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giannaln4 · 3 months ago

Text

For you? Anything.

lando norris x fem reader

summary: Even during the worst week of you life, and no matter how tired he is, Lando would do anything to make you feel better. (2.6k words)

warnings: fluff, established relationship, language.

a/n: And we are back to our regular schedule! Kinktober is officially over (kinda, more context here) so it's time to post regular fics. So, I wrote this sometime last week before the shit show of yesterday's race so that's why there are no mentions of it, but I do have some planned about that so we'll see when I can work on them. Anyway, this is for me and all the girlies who have been feeling stressed about work, let me know what you think!

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What a week it has been for you. You had done nothing but work on a stupid project your boss put you in charge of. It was very short notice, and the due date was creeping up on you faster than you would’ve liked.

The good thing is Lando had been away for weeks due to his job; not that you didn’t want to see him or that he was a distraction, nothing like that, but you always preferred to be with him instead of working, which isn’t something you would be able to do this time due to the amount of things you had to go over, but with the house all to yourself, you had the chance to get tons of work done.

It was finally the day of the presentation; you were supposed to pitch the finished project to management and honestly, you weren’t 100% confident in the job you had done. Usually, you were never too harsh on yourself, but with so little time to work on it, you knew there were some parts here and there that could’ve used a little more of your attention, but it was either use what you already have or show up with an unfinished project, so that would have to do. It wasn’t terrible; you were sure of that, but these people always found something to complain about.

You were there for only a few minutes before you were dismissed. What a fucking joke, you thought.

You didn’t even get half the presentation done, and the old dudes sitting across from you were already attacking you with questions, questions that didn’t even make sense or barely fit the theme of what you were trying to talk about.

Your boss was the one to send you out, saying something like “You have another week; we hope you’ll be more prepared next time,” before standing up and leaving the cold conference room, followed by the rest of the men that were surrounding him.

Only minutes after going back to your office you saw him come in, giving you notes on the things he thought you should work on. As the polite girl that you are, you just nodded and wrote down whatever he was saying, apologising for not turning it up on time, but as soon as he left, you couldn’t stop the tears from falling down your face, ruining your make-up in the process. You still had half of your day ahead of you, so you calmed down, washed your face, and went back to work like nothing happened.

At the end of the day, however, that’s a different story. You went back home completely devastated. All those sleepless nights you spent with your nose buried in your laptop felt like a total waste.

As you drove back home, you tried your best to hold the tears, but it was getting harder by the second, especially with each step you took down the hall that led to the door of your apartment, and when you made it there, you started crying as soon as you closed the door behind you.

You instantly got rid of your uncomfortable clothes and got into one of Lando’s shirts, curling up in your bed and letting all that consuming and irrational feeling of failure sink in. You knew you weren’t a failure; you were well aware of your worth, but you couldn’t help but feel like that after miserably failing the presentation you worked so hard on.

Suddenly, the front door opening pulled you out of your thoughts. You let out a loud sigh as you left the bed. You knew it was Lando coming back from his last race, and any other day you would’ve been happy to see him, running to the door to greet him with a hug like he deserved, but right now, you didn't want him to have to see you in that pathetic state.

You stared at yourself in the mirror for a moment, sighing again when you realised how obvious it was that you had been crying, so you’d just have to avoid eye contact.

“Hi baby,” Lando greeted you with his usual pretty smile as he entered your room.

"Hey,” you replied, immediately turning around and walking towards your desk, sitting facing away from Lando as you opened your laptop.

“Did you sleep okay last night? How did your presentation go?” He walked closer to you and wrapped his arms around you in a tight hug, kissing your temple.

“It was okay.” He stopped when he noticed your heavy mood.

"You alright, love? You seem down." His brows were slightly furrowed as he tried to make eye contact.

"Yeah, fine. I think I’m just gonna work on it a little more; there were some things missing that I need to include," you replied, clearly lacking energy.

“Hey now, let’s not do that." Lando turned the chair over to make you face him. He looked down and noticed your glossy eyes, a worried feeling growing inside him. “Talk to me, please. What’s wrong?”

You just shook her head briefly, a lip-tight smile covering your face. “Everything’s fine.”

“Y/N…” The slip of your name past his lips made you want to cry again. Of course you wanted to be comforted by your boyfriend, but you didn’t like the thought of him having to pick up the pieces anytime you messed up. As a tear rolled down your face, you realised that you didn't have the energy or even the desire to push him away “Oh baby, come here.”

Lando took your hand as he sat on the floor next to you, pulling you onto his lap. Your face was now buried in his black hoodie, the tears wetting it instantly as he brushed a hand softly up and down your back.

“It’s okay, I’ve got you." He would understand if you didn’t want to talk about it but would still like to know what was happening. If there was anything he could do to help, he would gladly do it. “Do you wanna talk?”

“I just-” A sob cut you off, “I- I couldn’t do it, even after everything I did, it wasn’t enough.”

“Is this about your presentation?” He asked, his voice softer than ever, and you simply nodded. “It’s alright-”

“No, Lando, it’s not alright. I worked hard to get it together, to get it ready for days and nights and I still failed, I’m so stupid-”

“Hey, baby, look at me," he interrupted you, pulling back a bit and gently lifting your chin to look into your eyes. “You know that’s not true; you’re so smart, and I've always admired your beautiful mind. You gave it your best, like you said, you worked really hard, and even if you didn’t get the reaction you deserved, you know I’m right here.” You simply nodded at his words as the back of your hand wiped some of the tears. “Why didn’t you wanna tell me?”

"Because I don't want you to be disappointed in me like I am right now." You looked down to your lap as more tears fell from your tired eyes.

“You should know that I could never be disappointed in you, Y/N. You are so intelligent and kind; I’ve never met anyone with such a beautiful soul, so I don't ever want you to feel down about yourself because you are perfect." You felt both of Lando’s large hands caress either side of your face, bringing it up so he could look into your eyes again as he swiped at the tears that had managed to escape from your eyes.

The slight smile that had formed on your tear-stained face told Lando that his words meant something to you, and they did. “You’re only saying that because you’re my boyfriend.”

“No, I’m your boyfriend for all those reasons." You giggled slightly. “And I’m sure that no one would disagree with me.”

“My boss would.”

“What does he know?” That made you laugh again, making Lando smile, a smile so sincere that told you he believed everything he just said.

"Thank you, baby, even though you’re being a little biased." You sniffled as you gently stroked the hand that was still on your cheek, keeping your eyes locked with his “I love you.”

“I love you more,” he smiled, pressing his lips to your forehead. You took a deep breath, feeling a lot calmer than you did five minutes ago as you looked at your laptop briefly.

“I should probably get back to work, though; I have to basically remake the whole thing and meet with them again next week.”

“What? Right now?”

“Yes, right now. I’m sorry.”

“Are you sure you don’t wanna go to bed? You look pretty tired. We can cuddle, I know we both need it.”

“I would love to,” your gaze fell on your bed momentarily; it looked so comfortable, and it was literally calling your name, “but I really need to get this done, and I have to do it right this time. I don’t wanna be embarrassed again in front of a bunch of old dudes.”

You stood up from his lap and sat back on your desk, focusing on the screen in front of you as you began to analyse what you should take out and what you needed to add.

Lando just sighed. He knew there was no way he would get you to stop working if you already set your mind to it, but honestly, he thought he would get to spend every second with you once he got back home, so needless to say, he was a little disappointed that wasn’t the case.

He got it though; your job was important for you, and you would never settle for anything unless it was perfect. What made his blood boil was the fact that your boss had the nerve to make you feel like you weren't worth it.

“Did you eat something already?” He asked you, getting up from the floor and wrapping his arms around you once again.

“Uh- I’m not really hungry.”

“Why don’t I cook something for us? What do you say?”

“It’s okay, baby, you should go to bed.” You tilted your head to look at him and give him a quick kiss. “I know you are tired, the triple header couldn’t have been easy.”

You started collecting your things so you could take over a different part of the apartment. He had been travelling for weeks; it wouldn’t be fair to keep him up just because you needed to get work done.

“Where are you going?”

“To your office, if that’s okay. I really don’t want to bother you.”

“You’re not-”

“Lan, I’ll be okay, I promise. Just go to bed, don’t worry about me.” Taking a few steps closer to him, you gave him a loving hug, “I love you.”

You left the room, holding everything in your hands as Lando just stood in the same spot. There was no way he would go to bed without you, not when you were feeling so down and it was clear you just needed to take a break.

Taking a deep breath, he started to make a plan in his head. He took the quickest shower of his life and got into something comfy, praying there was food, or more specifically, ingredients to cook you something that he wouldn’t mess up and that you would enjoy.

Everything seemed to be on his side when he found everything he needed to make some Alfredo. Everything was pretty much premade, so he knew he wouldn’t ruin it. He happily got to work, setting up a nice dinner as he hummed one of the songs that had been stuck in his head for who knows how long.

In the office, you were nearly breaking your head as you read the information you had over and over again. You kind of knew what it needed to be since your boss gave you a few specific notes, but then again, you weren’t feeling completely confident in your own ideas.

You didn’t realise you had been locked away for over an hour, your eyes getting insanely tired as you typed away. A break was needed and well deserved, and you were aware of this, but somehow it didn’t feel like you were making any progress, even though you had been working non-stop and you had already readjusted about half of the project.

A loud sigh escaped your lips as you abruptly closed your laptop, your face falling to your hands as your eyes felt wet yet again. That was it; there was no way you could keep going. You needed to grab a quick snack and head straight to bed. You did have an early morning the next day after all.

Just as you were gathering all your strength to get up, you heard the door open, making you jump a bit.

“Fuck, you scared the shit out of me.” You laughed as your hand fell on your heart.

“Sorry, love. Didn’t mean to scare you,” he giggled, walking towards you.

“What are you doing still awake? I thought you went to bed.”

“I couldn’t sleep without you. Are you almost done here?” He looked at your closed laptop, celebrating internally as he assumed you were done working for the night.

“Yeah, I guess. My brain stopped working, so I thought my future self can worry about the rest tomorrow.”

“Good. Come here.” He extended his hand out to you, which you happily took. “Please stop overworking yourself, you know this isn’t healthy.”

“I know,” you let out a sigh as you accepted his embrace. “I’m seriously thinking about quitting. Who knows, maybe I’ll find something that doesn’t make me feel this stressed all the time.”

His hand was caressing your back softly as he pulled away to look down at you. “You know you can, right? And I really think you should. I make enough to support the both of us and even a family in the future... Baby, you don’t have to keep working there if you don’t want to.”

His words made a smile appear on your face. Not because he was offering to basically support you for the rest of your life, but because he brought having a family with you. “You know I’d never let you do that-”

“But if you do want to quit and just take a break, you can do that too,” he interrupted you. You nodded, seriously considering it, but that was something you would have to think about and have a serious conversation in the future if you ever did decide to do it.

“We’ll see. Right now, I just need something to eat and some sleep. I have to get up early tomorrow.”

“Speaking about dinner, I made something for you.”

He took your hand and guided you to the dining room, a big smile on his face as he proudly showed off the beautiful set-up and the (hopefully) delicious dinner he managed to cook. He looked back at you expectantly, but his happiness quickly turned into a worried look when he noticed tears falling from your eyes again.

“What’s wrong, baby?” He asked, a hand softly falling on your cheek as he leaned down.

You were out of words; you truly didn’t know what to say. This is just what you needed, and the fact that he went out of his way to do it for you meant a lot more than he could ever imagine.

“I- Lando, this is-” you cut yourself off when you couldn’t find the right thing to say, so you just jumped in his arms and gave him the tightest hug ever. “Thank you for everything. And I mean everything.”

He let out a sigh of relief, hugging you back as he buried his head on the crook of your neck. “For you, my love, I’d do anything.”

#lando norris #ln4 #lando norris x reader #lando norris fanfic #lando norris imagine #lando norris x you #lando norris fluff #f1 #formula 1 #lando norris x y/n #lando norris oneshot #lando norris one shot #ln4 fluff #ln4 fic #ln4 imagine #giannaln4 writes

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hueseok · 25 days ago

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it was always you (from the vault)

originally titled: take my breath away.

a.k.a. the original draft for my “it was always you” fic wherein naval aviator!jungkook is your cocky soon-to-be-ex-husband who won’t sign your divorce papers because he’s still in love with you lol.

pairing: jungkook x reader

word count: 4.5k

content: fluff, semi-angst, exes to ??? | ft. naval aviator!jungkook + husband!jungkook

warning: what you’re about to read (if you do choose to read this) is an unfinished work which perhaps will forever be unfinished.

the only reason i’m posting it because i feel like it’d be a waste to let it rot in my drafts considering that i really liked how it went until the moment i stopped writing hehehehe. i’ve also thought about continuing this story but since i already have an existing naval aviator!jungkook in my masterlist, i felt like it’d be redundant to post this!

anyhow, since a lot of you showed so much love to “it was always you”, i thought it’d be nice to share this 🥹

You really hoped that flying for almost three hours and experiencing horrid turbulence during half of the trip was going to be worth it. But again, that was only the first part of the whole charade; the real challenge would begin perhaps much later, when you finally come face to face with the person that you were scheduled to meet.

As you walked inside the bar, the nerves that previously weren’t there started to crawl from your chest to your legs, making it harder to reach the counter where a vacant bar stool stood. You didn’t even know why you were suddenly nervous—although you could only guess that the sudden burst of anxiety was rooted from talking again to the most stubborn man ever to walk on earth—and you were already preparing yourself for the long conversation you were going to have with him and possibly the extended leave you’ll have to inform your boss for this trip because of his infamous stubbornness.

“____?” a familiar voice abruptly called out for you after you finished ordering a mug of beer from the barmaid, “no fucking way. It can’t be.”

You turned to your left and saw Jung Hoseok.

Spoiler: he wasn’t the person you were going to meet today, which made seeing him such a delight. You grinned immediately upon making eye contact, hopping out of your chair and exclaiming his name with the same enthusiasm he let out when he did realize it was you who he was looking at.

“Holy shit. What are you doing here?” He automatically engulfed you in a tight embrace when you initiated. You noticed that he was wearing an off duty attire, a plain black polo shirt and blue jeans, his hair kept neat and short. “Actually, scratch that—there’s only one person you should be here for.”

You bothered to smile. “Yeah. I’m guessing he didn’t tell anyone I’m visiting, huh?”

“Nope. He 100% kept it a secret because he knows that we’re going to steal you away if he spills.”

“We?” you mused. You didn’t even know that he was training with Hoseok, and now you’re discovering that Hoseok’s apparently not the only friend he has here. “How many of you that I know are training with him?”

Hoseok takes a short pause to think about it. “Hm… well, there’s me, then Yoongi and… Namjoon. That’s just about it.”

“Wow. It’s essentially the whole group again, huh?”

“Yup. I mean, we are the best of the best.” He smirked.

You playfully rolled your eyes.

“And we’ve missed you,” he added swiftly. “I’m a bit mad that your husband didn’t inform us that you’d be here—but again, I’m not surprised.”

“Sorry. I think I have myself to blame for that. I did tell him that I don’t intend to stay here for too long.”

“Why not?”

“I’m just here to make sure he signs the divorce papers.”

Hoseok nodded, thoughtful and a bit disappointed. “Is he giving you a hard time with them?”

“You can say that.” A dramatic sigh escaped you. “He insisted that if I really wanted to get his signature, I should just go here where he’s training.”

“Classic Jungkook.” He laughed, and you agreed with a snort.

He was right, this was all a Classic Jungkook move.

Sometimes, you didn’t understand why you agreed to marry Jungkook so urgently when he asked for your hand, even after knowing that he did everything he could to ensure that he got what he wanted in the end.

Though that was just that thing, wasn’t it? He knew exactly what to do in order to get what he wanted—and at that time of his proposal, you knew it was you that he sought for.

Despite the fact that Jungkook had only been seeing you for less than a year, he was convinced that you were the love of his life. It was the reason why when he needed to be deployed for a mission, it seemed proposing was the most natural thing to do, going on about how he wanted to be reassured that when he came back for you, you were going to be there waiting for him, not only as a girlfriend, but as his wife.

And you said yes, without missing a beat, because you genuinely loved Jungkook and for you, the both of you were a match made in heaven.

By the two year mark of being a wedded couple though, just being in love with each other wasn’t enough. There were a lot of arguments, irreconcilable differences, a lot of moments wherein you wanted to abandon everything and just disappear—until you finally declared that enough was enough and you were going to file for divorce.

Of course, Jungkook didn’t want to sign them, but he did grant you a little bit of your freedom back. He did so by leaving your shared apartment on a random Thursday, only sending a text that said he was being called by the Navy for a mission he couldn’t disclose per usual, and that if you really wanted to divorce him, you’d just have to wait for him to go back.

He never returned though. Because after that mission, came a next one, and another one, until you heard that he was invited to a naval fighter weapons school in the northern part of the country, close to the seas and where he’ll be training for a few weeks among the best naval aviators in the nation.

That’s when he decided to invite you over and say that if you wanted his signature, you’d have to be the one who’ll go to him. You initially contemplated for a long time before just going forth with his ridiculous demand. Nonetheless, you figured you were once again left with no choice because here you were now, doing exactly what he wanted to get what you exactly wanted as well.

God, who knew that contrary to how easy it was to enter this marriage, it was an absolute pain to get out of it?

“Do you know where he might be?” you asked Hoseok while taking a sip of your beer. “Or if he’s going here at least?”

“I have no clue,” Hoseok said. “Though I do know that he should have free time. We don’t have training for the rest of the day.”

“I’ll be seriously pissed if he stands me up.”

“He won’t.”

“It’s Jungkook.”

“Yeah, but you’re ____,” he said it like it was reason enough, “and Jungkook can’t resist seeing you. Especially if it’s been what? How many months have passed since you two saw each other?”

You held up six fingers, continuing to gulp down your drink in frustration. “Still, he loves to annoy the shit out of me.”

“It’s his love language.”

“Oh, I’ve been made very aware.”

Hoseok barked out a laugh. He was a huge fan of your dynamic with Jungkook; he was practically there throughout the whole journey of your relationship. As Jungkook’s weapon systems officer, the both of them were thick as thieves, which also made him the best man of the wedding—so deep inside, he wanted to believe that whatever it was that you and Jungkook were dealing with, it would be resolved soon enough.

“Well, it looks like you don’t have to wait for too long.” Hoseok toasted his glass to the direction of the entrance where the Jeon Jungkook entered, removing his aviator sunglasses and hooking it on the collar of his white shirt, worn inside a dark blue long-sleeved polo he was sporting as well.

You followed his line of vision and scowled at the sight of Jungkook. Not because you hated your husband, but because even when in the middle of finalizing a divorce, you couldn’t deny that he was too handsome for his own good.

“I think this is my cue to leave,” Hoseok added, getting off his seat. “It was nice seeing you again, ___. Let’s catch up later, yeah? I’ll conspire with Joon and Yoongi to steal you away.” He smiled mischievously and gave you a sweet chaste kiss on the cheek before walking over to Jungkook, greeting him, pointing to where you were, and then walking to another table where you guessed a bunch of other naval aviators were hanging out.

A sigh escaped you, just in time when Jungkook met your gaze.

He grinned—actually grinned—and you had to prevent your eyes from twitching to not look like some crazy person who didn’t have any self-control. So, instead of plastering the same scowl a few seconds ago for him to see, you flashed a sarcastic smile, waving your hand.

“There’s my beautiful wife,” Jungkook claimed when he was close enough, marching towards you, appearing like he was going to go for a kiss but before he could, you outstretched an arm and stopped him by literally wrapping your fingers around his neck as if you were planning to choke him to death with the gesture (which you were tempted to do).

He rolled his eyes, holding your wrist and bringing it down.

“Can’t I give you a kiss?” he retorted.

“No.”

“And Hoseok can?”

“Hoseok’s my friend.”

“I’m your husband.”

“Ex-husband.”

“Wrong. I haven’t signed any divorce papers, honey, so in the eyes of the law, I’m still very much your husband.” He quickly stole a kiss on the corner of your mouth and you allowed yourself to grimace in annoyance, glaring at him as he took Hoseok’s previous seat.

You watched him order a drink for himself and nachos for sharing. You didn’t say anything while he did all that; you just stared at him, analyzing him, trying to decipher what was going on in that head of his. You honestly had no clue what his thought process was in depriving you of the signature you wanted and then randomly agreeing to meet you again, accompanied with the condition that you’re the one who has to go to him and not the other way around.

As he reasoned, he was still in the middle of training, and he couldn’t just leave even if he wanted to and that’s why you had to make the effort to make this work (he made it clear that he didn’t want to make the effort anyway if it meant it could lead to his and yours divorce).

“How are you?” he asked once he was done ordering and you scoffed.

“Let’s not do that, Jungkook.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Don’t tell me that I’m not allowed to know how you’re doing too.”

“I meant the small talk. Let’s just cut to the chase.”

“Where’s the fun in that?”

“Jungkook.”

“Alright.” He placed an arm against the counter, spinning his stool to face you. “You already know where I stand, though. I still haven’t changed my mind in wanting to work it out first.”

“What? But you told me that if I went here—”

“I would talk to you, not sign the papers,” he finished. “You didn’t really think I’d sign them just like that, right?”

Your stomach dropped.

There goes assuming that the three-hour flight to go here would be worth it.

“I did, actually.” You grumbled. “When are you giving this a rest?”

He seemed annoyed by the rhetoric question. “When are you going to stop thinking that divorce is the answer to our problem?”

“We already did couple’s therapy and that proved to be a waste of time.”

“That’s because you were stubborn and wouldn’t cooperate.”

“Oh, I’m the one who’s stubborn between the both of us? I’m the one who wouldn’t cooperate?”

“Yes.”

“No, I’m not!” You raised your hands up. “You were the one who always said some lame excuse to not attend it with me.”

“Babe, how many times do I have to tell you, my schedule isn’t—”

“Yeah, whatever.” You didn’t let him finish, knowing that he was going to say something about how being in the Navy didn’t grant him the free time you were expecting him to have.

“I’m just saying… you can’t keep on doing this, you know?” you said.

“Can’t keep doing what?”

“Prolonging this. We already broke up, Jungkook. There’s not point in staying married.”

“That’s the thing, though.” He smirked. “I can keep prolonging it.”

Your nostrils flared. “Why?”

“Because I can.”

You think flashes of red were beginning to blur your vision.

Jungkook noticed the rage building up, yet he didn’t back down. “Why are you even so eager to legally separate? Do you plan on getting married again soon?” he asked.

It was supposed to be a joke, because Jungkook didn’t actually think you were seeing anyone at the moment—but at the mention of it, he saw the manner in which your expression slightly shifted, and he narrowed his eyes at you, understanding. “Don’t bullshit me. You aren’t seeing anyone, right?”

You blinked, acting all innocent. “It’s none of your business.”

“It is. You’re still married to me.”

“We’ve broken up for almost a year now, Jungkook.” You groaned, remaining him once again. “If you just signed the goddamn papers, all of this would be out of your hands.”

He scoffed. “You are seeing someone?”

“That is not the point of our conversation.”

“Well, it’s a significant aspect of it.”

“Fine.” You huffed. “I am seeing someone. Happy?”

Jungkook was in fact not happy. He was angry, but then he thought of how he shouldn’t be, because you and him have broken up for almost a year now like you said. Even though he wasn’t in support of that notion, he remembered at least granting you enough freedom to feel like you could date around without thinking about how you were technically cheating on him if ever you did.

However, he didn’t really think you would find someone. Sure, you were beautiful, you had an amazing personality, there was no question when it came to you attracting men, yet you could be picky most of the time. It was even a miracle how he managed to bag you; though he guessed that he didn’t really have to try that hard in the first place before because the two of you just had so much in common for you to ignore.

“What’s his name?” he asked after a long silence.

You crossed your arms. “Do you have to know?”

“Yes.”

“Fine.” You adjusted yourself in your seat. “It’s Ben.”

Jungkook thought the name sounded stupid. “How long have you been dating him?”

You hesitated, already predicting how he was going to react that you almost exaggerated the answer, but decided against it last minute. “Five weeks.”

He suddenly burst out laughing, the sound echoing inside the bar; it was the exact type of response you were positive he was going to do, proof that you knew him too well and that you shouldn’t have changed your pretense in the first place.

“It’s not funny,” you hissed, noticing that a lot of people were glancing at where you were both situated. “What the hell is funny about what I said?”

“You want to divorce me for a guy you’ve been dating for five weeks?” He carried on snickering; he barely got the whole sentence out because he was too busy catching his breath.

“Of course not! I would just prefer it if I don’t have any baggage left before attempting to commit to another relationship.”

The barmaid came back with Jungkook’s beer and nachos. He thanked her and slid the basket of cheesy nachos to your direction, an offer that you could get a piece if you wanted. However you were neither hungry nor interested in getting anything from him that would elicit a thank you from you, too prideful at this point due to how annoying he was being.

“What does he do for a living?” he asked next.

“I’m not telling you.”

“Why?”

“Because you’re going to make fun of it.”

“Is it worth making fun of?”

“No.”

“Then just tell me.” He threw a chip inside his mouth.

You pressed your lips together. “He’s a bank clerk.”

Jungkook didn’t laugh this time, but the corners of his mouth were twitching as he grinned, and you found yourself refraining from wanting to strangle him again, questioning why you thought it was a good idea to come here since it was obvious that talking to him properly was an impossible task.

“You’re dating a bank clerk?” he posed the question like it was the most preposterous thing he had heard from you today. “What the hell do the both of you have in common?”

“It doesn’t matter. I’ll have you know that Ben is a very nice guy.”

“That’s what ladies say when a man is horrible in bed.”

“That’s not true.”

“Is he good then?”

“That’s none of your business, Jungkook,” you uttered once more, teeth gritting. “Besides, it’s only been five weeks.”

He smirked. “That’s a no then. It seems that you haven’t slept with him,” he said. “Makes sense. I mean, if you have already slept with another guy, you might be already begging me to get back together. Given that I’m the best sex you’ve ever had.”

You stared at him in disbelief. “How the fuck are you always so arrogant?”

“It comes with the praise I usually get during my escapades, babe.” Jungkook winked at you, hand reaching out for another nacho.

“Oh, so I’m assuming you do have sex with other people now. You know, if you’ve just divorced me, you can go live your happy single life again to go to that without any worries.”

“I don’t sleep with other people—”

“But you just said—”

“I meant before I met you.” He pointed out, giving you a look. “Why are you even thinking about that? Are you jealous?”

“God, you’re fucking impossible.” You practically growled.

He flashed you another smirk, amused.

“Anyhow,” you began, bringing out the divorce papers from your bag that you should have given him the second you saw him, but as what you think was part of his plan, he did manage to stall you in doing so, “here’s the papers.” You shoved it to his chest, rendering Jungkook no choice but to grab it.

He glanced down at them. “You’re never going to stop until I sign these, huh?”

You nodded. “Never.”

“Fine.” Jungkook flickered his gaze on you. “I’ll sign them.”

You glared at him. “Be serious.”

“I am serious.”

“Are you?”

You were still suspicious, but at the same time, you had high hopes.

“Yes. But I need to meet Ben the bank clerk first.”

Your spirits dropped. “Oh, no, no, no,” you made a huge cross sign with your arms, “you are not giving me another condition just to go against your word in the end.”

“I won’t this time.”

“Yeah, right.” You scoffed loudly.

It was his turn to narrow his eyes at you. “I’m serious. You want my signature or not?”

You bit the insides of your cheeks, gazing at him.

You were no fool, you knew why he wanted to meet him; you knew that it was because he wanted to see it for himself if the guy you replaced him for was actually more good looking than him or at least appeared as if he could survive a fistfight if Jungkook prompted to start one. It was all testosterone and ego, and you contemplated cutting his balls just to get this over with once and for all.

Surely, by then, he would be more agreeable.

“Fine,” you told him. “If you meet him, you’ll sign the papers? Promise?”

He took a sip of his beer, shrugging. “Sure.”

***

Jungkook watched the scene unfold in front of him with an amused expression.

Although he did admit it once that he did get a bit jealous whenever you gave the other guys more attention than him, he loved his best pals too much to care.

It was why he allowed instances like this to happen wherein you made it apparent that you valued their company much more than you did Jungkook. It was evident in the manner in which you laughed loudly as Hoseok, Yoongi, and Namjoon hugged you, each one of them taking turns in lifting your body off the ground a few seconds in glee.

You were seen as a beloved sister to them as they saw Jungkook as a cherished brother in the Navy.

“Alright, that’s enough,” Jungkook reckoned after five seconds.

Namjoon glanced at him, the last one to embrace you. “Jealous?” he teased, reading his mind.

“I am, actually.” Jungkook affirmed. “You three got a better greeting than I did.”

You rolled your eyes at the pettiness of his comment. “That’s because there’s nothing good about seeing you again, Jungkook.”

Jungkook glanced at you. “You wound me, babe.” He placed a dramatic hand on his chest. “Truly, you do.”

The guys stifled a laugh.

Today’s agenda was supposed to be a catch up session with the three guys. News spread quickly yesterday that you were in town thanks to Hoseok, and given that the three of them were good friends of yours, you didn’t decline the offer when Jungkook informed you that they wanted to meet you while you were here.

So, as the next day came in and the evening rolled, they met up with you at the same resto-bar Hoseok found you in. It did seem like the only venue that was both near enough from the academy and the hotel you were staying at that offered adequate food. You observed that the occupants of the place were composed primarily of people wearing naval aviator uniforms or motorcyclists stopping by before going forth with their ride.

“So,” Yoongi began just as Jungkook headed to the counter, volunteering to relay all of your orders to the barmaid, “we heard from a little birdie that you’re seeing someone else.”

You gave him a look. “Still a big gossip, I see.”

“Oh, it’s not counted as gossip if it’s what Jungkook’s been complaining about the whole time at the showers,” Namjoon humored.

Hoseok agreed with a nod. “It’s what he’s been nonstop yapping about earlier when we were flying,” he said. “Seriously, ____. Release the boy from misery and just get back together.”

They watched you grimace. “You all know my relationship with Jungkook has been long complicated for it to be as easy as that.”

“Did he cheat on you?” Namjoon asked.

“No, of course not.” You scoffed. “He’s an annoying shit for the most part but he’s not a cheater.”

He physically relaxed at the confirmation. “Good, because I don’t think I can beat him in a fistfight.”

Yoongi chuckled. “What’s the matter then? You still haven’t spared us any details on why you’re so keen to divorce him.”

“There’s no particular reason,” you sighed with a throw of your hand. “It’s just a compilation of the small things. He’s away most of the time, I’m away most of the time when he’s available—we fight a lot, argue a lot, it just doesn’t seem to be worth fighting for anymore.”

“So, you don’t love him anymore?”

“I…” you trailed, abruptly feeling like you were being interrogated, “I mean, love doesn’t go away easily. And it hasn’t been that long since we called it quits.”

The three men shared a look among themselves.

You straighten your posture. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“What does?” Hoseok queried.

“That look you guys just gave each other. I don’t like it.”

“That’s just their faces, babe,” Jungkook reappeared, taking the liberty to take the seat on your right. “What are you fellas talking about?” he asked his buddies.

They didn’t dare utter a word. You were under the impression that they had an understanding between them that talking about your relationship right in Jungkook’s face was something one should not ought to do.

You, on the other hand, took it as your cue to speak, starting another topic to hopefully erase the previous one. “Ben said he can come. He’s boarding tonight,” you told Jungkook as he’s sipping from his glass of service water.

“That’s good.” He didn’t look as interested as he was yesterday.

“Who’s Ben?” It was Hoseok again.

“The bank clerk,” Jungkook answered.

“The new guy you’re seeing?” Yoongi asked you.

“Yep,” you said before turning to Jungkook. “And can you please refer to him by his name? He’s not just a bank clerk.”

“Is he a boring bank clerk?” Jungkook asked, that teasing smirk flashing on his mouth.

“Will he be here tomorrow?” Namjoon chimed in.

You nodded. “Hopefully.”

“Great,” Jungkook placed his glass down on the table. “It’ll be enough time to get to know him.”

He said ‘enough time’ like his time was limited because it really was. He informed you before you parted ways yesterday that he was graduating from the academy this Friday, and that after that, he was almost 100% sure he was going to be deployed again with some of his classmates for a mission that you wouldn’t be allowed to know the details of.

Your stomach somersaulted when he told you that.

Somehow, despite convincing yourself that you no longer cared for Jungkook, the thought of his life being put at risk again once he was back on the field made you want to vomit in anxiety. It reminded you that his very dangerous occupation was one of the root causes of your separation, for there were months wherein you couldn’t take the fear of waiting in uncertainty on whether he was going to come home to you or not, regardless of how he promised he would every single time.

It was funny, you thought. One of your similarities with your husband was that the both of you were adrenaline junkies. You and him bonded over extreme rides in amusement parks, activities that got your heart pumping and gave you the sensation of being on top of the world—and yet it was the reason why you didn’t want to be with him anymore as well, too scared to continue loving him if he always sought for adventure and danger through being a naval aviator.

“You knew what you were signing up for, ____,” he told you during one of your many arguments. “You entered this relationship knowing the nature of my job. You can’t expect to adjust for you when it comes to—”

“I’m not expecting you to adjust for me, Kook,” you replied in exasperation, practically begging him to listen to you with an open mind at that point. “God, I just want you to consider me. I just want to feel that for once, you actually remember that someone’s always waiting for you to come home.”

Whenever conversations like that popped back inside your memory, you forced yourself to push it away. It wasn’t an experience you wanted to relive. You’ve spent far too many nights just crying because of how it felt like to be in a constant state of worry for the person you found yourself loving the most.

“We can all meet him, right?” asked Hoseok, looking at the other guys for back up.

You surveyed them, raising your eyebrows before saying your answer.

“Like the hell you would.”

#jungkook #bts

880 notes · View notes

demonicbaby666 · 10 months ago

Note

Dom Emily prentiss x intern fem reader is all i ask!! Smutty ofc, a lil bit of a humiliation kink if you’re comfortable!!! Thank yewww

Packing Heat

One shot | Criminal Minds Masterlist | Masterlists

Fandom: Criminal Minds

Pairing: Emily Prentiss x fem!Reader

Genre: Smut

Words: 4.8k+

Warnings: 18+, minors DNI, strap-ons (r!receiving), semi-public sex (office sex, again…), praise, degradation, mommy kink, kind of dub-con at one point, top!Emily, bottom!reader

Summary: Interning at the BAU means you don’t interact with the person in charge a lot. Of course, this doesn’t mean you haven’t seen the section chief in passing or exchanged pleasantries; it's that they’re simple, short-lived and often anti-climatic. However one evening, you find yourself in the desolate office with no chance of going home, work to be done, but no one to sit with you through the process. With only one other soul residing on the sixth floor, it seems Emily may be your best bet for company.

A/n: Listen, could she be more dom? Yes. Is there any humiliation? Not really... But I got lost while writing, so please don't be mad at me... Hope you still enjoy!

When you'd first started at the BAU, it was safe to say you hadn't seen much of the woman calling the shots. There were always updates about when the team were taken out of state, what their cases would entail, the steady progress being made, and the brief comical encounters Garcia spewed around the office. When they were back, everyone made an effort to small talk. They welcomed you well and continued to appreciate the little things you did for them daily. Emily, however, was constantly on the go, meaning every encounter you'd had with her consisted of one-way glances and hopeful smiles in the event she decided to notice her surroundings and the human lifeform less than two metres away.

She never did, though, until one uneventful evening.

Almost everyone had vacated the building. The only remaining souls left on the sixth floor were you, Emily, and a one-person cleaning crew—whom you watched exit through glass doors before approaching the brunette's office with shaky knees. Peeking through the window, you saw her attention dart to and from the bright computer screen to the mountains of bureaucratic paperwork lying atop her desk. It was easy to get lost in the little creases between her eyebrows, brought out by the deep scowl she wore, the delicate way her fingers were woven together, and the pads of her thumbs skirting against one another as she pondered in deep thought.

It was nearing eight, and you were struggling to understand how someone could appear so put together at this late hour, given that their day was most certainly jam-packed with non-stop slog.

Emily's eyes suddenly flashed up. She squinted toward her door, trying to figure out who'd be here this late other than herself. When she appeared to have worked it out, she leaned back victoriously in her chair, a smug smile on her face, when she called out, "Are you going to stand out there all night?"

You could have done two things: scurried off like a teenager caught peeping or held your chin up high and walked into the older woman's office with little to no shame. Somehow, you managed to do a mix of both, scurrying in with sagging shoulders, a guilty smile plastered on your face and trembling hands clasping your laptop over your chest.

"Well, it's eerily quiet out there, and I would go home to write this paper. It's just that my roommate and her boyfriend have an awful tendency to forget about volume control when they're—" You cut yourself off, realising it probably wasn't appropriate to talk to your boss about your roommate's over-the-top borderline pornographic soundscape. "I was wondering if I could, you know."

Emily, satirising as ever, waited with a raised eyebrow and a relaxed smile for you to continue your purposefully unfinished question.

"Sorry, I should let you work." You surrendered to your weak resolve with flushed cheeks and began to turn around.

"Sit," she ordered before you had fully turned back around to the door, nodding to the available chair on the other side of her desk. Her eyes followed your journey to the seat, watching as you placed your laptop down and opened it with shaky fingers. Satisfied, she turned her attention back to her work. "I could do with some company."

The following silence, starting as unsettling and stagnant, blossomed into something warm and comfortable. There were occasional glances thrown your way and vice versa. Their acknowledgement and appreciation were shown in the form of timid smiles on your end and double takes followed by teasing smirks on Emily's.

When half an hour had passed, your shoulders had finally relaxed, your fingers had stopped their infernal twitching, and your paper neared its completion. There was a proud smile cresting, and you were trying to prevent it from forming, knowing how dorkish it made you look. But you knew there was no hope when your cheeks ached and your jaw locked. You granted yourself the freedom to display your gloating smile.

Just as expected, Emily had a questioning look on her face when you dared to look up from the document. There was a playfulness to the upward quirk of her lips - the superiority of a predator knowing the power they have over their prey, ready to prove it at any given moment.

"I've almost finished," you timidly admitted, feeling obligated to explain as heat infiltrated your jutted-out cheeks.

Without a second thought, the ravenette stood up and made her way around the desk. She could have easily chosen to turn the laptop around. Instead, she took the far more intimate route.

Soft curves grazed your shoulder blades, causing you to shiver. The weight finally settled, soft padding pressed flat against your back as Emily read your paper, and suddenly, your stomach had worked itself into looping knots, and your heart was racing.

The struggle continued as you fought not to fidget, if only to alleviate the growing tension mounting between your thighs. This was only made worse when Emily's right hand left the back of your chair to drop down over your shoulder and land comfortably on your thigh.

"Such a smart girl," she whispered sultrily into the shell of your ear, squeezing generous flesh between her fingers.

With a scrambled brain, there was little fight to be put up against the meek whimper that crackled against the constricted lining of your throat. Subconsciously, your thighs tensed, and your pussy fluttered as you were reminded how close Emily's hand was to where you could only dream she'd touch.

You'd thought you imagined it—the subtle shift in the room from breezy and light to torrid and all-consuming, but with Emily's fingers veering off course, inching higher and higher, reality came crashing down.

"Thank you," you struggled to get the words out, and when they did come out, they were tremulous and feeble.

Turning to look at her may have, in hindsight, been a mistake because where her gaze should have been fixed on the laptop screen, it was glued to your lips. Unexpectedly, your stomach flipped, and you felt dizzy. She was still superbly perfect up close, skin smooth like silk, cheekbones sharp as a razor, and lips cut from velvet. It was too close, dangerously so, you had to look away. Outside the window, you spotted a swarm of birds barely visible against the night sky. You ignored the clanking of your heart as you focussed on their synchronicity, watching them circle each other until they became one big blur of messy movements.

The hand resting on the leather backing of your chair rose, skirting up and over your neck, until a firm grip was established around your dangling ponytail. She was gentle when she tugged, aware that though she wanted to educate you in the art of being owned, you were delicate.

"I think a pretty thing like you deserves a reward," she baited. "Don't you?"

Her grip on you may have been physical. However, a stronger pull was coming from deep within you, an unimportant piece of scrap metal drawn in by a powerful magnet. It was useless to deny her. The mesmerising glow of her chocolate eyes and the promise of being made to feel special was too powerful. So, you nodded slowly but eagerly, desire painting your eyes dark shades of lust.

"That's a good girl."

Emily didn't miss how you preened at the praise and safely stored that information away for further use. She shifted to your side, hands migrating to the small of your waist, guiding you to your feet. The act of it was far gentler than you'd expected, like a gentleman asking a maiden to dance, sweeping her off her feet to whisk her away into a fairytale land filled with magic and romance.

Certain the benign treatment would be short-lived, you granted yourself the leniency to enjoy it whilst it lasted, refusing to get too caught up in the dull ache between your legs that craved the form of savagery Emily displayed in the field.

There was nothing short of passion in how she worked. It drove you crazy. As wrong as it felt, you couldn't help but envy the dirtbag the team was working to catch because you saw how badly the brunette wanted them. The look in her eyes, gratification and disgust all at once, when she'd achieved what she set out to do and was staring the devil right in the face - it made your heart race, your palms sweat and your cunt throb.

The memory kickstarted what could only be described as a brutal attack upon the older woman's lips. To her credit, Emily indulged the outburst for a lot longer than you'd have thought. As if she'd expected it, she quickly responded, pulling you into her body and tilting her head to the side to deepen the kiss. The lead was stolen promptly from your grasp when Emily wedged a leg between your thighs, backed you up against her desk and tactically slid her tongue into your gaped mouth. You would have gasped if not for the fact you were immediately indulged in the minty taste of your boss's tongue skirting over the roof of your mouth. So much so that you scarcely noticed the pressure coming from your core was no longer just a phantom need manifested but taut clothed muscle pressing you further and further into the sharp wooden edge of the desk.

"Emily," you breathily moaned, pulling back and separating your kiss-swollen lips from the brunette's. Ordinarily, you wouldn't have allowed what happened next to occur, but this was Emily, after all, the BAU section chief, and if you were to let anyone order you about, it would be her.

She backed away from you with a final nip to your bottom lip, letting it go with a pop, and you fought the urge to reach out and pull her back to you. You knew you'd already tried to take things into your own hands once, and doing so again may undermine any chances you had of keeping the ball rolling on tonight's affairs.

You could feel the tight pull of your ponytail and all the places where hair had been lead array from the confines of your hairband, and it truly dawned on you how out of sorts you must have appeared. Tracing your fingers over your lips, you could make out how swollen they were - puffy and hot, yet desperate and pouted, begging for more. Your breathing was laboured, filling the room's silence, and your shirt suddenly felt too tight as your chest expanded with each intake of oxygen. It almost came as a relief when Emily opened her mouth to finally speak until you heard what she'd said.

"Take your clothes off," she mindlessly ordered, walking around to her chair and sitting back in it. Her eager eyes trained over your body with the faintest shimmer of mirth.

Initially, it was a shock. Of course, it was. You were in an official government building, personnel still sparsely spread throughout, and a goddess of a woman was asking you to bare yourself to her.

For the longest time, revealing your body to someone always felt like giving up something. Perhaps some kind of purity. The moment you gave it up, it bred only guilt and shame that twisted and pulled at the pit of your stomach until you felt sick. You stood there, waiting for that feeling to come. It never did.

Remaining still, your body pulsed not with nerves but with exhilaration and anticipation. It took a few seconds to realise this was precisely what you wanted. You wanted to give this false sense of purity away. There was not a sudden influx of courage soaring through every living cell of your body. However, there was enough for you to put on a front and do as you were told.

"Slowly." Emily sat further back and placed her elbows neatly over the arms of her chair. She laced her fingers together, offered you an encouraging nod, and then was back to watching you raptly.

Feeling like a glutton, you followed a path of desire and heeded Emily's request, fingers increasingly fumbling over each button of your shirt.

"So obedient." And in no way was it said negatively; the adulatory smile she gave you only sought to prove that further.

The way she looked at you made you feel as though you were already naked. Maybe that was why it was so easy to get lost in the subtlety of undressing. It was art, and you were a performer. That's what you told yourself. And for the most part, it worked.

With closed eyes, you trailed your fingers over your shoulders, letting your shirt drop to the floor. The AC raised goosebumps over your chest, pebbled your nipples under your plain bra, and you smiled. You smiled because this was the most alive you had felt in months. The thrill of moving on to your slacks and deftly unclasping your belt felt like being on a rollercoaster, like missing a step and laughing fear in the face afterwards. You felt utterly fearless.

In the back of your mind, you could sense Emily's eyes still on you. You could hear her moving around but didn't think to check her reaction. You were in your element, and far be it for a look of appraisal, or lack of, to stop you. That was until your trousers hit the carpet with a soft thud, and a sharp breath was heard from across you.

Your eyes snapped open, and you found Emily's smile was absent. The brunette now had her bottom lip trapped between her teeth as she looked you up and down, knuckles white from her deadly grip over the armrests.

She lifted a hand, palm facing the ceiling as her index and middle finger crooked. "Come here so I can get a proper look at you," she said, slightly breathless.

The desk had conveniently covered the lower half of Emily's body, which meant that when you circled around and came to stand next to her, you could see exactly what the earlier ruffling had been about.

"Is that?" You froze, both shocked and utterly intrigued by the thick black dildo jutting out from the older woman's opened slacks.

She didn't need you to finish the question, already nodding as she followed your line of sight. Leaning forward with an outstretched arm, Emily coiled her fingers around your wrist and pulled you forward, causing you to almost stumble over your own feet. At this closer distance, you could tell the faux cock would give you a run for your money. It was thicker than anything you had taken before, though that was not a hard trophy to earn, given that the most you had let anyone put inside you was three fingers.

"Do you want to come sit on mommy's lap?" Emily asked with a tilt of her head.

She didn't miss how your breath caught in your throat, how you seemed to stop blinking, stop moving, stop existing.

"Are you scared?" the lioness asked, sights set on her prized fawn.

You shook your head and placed one foot in front of the other, eyes downcast as you took in the size of Emily's additional appendage. The shake of your jaw gave you away.

"I don't like being lied to," she snapped, eyes dimming to an even darker shade of brown.

She pulled you in by your waist and sat you on her lap, cock brushing over the thin material of your underwear. Instinctively, you wedged your bottom lip between your teeth to quiet yourself. But Emily wasn't having any of it. Her thumb came to your captive lip, where she helped release it with a soft flick.

The smooth texture of Emily's cock through your sodden panties was a needed relief. Its head purposefully pressing against your sensitive bundle of nerves evoked a flurry of shivers to run down your spine. And with nothing holding you back, you moaned in gratitude.

"Feels good, doesn't it?" Emily smirked, watching you rut against her.

"Yes," you uttered, breath caught in your throat.

Happy to watch, Emily relaxed her shoulders and leaned back, enjoying the show you were putting on for her. Only when she recognised the tell-tell signs of frustration wash over your features, from your creased brow to the bite of your lip between your teeth, did a sick smirk lick the edges of her lips. With a mischievous glint shining in her eyes, the older woman shifted her position, pointedly ignoring the sound it pulled from you.

"Something wrong?" she asked with a hitch of one eyebrow, adamant to appear oblivious.

You gave no reply, only held tight to her shoulders in defiance and continually ground down on her, trying so hard to pleasure yourself to no avail that your eyes began to sting with the emergence of tears.

With sweat threatening to spill down the side of your face, the tension between your legs starting to ache, and your release nowhere near in sight, you threw your head back with a sigh and whispered a quiet 'please' to the ceiling.

"Please what?" Came the dull reply, tone bored, unamused, unimpressed.

You tried to impale yourself, failing as strong hands held you down. It was driving you crazy—pleasure being so close yet so far.

With one hand removed from your hip, Emily gripped your jaw and turned your attention solely to her stern gaze, "Are you going to stop being a brat and tell me what you want?"

When no answer came, she let go, jerking your head back as if disgusted with the lack of compliance.

"Get up."

Ice, you were made of ice. Sat still, shocked, speechless and slightly mortified.

"Do I need to repeat myself?" Emily's voice was no longer flat; it was not roaring either. Instead, it was layered, resembling the same barbed tone a teacher might use with a disobedient student. It was enough of a motivator to get you to rise to your feet.

Following you closely, the older woman, too, rose to her full height, hands meticulously reaching behind your back to expertly relieve you of your bra. Never once did she look you in the eye.

With the same callous approach, you were turned and pressed against the desk, papers sticking to your heated chest. Emily was quick to loop her fingers through the hem of your underwear and slip them down your thighs, allowing gravity to do the rest.

The full-bodied presence behind you lessened, and you took it as the opportune moment to glance back.

The brunette had let her trousers drop to the floor, allowing you to see how her porcelain skin was directly contrasted by the black leather of her strap-on. Unlike yourself, she did not appear nervous or afraid. As she kicked the tailored pants aside and met your gaze, you realised how in control she was.

Her gaze moved down your body, hands running down your back, until finally, she pressed herself against you and lowered her body atop yours.

"I can feel how wet you are," she teased, running two fingers through the mess between your legs. "Are you always this wet?"

"Emily, please," you begged.

"I asked before, please what?" She raked five fingers down your side, moving them back up till they wound tightly in your hair and gripped your neck to an uncomfortable arch. Two fingers pushed inside you but did no more than that, remaining still as stone. "If you're going to be a baby and refuse to tell me what you want, you'll get nothing."

"Fuck me!" You no longer had the sound of mind to acknowledge shouting something vulgar could attract attention. Logic had evaded you, allowing you to play right into your boss's hands. "Please just fuck me."

Sliding her slick fingers out of you, she proudly stated, "That wasn't hard, was it?"

If the older woman wanted an answer, she did not allow for one. In one fluid motion, she rose from over you and snapped her hips forward, sheathing the entire length of her cock into your cunt. Your breath caught in your throat, resulting in a strained groan tumbling out of your open mouth. The pit of your stomach dropped, and try as you might have not to clench around the toy inside you, you did precisely that.

It was new, the foreign feeling of being filled so fully that one slight move would summon pleasure that sent shivers through your whole body. It wasn't unwelcome, especially when Emily started to move, and heat engulfed your entire body. Her pace was languid, allowing you to feel each slide of her cock along your slick walls, how each push of her hips ended in the tip hitting the spot within you to cause the furling in your stomach to expand tenfold. It was all you could do not to scream when the push and pull and Emily's hips moved with more purpose, jerking your body into the edge of her desk.

"I've barely started, and you're already dripping down your thighs." Her voice was laced with mirth, finger smearing your mess as if to prove an unnecessary point that had your cheeks burning up. "How long have you been thinking about this?" Emily finished her question with an arduous thrust. "How many times have you sunk your fingers into your pussy and thought of me?"

The questions continued, each hitting the nail right on the head. Your cheeks were scorched with the embarrassment that comes with having your desires known and exposed, but it did not take hold of your conscience as the event of falling in front of a large crowd might have. It was comparable to how a blushing maiden may feel when caught by a suitor in only their undergarments. It excited that small part of you that gave in to demoralisation and encouraged you enough to meet Emily halfway as she thrust into you.

As your pleasure mounted, the need for more grew. Your clit, swollen and needy, begged for relief, and you beckoned to its call, sliding one hand from above your head to the juncture between your legs. It was when the tips of your fingers brushed against your sensitive pearl and you gained the briefest taste of the euphoria that Emily removed her hand from your thigh and snatched your hand away, halting all movement.

You could have cried, having everything, then nothing, so quickly.

"Did I say you could do that?"

Abruptly pulling out, Emily stood tall and proud, staring down at you with curiosity and disappointment lining the brown of her eyes. She heard you whimper and acknowledged your sniffle.

"There's no need to cry," she tutted, flipping you onto your back and lifting you by your shoulders. "You're going to listen to me from now on."

You nodded, and she once again lined her cock to your opening, only now she waited, taunting you with possibilities.

"Beg," she instructed.

And you heeded.

"Please. I need you."

"You can do better." She sounded bored, and this struck a nerve within you, one that begged you to impress her, show her you could be a good little girl, and beg as though your life depended on it.

You took a heaving breath and looked into Emily's eyes, sporting your best puppy eyes. "I need you. I want you inside me. I want you to fuck me with your big cock, mommy. Make me scream out your name. I need it."

"There's a good pet," she cooed, mesmerising you with the bating of her lashes as she looked down to where your bodies were so close to touching.

It all happened in a blur. The next thing you knew, your nails were digging into muscled shoulders, legs wrapping around a slim waist as the brunette filled you, wasting no time in picking up a brutal tempo. You barely recognised the sound of your voice as high-pitched obscenities spilt past your lips. You felt your whole body light up, heard blood pulse in your ears, and saw in real-time just how easy it was to aid Emily in calling upon your impending orgasm.

Your vulgar mouth, luckily, seemed to amuse Emily enough for her to let you continue rutting your hips against her. The corners of her lips curled, and her smirk lasted only so long for you to see before she inched forward and kissed you with passion and hunger. It was easy, so easy, to melt into the brief moment of intimacy. The butterflies felt tangible, and the sparks crackled in your ears; it felt so fucking good you'd almost forgotten just where you were. Of course, bubbles eventually popped, and this one was demolished by rustling outside Emily's office.

What little movement Emily allowed, her hands holding you firmly against the desk by your waist, was not enough to wriggle free and glance behind to see what was happening. Instead, the possibility of being caught weighed heavier with each drawled-out second.

"Emily," You tried but were cut off by a tongue sliding into your mouth. "Emily, stop."

With a bite to your lip, the older woman backed off, confusion marking her features, "What is it?" she punctuated her question with a hard thrust.

"Someone's o-" another hard thrust. "Someone's outside."

Emily smiled, picking up her pace, forcing you to breathe so deep you felt your lungs expand.

"You'd better be quiet then."

Whatever protest you were about to give died in your throat when nails skirted up to your chest and dug painfully into your breast, and Emily pushed herself so deep within you that you felt her hitting your cervix. A strangled cry was briefly heard before you managed to clasp your hand over your lips and silence your own mewls. She was fucking you as if her life depended on getting a reaction out of you that would draw attention. Nevertheless, you held firm and stayed as quiet as your muffled sobs would allow you to be.

"Emily, please," you were pleading for release and for the brutal fucking stop because you knew there would be no chance you could keep a lid on your volume; there would also be no chance you would survive not cumming.

Taking note of this, the older woman took the route of giving you your release, dragging a thumb down over your clit and applying the right amount of pressure to have your tense legs turn into a shaky mess of tremors. She didn't stop there; with a brief slide, she ran your slick over your bundle of nerves and started to circle steadily.

"Fuck!" You screamed out, missing the way the ruffling outside suddenly stopped. "I'm cumming. I'm cumming."

"That's it," the brunette encouraged, her fingers coming up to crook and tangle through the mussed mess of your hair, nails slowly working against your scalp. "Let everyone hear what a slut you are, letting me fuck you over my desk."

She didn't stop, though, not when your clit felt raw and your pussy tender, not when you begged and not even when you reached out and tried to grab her wrist. Emily only yanked you down by your hair, relishing the thud the brutal move made. She fucked you harder till stationary fell to the floor from your thrashing arms, and by then, her lips were already wrapped around a nipple, sucking firm whilst you cried through a second orgasm.

When you finally felt empty, you didn't even try to open your eyes. You knew your vision would be blurred if not blacked out. Instead, you focussed on coming back down to earth, steading your breath and not thinking about how you strangely missed being filled by Emily despite being so fucking sore.

"Are you still alive?" a smug voice asked from above, and you pried your bleary eyes open to weakly smile.

"I think so," you whispered, peeling your sweat-slick back from the desk. That was when you remembered the unknown personnel outside and shot a look at the door.

"They're gone," Emily said, cupping your chin and turning you back to her. Again, you were greeted by that conniving smirk. "After your commentary, I think they understood we didn't want to be disturbed."

"But-"

"Uh-uh." she silenced you with a finger to your lips, the smell of yourself still narrowly fragrant. You took the digit into your mouth, patting yourself on the back as you watched Emily's eyes turn dark. "You want to make Mommy feel good now, don't you?" She knew the answer, but oh, how she loved to watch you sink to your knees and eagerly nod anyway. You helped unclasp the straps of her harness, then set to pealing the last barrier keeping you from her heat down her legs.

"My good little pet," she said, smiling down at you and happily watching you beam. Her hand cupped your jaw before moving to the back of your neck, where she pulled you to her core and began singing a melody of moans.

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#emily prentiss x reader #emily prentiss x female reader #emily prentiss x you #emily prentiss smut #emily prentiss #emily prentiss fanfiction #criminal minds #emily prentiss x y/n #lgbt #Emily Prentiss x fem!reader #criminal minds fanfiction #fanfic #cm

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mooishbeam · 7 days ago

Text

『♡』 Caught Under the Mistletoe

♡ featuring: nanami kento x reader

♡ synopsis: alone on christmas, you spend the night with your equally lonely coworkers. of course, your office crush nanami kento wants to party, too. he's a mystery, yet you can't help wanting to be around him. with a little help, can you beat the odds and finally confess?

♡ wc: 8.0k

♡ tags: fem! reader, jjk au, office au, misunderstood nanami, friends to lovers, corny gojo (as usual), praise, switch nanami, whiny whipped needy nanami, lots of overstim, manhand|ing, öral (f!receiving), mäting press, nanami cums quick, multiple órgasms, basically vanilla

notes: im almost a month late for my christmas fic i am sooo sorry! hope everyone had a happy holidays. did i finish this fic or did this fic finish me? who knows :P comments and reblogs are appreciated! ♡

“Hey, watch your step!”

Gojo barely catches your calf before you trip off the chair you’re dancing on. You fail to realize your heels are sinking into the fabric. Fortunate for him to be there—the tipsy girl isn’t doing herself any favors twirling on a spinning office chair, but liquid courage has its perks. You’re narrowly balancing a drink in your hand—plain whiskey—while Gojo attempts to keep his swishing in the short glass. His efforts must’ve looked like a game to you, because you’re giggling and patting his arm as if he were an exaggerating child.

The rest of the office is in an uproar, loose paper scattered about and documents gone unfinished. Some dancing, others chat over burgundy wine or dark liquor. There’s an awful Christmas song playing in the background, but most are too drunk to hear it. You can almost listen to jingle bells above your belligerent assistant manager addressing his qualms about the boss in a haughty manner; ivory shirt unbuttoned, gut spilling out of his too-tight pants as he raises his glass in protest for a pay raise. The two usual troublemakers you seldom speak to are having a concerning amount of fun with the copy machine and their bare rear.

You’re not without fun though, pencil skirt straining on your thighs while you jump and sing an unrelated song bouncing around in your head. If your boss were here, heaven only knows the trouble you’d be in. Luckily, he isn’t here. Every year, your boss took paid time off to spend time with family during the holidays.

The other losers with nothing to do spent their Christmas at the office.

Sometimes you spent so much time at the office you began to consider it home. And so you’d bring a little piece of home with you, holding a high spirit for the holidays. Red and green festivities kept the joy alive, regardless of the depressed groans and sighs you became accustomed to during shifts. You’re still young, still somewhat hopeful about your future career. You put your heart into decorating the department.

Well, you and Nanami, of course.

“Santa’s little helper” is what you called him, to which he adjusted his glasses and begrudgingly agreed. He agrees to most of your plans, unless they involve outrageous pranks or a possible HR violation.

When he first arrived to the building, he exuded such a quiet energy you sometimes didn’t notice him on the clock. When the lights dimmed for the day, and you strolled past his cubicle, a bright blue light casted long shadows. His silence was almost intimidating, and though most people made it a point to avoid contact with him, it felt unfair to you. You made it a point to get to know him, even if it were sometimes overwhelming or tedious—popping your head in during crunch time or offering him a snack. He eventually responded in kind. Not the kind that spoke out of obligation, but genuine respect. You haven’t learned much about him since you met him, and he won’t openly indulge, but you make attempts anyway.

You’ve been messing with him the entirety of December. More ‘elf-on-a-shelf’ like, leaving mysterious Christmas trinkets for him to find in his cubicle. A tiny Santa here, a gnome there, gag gifts hidden in his metal drawers. You still remember him opening his briefcase to find a small porcelain reindeer standing up on his folders. And let’s not forget when he sat down after a water break and instead of a whoopie cushion, a traditional Christmas song reverberated across the hallway.

You’ve both done well, spending too much time after hours putting a tree up, blossoming with multicolored ornaments and shapes in no particular theme. Garlands with waxy red berries hang from the fluorescent ceiling lights and removable winter decals are stuck on every wall, next to the inconvenient rainbow bulbs.

Nanami denied the addition of a mistletoe, to your utter dismay. He truly embodied the little helper role, tending to your every request with an accompanied sly comment or concern. Unfortunately, it didn’t subdue the increasing feelings you already have for him. Within your delusion, you’re even starting to believe he might be flirting with you—ridiculous, right?

If stone-cold Nanami were flirting with you, you’d probably die on the spot. There’s no chance though, and you’re fine with crushing from a distance. At least that’s what you’ll tell yourself to maintain a friendship.

He makes it hard, though—incredibly hard. It’s difficult right now, as he leans against a wall away from the crowd, teal button-up taut against his torso, wearing a Santa hat at your request. Nanami, who regularly keeps up with his appearance, looks somewhat disheveled from the alcohol.

You’ve finally learned something about him; he can’t handle his liquor.

He won’t show it, but while he maintains the same stoic expression, strands of hair hang over his somber eyes, and his glasses aren’t perfectly perched on his face. The buttons pull at the fabric, and he heaves heavy with his sturdy arms folded underneath the chest, bunching his spotted tie. The light makes it worse, catching on the veins peaking from his skin. You could trace every tendon corded around his forearms, thick hands swirling a shot glass. It’s smaller in comparison to his palm, and you watch his fingers trace the rim of the glass. They look delicate and manicured, but equally rough. How they’d study the curves of a body, snake around a lovers head as he pulled them close. Wrapping his fingers around-

“You’re drooling” Gojo blurts. You snap your head to him, and he laughs heartily before smacking your back. “Shhh-tt!” You wave a hand over his mouth, but the wide grin he’s sporting goes beyond your reach. He gets in close, not bothering to cover his mouth for the gossip.

“Go tell him.”

“Wha- hell no” you shake your head, stepping down from the chair nursing your dwindling drink. You refuse to hear the absurdity he’s proposing. “Why not? Perfect night, ain’t it?”

You throw back what little is left in the cup and set it on a random coworkers desk. “How so?”

“Christmas Eve. Lots can happen, y’know?” He presses his hand to the sides of your head and turns your attention back to Nanami.

“Lotsss.” You swat him—luckily Nanami was engrossed in the contents of his glass. “Fuck you” you whisper, semi joking. He laughs. “Cmon, me and the guy are cool. Let me wingman.”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Why would I ever let you wingman when you can’t even get a date yourself?” He clutches his chest, feigning pain, “Ouch!”

“I’m fine with us just being friends, okay?”

“Pfft, clearly not. I just caught you eye-fucking him.” You roll your eyes, shooing him off mid-conversation. Gojo may be right, but it couldn’t happen today. It wasn’t worth confessing, especially with his gift tucked away in your bag. Life would become too complicated too fast.

You’ve sobered up some from the harsh reality of your situation. Being sober sucks. However, you’ve neglected to check on Nanami since the party started, and now might be a great time. You walk in his direction, steering your eyes from Gojo’s smug expression.

Nanami catches you approaching and nods, sleeves busting against his bicep. His brown sugar eyes are half lidded, and a light glow dusts feverishly over his ears and neck. His chiseled bone structure appears gentle with a pinkish blush. You hold your breath, afraid you might divulge the thoughts searing your tongue with sin.

“How’s my little helper doing?” you ask, leaning against the wall beside him. Your bodies ghosts against each other, never fully touching, always in two separate worlds. You don’t expect his gaze to follow you, and you’re slightly surprised when you turn to him and he’s staring.

“Pretty good,” his voice permeates like fine bourbon, deep and intoxicating to your hazy ears. He speaks in his usual rigid manner despite the drink. You could listen to him talk forever—embarrassingly so, as you got written up for talking frequently in his cubicle. “All thanks to Santa.”

“I’m glad. Did he get you everything you wanted for Christmas?” you smile.

“Yea. She did.” She. You brush it off—a slip of the tongue. It’s hard to trust what a tipsy person says, anyway. You press your nails to the corners of your mouth and pull upwards.

“Then be happy!”

“I am” he responds. Blunt. You sigh dramatically.

“Hmph. But you never smile.” He watches you close, and your nerves cause you to fiddle with the paneled pattern on the glass. So much for wanting his attention.

“Would you like me to?” There’s no humor in his tone. Did you want him to smile? Of course. But you desire the genuine satisfaction of a pure, unfiltered smile. It means nothing if you have to force it out of him.

You turn your head from him with a pointed nose. “Nope. I want it to be genuine when you do.”

Facing him again, you accept the challenge, “I’ll get you to smile!”

There’s a subtle perk in his brow, and faint creases form at the corners of his drooping lids.

“Oh yeah?” he drawls, an octave lower. It spurs a feeling within you that crumples your resolve too fast. Breath catching in your throat, the air is suddenly stuffier than before. You grip the glass for dear life, attempting to compose yourself, but you can’t when he’s staring at you like you’re the only person in existence. You watch the way his eyes flick across your face; your eyes, then your nose, down to the curve of your lips, moving quicker as they travel down. You swallow thick, unable to avert your gaze, unable to stop the heavy rise and fall of your chest. You must be imagining it. Or maybe Gojo’s right, what’s the harm in-

“(Y/N)! Get over here and drink with us!” your assistant manager yells from another section.

It breaks you out of your trance, and you turn on your heels towards the sound, just enough to hide the blush pooling over your cheeks. “Comin’!”

•••

The night has simmered into occasional chatter, with most of your coworkers leaving to go barhopping or get a head start on their hangover. The stragglers—a few employees, you, Gojo, and Nanami—packing up to leave.

You’re throwing your coat over your shoulders, running to your cubicle to hopefully catch the last bus. Before you can grab your briefcase, a flicker of something shiny draws your eye. You pull your drawer open; a miniature snow globe with two fluffy penguins inside wearing festive hats and scarves, flippers stretched as they gather snow. You shake it up and watch the artificial flakes spin in the liquid. A smile unconsciously beams on your face, even more when you notice a yellow note tucked on the underside. You peel off the tape and unfold the post-it note.

“Your turn

-Nanami”

A bland note from a serious man. Even so, your heart feels full to the brink of bursting. You reread the note over and over. You wish you could’ve witnessed big, intimidating Nanami buying the minature from a toy store. Unintentional poker face pointing at tiny penguins. The image sends you into hysterics. Once you’ve had enough of gushing over the same two words, you tuck it in your wallet, a place you won’t forget, and gently put the gift in a safe compartment in your bag.

You can already hear Gojo from the elevator; he gets loud when he’s drunk, and unfortunately he’s a lightweight.

“Cmon, you’re taking too long!” he drones, holding the elevator.

“Okay, okay!” You shuffle inside. You’re a bit sad that Nanami left before you could say goodbye, but you still have the opportunity to give him his present on the next shift. Gojo leans on handrail, button up popped to his stomach.

“So, no one’s gonna make a move, huh?” He pity’s you in his smug, know-it-all attitude, “it’s so embarrassing watching you two.”

You have half the mind to refrain from reminding him about when he broke down midday in front of Geto’s house, begging him to take him back. He gets emotional about it. “It’s not as easy as just saying ‘hey, I’ve liked you since I’ve met you. Please don’t think I’m weird’.”

“Whatever. Guess this must be the life of people with no game. I feel sorry for you, y’know?” You scoff. If anyone has game, it isn’t Gojo.

“I don’t see you getting laid tonight.”

“Spoke too soon, sweetheart. I’m fucking a pretty girl after this. And you’re going home,” he peers under his glasses, “dickless.”

“You’re such a little-“ The elevator dings, opening into the company lobby. Some people are mingling by the sofa. Nanami’s at the front door, putting his beige trench coat on with his briefcase at his side.

You’re about to step out when Gojo intercepts you, walking ahead first.

“Na-Na-Mi!”

“Satoru.” you angry-whisper, trying to grab him. But he dodges your attack effortlessly and glances behind, mouthing ‘shut up’.

Nanami turns to Gojo, not exactly peeved but surely not happy to see him. They’re two opposites, and you could tell that Gojo quickly got on his nerves. “Hello.”

Gojo puts an arm around him, and you watch him visibly clam up. “So formal! The boss isn’t here, you can speak normally.”

“This is how I speak. Also, happy holidays.”

“Mhm, mhm. By the way, my friend (Y/N) here wants to-“

“Also wish you a happy holiday!” you chime in, speaking through your teeth. More like screaming, as you try to grab the attention of Gojo’s massive ego, to no avail.

“Riiight. Anyway, Nanami-“

“Shouldn’t we all start heading home?” you add, itching to run from the situation. You zip your coat, but Gojo won’t let you go that easily.

“We should! In fact, Nanami, (Y/N) doesn’t have anyone to walk her home. She lives far, and you know how dangerous it is for a woman to walk alone at night.”

You feel your eye twitch. You might actually kill him tonight.

“I’ve got a date tonight so I can’t do it. And I know you have nothing to do so-“ Nanami side-eyes him, then turns to you. For a second, his gaze seems to soften. You smile, mostly as a silent apology for Gojo’s rambling.

“Would you like me to walk with you?” he asks kindly.

“…If you don’t mind.”

“I don’t mind at all” he’s quick to retort.

“Great! No time to waste then!” Gojo proclaims. He brings his other arm around you, guiding both of you out the sliding doors and into the cold darkness dotted by frosted streetlamps. He steps back from the throuple and brings Nanami close, practically smushing you together by the arm.

“See ya!” he waves.

Nanami surveys the path, giving you ample opportunity to glare at Gojo. He never cared, dopey grin on his face as he mimics a sexual act with his hands. Then he walks in the other direction, leaving you to deal with the situation he created. The bus is long gone.

“Are you ready?” Nanami says, directing you to the inside of the sidewalk.

“Yea, let’s go.”

Snowfall cascades in blooming white sparkles amongst the icy sky. It drapes the parked cars in sheets of powder, and the tips of your shoes in frost. The solid breeze through your pantyhose creeps into your bare legs. Cold, but not uncomfortable. You luckily brought earmuffs, but Nanami isn’t as fortunate. Checkered scarf draped around his coat, you can’t tell if his ears are red because of the chill or tipsy after effects. He looks at you, unaware of the red patch on his nose.

“Sorry about Gojo” he says.

“Don’t worry, I’m used to it.”

“If you’re too cold, I can call you a taxi, instead.”

“No worries, I’m fine. Are you cold, Rudolph?” you snicker.

He unconsciously touches his nose with pinkish fingers. “Is my nose red?”

You stop in your tracks, “Come, I can fix it for you.”

Nanami obeys and kneels down to your height, eyes fixed to the concrete gradually collecting more snow. Flakes dance around you, towering amongst his hair and sinking in the woolen scarf. You gently bring your hands around the fabric and loop once around his neck. Your knuckles graze his winded jaw in the process—soft and cool, a bit of stubble you barely noticed. You tuck the fringed end pieces into the loop, close to his nose where hot breaths warm your hand. The back shimmies over his head in a balaclava style to hopefully shield him from the icy onslaught.

“Done. You should get warmer now.” He stands straight with a soft mien. Nanami always shared an easy stare. Yet the same easygoing stare now causes your face to burgeon unimaginable colors.

“Thank you.” The ghost of a smile sweeps his lips, so quick you can’t decide if it’s a fluke or not.

You continue treading through the snow, hands stuffed in coat pockets, legs stiffly shuffling together to preserve any heat. It’s quiet for some time—you’re afraid you’ll overstep. In-depth conversations weren’t often had, and you’re unsure of how to proceed without being pushy.

“Is work getting easier for you?”

“Yes. The workload is manageable and I’m making good progress with reports this month. I can get ahead of next month’s fiscal documentation.” Refined and straightforward. A natural born salaryman.

“You’re always talking about work” you glance at him, “I’m curious, what are your hobbies?”

When he doesn’t speak, you immediately go into damage control. “You don’t have to answer if it’s too personal.”

“I bake…” he mutters, a discovery that persists in the space. Nanami is the last person you’d expect to enjoy baking. You half expected him to reply with something mundane like filing taxes. It warms your heart to imagine him in an apron pressing cookie dough through gingerbread molds. He had that endearing quality about him.

“Really? What’s your favorite thing to make?”

“Double chocolate chip cookies.”

Your mouth gapes, “Wait…remember when I stole those cookies from you on your break? You made those?” You recall the confectionary treat and the way it melted in your mouth. You practically stalked his lunchbox for days hoping he’d bring more.

“Yes.”

“Oh my god, they were so good!” you chirp, “why didn’t you say you made them?”

“…I’m not too confident in my abilities yet.”

“They were amazing, you should be proud” you say, gazing up at him. You’re suddenly hyper aware of the lack of space between you two—arms brushing, shoulder leaning on him a bit. You’ll tell yourself it’s because of the cold. Just this once.

“If you enjoy them so much, I’ll bring some next time.”

“I’ll hold you to it.”

He gives you a faint nudge, calling your attention. He doesn’t seem bothered by the extra weight on his body. “And what do you like to do outside of work?”

“I read a lot. I write occasionally.”

“Any specific genre?”

“No, not really. I’ll read anything if it interests me.”

“I’d like to see what you write sometime. You have a creative spirit.”

You recognize it clear as day. The upturned curve of his dry lips, wrinkled eyes sweet and gentle in the dim amber lighting of a street lamp. Freckled by the reflection of steady snow, they appear sparkling as they bore into you.

“Thanks” is all you manage to choke out.

“I didn’t know you walk this way.”

“‘Cause you’re always doing overtime”, you hesitate before you add, “you should give yourself a break once in a while. Take care of your health more.”

“It’s nothing to worry about.” But I’m worried. It’s meant to be reassurance, but reassurance can only go so far when there’s noticeable eye bags. You step in front of him, spinning to make eye contact.

“Before we split, don’t go. I want to give you a present.”

“You don’t have to do that.”

“Of course I do! We’re friends, aren’t we?”

Nanami sighs a laugh. “Yes, we are.” He holds the sides of your earmuffs, pressing them tight to your head. Almost as if he’s ensuring you don’t get too cold. “I feel bad now. I haven’t gotten you anything.”

“That’s okay. Walking with me is enough.”

“Then could I walk you all the way home?”

The answer leaves your mouth before you can think, “Sure!”

You pause, deliberating on your urge to extend the invitation. Nanami regards you closely, watching the minute muscles in your lips twitch as your words come to fruition. You avert your eyes. If only he knew the effect it had on you.

“It’s p-pretty cold out here. Maybe if you want, you could come inside. Just to like, get warm, y’know?”

Something flashes in Nanami’s gaze. Brief like other times, yet this one feels darker—full of incomplete emotions you’re not ready to decipher yet. He’s generous with smiles tonight.

“If you’ll have me.”

Back at your apartment, you’re fishing for the key in your never-ending purse. You’re somewhat thankful for its disappearance since it gives you time to compose yourself. You’re hoping the state of your home is acceptable to his standard. You hook the key ring under your pinky and pull it out.

The door, embellished with a Christmas pinecone wreath, creaks open into the narrow entryway.

“Please come in.” He obliges, following after you as you drop your bag on the cluttered hall tree. You’re too distracted tucking your shoes properly in the rack, aligning them meticulously where it doesn’t count. Then you notice his footsteps came to a halt.

Unlucky for you, you forgot about the shiny object you’ve had dangling at your entryway since December arrived. It slips your mind sometimes when it’s so out of reach, inches above you. But for Nanami’s height, it draws his attention instantly.

A pine and cedar mistletoe sprouting red berries hangs from the ceiling by a red ribbon. Meant to be a joke for Shoko when you smother her in excessive love. Meant to complete the other holiday decorations littering your apartment.

What it wasn’t meant for, was the impulsive invitation to your crush. You stare at it, to which your eyes wander to Nanami, also staring at it. He’s lingering, then he looks at you, amused grin tugging at his lips.

“Uh, ignore that!” you stammer, a nervous tick in your tone.

“Were you expecting someone?” He’s already removing his hat and scarf.

“No, it’s just a silly joke between me and Shoko.” He watches you intently. You have to get used to the laidback version of Nanami, for the sake of avoiding a heart attack.

“I can take your coat!” you divert, but he dodges your grasp. “No need. You’ve had a long day.” He places it on one of the pegs.

“Well, make yourself comfortable. Do you want anything to drink?”

“I’m fine for now, thanks.”

You quickly scuffle to the kitchen. A tall glass of water to subdue your pounding heart. It’s the fault of your own body, psyching you up to believe that for a second, Nanami might be reciprocating your interest. In a way, conversing with him was easier when you had no expectations, no indication of “like” on his end. You aren’t even sure what like means from his perspective.

When you leave the kitchen, he’s sitting on the couch, legs spread with an arm resting on the back of it. He shifts in his seat, beige slacks taut on the fat of his thighs. You run to grab the cyan felt gift box from your bag and return to the living room.

Plopping down, it’s pretty cramped for the span of two people. It's not this crowded when Shoko comes over, but what did you expect when Nanami’s wingspan is twice the size of yours. With your back on the armrest, your knees are inches from his.

You hold out the box towards him. “Here you go, I hope you like it.”

He grabs it, feeling the material. Then he glances at your giddy face before opening it. It displays a polished gold chronograph watch with brown leather trim. The ivory velvet interior contrasts against the gold-toned dials, and he marvels it with shock.

“This was expensive” he says, examining the sub dials like fragile glass. It definitely was, and you did a few overtimes for it, but you won’t tell him that. “I hope you didn’t go through any trouble to get this.”

“You deserve it. You do a lot for everyone. And you’ve tolerated my nonsense all month.”

“Thank you isn’t enough for something like this. I’ll do what I can to repay you.”

You splay your palm. “Aht aht, don’t even think about repaying me.”

“I’m covering your lunch for the rest of the year” he states, matter-of-fact. You don't correct your touching knees.

“I won’t let you.” A chuckle escapes through his nose, features softening along the edges of his chiseled cheeks.

“Then how about those cookies?”

“…I’ll take that” you beam, “and, I want to be your test subject for any desserts you make in the future.”

“Whatever you want.” He slides the watch out of the display and gives it to you. “Would you like to put it on?”

You unlatch the gold buckle and align the brown straps on his wrist. Fine blonde hair covers his forearm and you couldn’t fit your hand around his wrist if you tried, but you manage with two. “It fits perfect.”

“How’d you figure out my wrist size?”

“Remember when I asked for your help with a friend’s surprise gift?”

“Ah, so that was a lie?” he grins.

“Just a little one.”

“Lying's bad for company morale.”

“Then it’s a good thing we’re not at work right now, huh?”

“Mhm.” Nanami reaches for his tie, drawing it loose with a finger. “Very good.”

You slide your shoes off, perching your foot on the other one before sliding that one off, as well. There’s a numbing pressure eating at your heels. You rub the balls of your ankles, persistent aches from the nonstop dancing you’ll sooner feel tomorrow.

“Does it hurt?”

“I should’ve taken my shoes off when I danced” you sigh.

He pats his thigh. “Let me help.”

You blink. Once. Twice. Does he want me to...? You don’t have the heart to question it. Not when it’s working in your favor.

“If...that’s okay.” You’re startled a bit when he immediately scoops your leg and hikes it over his thigh in a single motion. You stare at his solid, vein-woven hands encompassing the surface of your ankle.

“By the way, I don’t ‘tolerate’ you. I had fun when we were decorating.”

“Oh, really? It didn’t seem like it, haha.” You’re nervous laughing. Between the small confession and the affectionate thumb swaying back and forth, you’re flustered beyond belief.

“I look forward to our conversations. I’ve never thought of you as a bother.”

You’re sure he’s talking at this point. You know he is. Yet, the series of firm, delicate touches along your ankle dull your ears to everything besides the sound of rough pads moving rhythmically along nylon.

“…Do you give massages often?” Nanami doesn’t look at you, transfixed on catering to your calf. He’s passed your point of soreness, traversing up your leg for the massage. His kneading sends your skin aflame. It’s a fervent intensity that starts at your trembling voice and ends in an embarrassing mess between your thighs. You can’t bear to meet his face. A pinkish tint to his knuckles, brushing the back of your thighs and scaling higher.

“No. I’m practicing for you” he says, breathy and caught in a sharp wind. That’s when you notice his wrinkled collar, buttonholes straining from his tight breathing, and a burning glow poured over his ears and neck. His touches grow impatient, out of sync as if he’s trying to dig under the material to palm raw skin. “I’ll owe you more in the future.”

The watch reflects bright in the headlights of your Christmas tree. Like you’ve laid claim to him. He’s wearing you on his arm.

“You look great.” He pauses, finally turning to gaze at you. His glasses are off center, and his eyes—blooming and almost black—crave a certain unsatiable hunger, gnawing at his stomach with a feast just out of reach. He wouldn’t dare eat without permission.

“It looks great…on you.”

“You look great too” he whispers through a clenched jaw. Your breaths mingle in the space, thoughts going unsaid while somehow tainting the air with insistent need. You can't stand it. Can’t stand the way your thighs clench, searching to stave off desire.

Nanami parts his chapped lips, then closes them. He swallows nothing, Adam’s apple bobbing. Restless.

Every little action he performs elicits a sense of longing once buried in an unattainable sector of your heart.

“Hah…please don’t look at me like that” he says, tense and on the verge of begging.

“Like what?”

“Like you want me.” It leaves his mouth. Another confession, syrupy and coated in a deep desire, pulsing in the very core of you. He relieves a shaky breath, a ticked jaw struggling to relax.

“I do.”

Nanami’s restless demeanor shifts fast, and the air he’d been saving escapes him entirely. He smoothly tucks his grip under your knees and pulls you close. You settle on his lap, chest to chest, hovering over him. Noses ghosting, threatening to concede. Boiling heat coils in waves in your gut, and your heart skips across your ribcage. He’s equally flustered, if not more. You feel the heavy bulge prodding your tights, enough to earn a muffled sigh.

“You’re giving me false hope.”

“I want you.” He places a hand behind your neck, another trailing up your curves.

“Say it again” he mouths into you. They’re soft, languid with your own. You caress his face, enduring the way he tests your lips, nudging just to pull back.

“I want-”

Before you can finish your sentence, he crashes onto you. The well-mannered Nanami you knew stalks your tender lips with unbridled yearning. Chasing your mouth as if you’d vanish if he released. His lips turn slick from a succession of sloppy, uncoordinated kisses and you’re nearly suffocating. He doesn’t falter, though, choosing to devour your moans, your body, anything relating to the idea of you. He attempts to be gentle with the pace of a lover—but judging by the way he hurriedly hunts your mouth when you part for air, he’s missing the mark.

His hands snake over your waist to the fat of your ass. Fondling through your clothes, you feel the true nature of his grip as pillowy indents fill the space between his fingers. You’ve found purchase in his golden locks, carding through his hair to pull him impossibly close. You’re light-headed, drunk off the pressure of his kiss, his touch refusing to leave your body. The only thing separating your embrace are the tiny moans and whimpers that follow them. Your body betrays you, clenching around nothing like a virgin having her first kiss.

You’re both huffing once you break. Nanami licks his lips, savoring the taste, a crude groan beneath it.

“You give me mixed signals” you pant.

“Then allow me to make it clearer.” He throws his glasses to the side, skittering somewhere on the floor.

Nanami dives back into your mouth, gliding his whiskey-singed tongue against yours. Unrefined, messily exploring your mouth in a manner of wet smacks. The sound goes straight to your sticky underwear, and you’re shifting uncomfortably in his grasp, to which he holds you sturdy on his lap.

“Don’t go” he whimpers, drawing a fleeting breath. Blown-wide pupils bore into you, “I need you.” He licks a stripe up your tongue, allowing a trace of drool to slip amid you as he smothers you in French kisses. His mouth is hot, laden with a dizzying mix of alcohol and zeal, yet he cups your cheek lovingly. You’re slinking under his shirt, fumbling with the fasteners until they pop. Your one-minded focus ignores the buttons scurrying across the rug to enamor his ample pecs, flushed and plump in tandem with his husky build.

You’re alternating against each other’s tongues, neither one of you willing to depart. Gorged on the whimpers you evoke as you cradle his plump chest.

“Darling, please” he whines.

He guides your ass along his aching bulge, stealing a satisfied moan from the depths of your mouths. You’d mistake it for a thermal water bottle if it didn’t twitch. Back and forth on his slacks, the seam bumps your clit each time you roll your hips, smearing the dribbling mess from your pantyhose. He leaves you to oscillate on the tensing fabric, pursuing a semblance of relief, jolts of frisson enveloping you.

You withdraw from him to occupy the space on his neck. Splotching rough, spit-soaked kisses in blurs of red to match his tumid lips. He has a pretty, desperate voice, cracking when you suck on his pulse point. “Uhn, just like that—god.” He lets his head fall a little further, steering you in cycles. “Want more of you.”

When he pulls you up, an evident gloopy trail follows the score of your tights, and you shy away from the scene. He kneads your plush thighs as he spreads them apart, pecks dotted on your cheeks. “Don’t be shy. You’re gorgeous.”

Nanami supports your lower back while picking the buttons from your blouse. Or at least he’s trying to—his desperate limbs can’t latch on properly, and he inevitably snaps it down the middle. You discard it and he’s instantly on your breasts, licking and biting as he reaches for the bra clasp. You take it off yourself in fear of him breaking that too.

His kisses linger on the swell, even when he talks through it. “You don’t know how long”, he gradually raises your skirt to your waist, “I’ve been waiting to touch you like this.”

Nanami takes a nipple in his mouth, circling it recklessly. He indulges in the parts he’s desired for months, indecent with the tug of his teeth on your bud. A lewd stare, misted and still greedy for seconds. And it’s overwhelming; the constant pounding in your cunt, slobber coating your mound with him groping the other. It’s like he has multiple ravenous hands surrounding you, dancing over every crevice he can manage. Consuming you.

And when the soft moans begin to leave you again, it’s driving him crazy. He picks you up and flips you to lay on the couch. He doesn’t back off for long, only to shimmy his shirt off and rend the belt from its loops. You forget to remove your own clothes, too busy gawking at the remaining attire—a loose tie, sock suspenders, and black briefs drenched in milky precome. He drops to his knees in a heartbeat, sharing a warm smile. Nanami really is adorable, and you’re facing a whirlwind of emotions from the contrast of his brimming underwear, and the hold that manhandles your legs on either side of his shoulders.

His brows furrow, agitated with the nylon clinging to what he's lusting after. He grabs the front of them and easily tears it into elastic shreds. He doesn’t apologize this time. You aren’t bothered by it—if anything, it removes some of the pressure from your throbbing muscles. He promptly soothes it, wrapping around your inner thighs to feed his hands into the rips.

“You’re so soft” he moans against the surface just as he paws it. A sigh and he’s immersing his face in the groove of your pussy, smudging open-mouthed kisses over your sensitive clit. The unfiltered contact sends a thrum through your body, though clamping your legs proves futile.

“Ah, be patient” you joke, playing with his hair. He doesn’t spare a glance, webbed mess coating his lips, a thread from him to you.

“Can I eat you? Please?” It comes off more like a formality than an actual question as he nuzzles into you, breathing in with a guttural groan. He slides the soaked cotton halfway, full range to admire your dribbling slit. You can tell he strives to pamper it slow, but Nanami doesn't possess the strength to tease or be composed.

He treats your pussy as if it’s a separate entity from you, indulging and dragging his tongue in long, flat stripes. Nanami eats you for his own enjoyment, eager like a man starved. Slurping and swilling in loud, gratifying squelches. Low mmf’s vibrate against your arousal, but it’s hard to hear when you’re anchored to his face and he refuses to let go. A desperate tongue drinking your heady scent, oblivious to the honeyed fluids sluicing down his chin. He repeats small, calculated licks and continues to treat your squishy flesh like a pliable stress ball.

“Fuck, it’s s'good—so, so good.” You learned something new about Nanami today: he can curse.

Nanami embeds his fingerprints in your skin. Toying with the taste of you, stopping to swirl the relentless appendage around your swollen clit. The tip of his nose does part of the job for him. Your utmost efforts rely on the yank of his scalp, knot after knot collecting in a burning surge through your quivering abdomen. Cries croak in your throat, unable to emerge while he’s having a personal, filthy make-out session with your pussy. He fits perfect sandwiched between your juicy folds and he’ll make sure you know it.

“’M so close” you moan. That’s something he does hear, because he instantly holds tighter, all attention directed to the trembling bundle of nerves. Pleasure builds quick, and when your legs start to shake, he takes that as a sign to delve deeper, sucking aggressively through the shudder. Your body caves and you’re reduced to ecstasy, rutting against his mouth with no control. He gladly accepts in kind. “Nanami.” You’re calling for him, and he hums inside, satisfied as he laps at the spasms.

He comes up for well-deserved air, sweat sheen from his matted hair to the blonde tufts sitting below his bellybutton. Dopey, glossy grin on his face, he shirks out of the tights and places a kiss on the lips he missed so much. You taste yourself on his tongue. Then you feel a finger glide against your syrupy entrance.

“Nanami, wait.” He peppers kisses down your torso where he returns to his knees.

“I have to make sure you can take me, baby.” Another grazes, soaking in your essence with a few languid drags. One dips inside, quickly finding a home in your gooey walls. Tiny aftershocks mimic the slow drawl of a curling finger and you’re keening.

“Mm, too much.”

“I’m sorry.” He pumps a tolerable, sopping stretch. Adding a finger, “Be a good girl, okay?”

You’re clinging to him, sucking him in hopes for more. Your pussy greedily eats it up despite the overstimulated smolder, a melting thump thump that contracts around him. He’s twisting his fingers in a c-shape, looking for little hints that he’s in the right direction, and you’re giving him everything he needs.

His tender, loving stare settles on you. Lapping at your clit and pumping your g-spot while you succumb to the hazy pressure thawing your head. You’re melting in a frenzy of cries, simultaneously reeling and pleading for him. Nanami’s determined; imbibing the juices gushing from your vulva and tailing the frenetic buck of your hips.

“Uh, oh shit, right there” you moan, and he speeds up.

“Yeah? Right here?” You’re nodding nonsensically, whine peaking. Your back arches and he moves to your breast. “Let it out, darling. I got you. Come on my fingers baby.”

The second he latches onto the nub you’re rendered silent, mouth shaped in an ‘O’ as you come hard around his fingers. He slows, milking your orgasm for all it has, careless of your shaking legs and tears gathering on your lashes. He pecks the corner of your eye, and you’re too caught up in your own sobs to see him lick his lips.

“Such a good girl for me.” You’re showered in kisses and he rubs circles on your waist. You blink back the tears, meeting tongue and teeth in a carnal exchange. But you’re craving more, him and nothing else. You palm his erection and he groans. You can see the painful print of his entire cock through his briefs, angry tip peeking out ever-so-slightly.

“Take it off” you whisper. You watch his eyes flicker, a moment of hesitation—you won’t let him. “Stand up.”

Nanami obeys your command and quickly stands. You hook under his waistband and yank them off. His thick cock stands at attention, nearly smacking you across the face. It’s a bashful red to base, glazed fat head dribbling precome down his heavy balls. He looks like he’ll unravel at any second. You bring a digit to his balls and it twitches. Dragging it up the veiny shaft, gathering his salty mess to spread it over your held out tongue. He stifles a faint shudder.

“Baby, let me put the condom on.” At least you didn’t have to worry about bringing your own. You wrap your hand around his head, enough tension to be sure he doesn’t find comfort. You rub a thumb over it and his breaths yield shallow.

“Hm? Why?” you ask, batting your eyelashes as you deliver a small lick. He hitches.

“D-don’t.”

“You don’t wanna feel my mouth?” He bites his lip, probably thinking about your pretty face gagging with a mouthful of him. You know the real reason why he won’t, and it’s rather cute that he’d save his release.

“I-I do. God, I really do. But I-”

“But what...?” You swirl it once, and he can’t even handle that.

“C-condom” he whimpers, almost pleading. “Condom...what?”

“Condom please. Please.”

“Go get it.” He makes sheepish haste to his coat, returning with a gold wrapper. He’s about to rip it but you stop him.

“Give it to me.” You tear it open with your teeth and position it over the head. Rolling it over, pursuing it with tantalizing, soft kisses. You feel him pulsing against your lips until you’ve secured the condom at the base. He swallows dry and his stomach recoils on nothing. You enjoy his needier display.

“C’mere sweetheart” you tempt, luring his body to loom over you. He pushes your legs back and spreads you wide. “I’ll take it slow.”

His brows crumble, jaw wedged, angled at your pussy. It’s already soaking him and he hasn’t put it in yet. You do your best to make him ease up, a hand placed over his. But as it dips into you, Nanami’s chewing his lip, going haggard before it ever started. He stops completely, an effort to compose himself even when he’s growing stiff and melty at merely the tip.

“Just g-give me a second” he stammers, and you stay still while he slides the first inch into your creamy, chubby cunt. Stretching and clenching around him in a sappy sluice, he has to pause again, quivering in place. “Fuck-“

Nanami moves a few inches and his hearts beating out of his chest. Foggy, sensual weight sticks to the edges of his brain and coils in his leaden sack.

“I-I don’t know if…” A mouthwatering, snug fit, pulling him deeper. He’s grinding the rest in, but every time he gets a little further his throat bobs and he tenses. You’re molding to his length, encapsulating him in squelching fire, and he’s never felt anything like it in his life. Once he’s flush with you, he sighs, beating a fraction of the battle.

He starts at an agonizing pace. It’s not doing him any favors—now he has to suffer through every sloppy drag, walls committing his veins to memory in a tight, addictive grip. He caresses your face.

“I’m sorry. Bear w-with me” he whines, and you hold your hand over his. You’re not doing it intentionally, but watching him fall apart is truly a sight to behold—strands glued to his forehead, pussy-whipped fawn eyes lost in your warmth. You guide his fingers to your mouth and deliberately suck on them. Cruel of you, but it’s worth it for his wobbly whimpers, his delirious, thrumming cock. You know he won’t last.

“No- Haaah, I can’t yet.” His hips lurch, and he holds back yet again. You lock your ankles around his back, giving him no room to fight it. He’s buried deep. “It’s okay, Ken. You can come.”

Ken. Nanami loses it on the spot, coming instantly in a string of curses and delicate moans.

“Shit- oh my god. Baby- oh, haa-ah-“ he cries, but his other thoughts spill out of him in soupy babbles. His movements stutter and you still milk him dry. He’s throwing his head back shaking and you gently massage his waist until he comes down. It takes some time.

“You okay?” You feel him half-flaccid inside, and he’s panting on the shell of your ear.

“I’m sorry” You brush the hair from his face.

“Don’t be sorry about anything.” You kiss his forehead when suddenly your legs are being forced back.

“Wanna keep going” he says, a hint of drool at the corner of his mouth.

“Take a breather first.” He’s stuck in the irrational corners of his thoughts—every waking idea engulfed in the thought of you. He’s mumbling to himself, beginning to swing his discordant hips again. His voice cracks, body pushed past overexertion.

“Call me Ken” he whimpers, sticky squelches meeting your bodies in a tangled, milky net.

“Ken” you whisper, a flirtatious tint in your tone. He’s entranced by you. You’re touching foreheads, and he shamelessly mewls like a slut in your ear through every gooey plap.

“How long have you liked me?”

“Since we’ve m-met” he drones, finding a sopping rhythm. “I was scared. I thought- ah- you might not like me.”

“So, you’ve been waiting for this?”

“F-fuck, yeah. Ah- feels so good. Even better than my dreams” he prattles.

You cup his face. “You dream of me?”

“Uh-huh. Makin’ a mess of this pretty pussy. It’s so much better. So, so fucking good.”

“Hold on.” He leans on the couch, legs bent on either side of you as he positions you like a pretzel.

“Need it” he moans, slathered in your cuddly embrace. He’s hardening again, quick, and already skirting an addictive torture.

He pulls out and drives his sack flush. It knocks the wind out of you, and you claw his back as he fucks with reckless abandon.

Slurring a plethora of unhinged ‘more’s, he pistons inside, base to head, ass rippling against his savage thrusts. Every vast, violent stroke sends an intoxicating burn to your sweltering cervix. A while film bubbles at his sack where he’s pummeling, jaw slack and doe-eyed.

Your toes curl, hypersensitive nerves teased and flipped, ruined by his adamant cockhead kissing your g-spot. You’re stretched past your limits, fluttering helplessly around him. His corrupted smile curves against your neck bursting with need.

“Taking me so well, darling. I might come. C-can-hah-can I baby? Can I come for you?” He’s impossibly fast, funneling whines and nasty slaps. The rabid force bangs the couch against the wall and you’re at his mercy.

“Mhm, g-go ahead Ken.” Waves of white-hot pleasure fizzle and spark on your skin, and you’re putty with the weight of him bouncing you.

“Thank you, t-thank you-you’re so good t-to me.” He’s ragged, plummeting to the hilt. Your spasms sap him as he trembles, succumbing to your own orgasm. He grapples heavy, mean strokes, sticky laces bonding his tightening balls. Then he sobs, quaking until he comes.

He doesn’t pull out. You’re both quiet for a while. On a descent, simply delighting in the comfortable silence. You join in another smooch.

“(Y/N).”

“Hm?”

“Merry Christmas.” You glance at the time; way past midnight. He meets your gaze. After everything you did, you’re worried over one question.

“Can we get to know each other?”

He smiles, a kiss to your neck.

“I would love to.”

#jjk x reader #jjk #jujutsu kaisen #nanami x you #jujutsu kaisen nanami #jjk nanami #jujutsu nanami #nanami kento #nanami kento smut #nanami smut #nanami x reader #kento nanami #jjk smut #jujutsu kaisen smut #jujutsu kaisen au #this fic finished me tbh #i havent wrote smut in so long #srry if its scuffed lol

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scariusaquarius · 2 months ago

Text

coachable.

RE6! Leon Kennedy x Assistant! Fem! Reader

Summary: Leon Kennedy has been given an assistant that he didn't ask for at the DSO when he begins to fall behind on paperwork and reports. This assistant, however, doesn't seem too keen to be helping him with his mountains of paperwork. Leon reaches the final straw when she mouths off to him for the last time.

A/n: Nothing major, just some classic Leon Kennedy smut hehe. also, i kind of just let the words flow. I really like the agent x assistant dynamic, and I know the trope is overdone, but i will NEVER tire of 'tired old boss fucking bratty assistant'. ANYWAY here is a treat <3

Genre: Romance, Erotica Rated: Explicit Warning: Erotica, Porn w/Plot 18+, Angry/Hate Sex, Dirty Talk, Unprotected Sex, Slight Choking, Degradation, Oral Sex (male/female receiving), Use of Whore, Mean! Leon, Spit Play (leon spits in your mouth like once), CUM EATING, Power Play

Author: ScariusAquarius

Being a federal agent fighting against bioterrorism was a hard job; especially when it was a job he didn't even want in the first place.

When Leon escaped Raccoon City with Claire and Sherry, he envisioned his life becoming quiet. He'd move out of the city and into the country, away from people, and he could heal and focus on forgetting the horrors of that fateful night back in the 90s.

However, life and people had other plans, and Leon had never truly recovered nor healed properly from the traumas he had faced. When the incident at the White House, Tall Oaks, and Shang-Hai happened and he discovered that Sherry had also been forced to become an agent of the Department of Security Operations, Leon was fed up.

Was he going to continue to keep doing his job in hopes that this fight wasn't for nothing? Absolutely, but that didn't mean he was going to enjoy it. So, in tandem with his growing resentment, Leon's performance outside of missions began to dwindle.

Leon began to drink more heavily; his reports sitting unfinished on his desk as supervisors and higher-ups seethed, reprimanded, and threatened, because of the unfinished works. Leon had begun shutting his phone off after he left the DSO at the end of the day.

Even Hunnigan was starting to get onto him about his work and his performance, giving him small lectures that had him rolling his eyes and sighing and agreeing half-heartedly before he would walk off and toss the files on his desk to be forgotten for another day.

Finally, the DSO had enough of his slack and had hired an assistant for him to help him with his paperwork, and Leon was not having any of it. Like a personal vendetta, Leon made sure that he let the DSO know that he didn't appreciate being treated like a child who couldn't do his homework by making the assistant's lives a living hell.

Because of his actions, most of the assistants didn't last long. The longest assistant he had at one time was for about two months before they finally broke and left the job.

And then came you.

Leon just couldn't wrap his head around you; couldn't figure out what it was that made you tick and what made you stay for as long as you had. You were a no-nonsense woman like Hunnigan but with a much larger stick up your ass. You were efficient and aggressive, making sure that Leon knew that you weren't going to take his bullshit and get his reports done.

For the most part, Leon had adamantly refused; allowing the papers to stack for a while before you'd take some, complete them, and then come banging on his office door as more files were given to him.

You weren't so hard on him when he would be put onto missions; understanding that the job itself was more important than the papers, but you weren't about to get in trouble nor allow him any lenience since your job was heavily dependent on him.

Leon sat back in his office chair, his blue eyes staring you down from outside of his office as a pen was shaken back and forth between his fingers.

The paperwork in front of him had been long-forgotten; the words beginning to blur together and give him a headache (though it could have also been the whiskey he'd been sipping from that familiar black flask he'd gotten from the Eastern Slav Republic).

Instead, to pass the time, Leon had taken to watching you. He watched the way you stayed hyperfocus, barely giving any attention to anybody who passed by and tried to talk to you.

You were a hard worker; a meticulous being who took pride in her work, and though your bossiness could get under Leon's skin, Leon respected that you took your job seriously unlike a lot of the other office workers and agents within the DSO.

He just couldn't get past your disrespectful mouth.

"Mr. Kennedy, I'm not going to ask you again. Get the reports done, or I'm going to write a complaint to the director. Again."

You were suddenly standing in front of him, the man jolting slightly when you slapped a folder down in front of him. His blue eyes squinted at you slightly as you placed a hand on your hip, giving him a stern glare.

"Aw, you're gonna tell on me? That hurts my feelings, sweetheart."

His tone was sassy, and mocking, and it made the fire in your eyes blaze. Your nostrils flared, and Leon couldn't help but be amused by the effect his words had on you.

"Listen, I was nice enough to do most of it for you. All you have to do is fill in the blank like the child you are, and then the director won't be on either of our asses anymore. I'm not fucking around, agent."

Before he could retort, you spun around on your heel and marched out, swinging his door shut with a loud slam and causing the blinds to fly and crash against the door. A blade from the blinds broke, and Leon's eyebrow twitched.

Yes, you took your job seriously to the point it annoyed Leon, and he had half a mind to give you a piece of it; his muscles taut and trembling with anger. Who the hell did you think you were talking to him like that?

Gritting his teeth, Leon made sure you were watching him before he grabbed the file and promptly swung it into the trash before kicking his feet up on his desk to take a sip of his whiskey.

He took much pleasure in the way your body shot up from your desk and promptly walked to the break room, hips swinging the whole time.

Once the weekend had passed and Leon had come in, he could feel his body immediately dreading the workday when he noticed you were already at his desk and waiting for him.

Leon threw his bag down onto a chair opposite the desk, collapsing into his chair and sipping the coffee you had placed on his desk with a note that said 'fuck you:)' on it discreetly.

"Nice note, but you're not my type. What the hell do you want at 5am in the morning?"

You rolled your eyes at him before crossing your arms, stating.

"I just spent almost all of last night emailing our higher-ups and explaining to them that the reason their reports are late is because you're not being compliant and doing them, and you know who got yelled at?"

Leon stayed quiet, ignoring your presence as he logged onto his laptop, and he had to swing his hands back when you slammed his laptop shut, your eyes wide and lips curled back into a snarl.

"Leon, I'm not fucking around anymore!"

"Who the hell do you think you are, huh?"

Leon shot up from his chair, getting into your face as anger slipped into his hungover veins, his head beginning to hurt from the skyrocket of blood pressure.

"I'm your goddamn assistant! Your assistant, Leon, not the person doing your whole job for you!"

Leon didn't know what had happened. One minute, he was opening his mouth to yell at you, and the next second, he had your face in between his hands and was kissing you like his whole life depended on it.

You seemed to be shocked, unsure of what to do, and Leon couldn't help but growl when your tongue swiveled against his as he dominated your mouth, gripping your neck tightly within his grasp.

"You talk too goddamn much."

He hissed into your mouth before kissing you again, and your hands were yanking on his hair; the pain sending rivers of tingles down his spine as his cock jumped to life within his slacks.

He was just pent-up, his mind told him, this was just about relief and getting you off of his case. This was purely a dance of power and raw lust fueled by the need to be better, to be in control, to be right.

And however could he resist when you were wearing his cologne?

His nose was buried in your neck, smelling your sweet scent and biting down hard upon your skin, his hands all over your body and ripping and tearing at buttons and seams that were already fragile and frayed. Your nails were digging into his scalp, pulling and tearing and cutting until blood stained the tips of your fingers.

Leon pulled you desperately over his desk and into his lap, your skirt ripping at the sides as your legs wrapped around his waist, and his hands yanked your shirt out from beneath the waistband, his rough hands trailing up the soft skin of your spine.

"Why can't you just leave me the fuck alone, you brat."

"Shut the fuck up, Kennedy."

Your lips were on his, and Leon's hand swung down onto your ass as hard as he could, your body jolting and a shocked cry being swallowed down his throat before he gripped your ass hard through the ruined skirt.

"You don't tell me what to do."

His voice was rough, hoarse, and there was a distant thought of needing a drink to make his voice clear. However, that thought was dissipated when your clothed core rubbed against the bulge desperately pulsing within his pants; his body and mind becoming hooked on you.

He hated you. Leon hated you so much, he couldn't stand it. He couldn't stand being here with you like this, but his legs and arms and hands and mouth; gods, they wouldn't stop moving all over you. Leon couldn't stop devouring your skin and cries and biting and teething and gods, he was turning into a monster himself.

Leon picked you up to smack you down onto his desk, your legs spread, and his coffee went flying, spilling all over his desk and running down the sides into the carpet below.

"Jesus, Kennedy, can't even keep your space clean as usual."

You hissed out, and Leon snarled at you, the grip of his hands bruising and unforgiving as teeth and tongues clashed.

"Since you like to use that mouth so much, why don't you use it for something actually useful?"

There was a part of Leon that felt bad through the haze of his anger and lust as he forced you off the desk and onto your knees, but it quickly disappeared when he got a good look at you.

You were pretty, too pretty, while on your knees.

Eyelashes slightly wet from the tears that had gathered in your eyes from the harsh bite he had imprinted into your shoulder, breaths heavy from how much he was kissing you, and your lips were starting to become swollen.

"Open your fucking mouth."

Your lips formed a thin line as you kept them closed, and Leon sighed before grabbing your face and pressing down on your cheeks, hitting pressure points within the jaw to force your mouth open, and Leon hummed.

"You're so much more sufferable when you're on your knees."

Your eyes were dilated; watching his every move with a sneer though you never tried to pull back. In fact, this whole time, you never once pulled away from him.

Did you want him like that? Have you thought about him enough to the point that you, too, craved him? Did you want to put him in his place like he was doing to you? Leon smirked, his mouth filling with drool and saliva, and Leon leaned down and spat right into your mouth.

"Dirty whore. Anybody could walk in and see you, you know. Someone could walk right through that door and see you on your knees. Just what would they say?"

Your throat was undulating as you swallowed his saliva, and you mumbled back; the words jumbled and almost unintelligible with the way he was still holding your mouth open.

"Fuck you."

"You know what, I just might. Get my cock out."

You made a face at him, and he tugged unceremoniously on your face, making you wince slightly when he pressed his bulge against your face.

"You want this or not?"

You pushed away from him, Leon slacking a bit, and you were glaring at him the whole time you unbuckled his belt, unbuttoned his slacks, and pushed his briefs down to reveal his throbbing and engorged cock.

Precum was pearling at the tip already, a few veins that wrapped around the shaft pulsing slightly, and the head was a deep red from how hard Leon was. His balls were heavy and full, ready to be emptied into any of your holes, and you had to admit: even his cock was pretty.

Slipping your tongue out, you teasingly swiped at the tip, the salt taste of his precum making your nostrils flare, and Leon's eyes shut just the slightest. Then, you were slipping him into your mouth, and Leon's head fell back; eyes rolling.

How long had it been since he'd been intimate with someone? God, he was rusty. If just your mouth was enough to make his whole body freeze up, how was your pussy going to make him act? Leon needed to get a grip.

But you were sucking him so well, swallowing him down as much as you could as if you were trying to prove something, and Leon's hips stuttered. Your tongue was pressing against his shaft; wiggling and rolling, and Leon couldn't help but to moan languidly.

"Jesus Christ, princess. You must get around, huh?"

You looked offended, sliding off of his cock to berate and scold him, but Leon fucked his cock into your mouth, your eyes widening.

"Nu-uh. I don't want a hear a fucking word come out of your noisy mouth."

He was using you as a fleshlight, fucking his cock into your throat and grunting each time his balls slapped against your chin, and he was certain that his computer chair was going to break from how squeaky it was becoming.

He can just make you order a new one later...or have you use it so you could remember the way he shoved his cock down your throat. The thought made Leon's cock jump, and he was gonna cum if he wasn't careful. Slipping out of your mouth, you coughed slightly, inhaling and gulping deep breaths of air, and Leon pulled you up by your hair and bent you over the desk.

Ripping the remnants of your skirt a part, your panties and pantyhose were on display, a cute little thong with a pink bow in the back greeting him.

"Aw, you like bows, huh? Who would have thought? And look, you're so soaked for me. You like being put in your place, don't ya, sweetheart?"

"For a dog, all you do is bark."

Leon's eyes dilated, a chuckle coming from deep within him as he ripped your pantyhose open and slid your thong to the side.

"Then I'll show you just how hard this dog can bite."

Hanging heavy between his legs, his cock pulsed, ready to spear you open, and Leon guided himself between your wet lips, biting his lip. You were staring at him from over your shoulder, waiting to see what he would do, and Leon leaned forward and grabbed the back of your neck, hissing into your ear.

"Look at me. I want to see your face as I split your pussy open."

Leon hissed slightly through his teeth when he slipped his cock inside of you, and holy fuck, you were heavenly. Your eyes widened, mouth falling agape, and your fingers were clutching onto the edge of his desk as hard as they could.

You were so warm and tight, Leon wasn't sure if it was just because it'd been a while or if you were just made for him, but he was addicted. You were so goddamn wet, he could feel your slick against his pelvis, and Leon couldn't help but to start pounding.

You were biting your lip, trying to keep the moans from spilling out, and Leon couldn't help but to moan and rest his forehead against your shoulder. Quickly, that mean demeanor began to leave him with every thrust into your pussy; desperation for release clinging to him.

He needed this. He needed this relief; to vent out his frustrations in a way that left Leon feeling satisfied. Did he mean to do it this way? Probably not, and definitely not with you, but he had made his bed and he would lie in it.

Leon's hips were pounding into you as hard as they could, your whimpers and whines like music to his ears, and Leon was holding onto you tightly, wrapping his arms around you tightly and grunting.

"Fuck, fuck, you're so goddamn hot....feel so goddamn good."

You were whispering his name, afraid to be heard or seen, and Leon hissed into your ear.

"Say it louder. I want them to hear. I want everyone in the DSO to know that you're my cock-hungry little assistant who just can't help herself."

You squeezed your eyes shut, reaching back to grip at his hip, and you whined out.

"Leon! You're too deep. It...it hurts!"

Leon almost didn't listen to you, the smug feeling in his head clouding his judgement for a moment until he relented. Leon adjusted his position, asking you in a moment of sweetness that had your mind rolling.

"Fuck...fuck...are you alright?"

The kindness and worry that was in his voice made you confused for a moment; almost wondering if it was still Leon that was inside of you, and you nodded, panting as you took a breather.

"Yeah...shit...you're just...too damn big. No wonder you're such a dick."

Leon snorted, kissing your cheek and whispering into your ear.

"Don't worry, you'll get used to it."

Leon pulled back, hands on your hips, and he began to pound into you again. You gasped from the sensation, forehead on the wood of his desk, and Leon groaned.

"Goddamn, princess, you feel so damn good wrapped around me. Gonna fill you up...or maybe I'll cum on your tits...maybe your ass?"

Leon couldn't make up his mind. You couldn't respond, too enthralled by the feeling of his cock stretching you, and Leon moaned, his brows furrowing up. His cock was throbbing; a knot within his stomach forming, and he was aware that he was going to cum soon.

"Tell me where you want it, sweetheart."

You whined slightly before whispering to him.

"I don't fucking care."

He spanked your ass, making you yelp.

"I asked you a question. Answer me properly."

You bit your lip, and he slapped your other ass cheek, making you hiss and exclaim.

"Fuck, in me!"

"Where, baby girl, be specific."

You whined in frustration, exclaiming loudly.

"Cum in my pussy, goddammit!"

Leon moaned loudly, fucking into you faster and rougher until his thrusts became irregular, and he came deep inside of you, filling you up with his cum. Leon was panting, sweat rolling down his temple and neck, and you were in worse shape than he was.

Poor you, your whole outfit was completely ruined. Your makeup, your demeanor, you were completely wrecked and it was all because of him.

Leon pulled out, and he manhandled you to your back, making your eyes widen.

"What are you doing?"

"Shush."

Leon sat down on his chair, and he leaned down to comfortable start eating you out. Your eyes widened, and Leon moaned at the taste of your fucked-out pussy; his cum mixing with your taste and making his cock jump a bit in his hand.

Your hand was twisting within his hair, pulling, and Leon's tongue flattened against your clit. He suckled on you, suckling his cum out a bit, and you squirmed a bit beneath him.

"Leon..."

Leon opened his eyes to look up at you, and you were watching him with a soft yet embarrassed look on your face. Your bottom lip was bitten between your teeth, your chest heaving with every breath, and Leon moaned softly as he began to jerk his half-hard cock.

You were so goddamn sexy.

Leon closed his eyes again, shoving his tongue as deep into you as he could, moving his freehand up to thumb at your clit. You were moaning softly, head falling back, and Leon suckled on you again, suckling your clit into his mouth and flicking his tongue.

"God, you're so good with your mouth. You must get around, huh?"

Sassy jackass, Leon had to think. Leon groaned again, that familiar knot growing, and he could tell that you were getting close as well by the way your legs shook and tightened around his head. You laid back all the way onto his desk, shoving his face deeper and closer to your cunt, and Leon moaned gently.

He gulped noisily, swallowing his saliva and cum and your juices, and Leon looked at you as you moaned loudly, back arching slightly, and his eyes widened slightly when your legs closed around his head tightly, your hips jerking and bucking into his face as you bit your hand to keep your noises from getting too loud.

Leon drank your juices greedily, moaning as he came into his hand, catching as much of his cum as he could, and the two of you panted again. Leon leaned back, teasingly wiping his cum all over your pussy before he looked up at you as you spoke.

"So, you gonna do those reports now?"

Leon didn't know why, but for some reason, he couldn't help but to laugh at your words. Was it the absurdity? The randomness of your question? God only knew. Leon was only aware that you were giggling too, sitting up with a mischievous grin. Leon shrugged, a smirk on his wet lips.

"You got yourself a deal."

"What do you mean?"

Leon licked his fingers, your eyes watching with awe as he smirked at you.

"Every report you want me to do, I get to fuck that pretty pussy of yours."

You swallowed slightly, humming as you watched him lick his own cum off of his fingers.

"Every ten reports."

"Five."

You sighed and relented.

"Fine."

Leon smirked before he pulled his briefs and slacks up, buckling his belt and taking in your ripped clothing.

"I think I got a change of clothes in the locker-room at the training facility. Why don't you just sit all pretty for me and wait for me to get back? I'll make sure to lock the door."

You just made a face at him, and Leon gave you a look.

"You want the clothes or not?"

"Yeah, yeah, just...whatever."

You were shy, almost ashamed, but Leon didn't comment on it. The two of you could talk about it more when he got back and sat down and worked on the reports with you. With a new spring to his step, Leon locked the door to his office and watched as DSO agents and office workers alike began to file in. It was gonna be so fun to watch you try to explain why you were wearing his clothes if someone asked.

He'd make sure to tell Hunnigan to ask just so he could watch your face.

God, he loved his job.

END

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#leon kennedy x reader #leon s kennedy x reader #leon s. kennedy x reader #leon scott kennedy x reader #leon s kennedy #leon kennedy #leon s. kennedy #leon scott kennedy #resident evil

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btsvt-bar · 6 months ago

Text

crazy over you

pairing ꩜ vampire dom!seungcheol x bunny hybrid shy sub!female reader x vampire dom!jeonghan

synopsis ꩜ one night, you decide to ignore your masters’ rules and sneak out to see your friends. however, the results of being caught aren’t exactly nice.

content/genre ꩜ yandere, hybrid oc, threesome, afab!reader, smut (18+ mdni)

author's note ꩜ not proofread.

sorry if something is a bit weird! it’s my first time writing an au like this so it took me a while to get used to the characters and i also read a bit of other people’s works to try to create my own universe 🥺

comments are appreciated! lmk what you think ♡

warnings under the cut!

warnings ꩜ smut, threesome, hybrid, vampirism, oral (f. receiving), masturbation (f. receiving), dacryphilia, overstimulation, edging, pet names (hers: princess, sweetheart, baby, little bunny | his: master - seungcheol, sir - jeonghan), ears sensivity, punishment sex, yandere seungcheol and jeonghan, biting. lmk if i forgot something important.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.・。.・゜✭・

It was a cold November night when you first met Seungcheol and Jeonghan. You were walking home from work, all by yourself. For a few weeks, you had been having a feeling you're being followed, your bunny senses alerting you danger was near. But, every time you looked back, the streets were empty.

Initially, you thought you were being paranoid. Except you weren’t. That night, when you were hours away from your heat striking, the vampires presented themselves and offered to help you. And you, with a fuzzy mind clouded by lust, accepted their help.

They had the energy to bang you hard for as long as you needed. The next two days were dedicated to satiating all of your carnal desires. The vampire duo fucked you into unconsciousness, you slept for a few hours and woke up to do it all over again. In the few moments you weren't sleeping or getting railed, they fed and showered you. When you came back to your senses, you thought it was cute of them, and saw their actions as caring.

You started to learn more about them. Seungcheol's the oldest one, the master. He turned Jeonghan a long time ago, at his request, and they've been friends ever since. They got along really well, one being almost an extension of the other.

They were nice to you, showered you with gifts and attention. That's how they caught you in their web. You were so blinded by the things that shine, you didn't see the warning signs until it was too late. It was when you first disobeyed them that you saw them for what they are: dangerous predators.

To your shock, you found out they had been stalking you for a long time, and how deeply obsessed they were. You found a box full of objects you deemed as lost, from hair clips, to pajamas, unfinished books and even used underwear. It scared you, but it also mesmerized you in the same proportion.

Jeonghan caught you going through their—well, your—stuff and things got ugly. Him and Seungcheol punished you that night, overworking your body like never before, but not before scaring the living shit out of you. The following day, after you woke up, they acted like it never happened, except from one snarky remark from Seungcheol: "If you ever disobey us again, we won't be so forgiving".

You did your best to be a good girl, partially because you liked them and the perks of them taking care of you, partially because you were scared of what they could do. As time passed, they became increasingly more possessive. Seungcheol more than Jeonghan, and you assumed it has something to do with their creator-creature dynamic.

Seungcheol acted like he was more entitled to you. Like you were his first, and Jeonghan's second. He bossed both of you around any chance he got. The youngest vampire didn't seem to mind, unless it had to do with you. You swear you've seen him rolling his eyes when the other made some possessive remark.

Even with all the issues, you became attached. On the days they were in an exceptionally good mood, you were allowed to call them Cheol and Hannie, like they referred to the other. You tried your best to earn the right, aiming to please them as much as you could.

Now, you've been living with them for over a year. You're used to their house rules, to their moody humor.

This morning, you opened your eyes to Seungcheol waking you up for college. He allowed you to keep attending, and one of them always followed you around, hidden in the shadows. As soon as your brain started functioning again, you remembered you wanted to ask him something.

You have this friend, Minghao, who's a bunny hybrid like you. You don't have many bunny hybrid friends, your species being a rare one. Obviously, you want to be close to him. But Cheol and Hannie don't like him, and told you to stay away.

You decided to ask one more time if you could go to Minghao's birthday party. As soon as the words came out of your mouth, Seungcheol broke a mug with his bare hands.

"I told you, you can't. Don't push me, princess" he barked as he shot you a glacial look. His dark red eyes glistened with anger, so you apologized and left for college at once.

Jeonghan's the one following you around, but he usually keeps his distance. You know he's there somewhere, but you also feel like he gives you a little bit more privacy than Seungcheol does.

You try your best not to pout sadly when your friends start talking about their plans for the night.

"Why the sad face, Y/N?" Jun, a cat hybrid, asks when he notices you went quiet.

"It's sad I'm not able to go."

"Why don't you sneak out?" Minnie suggests. "We can pick you up and drop you off after."

"They'll be in the house, it's impossible." You explain, kind of wishing that Cheol and Hannie had some vampire meeting or whatever to attend to.

"It's ok, we can have lunch to celebrate tomorrow." Minghao reassures you with a kind smile and you try your best to return the gesture, but you're sure you just made a weird face.

You spot Jeonghan waiting by a tree, so you say your goodbyes and go home.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.・。.・゜✭・

It seemed some higher being decided to make your wish come true. A few hours later, Seungcheol told you him and Jeonghan had to go out. He didn't give a reason, and you didn't ask.

You decided to give voice to your insanity and that's the reason why you sneaked out when the clock hit 7pm. You know Seungcheol said no to your request, but you decided to ignore him and go to Minghao's birthday party anyway.

You were excited to see Minghao. He's the first bunny hybrid you're able to be friends with, and you wanted to be close to him all the time.

So, to make sure you wouldn't get caught by your vampire owners, you decided to be back by 10pm. Whenever they went out, they'd stay out until dawn. If they never caught you, you'd be fine.

Obviously, that's not what happens.

You close the window shut with a quiet thud, thinking you succeeded in your scapade. But then, much to your horror, your bedlight flickers on.

Seungcheol sports a calm expression. Which, by experience, is much worse than him looking angry. A hundred times worse. Jeonghan is nowhere to be seen, and that's also bad news.

"Had fun?" His voice comes out in a controlled tone. He stands up from the corner chair he was sitting on, and you unconsciously take a step back, hitting the closed window. "Did he enjoy seeing you?"

You stay silent, afraid of saying the wrong thing.

"What's his name again?" Seungcheol muses, his head pending to the side as he analyses your outfit. You put on a cute pink dress, one that highlighted your boobs. Also, you curled your hair a bit and it looked really angelic framing your face and black bunny ears.

"I think it's Minghao." You're startled by Jeonghan's voice. He entered the room so silently, you didn't even notice him leaning against the doorframe. "He smells horrid, if you ask me".

You see Seungcheol's nose flaring a bit, his vampire sense scenting the funky smell on you from the distance. He wrinkled his nose, disgusted by it. "Did you let him touch you, princess?"

You shake your head. Minghao did try to kiss you when you bid him goodbye, but you dodged him. This voice inside your head—one you were sure wasn't actually yours—reprimanded you by saying your master would be pissed off.

"Bunny got your tongue?" Jeonghan's venous voice reaches you. "Answer us when we ask you something".

"I didn't". You answer while looking down, too scared to face them. "I just gave him a birthday hug, nothing more. I swear." Your whole body trembles so much, it's amazing how your quiet voice didn't come out shaky as well.

Seungcheol approaches you. You see his toes in front of you, and keep still, waiting for his next move. Both vampires can clearly scent your fear and Jeonghan—who's usually the cruelest one when annoyed—let's out an amused laugh.

"It's her clothes that reek" the older vampire says while looking at his friend.

"Make her take them off, then." Jeonghan suggests. "She looks better naked, anyways".

Seungcheol rips the dress off of your body and you let out a surprised squeal. The vampire discards the destroyed clothing to the side. You're trembling harder, so he pets your bunny ears to calm you down.

"Or you could do that." Jeonghan comments and licks his lips at the sight of your exposed breasts. "I think you should punish her".

Mentally, you curse Jeonghan. Him and his damned sharp tongue. You would never dare to say it out loud, but sometimes you really hated the youngest vampire in the room. Being the oldest of them, Cheol was always the one to call the shots. Although, Jeonghan usually made sure to bring his input to every situation.

"I think so too. After all, she did go against my orders, didn't she?"

You muster courage to shoot a dirty look at Jeonghan. His wicked smile gets bigger, finding your reaction amusing.

"You know what's coming, don't you princess?" Cheol pulls the waistband of your panties and let it snap back on your skin. You let out a whine that makes both vampires laugh quietly.

"I know, master." You easily fall into your submission role, feeling his power irradiating towards you. Seungcheol hums in a satisfied way.

"Get in position, sweetheart." He commands and you scramble around to lay down on your back on your shared bed. You slide your panties off, stripping completely. You spread your legs a bit, inviting Seungcheol over.

"Did you get it?" The older vampire glances at his friend. Jeonghan nods and reveals the black vibrator he’d went to fetch before your arrival.

Your pussy tingles at the sight of it, your body remembering the way the rubber toy made you feel. Some slick comes out of your cunt, and you feel uncomfortable being so exposed. You hadn’t noticed, being too scared to think of anything else, but the whole situation also got you really wet for the vampires in front of you.

Meanwhile, Cheol runs his fingers on your wet folds, and starts to finger you slowly. Wet noises fill the room, and you whimper quietly at the stimulation. He neglects your clit, making you grow frustrated. When he feels he’s stretched you out enough, he turns the vibrator on.

"You know the drill. If you cum, things will get ugly." He states as he slides the toy into you. The buzzing feels good, and you know you’re gonna have a hard time. Seungcheol replaces his hand with yours and you start moving the toy in and out of you. "Have fun, but not too much". With that, him and Jeonghan leave your shared bedroom.

You know they’ll be listening from the room next door, and you can't help but let out a few moans and whimpers. Out of all punishments they came up with, having you play with yourself while using sex toys and not being allowed to cum is the most challenging one. You had to edge yourself for the time they wanted, and if you failed to not cum, they’d be really, really, hard on you.

"Keep playing with yourself, baby" Jeonghan commands from the other room, his voice ringing in your head and reaching you in the middle of your fuzzy thoughts. You search around for the vibrator you let slip off of your hands, and place it on your clit.

You’re not sure how much time has passed, but you’re toeing around the edge for what it feels like the hundredth time and it’s getting harder and harder to resist your orgasm.

A few more minutes pass by and Seungcheol enters the room. Your mind is cloudy and your legs shaking uncontrollably. Your pussy feels swollen and unbearably wet. "Time’s up." He announces and you stop your ministrations on yourself.

Once again, Jeonghan’s leaning against the door frame. The youngest vampire waits for Seungcheol’s instructions.

"You did well for us, princess." Seungcheol praises you and pets your bunny ears again. You already feel spent, your eyes closing happily as he caresses your sensitive ears.

"Thank you, master".

The vampire manhandles you so you’re laying on your stomach. He puts a pillow under you for support, and now your ass is up and exposed.

"Hannie?" The oldest calls for the other. Jeonghan hums. "Do you want to go first?"

Jeonghan practically runs to you. The mattress sinks when he hops on the bed, getting closer. His cold hands grab your ass and you shiver from the temperature difference. "What do you want me to do?"

Seungcheol sits on the corner chair again, choosing to just observe for now. "Punish her any way you want".

Another shiver runs down your spine. Jeonghan is a wild card, he can do literally anything. The vampire takes his time to undress, choosing to stay with his black boxers on.

He starts by running his hand on your back, enjoying how soft and warm your skin feels. "Is my little bunny scared?" He blows the question in your year, making you shiver again. You nod in agreement.

"Don’t be. I’ll punish you, but you’ll like it." His breathy laugh makes your cheeks heat up with the memory of all punishments you enjoyed before.

He spreads your butt cheeks and licks a long stripe from your clit to your entrance, collecting your juices with his tongue. You whine loudly, already feeling so good. His hands grip you so tightly you’re sure you’ll have bruises tomorrow, but it slips out of your mind when Jeonghan’s tongue prods at your entrance.

You clench slightly and he chuckles at the sight, loving how responsive you are. Pulling you up a bit, Jeonghan lays on the bed and positions himself on his back with his face directly under your dripping cunt.

The vampire starts to make out with your pussy, sucking and nibbling and licking at his own pace. You press yourself down on his face, trying to get as much pleasure as you could. He slips two fingers in and you mewl his name.

"Si-ir I’m re-really close" your crying out comes as a stutter, your mind barely registers what you want to say. Jeonghan knows your body well enough to edge you until you’re nearly exploding, only to pull away and leave you frustrated once again.

When he moves from his position, your body falls limp on the mattress. A desperate shriek leaves your lips, tears threatening to fall from your lust hazed eyes.

"Crying already?" Jeonghan coos in a mocking tone. "We haven’t even started yet, baby." He gives your butt a light slap and you feel the vampire move around the bed.

The buzzing of the vibrator reaches your ears again, and you try to brace yourself for what’s coming next.

Jeonghan flips you so you’re on your back again. He starts slowly, moving the toy around on your sensitive skin. He spreads your legs a bit and teases your folds, running it up and down. Then, he lightly rubs it on your clit, sending shockwaves through your body. You can feel your bunny ears twitch with pleasure and Jeonghan notices too, so he reaches out and pets them in an almost loving manner.

"Sir, please" you beg him to do something, anything. You just needed him to put out the fire running through your veins.

"What do we think, Cheollie?"

Suddenly you’re reminded of the presence of the other vampire. You’ve been so consumed by Jeonghan and his ministrations that you literally forgot about him.

"She can take more." His voice is cold and uninterested.

Jeonghan’s wicked smile is painted by your juices. He looks beautiful with your slick all over his mouth and chin, and you can only think about how he’d look covered in blood.

"So come help me then" the youngest one calls. Seungcheol sighs, annoyed at his friend.

"You can never do things on your own, can you?"

You feel the power shift when the oldest vampire approaches. He exudes an energy that’s different from Jeonghan’s. It’s almost suffocating to your senses, but it also turns you on even more. You feel more slick dripping out and running down your ass, wetting the bedsheets.

"Get behind her." Seungcheol instructs and Jeonghan silently positions himself.

You shiver from the contrast of your burning back against his cold chest. The oldest sinks two fingers in and starts to stimulate you. His thumb lightly grazes against your clit, making your legs tremble each time. Jeonghan pinches your nipples and you let out a moan, clenching around Seungcheol’s fingers.

"She likes it, Hannie. Do it again" the vampire chuckles as he rubs the gummy spot inside your cunt. The youngest keeps pinching and pulling on your nipples, the slight pain making you even hornier.

The duo keeps stimulating you until you're on edge again. Pitifully, you think this time they'll let you cum. But they don't, so you cry from overstimulation once again.

"Shhh, don't cry" Seungcheol wipes your tears away and gives you a sweet kiss on the cheek. "Don't complain now. You did this to yourself when you decided to disobey me".

Your whole body tingles with desire, making you feel uncomfortable. You're slumped against Jeonghan, who's running his hands on your sides to soothe you, trying your best to calm down a little. Seungcheol kisses your neck, holding himself back from biting you.

"How do you want her?" Cheol directs his gaze to his friend. Their wine red orbs meet.

"Actually, I wanna watch you two" the youngest flashes a lazy smile.

Seungcheol chuckles, amused by his friend's voyeur nature. "As you wish".

Jeonghan goes to the corner chair and the other vampire takes over. With ease, he folds your legs to your chest and enters you without warning. He slides in easily, his girth stretching your inner walls to a point it burned. But you love every second of the tortuous sliding.

Seungcheol picks up his pace, ramming you fast and hard. The slight pain quickly turns to pleasure, and in no time you're whimpering and crying again. You look to your left and see Jeonghan masturbating, his sleek fingers moving at an inhuman speed.

The youngest's voice rings in your head, commanding you to run your nails on Seungcheol's back. You follow promptly, making the vampire hiss on your ear. Your hands travel down his back and grab his butt. Your nails leave crescent marks on his skin.

Cheol changes his angle a bit and now his pelvic bone hits your clit every time he pushes in. For the hundredth time of the day, you hang on the edge of reaching your high. But you aren't allowed to let go yet.

"Ask him to bite you" that voice you don't recognize as yours whispers. You panic a little, because they never bit you before. However, the idea seems appealing.

"Cheol" your voice comes out hoarse from all the moaning.

"What is it, princess? Are you ready to beg for your release?"

"Bite me, please."

Your words shock him a bit, making his pace falter. You hear Jeonghan cursing with a small laugh.

"Ask again" the voice commands and you obey.

Seungcheol licks your neck, just above your pulsing vein. He allows his fangs to come out and sink them on your skin. It stings, and your body involuntarily shakes and tries to escape. But he's experienced and knows how to lock you in place. He starts to suck on your neck, gulping large amounts of your sweet blood. Meanwhile, his hips keep fucking you, now in a slow, sensual pace.

You didn't think it would be possible, but his actions make everything more erotic. You start to take pleasure from being fed on. He pulls away, some blood smeared on his mouth and chin.

"Come over, Hannie" he calls the other vampire and Jeonghan appears by your side with a blink of an eye.

Jeonghan sucks harshly, drawing more blood out of you. He groans and trembles, feeling a rush of energy given by your blood. After taking another sip, he pulls away and licks your neck to heal you.

The man’s lips are tinted with a copperish red, making him look dangerous. Both his and Seungcheol’s eye glisten, the fresh blood in their veins accenting their red irises.

Reaching out, Jeonghan plays with your clit. "You can cum now, sweetheart" his smile looks devilish tainted with blood.

"Go ahead, princess" Seungcheol also gives you permission. Almost instantly, you let go. Your body shakes and trembles, your mind being lifted from your body. You cum so hard, you nearly pass out. You only see white behind your eyelids, and your blood pressure drops to the ground.

It takes a while for you to get back. When you regain a little of your senses, you feel both your vampires shoot their hot cum on your belly. They’re grunting, finishing themselves off before lying down on your side.

You don’t know how many minutes have passed by before Jeonghan gets up. You hear him turning on the faucet and the water running. He enters the room and picks you up, being careful not to spill all the spunk that’s resting on your belly. The vampire wipes it off before placing you on the bathtub.

The water feels nice against your sore muscles, and you relax against the border. You wait for Seungcheol to appear, but the water goes cold and you decide it’s better to get off.

Jeonghan carries you back to your shared bedroom. The oldest vampire is there, looking fresh out of the shower, so you assume he used the bathroom down the hallway.

You crawl to the middle of the bed, waiting for him to allow you to cuddle him.

"Come here, princess" he calls and you practically jump him. Jeonghan joins you both, and the three of you cuddle.

"You better obey us next time" Seungcheol’s voice comes out venomous, even while he pets your ears. "We won’t be so forgiving".

"Yes, master".

You didn’t know then, but Seungcheol asserted his dominance over you even more when he bit you.

"Sleep well, little bunny" Jeonghan presses a kiss to your forehead and you feel your eyelids heavy.

Like every night, the vampires stay awake, watching you sleep.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.・。.・゜✭・

m.list ♡

#seventeen smut #seungcheol smut #jeonghan smut #seventeen fanfic #seungcheol fanfic #jeonghan fanfic #seventeen scenarios #seventeen hard hours #seungcheol hard hours #jeonghan hard hous #seventeen x reader #anon request #my works

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vxnuslogy · 7 months ago

Text

— unfinished business.

starring: stellaron hunter!sunday x gn!reader + the other stellaron hunters.

premise: on his first mission with the stellaron hunters, sunday hesitates, unable to push through. frustrated, you step in, taking on the task. when danger strikes, Sunday becomes your unexpected savior. the mission succeeds, but sunday is left wondering about your unfinished business in the capital of passion and your mysterious past before you joined the team.

— warnings: slight angst + arguments.

— author's note: another sunday fic to the collection yippie. pic credits to @helen_zzhao. | ~3.4k words.

the capital of passion always looked magnificent at night. here you were with your fellow hunters and your boss - in his cat form - standing above the capital at its highest peak. flashing lights of neon blues, pinks, and yellows obscured the night sky you preferred to look at when the moon was present. you were sitting on one of the ventilations of the building you were all standing on, silver wolf leaning on the railing playing video games, blade in some corner with his sword close to his chest and eyes strained away from the bright lights, and sunday stood awkwardly standing next to you with elio perched in your lap.

“you already know what to do right, mister?” silver wolf suddenly looks up from her game and drops a silver disc right in front of her. a hologram of the city below you showed up and two glowing yellow dots were running away from the blue dots who you assumed were the public security regulation. “we split up and corner the messengers, interrogate said messengers for more information about the supposed discontinued project, and leave before security catches us. ”

silver wolf looked at sunday with a different glint in her eyes. “you can do a simple task like this right?”

the man beside you crossed his arms together over his chest and gripped them tightly. brows knitting together in contemplation as his mouth opened just to close again. continuous beeping noises that sounded like alarms from the disc made you suddenly stand up. “they’re changing their course. i thought they mostly traveled in the skies? why are they suddenly using the alleyways?”

“we don’t have time.” blade interrupted with a pointed look to sunday. “can you or can you not do it? the clock is ticking.”

you look at sunday worriedly who has still yet to say another word. “i–”

“mister make up your mind, we’re going to lose them!” silver wolf shouted in worry. taking out her phone and quickly punching a few buttons. red rectangles appeared on a holographic map of the city, closing any passages the messenger could take to escape. “we need to go, like right now!”

you looked towards blade who was already getting ready to jump off the rooftop to chase the messengers. his intense gaze never once left sunday’s figure who continued to shrink more into the shadow.

“i can’t… i’m sorry.” sunday murmured, hand tightening their hold on his arms. you try not to show how your eyes widened in disbelief but with the way he avoided looking into your eyes, you couldn’t help the bubbling of frustration that started to fester in your chest.

silver wolf was always calm under pressure so it was strange to see her so shaken. “are you kidding me?!” she stomped towards sunday and pointed an accusing finger to sunday. tapping at his chest multiple times to emphasize her frustration. “you said you were ready! we did not just waste weeks worth of our time to train you for this mission only for you to say that you can’t do it?!”

“silvy come on, give him a break.” you tried to but in, keeping your own frustration hidden behind an understanding smile. “this is his first mission; a complete one-eighty of what he’s used to.”

“you’re being too soft on him, [name]!” a timer of 15 minutes suddenly appeared on the map. “we’re here on a mission. we could get caught!”

“silver wolf is right, [name].” you look at the black cat that sat by sunday’s legs. their head turned to look at sunday but the man only looked away in shame, wings covering his face. “you’ve agreed to become a hunter, mr. sunday. and you’ve also agreed to participate in this mission. need i remind you of the consequences when you don’t follow the script?”

elio never truly intimidated you, not when you first joined, on your first mission, or just in general. but with the way he was sizing up sunday with such judgement made the hairs on your arms and neck raise in realization. elio might have been kind to you, but they weren’t so much with others.

you look back to the map and blade, and then the timer that continues to tick. “i’ll go.”

“what?!” silver wolf’s attention was now on you. and so was everyone else's. “no one knows you’re a stellaron hunter! if anyone were to catch a glimpse of you all your hard work will be for nothing!”

“do you really want to risk that, [name]? ” blade asked, pushing you back to where sunday and elio stood. you felt their gaze on you as you stepped forward and pushed past blade. with a single tap on your earpiece a visor appeared in front of your eyes and showed you the map of the city. the same glowing yellow dots.

“[name].” elio warns.

“i’ll take the one in the west, the rest of you take the north.” you heard a collective shout of your name but you already jumped off.

the city was more jam-packed than you had imagined. though you were in the alleyways of the capital, bags of trash, old mechanical parts, and even trashed prosthetics laid on the ground making it hard to navigate through the already dimmed path.

you kept a close eye on the yellow dot just a few feet in front of you. furrowing your brows in confusion when it suddenly turned around and started charging in your directions. too focused on the map showing on your visor, you fail to notice the glinting piece of metal that was thrown straight at your head.

something warm encapsulated your body. you suddenly felt an arm wrap around your waist and your head as the figure in a cloak jumped over your body. a grunt left your savior’s lips making you turn around.

“sunday?!” he only gave you a flustered smile as you sat on his lap.

“hello…” he replied as you quickly stood up and helped him up. checking over your visor just to see that the yellow dot had taken a different route that you predicted. a curse left your lips as you kicked the trash bags in front of you.

“bladie they're coming your way. be careful, they're armed.” you heard a soft roger from the other end as your visor shut off. you look back to sunday who was dusting off his clothes. your brows knit together in confusion. “what are you doing here?”

he looked shocked by your question but quickly masked it. “i’m here to finish my mission.”

“i thought you said you couldn’t do it?” you wonder what kind of expression you were making to suddenly make the ever so composed sunday squirm.

“blade is right.” he takes a step forward and pushes your hair out of your eyes. wincing when his gloved finger suddenly grazed over the scratch you didn’t even know you had. “you’re too soft on me, [name].”

you raise a brow at him. “would you prefer i be a bit sterner then?”

sunday must have taken your words lightly because he only shook his head in amusement with a small smile on his lips. normally you would smile with him but this time a deep frown tugged at your lips. “i’m being serious, sunday.”

he ceased his silent laughter and looked at your eyes. “because i will be more strict with you if you’re going to continue acting like this in future missions.”

his shoulders tensed when you turned around, back facing him as you started to walk away back to your meeting point. no doubt silver wolf and blade must have caught one of the messengers and brought them back to the rooftop.

“let’s go back to our meeting point.” you didn’t wait for his reply when you started scaling up the walls of the alleys. clicking your tongue in disgust when you felt the grime stick to your fingers.

“are you mad?”

“excuse me?”

the both of you stopped. just a few feet away from you, you catch a glimpse of elio playing with the holograms. signaling you both to return to continue the interrogation. the night is going to be over soon and you’ve spent enough time running around trying to catch a wild goose.

“of course i’m mad!” you looked at him in disbelief as your voice raised in volume. “sunday, we're in a capital that's being run by a government body who doesn't care about privacy. the fact that we haven't been caught yet is a miracle!” you take a deep inhale and pinch the bridge of your nose. “you said you were ready. that you can finally start taking missions. elio prepared you a script and we helped you train for weeks. so i’m sorry if i’m mad that most of our efforts are going down the drain.”

sunday looked away. he almost looked bashful with one arm brushing up the other. “i apologize. i truly thought i was ready. but with the way you’re treating these people, i couldn’t help but think you’ll–”

“kill them?” he winced at your blunt reply. you continued making your way back to the rooftop, not bothering to slow down your pace as sunday followed you from a good distance. “we’re going to interrogate them. this is your first mission, we aren’t going to make you dirty your hands this early.”

sunday stood incredibly still. as if he's only realizing now what he's really gotten himself into. “so you do plan on making me a murderer.”

you scoffed as you pushed back your hair. taking a deep breath, you steadied your voice. “sunday, we’re wanted criminals.” your eyes narrowing down to glare as sunday tried to challenge you. “why do you think everyone has a bounty in the millions? of course we’ve murdered people. that’s our job.”

“this isn’t right.” he argued.

“well tough shit.” his eyes went wide, mouth opening slightly but closed just as fast. you weren’t one to curse or even raise your voice but tonight you were losing your cool. “sunday, you agreed to join us. of course you’ll have to get your hands dirty later on. you should be grateful elio gave you such an easy mission that doesn’t require that much force.”

“then what about you?” sunday knew he was pushing his limits, but he still continued. “if you’re all criminals then why have i not seen even a single wanted poster of you?”

sunday quickly regretted asking that when a wave of sadness washed over you. lips pressed together into a thin line as your hands curl into fists, knuckles turning white and slightly shaking. the two of you would’ve stood in silence forever if it weren’t for elio playing with the hologram. you quickly teared your gaze away from him and started to walk away in silence.

“we’re trying to do what’s best for you, sunday.” you say softly. “the consequences of the script getting derailed are catastrophic. trust me,” there was a certain edge to your voice when you turned to look at him. the bright lights of the capital casting a faint glow over your figure making the air sunday tried to inhale get lodged in his throat. “i know what kind of cataclysm might fall if you go off script.”

you reached the meeting point roughly 5 minutes later. elio was licking at his paw and meowed when they saw your figure approaching. squatting down to pet their head, you allow them to rub at your legs before clawing at sunday’s pants and climbing to his shoulders. the halovian let out a sound between a squeak and a groan, normally this would rip out a giggle out of you but your eyes remained focused on the man sitting by the ventilation with his arms tied behind his back. the man cracked one eye open and when his gaze fell over you he started scooting backwards.

“I-its… you…” your brows furrow together as sunday came to stand beside you, the same expression on his face.

“do you know him?”

you shake your head. “no, i don’t.”

taking a step forward, the man cowered and shook like a leaf, leaving you and sunday confused. “how are you alive?!” you were about to question him when he quickly followed it up with something you believed you wouldn’t ever hear again. “you’re that doctor from the train! you were supposed to be dead, i saw the explosion and you were caught in it!”

a lodge appeared in your throat. no sound left your lips when you squatted down to the man’s height to question. suddenly, sunday’s gold eyes felt too heavy and questioning even though you couldn’t see them. you curl your hand into a fist and let out a shaky sigh. closing your eyes to calm the drumming in your ears and heart. this was not the time to look back on the accident that happened amber eras ago.

“oh triple-faced soul,” you hear sunday approach from behind. “please sear his tongue and palms with a hot iron,” the air suddenly turned warm as a gloved hand wrapped around your arm pulling you up and tugging you to his side.“so that he will not be able to fabricate lies and make false vows.”

elio jumped into your arms, tapping a paw at your chin making you look up at sunday with worried eyes. “this will be faster.” he said, waiting for you to ask the question you had prepared beforehand.

taking a deep breath, you take out your phone and give it to sunday. he nodded at you, a hand came to the small of your back to steady you. your mind swam with questions on how this man knew about the explosion, you were very sure that no one was there to see it. “come to my office after the mission.” elio spoke softly, breaking you out of your nightmares.

“question: what do you know of the windborne project?” sunday questions, his golden stare narrowed dangerously at the man’s figure.

“it’s a discontinued project,” the man gulped before continuing. “there were too many errors and too few researchers. the blueprints were leaked by an old messenger and not long after, the others were captured by the public security regulation.”

“do you know who leaked the blueprint? what about the original creator?”

“we don’t know! everyone assumed that a rat had gotten in through some means and leaked it.”

“do you possess the blueprint of the windborne project?”

the man hesitated. he started taking sharp inhales and let out shaky exhales. hands started shaking in his restraints as sunday took a step forward and kneeled to the man’s level. golden eyes not once faltering.

“i will ask you again, do you possess the blueprint of the windborne project?”

“y-yes!” the man cried out. “it’s in my bag, you can have it, so please, spare me..”

you let go of elio gently and made your way to the stray bag in one of the corners. zipping it open you pull out a gray cylinder and wouldn’t you know, the words “windborne” were written in white marker. taking off the lid and sliding out the paper, you open it and let out a hum.

“continue with the interrogation,” you tell sunday, taking out a pen from your pocket and started writing on the blueprint. circling and crossing out words like the materials needed, the measurements and instructions on how its supposed to be used.

“where can we find the holo-wings?” you felt sunday’s eyes flicker over to you but you pay it no mind.

“the tech labs in arcadia research department. they’ve been manufacturing them in secret and selling them in the underground markets.”

you hum and write more stuff down. “ask him about the nano-actuators.”

“and what about the nano-actuators? where can we get them?”

“cybernetic shops. their found all across the capital.”

“cybernetic shops…” you mutter after circling another portion of the words on the blueprint. after a few more notes, you roll up the blueprint and put it back in its cylinder. “you can let him go now, we’re done here.”

sunday stood up and dusted his pants, letting go of the man from his trance. a shiver went up your spine when he looked at you, the remnants of the order’s power swimming in them before they all vanished when he blinked. you follow his gaze towards the cylinder in your hand but made no move to question it.

“i told you everything i know, so please let me go…!” the man cried out with tears in his eyes.

“not yet,” you reply with a monotone voice. “my other friends still want something from you.”

his eyes widened and continued to thrash in his restraints. you only shake your head and pull out your phone to text silver wolf and blade for any updates. “are you really a nameless?” the man beside asked with so much gentleness. your initial frustration washed away completely you began to wonder if he was using his powers on you. but when you looked at his eyes, you saw nothing but sincere concern.

“was, sunday.” you look away from him and look over to the horizon, the sun is rising.

“is it connected to the explosion the man said?” he asks, voice laced with concern and curiosity.

you press your lips together, looking down at the cylinder container in your hands. “it’s all in the past now. irrelevant pieces of information.” elio meows at you both and starts walking to where the stairs are. “this is a story better left unfinished, sunday. so please don’t try to see how it ends.”

the trip back home was quiet and awkward. you sat in the passenger seat this time while silver wolf and sunday sat in the back. every so often, sunday’s eyes would flick over to you. silently looking out the window, the cylinder in your lap as you drummed a beat on it to try and distract yourself from the fatigue of last night’s mission.

an elbow to his side made him wince slightly. he turned to glare at the girl beside him who showed her phone. sunday squinted his eyes in confusion when he read the message silver wolf sent to him.

favorite?

“we’re here.” blade’s voice cut through the quiet and still atmosphere. both sunday and silver wolf looked up from their phones just in time to see you leave the car with elio in tow.

when everyone entered the building, you put the cylinder on one of the couches and greet firefly and kafka in the kitchen. briefly excusing yourself from the two and following elio down a corridor he’s never gone through before.

sunday’s eyes never once left your figure even after you disappeared into a room with destiny’s slave. mind swimming with more questions about your past and yourself in general. he pondered on what silver wolf meant when you were elio’s favorite. not to mention the sudden info dump on you being an old nameless from the astral express.

who exactly are you, [name]?

#—stellaronhvnters.#・ nouveau livre ˎˊ˗#honkai star rail x reader #honkai star rail imagines #honkai star rail headcanons #honkai star rail x you #honkai star rail sunday #hsr x reader #hsr imagines #hsr headcanons #hsr x you #hsr sunday #sunday x you #sunday imagines #sunday x reader #sunday headcanons #( 🂡 ) – royal flush of stories .ᐟ

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biribaa · 1 year ago

Text

Unfinished Boss/Blank Canvas x reader

Xe deserves love..........

TW/CW: Angst(P03 being a asshole)

This will be the last time P03 forgets to close a zip file correctly in his existence.

It was supposed to be a moment of peace, you were in the corridors of the factory, doing what he commanded. And even then, a voice hummed through the robot's circuits. P03 had no ears, and yet, he could hear that voice inside him somehow. It was not discovered how this boss managed to remain inside him with the file already closed, but oh how xe was annoying.

"I want to talk to them." Implored the voice coming from the zip file, echoing in what we can call P03's mind.

The face on his screen frowned in irritation. Maybe, P03 thought, if I ignore xem, xe'll give up.

"...Let me play with them, just one more time." Xe suggested. The voice came out almost as a whisper.

P03 looked at the exit of his room, which led to the corridors. Why are you taking so long?! Passed out on the way? The scrybe feels stupid wanting your company not to be alone with this thing.

"We've been through this over and over again. Don't be a fool. Why stop me?"

"Why I wouldn't?" P03 replied, almost letting out a grunt of rage.

"This has nothing to do with you..." argued the voice. And if you paid attention, maybe you could see that xer patience is not infinite either.

"Oh, it does. You will be bugging me for eternity because of that idiot." P03 spat.

"Don't you dare call them that..." Xem growled.

"And what are you going to do, huh?"

Silence.

The robot blinked, expecting some kind of revolt from the file, but it just hummed as a response to the silence. "That's what I thought." His bored face returns.

Was it that hard to check a broken camera? P03 was born knowing this but oh, how could he forget, you're a stupid gamer, that's why it takes so long.

However, P03 started to think about this friendship between the laziest boss he ever made and a dumb human like you... Did you even liked xem back? Sure, xe is the first you get into among the other uberbots, if not, at least the second one, but that means nothing... And what made this boss so obssesed over you? If you had something special, P03 would notice.

The worst part is how the boss cries like a baby just because of the lack of your presence–

"I want to tell them."

Here we go again.

P03 produced a sound that resembles a sigh, trying to prepare his patience for the flea that annoys him all the time.

"Tell them what."

"...That I love them..." Xe declared. The tone of voice sensitive and low, exactly like a whisper.

For a second, P03's digital eyes wided, only to then burst out laughing. His laughter echoes through the room, as if it were the best joke the machine has ever heard in his life.

In silence, this time with a slight depressive mood, xe was forced to hear the scrybe's laugh. What stops xem from having you by xer side? Xe is one of the best among other Uberbots, a saint even(which is ironic to say when we remember what Archivist is). Xe does xer job correctly. It's not fair.

"And I thought you were the least idiot of the rest." An extra laugh escaped, and P03 took the 'breath' back to speak. "This idea of 'love' will only hold you back from everything. It's useless. Believe me when I say that your situation is great compared to others." The robot returned to his straight posture with his usual expression. "And what makes you believe they like you too?"

"They come to me first, always me first..." The unfinished boss mumble, xer tone clearly more serious, colder.

"Pfft, please." P03 scoffs. "You're so stupid." He opens a small smile, even yet with irritated eyebrows.

"They tolerates me, unlike you. Have you seen how irritated they gets with you?"

"You're a big joke." The smile faded

"People at least like jokes, unlike you." Xe nagged. If the boss were able to show xer face in the screen, it would have a smug grin.

"Shut up."

"They clearly like me more-"

"Yeah, but I don't care!" The robot snaped. "You will never do stupid romantic things with them, you will never tell them. And maybe, if you continue being a pain in the ass, you will never talk to them again."

Both were silent, while P03 waited for some kind of annoying argument coming from the voice. Then, footsteps from the metallic floor could be heard echoing from the hallways, this is the first time P03 is glad to see you.

"...I hate you."

"Whatever."

#inscryption x reader #unfinished boss x reader #blank canvas x reader #x reader #canon x reader #reader insert #robot x reader #robot x human

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magpiepills · 1 month ago

Text

Stocking Stuffer

Rating: EXPLICIT 18+ MDNI

Pairing: Santa Joel x f! Elf Reader

Word count: 1.5k

Summary: Santa Joel at the North Pole in his workshop late at night, gone off the eggnog and that one elf in her little candy stripe tights keeps bending over and her can see her little elf pussy through them and he decides to show her the North Pole.

Warnings: SMUT! PIV, oral f and m receiving, big dick Joel, one use of “daddy,” Christmas puns, crack fic but it’s filthy. No beta, no proofreading, no editing. Merry Christmas, you filthy animals.

A word from the author: I kind of hate Christmas. I do not enjoy this time of year, I am not festive, so this is the most Holiday fic you’ll get from me. Sorry! Blame @umnitsa

masterlist

🎅🏻🎅🏻🎅🏻🎅🏻🎅🏻🎅🏻🎅🏻🎅🏻🎅🏻🎅🏻🎅🏻🎅🏻🎅🏻🎅🏻🎅🏻🎅🏻🎅🏻🎅🏻🎅🏻

A frigid wind sweeps across the snow-blanketed landscape. Late at night, under a full and heavy moon, a cottage is nestled amongst a copse of gently swaying pine trees. The warm scent of ginger, nutmeg, cinnamon and clove perfume the air, and candlelight glows from the frosty windows.

Inside, in his plush chair, sits Santa Joel. He has spent the evening making his list and checking it twice, sipping eggnog as the hours pass, and his jolly buzz has settled into a thrum in his loins. As he worked, he watched his elves scurrying about, hammering and painting and putting the finishing touches on the toys he would deliver in a week.

All of Santa Joel’s elves worked merrily, singing as they crafted trains and dolls, but one elf had caught his eye and he couldn’t help but watch her. He tried not to stare at you as you polished the baseball bats you were working on, unaware of the most inappropriate thoughts that Santa Joel was having. It stirred something very naughty in his red velvet pants.

When the other elves left for the night, scampering off to tuck into their little beds, you stayed to work. His good little elf. Such a hard worker. He watched your tits bounce under your forest green smock as you applied more varnish to a bat, and licked his lips.

Reaching deep into the enormous toy box for another unfinished bat, your skirt rode up and your feet barely touched the ground. Joel watched as you struggled, each movement exposing more of your round little ass snug in your candy striped tights.

Quietly, Joel moved closer, stroking his not-quite snowy beard in lustful anticipation as he hoped for a better look as your delectable body. Once he was close enough to touch you he could see clear through your tights, the thin red and white stretchy fabric revealing your bare pussy underneath.

You wriggled and the seam of your tights wedged further between the lips of your pretty cunt. He imagined how sweet it must taste, like sugar plums and marshmallows and peppermint.

You hadn’t heard Joel come over, and you were shocked when you felt his thick finger trace over your most sensitive place.

“Shhh. Just me, sweetheart. Just Santa. Looks like you’re in a tight spot. I came to help.”

You were grateful it was just Joel, Santa Joel was always so good to you, always a kind work and a smile, bringing you hot cocoa to your work station, offering you rides in his sleigh. Truth be told, you had a crush on him, but he was your boss. Your married boss. There’s no way your silly little elf fantasy could be anything more than that.

Surely he didn’t mean to touch you there. He was just trying to help and…

You reasoned with yourself until you felt it again. Another touch, his thumb sliding up and down your slit, pushing the fabric of your tights in, exaggerating the outline of your pussy.

“Looks like you have more problems than just bein’ stuck. For one thing, I’m pretty sure this uniform came with panties and you’re not wearin’ em. And for another, the last elf bus back to the elf barracks left an hour ago while you were in my workshop trying to catch up. Now how do we solve this problem?”

The tips of your pointed ears felt hot. You couldn’t believe Santa Joel was actually speaking to you this way, touching you the way he was. Emboldened, you wiggled yous ass, seeking his touch.

You heard his deep, jolly laugh, then felt the stinging slap of his big hand across your ass. You moaned and he laughed again.

“Santa, please! Let me make it up to you.”

He spanked you again, enjoying the way your ass jiggled in your tights.

“You’re going to have to be real good if you want to get back in the nice list, darlin.”

Santa Joel lifted you from the toy box and held you close to his body, he was broader and firmer than his red suit let on, and he smelled of cranberry and pine.

He carried you to his sleigh, parked beside a roaring fire, gleaming in the firelight, the freshly polished, ornately carved mahogany was the size of a small suv, laden with bags of logs ahead of Christmas.

The bench inside was plush, and a thick blanket was draped over the seat. Joel lad you across it and peeled your tights down, holding your ankles in either hand, spreading you wide to take a long, lecherous look at your glistening, dripping pussy.

He fell to his knees on the floor of his sleigh with a pained groan and a mutter before throwing your legs over his shoulders and kissing your soft, slick folds sloppily.

“Fuck, Santa,” you whined, lifting your hips toward his mouth. He teased you, licking, sucking, nibbling lightly at your puffy lips.

As he tasted your sweet little cunt, he reached into his pants to tug at his turgid member. Joel wasn’t as young as he used to be. He knew time wasn’t on his side and he needed to be inside you like he needed a glass of milk after a plate of cookies.

“Fuck me, Santa Joel,” you begged him breathily, smock pushed up over your tits so you could swirl your fingertips over your nipples. “Fill up my little stocking. You know you want to. Give it to me, Father Christmas. Or should I call you daddy?”

Your voice was breathy and teasing, something Joel couldn’t resist. He stood and unbuckled his wide black belt, letting it drop along with his red velvet pants as his shirt hung open. There, swinging between his firm thighs, was the most magnificent North Pole you’d ever seen.

You sat up in awe, mouth agape and brought your hand to wrap around his cock. Your fingers just barely touched, the girth was so great, and two hands were needed to hold his full length. You stroked him, and stuck out your tongue to taste his beading precum.

“Suck it,” Santa Joel told you, his hand on your cheek, patting it gently until you opened wide and took all you could. You wetted his cock with your saliva, humming in pleasure at the taste, musky and nice, salty but sweet.

He pulled away abruptly, leaving you pouting and hungry for more.

“Gonna give you somethin’ real good, don’t worry.” He flipped you over, lifting your hips how he wanted, face down, ass up, knees knocked wide to take him.

He dragged the thick head over your silky wet cunt, slicking himself before pushing into your tight little hole. He didn’t believe it when he fit his cock head inside, he held it there a moment before pulling it back out, ignoring your please for him to just give it to you.

“I can take it, Santa, please. Fuck me. I know Mrs Clause never lets you fuck her like this. Does she suck your cock in the sleigh? Does she have a little pussy like this?” You goaded him until he relented, filling you in one thrust, silencing you with one motion.

“That what you wanted? Wanted this big dick to light you up like a Christmas tree? His hips slapped against yours with each thrust, and you knew no ordinary elf dick would ever satisfy you again. Santa Joel stretched and filled you, reached spots that no one had ever reached before. He pumped into you and your slick dripped down his heavy balls, teeming with cum that he felt an animalistic urge to fill you with.

“Rub your clit for me. I want to feel you come on my cock.”

You reached between your legs and swirled your fingers over your pussy. Joel was so thick inside you, so perfectly deep, your clit needed only the lightest touch to send you into a shaking orgasm, crying his name.

With your body tensing and relaxing as you rode out the aftershocks of your release, Joel set his sights on his own. He pummeled your pussy, balls slapping against you, his hands holding your hips tight. He reached under you and pulled you upward to hold you against his chest, using you as a merry little cocksleeve with your tits bouncing in his hands.

Santa Joel groaned and gasped as his thick cum burst into you. “Ho!” He grunted, “Ho! Ho!” He fucked it deep and felt it dripping out around his slowly softening cock.

When you were cleaned up as best you could be, he draped his soft, fur trimmed coat around your shoulders and pulled you onto his lap. He poured himself a glass of whiskey and while you relaxed, and listened to the crackling of the fire, Joel looked at you with affection.

“What do you want for Christmas?” He asked in his deep, raspy voice.

You nuzzled his neck and kissed the warm skin there.

“I want to do that again.”

If you made it all the way, here are your whistle and your crown.

#bat writes #pedro pascal character fanfiction #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal #pedro pascal character smut #joel miller #smut #joel miller smut #joel miller x reader #joel miller fan fiction #joel miller fic #joel miller fanfic #joel miller x you #joel miller x f!reader #Santa Joel #christmas smut

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hungermakesmonsters · 1 month ago

Text

The Red Ribbon

Chapter One

Plot Summary : By day you’re Billy Russo’s clumsy PA, but by night you’re a host at New York City’s most exclusive gentlemen's club. At The Red Ribbon everyone is anonymous and masks conceal the identities of patrons and hosts alike. But your two lives are about to collide and Billy Russo is about to see a whole new side of you without even realising it..

Pairing : Billy Russo x Reader

Story Rating : R

Warnings : [This is a fic for 18+ only, minors DNI] Smutty behaviour. All chapters will deal with smutty themes and include mentions/suggestions of sex work/work at a gentlemen's club (don't like, don't read). Please check the warnings on each chapter if you choose to follow this story.

Word Count : 6k

A/N : This is a little something I've been toying with for a while. It's only going to be a short thing (3 parts) over the next few weeks. There's no upload schedule but it'll probably be posting on Fridays anyway 😅 Also I've been ill all week so that's my excuse for typos

Master List

Chapter One

“Remind me why I hired you?”

His voice was a cold snap that caused your cheeks to burn with embarrassment. Even on his birthday, your boss was an asshole.

Your hands trembled as you tried to restack the files that you’d clumsily manage to drop all over his office floor. The contents of the files had spilled out and you already knew that it was going to take you hours to make sure the correct paperwork ended up back where it was supposed to be.

“It wasn’t a rhetorical question,” he added a moment later. “Why did I hire you?”

“Because your other assistants keep quitting,” you muttered under your breath.

It was humiliating, scrabbling around on his office floor, the carpet scrapping your bare knees as you tried to pick everything up as quickly as possible.

“What was that?” He asked.

It was reasonable to guess that he hadn’t heard you - you were certain he would have been a lot angrier if he’d heard you. Still, you hated yourself for letting it slip out. As much as you hated the way your boss treated you, the pay was good. Too good to quit.

“I said I’m sorry Mr Russo,” you answered softly, managing to grab the last of the files and get back to your feet. “I’ll get these sorted and have them on your desk first thing in the morning.”

“I hope you’re planning on staying late.”

“What?” The word spilled from your lips before you had the chance to stop it.

“Do you have somewhere else to be? Something more important than fixing your fuck up and doing the job I pay you to do?” Mr Russo asked.

As a matter of fact, you did have somewhere else to be and something that was more important than fixing the potential Anvil candidate files that you’d managed to dump all over his office floor, but you couldn’t tell him that.

There was only one person who knew how you spent your nights, and it certainly wasn’t your boss. No, if Billy Russo knew where you went after your days at Anvil, he’d see to it that he had your resignation in his hand by the end of the day. And you were sure the same could be said of your night job.

“No, Mr Russo,” you answered, dropping your gaze to the floor, “I don’t have anywhere more important to be.”

“Good answer,” he said as he grabbed his suit jacket from the back of his chair and pulled it on. He moved towards his office door, stepping past you as if you were just another piece of furniture, a spare chair in the way. “And don’t even think about leaving that unfinished. I’ll be in at 5am so you’re not going to have the opportunity to sneak in early tomorrow to finish up.”

He didn’t even wait for a half-hearted ‘yes, Mr Russo’ before leaving for the day.

You glanced at your watch, doing the maths in your head; you should have been finishing in ten minutes time, at five o’clock, which would have given you three hours to get home, eat, and then get across town to work your night job.

The Red Ribbon was New York's most exclusive gentlemen's club - though to call it a gentlemen’s club was somewhat outdated as, these days, it catered to the needs and desires of wealthy clientele regardless of gender identity and sexual orientation. But, it had been considered a gentlemen’s club since the 1950s, and the verbiage was surprisingly hard to shake.

The club offered something that few similar establishments did; total anonymity for both guests and workers. There were no cameras in The Red Ribbon, no phones or recording devices were allowed. And everyone wore masks. The only way to tell the staff from the clientele were the red ribbons worn about their necks.

You’d been working at The Red Ribbon for the last six months. At the start you’d tended bar, not wanting to get too hands-on with the customers - not because you had any strong feelings or moral objections about those that did, but mostly because you didn’t think you’d be any good at it. You’d never been the sort to consider yourself graceful, much less sexy, but you could make a mean espresso martini and you were great with pointless smalltalk.

The money was good, but it wasn’t good enough, not when you had debts and financial obligations.

At The Red Ribbon, the hosts made the most money, each getting assigned to one of the private rooms and being tasked with taking care of the customers' needs for the whole night. It was ultimately up to the host what taking care of the customer entailed though boundaries were firmly established before the host set foot in the private room. Every host had their own limits, some were happy to touch and be touched, some took it further still, and others preferred a hands-off approach.

If there was one thing The Red Ribbon was known for beyond the total anonymity it offered, it was the level of security. Everyone who set foot through the doors knew better than to cause trouble or push the boundaries of any member of staff.

You’d made the switch from bartender to host slowly, filling in whenever someone was out sick or when you needed a little extra money. You were slow to warm to it but, to your surprise, you found that you actually enjoyed it. Though you stayed firmly in the no touching or being touched camp, the tips you made in one night were still more than you made over a whole week tending bar.

But, when that money still wasn’t enough to cover your debts, you took a day job.

And that was how you’d ended up spending an evening hunched over a desk at Anvil, trying desperately to match paperwork with the correct file for a boss who’d made it pretty clear that he didn't like you and thought you were too inept for your job.

By the time you were done, you barely had the chance to make it home and shower and, instead of eating a proper meal, you ate a Snickers bar on the subway.

The Red Ribbon had a special entrance for staff that used old prohibition tunnels and a hidden elevator to get you into the building and up to the top floor.

New York was stunning from fifty floors up and, some nights, you’d find yourself in the locker room just staring out at the skyline as you changed into your uniform. But tonight you didn’t have the luxury of time.

You stood in front of the schedule, checking which room you were in and which mask you’d be wearing. While bar staff and servers all wore the same elegant black and red masks to obscure their faces, hosts wore individual masks that corresponded with the room they’d be working. Tonight you were in the rabbit room, so you plucked the ornate rabbit mask from its hook on the wall.

Of all the masks, the rabbit had always been your favourite because of the detailing on the ears and the way it just sat right on your face.

You always got such a rush from pulling a mask on and heading out into the club. Under any other circumstance the thought of walking around in a revealing black bodysuit would have been embarrassing, but once you had your mask on, you felt almost powerful, like a superhero with a secret identity. With the mask, you weren’t you, you were whatever part you were playing and tonight you were Bunny, and Bunny could be whoever you wanted her to be.

The last part of your uniform was the red ribbon that you tied around your neck, the very thing that distinguished staff from customers, and gave the club its name.

You gave yourself one last look in the floor to ceiling mirror, making sure that you looked ready to handle whatever the night had to throw at you, before finally stepping out into the main area of the club.

Once you passed the threshold, everything about you changed; you held your head high and walked through the club like you owned the place. Here you weren’t the quiet little PA who had to keep her mouth shut in case her boss decided to fire her. Here you called the shots.

The spring in your step became even more noticeable as you climbed the stairs and headed onto the walkway that led to the private rooms, each situated above the dancefloor with views of the whole club.

“Hey, lil Bunny,” an all too familiar face said.

You grinned from ear to ear at the sight of Rocky, one of the club's security guards, a man, who in any other circumstances would terrify you. He was a huge behemoth of a man, truly deserving of the title Built Like a Brick Shit-House. To the patrons, he was the one they didn’t want to get on the bad side of, but to you and the rest of the staff, he was safety incarnate.

“Hey, Rocky,” you said, bumping fists with him as you came to a stop in front of him.

He’d taken something of a shine to you on your first night at The Red Ribbon - he later told you it was because you reminded him of his sister who’d died only a few years before. Since then he’d always kept a close eye on you.

After bumping fists, you kept your arm outstretched so he could fit your security bracelet for the night; a very ornate looking panic button that you could use discreetly if you needed Rocky to deal with a problem customer.

“You let me know if you need anything,” he said softly but seriously.

And, with that, you were on your way again, slipping into the rabbit room with a few minutes to spare before your guest arrived. You did a quick sweep of the room, making sure everything was tidy before turning on the music and checking the bar and, finally, you lowered the lights.

Less than five minutes later, a group of men were shown into the room, each wearing plain black masks that covered the top half of their faces, and each dressed to the club's high standards. Though, just from looking at them you could tell that some were more comfortable in suits than others.

“Welcome to The Red Ribbon, I’m Bunny and I’ll be your host for the evening and I’ll be running the bar for you, so make yourselves comfortable and I’ll get you your first round,” you announced and, with a flourish of your hand, you waved them towards the sofas.

You took drink orders and made a point of saying a little personal hello to each of them, knowing that it’d help win you tips by the end of the night.

As far as groups went, they seemed decent enough, not exactly what you’d call reserved by any stretch, but they seemed to be happy to talk amongst themselves while you tended bar, not expecting anything more of you.

After about half an hour, one of them broke away from the group and headed towards the bar. You couldn’t help but watch him, taking in the perfect way that his suit fit his tall, slender frame.

He took a seat on one of the stools at the bar and flashed you the sort of smile that you were sure had panties dropping all across the five boroughs on a regular basis.

“What can I get you?” You asked.

“Another scotch would be great.”

“Sure thing.”

You were acutely aware of the way his eyes followed your every movement as you grabbed a bottle and fresh glass with ice. Your skin felt like it was tingling under his gaze - he wasn’t leering, it felt more like he was appreciating.

“Haven’t seen you here before,” he said.

For a second you wondered if it was a line - it certainly sounded like a line - but there was something in the way he was looking at you, something that made you think he was actually being serious.

“What makes you say that?” You asked in your playful voice, deciding to indulge him.

“I’d remember seeing you.”

He wasn’t shy about drinking in the sight of you. At any other time you might have felt disgusted, but it was part of the job and you probably would have been more offended if he wasn’t checking you out.

“Hmm, and what exactly is it you think you’d remember?” You retorted playfully.

He grinned at that, a laugh rumbling in his chest. And his eyes - fuck, his dark eyes almost seemed to twinkle.

“I’m not sure it’d be considered polite if I was to get... anatomical,” he joked.

“It’s my ass, isn’t it?” You offered offhandedly, breaking any tension or sense of shame.

His grin grew wider, though there was a hint of surprise on his face too, like he hadn’t quite expected you to be so forward.

“Now that you mention it, you do have a very nice ass,” he agreed, “in fact that whole thigh-ass area is perfection.”

You could feel warmth spreading across your cheeks and down your neck, and you were glad of the low lights and the mask on your face. While you were used to comments on your body and what men wanted to do with you while working, there was something different about this. This felt like flirting. Honest to god flirting. And it had been a long time since anyone had tried to flirt with you.

Out in the real world, his comment would have turned you into a shy mess, but behind the bunny mask... well, let’s just say that Bunny wanted to play.

“Oh, a thigh man as well?”

“I’m a man of refined tastes,” he shrugged.

His grin had you wishing you could see the rest of his face. You were already trying to picture what he might look like behind the mask but you were certain that your imagination was not doing it justice.

“And what else does that taste extend to?” You asked, leaning across the bar a little more as you slid his drink towards him.

His fingers briefly covered yours - rougher than you’d expected - before you slowly pulled your hand away. For a split second, you felt your breath catch, and there was a flicker of something on his face that made you think he’d felt it too, that moment of electricity when you’d touched.

“Are we still talking anatomically? Because I’d be lying if I said I haven’t been thinking about your tits for the last five minutes.”

Again, it wasn’t the sort of comment you’d put up with in any other situation but, then and there, in a place where you held all the power, you liked hearing it. The fact that he’d been allowed into The Red Ribbon meant that he was someone, that he was rich and powerful, so for poor, boring you to be the object of his desires gave a thrill like no other.

You let slip another laugh, propping yourself against the bar with a hand beneath your chin, eyes fixed on Mr Tall, Dark and Playful.

“Only the last five minutes?” You said, almost sounding distraught.

“Oh, you’re trouble, Bunny,” he remarked, leaning towards you as he lifted his drink and took a slow sip.

“I get the feeling that you like trouble.”

“You have no idea...”

It would have been a lie to say that the temptation to carry on the flirtatious conversation wasn’t increasing with every passing second; it was fun, you were actually enjoying it rather than just being subjected to it. But he wasn’t the only person in the room who wanted your attention and you had a job to do.

“Looks like your friends want some attention too,” you said, nodding your head towards the group of men still sitting at the table. One of them was waving you over, obviously in desperate need of another drink.

“Animals, the lot of them,” he said, almost fondly. “I should have known they had selfish reasons for bringing me here on my birthday.”

“It’s your birthday?” You asked and received a nod in response, before shaking your head and muttering; “another Sagittarius...”

“Another?”

You looked at him, almost embarrassed that you’d let it slip out and that you’d blurred the line between your real life and Bunny.

“Just a guy I know,” you shrugged.

“He break your heart or something? Need me and the guys to pay him a visit?” He offered playfully.

Another laugh escaped you and you couldn’t help but think about how strange it felt to be able to genuinely laugh with one of the customers. After months of perfecting your customer service laugh, you’d never expected to find yourself actually laughing at some off-handed comment. Especially when the comment was about a stranger going to beat the shit out of your boss for being mean to you.

“No, it’s okay. I can handle myself.”

“I’ll bet you can, Bunny.”

“Well,” you said, definitively, changing the subject and taking your thoughts away from your terrible day-boss, “happy birthday. I think you deserve something fancy to drink.”

He grinned as you turned away to fish a bottle of champagne from the wine fridge and grab enough glasses for him and his friends.

“This place is really somethin’ else,” a second voice said. “I know you said the girls were pretty but... holy shit.”

Tall, Dark and Playful gave a laugh.

“Prettiest girls in New York are all right here,” he said, clapping his friend on the back.

“Careful boys, my ears are burning,” you joked as you turned back to them.

“It's a beautiful woman's fate to be the subject of conversation wherever she goes,” he said.

“Didn't expect to hear anyone quoting Dorian Gray tonight,” you answered back, amused.

He looked almost surprised by the comment, his jaw dropped slightly and his eyes grew a little wider.

“You’ve read Dorian Gray?” He asked. “You like to read?”

“Does that surprise you?” You asked, your mask hiding the way your eyebrow rose. “Do you not think girls like me can read the classics?”

“No, it’s not that, it’s -” he glanced at his friend beside him, then to the group sitting at the table. You couldn’t hear what they were saying but from some of the hand gestures being made, you could guess that it was something filthy, “- it’s just that I'm not used to being around people who can actually read.”

He got a rough punch in the arm from the guy beside him for that, and you started to laugh again.

They continued to talk while you popped the champagne and started to fill glasses for the whole party. You placed one in front of the birthday boy, and one in front of his friend, before loading up a tray and taking the rest to the party at the table.

“Champagne to toast the birthday boy,” you said with a cheeky smile, earning a round of cheers from the men.

When you returned to the bar, Tall and Dark’s friend passed you, heading back to the group, leaving the birthday boy all alone.

“Not gonna drink with your friends?” You asked.

It was hard not to feel curious - it was part of the job, the masks, the hidden identities, there were always so many unanswered questions.

“I’ve never been one for birthdays,” he answered with a shrug, but still shot you a smile before lifting his champagne flute to his lips.

“Hmm so the mysterious, handsome stranger has a tragic backstory,” you said playfully.

“I don’t know if I’d call it tragic,” he said, his shoulder ticking upwards uncomfortably.

“Should I ask?”

Probably not, you thought. But some part of you wanted to know, wanted to prod and poke until you had him all figured out.

“My mother abandoned me a few hours after I was born,” he stated flatly.

Oh.

Shit.

You didn’t expect him to laugh when he looked at you again, his head shaking. “Don’t look so shocked, it was a long time ago and I’ve come a long way since then.”

“I just -” the confidence of Bunny slipped for a moment, leaving only you; the clumsy girl with a heart that often felt far too big, “- I’m sorry, I shouldn’t’ve joked...”

“It’s fine, really. I’ve had plenty of time to get over it. Besides, the way I figure it, she did me a favour. You want soft kids, coddle them and treat them well.”

“Wouldn't know anything about that,” you said with a wry smile. “My parents definitely didn't coddle us.”

“No?”

“Nope.”

“That all I'm getting?” He asked, smiling that playful smile again.

“Getting personal defeats the point of the masks, don't you think?” You retorted, leaning to top up his drink.

“I suppose,” he answered, pausing for a beat before continuing, “I guess you could tell me anything and I'd have to take your word for it.”

“You don't strike me as the sort of man who's trusting enough to do something like that.”

It was something you could see in his eyes, the way they took you in and watched every little flicker of emotion that crossed your face.

“Then why don't we play a game?” He offered. “We each get to ask a question, and you get to call the other out if you think they’re lying. And if I catch you in a lie, you have to tell me something true.”

Your eyes narrowed a little, trying to get a measure of him. Normally you were reasonably good at reading people - though maybe a lot of that came from working various PA and secretarial positions, needing to be able to anticipate your boss’ shitty moods.

“Okay, you’re on,” you agreed, “but a few ground rules; you’re not allowed to ask about who I am or anything that might identify me.”

“Sounds fair.” He lifted his champagne and took a slow drink but his eyes never left you. “What are you most afraid of?”

That caught you off guard. It was more serious than you’d anticipated.

“You could ask me almost anything, but that’s what you want to know?”

“You can tell a lot about a person by what they’re scared of,” he said, shrugging.

You took a second to consider your answer.

“Jellyfish.”

“Really, Bunny, you’re gonna lie right outta the gate?”

“Okay, fine,” you said with a huff, hating that he’d caught you out already. “I guess I’m most scared of dying alone, but jellyfish are a close second.”

“You think you’re gonna die alone?” He asked.

There was something in his voice that seemed to suggest he didn’t get it, or maybe it was that he thought it would never happen. Little did he know that you - the real you - didn’t exactly have the best luck with men.

“That’s two questions. Don’t I get a turn?” You asked, deciding to dodge his question.

Tall and Dark relented and gave a wave of his hand.

“What do you hate most about New York?”

“Hate?” He repeated.

“Everyone always loves the same things about the city, but most people hate something different,” you explained.

You watched him closely as he considered his answer, looking for anything that might tell you if he was about to lie to you.

“The subway. It stinks of piss and there’s always too many people.”

You had to give him that one for obvious reasons, though he didn’t strike you as the kind of guy who used the subway all that often.

“When was the last time you used the subway?”

“That’s two questions, Bunny,” he chided playfully.

“Fine. Your turn.”

“What did you want to be when you were a kid?”

“What? You think that this wasn’t my career goal?” You said, barely holding back a laugh as you shook your head. “I don’t know, I went through a lot of phases; I wanted to be a vet until I lost my first hamster, wanted to be a doctor until my brother broke his arm, and I wanted to be a lawyer but I have a conscience...”

The birthday boy laughed with you, smiling at you, obviously happy enough with your answer because he didn’t call you out, making it your turn again.

“What’s your favourite place in New York?” You asked.

“Right here,” he said. “Right now. With you.”

“Yikes, what a line,” you said, smirking at him despite the heat in your cheeks. “Do lines like that usually work for you?”

“Normally I don’t need lines.”

“No?”

“People - women - usually make their minds up about me pretty quickly, and it’s rarely because of anything I have to say,” he explained.

You watched as he lifted his glass and drained his drink. Without needing to be asked, you refilled his glass. There was a pang of sadness in you, for him, for what he obviously had to go through.

“You must be pretty rich then,” you said, managing to keep the playful tone.

“Oh filthy rich,” he confirmed.

“Emphasis on the filthy part.”

He smirked at that.

The longer the conversation went on, the stranger it felt; it didn’t feel like work anymore, and you almost wished that it wasn’t. But moments like this didn’t happen to you out in the real world. He probably wouldn’t even look at you twice if he saw you in the light of day.

“Anyway, I call bullshit. There must be somewhere you like better than here, even if you are enjoying my company,” you said.

“Alright,” he conceded with an almost rueful smile, “there’s a baseball field in Brooklyn. I used to go there when I was a kid to watch other kids play...”

There was more to it, even you could tell that much, but it seemed personal - far more personal than you were prepared to get with him.

“You like baseball?”

“Liked,” he said, correcting you and adding another layer of uncertainty. “And that’s two questions.”

“Sorry, I’m not used to playing games when I’m tending bar,” you said, topping up his glass again before glancing towards his friends. “And, on that note...”

Again, you felt his eyes on you as you moved around the bar and headed to his friends, checking that everyone was having a good time and taking orders for fresh drinks.

“Think you’ve made the birthday boy’s night,” one of them said.

“Yeah, normally he slips out of his birthday parties after the first hour,” another commented, and they all laughed.

And, as you made your way back towards the bar (towards him), you couldn’t help but wonder what his birthdays were usually like.

“Hope they weren’t giving you any trouble,” he said as you slipped behind the bar and put the empty glasses you’d gathered to the side so you could start getting fresh drinks.

“No, you’ve all been perfect gentlemen,” you said, smiling at him, your face obviously showing some degree of relief because he quickly commented on it.

“Are there times when guys aren’t gentlemen?” He asked.

There was something in his tone, a hint of - what? - protectiveness, or anger maybe.

“Sometimes, but that’s what Rocky is for,” you said, nodding your head towards the door.

“The big guy?” He asked and you nodded. “Yeah, I wouldn’t fancy my chances with him.”

Filling a tray with the fresh drinks, you went back to the table and passed them around before heading back to him again, taking up the spot on the opposite side of the bar from him, leaning your elbow on the bartop.

“So,” you said, almost decidedly, “want to tell me why you’re spending your birthday night out talking to me and not with your friends?”

He seemed to hesitate, but only for a split second.

“I thought it was my turn.”

“It is,” you conceded, “if you want to keep playing, but I think you might enjoy your birthday more if you spent it with friends.”

“We could be friends.”

“Friends don’t check out each other's asses, handsome.”

“Oh, so you’ve been checking out my ass?” He said as a grin tugged at his lips.

“What can I say?” You shrugged. “Something about men in well tailored pants drives me wild.”

The birthday boy let out another laugh, and it was such a happy sound that he drew glances from his friends, all of them wondering just what it was you’d said to manage to get a response like that from him.

He grabbed his glass and got to his feet.

“This isn’t over, Bunny,” he said before heading towards his friends.

Over the rest of the night, you found yourself watching him, always coming up with a teasing or playful remark whenever you went across to get them fresh drinks (oh, you wanted a drink, I just thought you wanted to stare at my ass again and I know how much you enjoy watching me walk away).

And he watched you, too.

Your skin prickled with goosebumps under his attention and you quickly came to love the sensation. Never in all your time working at The Red Ribbon had you felt such a connection with a guest, and you probably never would again.

So, when they all finally stood to leave, you felt a pang of regret - you shouldn’t have sent him back to his friends, you should have kept him with you so you could talk more.

Each of the guys said their thanks, each dropping bills into the tip jar by the door on their way out.

One of them stopped and looked at you, a smirk on his lips. “Thanks. I dunno what you said to him but I ain’t seen him like this in a long time.”

Your heart stuttered, not sure what it was you could have done to inspire such a change in a man you didn’t even know.

You noticed him linger as the door swung shut behind the last of his friends and, at any other time, that would be cause for concern but something told you that you weren’t in danger. Not from him.

“Something else I can help you with?” You asked, as playful as ever.

“Plenty,” he said, his smile dropping a little. “But everything I want would break the rules, and the last thing I want is to get banned when there’s a chance I might see you again.”

It was sweet how oddly accepting he was of how things were, how they had to be. It made it harder to watch him walk away knowing that you might not see him again. You’d never felt such an instant connection with a stranger before, especially not a stranger who’d seen this side of you, a stranger who knew what you did for a living and didn’t judge you for it.

Against your better judgement, you leaned forward and pressed a chaste kiss to his cheek, dangerously close to the corner of his mouth, before pulling back slightly. You lingered close, watching the way the corner of his lip ticked upwards and heard the slightest catch of his breath.

“Well, here’s hoping you can tell who I am the next time you see me,” you offered in little more than a whisper.

Slowly, cautiously, his hand lifted to your face and you felt your heart skip a beat. It was the barest of touches, so light that he might not have even touched you at all, but you felt a warmth spread across your skin nonetheless.

“I’ll know, Bunny,” he said with a certainty that sent a shiver down your spine. “I’m gonna find you again.”

“Promises, promises,” you joked, wanting to keep the mood light, knowing that the odds of seeing him again were small. And, with that thought, you found yourself leaning forward again, this time pressing your lips to his for the briefest of seconds. “Something to remember me by.”

Then you stepped back, creating space between your body and his, a silent signifier that the night was over.

“I will find you,” he said again. “I always get what I want, Bunny, one way or another.”

“Happy birthday, handsome,” you said, avoiding answering his comment.

He gave you one last look, drinking in the sight of you from head to toe, and you felt your whole body warm in response. Then he left, leaving you alone with your racing heart and the promise that you’d see him again.

It should have worried you; the way he’d spoken to you, the way he’d been looking, and the fact that he wanted to find you again. But it didn’t. Instead of worry, all you felt was want, even if you knew that the man behind the mask might be someone completely different. Even if you knew the man behind the mask probably wouldn’t be interested in who you were when you weren’t playing Bunny.

Later that night as you laid in bed, your vibrator between your thighs and his dark eyes in your mind, you wondered what he was doing. Your eyes closed tight, picturing him standing over you, watching as you fucked yourself. He’d smile that playful smile down at you and slowly grip his cock - and, fuck, his cock was probably as perfect as the rest of him.

You longed to know what he looked like beneath the mask and beneath the expensive clothes.

You wanted to know what it felt like to be touched by him, for him to kiss you and hold you. For him to fuck you.

No matter what you imagined as you slid the vibrator in and out your body, your thoughts continued to return to one thing; his eyes. You wanted to get lost in them, wanted to make him laugh and see them sparkle. You wanted to see them darken with need as he fucked you and took what he wanted from you.

I always get what I want, he’d told you. And he wanted you.

A loud moan tore from your lips as you came, your whole body shivering with pleasure at the thought of this strange and alluring man getting what he wanted from you.

Then, with a heavy sigh, you sank back on your bed and curled up, the usual feelings of insecurity quickly filling you again.

He’d probably forget all about you; everything he’d said had probably just been to try and get something more than you’d been prepared to give. He’d probably already forgotten you...

Little did you know that, across town, Billy Russo was fisting his cock to thoughts of you without knowing it was you he was thinking of, his hand stroking up and down his length as he stood in the shower. He jerked off to thoughts of your body, your laugh, your smile. He pictured all the ways that he wanted you, his Bunny, all the things he wanted to do.

Your plump and pretty lips would look good wrapped around his cock, and your plush thighs would no doubt feel amazing wrapped around his head as he feasted on your cunt.

He licked his lips for what must have been the hundredth time since you kissed him and was, yet again, disappointed that there was no lingering taste of you.

As he came, he knew that he had to have you. He would find you again, and he would make you his if it was the last thing he did.

A/N : I feel weird when I don't post on a Friday, so here's a new thing 😅 like I said at the start, this will just be a short, sweet thing (3 parts and done), but hopefully it'll be a lot of fun and a little bit more playful/light-hearted compared to Love, Sick Love. (And I promise no cliffhanger ending to this one 😅) If you've played TellTale's The Wolf Among Us, that's where I got the ribbon idea from (well that and that old ghost story... but no ones head is going to fall off in this, I promise).

As always, let me know if you want to be tagged. I'm not going to full commit to posting every Friday for this because I work in retail and, as you can imagine, it's hectic at the moment, but I want to try and post at least once a week since this is only going to be a short story.

Anyway, thanks for reading!

Also I can't remember if anyone else asked to be tagged in all future Billy stories, if I've missed you please shout at me.

Tag List : @lincerad @xxxsweetcarolinexxx

#billy russo #billy russo x reader #billy russo x female reader #the punisher #billy russo fanfic #billy russo imagine #trr ff

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beetleskeleton · 2 years ago

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@pinksparklelps

Alright alright, that’s enough angst for now. How’s about some good ol’ fluff instead?

—

It was a cold day, which meant the bots would spend most of the day snug next to each other to keep each other warm. It was a sweet practice, as nowadays anyone you knew would give anything to cuddle all day. As you make your way to the main hub of the factory, you can’t help but try to imagine what it would be like. What would the bots do? How many would partake in it? Would all of them be alright with an organic such as yourself participating?

You snapped out of your thoughts once you entered. The Uberbots, P03’s workers, and P03 himself were all here. One of the bots turned to you and beckoned you to come join them by their side. You obliged and stood next to them, listening to P03 speak as he instructed who would go where. P03’s gaze flicked to you for a second, and in that moment you felt a small stir of alarm.

“Ah, you’re here. Good, I was just about to get to you.”

P03 said, before continuing on with his rant. You eased at that, and once he was done you all got into position. You were sandwiched between two Uberbots; the Archivist and G0lly, with the Photographer just beyond them and the Unfinished Boss was on the other side of the pile. P03 was near the center, as well as the Melter and Inspector, with the Dredger between the Unfinished Boss and P03.

It was nice and warm, with all the bots starting to heat themselves up to provide warmth. The two bots that laid beside you had kept you close to them, their embrace comfortable. There’s practically nothing but warmth all around you as you keep them close to you. You wish you could spend everyday like this, everyone snuggled up against each other without a care in the world. Tomorrow’s chores will be a pain, but that’ll be a worry for another time.

What mattered right now was the warmth and comfort you felt in this giant bot cuddle pile.

#inscryption #inscryption x reader #inscryption p03 #inscryption dredger #inscryption melter #inscryption inspector #inscryption archivist #inscryption photographer #inscryption unfinished boss #inscryption g0lly #sparky #elowen casts healing fluff

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ssa-dado · 4 months ago

Text

13 - Soulmates

Aaron Hotchner x bau!fem!reader Genre: fluff Summary: Reid and Morgan attend your lecture, curious about your mysterious connection to Hotch, and are quickly outplayed by your keen instincts. During the lecture, you seamlessly blend psychological concepts with philosophical insights, leaving them impressed. Afterward, Hotch, unaware of your return, is stunned when he finally sees you, the bond between you two immediately apparent. The team watches in awe as you and Hotch exchange playful banter, the deep connection between you two undeniable. Warnings: CM-style graphic case descriptions, Reid and Morgan being oblivious Word Count: 10k Dado's Corner: Try not to say mommy challenge. You will all miserably fail. Y/N is a savage, I love her, the more confident version of her is so fun to write.

previous chapter ; masterlist

Later that day, Morgan and Reid found themselves seated in the middle of a packed lecture hall at the Academy. It wasn’t exactly protocol for the two of them to be there -especially not together - but the team had orchestrated this “mission” carefully: it was a case file day, which meant there was a low chance of being called out, but leaving the bullpen entirely would have raised suspicion. Especially if they wanted to keep their operation secret from Hotch and Gideon, both clueless of what was about to unfold.

The mystery surrounding you - why Hotch never had spoken about you - had quickly become a quiet fascination within the team, escalating over the course of just a few hours. It wasn’t just curiosity about a former colleague; there was an unspoken sense that your departure had left an impact that went far beyond a routine job change. Intrigued by the potential layers to the situation, the team knew they needed to investigate, and they chose Reid and Morgan as the perfect pair for this undercover operation.

Reid’s youth and sharp intellect made him blend in effortlessly with the students, but it was his deep academic curiosity that truly set him apart. In preparation for the lecture, Reid had spent the afternoon poring over all of your published work, and he quickly became captivated by your ability to seamlessly interlace psychology, culture, and philosophy in ways few could manage. The depth of your insights, the connections you drew between human behavior and broader cultural forces, sparked something in him - a rare sense of admiration.

For Reid, this mission wasn’t just about gathering intelligence; it was an opportunity to engage with a mind he respected. Your ideas, complex yet accessible, offered an intellectual challenge he was eager to dive into. He wanted to hear your thoughts firsthand, not just to uncover the truth about your past with Hotch, but because he truly respected the brilliance of your work.

Morgan, on the other hand, had entirely different motivations for being there. His cop’s instinct told him something wasn’t adding up, and that gnawing curiosity wouldn’t let him rest. A particular photo he’d seen back in Garcia’s lair - of you and Hotch, caught in a candid moment of shared laughter - had stuck with him ever since.

Hotch didn’t laugh like that anymore.

There was something about you that had unlocked a side of their otherwise stoic unit chief, a version of Hotch that Morgan had never seen before, and it bothered him. That rare glimpse of joy on his boss’s face hinted at a deeper story, one that Hotch had kept carefully hidden. Morgan was determined to figure out what had really happened between you two, to uncover why Hotch never spoke of you and why your departure still seemed to hang in the air like unfinished business.

Unlike Reid, who could slip into the crowd with his youthful look and scholarly demeanor, Morgan stood out. His broad shoulders and confident stance made him look more like a security detail than a student. His sharp gaze constantly swept the room, not in casual curiosity, but in the way of someone who was trained to assess for threats, even in the seemingly safe confines of a lecture hall. Morgan wasn’t here to blend in; he was here to find answers.

“Man, these kids are young,” Morgan muttered under his breath, taking in the sea of eager, fresh faces around them.

Reid, already scribbling notes, glanced up with a slight smirk. “It’s the Academy. They’re supposed to be young. You’ll survive.”

Morgan rolled his eyes but didn’t reply, his thoughts still caught between the mission at hand and the uneasy feeling he couldn’t shake. There was something more in the air, something heavier than just academic interest.

“Just remember,” Morgan whispered, leaning closer to Reid, “we’re not here for the lesson. We’re here to figure out what Hotch isn’t telling us.”

Reid glanced up, clearly torn between his genuine academic excitement and the need to stick to the plan. “I can do both, you know.”

Morgan smirked. “Sure you can, kid. Just don’t get lost in the lecture.”

Just then, the door at the front of the lecture hall swung open, and you walked in with an air of quiet confidence that silenced the room instantly. The soft shuffle of papers and whispered conversations died down as you made your way to the podium, a stack of notes in hand. Reid and Morgan immediately locked onto you, and though Reid had never met you in person, he instantly recognized you from the photo Garcia had shown them earlier.

You looked strikingly similar to how you had in that picture: poised, elegant, with that same calm authority that demanded attention without effort. But now, in this academic environment, there was a subtle difference. Reid noted how much more relaxed you seemed, despite the structured setting. There was a lightness to you, as if shedding the rigid confines of the BAU had allowed you to embrace something more natural, more authentic.

Your hair, worn in its natural texture, was a stark contrast to the sleek, pin-straight style you had sported back when you were chasing down criminals. It made you seem more yourself, more at ease, as though time had allowed you to settle into a version of you that didn’t need to conform to the high-pressure world of profiling. And yet, despite these differences, Reid could see the parts of you that hadn’t changed at all.

You still wore your signature all-black suit, sharply tailored and immaculate. The only splash of color was your light blue shirt, buttoned all the way to the top but hidden beneath a fitted black vest. It was a subtle uniform, one that spoke of your meticulous attention to detail, just as Reid had expected from the person whose work he had admired.

As you set your notes down on the podium, there was no need to ask for the students' attention. Your presence alone commanded it, radiating a quiet authority that both Reid and Morgan could feel from across the room.

Morgan leaned back in his chair, his sharp eyes studying you intently. The way you moved, the way you carried yourself, it was almost uncanny. You had the same presence as Hotch, the same quiet yet commanding energy that made people listen before you even spoke. The way you walked to the podium, the slight tilt of your head as you scanned the room, the controlled yet effortless manner in which you handled your materials, it was all too familiar.

Morgan couldn’t shake the feeling that it didn’t make sense to him how you could still carry such a striking similarity to Hotch after all these years. You had only worked together for three years, and it had been six since you’d last seen each other, yet those brief moments watching you confirmed that there was an unspoken bond, a shared approach to leadership and presence that ran far deeper than the passage of time could diminish.

What stood out to him even more was how mature you seemed, not just in your authority but in the quiet confidence you exuded. You were four years younger than him, only five older than Reid, but there was something about the way you carried yourself that made you feel more seasoned, like you’d lived a life beyond your years. And yet, your warmth was undeniable. Your smile was far more approachable than Hotch’s, inviting curiosity and dialogue, yet it carried the same weight of experience and intellect.

What truly set you apart, though, was the care you showed to the students. Even though this was just a guest lecture, and you had no prior connection to any of them, there was a gentleness in the way you treated them, as if each one mattered individually. Rather than pointing out sections of a textbook or directing them to impersonal reading assignments, you handed out your very own notes. Pages written in your careful, flowing handwriting, offering glimpses into your thought process. The act of giving them your personal materials made everyone in the room feel seen and taken care of, as if they were receiving something more than just information, they were receiving a piece of you.

As you approached Reid and Morgan’s row, handing out the notes, your instincts kicked in almost instantly. Something in their body language - Morgan's guarded posture, the way Reid’s eyes darted over every detail - gave them away. They weren’t students, not with that level of awareness. Your instincts, finely honed from years in the field, told you immediately they were agents, not here for the lecture but for something more. You paused for only a fraction of a second as you handed Reid his copy, then Morgan’s, but in that brief exchange, everything clicked into place.

You knew exactly who they were, they weren’t just agents.

They were Hotch’s agents.

Even without having seen their pictures, Hotch’s letters over the years had painted such vivid portraits of his team that recognition came as naturally as breathing. Reid’s intense curiosity, the way his mind seemed to be running a mile a minute as he absorbed every detail of the room, was exactly as Hotch had described. And Morgan - sharp, ever-watchful, his presence commanding without a word - fit the description perfectly. Hotch had done more than just mention them; he'd crafted a detailed profile of each one, and in that moment, you were impressed by how well his words had aligned with reality.

But despite recognizing them, you gave nothing away. No raised brow, no startled reaction - just a slight, knowing smile tugging at the corner of your lips as you handed them their notes with the same care and warmth you extended to the rest of the class. It was as if, in that brief moment, you acknowledged the deeper connection between all of you but chose to let it remain unspoken, just as you had done with so many things in your life.

You decided you would let them continue their undercover game, but in your mind, you were already several steps ahead. You knew their plan. You understood the intrigue. And while you didn’t mind playing along for now, you knew this encounter would unfold on your terms, not theirs.

Reid’s eyes lingered on the notes you handed him, immediately captivated by the intricate, handwritten connections sprawling across the page. The blue ink, fluid and purposeful, revealed a map of your mind - each word carefully placed to weave together psychological phenomena, historical events, and philosophical insights with stunning clarity. The structure, the flow, the careful attention to detail - it was all there.

Morgan’s attention, however, was pulled elsewhere. As you handed him his notes, he caught the glint of something he hadn’t expected. The engagement ring. His eyes locked on it for a moment longer than they should have, the band gleaming on your left hand as you moved past him. There it was, a piece of the puzzle he hadn’t accounted for. Whoever you were now, you weren’t just Hotch’s former partner. You had a life, a future, and someone waiting for you.

Morgan glanced over at Reid, whose eyes were still glued to your notes, clearly fascinated by the web of ideas you had laid out. But when Reid noticed Morgan’s gaze, the flicker of recognition passed between them. The mission just got a lot more complicated.

As you moved back to the podium and began your lecture, Morgan couldn’t help but continue noticing the subtle echoes of Hotch’s body language. The way you paused before speaking, the careful consideration in your words, it was all too familiar. Reid, ever the observer of patterns, was clearly noticing it too. The way you stood at the podium, hands placed just so, the deliberate pacing as you spoke. It was eerily reminiscent of Hotch, and yet there was something different. Where Hotch exuded strict efficiency, you brought warmth, a sense of curiosity that made people lean in, eager to hear more.

“I came here today because they told me to discuss the phenomenon of folie à deux,” you began, your voice calm yet authoritative, “and its implications not just in psychology but in philosophy and culture.”

The room stilled as you spoke, your presence effortlessly commanding attention. Morgan and Reid exchanged a quick glance, fully engaged now in the way you were weaving complex psychological concepts with larger, philosophical questions. There was something magnetic about the way you approached the topic, pulling in the room with every word.

“Folie à deux is a rare psychological phenomenon,” you continued, “where two or more individuals, typically in a close relationship, share the same delusion. It’s often seen in couples, siblings, or very close friends. The dominant partner transmits their delusion to the other, creating a shared reality.”

You paused, letting the weight of the concept settle over the room. “This raises profound philosophical questions. Take Kant’s idea, for instance. He believed that we don’t perceive the world as it truly is, but instead, we experience the world through the lens of our minds. In other words, our reality is shaped by how our minds organize and interpret what we see, hear, and feel.”

You let that thought settle before continuing. “Now, if two people share the same delusion, for them, that becomes their reality. Even though it's false to us, it’s their truth, because their minds are filtering and organizing information to fit that shared belief. In Kant’s terms, it challenges the very idea of ‘objective reality’ - because what we think is real might just be how we’re perceiving it, not how it actually exists outside of our minds.”

You smiled warmly at the class. “So, in a way, our subjective experiences - what we believe, what we feel - shape the world we live in. And when two people share the same distorted view, that shared perception becomes their reality, no matter how far it drifts from the truth.”

Reid leaned forward, his pen flying across the page as he absorbed every word. He was captivated, not just by the subject matter, but by the way you framed it, how you elevated the psychological disorder into a philosophical discussion about the nature of truth and perception. You made complex ideas seem simple yet profound, interconnecting psychology and philosophy into one seamless, thought-provoking narrative.

Morgan, though less academically driven, found himself equally drawn in. The way you spoke made even the most abstract concepts accessible, your words carrying weight not just in their content but in how you delivered them, with a clarity that left no room for misunderstanding, yet a depth that left room for reflection.

You began to explain a specific case you had worked on during your time at the BAU, a case that had stayed with you due to its sheer brutality and the disturbing dynamic between the killers. “I worked on a case a few years ago involving a series of brutal murders. The victims were found hanging from the ceilings of abandoned warehouses, their bodies mutilated in ways that suggested not just violence, but performance.”

The room grew eerily still as you spoke, your voice taking on a darker tone. “The killers were a couple, completely lost in their shared delusion. They believed that by killing their victims in such a specific, ritualistic manner, they were cementing their bond, as if the act of murder itself was an expression of their twisted love.”

You paced slowly across the front of the room, your words heavy with implication, and the students hung on every word. “The crime scenes were brutal, but what stood out most were the patterns - blood splattered in what appeared to be a deliberate, almost choreographed way. It wasn’t random violence; it was as if they were performing a ritual.”

Reid’s pen scratched furiously against his notebook, his brows furrowed in concentration as he tried to capture every detail. Morgan, meanwhile, glanced around the room, feeling the palpable tension you were building with your story.

“The first victim, a 21-year-old student, was found suspended from the ceiling of a derelict warehouse. Her body had been methodically sliced, the cuts precise, deep, but not immediately fatal. The killers had taken their time, savoring each wound, letting her bleed out slowly. The scene was a nightmare: blood splattered everywhere, but not haphazardly. It seemed purposeful, like an abstract painting.”

You paused, gauging the room’s reactions. The students sat frozen, entranced, and even Reid, who had seen his share of brutal cases, seemed visibly affected.

“The second victim, a 36-year-old plumber, was found in a nearly identical state in another warehouse. Another body, another grotesque dance of violence. His blood, like the first victim’s, had been splattered across the room in swirling patterns, as if the killers were moving in deliberate, controlled steps. It was clear this wasn’t about the victims themselves, but about the act. They weren’t just killing, they were performing.”

You nodded at the young woman’s question, already anticipating the curiosity it sparked. “At first glance, the victims appeared unconnected - different ages, different backgrounds. But the killers didn’t choose them at random. The victims were symbolic, representations of the killers’ own internal dynamics. One victim reflected the youth and innocence of one partner, while the other embodied the experience, the world-weariness, of the other. In a twisted sense, they weren’t killing strangers - they were killing versions of themselves, surrogates, to solidify their bond through these acts.”

Reid’s hand shot up, his mind clearly racing with the case details. “Did your team profile them as a couple right away?”

You nodded, already expecting Reid’s instinctive question. “Yes, very early on, we suspected it was a folie à deux. The crime scenes told us as much. The way the blood was deliberately splattered, almost choreographed, was a shared act of performance. The footprints intertwined, moving in tandem, telling a story of two people completely absorbed in their collective delusion. It was clear that this wasn’t just violence, it was ritual, a form of communication between them.”

Here, you paused, adding a layer of deeper reflection. “Philosophically, it raises an interesting point about identity and connection. In cases like this, the delusion becomes more than just shared, it defines them. Think of Hegel’s concept of the dialectic. Two opposing forces interact, shaping and defining each other through their opposition. These killers were engaged in that process, only instead of a philosophical exchange of ideas, their connection was expressed through violence. They became more themselves through their shared acts, solidifying their identities through the bond of their crimes.”

Morgan shifted in his seat, slightly unsettled by the complexity of the killers' psychology and the patience it must have taken to unravel their twisted connection. He didn’t often think of criminals in such philosophical terms, he saw them through the lens of the law, of right and wrong.

“And then,” you said, your voice growing quieter, more deliberate, “there was the dance.”

The air in the room grew heavier, as if everyone collectively held their breath. “Each crime scene had one distinctive feature,” you continued, “the footprints left in the blood. They weren’t random or chaotic - they moved in deliberate loops and turns, forming a grotesque choreography. This was no ordinary crime - it was ritualistic, deeply personal. The killers were reliving a significant moment between them, reenacting their bond through this macabre dance.”

You paused, letting the students absorb the gravity of what you were saying. “And here’s where we dive deeper - into the philosophy of ritual. Durkheim talks about how rituals are essential to the creation of social bonds, how shared rituals bring people closer, giving them a sense of identity and belonging. For these two, the act of murder became their ritual. It was how they maintained their connection, how they affirmed to each other that their shared reality - their delusion - was true. The blood on the floor wasn’t just evidence. It was a testament to their bond, a mark of their unity.”

You let the silence hang, watching as the weight of those words sank in. Reid was furiously scribbling notes, his brows furrowed in concentration, clearly processing the philosophical layers you were laying down. Morgan, on the other hand, glanced around the room, sensing the discomfort among the students, while he himself struggled to imagine how such a deep connection could manifest in something so horrific.

A student’s hand shot up from the middle of the room. “How did you catch them?”

You paused for a moment, a faint smile tugging at the corners of your lips, holding back the laughter threatening to escape at the memory. “It wasn’t easy,” you began, your voice steady and measured. “My partner and I had to go undercover to a dance event where we suspected the unsubs would be. We spent an entire night - and the following day -perfecting a slow dance routine just to blend in, hoping to draw them out.”

There was a ripple of interest across the room, but Morgan and Reid exchanged a glance that held more weight than simple curiosity. Morgan’s brow furrowed, his lips quirking in disbelief. He leaned toward Reid, whispering, “Hotch? Dancing?”

Reid, always serious, blinked in surprise, his pen frozen mid-air. “Hotch? Dancing?” he echoed, as if the concept itself was too far-fetched to be real.

Morgan’s disbelief quickly morphed into amusement. He leaned back in his chair, eyes gleaming mischievously as he pulled out his phone, keeping it low under the desk. Without missing a beat, he sent a quick message to Garcia.

To Garcia:

Find footage of Hotch dancing. ASAP.

You caught the exchange from the corner of your eye, and the flash of recognition in your gaze wasn’t lost on either of them. You knew what they were up to. You’d seen it before - agents who thought they could outmaneuver you. It didn’t bother you. In fact, a touch of mischief tugged at your own lips as you pressed on with the story.

“We had to immerse ourselves completely in the role,” you continued smoothly, not missing a beat. “Everything had to be perfect - our interactions with the other dancers, the timing of our steps. We had to give the appearance of just being another couple enjoying the evening.”

You paused, letting your words settle in, and your eyes - sharp and assessing - swept over the room, briefly lingering on Reid and Morgan. They thought they were here undercover, sizing you up, but you were already several steps ahead.

“As you can imagine,” you said, your tone casual but laced with intent, “undercover work is about blending in. It’s about becoming invisible until you’re ready to act. One of the worst things you can do is stand out before you have what you need.”

Morgan’s posture stiffened. He exchanged a subtle glance with Reid, who was still scribbling furiously, caught up in the lesson. But Morgan, with his instincts sharpened by years in the field, noticed the change in your tone. Reid, still oblivious, looked up, blinking in confusion as he tried to catch the thread.

“For example,” you continued, now pacing ever so slightly in front of the room, “if you’re attending a lecture and trying to blend in, you wouldn’t want to sit right in the middle, where everyone can see you. You’d want to sit somewhere unobtrusive - close enough to observe, but not so obvious that you stand out.”

Reid’s pen stilled. He blinked rapidly, glancing down at his notes as if unsure how to respond. Morgan, on the other hand, shifted in his seat, straightening up. He could feel the eyes of the room on them now. This wasn’t just a lecture anymore. You had them in your sights.

“And of course,�� you added, with a sly smile barely visible at the corners of your lips, “you’d want to keep steady eye contact with the people you’re observing. Avoiding eye contact is a classic tell that you’re hiding something.”

Reid’s head snapped up, wide-eyed, and he finally caught on. His gaze flicked nervously between you and Morgan, his face flushing a deep shade of red. Morgan, meanwhile, smirked, the game now fully exposed. He chuckled under his breath, turning to Reid with a playful glint in his eye.

“I think we’ve been made,” Morgan whispered, leaning closer.

Reid’s response came in a low mutter, “I think she’s profiling us.”

You didn’t miss the exchange, though you pretended not to hear. The game was laid bare, and now it was time to pull back the curtain. “The key to any good undercover operation,” you continued, eyes still fixed on them even as you addressed the entire class, “is to stay in character, no matter what happens. And when someone mentions having to learn a choreographed number to catch unsubs, you definitely don’t text your technical analyst to hunt down footage because the man in question happens to be your emotionless, overworked Unit Chief.”

Both Morgan and Reid’s jaws dropped, their reactions a perfect mirror of disbelief and embarrassment. Reid blushed furiously, stammering as he attempted to regain his composure. Morgan bit back laughter, his shoulders shaking as he slid his phone into his pocket. You were right, of course. There was no getting around it, they’d been caught red-handed.

Garcia, no doubt, would be on the receiving end of Morgan’s follow-up text telling her to drop the hunt for footage.

You let the silence linger for a beat, allowing the full weight of the moment to sink in. The rest of the class sat transfixed, watching what they believed was just a masterclass in teaching. Little did they know the game of cat-and-mouse unfolding between you and the two agents in the back.

You took a breath, your voice resuming its measured cadence. “Undercover work,” you continued, “is about subtleties. It’s about knowing how to blend in, how to observe without drawing attention. It’s about choosing the right moment to act and making sure you’re invisible until the exact second you need to be seen.”

Your gaze lingered on Reid and Morgan just a moment longer, a soft smile tugging at your lips. They thought they were here to gather information on you, to figure out who you were and why Hotch had never spoken of you. But in reality, they had only gotten a taste of your true skill, the ability to read people long before they ever realized they were being seen.

Reid, his face still flushed with embarrassment, leaned over to Morgan. “She just pulled a Hotch on us.”

Morgan grinned, shaking his head in admiration. “She’s good. Really good. No wonder Hotch never talks about her… he’s probably still recovering.”

The tension in the room eased, but you knew that whatever questions Morgan and Reid had come with were far from answered. They had expected to size you up, maybe catch you off guard, but instead, you’d turned the tables on them.

You continued with your lecture, now fully in control of the room. “And that’s what we did with the case,” you concluded. “We chose the right moment, and when we did, we caught them in their own delusion, wrapped in their performance. They never saw it coming.”

Reid’s pen resumed its frantic scribbling, while Morgan, arms crossed, watched you with a new sense of respect. Whatever answers they sought, they knew now that you wouldn’t be easy to read. And that was exactly how you liked it.

You finished your lecture smoothly, returning to the details of the case and the eventual capture of the unsubs, weaving in philosophical insights about reality, perception, and the power of shared beliefs. But throughout it all, you never lost that air of quiet confidence, knowing you had just outplayed two of the best profilers in the FBI.

As the lecture came to a close and students began to file out of the room, Morgan and Reid remained in their seats, waiting for the others to leave. When the room had finally emptied, you approached them with a knowing smile tugging at your lips.

“Well,” you began, your tone light but teasing, “I hope you two learned something.”

Reid blushed deeply, looking down at his notebook as if it could somehow shield him from the embarrassment. Morgan, on the other hand, held out his hand with a wide grin, unfazed by the fact that they had been caught. “I’ll give it to you - you got us. I haven’t been outplayed like that in a long time.”

You laughed softly, shaking his hand. “I recognized you both the moment I walked in, Hotch talks about his team all the time. But I appreciate the effort, you blended in better than most.”

Reid finally found his voice, still fidgeting with his satchel as if to ground himself. “I-I just wanted to say I’ve read your work on geographical profiling. It’s... groundbreaking.” His voice held genuine admiration, the kind that went beyond the mission they were on.

Your warm smile softened further, and you nodded appreciatively. “Thank you, Dr. Reid. That means a lot, especially coming from you.” You could see the boyish pride flash across his face at the compliment.

Morgan, ever the protector, chuckled and nudged Reid with his elbow. “See? You two are cut from the same cloth. A couple of geniuses.”

You turned to Morgan, raising a brow with amusement. “And you’re Derek Morgan, the infamous charmer. Hotch warned me about you.”

Morgan smirked, flashing a look of mock offense. “Warned you, huh? Well, I’m flattered, but he probably undersold me.” His teasing grin was infectious, but beneath the bravado, you could see the respect he held for you.

You shook your head, still laughing. “He’s actually spoken about your loyalty more than anything else. I can see why.”

Morgan, momentarily caught off guard by the sincerity in your words, gave a small nod of appreciation. Then, ever the flirt, he added with a playful glint in his eye, “Now I get why Hotch never talks about you. You’ve probably got him all figured out.”

The smile faltered for just a moment, a soft wave of nostalgia passing over you. “Hotch is... the best partner I’ve ever had,” you said quietly, your tone laced with something deeper. “And a good friend.”

Before the conversation could turn more personal, the door creaked open, and all three of you turned toward the sound of footsteps. Both Morgan and Reid stiffened, instinctively straightening in their seats. You followed their gaze toward the door, where none other than Jason Gideon appeared. His familiar, warm presence filled the room immediately, his keen eyes scanning the scene before him.

Gideon’s gaze first landed on Reid and Morgan, a flicker of surprise crossing his face before a knowing look settled in. He shook his head slightly, clearly imagining how Hotch would react when he found out his agents had gone rogue for this unsanctioned mission. But then his eyes found you, and his expression softened into something else - pride.

“Y/N,” he said, his voice carrying the weight of all the years and experiences you’d shared. “Who would have thought? Not even a decade ago, you were sitting in these very desks, and now you’re traveling the world, revolutionizing our entire approach to behavioral analysis. You’ve become a legend.”

His words, spoken with genuine pride, struck something deep within you. Despite yourself, a wave of emotion surged in your chest, and for a moment, you were the young student again, sitting across from him in that same room. You stepped forward and embraced him, the gesture spontaneous but full of meaning. The hug was brief but genuine, and you pulled back slightly, your eyes glistening with unshed tears.

“Thank you, Gideon,” you murmured, your voice thick with emotion you hadn’t expected. “I owe all of this to you. I still feel like I’m only scratching the surface compared to what you’ve accomplished.”

He stepped back, his hands gently resting on your shoulders as he met your eyes. His gaze was as steady as ever, filled with a deep affection and respect. “You’ve done more than you realize,” he said quietly. “You’ve surpassed every expectation I had, but I always knew you would. From the moment you walked into the BAU, I knew you were going to change everything.”

A smile tugged at the corners of your mouth as you shook your head slightly, trying to brush off the weight of his praise. “Well, I’ve certainly made a few changes.”

Gideon’s eyes sparkled with nostalgia as he looked at you. “You’ve changed too,” he said softly, his voice brimming with fondness. “No more straight hair.” He smiled, clearly remembering the younger version of you who had tried so hard to project confidence. “You used to work so hard to make sure no one underestimated you.”

You laughed, though the sound was a little choked with the emotions you were trying to keep in check. “I stopped worrying about that a long time ago,” you admitted, feeling the gravity of your journey settle in your chest. “Letting people underestimate you can be a real advantage.”

Gideon chuckled, nodding as if he had always known you’d figure that out on your own. “I always knew you would,” he said with quiet pride. “You’ve grown into yourself. More than that, you’ve become someone people look up to.”

You grinned, blinking away the tears that threatened to fall. “And you haven’t changed a bit,” you teased, though your voice betrayed the depth of the connection you still felt with him.

Gideon’s smile was soft, the wrinkles around his eyes deepening as he took in the sight of you. “I have,” he said, his voice gentle but knowing. “But that’s how it’s supposed to be. Time changes us all, but I’m proud of you, Y/N. Truly.”

The moment felt heavy with unspoken words, the bond between you and your mentor palpable. Reid and Morgan, watching from the side, felt the significance of it. Reid, always the observer, took mental note of the exchange, while Morgan could see how deeply you and Gideon were connected.

Gideon looked around the room, then turned back to you with a small, knowing smile. “It’s good to have you back,” he said, his voice softer, full of the warmth that only a mentor could offer. "Why don’t you come with me to the BAU? I know Hotch would want to see you.” His tone softened further, the words deliberate, as if he sensed the emotional weight they carried. “You’re not an ocean away anymore. You’re just a moment away.”

The mention of Hotch’s name sent a wave of emotions crashing over you. Your heart skipped a beat, your breath catching in your chest as the reality of it settled.

Six years.

Six long years since you’d last stood face to face with him, since you’d held his gaze and heard the familiar, steady tone of his voice. The prospect of seeing him again stirred something deep inside you - not just nostalgia, but the weight of everything you’d shared. You’d still felt the connection in every letter exchanged over the years, every small piece of your old selves that you shared across time zones.

But letters were safe, written words couldn’t fully capture the presence Hotch carried, the way he could fill a room with just his silence, how his quiet, intense gaze could ground you when everything else was chaotic. That was what you missed most: the steady, unspoken understanding that had defined your partnership.

You tried to steady yourself, but the memories came rushing back: the late nights in his office, where neither of you needed to speak to understand one another. The silent communication born out of years of working cases together, where you could anticipate his thoughts, his moves, before a word was uttered. He had been more than just a partner in the field - he had been your anchor in the storm of the BAU, a constant presence that you trusted with your life.

And in that trust, without even realizing it at the time, you had also given him your heart.

But time had changed things. In the six years since you left, you had found love with Peter, now your fiancé, someone who brought light and stability into your life in ways you hadn’t thought possible after the intensity of working at the BAU. Peter had followed you to Europe, and together you had built a new chapter - one full of love, shared adventures, and a future that felt secure. Meanwhile, Hotch had built his own family, raising Jack and finding his happiness with Haley.

Both of you had moved forward, creating lives apart from each other, but the bond you shared, that deep-rooted partnership, had never faded.

It had evolved. What once might have been an unspoken attraction had transformed into something deeper – the most profound friendship built on mutual respect and care for each other. Hotch had been there for you in ways no one else had, and even though life had taken you on different paths, that connection would always be there. He was still your partner, and you knew that no matter what, you would always have care for each other.

Gideon, ever perceptive, seemed to sense the emotions you were bottling up. He turned toward Morgan and Reid, who were standing awkwardly at the back, clearly feeling guilty for sneaking into your class during work hours.

“I think the two of you owe Y/N a proper introduction to the team,” Gideon said, his voice carrying that familiar mentor-like authority, though there was a teasing note beneath it. He knew exactly what he was doing—giving you a little more time to gather your thoughts.

Morgan, for once, looked slightly unnerved, and Reid fidgeted with his bag, clearly realizing that their undercover mission might get them into more trouble than they had anticipated. The thought of Hotch finding out they’d been snooping on his old partner without permission seemed to hit them both at the same time.

“Yeah, uh… about that,” Morgan began, rubbing the back of his neck with a sheepish grin. “Hotch is not gonna be happy when he finds out we snuck out to come here.”

Reid nodded fervently, his fingers tapping nervously against his satchel. “If he finds out,” he muttered, clearly hoping that somehow Hotch wouldn’t discover their little operation.

You couldn’t help but smile at the two of them, their dynamic so familiar, reminiscent of how you and Hotch used to move in sync. It was strange, seeing this new generation of agents, people who had become extensions of the world you had left behind. But even in that strangeness, there was a comfort, a sense of continuity.

The BAU had changed, but the bond between partners, the loyalty, was still the same.

The thought of seeing Hotch again made your breath catch in your throat. Six years was a long time, but the way your heart quickened at the idea of hearing his voice, standing in front of him, told you that the connection between you two hadn’t faded. You had built a life with Peter, and Hotch had built his family, yet there was still something between you that transcended time and distance. It wasn’t romantic, not anymore, but it was profound. He was still everything that mattered.

You swallowed hard, pushing aside the rush of emotions as you nodded, a soft, almost tentative smile tugging at your lips. “I’d love to.”

Morgan, catching the momentary hesitation in your voice, smirked, his profiling instincts kicking in immediately. “You didn’t tell Hotch you were coming back, did you?”

You grinned, a flicker of mischief lighting your eyes. “Of course not. I wanted to catch him off guard. I think you know better than I do how much he hates surprises.”

Reid blinked, clearly taken aback by the casual ease with which you spoke about Hotch. “You planned to surprise him… just to annoy him?”

Your smile widened, the playfulness evident. “Exactly. What kind of friend would I be if I didn’t?”

Morgan chuckled, shaking his head in amusement. “Man, Hotch is in for a rude awakening. I almost feel sorry for him.”

“Almost,” you teased, your eyes sparkling with mischief. “But let’s be honest, you’re just as curious to see his reaction as I am.”

The elevator ride up to the BAU felt like an eternity. Every passing floor seemed to stretch time longer, and the soft ding of each level only heightened your anticipation. Gideon stood beside you, calm and composed as always, offering a reassuring presence without a word. Reid and Morgan’s casual chatter about the last case floated around you, but their words didn’t register.

Your mind was consumed by a thousand different thoughts, scenarios of how this reunion might go, and the heart-pounding reality that, in just a few moments, you would see him again.

Would Hotch be angry? Would he be surprised? Or had too much time passed for him to feel anything at all?

When the elevator doors finally slid open onto the familiar floor of the BAU, your breath caught in your throat. The bullpen, once your daily world, hummed with activity. Agents moved briskly between desks, their voices blending with the ringing phones and the hum of printers.

Everything looked so familiar and yet subtly different. More desks, new faces, an expanded workspace. But it wasn’t the changes that struck you - it was the energy, the same sense of family that had always made this place feel like home.

Your eyes wandered, scanning the room until they landed on two desks right in the center of the bullpen, still facing each other after all these years.

Your desk and Hotch’s - just as they’d been before.

A memory stirred, flooding you with images of late nights ande early mornings spent side by side, the sound of rustling papers and quiet conversations exchanged in the dim glow of desk lamps. The thought of those quiet moments made your heart ache with a bittersweet familiarity.

Suddenly, a voice snapped you out of your thoughts.

“Oh my God,” JJ gasped, her eyes wide with shock as she spotted you from across the room. She walked quickly toward you, her excitement barely contained. “You’re the profiler Hotch never talks about, aren’t you?”. You chuckled softly, shaking your head. “So I’ve heard.”

Before you could say more, the blur of pink and sparkles that was Penelope Garcia appeared at your side, practically bouncing on her toes with enthusiasm. “You’re *real*!” she squealed. “Twenty-six languages, three master’s degrees… you’re like a myth come to life!”

Her joy was infectious, and you couldn’t help but laugh, the warmth of it spreading through your chest. “It’s twenty-eight now,” you corrected with a grin. “But who’s counting?”

Garcia gasped dramatically, her eyes wide in amazement. “Twenty-eight?! Oh, honey, we have so much to talk about!”

Prentiss approached next, arms crossed but a warm smile on her face. “Well, well,” she said, appraising you with a glint of admiration. “Didn’t think I’d ever meet the one who kept Hotch on his toes all those years. Welcome back.”

You smiled back at her, feeling the weight of the years melt away as these new members of the team welcomed you with such ease. It was as if no time had passed at all, yet everything had changed. Each word, each gesture reminded you of the family you had left behind. And as you stood there, catching up with them, you realized how much you had missed this.

But even as they asked about your time in Europe, about the classes you’d taught and the cases you’d worked on, your gaze kept drifting upward, toward the glass-walled office above the bullpen. And there he was.

Aaron Hotchner, sitting at his desk, oblivious to the commotion below. His head was down, focused intently on the file in front of him, his expression as serious and stoic as ever. Your heart clenched painfully at the sight of him.

He looked the same, almost unchanged from the day you left - strong, composed, but with a heaviness in his posture that hadn’t been there before, as if the weight of the years had settled on his shoulders.

You barely registered the questions from the team as your eyes locked onto him. It was as if the world had narrowed down to just the sight of him, and suddenly, all the anticipation, all the nervous energy that had been building inside you, rushed to the surface.

Just then, as if sensing the weight of your stare, Hotch lifted his head. His eyes scanned the bullpen, narrowing slightly as he noticed the entire team gathered in one spot. His brow furrowed in confusion as he stood from his desk, closing the file in front of him. But from where he stood, he couldn’t see you yet. You were still hidden among the team, your presence shielded by the circle of agents eagerly chatting around you.

With his familiar, quiet precision, Hotch began descending the stairs. Each step echoed in your chest, your heartbeat quickening with every moment that brought him closer. The room seemed to fall silent, your attention fixed on the sound of his approaching footsteps. You hadn’t heard his voice in six long years, and now, in just a moment, you would.

“What’s going on here?” Hotch’s deep, steady voice cut through the air, commanding attention as it always had.

Everything inside you stilled.

The team parted slightly, giving Hotch a clear view of the person they’d all been gathered around. And when his gaze finally fell on you, the air seemed to shift - heavy with the weight of unspoken words, shared history, and all the time that had passed.

Hotch’s usually composed expression faltered for just a split second. His eyes widened ever so slightly, the surprise flickering across his face before he quickly regained his composure.

But you saw it, the momentary break, the shock of seeing you standing there, as real and unexpected as a ghost from the past.

He stopped mid-step, his breath catching as his gaze locked with yours.

The bullpen fell silent around you, the rest of the team fading into the background as you stood there, face-to-face with the man you hadn’t seen in six years. The man who had been more than just your partner, the man who had been your anchor, your confidant, your best friend.

For a moment, neither of you moved. Neither of you spoke. It was as if time had stopped, and all the years, all the distance, dissolved in that single moment.Then his eyes found you. For a moment, he didn’t move. His expression froze, shock rippling across his normally stoic features. His mouth parted slightly as though he was about to say something but couldn’t find the words.

Hotch stood there, frozen for what felt like an eternity, his sharp eyes locked onto yours. The bullpen, the agents, the noise - it all faded into the background, leaving only the two of you suspended in the heavy silence of six years apart.

Your heart raced as you took him in, noting every detail. He looked the same, and yet different. His hair had a touch more gray, the lines around his eyes slightly deeper, but his presence - strong, steady, and commanding - was unchanged. But there was something else too, something that only you could sense. A heaviness in his eyes, the kind that spoke of burdens carried silently, of long nights and sleepless hours. It hit you like a wave: time hadn’t been kind to him, but it hadn’t eroded that fundamental part of him either.

"Aaron" you finally breathed, breaking the silence between you, your voice softer than you had intended.

His name hung in the air, delicate, almost tentative. The warmth in your tone - familiar, tender - made something flicker in his expression, something that went beyond surprise. His mouth twitched, like he was trying to speak but couldn’t quite find the words. He took a slow step forward, his movements careful, measured.

“Partner...” he said at last, his deep voice rougher than you remembered, as though your name had been lodged somewhere in his chest for too long.

Without thinking, you rushed toward him, your legs moving on instinct alone. And as you closed the distance, he did the same, meeting you halfway. The second your arms wrapped around him, it was like the dam broke. His grip on you was tight, desperate, as if he was afraid you might vanish if he let go. And for the first time in years, you felt truly home.

He buried his face in your shoulder, and for a moment, neither of you spoke. The years apart, the distance, the longing, it all disappeared in that one embrace. His breath was warm against your hair, and when he finally pulled back just enough to look at you, his eyes were filled with a depth of emotion that you had never seen in him before.

It was a mixture of disbelief, relief, and something far more profound, an unspoken bond that transcended words. His usually stoic, unreadable face had softened into something vulnerable, raw. He looked at you like he was seeing a ghost, like he was trying to convince himself that you were real, that this wasn’t some dream he might wake from.

“I… I didn’t think I’d ever see you again,” Hotch whispered, his voice thick with emotion. The disbelief in his tone almost broke you.

Your own breath trembled as you smiled up at him, blinking back the tears that were threatening to fall. “Surprise.”

His hand tightened slightly on your arm as though grounding himself in the moment, ensuring you weren’t about to disappear. He let out a soft, almost incredulous laugh, a sound you hadn’t heard from him in so long. His gaze swept over your face, memorizing every detail as if he was afraid this might be the last time.

“What are you doing here?” he asked, his voice low, full of the weight of the years between you.

You glanced at the team, a playful smile tugging at your lips. “Well, I heard there was a class that needed a guest lecturer. Thought I’d pop in, see how the new generation of agents is shaping up.” You took a step closer, your voice growing more serious. “It’s good to see you, Aaron.”

His lips parted, but before he could speak, you caught the flicker of emotion that passed through his eyes. It was subtle, almost imperceptible, but you saw it.

“I didn’t know you were coming,” he said quietly, his gaze searching yours. “You really didn’t warn anyone.”

You shrugged, a soft smile tugging at your lips. “I wanted to catch you off guard. Thought I’d remind you what it’s like not to be in control of everything for once.”

A small smile played on Hotch’s lips, and for a brief second, you saw a flash of the old Aaron, the man you had spent countless nights with, the one who could let his guard down when it was just the two of you.

The team, meanwhile, stood frozen in stunned silence. Morgan, who was rarely lost for words, finally found his voice, though it came out as more of a disbelieving mutter. “Did - did Hotch just chuckled? Like, a real laugh?”

Garcia, standing beside him, clutched her chest dramatically. “Not just a laugh, Derek. He’s smiling - with teeth! This is… I mean, someone pinch me, because this is a miracle!”

Reid blinked rapidly, looking as though he had just witnessed a phenomenon that defied all logic. “I’ve never seen him like this,” he whispered, his eyes wide as he tried to process what he was seeing. “This is… wow.”

Prentiss, who had been quietly observing from the sidelines, finally stepped forward with a small, teasing grin. “Well, Hotch, it’s nice to see you actually have emotions.”

You chuckled at that, turning to face the team, but Hotch’s hand never left your arm, as if he still wasn’t ready to let go. There was a softness in his expression that lingered, something none of them had ever seen before. His usual composure was cracked, but in a way that made him more human, more real.

Gideon, never one to let anything slide, reported the undercover mission of the two agents to Hotch with a sly smile. “It seems someone else was very eager to see her.”

Hotch's expression instantly shifted back to the familiar frown you remembered all too well, the one that usually followed when he was about to reprimand someone. His stern gaze turned toward Reid and Morgan, and he wasted no time. “Morgan, Reid, we’ll talk about this in my office in ten minutes. What on earth were you thinking?”

Morgan scratched the back of his neck, offering a sheepish grin, clearly bracing for the scolding. “She outplayed us, Hotch. We tried to sneak in, but she caught us the moment she walked into the room.”

Before Hotch could dive deeper into his reprimand, you stepped forward, raising a hand to intervene with a teasing smile. “Oh, come on, Unit Chief. Don’t be too hard on them. I just embarrassed them in front of my entire class. Give them a break, would you?”

The team chuckled quietly, sensing the playful tension between you and Hotch. He looked at you, his frown softening just slightly, though he kept his stern tone. “I hope this bravado isn’t something I’ll have to address again.”

You met his gaze, a playful challenge in your eyes as you raised an eyebrow. “It’s always a pleasure keeping up with your humor, Hotch.”

For a split second, the corner of Hotch's mouth twitched as if fighting back a smile, but he quickly composed himself. “We’ll see about that,” he said, his voice carrying the hint of affection he couldn’t quite hide.

“Hotch, you have a lot of explaining to do,” JJ said, stepping forward with a wide smile. “I mean, Hotch has never said a word about you. It’s like you’re this mystery we’ve all been trying to solve.”

You shook your head with a playful smirk, glancing up at Hotch. “Is that so? You’ve been keeping secrets? Well, don’t be mad if I’m the one pulling surprises, then”

Hotch’s gaze flickered to his team briefly, but then his attention returned to you. His eyes softened at the sight of your playful smirk. “I should’ve known you’d find a way to keep me on my toes. You haven’t changed.”

"Neither have you," you teased, though your eyes reflected something deeper, more sincere. "Except maybe a little grayer around the edges."

Hotch let out a brief soft chuckle, running a hand through his raven hair, and for a second, you caught that familiar crease between his brows - the one that appeared when he was genuinely trying to figure out if you were serious. “Yeah, well… the job does that.”

"Oh, not just your hair," you said, your tone playfully mischievous. His expression was puzzled, and the fact that he wasn’t catching on immediately made it even sweeter to make fun of him. You leaned in slightly, narrowing your eyes as if studying him closely. Then, with the precision of a detective pointing out evidence, you motioned toward his face. "Partner, you have a white eyelash - here, left eye."

Hotch blinked, genuinely surprised. He clearly hadn’t noticed it before, and his reaction was one of almost childlike disbelief. “A white eyelash? I didn’t even know that was possible.”

You couldn’t help but laugh softly, shaking your head. "You’re getting older, partner. It happens to the best of us."

There was a moment of stunned silence in the bullpen as Hotch - stoic, serious Hotch -stood there with the faintest ghost of a smile on his lips. And then, in the most unexpected twist of events, he actually laughed, the kind of sound that was so rare it felt almost sacred. The sound of it sent a ripple through the bullpen, where agents who were usually laser-focused on their tasks couldn’t help but turn their heads in disbelief.

Garcia, who had been standing nearby, looked like she might faint. Her hands fluttered toward her heart as if she couldn’t physically take much more. “Am I hearing things?” she whispered, her voice barely above a squeak.

Morgan, standing next to Reid, leaned in, eyes wide in astonishment. “Is this actually happening?” he whispered, glancing around as if waiting for the universe to correct itself. "Did she just-"

"Yes," Reid responded before Morgan could finish, his voice full of fascination, almost as if he were observing a rare natural phenomenon. "She did."

Hotch raised an eyebrow at you, amused by how easily you’d disarmed him in front of his own team. “A white eyelash, huh? You’ve been away for six years and the first thing you do is point out my aging process?”

You grinned. “Someone has to keep you humble.”

His eyes softened as he looked at you, and for a moment, the noise of the bullpen seemed to fade into the background. “I see you haven’t lost your touch either.”

“Neither have you," you said, more seriously now. "You’re still the same Hotch I knew, grayer hair and rogue eyelashes included."

The air between you settled into something familiar and comfortable, the kind of ease that comes with a partnership that ran deeper than time or distance. The team exchanged glances, clearly picking up on the history, the quiet connection between the two of you that they hadn’t been privy to before now.

Garcia looked like she might faint, her hands fluttering toward her heart as if she couldn’t take much more. Morgan leaned in toward Reid, whispering in disbelief, “Is this actually happening?”

Reid nodded slowly, still trying to process it all. “It’s happening,” he said, his voice filled with awe. “It’s really happening.”

Prentiss couldn’t help but laugh at their reactions. “I’ve never seen anything like this. Hotch is human after all.”

Hotch shot her a mock-glare, though there was no real bite to it. He was still too caught up in the moment, the reality of your return sinking in. “Watch it, Prentiss,” he warned, though his tone was light. He glanced back at you, his eyes softening again. “It’s good to have you back.”

Your heart clenched at the warmth in his voice, and for a moment, the years of separation seemed to melt away. “It’s good to be back,” you whispered, feeling the weight of the emotion behind those words.

As you and Hotch stood side by side, the team watched in stunned silence, the banter between you two flowing so naturally, as if no time had passed at all. The bond between you and Hotch was palpable, and though the team had only just met you, they could sense that this was something rare. This was more than friendship, more than partnership, it was a connection forged through years of trust, loyalty, and something even deeper.

JJ, sensing the depth of the moment, exchanged a glance with Morgan and quietly asked, “So… what were they, really?”

Morgan, still in awe of the connection between you and Hotch, could only shrug. “I don’t know, but whatever it is… it’s real.”

Gideon, who had been watching the entire interaction with quiet satisfaction, stepped forward, his gaze flickering between you and Hotch with a knowing smile.

“Soulmates,” he said simply, the word carrying a depth of meaning that everyone felt but couldn’t quite explain.

The bullpen fell silent again, the word hanging in the air like a truth that had finally been spoken aloud.

Soulmates.

Soulmates in the way that two people could understand each other so completely, so thoroughly, that it transcended words. You and Hotch had always been that for each other: partners, confidants, the steady presence in each other’s lives no matter how far apart you were.

You looked up at Hotch, your heart full, and smiled. “I guess we never really lost each other, did we?”

Hotch’s eyes softened as he looked down at you, his hand resting lightly on your shoulder. “No,” he said quietly, the weight of the years in his voice. “We never did.”

And with that, everything felt right again.

The BAU was a family. And now, it felt like it was whole again.

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