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kaicubus · 1 year

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Distraction | Xavier T.

warnings ✩° : mutual pining, angry(?) confession, teasing, competition, cursing, rivals to lovers, both reader and xavier are 17-18 years old, fluff but also a tad spice.

pairing ✩° : xavier thorpe x fem!reader

premise ✩° : on the day of the annual poe cup, you're put against your academic rival, xavier thorpe, and you don't want to lose. however, he has other plans of getting the upper hand with you and knows exactly how to get his way. hes knocking out two birds with one stone, if you will.

word count ✩° : 3.4k

authors note ✩° : this was done in literally a few hours bc i’m obsessed and it needs to be addressed.

The rules were simple.

They always have been. Follow what the people in charge told you and don't disappoint. If you disappoint them then you disappoint the whole community and what good are you if you're a disappointment. It was hard not to see school, ground zero for being the best, as a competition. In fact, you thrived working towards a goal of being superior than everyone else; maybe it was due to the fact that no matter what was put in front of you, you could understand it and write it off as done as soon as you wrote your name. However, there were some things you didn't get at times and that frustrated you.

Over the time you’ve known him, it’s been test after test, assignment after assignment, obscure experiment after obscure experiment to prove to this seemingly effortlessly perfect creature that you’re better than him, only for you to miss his mark by one. point.

“Maybe you should think less about being better than me and more about the material, Y/n.” Xavier would say, “But don’t worry, you ALMOST got the same score as me.”

It wasn't his snarky comments or obviously stronger memory than you that made you over the top angry, no, it was the fact that you couldn't understand how he was doing it. Nothing made sense and the feeling of not knowing made looking into his stupid hazel eyes, gazing at his sharp and defined side profile, and wispy long hair all the more annoying. Everything has to have answers. So why did he make your throat tighten every time you spoke to him? Or your face flush with dark shades of pink and red? It had to be anger. There was no other explanation.

All of the rivalry would eventually lead you both up to the annual Poe Cup. A boat race amongst four teams, five members from each house all stuck together on their respective hand crafted boats each representing a different Edgar Allen Poe poem.

You're on The Black Cat team while Xavier’s on The Amontillado team. For a whole week you spend with your team, preparing for the race and to utterly destroy Xavier because this will finally prove to yourself that you’re good at him at something.

“You ready to beat the shit out of Xavier, Y/n?” Your friend who knows your rivalry with the guy smiles at you, “Once WE have that cup he has to realize that all he is to you, is dirt.” She was right.

“Relax, F/n, why ruin my chances with excitement when I can take all of that and shove it in his face at the very end.”

Your other team mate taps you both on your shoulders, “You guys ready? It’s almost time.” With that, you watch everyone file into their boats, Xavier included, and so you and your friend make your way into your own seats. However, just before you adjust your headband on your head, you decide to catch a glimpse of the destined losers on each side of you. Though no one else is important right now other than seeing him, so you give a side eyed glance in Xavier’s direction.

To your surprise, not only is he already looking at you, but, “Is he laughing at me?”

Your friend looks towards Xavier as well and scoffs, “Yeah,” She confirms, “Looks like they all are. Fucking clowns.”

As you chew on the inside of your cheek out of anger, a sudden whistle blows from Ms. Weems accompanied by a large megaphone that amplifies her voice as she speaks.

You can tell out of the corner of your eye that ever since your friend had rudely thrusted her middle finger into the sky for all the jesters to see, Xavier hadn't stopped looking at you. His eyes, laser focused, burned into the side of your head and it only made you more anxious for the race. You bite your lip ever so slightly and fight back the urge to look at him too.

Thankfully, you're saved by a gunshot that explodes into the air and suddenly your team gets pushed into the water.

Of all things, why should you be thinking about Xavier Thorpe and what he has to say or look at you for? All this time, you've convinced yourself that you could care less what he thinks of you. After all, the reason you're trying so hard to be better than him is the very reason that motivates you every day to get up and face him. Otherwise, you'd be locked away in your dorm with nothing to do but attend class and repeat the cycle. In a way, he was your reason to wake up.

“Y/N! Duck!” Your friend suddenly snaps you out of your mechanical like motions of rowing as hard as possible. Wasting no time, you dodge the flying axe coming your way by a hair. “What the hell?! Y/n, focus!”

“I am focused, F/n.”

“No, you're not. You got that lost look in your eyes. Stop thinking about Xavier and maybe pay attention to all the objects being thrown around at us? So you don't die, and most importantly, so we can win this for our hall?”

For the rest of the distance from the starting line to the other end of the lake, you try not to look behind you as looking behind you would only distract you from the prize. All of your team puts in their all in rowing as fast as they can together in sync, each arm pushing at the exact same second as everyone else to really glide through the water. Despite nets being tossed, siren students diving under boats and tipping them over, and very small fire crackers being thrown into other boats, three teams are left remaining to the next stage of the race. Getting the flag.

“Go go go!” F/n pushes you up, “Get the black flag. We’ll be waiting here to look out for anybody.”

Not wanting to waste anymore time, you nod and start sprinting directly into the old, creaky forest. Dry leaves crunch under your feet in threes, making their crinkles the only noise in the entire forest. That’s good, you think, that means no one else came yet. Quickly jumping over logs and rocks, you make your way to the flag destination, only to see that your black flag is missing.

“What the—”

“Hey,” a voice calls out from behind you, “Looking for something?”

The cheesy line doesn't go without an eye roll as you turn around, “Xavier.”

“You don't seem too happy to see me.” Your rival stands with a shit eating grin on his face, comically extenuated with crimson, drippy paint.

You're quick to reply, “I'm not. You took my flag which I need to win this. So hand it over, Thorpe.”

He raises his hands and allows you to charge up to him just close enough so that you're barely touching the tips of his pointed shoes with your jet black boots. “What? Who says I have your flag? I JUST got here in case you hadn't noticed.”

“I actually haven't noticed. Because why would I stop to care about where you are?”

“You seemed to care when we first started.” Xavier leans down and twists his head slightly, just enough for you to be caught off guard and step back, “I saw you looking at me.” His tone makes you shrink back.

Heat rushes to your face in a fleeting panic and almost immediately, your chest twists your rib cage hard enough to squeak out, “I WASN'T LOOKING AT YOU! YOU were looking at ME!”

Xavier raises his brows and chuckles, “I remember differently.”

Of course he has to be cocky now. “Look, Xavier. Just forget this and let me go. Your gross sweat is getting all over me.”

“Oh is that so?”

“YESNOWLETGO.”

He snickers at your flustered nature but decides to go the extra mile and tease you further, “You do realize that we all have to get back, Y/n, its kinda the whole reason why we made it here. Though it looks like its just the two of us.” He turns to both of his sides and then directs his attention back to you, “I’d say we have a little time.”

Again, you emphasize, “WE don't have time. Unlike you, I actually WANT to win. Xavier, I don't know what your deal is or why you're so obsessed with me and making me look like a complete and utter fool, but once I win this for my team, it ends. Do you understand me?”

Xavier exhales deeply, “You know, for someone who’s so high strung and smart, you're really dumb, aren't you?”

“What?”

He steps forward, causing you to back into a tree. You can feel the roughness of the tree bark as it etches its way across the backside of your suit, causing a mildly discomforting feeling that shivers throughout your skin. Before you can move forward, Xavier steps closer, basically eliminating any means of escaping.

“Why am I so obsessed with you? Is that what you think this is? Obsession?”

You look up at him to find his naturally tall stature hunched over to be at eye level with you. Surely, if anyone to walk into the scene, they’d think you two were stopping the competition just to make out. Even though Xavier’s hand is firmly pressed just between your ear and shoulder and he was just over an inch close to you so that your noses are barley touching, it’s not like that at all. Yet, at least.

“That’s what I just asked.” Your eyebrows stitch together bitterly, “Can you not hear, clown? You don’t understand how hard it is for me to watch my reputation die because of you and your perfect grades and your perfect art. What makes you think you can just parade yourself around to be better than me?!” The questions leave a burning sensation in your throat.

“Reputation? Grades? Is that what this is about?”

“YES! Are you DENSE?!”

Instead of matching your violent glower, you watch as the clown leans his head to the side in laughter. His lips parting just enough so you can see his sharp teeth laugh at you too, “Y/n, did you just call me dense? What is that? An insult? At least I’m not the one who always scores lower than me.”

Embarrassment? Anger? Nervousness? Why was his laugh the thing to make you feel weak now? Maybe the first two are theories, but the third is a definite fact. Your eyes are quickly drawn in by his hazel pupils, curious and dilated as they stare back at you. For a moment, the silence between you two isnt filled with hate or rivalry, but peace. That is until he lets out a breathy laugh after getting a good look at your calm face for once.

“Y/n, cat got your tongue? Or do you just not have anything else to say to me other than ‘I hate you’ and ‘stop being better than me’?” He points a finger to your feline head accessory.

"Shut up.” You bark, “Dumb isn’t really a good insult either. You are so full of shit—"

Xavier moves closer, now toe to toe with you and just a breath away from your face.

“God, Y/n, cant you see that I like you? All this time I thought it was so obvious. I mean, how are you going to tell people you're the smartest person in the room when you cant even pick up on subtle hints that basically spell it out for you?” He says, “Or are you too busy to notice anyone other than yourself?”

His words cause your heart to pound once, twice, and before you know it you can’t hear anything but the thumping in your chest and the soft winds surrounding you both. Xavier parts his lips again, determined to give you the answers you've been so desperately searching for.

“Do you know how fucking exhausting it is to pretend I hate you back, just to have the opportunity to talk to you?” His tone is exasperated and shallow, but he doesn't break eye contact with you, “You seriously thought all those times we got close was because I wanted to be ‘better’ than you in some subject?” Almost like he doesn't believe you, Xavier shakes his head in disapproval, “The only time Ive wanted to prove to you I'm worth something is now.”

His confession only fills your head with more questions, “That doesn't even make any sense! How can you say you didn't actually want to be better than me when that's all you did?” You feel the heat saturate into a dark pink that settles into your cheeks, “And why are you telling me all this now? Why are you so adamant on telling me that you—”

Xavier doesn't even acknowledge your questions, he just continues to hold a burning tension between you and him, focusing only on one thing.

Fuck.

Maybe its the fact hes so close, or that he told you hes liked you all this time, but right now it feels like nothings stopping you from telling him too. It just feels so right.

Before you know it, your mouth opens on its own, your bottom lip trembling for just a second. Xavier’s eyes trail down to your lips, then back into your eyes, and a small smirk pulls the corner of his ivory painted skin up.

Without another second to lose, Xavier tilts even closer than he thought he’d ever be to you and cups your cheek, finding the courage you both need to pull you into an unexpected kiss.

The pastiness of your rival’s white face paint rubs against your dewy skin as the taste of him spreads across your pallet, rough, warm, and agonizingly slow. With a gentle hand, you bunch the back of Xavier’s thin yet airy suit and fall into him, curving just enough so he can extend his hold on you.

Xavier knew that he wanted to touch you. It’s basically been his dream ever since he got close to you and seemingly hurdled himself into being your rival. But he’d never admit that. Or maybe, now he would. Gently, Xavier clasps onto your hips more carefully, securely rubbing his fingers against the skin tight latex uniform you were forced to wear which gives him enough grip to hook his desperate palms onto your body.

You break away for a second, just long enough to look at his face and how mesmerized he is by you and just how fucked you are in this downward spiral of messy feelings and requited love. Love you are much too afraid to commit to. But, Xavier pulls you back into his lips and makes you forget all of your worries, even the one you're supposed to be most worried about.

The kiss practically captures you for what seems like an eternity, erasing all memory of the Poe Cup and time spent hating Xavier's guts only to now realize that that hate may have been fueled by a painfully simple crush. But you wouldn't admit that either. Though, now there’s no other explanation to the methods behind your madness.

Soon enough, your hands find their rightful place in his long, messy hair, scooting his jester cap off easily. Had you known his hair was this soft before? You always told yourself you didn't care but now it was too hypnotizing not to twirl your fingers in. In fact, it’s practically asking you to grab it and play with it, screaming at you to touch it, touch him.

Xavier’s hips press into yours, giving you the go ahead to adjust your position so that your thigh is comfortably resting atop his hip. The stance feels too natural to be normal, and you're both caught off guard by it. Yet, you continue to taste him and feel him up close without another thought.

Nipping at your bottom lip, you can feel Xavier let out a sigh of relief, as if kissing you has been something on his mind for years. Only half of that could be true. Still, his victory cheer makes you do your own version with a quieter huff.

You give the roots of his hair a tight squeeze before your shoulders relax and another sigh escapes from your now open mouth. The force of his lips smashing against yours pushes you back successfully, leaving each part of your body to surrender to his. For once, you let it and as much as you hate to admit it, whatever he was doing was working.

When he finally pulls away, your breath is harsh and so is his. No matter how hard you could try, looking away from his hazy eyes was not an option. Just like the fog around you both, his gaze is inescapable and suffocating. You knew kissing your rival was a bad idea, but neither one of you want to move your hands from their proper places on each other.

Just then, a distant voice calls out to Xavier that snaps you out of your absentmindedness. “Shit,” Xavier curses softly against your lips, “Thanks for that Y/n,” he pulls away, much to your hidden displeasure, “But...I have a cup to win.”

Suddenly, it all comes hurdling back.

“FUCK! THE RACE!” You tear yourself away from Xavier, breaking the warmth between you both, and scramble to find your flag, “YOU CONNIVING SON OF A BITCH. YOU DISTRACTED ME!”

“I hope you don't mind but I actually sort of hid it.” He grins slyly at you, straightening his suit with a swift rub on his chest, “No rules, remember?” He pulls out a flag from behind him and snickers. Has he had that this entire time?

A flash of surging anger fumes inside of your chest, but Xavier just smiles. In his mind, it’s almost laughable how you fell for his devious yet successful confession slash plan. It was too good to pass up. And judging by the sour pout on your face, it worked!

“Y/n,” He chirps, “Was I a good distraction?” He can’t help but ask.

You avoid his gaze and turn your head to other possible directions your flag can be in, “You're the worst, Xavier.”

He runs a hand through his brown hair and smooths it down, “Right, right. You hate me. But I got you pretty good, didn’t I?” He picks up his jester cap and lazily smashes it onto the top of his head, “I'm gonna go, but, you should totally meet me in my dorm tonight? At 8?”

He makes his hasty exit before you can reply, leaving you breathless and weak in the knees—mostly tight fisted and furious, but still, weak in the knees.

“So, Y/n. Do you want to explain why you...left for so long..?” Your teammate asks, kind of scared to ask in the first place but confusion was eating her alive. How fitting.

Instead of answering, you reply with strong and swift robotic motions that quickly thunk your boat along the shore line, taking a good chunk out of the grass and soil. Unfortunately, half way through your synchronized rowing, some water kicked up into the boat and soaked your costume. You didn't care though. All you wanted was Xavier.

And his head on a stick.

Sounds of congratulatory cheers erupt from the crowd as Xavier and the rest of his jester-like teammates hold up the Poe Cup trophy together.

“Bitch.” Is all you can say when all your other teammates wash up next to you, sad, defeated, and soaked with murky lake water.

“Well get them next time, Y/n. Don’t be so hard on yourself!” Your friend smiles happily.

Yeah. Tonight.

#wednesday #wednesday addams #wednesday fanfic #wednesday series #wednesday fic #wednesday xavier #xavier thorpe #xavier thorpe x reader #xavier thorpe x y/n #xavier thorpe fanfic #wednesday netflix #kaicubus

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mysecretlittlelibrary · 9 months

Text

So Much To Teach

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Reader

Word Count: 3.4k

Warnings: quite a few; dom Spencer kinda, oral (f receiving), age gap; reader is 21+ but it's a lil dubious by default bc he's her professor and therefore an authority figure but shhhh its fine shhhh, fingering, marking a little bit, p in v sex, they both talking diiiiirty, minor praise, risky sex, multiple orgasms, edging- I think I got everything??

Genre: Smut

Summary: You want your professor's attention but you had no idea what would happen if you got it- you also had no idea you'd get it by talking to a classmate

Part 2

***

Professor Reid is by far your favorite teacher ever and you make sure to make it as obvious as you can get away with. You're always early to his class, you sit in the front row, ask questions as often as you can, take full advantage of his office hours- all of it. You're determined to make Spencer Reid think of you as often as you think of him. Unbeknownst to you, you didn't need to put so much effort into capturing his attention. Not that you'd ever be able to tell, Spencer is always the epitome of professionalism. Well, almost always. He's human after all and you- you might as well be a siren. On the days you come in wearing your shortest skirts, toying with the hem absentmindedly, it's practically impossible for him to keep his gaze above your desk. He's not careless though, only allowing himself to stare when he's not the focus, during exams for example. He especially loves presentation days because he can spend them shamelessly eye-fucking you while you're busy addressing the class. You never seem to notice the way his attention drifts to you, and he's counting his lucky stars for it. He's plenty aware of the implications of his little crush. He wouldn't be so stupid as to make a move on you, especially while you're still his student. Spencer has spent more than enough time convincing himself that the risks outweigh the reward. For now, he'll have to be content watching you from a distance, even when you saunter into his office in your tight blouses to discuss your homework. On those days he knows the memory of your boobs practically spilling out of those shirts will keep him up for at least another hour later that night.

Weeks of your silent game that you're sure he's not actually picking up on have you growing bored of focusing only on getting his attention. Sure you want him to think about you, but you're not so crazy to think he'd risk his job to say, bend you over his office desk like you so desperately wish he would every time you go in there. You're young and in college and while the boys here do not hold your attention the same way, you're not above a little distraction. Which is why today you walk into class chatting with another student, a guy named Matt who has been trying to get you to notice him for a while now. Professor Reid isn't in the class yet and you hop on top of your desk as you talk to Matt about some sports thing. You're not totally following but he's cute so you giggle and pretend you get it, swinging your legs and batting your eyelashes in the way you know college boys respond so well to. You hardly even notice Spencer enter the classroom, but he zeros in immediately on the sight of you smiling at some kid. Matt's a good student, Spencer really has nothing against him, but he rolls his eyes at the two of you knowing that Matt would never be able to keep up with you.

"Quiet down everyone. Miss y/n your butt belongs in a seat, not on a desk and Mister Lewis I suggest you find somewhere to sit as well so we can begin." Spencer addresses you and Matt sharply, catching you off guard. He's never spoken to you that way but you can't help the amused look on your face as you mutter an affirmative and hop off the desk to sit in your chair. Maybe something's going on that put him in a bad mood. The class goes by smoothly after that and Matt is at your desk as soon as Spencer dismisses you all. Spencer has to turn his back to the room to hide the way his face twists up watching you.

The next class again, you walk in with Matt, this time Spencer is there already so you sit directly in your seat but Matt stays and talks to you while you wait for class to officially start. Spencer has to tamp his desire to break the conversation up for no reason until enough students pile in that he begins the lesson. This goes on for two more sessions, you walk in with Matt, twirling your hair, giggling at him, flaunting your gorgeous figure in flattering outfits that he openly gawks at you in, all while Spencer tries to keep himself from the edge of insanity. He has no right to be so put out by this, you're a student for crying out loud. He tries to remember that, tries hard to keep himself in check even as Matt basically invades your personal space as you're sitting on your desk before class again. You let him get entirely too close for Spencer's liking and when he sees you lean forward he can't stop himself from interrupting.

"Miss y/n." Spencer drawls out in a way that makes you want to shiver. "I've already told you desktops are not for sitting. Don't make me tell you again." Spencer says effectively ruining whatever was about to happen between you and Matt. He even backs off to let you get down from your desk.

"I'll see you after class okay?" You tell Matt sweetly and Spencer absolutely cannot take any more of this. He begins his lecture though his mind is somewhere else through most of it. He's busy planning. When the time comes and he dismisses the class Matt is quickly making his way to you and Spencer realizes he has to move now.

"Miss y/n. You don't have a class after this do you?" Spencer asks.

"No professor. Is something the matter?" You ask.

"There's something I'd like to discuss with you. Come with me to my office." He instructs.

"O-okay?" You frown. Matt does too from where he stopped when Spencer called your name. Spencer waits for you to finish collecting your things before he heads towards the class's exit. "I'll- I'll catch you later I guess Matt." You say over your shoulder before following Spencer. You try to think what this could be about. Your last paper was great, you know it was, plus there's no way he's through grading those yet, you aced the most recent test you took- there's no way he's calling you into his office because of the desk-sitting thing- is there? When you reach Spencer's office he shuts the door behind you and stands on the other side of his desk. He doesn't sit- which you find strange but nothing about this has been normal thus far.

"Is there a problem sir?" You ask sitting down.

"Is there a problem?! You- never mind. No y/n, no problem." Spencer forces himself to restrain that overwhelming urge he has to yell over Matt or simply split you open on his desk, or in his office chair, or against the wall- he shakes the thought from his mind, scrambling for an excuse for calling you to his office. "I just wanted to discuss something from- your paper."

"Oh you've started grading the papers?" You ask. He's only just gotten to them. He doesn't even think he's graded yours all the way through yet but he can't tell you the truth, that you're only here so you didn't walk out with Matt.

"Yes I have and there was something interesting... in your paper. I just need to find it, give me- a minute." Spencer shuffles through things on his desk, he's stalling and he hopes you don't notice.

"Professor Reid?" You tilt your head at him.

"Just a minute y/n." He mutters.

"Professor." You frown, your voice is forceful enough that he glances up at you. "I know you know exactly where my paper is. And I know that if there was really something you wanted to discuss in said paper you'd already have it memorized. You're almost irritatingly punctilious, I've been in your office more than enough times to know that. So what's really going on?"

"I suppose I should've expected this from one of my smartest students." He muses with a shake of his head.

"I know we're not friends by any means since you're my professor and all but we're both adults and I hope you'd respect me enough to tell me the truth." You tell him.

"Believe me I am trying very hard."

"To tell the truth or respect me?" You cross your arms.

"I respect you implicitly and because of that telling the truth here is- conflicting."

"Professor Reid, what am I doing in your office? I've asked you much harder questions than that in class."

"If only you knew." He scoffs.

"Professor-"

"You're right. I didn't call you in here to discuss a paper." He sighs knowing he's out of escapes. "It's that boy you've been draping yourself over all month." Spencer says through clenched teeth.

"Matt? You called me in here to discuss Matt? Why? Is he failing or something?"

"No. He maintains a solid B average in my class."

"Okay, then I'm really not understanding professor. What does Matt have to do with anything?" You shake your head.

"It is infuriating to watch him with you as if he has even the slightest chance of satisfying you in any way." Spencer walks over to you as he speaks, punctuating his sentence by leaning against the arms of your chair which forces you to lean back.

"And- what makes you the authority on who could satisfy me?" You ask breathily, blinking up at him.

"Considering you haven't even tried to move away from me I'd guess you know as well as I do." Spencer stares at you intently.

"Are you making a move on me professor?" You ask with feigned innocence that you know he sees through.

"Am I not being clear enough?" He asks.

"I dunno."

"Then allow me to make myself unequivocal." Spencer closes the small gap between you two, pressing his lips against yours fiercely. His hands hold your face as he pours all of his feelings and frustrations into this kiss. You grab hold of his wrists as you surrender yourself to the feeling of his mouth on yours. When he finally pulls away you're both left panting but a dam has been broken with that single kiss and your hands are pulling off his tie before he's even realized it. You stand up and kiss him again, fingers tangling in his hair, while his hands settle against your waist easily. He doesn't let you lead things for long, turning you both to sit you on his desk. "I'm going to show you everything that silly boy could never give you." Spencer grumbles against your lips.

"I never pegged you for the jealous type Professor Reid." You giggle.

"I've never been good at sharing." He quips kissing his way down your throat.

"Go figure." You mutter with a breathy sigh when his kisses turn to nips and sucks. "Careful. If you visibly mark me I'll have to lie." You tell him which only seems to spur him on and you yelp after a particularly harsh bite.

"Lie?" He frowns at you.

"I mean I can't very well say 'Professor Reid gave me those hickies' now can I?" You say and Spencer laughs as he drops into the chair in front of you.

"No, I suppose not, but you can absolutely use them to let people know you're taken." He says shuffling closer to you and pulling your underwear off from under your skirt.

"By people you mean Matt don't you?" You smile, amused at how miffed he is over your little distraction.

"Say his name again in here and I'll turn that ass of yours so red that you'll still have trouble sitting by next class." Spencer glances up at you with a warning look that has your exposed cunt clenching around nothing. An action he doesn't catch, seeing as your skirt is still hiding your center from him. He bunches your skirt up at your hips as he lifts you onto his desk and adjusts your legs so your feet are on it, knees wide so he can simply watch how your pussy glistens for a moment. His gaze is intense and soon you're squirming against the dark wood he's displayed you on.

"Professor Reid, touch me- please." You pout at him.

"Someone's getting impatient huh? You just look so pretty I can't help but want to stare." His words make you blush and the restlessness gets worse as he leisurely folds the sleeves of his button down shirt to reveal his forearms.

"Please professor-" You sigh.

"I like hearing you beg." Spencer's grin is nothing short of sadistic but he leans forward and lets his tongue drag through your wetness with a satisfied groan. He shifts to hold your legs open as he feasts on you like a man starved. It's hard to keep track of his tongue, thrusting in and out of you, circling your clit, disappearing entirely as he suckles harshly on the bundle of nerves all with incredible veracity. It's like he figured out how to read your body before he even began and he's got you teetering on the edge faster than you'd like to admit. Your hands tug desperately at his brown hair as you feel your orgasm building. Before you can even warn him of your incoming release he's switching his tactic, dragging you back from that end, still pleasing you but rather than feeding the fire he's simply maintaining it where it is.

"No!" You whine before you can stop yourself when you feel your orgasm slipping further away. His responding chuckle only adds to your frustration.

"If you're gonna cum princess it'll be when I'm ready for you to. Understood?" Spencer doesn't even lift his head as he speaks. He nips at your swollen clit when you don't answer and after a yelp, you manage a response.

"Y-yes sir." You get out.

"Good girl." He mutters lapping at your juices yet again. Same as before, he easily works you towards the edge with his tongue in all the right places, and like before, when your orgasm is in reach he walks you backwards. This time you manage to hold back your sound of frustration and then his fingers enter the mix and your small whimpers become full on whines as he curls two digits inside you just right to have you arching off of his desk. With his mouth focused solely on your clit while his fingers thrust in and out of you diligently, not to mention the previous denials, you're practically shaking as he works you up again.

"Professor Reid please let me cum this time, please sir- fuck I can't- I need to cum so bad. Please professor- I- I can't. Oh god." Your breathless pleas are barely sensible, but they satisfy Spencer and he doesn't pull back this time, doesn't stop until you're clenching around his fingers and spasming on his desk, struggling to handle the impact of your own orgasm. He watches the way pure ecstasy washes over your face with a smirk on his face as he helps you through it with gentle strokes of his fingers. When your breathless gasps become more subdued he pulls his hand away from your center. Before you can fully recover, Spencer pulls you off of the desk and turns your back to him, bending you over the desk with a hand at your back.

"Fuck- I need a condom." He mutters.

"Do you have any?"

"I- no? I don't regularly fuck people in my office y/n."

"I- have one in my bag. Front pocket." You mutter. Spencer reaches for your backpack and grabs the condom quickly, rolling it on with ease.

"I'm going to absolutely ruin you for anyone else." He tells you before thrusting himself into you. Inch by inch he slides deeper inside you and pinned against his desk all you can do is moan at the fullness. He sets a rhythm as soon as he bottoms out, his dick dragging against your walls with each hard thrust.

"Fuck- god that feels good." You mewl.

"Yeah? You like the way my dick splits you open don't you? Knew you would. You're absolutely perfect for me. Just me. Isn't that right?" He grunts through his filthy words, each one punctuated with another forceful thrust.

"Yeah- yes. God- yes."

"Say it. Say your mine princess."

"I- I'm yours sir. All yours. N-no one else's. No one else could fuck me like this- m-make me feel like this. Just you. Holy sh-shit." You pant out. Spencer's thrusts are rocking the entire desk at this point and you are sure the skin where your hips are ramming against the edge will be sore tomorrow but right now all you can focus on is how good it feels to be fucked like this. Better than you imagined and god you hope he never stops.

"Good girl." He breathes out.

"Feels so good Professor." You whine.

"I know, fuck I know. You feel so perfect y/n." Spencer groans. His hand wraps around your throat and pulls your back against his chest as he fucks you. Spencer's other hand, slides across your waist, finding your clit easily. He toys with the bundle of nerves and your hands grip the edge of the desk as you whine.

"Oh my god." You gasp.

"Let go for me y/n. Wanna feel you on my dick." Spencer says, kissing your shoulder. Your hand grabs at his arm desperate to ground yourself as your orgasm washes over you. Spencer hisses, your nails digging into his skin deliciously. His hips stutter and he groans, long and deep, as he spills into his condom, face buried in your neck. You both remain where you are, panting in the aftermath of it for several moments before Spencer breaks the silence.

"Did you have a condom because you planned on fucking Matt?" He asks and you can't help but laugh.

"No, I just always carry some. I like preparedness." You say, stuttering a bit when Spencer chooses to slip out of you while you speak.

"I'll have to start keeping some in here." He says, pulling his condom off and disposing of it.

"Planning on building a roster for yourself Professor Reid?" You quip adjusting yourself to lean back against the desk instead of still bending over it. Your tone is light but you'll admit you won't take it well if he says yes. Spencer frowns at you as he reaches into his desk for something.

"Is that a serious question?" He asks walking over to you with a packet of wipes in hand.

"Well it was a joke really but if you want to take it seriously be my guest." You shrug. He kneels in front of you, his frown deepening as he considers your words.

"No y/n I'm not 'building a roster'. The only person I'm planning on fucking in here is you, but it shouldn't be your responsibility to provide contraceptive methods for that. Also I've been inside you, I think you can call me Spencer when we're alone." He says gently cleaning you up. You try not to squirm at the intimacy of the whole thing.

"Oh. Okay." You can't think of anything else to say.

"Let me make something clear to you I'm not- I didn't just fuck you to get it out of my system and move on after this y/n. I'd actually like to continue something with you- unless of course, you have no interest in that, I won't pressure you. Although I can't imagine you can go back to Matt after that."

"You really hate him huh?" You laugh.

"He's a fine student. I just don't particularly like the way he drools over you." Spencer shrugs. "But it won't matter if you choose to see me again."

"I will. See you again I mean. This was fun." You say. A knock on the locked office door stops Spencer from speaking.

"Professor Reid?" A voice calls on the other side of the door. A student.

"Just a moment!" Spencer says, he quickly takes a moment to adjust your hair for you and pick up some of the scattered things from his desk while you fix your clothes.

"Spencer where is my underwear?!" You whisper at him.

"Oh I'll be holding onto that." Spencer winks at you, tapping his pocket where your panties are no doubt stuffed. You shoot him a look but grab your backpack and head towards the door.

"Thank you for answering my questions Professor! See you in class next week." You say loudly as you open the door. A boy you don't recognize is on the other side of it. He must be from one of Spencer's other sessions.

"Yes of course. See you next week." His response is almost dismissive, enough that this other student should have no idea what was going on before he showed up and only once you're practically out of the building do you let your giddy smile take over your face as you walk back to your apartment.

***

Part 2

#criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds #spencer reid smut #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid

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oflgtfol · 2 years

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i was bitching about star wars w shannen’s boyfriend earlier. Something so healing about that

#we were both complaining about bobf AUGH #LITERALLY he said the exact same thing as me like chapter 5 was SO fucking good #but it was basically the mando season 3 premiere #how do u have ! a book of boba fett episode! WITHOUT ANY BOBA FETT ….#and he was also complaining about the mcuification of star wars. cheers dude i’ll drink to that #anyway i dont rlly talk abt star wars with ppl irl bc im like. Afraid of people who r weird about it #but i respect him and my one friend B . only two irls i will speak to about this LOL #and shannen but shes like. not into star wars so its different #brot posts #sw posting #he thinks showbi wan is gonna be horrible he doesnt even want to watch it #and yknow i actually have zero expectations for the quality i think it can go literally any way #it can be so fucking good or it can be absolute dogshit. or it can be painfully mediocre #no idea ! no idea at all #but either way im excited #if its going to be horrible im excited for it anyway just bc bitching about star wars is a hobby on its own 😭 LMAO

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snippyrocket · 2 years

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i handed in my resignation, besties <3

#( outofcharacter. )#u know what isn't cool? not getting ur breaks until an hour before u leave #or not at all #also not cool? being abused by customers on the daily #babysitting feral children because parents take no responsibility #kicking customers out bc they literally cannot sit fucking still for 2 hours and watch a movie without disturbing others #working in a building where literally FIVE STAFF -- two in management -- are all directly related and get whatever they want #where our GM was fired for sexually harassing girls #and staff have been warned for bullying people on social media group chats #having my email address leaked because managers are fucking incompetent #never getting enough hours to fucking feed myself #being on a four hour contract -- which lets face it MAY AS WELL BE A ZERO HOUR CONTRACT #being constantly understaffed and expected to do 8973827 things at once #being told the work i am doing is not enough by managers who do not even come out of the office to help us when we are rammed #and do not back us up against abusive customers #and actually THROW US TO THE WOLVES when complaints are made and send us in to get more abuse instead of handling it themselves #never getting so much as a thanks or a goodbye when i finish my shift #goodbye to them i am worth more <3

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highvern · 6 months

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Jealousy

Pairing: Kim Mingyu x reader

Genre: angst? humor, idiots in love

Warnings: jealous reader, mingyu is kinda an fboy but not really, Seungkwan is a readerxmingyu stan, alcohol mention

Length: ~1.5k

Note: another Drunk Goggles prequel! its a twin piece to bite the bullet bc they're both dumb jealous idiots but this is still very early on in their relationship.

If looks could kill then the nameless girl chatting with Mingyu at the bar, tracing her manicured nails down his bicep as she giggles obscenely, would be six feet under by now.

She technically isn’t doing anything wrong; you and Mingyu aren’t a couple, you have no right to be upset when someone flirts with him. It's a given that someone as handsome and charming as him has a line of people bidding for his attention. But it doesn’t stop your mood from turning to shit when it happens. Frowning into your watered down drink, you swallow the remaining liquid, wincing against the bitterness. If you’re gonna watch people throw themselves at him tonight you’re definitely going to need something stronger than what’s in your cup.

You make your way to the far end of the bar, away from Mingyu and his new “friend,” ordering yourself two shots of tequila to extinguish the fury igniting your veins. The burn of liquor hurts far less than what you witness from the corner of your eye. Mingyu’s back is to you, obscuring his face but not the face of Yeji or Yeri or whatever her name was. She’s smiling at him coyly, blinking up from under her lashes as she leans a little too far into his personal bubble. Mingyu is an idiot if he can’t tell how much this girl wants him to take her home. Her less than subtle squeeze of his bicep sends your eyes rolling and an indignant scoff living your throat. You’ve seen more than enough.

Pushing away from the sticky wooden surface with a new drink in your hand, you creep back towards the table your friends are spread around. Luckily, most are either caught in conversation and don’t notice your tense expression or they’re kind enough to ignore it.

Keyword: most.

Jihyo hones in on your attitude change in zero seconds. And because she is about as subtle as a bull in a China shop, she jumps up to snag your hand and pull you towards the bathroom without a word before anyone else can say anything (re: Seungkwan who is about to kick Mingyu’s ass on your behalf).

“Mingyu’s an idiot.” Jihyo states calmly once she’s locked the door.

She watched Yerin approach Mingyu at the bar and knew the second you saw there would be a meltdown. Jihyo won’t judge you, she never does. But she will wring Mingyu’s neck the next time he comes to her for advice about you. This was definitely not something she would have suggested to him.

“I’m not upset!” You cry, but it’s no use.

“Oh please,” she snorts. “I saw you at the bars. You only drink tequila when your feelings are hurt.”

“He can do what he wants, it’s not like we’re dating.”

“So? You like him, he likes you. If he’s gonna act like a dick in the meantime then he should have at least done it where you wouldn’t have seen.”

“If he likes me so much, why is he flirting with some girl?” You warble.

The tears forming in the corners of your eyes are sponsored by shitty tequila and a long island iced tea.

"Because he’s a dumbass.” She raises her voice. “He adores you, but he’s a dumbass.”

“He can adore my foot up his ass.”

“He probably would.” She contemplates.

You snort. Jihyo knows exactly how to make you feel better.

“If you wanna go home, I’ll come with you. I hate this bar.”

“No you don’t, but I appreciate it.”

“Alright then, can we please get out of here?”

“Yeah, it smells like vomit.” Your face twists as you dab away the tears on your cheeks.

“I thought that was just you.”

“I hate you.”

“You love me.” Jihyo argues. “Now, let's go show him what he's missing!”

You raise an eyebrow but leave the cramped space nonetheless.

It's difficult to hide your shock when you approach the table and find Mingyu getting an earful from Seungkwan. You can’t make out what he’s saying but Seungkwan's face is red with either alcohol or anger (probably the latter given the way he’s gripping Mingyu’s collar). Mingyu’s eyes are wide in fear as he’s shaken to and fro by the younger man.

But when Mingyu sees you approach over his friend’s shoulder, the fright melts away, leaving a beaming drunken smile. It’s really hard to be pissed off when he looks like a puppy whose owner just came home. Seungkwan looks around to see what interrupted his lecture to find you staring inquisitively, to which he just rolls his eyes before settling back in his seat, diving into the heated exchange between Jeonghan and Chan.

Mingyu throws an arm around the back of your chair after you settle next to him. His fingertips trace the peak of skin next to the strap of your tank top, raising goosebumps and evaporating the rigidness in your posture immediately. Damn him.

“Missed you.” He mumbles close to your ear.

This time your eye roll is obvious. Mingyu thinks you're being playful but you remember how he was pinned to the bar only a few minutes ago and steam is threatening to pour out your ears again.

“Seems like you had decent company.” Your words are pointed and the way his eyes grow wide and his smile drops almost makes you feel guilty.

“Yerin?” He furrows his brows, “She was nice but not really my type.”

“Pretty girls aren’t your type?”

“Not when they aren’t you.”

The smirk on his face is lazy and confident. Knowing Mingyu, he’d high five himself if he was less trashed.

A cough covers what suspiciously sounds like a snort on the other side of his seat where Seungkwan is.

You bite your tongue against the scoff in the back of your throat. Mingyu’s got balls, you’ll give him that. But if he thinks he can flirt with you right after letting someone feel him up where everyone can see then he has another thing coming.

“You think I’m pretty, Gyu?” Your voice is sickeningly sweet, encouraging Mingyu to fall into your trap.

You turn towards him, letting your eyelids lower and lips pout. One of your hands drops to his thigh as you twist to see him better. It's exactly what Yerin was doing to him earlier but you can immediately tell that he is much more receptive to your antics than he was to hers.

The shock on Mingyu’s face makes you wish for a camera. It’s an effort to keep from laughing when his jaw falls open as his gaze follows the pattern your hand traces on his knee. You’ve never touched him like this before, but if this is how he reacts you’re more than happy to continue.

“Yeah,” he breathes. “The prettiest.”

You hum in acknowledgement. Mingyu is free flowing with compliments whether he’s drunk or sober but it always leaves you breathless.

“Prettier than Yerin?” It’s petty but you’re feeling the shots you downed and logical thought isn’t your priority.

His face has moved into the crook of your neck, chin resting gently on your collarbone, sigh ruffling your hair as he gets cozy in the warm space and allows his nose to trace the curve of your shoulder.

“Absolutely.” His lips tracing the word on your skin makes you shiver.

“Then why’d you spend all night talking to her instead of me?”

Disappointment seeps into your voice; as much as you deny it, he’s hurt your feelings and wounded your pride.

“I—,” Mingyu swallows.

“Hmm?” You’re being mean but he started it.

“Sorry.”

“No need to apologize,” you coo in his ear. “Looked like you were having fun.”

“Have more fun with you.” He’s stuttering, flustered at how easily the words slip from between his lips.

“Where’d she go anyway?” You turn your head to locate her but she's nowhere to be seen.

“Don’t know,” Mingy rasps, mind focusing more on the way your nails tickle the inside of his knee through the fabric of his jeans than your questions. “Don’t care.”

“Don’t be mean.” You chide.

“I really don’t though.”

“Well, Jihyo and I were thinking about heading out.” You feign a yawn. “It’s late.”

At the sound of your threat, Mingyu is immediately up out of your neck and staring at you with puppy eyes.

“But you just sat down!” He pouts.

“I’ve been here for hours.” You mirror his expression. “I’m tired, Gyu.”

“I haven’t gotten to talk to you all night!”

Hook.

“Maybe you can talk to Yerin again.” You smile with venom in your eyes.

Line.

The shock on Mingyu’s face informs you that he is now realizing how much he fucked up.

Sinker.

“Bye, Gyu.” You coo sweetly, giving his thigh one last squeeze.

Jihyo watched the entire scene play out much to her own horror. She’s ready to go the second you stand, preparing the lecture of a lifetime once you're on the way home. But the shit eating grin on your face makes her proud.

What you two don't see is Seungkwan leaning over to whisper a “told you so” in Mingyu’s directions as they both watch you walk towards the exit and into the night.

#svthub #kim mingyu #mingyu x reader #kim mingyu x reader #mingyu fluff #seventeen fluff #seventeen fanfic #svt imagines #svt fluff #seventeen fic #svt fanfic #svt x reader #🫡 highvern #dghe couple

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50cal-fullauto-astarion · 9 months

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hot in sarajevo i

[ part two ]

könig x f!reader operator (no use of "y/n") / 4k words / NSFW

cw: assassination, dubcon (not really bc reader is into it and consents, but better safe than sorry bc ymmv), unsanitary conditions, rough sex, unprotected p-in-v sex, fingering, creampie, brief mention of burn injuries, pre-established relationship a.n.: no excuse for this, indulged a brain worm on my day off bc i wanted to write something nasty. enjoy!

It’s been a blistering, miserable six hours out in the hills outside Sarajevo proper. The height of summer, surrounded by dead-brown grass blown about sadly in the weak breeze. You cook in your ghillie suit, knowing it could very well be another six hours under this heat with zero shade, just waiting on your target. Sweating. Searching. Souring.

König is your spotter, and he’s already not pleased with the fact. He’d much rather be the one wrapped around the Steyr HS .50, instead relegated to the seemingly miserable role of binocular jockey. But the fact is, he’s better at recon, and you can stay planted in one place without moving even when your lower body burns with numbness.

“I’m hard,” he announces in his way—no preamble, no fanfare, moderate expectation.

“Christ,” you snort, pulling away from the scope only enough to throw a glance at him. He’s still pressed against the oculars, jaw working on sunflower seeds because they can’t smoke without setting the tinderbox field around them on fire. Otherwise, you can barely see the shape of him in his own ghillie suit among the grass. “Clench your legs and your torso, or hump the fucking dirt.”

“Not going to get the job done,” he laughs darkly, dumping back another mouthful of seeds. You can hear them crack between his molars as he bites down hard.

He’s going to be a fucking handful after this.

Going back to your scope, watching the highway, you promise him, “If you’re good helping me with this assassination, we can play when we’re done.”

Another hard bite, another gravelly laugh. Sing-song, he warns you, “Better hope he drives by so-oooh-oon, Schatzi.”

“Always nice to get a visit from mean-König,” you hum back, trying for unaffected, even as your cunt floods and clenches around nothing.

It’s just hitting golden hour when the target finally deigns to bomb past your scope in a civilian vehicle trussed up in subtle armor. You and König slot right into the predator drift, bodies left behind to fall into the hunt. Working like extensions of one body, he confirms a PID, and throws calculations your way, sharp and sleek, and your blood turns into straight adrenaline, pupils dilated to pitch black.

You work like the sword of god, lining up your crosshairs, allowing for lead, allowing for wind and elevation, and when you exhale and give the trigger what it wants, the sky cracks in half with a sonic boom, big gun bucking brutal against your shoulder. With one shot you take out the target and driver, vehicle careening off the road.

König’s low, restrained laugh blends into yours, your teeth chattering under your face covering. Two more shots cut the blood-and-gold colored sky, killing the remaining passengers, and something vile in you shrieks with delight when one of them staggers around without a head a few steps before falling backwards stiff as a board.

Your eyes catch his as you throw the safety, pulling the massive rifle into your arms to flee the scene, and he looks blood-poisoned with arousal. The normal blue-gray of his eyes are gone, sore, unblinking pink sclera around inkwell pools of black. His back heaves with his breathing, body rigid and clenched, hips grinding against the ground. He is going to fucking tear you apart and eat the pieces. Saturn Devouring His Son, König Devouring His Lover.

Without a word, you both force your bodies around in the tall, dead grass, ghillie suits blending your belly-drag crawl to the treeline.

There’s a five mile hike between your abandoned perch and the exfil vehicle, following back the steps you took this morning, with a staging site in the middle of it. Small clearing, deep enough that no one could stumble across it, a temporary home for your rifle’s case and minimal necessary equipment.

The moment you’re both upright in the treeline, König’s got a vicious hand under your camo, gripping your belt, dragging you close and up, forcing you on unbalanced tiptoes. “You’re going to fucking give it to me,” he demands.

You turn it around, snatching a hand under his hood, gun sagging in your arms. Your fist wraps around the jaw strap of his helmet, knuckles pressing into his jugular–his pulse is fucking racing, booming, screaming through his veins–and your teeth are shards of glass as you command him, “Fucking heel. You’re not being a good boy.”

That makes him pant, almost reeling, eyes blinking out of sorts, pulling you closer, almost against him.

“That is not how it’s going to work today,” he says, slow and damning. Turns your blood into lava, thick and slow and lethal pumping through your heart as it fights for its life. He pulls the rifle from your hand, and it weighs nothing to him. Nearly looks like he’s got more to say, and he’s trying to figure out how to word it, but his brain is too clouded with lust to put it in the right order.

Hefts the gun over his shoulder like a bat, and shoves you back by the pelvis, releasing you. Time to go, the moves say, leaving you no dignified way to hold onto the authority that’s slipped through your fingers.

You know he’s burning frustration, anger, and resentment as fuel for this mood. You were the designated sniper, he was a lowly spotter. In his mind, that position belonged to him, and you took it. It didn’t matter that you were the superior choice, that he was invaluable to the kill.

No. Not at all. You stole from him, and he’s taking something in return.

If you weren’t thinking solely with your pussy, you would admit that it would probably be wise to exercise caution with him at the moment. But you’re not. You’re going to get your brains fucked out and painted on a tree.

At the staging area, scant gold light is cutting through the trees as the sun lumbers its way to setting, and the woods are humid and dense. Your boots crush fallen beech nut pods and pine needles. Could almost be Thoreauvian, if there was a lake, or not a gun big enough to kill god in the arms of a sexually frustrated Austrian maniac.

König is fast and quiet, ripping the mag out of the gun, emptying the chamber, dropping the gun on its case. You’d seen him piece apart a pistol to base components in ten seconds many times, he’s making himself take time with the rifle, leaving it barely touched.

You’ve got enough time to just prepare for him to grab you around the middle so you aren’t thrown off balance, leaning into his momentum as he hauls you to an enormous beech tree, his back sliding down the trunk. Keeps you pinned in his lap, laughing harsh and ugly as you deal with your belt, button, and zipper, “Good girl–good fucking girl. Know what I’m going for.”

“You’re easy to predict,” you bullshit him with a sharp edge. He’s going to get his way, and you’re going to deliver unto him whatever the fuck he pleases, but you’re going to keep your teeth through it. “Could’ve taken the suits off, could’ve really given you a show.”

“Cute that you think I’m in a rush. You’re in the suit on purpose,” he grates, thrusting against your ass, forcing you open with your legs over his knees. “Keep being mouthy. Only fucks me up worse.”

“Stiff breeze gets you fucked up,” you snort, but when he hooks his gloved thumb in your zipper, you lift your hips to help him pull your pants down your thighs. Leaves you exposed, drenched in sweat, and wet in his lap. “Goddamned freak.”

He bypasses the true and mutually reflective accusation completely, grinding the forehead of his helmet against the back of yours. Still looking for affectionate closeness, even when he’s out for blood. “Can smell you, good god,” he growls, sliding his huge hand into your underwear, grabbing your sex in ownership. “You and the military issue drawers–typical. Been a while since I fucked you in gear. Still wearing the boxers because you wish you were hanging dick, or is it just to match the attitude?”

“Commissary ran out of crotchless combat thongs. Waiting on a restock.” The rough fabric of his gloved middle finger splits your lips, teasing your hole, and for a flashfire second you think he’d better not give you a UTI with those dirty fucking things, before it burns straight out of your head.

“Better luck next time,” he taunts, jaw tight. You can hear the wolf-fanged smirk in his tone. “Start going commando. Make it easier.”

“Maybe there isn’t a next time,” you volley back, “best you make the most of this.”

“There’s always a next time. No one else could fuck you like me. Little whore you are, you’d get bored.”

He blots all the thought out in your head, adding his ring finger to the mix, pushing both huge digits into your starving cunt. Rips a bark right out of you, arching off his chest and pushing against his hips for leverage, trying automatically to fuck down on them even as the pain of the fabric feels like it’s rasping your insides. “Jesus fucking Christ,” you gasp, going hot-cold-and-blind all at once, nipples pulling tight under your gear.

He throws a heavy arm around your stomach, pulling you back down, merciful or mindful enough to know he needs to go slow, or this isn’t going to go anywhere except the infirmary. “Take it, Liebes, swallow them down with that pretty cunt,” he commands, his English as sharp and scraping as scythe blades felling harvest in wide, practiced strokes, “I’m not even close to done.”

You can already feel his fat cock straining against his pants, even through all the layers between you, and you rut back against it, at least trying to get some torture of your own added in. That just makes him stupid and animalistic, pushing his chin over your shoulder, trying to butt into your jaw. He wants to bite your lips, but there are too many impediments blocking the way.

His fingers squelch down to the last knuckle, your pussy spasming around them, soaking the fabric. He’s a pervert to such a degree that you know he’s going to leave them unwashed, and he’s going to wear and suck on them while he beats off when you’re not there until there’s no flavor left.

For now, he’s slow, rocking them into you in a curve, his sense of touch dampened as he searches out your g-spot. The exploration makes you feel filthy, and just a little humiliated. Used. Faceless and disrespected. It’s so opposed to his usual dogmatic worship, fresh and frightening.

He gives a little something extra, grinding the heel of his hand over your clit, telling you to use it. You do, finally feeling something physically pleasurable, even though it’s too dull and not nearly enough.

König is segmented; you’ve known that for as long as you’ve known him. Don’t know if he did it to himself, or if it was an after-affect of all the bad shit he didn’t die from. He’d let you in on enough to know that his best days are numb neutrality and boredom intercut with adrenalized high-chasing. His worst days are lost dogs and veils of blood floating through his mouth.

He almost clicks over from one facet to another when you push against his arm, hissing through your teeth as a stitch on his glove catches a fold in you. For a microsecond, lover-König surfaces, shifting you around against his body, repositioning his fingers so you aren’t hurting too badly, and then he’s gone again.

With a rough hand, he shoves the tan boxer-briefs down your thighs, and bucks your ass off his pelvis, going to release his cock.

You push your shoulders back against his chest, plate carrier digging into your shoulderblades. “Only two fingers, aren’t you acting like a fucking prince today.”

“You’re lucky you got that much,” he snaps back, groaning when his cock springs free of his trappings, and he strokes it beneath you. Monster fucking thing it is, long enough you can see the swollen, leaking head between your legs, even as you’re still hovering. There’s no give in the skin, and the head is a needy red with arousal, completely slipped from his foreskin. “Put it in.”

You ignore his order, writhing against him, your discomfort only ramping up your arousal. It’s nightmarish how badly you actually want his cock fed into you, desperate to have anything to fill the void his fingers left in you, and, shit, it would be so much sweeter and smoother than the gloves. Hot and throbbing, his precum mixing with your slick–it’s going to be so loud.

“It’s your dick, you figure it out,” you hiss, wrestling your shoulders up just enough to piss him off. His other arm moves up to your ribs, slamming you back down against him.

“Nein,” he seethes, as close to your throat as he can get, and you hear him suck back spit. Wonder if you busted his lip on the way down. Trained himself too hard not to do that otherwise, because of the harelip he’s hiding under the hood. “I said put it in, Schatzi.”

His laugh is airier this time, when you cuss him and comply, thinned out with need. He shudders into you as you brush your fingers over the length–teasing bulging veins and hot, thin skin–trying to scoop him up. He squeezes you tighter, letting out a furnace-bellow breath, as you tease the head through your wet folds, stupid fly-by-night sex-trigonometry screeching through your head as you find the angle you both need to get him in. He drops his free hand on your thigh, pulling you further open, giving himself a handle to hold.

As soon as his big cockhead plugs your hole and seals a seal with the wet, you fly to grip both his wrists, nerves on high alert. For good cause, as well, because instantly, he starts fucking up into you with harsh thrusts, constricting all around you with bruising force.

The sheer mass of him is over-fucking-whelming, and white spots crackle in your vision as you pant, trying desperately to relax and accept him into your body. Usually–when he’s sweeter and taking his time with you, not punishing you for a perceived slight like he is now–he is slower, considerate, almost hesitant until you dig your spurs into his sides, demanding he cut loose.

This time he’s forcing you to ride him, emptying and filling you in deeper and deeper strokes, forcing you to take his cock. Somehow it still feels right, just being full of him, aching with it, pussy hungrily sucking him in, wanting more and more and more.

But, god dammit, you can’t just let him get away with this. You fuck back down against him, trying to meet his rhythm with the little movement he affords your bound body, the sound of his boots grinding for purchase in the substrate, your combined dead-sprint breathing, and his balls slapping wet against your ass breaking the utter still-life quiet of the woods.

“Insertion specialist,” you bite, throwing your head back against his shoulder to belt out your whimpering laughter, and, oh, that burns him.

“Shut your fucking mouth,” he snarls, his helpless thrusting turning focused, dragging you down in hard thrusts, hitting your cervix with every deep, powerful stroke. It knocks the wind out of you, and you’re left speechless, probably what he wanted.

It puts you in a trance state, your eyes unfocused looking up at the canopy as he uses you. A wet, liquid-gold heat starts building pressure behind your pelvis, and a frantic harebrained thought tells you that you have to piss. It only gets worse when he drops his hand back between your legs, putting a finger on either side of your clit, his intent clear.

“Wait,” you wheeze, barely surfacing the trance, rolling your eyes wildly toward him, finding his focus is between your legs. “Wait, König, I–”

“Just fucking take it,” he cuts you off, and it’s not entirely cruel. He’s forcing an orgasm on you, maybe the thought crawled up out of the part of his heart where his empathy lives, the part he hides until his real-boy-skin-suit has fallen away in tatters. You know what’s underneath. You love him for what he is.

You squirt when you come, pouring down his cock, soaking your thighs. Your cunt tries to push him out, but he belligerently stays buried, riding it out with you, and he whimpers as you spasm and ripple around him, biting your shoulder through his mask and the gaiter beneath it. It’s a dull pressure, and you wish it was sharper.

“Oh my god,” you keen, trying to turn and hide your face, trying to draw your legs back together as wave after wave of pleasure rock your body, your stomach turning in benign shame. König praises you, “Good, good, good, good,” his words falling away into a German blur that you have a hard time translating.

“Arch your back, curl up,” he tells you in his native language, his command voice withering, getting lost as he gets closer. He’s gotten fatter in your swollen cunt, and he throbs against your walls. His balls are pulled up so tight, you can feel them against your lips on the upstroke.

All you can do is listen, lifting off of him and curving like you’re living through an exorcism.

Doesn’t that make him lose his goddamned mind. Moans like a shocked virgin getting his first piece of pussy, in tandem with the cry you release, sliding in at a new angle. He can’t even help himself, he’s just stupid with pleasure, chasing it. All the bite and venom he had floods out of him, and he’s just a panting, greedy, whimpering mess, holding on to you because he needs an anchor, because he needs you.

He pushes up onto the balls of his feet, leaving the tree completely, forcing you back against him in the cage of his body. Your legs slide open over his thighs, and you’re dependent on him to keep from falling face-first in the forest floor and eating shit. He keeps you up, clutching to you, fucking you with short, fast thrusts, the soaking wet sounds of his cock demanding everything your cunt can deliver obscene, carnal.

Your idiot hand grabs for his hood as it hangs over your shoulder, spilling dumb swears and nonsense, “Fuck–oh, fucking–god dammit, König, you’re. I can’t,” that he meets with simple begging, “Bitte, bitte, Schatzi, bitte, Ich brauche, bitte, Ich brauche–”

His form staggers, and he takes a knee, locking up tight, letting out a thin, high-pitched cry of shock as he cums, flooding you completely in big jets. The pressure is uncomfortable and delirious, but you try to tighten around him, hold as much as you can.

Both of your heads ring in the immediate aftermath. You can suddenly tell that both of you reek, the scent of twelve-hours worth of stakeout body odor mixing with musk, sex, and cum. You can tell by how his mouth sounds as he pants and tries to collect himself and work through his intense but inescapable post-nut shame that he’s dehydrated. You are, too, your head pounding. And, just because you know him, and you know how you work as a team, you don’t need to look at either of set of your shaking hands to know both of your blood sugar is utterly fucked.

Slowly, he lumbers back up against the tree, his touch turning softer. You flop back against him, winching when his cock slips out of you, hanging glistening and messy between his legs. He buries himself in the crook of your neck, trying to steady his breathing. His arms come up again–not to pin you in place, but to hug and hold you. You pat the scant sliver of bare skin between his gloves and the cuff of the ghillie suit.

Only occurs to you right now how stupid you two must’ve looked. Like a monkey fucking a football. Or maybe two bushes getting battered around in a storm. You snort a weary laugh, and he shakes his head, nosing deeper. He’s asking for quiet. You give it, letting your eyes slip closed as his cum drips out of you.

A few minutes later, he stirs, kneading your sides with his fingers. Mean-König has fucked off, you can already tell. It’s not KorTac-König, either, the one that’s nasty and loud and abrasive. This is just König. The slice of him that you know the first and last name of. The one that takes you on dates, and to go grocery shopping at Lidl–who lets you kiss his harelipped mouth, who lets you moisturize and massage the gummy wads of keloid burn scars eating up the left side of his face and neck, from when he was burnt by boiling sugar as a child, when they feel tight and miserable.

For convenience, and knowing you’re both going to seek it out, you unclip your helmet straps, letting them tumble off your heads. Further, you reach back and pull the hood off over his head, dropping it over your thigh, and pull your mask down as he pulls down his gaiter.

He helps you shift enough that you’re lying on your side over him, wet, soft cock pressing into your naked thigh. He sighs when you kiss him, light, quick, over and over, never really leaving his lips. He’ll be needy for the rest of the night.

His pupils are slowly going back down to a normal size, and the blue is coming back, all puppy-eyed and wet as he presses your foreheads together. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it. I had fun.”

“I shouldn’t have been that rough. Or mean.”

You shrug. “You know I thought it was hot.” You give him simple facts, easy to chew and swallow while his teeth are hurting from his harshness. You think he’d probably ask you to pull them so he couldn’t do something like it again in the future, but that is simply not in his nature. Fanged, or not, his moods will come and go.

His hands tremble, going to his thighs, and he digs up a zippo and a pack of cigarettes, pressing them into you. “Could you light some for us, please.”

You do, giving him another kiss before you break to try to attend your given task. He helps stabilize your hands, and you end up with lit menthols, popping one between his lips. He inhales deeply, shuddering as he relaxes a physical notch.

You heavily pet his face, traveling his bone structure, and then down his neck. Start to focus on his chest and shoulders, because it will help him down the easiest. Even though he took charge today, you still readily slot into the process of leading aftercare, truncated as it is by being in the field. Almost literally.

“Think you’ll be up for more later?” you ask, digging your fingers into the spot behind his ear that always makes him lax. “Safehouse would let us take our time.”

He makes a grumbling noise, touching your noses together. “Want to love you. Not fuck.”

“Yeah, no. I couldn’t take another fuck tonight,” you snort in agreement, and, finally, he snorts back. “We need to get moving. Sun’s going down, and we need to report.”

He gathers you up for a final, lingering, sloppy kiss before he unwinds from you, knowing that you’re right. And, besides, there’s a safehouse looming on the horizon.

#konig #könig #call of duty #cod mw2 #mw2 #konig mw2 #konig call of duty #konig x reader #konig smut #my work #ngl i just wrote my oc in second person pov so like sorry but honestly not that sorry lmfao everyone still gets to eat #but there's no use of names or nationality markers it reads pure reader

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beatificwrites · 9 months

Text

TYPICAL DATE NIGHT WITH HOBIE ★

an: a lil sumn sumn with hobie

gender-neutral!reader & no use of y/n

content: cheesy bc i say so, some silly cuteness, heated make-out sesh

You heard continuous light taps coming from your bedroom window. You recognized the sounds as pebbles being thrown and instantly, you knew it was him. Glee began to overflow your entire being as you hurriedly bookmarked the page you were on and dropped the book you were reading.

You practically jumped off your bed and rushed over to open your window. Your eyes drifted downward and landed on Hobie’s figure that was currently in a humanly-impossible position against your apartment’s brick wall. His feet seemed glued to the wall while he balanced himself vertically off of it.

He was always random with the stunts he’d pull since he disliked consistency and loved finding different ways to surprise you. You playfully rolled your eyes at him in disbelief, not being able to fully grasp the fact that your boyfriend was quite literally defying gravity; a perk of being spiderpunk.

“Hey, babe, got somethin’ I wanna play for you!” he shouted.

You watched as he effortlessly whipped out his guitar from behind as if he wasn’t 40 feet off the ground.

“shoot!” you shouted back.

With zero hesitation, Hobie powerfully struck the chords once before playing an impressive guitar riff, just for you. His gifted fingers ran up and down the chords, allowing the guitar to produce the electrifying, melodic sound you loved so much. He was nothing short of a virtuoso, so cool, you thought.

“What’d you think?” Hobie asked, not needing your approval, though he’d appreciate it very much.

“It was awesome!! I loved it, baby.” you gushed with clasped hands.

“Good.” was all he said, then he shot a web at the edge of your window to yank himself up and kiss your lips.

The soft embrace of his lips was all you needed to feel warm and at peace again. Life outside of your relationship was tiring and hectic, but the precious moments you shared with him calmed the storm.

“Come in!” you beckoned, after pulling away.

“Ma pleasure.” he said before tucking his guitar behind him and climbing in through your window.

“So, I got a couple of movie ideas…we down for rom-coms or slashers tonight?” you asked as grabbed the dvds.

“I think we exhausted all the slasher films known to man, love. I could go for some ‘13 going on 30’ right about now.” he threw himself on your bed.

Your mouth slightly fell agape, “I can’t believe you just said that.”

“What? A man can’t switch it up every now and then?” his brows furrowed.

“He can, but every time I put on ‘13 going on 30’ you fall asleep half way through!” you lightly smacked his side as you laid down next to him.

“I’m not the same person I was last week, hell, I ain’t even the same man I was two seconds ago! I’m a changed man.” he shrugged his shoulders.

“Oh, cut the crap! You do not wanna watch it with me.” you claimed incredulously.

“Like I said, I’m a changed man.” he told you in a half-serious manner.

“You’re so stupid.” you rolled your eyes again, then you both laughed it off.

“No, but I do wanna see it with you, babe. I can’t handle another modern horror film, it’s all just uncalled for gore and porn; no substance whatsoever. It’s bollucks.” he shook his head disapprovingly.

“I’m sayinggg!” you agreed, remembering how dreadful the last horror flick you saw was.

“Wait, before we watch, can we make pizza like last time?” he asked hopefully.

“Sure, why not?” you got up and tossed the slasher dvds to the side and placed ‘13 going on 30’ next to the dvd station.

Hobie hated ordering pizza. Not because he was too shy to order, that’s why apps exist. Moreover, he hated ordering pizza because the anarchist in him preferred baking pizza at home instead of supporting the cooperate companies that prepared the same pizza.

He’d physically cringe and his face would contort into disgust whenever you’d suggest delivery instead because you were too lazy to bake. “I’ll do it by myself then!” he’d groan.

That is how the first three hours of your date night with Hobie is spent; attempting to bake spidey shaped pizzas with the clash playing in the background, throwing sauce at each other’s faces, eating said pizzas while watching 13 going on 30, teasing Hobie for shredding a tear at the wedding scene, Hobie teasing you for sobbing after that scene, you two cuddling at the end while being wrapped up in your largest blanket, and you rewarding him a kiss because finishing rom-coms with him gives you the best feeling ever. It’s the rom-com glow.

You’ll usually suggest another film or perhaps a show to binge watch, and you two immerse yourselves in that for about another three hours. Sweet whispers are exchanged from time to time and Hobie’s dispersed kisses across your neck make a feature.

“You’re really cute when you look all focused.” he said out of the blue.

You hadn’t realized he had been admiring your face for a while now, or that his focus was shifting elsewhere.

“This is reality tv! There’s lots of drama to keep up with.” you reasoned without turning to look at him.

“Look at me.” he simply said.

“Amanda’s just about to find out her husband’s having an affair!” you quickly tapped him, trying not to lose concentration from the screen. Without warning, the show was suddenly muted.

“Hey, why’d you-

“Com’ere.” he gently grabbed your chin and hushed you with his lips.

You kissed him back, then pulled away asking, “what?”

“I don’ know. Just felt a huge urge to kiss you.” he admitted as his mouth curved into a smile.

“Oh. Well, I have no problem Mr. suspense-ruiner, as long as you continue to do it.” you cupped his face, forgot all about the tv and brought him in for another smooch.

He rubbed one hand on your hip. You two were laying side by side, but his slow, gentle touch made you want to change that.

The hand rubbing on your hip made its way up to your shoulders and down again, in yet another slow, teasing manner. He caressed the side of your body, then let his hand slide dangerously down onto your rump. He gave it soft squeeze and you hummed; his touch aroused the growing swarm of excitement in your abdomen.

You swung a leg over his torso and he was able to smooth his hand over your thigh. He’d run his hand up and down, his gentle caressing becoming a bit more firm. The feel of your bodies pressing against each other made this moment all the more enticing. Neither of you could get enough. With every hum or whimper you’d allow to escape, Hobie could feel himself twitch.

You extended your hand and lightly rubbed his shoulder. After a moment, your hand dropped to his bicep and began to grope the defined muscle. Eventually, you had to pull away to catch your breath and you both would only chuckle while looking at each other.

Hobie kept his hands on you as you took the initiative to straddle his waist. His hands shifted to your hips and he gave you a reassuring look before saying, “Absolutely no pressure, love. We go as far as your comfortable with.”

You appreciated how he reassured you every time to ensure that you were comfortable. He made you feel seen and at ease. Definitely one of the most refreshing parts of your companionship with him.

“Mhm, of course.” you nodded.

“I love you, sweetheart.” he professed with hooded eyes.

“I love you too.”

───────── ☆

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