them from him and smiled. “They’re beautiful, Steve. Thank you. Let me just find a vase.”

You invited him in and he slowly walked a little further into your apartment, taking everything all in. Your walls were lined with dark wooden bookshelves where an array of different books were stationed. A desk was under one of the windows where sheets of paper were cast. Your sofa was worn in, but not in a bad way. It was well-loved and looked after. Your kitchen was similar. He could imagine you on a Sunday morning cooking yourself dinner as one of the movies from under your TV were playing inside the DVD player. 

Placing the flowers in the centre of the kitchen island, you grabbed your bag and Steve followed you out of the door. 

Every door you came to, Steve held it open for you. He walked on the outside of you as you both walked down the street since the restaurant wasn’t too far from your apartment block. He held out your chair for you before seating himself. It was the first date you’d been on in a long time where the guy hadn’t ordered for you. The conversation was constantly flowing, so were the smiles and the laughter. At some point between you going to the bathroom and coming back, the bill had been paid for. 

If he had waited, you would have fought him to split it, but it was nice to accept something for a change. He helped you get your coat on and for the next hour, you both just walked through the city. 

It was still relatively early so you just walked and talked. At some point, he’d taken your hand in his. Your gut had erupted in butterflies, and so had his. Especially when you leaned a little into him and held onto his arm. 

And as you both reached a small community park, you sat on the bench together. 

That was where you had your first kiss. It was equal parts shy, unnerving and steady. With his arm around your shoulders and his other hand holding onto yours, you found something in your kiss with Steve. 

It was unlike any other you’d experienced. It wasn’t lustful or yearning. But it was…strong. Your head, heart, gut and lungs were doing summersaults inside your body, but at the same time, you felt safe. 

Almost as if, despite it being your first kiss, it also felt like your millionth with him. 

And you both couldn’t help but want more. 

However, that was cut short by the ringing phone in your pocket. 

“Shit, sorry.”

Steve just laughed a little. “It’s okay.”

Pulling it from your pocket, the Museum ID badge flashed across the top. “It’s work.”

“Answer it.”

You did so and pulled the phone to your ear. 

“O-okay, just, stay calm. I’ll be right there.”

“Is everything okay?” Steve asked. 

“There’s something about a shipment. I think I need to go.”

Steve just nodded. “I’ll come with you.”

“Thank you.”

Taking his hand, you both hurried back towards your apartment where Steve helped you onto the back of his motorbike. 

“Are you sure this is safe?”

Steve gave you a reassuring smile. “I’m sure. Just hold on tightly.”

And you did. 

By the time he pulled up outside of the museum, the lights were still on inside but all the shutters were down except for one. You unclipped the helmet and hopped off before hearing your heels click up the stone stairs towards the door. 

Steve was quick on your tail following you through the museum and towards the employees only area. Finally, you both made it to the storage lock-up. 

“I’m here, what’s going on?”

“We’ve been sent these but there’s apparently been a mix up with the deliveries. All the fact cards and processing files are missing and the exhibits are meant to be ready for Monday.”

You took a breath and looked at all the new crates surrounding you. “Okay. Okay, it’s okay.”

Immediately, you got to work. 

“I’m sorry about this.”

“Don’t apologise. Do you want some help? I don’t know what I can do but I might be able to do something.”

You nodded. “That would be amazing.”

Setting Steve to work helping move some of the crates out of the way so they could be opened. Most of the items were from the thirties and forties, but mostly early war days. 

Which, you soon came to find out, was a personal favourite of Steve’s when he, somehow, knew what each item was and where it was from. Between the heavy lifting, directing and processing, you heard him mention something about cereal numbers and a manufacturer he had met. 

But despite all of that, the biggest shock was still yet to come to you. 

There was a piece of a plane that was delivered. You had made some estimations for when it was made and who for when Steve had given you an exact date and a few different locations. 

That was when something clicked. 

You didn’t know why it had only just clicked, or why it had taken you so long to realise, but it had. 

And something must have clicked for Steve, too. 

You gasped. “Oh, my god!”

One of the other curators looked at you. “What?”

You looked at some of the artifacts before looking at Steve and back again. Between the shock on your face that you tried to swallow back, Steve grinned. 

“N-nothing.” You plastered a smile on your face. “Nothing. I just thought I’d seen…” You looked at Steve and your words trailed away, but you snapped yourself back into reality. “Nothing, it doesn’t matter. Sorry.”

The curator just shrugged and went back to trying to contact the shipping company of the items. 

“Oh, my god. I can’t believe it…no, no you’re not. Are you? No, you can’t be. But the…” You put your head in your hands, finally accepting it. “Oh, my god, you are.”

Steve just chuckled and walked over to you. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner.”

“Didn’t tell me?” You lowered your hands and looked at him. “I’m sorry it didn’t click sooner. I’m a historian for crying out loud, I should have known. I’m so sorry.” 

You hid your head in your hands again as you heard Steve chuckle. Gently holding onto your wrists, he lowered your hands from your face.

“Does this change anything?”

“Steve,” you lowered your voice. “You’re freaking Captain America.”

“But does it change anything?”

“Not particularly, no. But you’re…you’re a superhero. You-you’re an Agent and a superhero. You rescue people for a living and put your life on the line. Oh, my god, I can’t believe I asked you what you did for a living. Is this even legal? Are you allowed to go on dates with total strangers who don’t do some kind of highly secure, world-saving, job and, like, Shield level background checks?”

“Why? Is there something I should know about?”

You leaned back, realising how it sounded. “What? No. No, nothing. Not unless I’ve done something I didn’t realise I did. No, nothing.”

Steve smiled. “Relax, I was kidding. God knows I lied enough times to try and get into the army.”

“Wow, is Captain America a rule breaker?”

He just chuckled. “I’ll tell you some other time.”

“Does this mean I have to salute you?”

He shook his head. “No.”

“Good, because I don’t know how to salute. I’d probably do it wrong anyway.”

Steve laughed once more before pulling you into his chest. “I can’t believe I didn’t realise.”

“Don’t be embarrassed. It was nice for someone to treat me as me without them treating me like Captain America.”

As you leaned back from him, you admitted something to him. “I feel like my history degree is going to be taken off me for not knowing.”

Steve laughed, rubbing his hand up and down your spine before pressing a quick kiss to your lips. “Come on, let's get this packed away.”

A few hours later, items that could be given an info card were before being locked away safely with the rest. 

Steve drove you home and walked you to your front door. 

“I’m sorry our date got cut short.”

Steve just shook his head. “Don’t worry about it. Besides, it was kinda fun having it come full circle with us back at the museum. It was also fun seeing you figure out how I knew what everything was.”

You groaned a little. “I can’t believe it never clicked with me, but I am kinda glad it didn’t. It was nice to get to know you.”

“Do you still want to?”

You nodded slowly. “So long as it’s Steve and not Captain America.”

Steve smiled and nodded. “It will be, I can promise you that.”

You smiled. “Good, I’m glad.”

Kissing you goodnight, Steve waved up at you from the street below before riding back home, already planning your next date. 

[knixscythee]

Midoriya hcs (I don't even know what au I would call this because its literally just stuff that's been on my mind for months)

𓆩♡𓆪 This mf got some sass. One of his workers come into his room telling him shit that someone said, best believe that worker finna bring that person in just so he can fling them around the room with blackwhip just to take their report and flick holes in it.

"𝘛𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘬𝘴 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘳𝘦𝘱𝘰𝘳𝘵, 𝘴𝘪𝘳"

𓆩♡𓆪 Also Izuku isn't as innocent as before. He sits in his office bored as hell until you walk into his office he sits up properly at his desk and his eyes land on you. Lidded and filled with wild intentions. Now whether you are a playful or serious type wouldn't matter because he'd become such a tease.

"Y/nnnnnnieeeee, it's so boring in here, I honestly rather patrol then this. But you can make this interesting hmm?"

𓆩♡𓆪 HE DRINKS, AND A LOT not like stereotypical gallons of beer and whiskey but like wine. Hella wine. Can chug a whole bottle and needs Shoto to pry him off of the bottle. In his second house (yes he has a second house for his private matter that he rather not have his friends and fans knowing of) has a winery in it. Plus secret walls that open and have a wall of exotic wines. I could Yap about this all day but we have to move on.

"Wine soothes the pain, wine goes with every food, wine makes the world go around. The most plus ultra drink in the wooorrlldddd...."

"Izuku give me bottle"

"Hell no"

𓆩♡𓆪 This is only because I love villain Deku so much but like him as a hero too but he has a split personality, most of the time he's the greatest Deku everyone sees on the news but sometimes at night he puts on a suit with his signature green tie and white gloves and goes outside dancing in the dark with a knife with his initials stamped on them. Cleansing the world of some of the filth that litters it's streets. And according to him he's doing it all in the name of being a hero. Glowing green eyes, purplish red eye bags, and crimson blood red wine. He rests his legs over the arm rest of the couch as he counts his money inside of second home while sipping on his wine. The glass table in front if him littered with bullets, guns, and money. Yeah... That's pretty heroic..

"FREEZE LET US SEE YOUR HANDS YOU SICK FREAK!"

he turns slowly and puts his hands up with spread fingers next to his face with the same deer in headlights face.

"Don't blink"

The cops obviously confused, don't follow his instructions and just in a second he dissapears and so does the cop's friends as he lays in a pull of the blood of his comrades.

Footsteps approach the cop and a cold gloved hand rests on his shoulders, the cops slowly looks over his shoulder half way and is met with a pair of glowing green rude that he wouldn't dare look at head on.

"Shoulda listened buddy"

𓆩♡𓆪 Izuku full Nelson. Thats it.

[exhaslo]

Over-Time

CEO!Miguel x Shy/Clumsy!Reader!

Warning: MINORS DNI, eventual smut, slow-burn, mentions of sex, bullying, cussing

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Dear, (Y/N), you have been selected to join us for a group interview at Alchemax. Please arrive at appointed date and time below. Read and follow all instructions to ensure your interview. We can't wait to meet you."

Unable to fathom what you had just read, a loud gasp escaped your lips instead. All you really read was interview. Everything else blurred out since you were so excited to finally have a chance to leave your current job.

"Oh my gosh! Do I even have the proper clothes for an interview there?! I can't believe it!" You whispered, resisting a squeal.

This was a once in a lifetime opportunity. Alcehmax was one of the biggest companies in Nueva York. Everyone in their right mind wanted to get even a chance to work there. Hell, some people were happy just being a janitor there.

It was all anyone wanted to gloat about. Getting an interview was nearly impossible and yet, your clumsy ass managed to get it. You had prayed to every God you could think of. The questionnaire was a nightmare and where people failed the most.

"Okay, okay! I have to prepare...I have to practice..." You told yourself.

Interviews were hard for you. You were nervous around new people and freaked out when asked hard questions. Glancing at yourself in the mirror, you just smiled. You got this far. You had an interview to take and succeed in.

---------

"Lyla, have we found anyone decent enough within the last two group interviews?" Miguel asked with a grumble.

Lyla, Miguel's private assistant, just laughed. She took off her designer glasses and placed them on Miguel's desk. Miguel was the CEO of Alchemax. One of the richest men in all of Nueva York, and a man with a quick temper.

"We have some potential candidates for the open slot in Marketing, but no one to replace me for when I go on my vacaaaation~" Lyla sang happily. Miguel felt his eye twitch,

"Yes, I know. You haven't stopped bragging about your damn vacation all week. Would have been nice if you mentioned it sooner-"

"Oh, don't give me that, Migs. I had it pop up on your calendar every week for the past three months reminding you! It isn't my fault you don't look."

"I am a busy man. You know that because you make my schedule," Miguel hissed lowly then pinched the bridge of his nose, "Just-Ugh, I just find me someone who won't try and suck my dick within the first week."

Lyla just snickered as she typed on her tablet, "You need to find someone. Maybe it will make you less of a grump." She mocked.

Miguel exhaled loudly, glaring towards his assistant. It was a good thing that Miguel could tolerate that woman. Lyla was a close friend of his and knew how to push his buttons.

Leaning back in his seat, Miguel closed his eyes as he took the moment to rest. Lyla was going to be gone for a few months. She sure knew how to utilize her vacation time. Hell, Lyla had a tough job dealing with him. She deserved it.

"I just need someone....quiet."

---------

How could a building give off such an intimidating presence? It was as if all those powerful inside were warding off the weak and frail. The start of a challenging, yet welcoming part of your life. If you managed to do good in the interview.

Inhaling deeply, you gripped onto your folder and finally had the courage to make your way inside. You heard the stories, but Alchemax sure was a force to be reckon with. The inside of the reception floor felt like another world.

You had arrived super early. You were scared of being late and well, knowing yourself, you were probably going to get lost. Hopefully, your clumsiness won't get in the way of your interview.

"Ah-"

Magic words. Just thinking of it alone caused you to goof up. You had accidently bumped into someone while admiring the inside of the building.

"I-I'm s-so sorry!" You stuttered, panicked that you were fucking up already, "I wasn't looking! I'm sorry!"

"It's alright. Are you okay?" The man spoke as you picked up your paperwork that fell.

Tears were starting to form as you thought of running away. Glancing up at the stranger you bumped into, you sniffed and tried to compose yourself. The man before you had bend down and helped with your paperwork.

"No need to be afraid, I won't bite." The man said with a warming smile. You gulped, finding him very attrative,

"I'm sorry again."

"Oh? An interview?"

"Ah, yes. I'm a little early, but since I've never been here I wanted to make sure...I wouldn't get lost," You admited as he handed your paperwork, "Thank you. My name is (Y/N)."

"Miguel,"

You stood up, staring at the towering man before you. That name sounded familiar, but you were so focused on your goof up to remember. Everyone was probably staring at you, laughing and knowing that you were probably going to flunk the interview now.

"Come, I'll take you to the floor you're going to be at. There are drinks in the lobby once you arrive. Help yourself."

"Ah, thank you."

You were just lucky to have bumped into someone as nice as Miguel. If it were anyone else, they would have probably made you feel worse than you already do now.

---------

Miguel stayed quiet as he led you to the elevator. He won't lie that it was slightly amusing to find someone who didn't immediately recognized him. That and quite refreshing. Miguel wondered what you would think if you found out that he was the CEO.

Glancing ever so slightly in your direction, Miguel couldn't help but smile. It was like you were in your own little world. You were fumbling with your fingers while you had a slight look of panic on your face. Honestly, that was how people should look for an interview.

Alchemax was not a place to enter with confidence.

"What position are you applying for?" Miguel asked, wanting to ease your nerves.

"Oh!" You gasped lowly, "Marketing."

"Hm. How good are you with planning and scheduling?" He asked casually. Your shoulders raised slightly,

"I, um, I like to...It's easier for me when I have everything in an itinerary. Makes for unnecessary distractions and delays. I find myself at ease with a schedule," You admitted with such a carefree smile.

"And organization?"

"If I'm not overwhelmed I'm great with organizing things." You chirped, "Oh, um, will I get a lot of people talking and asking me questions if I do get hired here? I...I'm just a little shy and if I get overwhelmed I do tend to be clumsy."

Miguel resisted a chuckle, finding you quite entertaining. After another second of silence, Miguel watched as you gasped and covered your face with your folder.

How cute.

---------

How embarrassing!

Just because he was a handsome face and kind to you, doesn't mean you could get comfortable! It took you hours to practice talking to yourself in the mirror to prepare for an interview and now you were blabbing away nonsense to a stranger!

Feeling the elevator come to a stop. You gasped lowly, admiring the lobby before you.

"Here is your stop." Miguel spoke.

"Thank you," You bowed your head slightly, still embarrassed from rambling off.

As you stepped off the elevator, you gulped. Nerves started to kick in as you took your first step to a better future.

"Oh, and (Y/N)," Miguel called out, causing you to turn, "Best of luck."

"T-Thank you!"

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

Next Chapter

@timidquindim @decentsoupperson

[specialagentsergio]

almost me again

summary: While visiting Spencer at Millburn Correctional Facility, the prison goes into lockdown, temporarily leaving you alone together. You don’t let the opportunity go to waste.

pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader

category: smut w/ a lil angst because it’s prison spencer, 18+ (minors DNI)

content warnings: swearing, dirty talk, praise, making out, fingering, hand job, semi-public sex

a/n: [arises from the grave carrying smut]

i wrote this for @imagining-in-the-margins stuck together challenge! this return to posting writing after three years is brought to you by her, all my other awesome friends on her server for helping keep my interest in this show alive, and my successful carpal tunnel surgery last year. enjoy!

word count: 3.6k

masterlist

Visiting Spencer in prison is a mixed bag of emotions. First is the anger that he’s been framed and abandoned by the bureau, leading to him being in prison in the first place. Then relief when he walks in and you see him alive and… well, not well, but at least alive. It’s followed by stress and worry upon seeing how tense and sleepless he is.

Last but certainly not least, there’s the frustration that comes from sitting across from him and not being allowed to touch him. Years of casual touch, affection, and intimacy, all completely ground to a halt. It’s a special kind of torture.

You can tell he feels the same. His fingers twitch when they’re inches away from your hands on the table, itching to take them. His gaze will catch on your lips, and yours does the same to him. The line in between love and lust feels blurry. At least his lawyer had been able to pull some strings so you could visit in a private room instead of in general population, being heckled by the other inmates.

Today you’ve been visiting for around ten minutes, and having finished giving him the (depressingly small) update on the progress the team has made on his case, you’ve fallen into silence. Most of your visits end this way, staring at each other, words unspoken but understood.

And pretty much undressing each other with your eyes.

Spencer opens his mouth to say something but is interrupted by the sound of a buzzer. You both jump.

“What is that?” you ask when it repeats.

“I’m not sure.” He gets up and knocks on the door for the guard. “What’s going on?” he asks when it opens.

“Lockdown. Stay put,” the guard answers, in a voice you think he wants to invite no questions or conversation, but that kind of thing never works on Spencer. Or you, for that matter.

“Lockdown?” you repeat. “Why?”

“Aren’t you supposed to take me back to my cell when the prison goes into lockdown?” Spencer adds.

“I said, stay put,” the guard says harshly. “We’ll move you later.”

“Well, how long from now is ‘later’?” you ask, standing from your chair.

The guard doesn’t entertain any more chatter, though. He only gives another instruction to stay where you are, then the door closes and makes its own little buzz, locking you both into the visitation room.

Spencer looks through the small window in the door. “He’s leaving,” he says, disbelief covering his face.

“Leaving?” you confirm. “A guard, leaving us alone in a federal prison. What could even cause that?”

“I’m not sure. A riot, maybe?” he guesses. “Maybe they need more guards to shut it down or something.”

You move to stand next to him. “How long do prison riots last?”

“Well, historically, some have lasted months, but don’t worry; I’m sure they won’t leave us in here for more than an hour.”

“I’m not worried.” You place a hand on his shoulder and watch a shudder run through his body, eyes closing at the first touch of someone he loves in weeks. “It’d be a shame if we didn’t seize this opportunity.”

He turns to face you and you place your hands on his cheeks. And you mean to wait for him to respond to your suggestion before doing anything further, but you can’t help yourself—you pull him into a hug.

He hugs back immediately, wrapping his arms around your waist and burying his face in the crook of your neck. He breathes in deeply and you feel his body relax. The undercurrent of stress and tension he’s been carrying with him since Mexico shrinks. Not completely gone, but no longer overwhelming.

“Oh, I don’t care if they suddenly come back and I get in trouble for this,” he sighs. “It’s worth it.”

You open your eyes, looking out the window over his shoulder. “Well, there’s a guard at the end of the hallway, guarding the door to this wing, I guess, but he’s not looking this way. The other guy’s still gone. How long do you think we have?”

“I’ve no idea.” His hands wander lower, settling on your hips, fingers lightly gripping the fabric of your skirt.

“Well, then I guess the question is…” You pull back from the hug so you can watch his expressions and make sure you’re not crossing any lines he doesn’t want you to. “How long do you need?”

“Depends on what you’re referring to.” He tilts his head to kiss one of your cheeks, then the other. “If you mean how much time I need to be with you…” He kisses your forehead. “I’m not sure forever itself would be enough.”

It’s far from the first time he’s expressed such a sickeningly romantic sentiment, yet like every time before, it makes your cheeks prickle with warmth. You take one of his hands off your hips and lift it to your mouth, kissing the palm of it.

“However, I’m ninety-five percent sure you’re referring to how long it would take to get me off,” he continues. You see a little smile grace his lips before he dips his head to kiss your neck. “In which case, it’s probably ten minutes at the maximum.”

You put a hand in his hair, toy with it for a moment, then tug it lightly, just the way he likes. He inhales sharply. “Oh yeah?” you question.

“Maybe less,” he admits. “Probably less. It’s been over a month, and unlike you, I don’t have any privacy to take matters into my own hands, pun intended.”

You laugh. “Well, should we see what we can do about that?”

Spencer’s answer is a sweet, chaste kiss, almost as if he’s saying thank you. It’s immediately followed by a crushing, downright greedy one that makes you take a step backward to avoid falling. One of his hands cradles the back of your head while the other wanders. He can’t seem to decide where to put it, wanting to feel everything at once. Eventually he settles on untucking your shirt.

His hand grazes the skin underneath for just a moment. Before he can get any further, you grab the front of his prison-issued jacket and turn him, then push him against the wall. He makes a surprised noise.

“One of us needs to watch the door,” you explain. “And it’s easier for you to see over my shoulder than the opposite.”

“Right,” he says. “Got it. Watching the door. Can I feel you up now?”

You make a half-snort, half-giggle sound. “Yes, you may.”

He doesn’t possess an iota of hesitation as he slides his hand back under your shirt and up to your chest. He makes a grumbling noise, as if he’d forgotten there would be a bra in the way, but manages to get his hand beneath it all the same. “Fuck, I’ve missed this,” he mutters between kisses.

You press closer to him, your hands doing their own wandering. “I can tell,” you say. “I’ve never seen—or felt, rather—you get completely hard so quickly.”

Spencer huffs out a laugh. “I told you, it’s been a while. Paired with the way you were looking at me earlier…”

He tugs down the collar of your shirt to bite and suck a hickey into the skin under your collarbone, making you gasp. “Spencer.”

“Mm.”

“Not that I don’t enjoy foreplay, but...” you start, and he finishes the sentence like you figured he would.

“We need to be quick. I know.” He sighs, pressing a gentle kiss to the mark he’s just made on your skin.

“What do you want me to do?” you ask as you unbutton his pants. “Mouth, hands?”

“I’d never make you kneel on a concrete floor like this,” he replies. “And I want as much of your body touching mine as possible.”

You feign being put upon, as if you hadn’t been worried about the concrete floor as well. “Oh, if you insist.”

He doesn’t pay your tease much mind, instead adjusting one of your legs to hook around the back of his calf to keep your legs parted just enough for him to get his hands on you the way he wants, but without making what you’re doing immediately obvious to anyone who’d walk by or glance in.

You unzip his pants and push his underwear down just enough to free his cock, the tip already damp with pre-cum. You give it a few light strokes, coaxing more of the clear liquid out of it to spread down his length so you’re not jerking him off dry.

He sighs in a way that sounds like relief, and for a few moments, his hands still and he tips his head backward against the wall, letting the pleasure wash over him. You allow him his moment of calm, before gently reminding him, “Watch the door.”

He straightens back out and his eyes immediately fix on the small window in the door. “We’re still good,” he confirms. Despite your reminder on where to keep his eyes, they flicker back down to you, but you can’t really blame him. You’d find it hard to watch the door, too.

Spencer goes back to kissing you, sliding his hands fully up under your skirt to grip your ass and pull you even closer to him. He encourages the way you naturally rock against him, but when he moves a hand to rub between your legs, you feel a frown on his lips.

“Why did you have to wear tights?” he downright whines.

“What?” you ask with a surprised laugh.

“You wear this skirt—that I know you know I love, by the way—and that’s great, because skirts are easier to get into than pants, but then you paired it with tights, so it’s like you’ve canceled out the benefits,” he protests. “Why?”

The little pout he’s giving you, even as you continue to stroke his dick, is adorable. “Because it gets cold in this place,” you answer, which is the truth. “I can slide them down a little—“

“No need.” And before you can fully process what’s happening, he’s moved both of his hands to the junction of your tights and tugs on it until it rips.

“Spencer Reid!” you hiss.

“Tights aren’t that expensive,” he says dismissively, pushing on the inside of your thigh to open your legs to him further. “You have my wallet at home. Just take my card and get a new pair.”

“I’m less concerned about the cost of a new pair of tights and more so about the fact that I planned to wear these all day,” you say. It’s the truth, but you also can’t deny that what he’s done was unbelievably hot.

Spencer doesn’t address these worries, but rather gets right on with what he ripped the tights to do. He runs his hand once across the fabric of your underwear, and you can tell when he feels the slight damp spot because he lets out a little growl in your ear that makes you shiver.

“Sweetheart, if you wouldn’t mind…” he murmurs as he pushes your panties to the side. He gives a little rock of his hips.

“Oh!” You realize that you’d stopped stroking him when he tore your tights, and start up again, pushing his own underwear a bit farther down to be able to run your hand across his full length.

“Thank you, my love,” he replies in a soft and gentle voice that contradicts the greedy way he’s sliding his fingers into your folds and coating them with your wetness. He doesn’t waste any time in pushing one finger inside you, quickly followed by a second when the first glides in so easily.

You sigh in the same way he did earlier, a sound that’s tinged with relief.

“Your own fingers and toys just aren’t the same, are they?” he coos, beginning to thrust his fingers in and out at a steady pace.

You twist your hand as you run it down his cock, then thumb the tip, drawing a barely suppressed moan out of him. “No, they aren’t,” you reply simply. “You know there’s only one thing that I like inside of me more than your fingers.”

He hums. “I do. And as much as I’d love to provide that, we’re already pushing it with what we’re doing now.”

“Yeah,” you agree. “We keep slowing down; we need to pick up the pace here.”

He nods, glancing up at the door again to check for any changes. “Then let’s get to it.”

Spencer leans in to kiss you. As your lips meet, you change your hold on his dick from soft and casual to firm and purposeful. At the same time, he adjusts his hand so his thumb can rub your clit.

Both of you are well versed in how to get each other off. You know what each other likes the best, and how exactly to do it. You just don’t normally do it this fast and aggressively.

It’s working, though. It’s not long before you’re both panting into each other’s mouths more than you’re kissing. It helps that neither of you have been satisfied for over a month. He may think you’ve done just fine getting yourself off over that time, but in truth, laying alone in your shared bed always makes you too sad to get in the mood.

He doesn’t need to know that, though. Doesn’t need anything else to worry about, to feel guilty about.

You tip your head forward onto his shoulder as you feel the tension that’s been steadily coiling in your core start to close in on the breaking point. “Spencer,” you sigh out in the way you know he likes best.

His answer is a groan and a buck of his hips into your hand. “Don’t know how much longer I’m gonna last here,” he says, voice strained.

“I know I’m not making it another minute,” you say bluntly. The hand you’re not using to get him off has been gripping his arm hard enough to leave little crescent shapes through his clothing, but you move it now to push up your sleeve so it won’t get dirty when he cums.

He’s been remarkably quiet this whole time—his inclination to ramble carries over into the bedroom—and you imagine it’s been no small effort on his part. But when he feels one of the involuntary clenches of your walls that signals that you’re close, his resolve breaks.

“Honey, look at me, please, I wanna watch you cum,” he says, speaking as fast as he can while keeping the words clear enough to be distinguished.

You lift your head as he asks, similarly looking forward to watching him. The expressions he makes always enchant you, and unlike him, you don’t have an eidetic memory to draw on when you want to see it.

“Thank you, thank you. You’re so beautiful,” he praises. “Brightening up these dreary walls.”

You adjust your hands, wrapping one of them around the base of his cock and keeping it there so you can focus more on the head with the other. You watch him bite his lip to hold back what would usually be an unabashed moan.

“Best days are when you visit,” he continues on. “I just wish we could do more together. I wish I could touch you every time. Mm, so close.”

“You or me?” you ask, despite knowing the answer.

“Both.”

He crooks his fingers inside of you, hitting just the right spot, and you can’t help but gasp and momentarily throw your head back. Your body has its eyes on the finish line, and it’s racing towards it. You clench down on his fingers hard.

“That’s it, just like that,” he breathes out, and you can tell from the way his own muscles are tensing that he’s trying to hold back his release to see yours first. “Can you come for me, sweetheart?”

You nod. “Mm-hmm.”

As always, your body responds to his words with enthusiasm. Seconds after his request, you reach your peak, moaning out his name as quietly as you can. He shudders as he climaxes right after you. His release coats your hand and inner arm, warm and wet, as your walls clench rhythmically around his fingers.

“Oh, my god,” he sighs out, an expression of the pleasure and relief he’s feeling. You both rather clumsily work each other through your orgasms, unable to keep up the same steady pace while you’re distracted by the flood of feel-good hormones washing over you.

You stand catching your respective breaths for a few moments, then with the casual, practiced synchrony of lovers, he slips his fingers out of you, you let go of his cock, and you both wrap your arms around each other, mindful of which hands are sticky and wet.

When his lips find yours again, they’re gentle, almost reverent. “Thank you,” he breathes.

“My pleasure. Literally.” After hearing his quiet huff of laughter, you turn your head to rest your cheek against his shoulder. You can’t settle into each other’s arms in your regular way, but make do the best you can. In the quiet, familiar post-climax calm, things almost feel normal.

Almost.

You both look up at the ceiling as the buzzer that had quickly faded into the background of your mutual haze of lust suddenly stops.

“Think that’s our cue,” Spencer says softly, voice tinged with sadness.

“Yeah,” you agree just as quietly. You both straighten out, reluctantly letting space between your bodies. With your clean hand, you reach into your pocket and pull out a travel-sized pack of tissues

He pauses in tucking himself back into his pants. “You just have those with you?”

“Yeah. I, um…” You take a moment to think on how to respond as you use a tissue to wipe his spend off your hand and inner forearm. You decide on the partial truth. “I cry in the car after visiting you sometimes, so…”

More like every time.

You have to look away from him, then, or else the little heartbroken look on his face will make you start crying now. You take the few tissues he’s used from his hand and look around for some sort of bin or trash can, but there isn’t one, so you stuff the soiled tissues into your empty pocket. Apparently you’ll be doing laundry when you get home.

Spencer puts his hands on your cheeks, a silent ask for you to look back at him. “I’m so sorry I’m putting you through this,” he whispers when you meet his eyes.

“It’s not your fault you’re being framed, love,” you reply.

He shakes his head. “I should’ve—“

“Shh.” You press a finger to his lips. “We could talk all day about shoulds, woulds, and coulds. Hindsight is twenty-twenty. We do the best we can with the information we have at the time. That’s all we can do.”

He’s still cradling your face, and you lift your hands to loop around his wrists. You kiss him softly. He keeps his eyes shut when you pull back. “Try not to worry too much about me. Just focus on yourself and getting through this.”

The sigh he lets out is shaky, and a single tear falls down his cheek. “I’ll try.”

You wipe away the tear with your thumb and you’re about to try and comfort him further when the moment is cut short by the sound of a door opening down the hallway. “The guard’s back and heading down here,” Spencer confirms when he looks out the window.

You look over each other—you fix his collar, he straightens out your off-center skirt—then quickly move to your chairs.

“You know, I can hardly believe we got away with that,” you remark, lightening the mood and reaching across the table to hold his hand until the last possible second.

“Me either,” he chuckles, looking at you fondly.

The buzzing of the door signals you to pull your hands back and you fold them in front of you, trying to project a perfect image of innocence. You have to stifle a laugh when the two of you make eye contact out of the corners of your eyes.

The door swings open, and the guard doesn’t look much different than before, just red-faced and slightly sweaty from whatever he had left to do. “Visit’s over. All inmates are to go back to their cells,” he says, and you notice another guard is hovering behind him. He’s not as out of breath as the first, but definitely winded. You hope Spencer can get the scoop on what went down, because you really want to know.

“Okay,” you say simply, and stand. “I love you, Spence.”

“I love you, too, sweetheart,” he replies, staying seated for the moment.

When you get to the door, the guard steps aside to let you through, but not before studying you with narrowed eyes. You assume he was anticipating one or both of you to protest the abrupt ending of your visit.

You turn to look at Spencer one last time before letting the second guard escort you out. You put on the adoring smile you know is one of his favorites, then press your fingertips to your lips and blow him a kiss.

Smiling back just as sweetly—god, you’ve missed that smile—he pretends to catch it and touches his own lips. For just one moment, with eyes only for each other, he seems completely relaxed.

“Come on,” the second guard says, grabbing your upper arm and tugging you away. You hate being manhandled by the guards, and normally you’d give them a piece of your mind, but today you don’t care. It’s worth it. Because for the first time in months, Spencer looks like himself.

—————

tell me what you thought here!

[writteninthestars288]

One of those days

Summary: Robby takes out his frustration on the wrong person

Pairing: Dr. Robby x OC (Alexandria Greene). Also heavily featured Dana because she’s the bomb.

*The chokehold this show and this man have on me right now needs to be studied*

“Did you give Mohan the okay to run a heavy metal panel?”

Ria turned towards the rough voice. She furrowed her eyebrows when she was Robby coming up to her, a look of frustration on his face.

“Yes I did. She presented her case and I agreed that it wouldn’t be a bad idea to check them out.”

“She is presenting clear psychiatric symptoms.”

“Maybe but they can also be symptoms of high mercury levels. Something I know Mohan presented to you before being dismissed. What is so wrong about having it checked out?”

“What is wrong is I gave Dr. Mohan clear instructions and instead of following them, she went behind my back to you who then undermined me.”

Ria looked at him, eyes wide with disbelief. She could feel people watching them but neither doctor cared at this moment.

“Undermined you?” Robby nodded making Ria scoff. “You know, I know today is hard for you but you don’t get to sit here and take it out on me.”

She saw the way his jaw clenched but she didn’t care. He had been on edge with everyone all day, it getting worse as the morning went on.

“This isn’t about me.” Typical. “This is about you going behind my back.”

“Robby it-.”

“I gave Dr. Mohan an order and instead of following it, she came to you. You had no right to undermine my orders. You are a resident and I am the attending.”

He hadn’t meant to say it. The words tumbled out of his mouth before he could even think about it.

His heart sank when he saw the look in her eyes. The way her jaw clenched and the small step she took back to give herself some space.

“So that’s all I am then? A resident?”

The hurt in her voice was enough to sober Robby up completely.

“I didn’t-.”

Ria held her hand up to cut him off. “Understood, Dr. Robinavitch. It won’t happen again.”

Hearing his name was a punch to the gut. He was never Dr. Robinavitch to her. Always Robby when they were at work, Mikey saved for the private moments they shared, but never Dr. Robinavitch.

“Ria-“ that’s all he got out before the young brunette in front of him sauntered away towards the central bay in the ER. Robby let out a silent groan and closed his eyes. This was not what he intended to have happen.

Taking a deep breath, he opened his eyes. Looking around, he saw Dana watching from the nurses station. The look she was giving him told him everything.

“Don’t.” Dana gave a humorless laugh and threw her hands up in surrender.

“I didn’t say anything. You said enough all on your own.”

Robby clenched his jaw and took a step, presumably to follow the young doctor he had just successfully pissed off but Dana stopped him.

“I wouldn’t unless you want everyone in here to see you get stabbed with a syringe.”

“I didn’t mean it.” He muttered, walking towards the nursing station. Leaning his elbows on the counter he brought his fingers up to rub his tired eyes.

“Yea well you can’t really take it back now. If I were you, I’d give her space and focus. Gloria catches wind of this and it’ll be just another item on her list.”

Robby let out long sigh but nodded none the less. Dana was right. Right now he needed to focus.

“You’re right.”

“I do love hearing that sentence come from you.” She smiled wide.

“Don’t get used to it.”

————————————————————————

“Are you okay?” She heard a soft whisper coming from her right side. Turning, she saw Dr. Mohan standing to her left. Alexandria, or Ria as most people called her, just gave a curt nod.

“Fine. Why?” Mohan gave her a look as she stepped closer to where Ria was updating her charts. Ria watched as the woman looked around, presumably to see if a certain cranky senior attending was listening.

“Santos said Robby gave you shit for giving me the okay to order that heavy metal panel.”

The young doctor clenched her jaw. Santos and her big mouth were gonna be the death of her.

“It’s fine, nothing I can’t handle. Besides it ended up being necessary right?” The last thing she needed was for the panel to come back completely clear. It would only fuel Robby’s anger on the matter.

“Yea her mercury levels were through the roof. Remind me to never buy face lotion from overseas without checking every single ingredient.”

Ria gave a small smile and nodded in agreement.

“See? If all it cost us was Robby throwing his dick around because he’s having a bad day and didn’t have a say in it, then I call that a success.”

Samira just gave her a small smile before walking off. Ria let out a sigh as she continued charting, but she couldn’t help but let her mind wander.

She knew what today was. She knew the stress Gloria was bringing down on him. But that didn’t mean she was going to allow him to take it out on her or any of the other residents.

All day she had seen small instances of him cracking. Poor Whittaker looked like he was going to vomit when he was caught eating over Robby’s desk. She was thankful that after their spat, she had been incredibly busy.

Every time she’d see Robby make his way towards her, she got pulled in with another patient. It was like someone above was looking out for her. And this time was no different.

Feeling eyes on her, she glanced up, seeing familiar brown eyes set on her. She only spared him a quick glance before looking back down at her work.

“You gonna let him apologize?”

Turning to the spot where Samira just occupied, she saw Dana had taken her spot. She risked another quick glance and saw Robby was starting to make his way towards the pair.

Ria cleared her throat. “Not unless he admits he’s being an ass today.”

Dana laughed and gave the young doctor an affectionate squeeze on the shoulder. “I think we both know we have a better chance at clearing the waiting room before that happens.”

Ria let out a small giggle just as Robby got to them. He tried to seem casual, sliding his hands into his hoodie pockets but Ria could see the tension lines around his eyes.

He shot her a small smile and she wanted to curse. She knew he knew his smile got her most times.

“Dr. Greene can I see-.”

“Dr. Greene!” All three heads turned to see Perlah waving for Ria. “We need your help in trauma 4. Finger reattachment.”

Ria nodded, grateful for yet another get away. She wasn’t really ready to listen to what he had to say, still upset at being made to feel like she was merely just a resident doctor who wasn’t trusted to call big shots without his consent first.

“Excuse me, Doctor.”

Dana bit her lip to suppress a laugh as Ria scooted past Robby and made her way down the hall.

“Did you really think a smile would work?”

“It usually does.”

Dana scoffed and shook her head. “Men. You really are all the same.”

“What does that mean?” He asked as they started walking the floor.

“It means that you guys expect us woman to give in too easily.”

“I didn’t mean-.”

“Mean to what? Pull rank on a very capable doctor who made a call that ultimately could have saved a patient's life? Not just a doctor might I add but your girlfriend.” Dana lowered her voice for the last part. Only a few select people knew that they were together.

He hated when Dana was right. “I want to apologize. I just need a few minutes without us being called. Would you uh, be willing to help me with that?”

Dana gave him a comforting smile. She loved Robby like a brother and knew how much Ria meant to him. Plus, if she could help Robby make up for his mistake, he’d owe her one and soon it would be time again to go and give The Kraken his meds.

“Tell me what you’re thinking.”

————————————————————————

“Alright Mr. Gibbons you are all set.” Ria pulled back away from the bloody appendage after successfully reattaching the man’s right middle finger. “Dr. Javardi here is going to get you set up with an appointment to follow up with Ortho. For pain, I would stick to Tylenol and make sure the incisions do not get wet for at least the end of the week.”

The older man nodded. “Thank you so much Doctor. You have been great.”

“It was my pleasure. Next time that lawn mower gives you trouble, make sure the power is off.” She gave him a cheeky smile making the older man chuckle and nod. She gave him another wave before stepping back out into the chaos.

“Ria?”

Ria looked behind her to see Dana once again.

“There is a patient in central who is being a pain in the ass. Seems like he may be having a mental health episode but nobody can get him to calm down enough to triage. Could you go work your magic?”

“Sure. Anything I need to know?”

Dana shook her head as the pair made their way over. “Just that he’s been quite difficult. Mood swings out the ass. He’s making Myrna look like a saint.”

Ria’s eyes widened as the pair came to a stop infront of the room.

“I’ll be right out here if you need me.”

Ria nodded before heading in.

“Hello my name is-.” Ria cut herself off as she pulled the curtain back. She didn’t know who she was expecting but she knew for sure she hadn’t been expecting to see Robby laying in the patient’s bed. “What the fuck?”

“Oh doctor thank god you’re here.” Robby threw his arm across his forehead dramatically. Ria had to stop herself from laughing, thankfully her confusion was still present enough to block out any humor she found in this.

“What are you doing?”

Robby jumped down from the bed, rounding the front so he was a few feet in front of her. “Can we talk?”

“Talk? Gloria is on your ass about patient satisfaction and time spent with patients and we’re taking up a room, giving her more ammo towards you.”

“I can handle whatever shit Gloria throws my way.”

“I don’t think now is a good time, Doc-.”

“Ria please.” Ria heard the tension in his voice and saw it in his shoulders. “Just let me do this. And if after you decide you’re still upset with me, then so be it but please, just let me talk.”

It was silent between the pair. Robby wasn’t one to initiate talks like this. Ria knew better than anyone he had a tendency to try and shove these kinds of talks under the rug. He had gotten better about them since the two got together but it was still a work in progress.

Seeing the effort he was making, she decided her pettiness could be put on the back burner for now. She just gave a small nod, one Robby reciprocated before continuing. “What I said earlier was completely out of line. You were right in calling for the labs. I should have listened to Mohan. I’m sorry.”

“It wasn’t just that. Do you understand how you made me feel? To be dismissed as just another resident?” For the first time today, she let the weight of his words from earlier hit her. Her eyes stung slightly and her throat started to feel tighter.

Robby’s eyes softened as he looked at her. He really had done a number.

“I don’t expect special treatment because of our relationship but I do expect to be treated as the doctor I am. To not have my decisions ridiculed in front of everyone in the department just because you wanted the case closed to appease the fucking people upstairs.”

“You’re right.” Robby took a step towards her, happy when she stayed put and didn’t move away. Taking a chance, he reached down and grabbed both her hands in his. “I uh, I haven’t been in good form today. I’ve been short, stressed, and near sighted.”

Ria tried to hide the look of shock on her face. Robby wasn’t one to admit to his feelings that fast. “Are you okay? Did you hit your head or something?”

Robby chuckled and shook his head, rubbing smalls circles on her hands with his thumbs. “No, just realizing that my own issues are getting in the way of something much more important.”

Ria sighed and squeezed his hands. “I know today is hard. I know what he meant to you. It’s okay to not be okay, Mikey.”

Mikey. Just hearing that made Robby let out a long breath he hadn’t realized he had been holding in. Mikey meant they were gonna be okay.

“But,” Ria started, “that doesn’t give you a free pass to take that out on anyone else. Especially the interns. Whittaker looked like he wanted to change professions after you caught him eating at your desk.”

“He was getting crumbs-.” The look Ria gave him made him stop talking and just nod. “I will try and make sure I keep my emotions more in check.”

“Thank you. You keep saying this is a teaching hospital. But, the more you ride them, the more their confidence is going to dwindle.”

Robby just nodded before pulling Ria against him in a hug. One arm went around her shoulders while the other tucked her head against his chest.

“You’re really bending all your rules today aren’t you? First you talk about your feelings appropriately and now this?” Ria had a small, teasing smile on her lips. The pair refrained from any sort of PDA while on the job. One, because not many people knew they were together and they wanted to keep it that way, and two, they were at work and wanted to remain as professional as possible.

“Today is just one of those days I guess.” Ria let out a small giggle and snuggled in closer, breathing in his scent. Robby ran a hand down her ponytail, tugging slightly so she’d move her head to look up at him.

Brown eyes connected with blue. The hand that was in her hair came to rest on her cheek. Robby bent down and placed a small kiss on her forehead, lips moving down until they were millimeters from Ria’s.

“I’m sorry.” It was soft, something meant for just her right now. He’d apologize to the students and other residents at some point but right now, Ria was all that mattered. He needed her to be able to get through this day.

“Thank you” was all she was able to say before Robby pressed their lips together. Ria let out a small sigh, moving her hands from where they had been resting Robby’s back to rest on his chest. Her fingers curled into his hoodie just as Robby pulled back.

“I love you.”

“I love you too. Does that earn me a good patient satisfaction score?”

Robby laughed and gave her another peck before pulling back completely. He needed to put some space between them before things got out of hand. They were still at work after all.

“Well you didn’t sit by my bedside, but I still felt personally connected.” Ria giggled but lost the chance to respond as the door to the room opened and Dana’s voice rang out.

“Okay lovebirds, times up. We’ve got an incoming hit and run victim coming in. ETA three minutes. Robby, Kraken is due.”

Robby groaned as Ria looked up at him.

“Kraken? Since when do you give him his meds?”

Robby sighed and ran a hand over his very tired face. “Since I mistakenly made a deal with Dana. Can you uh, can you handle that trauma until I get back?”

Ria smiled and nodded. Robby gave her a small nod in response, pressing another quick kiss to her forehead before heading off with Dana.

“You guys okay now?” Dana asked as they made their way over to Kraken’s room. Robby nodded, feeling like at least one of the weights he was baring was off his chest.

“We’re okay. Thanks again for your help. What did you end up saying to her to get her to come over?”

“Told her we had what appeared to be a psych patient who was losing his mind and we needed her to work her magic to calm him down.”

She laughed as Robby just stared at her. “Hey, you said to make it seem real.”

Robby just glared at her as the team got ready to go in and administer the medication. A flash of brown caught his attention. Turning, he saw another team, this one headed by Ria running over to the double doors as their hit and run victim came in.

Robby listened as Ria started shouting orders as they wheeled the patient into trauma one. Their eyes briefly connected, Ria throwing the tiniest, but still noticeable smile his way before the doors closed.

Robby let out a content sigh as he put on his gown and gloves while Dana started giving everyone their jobs. They were gonna be okay.

[softsunnyy]

🚨 dom!quinn, at first it's a little non-con since she's sleeping. He took your first time. Rubbing. Using his tongue to push his cum back into your pussy. A little bit of breeding kink. He blames you a little bit for losing his cool. Wet dreams. Leaving marks on each other's bodies 🚨

poorly written

Quinn considers himself a patient person, someone who understands instructions and follows them to the letter. It's part of his job, part of his day-to-day life.

but there's something—or rather, someone—that incites him to break every rule he's set for himself. And that's you. And you don't even do it on purpose. You just need to exist, and immediately his self-control is trying to fly out the window.

so imagine the challenge when he finds out you haven't had your first time yet. When he finds out you still need some time and trust.

he wants to be good to you, to give you time, to try not to force you or scare you, even when you make it so difficult for him, when you walk around the house in just your underwear and one of his shirts; when you go to watch one of his games; when even a sliver of your skin is on display. All of those are challenges, and he's worked hard not to fall.

however, it was one particular night, when he came home from a game, frustrated, his blood boiling, and found you asleep in his bed, that he knew he couldn't stand it anymore. He quietly took off his clothes, trying not wake you up. He left only his underwear on, almost trying to contain himself.

but then he lifts the sheets and sees you.

and now, he knows the last few nights have been warm. But you're being cruel by lying in his bed in only your panties and a tank top that barely covers your abdomen. It's like you're torturing him, and he doesn't know why.

his hands are almost shaking; the desire to touch you, to break his word, is growing stronger and stronger. A desire to possess you, to take your body and claim it as his own.

you move, still dreaming, rolling onto your back, murmuring things he can't understand. And his hands move, grabbing your thighs, separating your legs, letting him see your pussy covered by the fabric of your panties.

he takes a deep breath, tries to look away, but can't. His body moves between your legs. His mind is racing. Thousands of ideas are coming to his head. And he moves. He gives a fake thrust, rubbing his bulge against your pussy, and you unconsciously move to feel him again.

he does it again, and he has to hold back the moan that wants to escape his mouth.

he feels like a teenager, like a man who hasn't been able to have sex in years. But that's what it's like to have the most beautiful woman next to him and not be able to touch her, not be able to make any advances for months, having to watch you from afar, in clothes like this, or his, or even barely any clothes at all; having to touch himself in private, as if he's doing something wrong; having wet dreams about you as if he's gone back to puberty. That's what happens when you start driving him crazy.

a small moan leaves your lips, and then he moves one of his hands to your pussy. He begins to rub, running his fingers over the fabric, between your folds, touching your clit, making your dreams begin to change tone, and what used to be a dream of the ideal date with your boyfriend soon transformed into something more heated.

your cheeks began to flush, your body began to sweat. His hand continued to play with your pussy, watching as a wet, dark patch began to form. The groans began to transform into small moans, and he swore he heard his name leave your lips.

he teases your pussy a little more until you begin to move your hips, trying to receive more stimulation, trying to get him to touch you a little harder, a little faster. Your body began to ask for more, so he gave you more.

he removed his hand so he could remove his underwear, freeing his cock, which stood proud, hungry, and glistening. He carefully takes it in his hand and begins to rub himself against the fabric.

your legs tried to close, but his body prevented it. The stain on your panties began to grow larger, and your pussy began to soak his cock even with the fabric between them. And even though it felt weird, he became addicted to the way the fabric clung to your folds, parting your lips so his cock could pass between them, rubbing your clit again and again, making you arch your back, making your eyebrows furrow.

you moaned his name, louder this time, and he smiled completely proudly, knowing that right now you're dreaming about him, about all the things you want him to do with you, and that he'd be willing to do.

he began to move faster, rubbing himself harder, making you feel the full weight of his cock in your soaked pussy. And between dreams, you could feel your clit growing more and more sensitive, your hole throbbing, wanting something inside.

you're so soaked that the friction makes a wet, obscene sound. And your panties are starting to become transparent, almost letting him see your skin on the other side without any problem. And he wants to rip them off, wants to tear the piece of clothing into a thousand pieces, but he doesn't want to move and he doesn't want to be too rough, so with his fingers he creates a hole, just big enough for your pussy to be at his disposal, shiny and delicious for him.

he feels himself drooling, as if the most delicious dessert were right in front of him. And technically, it is. So he's not going to waste it.

he brings two of his fingers to his mouth, wetting them, then brings them to your clit, which he rubs, watching with amusement the way your body reacts, moving unconsciously, and your nipples hardening beneath your shirt.

he continues for a moment, traveling between your folds, soaking his fingers, lubricating them so it's easier to insert them inside you. And so he does, sliding them slowly inside your tight walls, going as deep as he could. You stirred, and one of your hands fisted the sheet beneath you.

he slowly began to move them in and out, stretching you, obsessing over the way your walls hug his fingers, suffocating them, receiving them with warmth, as if you wanted them there.

he wonders what it will be like to bury his cock inside you, forcing your sweet pussy to swallow him. God, you could break just by adding another finger, how will you ever resist his cock?

he wants to see you cry, whimper his name, beg him to slow down, to remember it's your first time. And his fingers unconsciously begin to move faster, making your juices spurt, wetting your inner thighs, making the sound of your soaking pussy grow louder.

and he wants to devour you, wants to swallow everything you have to give him, like it were his daily juice, when he wakes up, before training, after training, coming home, before a game, after a game, and before bed. He wants to smell your arousal all the time, and live embraced by your walls.

he wants to own your hole, so that you can only desire him. He wants to destroy you so much that your pussy can only receive his cock. He wants to train you, teach you what you should like, so that you can only fuck and touch yourself if it's his way.

no one will ever be able to replace him, because he'll fuck you stupid, until his cock is the sole owner of your body, no matter how much time passes.

his fingers move intensely, hammering inside you, and from your moans, he knows that your dream right now is interesting.

and he loves, loves the idea that you're a heavy sleeper, that you're so unaware of what's happening that you think you're feeling good about something you're imagining.

he loves the thought that he can take your body like this, using you whenever and however he wants. It's primal, it's obsessive. He feels like he owns you even before he's inside you.

and your legs have spasm, and try to close. Your brows furrow again, your mouth opens wide, and you let out one of the most beautiful moans he's ever heard. Watching you cum in his hand, leaving a pool of fluids, juices that make your panties stick even more to your skin. Skin that now shines, soaked.

and he's not going to stop, not anymore, so he grabs his cock, bringing the tip to your hole, sliding in a little faster, easier. He doesn't even finish thrusting when one of your hands goes to his back, and your eyes open wide, staring at him in surprise, your eyes glassy and cloudy, trying to close. A mix of how sleepy and aroused you are.

"Quinn, what...?" he finishes sliding in, slamming deep inside you, causing your words to be interrupted by a loud moan of pain and pleasure. Your face transformed into a combination of both, and he leaned in, kissing your neck, letting his beard irritate your skin.

he doesn't have to be delicate or careful anymore. Not now that you're awake.

your legs instinctively hug his hips, both of your hands now on his back, and when he starts to move, you bite his shoulder, leaving a mark, but also silencing the scream you wanted to let out.

he feels huge, like he's ripping your pussy in half. And he doesn't even let you breathe when he starts moving, fast, hard, your juices staining his thighs and yours.

you feel overstimulated by your recent orgasm, and your bodies are so close that his skin rubs against your clit with every movement.

the pain quickly turns to pleasure, but there's also a huge tingle that makes your legs spasm, your pussy throb, eagerly swallowing his cock.

his kisses turn into bites, and then he sucks, leaving a trail of reddish bruises on your shoulders and chest, reaching the edges of your shirt. And you're no different, leaving bites on his shoulders, and long reddish trails down his back, which will later burn and remind him of how good he made you feel.

his cock hammers inside you, the bed frame hitting the wall, and fat, hot tears fall down your cheeks at how good you feel.

his name falls from your lips like a broken record, and when he kisses you, you feel like you might explode with love and arousal.

you can't stay mad at him, not when he feels this good. Not when he moves his hips, taking your first time, your hole. Carving his name deep inside your pussy.

and you scold yourself for not trying sooner, though you're grateful he broke his word.

he's fucking you, stupid, and babble comes out of your mouth. You're irrational, asking him to cum inside you, to fill you with him, with his babies. You beg him to let you cum.

and he gives you permission, causing you to release once more, in an orgasm that made you roll your eyes, your nails digging into his back, his name spilling from your mouth once more. Your toes curl, your juices making a mess again, but this time? This time, he keeps moving, until he's filled your walls with thick, white strips of his cum, filling you to the limit, leaving you well fucked and satisfied.

when he pulls out of you, he wants to moan at the way some of his cum comes out of your hole, so he bends down, using his tongue to put it back inside your walls, taking the opportunity to lick between your folds, leaving a trail of his cum there, since some remained on his tongue.

his hands gripped your legs, and before he pulled away completely, he began kissing the inside of your thighs, leaving another trail of bites and bruises. Marking near his favorite part, leaving a mark on your body of the moment he took you.

and this was just the first of many times, because now that he knows what it feels like he won't be able to stop.

[maevesheart]

only angel (2)

FINNICK ODAIR X FEM!READER

note: wasn’t originally planning on making a part two to this but it just seemed so unfinished??!?! and i love ruthless reader idk she’s a queen

summary: through your alliance with katniss, you and finnick rekindle some buried feelings.

wc: 5.2k

tw: violence, death, brutal!!reader, blood, allusions to forced prostitution

only angel (1)

SEVEN YEARS EARLIER, THE 68TH HUNGER GAMES

Brutus and Enobaria sat in front of you and Mace, your district mate.

They reminded you of strategies that you had been taught your whole life, ensuring that as long as you two played into the Capitol’s hands, you’d get plenty of sponsors and come out alive.

Mace and you had never been close back home, but you saw him in the shopping centers, had some mutual friends. It was someone familiar, and even though your two mentors spent more time perfecting your wielding of knives and crocodile tears, you hoped Mace could somehow make it far in the games. Like you knew you would.

Enobaria and Brutus had introduced you to the various other Career Tributes, taking their time to butter up the other mentors, ensuring a ticket for your survival.

You were small compared to the other tributes, even the girl from Twelve was bigger than you.

But you trained, and you trained hard, showing off the various knife and sword tricks that had been engraved in your brain since you were a child.

Enobaria helped with your endurance, shocked by how fast you were. She had instructed you to not show that off to the other tributes, don’t give too much away.

After the private sessions with your mentors, you were stronger, faster, and more agile than Mace could even dream. You almost felt bad, the way Enobaria and Brutus were setting him up for death.

But, at the end of the day, only one can make it out alive.

Enobaria was strategic, determined for you to win. She instructed you to not show too many strengths in the private session with the Gamemakers, just enough to get a respectable score for someone from a Career District.

You followed her instructions to a tee, refusing to be one of the 23 fallen.

For the interviews, Ceasar laughed at your innocent comments and jokes, complimenting the head piece you wore, noting how it looked like a halo.

“Beautiful, like an Angel,” he smiled, the crowed cheering in agreement.

You giggled, smoothing down the uncomfortable golden dress they had sewn you into.

The crowd roared with your unwavering confidence, the arrogance paired with your baby-face and innocent smile was enough to send them into a fit of convivial.

It was just too easy.

The night before the games you had snuck out of the floor for Two, going up to the rooftop in hopes of having a moment to yourself.

You perched on the ledge, a small nightgown barely covering your shivering body.

You closed your eyes to relish in what could possibly be your last moments of peace, before being snapped from your trance by footsteps echoing.

You whipped around, teeth barring and senses on high alert. You were already acting like the wild animal Enobaria had been training you to be.

“Not in the arena just yet,” a smooth voice sounds out, a boy a few years older than you coming into view.

You recognized him as Finnick Odair. He had won a few years back, and was now returning as a mentor.

You ignored him, turning back to the outline of the Capitol.

He approached you slowly, leaning his body against the glass railing you were propped against.

You looked up to him, tired-eyes meeting his, somehow seemingly sparkling.

“Unfortunately,” you spoke, your mouth in a straight line. Enobaria had introduced you to him during the parade, but his tributes were not ally-material.

He laughed at your response. You stared at him, unamused.

“Feisty,” he smirked, watching you look away from him and back to the skyline.

“Not really in the mood to talk about my fate,” you said, his eyes still burning two holes into the side of your face.

His smile dropped slightly, having once been in your position himself.

He reminded himself you were only 15. A year older than he was when he won.

He had only won 3 years ago, and stood on this same rooftop. Looking out on the same city skyline.

Your peripheral vision caught him lean both his forearms onto the glass, shifting closer to you.

“Is it just as scary as it seems?” You ask. You were a child. A child that had been trained to hunt and kill. But deep down, you were just a scared kid. How would you kill all those people?

Finnick hums, acknowledging the same question that wracked his mind the nights before his games.

“It is,” he recognized your fear, but refused to give you false hope that it wouldn’t be as brutal as it truly is.

The words Enobaria had spoken to you earlier bounced around your brain, it’s just killing. Self-defense. All of it. Don’t be scared to kill someone who isn’t scared to kill you.

You let out a long breath, closing your eyes.

“I don’t want to die,”

It was quiet, but Finnick heard it, head perking up and turning to stare at you.

The role as a tribute was meant to bring great honor to someone from your district, but you were terrified. You were young, passionate. You had so much to give and so little time to give it all.

“Enobaria told me to hide my strengths, and I did. I’ll be able to kill them, once it comes down to it. But how will I live with myself?”

Finnick asked himself the same question everyday. How did he kill all those people? Sure, it was survival. Him or them. But how do you continue your life, pretending like you hadn’t murdered people on live national television?

“I—“ Finnick fell short, eyes still watching the side of your face.

“How do you cope with it all?” You finally turned to him, salty tears on your cheeks.

He knew you were preparing yourself for the inevitable. He had heard Enobaria boast about you, and had seen you in training. Other tributes would be frightened to get close to you.

He didn’t answer, swallowing thickly. You would soon understand, you would be in his position.

You choked out a sob, hands wrapping around your body.

He watched with wild eyes, before pulling you into his warm chest, head burrowing in his body.

You made no move to remove yourself from his body, and his arms were snug against your back.

“Kill as many as you can, as soon as you can. Then lay low, hunt. Don’t fall for any of that ally-bullshit.”

His voice was rushed, eyes filled with emotion. He felt for you, a scared child. He remembered his fear all too well.

You sniffled in his chest, hands balling at the thin fabric of his top.

And you listened to him.

In those next few hours, during the bloodbath, you killed two, both with knives to the chest. The Capitol citizens cheered as your face reflected the highest kill-count. You knew it was nothing to be proud of.

That next evening, while the rest of the Career pack slept, you stole the boy from One’s — Yves — backpack, shoving their weapons into it as quietly as possible.

Your small size came handy, being able to stealthily move around them, you were lucky the arena was a desert, sand not making a noise.

The girl from One — Aithon — began to lightly stir, and you knew it was now or never. Finnick’s words from the night before mixed with Enobaria’s, and that was all you needed to take a sword in each hand and take down the two tributes from One.

Their deaths were quick, the canons sounding out and Mace waking up, his laying figure looking up at you. Small but powerful.

You stood over his body, one foot on each of his arms, keeping him from reaching up to you.

His face twisted in confusion, looking over to the blood pouring from Yves and Aithon, each who had just been sleeping soundly next to him.

Your knife neared his face in milliseconds, and you had to force your arms down as he began to scream.

“I’m sorry,” was all you could whisper, guilt beginning to cloud your senses.

But you pushed past it, knowing you had to come out alive. No other option.

“Y/N! Please!”

And then there was silence.

He wasn’t anything special, but he was from home.

You held in tears as the canon sounded, running from the three as quickly as you could.

Whilst you hid behind one of the large cacti around the arena, Enobaria grinned as Capitol citizens celebrated her and you, her star tribute.

Finnick watched, heart tugging, knowing that he had encouraged the killings, he had told you to trust no one. And you had listened.

And from then on, you became the Capitol’s angel, their winged symbol of purity, despite the blood and deaths of many on your hands.

When Snow placed the crown on your head, you smiled, naively, and thanked the crowd. Thanked them for their donations, and their belief in you from the beginning.

But that’s all you were to them: a spectacle. A little girl who killed five in one day, a little girl who’s life had been dedicated to these games, to win. A little girl who would never get her purity back, never get to sleep without seeing Mace’s terrified face before she killed him.

He didn’t deserve it, none of them did. But it was life or death. And there was no way you were going to die.

PRESENT DAY, THE THIRD QUARTER QUELL

Your group continued up to the Cornucopia, you and Finnick taking the tail.

Peeta and Finnick drew a map in the dark sand, you leaned against the side of the metal Cornucopia, Johanna plopping down next to you, and Katniss on your other side.

It all happened in a blur. One second, Wiress was singing her song about a mouse and the clock, and the next, Gloss was on top of her, knife straight into the heart.

Katniss’s arrow struck him, you grabbing your swords to get Cashmere who was standing behind him.

Finnick rushed after you. He knew you could take Cashmere, but what happened if Brutus appeared? Brutus had never been kind to you, and it was doubtful he would start now.

Your sword stuck Cashmere in the leg, and she screamed, falling onto the little amount of ground that the middle sector offered.

She turned over, knife in her left hand, grazing your ankle slightly. Luckily your stylist had dressed you in thicker socks; she had been an absolute idiot about most things, but at least she had your back in the arena.

Your thigh was still slightly burning with pain, but you pushed through it, sticking both your swords into Cashmere’s chest, a strangled gasp leaving her lips and her head falling back against the ground.

The canon sounded out, but you continued to pull your swords out and drive them back into her chest, more blood pouring out.

You were grunting now, mind hyper-aware of your actions, but refusing to stop.

You kept driving the sharp tools into her chest, her body slightly moving up when you retracted the metal, and then caving in as you pushed them back.

You weren’t going to die; you refused to.

Hands were on your shoulders, pulling you backwards, and you turned, swinging.

Finnick let go and backed away, hands held up. He knew you’d never hurt him, but once you’re in the killing mindset, it’s very hard to break it.

You dropped the weapons to your side, a long breath leaving your lips that you hadn’t realized you’d be holding in.

Finnick pulled you along with him, hand on your side as he brought you over to everyone else.

All of them were staring with wide eyes — besides Johanna of course.

Katniss knew you were brutal, but she didn’t realize how quickly you did turn into the angel of death. One second you were smiling, laughing at something Johanna had said.

Then your eyes were lit with a fire, teeth out, and running, faster than Katniss had ever seen someone move.

She had watched you kill Cashmere in seconds, continuing to drive the weapons into her, sounds of exasperation leaving your lips but you were unrelenting.

You felt like you were fifteen again, scared and angry, brutal to anyone who crossed your path. Your swordsmanship was uncanny, and Katniss dreaded the moment that she had to try and kill you.

And then the Cornucopia began to spin, extremely fast. You grabbed onto Finnick, a sword sucking down into the water, your other tight in the palm of your opposite hand.

You and Finnick fell to the ground, grabbing at the hard rocks to keep from flying to the water.

And then you heard Peeta scream Katniss’s name, and the two of you both yelled a loud, “shit!”

You pushed off the hard ground, crawling to the side of the island, hand reaching down to grab Johanna’s axe and try to hoist the two of them up.

You grunted, holding onto a small portion of the metal that wasn’t sharp. Your feet dug into the ground, sword shoved into the rock to keep you grounded.

You watched as Katniss went flying down, and then Johanna was on top of you, the two of you gasping for oxygen when the spinning stopped.

You and Johanna were back on your feet, rushing to help Katniss out of the water.

You all made your way back onto the sand, where it was relatively safe.

You discussed strategy, your fingers tracing different shapes into Finnick’s thigh.

“Who’s left then?” Katniss asked, eyes flickering between you and Johanna, the two of you having a conversation with your eyes.

“Brutus and Chaff, I think that’s all,” Peeta announced, all eyes shifting to you at the mention of your district-mate.

“I get Brutus,” you spoke clearly, eyes hard.

“Y/N…” Finnick spoke, hand smoothing down your arm.

“Just… I know him. I can handle it, I swear,”

He had helped train you, of course you would know his methods like the back of your hand. You had been seeking revenge for years, waiting for the day you could get him back.

What had the games done to you? Fantasizing about killing someone?

And then you were back there, back to the moment your life really ended.

You were dressed in clothes Snow had picked out, a hairstyle Snow had picked out, makeup Snow had picked out. You were his newest doll, malleable to his every demand.

It was your victory tour, and Enobaria and Brutus were accompanying you, helping you with speeches and coming to terms with your new life as a Capitol pet.

You were finishing up in the Capitol, the final destination. Snow had laid out his conditions for you: your pride and body now belonged to the Capitol, and with it, they could do what they pleased. Your company came with a high price.

He had threatened your family back in Two, describing in detail what would become of them if you didn’t comply with his wishes.

You had gone back to the train and told Enobaria and Brutus, eyes spilling hot tears when Enobaria pulled you into her arms, hands stroking your hair. At least she was kind.

Brutus, however, was not.

His boisterous laugh rang off the walls of the train, your eyes peeking out from Enobaria’s embrace to glare at him.

“Let me know when you start, sweetheart,” he smirked, a scowl overtaking your features.

You had been waiting to get him back, to show him that weren’t a little slave for his disposal. Finnick understood your rage, more than any other person could.

He wanted to kill Brutus just as badly as you did.

No one else asked any questions, and for that you were grateful.

And then the screaming started, and you jumped to your feet, eyes frantic and scanning the area.

Whoever it was, they were screaming for Katniss, and rather brutally as well.

And off she took. You were the fastest, so you caught her first, arms around her shoulders to steady her, but she kept moving, screaming back to the voice.

She stopped abruptly, and shot an arrow into a large black bird that was flying over your heads.

The screaming stopped immediately. And then it began again, this time, it was the voice of Mace. And you felt the blood drain from your entire body, legs suddenly shaking and threatening to go out.

The words he had screamed to you before you had slit his throat were wrapping around your body, swallowing you whole.

“Y/N! Please! Y/N!” You were running then, the screaming getting louder and louder, tears streaming down your face as you tried to escape it; the horror that would haunt you forever.

“It’s not real, they’re jabberjays!” Katniss assured you, running behind you, trying to catch up.

You saw Finnick and Johanna’s faces ahead through your blurry vision, and you sped up, Finnick’s arms wide for you to run into.

But it was a force field, and you collided right into it, falling to the ground in a heap of tears and painful memories.

You covered your ears, head digging into the ground to stop the noise, but it wouldn’t stop. You wailed, and Finnick was hitting the force field, which he was standing on the direct other side, but there was no avail.

He was screaming for you, to look at him, listen to his voice. But the field was soundproof, and he had to watch with a heavy heart as you sobbed, the sounds of the person you betrayed all those years ago the only thing you could focus on.

Finnick’s hands were all over you, smoothing down your hair, checking your face, helping you stand.

Peeta was doing the same with Katniss, the both of you having tear-stains down your cheeks and dirt smudged into your cheeks.

You were frozen solid, eyes big and wide, legs slightly shaking. You had never felt worse about something than what you did to Mace that dreadful night. His screams haunted your dreams, and to have the Gamemakers play into that weakness reminded you just who the real enemy is.

“Y/N, look at me,” Finnick’s hands were on the sides of your face, pulling you closer to his protective figure.

“It wasn’t real. It wasn’t him,” he shook his head lightly, your lips still quivering from fear.

You could only muster the strength to simply nod, telling him that you knew, but the Gamemakers were cruel, so cruel, and they had hit you right where it hurt.

Just as you were beginning to regain your usual automatic-kill mindset, a small box flew down, straight into your hands.

Everyone gathered around you, curious as to what could’ve been sent.

You knew Enobaria would have your back, and considering the sponsors this year were based upon what you had left over from your games, you were lucky. You had a large pot of donations under your name, not needing much assistance when you were in your first games.

You screwed off the top, being met with a small vile of Crave Cure, the very concoction that she had sent you during your games. It came with a note reading: remember who the real enemy is. I’m always rooting for you. - Baria

That assured you of Enobaria’s stance, likely scheming with Haymitch and Plutarch behind the scenes, ensuring your protection by Thirteen.

Finnick smiled next to you, Johanna calling out with happiness.

“Finally!” Johanna cheered, axe thrust into the air.

You even broke a smile, suddenly distracted from the traumatic experience you had just endured.

You looked up, seeing the confused looks on Katniss and Peeta’s faces.

They would’ve never heard of Crave Cure, it was the most expensive thing a mentor could send their tribute, and required many sponsors. It was usually only sent to the Careers, both you and Finnick had received it during your games.

“Crave Cure,” you spoke, Katniss’s eyes meeting yours.

“One drop on your tongue and it cures hunger for 12 hours,” you smiled to them, picking up the vile.

“Enobaria is a saint,” Johanna spoke, watching as you dropped a tiny bit of the brown liquid onto your tongue, a content sigh escaping your lips.

Beetee went next, then Finnick and Johanna.

Katniss and Peeta stood awkwardly to the side, not knowing to approach or not.

“Oh, enough of that! We’re allied, aren’t we? Take a drop,” you urged, placing the vile into her hands.

Peeta nodded, and that seemed to be all the convincing Katniss needed before mimicking your action and gagging when she tasted the fluid.

You laughed at her expression, a light-hearted tease. “Not the best, but it does do its job,”

You figured you had really won her trust, considering how she walked next to you during the hike to the big tree.

The two of you talked about your families back home. You complimented her dedication, to protect her little sister.

She had killed your Cato and Clove; the two you had spent hours coaching, assuring they’d be okay in the end. Words you had needed so badly during your games.

Through talking with Katniss, you realized no one deserved to win as much as she did. She was selfless, willing to sacrifice herself for both her sister and Peeta, placing herself as a protector, not a victim.

And then the peace you had all been building crashed down, Katniss suddenly retreating from the trust you all had built after Beetee offered she go with you and Johanna.

“Why can’t Johanna and Y/N go? I’ll protect you with Peeta,” she spoke, and you met Finnick’s gaze. You read the fear in his eyes, knowing this the was now or never moment.

“Katniss,” you spoke, hands resting on her shoulders.

“You know who the true enemy is,” you whispered, holding her intense eye-contact.

Her eyes softened at your words, everything seemingly clicking into place. With a nod, you grabbed her hand, and pulled her with you and Johanna.

A look over your shoulder to Finnick, and a nod. Your eyes said it all: I love you. I’ll see you soon, once we are safe and out of the Capitol’s hands.

You and Johanna halted your movements, stopping Katniss as you did.

“Stay down,” Johanna instructed Katniss, grabbing her arm.

“What-“ Katniss was about to scream, and you could not let that happen.

You grabbed her face with your hands, eyes frantic for her faith.

“You can trust us,” you whispered, barely loud enough for the cameras to pick up on.

But the raw emotion in your eyes calmed Katniss, giving Johanna the opportunity to cut the tracker out, Katniss’s arm beginning to bleed heavily.

“It’s alright,” you soothed her, your arm out to Johanna, waiting for the inevitable sear of pain.

And then it came, and you placed your body over Katniss’s not allowing her to get up and try to attack.

But then you spotted Brutus over the rock, his hard eyes staring straight into yours.

“Y/N,” Johanna warned, watching the familiar fire begin to brew.

You were up in seconds, sword in one hand, knife in the other, running up the rocky hill. The pain in your arm was masked by the rush of adrenaline you ran high off, killing spree — if you will.

Johanna grunted in anger, but she knew not to expect anything different from you.

“Do not move,” she instructed Katniss, picking up her axe to follow you.

You had reached Brutus quickly, pouncing onto his back and driving your sword straight through his abdomen.

He cried out in pain, blood soon coating your legs that wrapped around his waist.

You pulled the sword out, taking the knife to his neck. He was dead in seconds, the familiar canon sounding throughout the arena.

After registering what you had done, images of Katniss flooded your mind and you internally cursed yourself, rushing back to the spot you had left her and Johanna.

Johanna was back to your side, but Katniss was no where to be seen.

“Fuck!” You cursed, sprinting back towards the tree where Beetee, Finnick, and Peeta were.

She had likely gone back to protect Peeta and kill Finnick, and you were not about to let that happen.

Johanna tried to keep up with you; but even with a gushing arm and slit leg, you were fast. Much faster than anyone else.

“Finnick!” You screamed, feet pounding against the hard ground, propelling you towards the tree, where you watched Katniss aim her arrow straight at Finnick’s head.

Beetee was on the ground, and you crouched, feeling for his pulse. His heart was still beating and you hovered over him protectively, in case Katniss decided to turn around and fire at you too. Which seemed very likely.

You watched as Finnick said something to Katniss, obviously resonating with her, the bow slightly lowering.

“Johanna! Give me your arm!” You swung around, panic-struck and searching for the familiar face.

And you saw her a few feet below, trying to climb the vines you had mounted with ease.

You looked between Finnick and her, torn as to which to try and protect. You knew Finnick would hold his own, so you turned back around and began to move for Johanna, quick feet avoiding possible injuries.

But just as you were in grabbing-distance of her, Finnick’s voice rang out, screaming, “Get away from that tree!”

A crack of something echoed around you, and you turned wildly, trying to figure out what had just happened.

Then you understand what Finnick had meant, a loud crack of lightening rained down and sent you flying, reaching for Johanna as you flew past her, her terrified eyes meeting yours.

The last thing you remembered was being pulled up into the air by a large claw, head and limbs limp as you were hoisted up; sword still secure in your palm, a protection habit you had picked up since your games. You always needed to be armed, after all, life was the arena.

You awoke to the sound of a heart monitor, steady beeping lightly calming your high-alert nerves.

You winced sitting up, large bandages wrapped around your forearm and thigh.

You inspected your surroundings, two empty mats in front of you, and Katniss sleeping to your left.

You stood, hushed voices on the other side of the door that reached the ceiling of the craft you were on.

You looked for a weapon of sorts, not willing to go in unarmed. On the other side of the empty room was your sword, glimmering and coated in blood.

You walked over to it, legs sore and aching, the familiar metal calming against your palm.

The door immediately opened as you approached it, Haymitch and Plutarch’s widening as they spotted your weapon of choice clutched in your ruthless hands.

But it dropped to the floor with a loud clatter when your tired eyes met Finnick’s, a relieved smile coming over your features.

You rushed to him, throwing yourself into his arms. His lips met yours halfway, melting into his strong hold around your body.

The two of you fit together perfectly, like you had been made in the same mold.

Your arms wrapped around his neck, pulling him tighter to your already close bodies.

You poured all your pent up feelings into the kiss, all the feelings you had suppressed since the fight that had ended your relationship.

It was the most relaxed you had been in the whole week, since your name was plucked from the bowl of living victors.

His lips moved against yours as he squeezed your hips, hands feeling everything they could, to ensure that it was in fact you, and you were alive and safe in front of him.

You pulled a part, a grin across your small face.

He smiled back, but your bliss was interrupted from the clearing of a throat behind you. You spun around, eyes meeting the expectant ones of Haymitch, Plutarch, and Beetee.

The look on your face said it all. And Haymitch nodded, validating all the thoughts that had been running through your head.

You were safe, headed for the secret hideout of Thirteen. All was okay.

You almost began to laugh thinking about how the Capitol would react, their Angel and Darling being two of the biggest conspirators in a rebellion. How ironic.

And Katniss was on the ship, you had successfully carried out your tasks.

“Where’s Johanna?” You asked, a smile still dotting your face.

Finnick’s composure broke, and your heart dropped, realizing the obvious.

“No, no, no, no,” you began to back away, spine hitting the hard metal of the table.

“I went after Brutus, I didn’t cut the tracker… fuck! Oh my god, Finnick, oh god,” you began to dry-heave, accepting her capture as your fault.

Finnick’s hands were on your biceps, steadying you and pulling you back into his chest.

“Johanna and Peeta are in the Capitol,” Plutarch spoke, your worst fears being confirmed.

“It’s all my fault,” you groaned, head in your hands. You had killed, hunted, and tortured. But the idea of a friend’s death being on your hands hurt more than any of those ever did.

Haymitch spoke reassuring words behind you, but Finnick’s hold and the idea of betraying Johanna was all you could focus on.

How would she forgive you? Was she alive? How would you ever cope if she wasn’t, and it was all your fault? Of course, you let the murderer take over, and went after Brutus.

Finnick’s arms soothed down your back, keeping your grounded as you were flooded with grief, with the heavy weight of betrayal.

Johanna and you were close friends, you were supposed to protect each other in the games. She had protected you, always by your side, and you neglected to do the same.

“We’re going to try and rescue them as soon as we can,” Haymitch said, even though you all knew that might be an impossible task.

And then Finnick slipped his hand into yours, fingers curling around yours and softly rubbing your knuckles.

You composed yourself, closing your eyes as you took in a deep breath, regaining focus on just your interlocked hands. Finnick always knew how to relax you.

All you had wanted initially was to get out of this quarter quell alive, to return home to your big mansion and family. To hug them again, to prove to the Capitol that they could take everything from you, but they couldn’t kill you.

But now, you realized that all had been in vain. Where you really belonged was here, holding hands with Finnick, discussing how you were going to break your friends from the Capitol’s mean grip.

You’d die for him, for them. You’d flap your wings once more to ensure they’d all live.

When Katniss first volunteered for Primrose, you hadn’t understood how she would sacrifice her life for another.

But now you knew, and you knew you’d do it too.

You finally had something to live for, someone you loved, who understood all that you had gone through better than anyone else.

Life was the arena, and if it came down to it, you knew the angel would sacrifice herself for the darling.

**