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fellintotartarus · 4 years

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you ask me what i’m thinking about (spencer reid x fem!reader)

Summary: On a night out, Reader discovers that her crush, Spencer Reid is a virgin and takes him home. 3.3k words

A/N: This is literally the fastest I’ve ever written anything oh my god. Anyways, enjoy.

Warnings: Literal fucking filth, the whole thing. Sub!Spencer smut, fingering, oral (m and f receiving), penetration, praise kink.

“Okay, never have I ever done it standing up against a wall,” Penelope said, beginning a game of the most childish, yet absolute most fun drinking game ever.

“Unfair, Pen, I told you that story yesterday,” you whined, throwing back a shot of cheap tequila, noticing Emily and Derek join you. The whole team (minus the dads Hotch and Rossi) were gathered on the floor of Penelope’s living room unwinding after a case.

“All’s fair in love and war,” Penelope said with a drunken grin.

“That’s actually not how that saying should be applied, and if you look back to the--” Spencer started before he was cut off. He was easily the most sober of the group, which was saying something. Even he was bleary-eyed and swaying slightly in his seat.

You ran your eyes over his frame hungrily. Deciding to get drunk around the man you had a massive crush on was starting to look like a mistake as you found yourself leaning closer to him, stabilizing yourself on his thigh when you wobbled. You heard his breath hitch. You smiled, tracing your fingers over his clothed skin quickly before removing your hand.

“Sorry,” you said lowly, eyes lingering on his lips.

God what you wouldn’t do to kiss those lips raw and bite them--

“Y/N? It’s your turn,” you heard Emily say from across the room.

You turned to them, thinking. Oh, you knew a way to get nearly every single one of them (save maybe Emily) to drink.

“Never have I ever been a virgin at the age of seventeen,” you said smugly. Workplace gossip paid off.

Everyone except Emily rolled their eyes and threw back a shot, mumbling complaints.

Derek laughed and said, “Never have I ever been a virgin at my current age.”

You looked around, confused. Who on earth--

Oh.

Well, that is delightful, you thought as you watched Spencer sigh, flip Derek off, and take a shot.

“Don’t worry, pretty boy, we’ll get you laid one of these days,” Derek said.

Every single dirty thought you had ever had about this man doubled the instant you realized the world you could show him. The heat between your legs increased. Thanks to the alcohol, you had no problem scooting even closer to him as the game progressed. You hoped he would use his 187 IQ and crazy smart profiler brain to pick up what you were trying to tell him when you lightly grazed his hand with your pinky and drooped your head onto his shoulder. Sure enough, you heard his breathing speed up and he glanced down at you, his curious eyes meeting your lustful ones. He cleared his throat before looking back at the group. You sat like that for the rest of the game.

After a couple more hours of just sitting around and goofing off, you were definitely getting sober. The room no longer spun pleasantly and your body lacked the hum that came with drinking.

What didn’t wear off, though, was the thrumming need between you and Spencer. You were always flirty with him and he always blushed and tried to reciprocate, but this was a whole different level. He would turn to you occasionally, as if to reassure himself that you were, in fact, still looking at him like you wanted to pin him up against a wall and it would leave him slightly out of breath.

You loved the effect you had on him, how one glance of yours could leave him shuddering softly.

When everyone (sober enough, Emily was definitely crashing on the couch) finally started to stand up and get ready to leave, you took your opportunity and grabbed Spencer by the arm, whispering, “My place?” sweetly in his ear. He inhaled sharply and nodded his head, trailing after you out the door, both of you saying your goodbyes.

Spencer had taken the Metro, so you went in the same car and it was torture. You kept your hand on Spencer’s thigh the entire time, leaving him to shift in his seat, hoping to find more friction.

“Patience,” you said sweetly. He gulped and nodded.

As soon as you pulled up to your apartment, you practically pulled him over the console by the tie and kissed him.

You grabbed the base of Spencer’s head, twisting your fingers harshly through his hair before bringing his lips to yours. The kiss was hungry, teeth clashing, and Spencer returned it eagerly. You ran your hands over his chest, stopping only to brush his nipples, which earned you a shudder and he pushed closer to you.

You broke the kiss, saying, “Let’s take this upstairs.”

Spencer nodded enthusiastically, following you up the stairs to your apartment door. Once inside, you turned and kissed Spencer sweetly, a contrast from in the car.

You pulled away, his face in your hand, and said, “Are you good?”

Spencer said, “Yeah. I trust you.”

Your heart swelled exponentially. You were so lucky.

“Anything you don’t like and we stop, okay? You’re safe with me.” you said, playfully stern.

Spencer smiled, nodding and leaned back in to kiss you. You stopped him with a finger against his lips.

“I need to hear you say it,” you replied, eyebrows raised, cupping his face in your hand.

Spencer’s eyes widened and you felt his pants tighten against your hip.

“Yes,” he breathed.

Oh, this was an interesting development. You hadn’t wanted to bring this side of you out so soon, but Spencer seemed so eager for it.

You smiled, running your thumb back and forth on his cheek. “Do you like it when I take control, Spence?” You gripped his hip in the other hand.

His breathing shallowed, eyes fluttering when your finger dipped under his shirt and pants and rubbed small circles into his hip bone. He nodded weakly.

Your hand on his face shifted to grip his chin, bringing his eye level down to you.

“Baby, use your words,” you said sweetly, taking your time.

“Yes. Please,” Spencer basically whined, and it went straight to your core.

Okay, this was happening.

You moved your hand that was on his hip and cupped his bulge, running your fingers back and forth softly. He let out a small whimper and his hips moved subtly, begging for more. You smiled, every movement electrifying you further.

“Why don’t you take your clothes off for me and meet me in the bedroom?” you said sweetly, obviously not intending it as a question.

Spencer nodded, pulling away from you slowly before walking back to where he knew your bedroom to be.

You took a second to collect yourself, every movement making you painfully aware of how soaked you were.

You were typically fine having vanilla sex or even pretending to submit to a man every once in a while, because men didn’t typically like to hear that you wanted them to submit to you. It got old after a while, though, and just yesterday you had been considering popping in to the local BDSM club to find someone.

But today had proven to be exactly what you needed. Not only were you about to fuck the man you’d had a crush on for a while, but he was sitting pretty in the bedroom, waiting for your next command.

Fuck, you thought, rubbing your thighs together. You’d better get in there, then.

You turned the corner into the doorway and found Spencer down to his tented boxer briefs sitting pretty on the edge of your bed.

You stood in front of him and shrugged your dress off your shoulders, revealing a skimpy bralette and sheer boyshorts.

He gasped softly at the sight of your near naked body and shifted on the bed as if to get closer to you. You smiled, walking to him and positioning yourself between his legs, looking down on him.

You took his face in your hand, squeezing slightly to make his lips pucker. You leaned down and did exactly what you had imagined earlier in the night, kissing him harshly, sucking and biting at his lips, drawing small moans from him.

You ran your fingers up and down his chest, scratching his pale skin and tweaking his nipples every now and then as you continued to kiss him roughly, and Spencer whimpered, wiggling around where he was sitting.

The wetness in your panties had soaked through the fabric and Spencer’s boxers were so tight it just had to have hurt.

You broke the kiss, taking a moment to savor the wrecked look on Spencer’s face. His lips were red and swollen, covered in saliva, and there were red marks from where you had gripped his face.

“What do you know about pleasuring women, Dr. Reid?” you asked teasingly, continuing your ministrations on his chest.

“I may be a virgin, but I’m not stupid,” he said, out of breath. He picked up his hand and trailed it along your inner thighs, making you shiver. He ghosted across where you needed him most.

His eyes met yours, asking silent permission which you granted with a nod, breath heavy.

You gripped his shoulders hard and threw your head back when he moved your panties aside and slipped his fingers through your soaked folds. He found your clit immediately (goddamn genius) and rubbed it in soft, slow circles. It felt amazing, but it was nowhere near enough.

When he glanced up at you with the subbiest look on his face, you took his face in your hand yet again and breathed, “Not enough, baby.”

Spencer’s face flashed with a look of determination and he increased the pressure on your clit before slipping a finger in your heat. You let out a loud moan and let your eyes flutter shut, running your fingers through his hair in praise.

“Fuck, baby, you’re doing so good for me,” you groaned, which only served to spur him on. He quickly added two more fingers and pumped in and out of you so deliberately, rubbing up against that electric spot inside you every time.

You definitely hadn’t been expecting to cum more than once if at all tonight, but here you were, stood in front of your crush sitting on your bed while he brought you dangerously close to the edge with his fingers.

He continued slipping in and out of you and rubbing circles into your clit, the feeling of his warm fingers making you near delirious. The real turn-on, though, was the way he looked up at you, practically begging for praise.

“Oh, fuck, Spence, you’re doing so good for me, so fucking good,” you choked out as you felt your breath hitch and legs tense, your orgasm so, so near.

“I’m close,” you whispered, unsure of whether Spencer even heard it. You were assured he did, though, when he dipped his head down to your cunt and licked a long, hard, stripe up and down before latching onto your clit and sucking. You let out a long, loud moan.

That was all it took. You came hard on Spencer’s hand, mewls and whines filling the room, walls clamping tightly around his fingers and he nursed it beautifully for you, kitten licking your clit and softly rubbing inside you until you had to pull his hand and face off because your legs were shaking too hard.

You took one look at him, face covered in your juices, lips swollen from the kissing and sucking, hair absolutely mussed from your hands, and it was it took to leave you wanting more. You placed your hand flat on his chest, leading him farther back on the bed. He sat against the pillows and headboard and you placed your soaked core directly on his hard bulge, pulling a whimper from him and a low moan from you.

You leaned in, hungrily kissing him, tasting yourself on his lips and tongue and rocking your hips back and forth slowly, building a fire in you. At this point, Spencer was a mess, practically begging for you to touch him. He bucked his hips up into yours and whimpered with every movement. You moved your hand to the back of his neck and pulled his head back, exposing his throat.

“I’m gonna give you a hickey, alright, baby? That way everyone will know you’re taken,” you growled into his ear, nipping his earlobe in between words.

Spencer exhaled sharply and nodded, not speaking. You gave his earlobe a sharp pull with your teeth, and he jumped slightly.

“Please, Y/N, just own me,” he gasped.

You were sure that you had died and gone to heaven. There was no way your crush was sitting under you right now being a perfect little sub and begging for you to wreck him.

You latched onto his pulse point with renewed vigor, sucking and biting his soft, pale skin. Spencer writhed underneath you, moaning out little expletives you almost couldn’t understand.

You continued until you were met with an angry bruise blooming on his beautiful neck, satisfied with your work.

“There we go,” you teased, scooting back on the bed until your face aligned with Spencer’s bulge. You let your breath ghost over his clothed dick and licked at the wet spot on his boxers. Spencer whined, an honest to god high pitched whine, and it was so hot you had no choice but to wrap your mouth around the head of his cock through his boxers.

He was obviously trying to hold back, grasping at the sheets with his hands and biting his lips to stop from moaning. You pulled back.

“Are you going to be good for me and let me hear you, baby? Or am I going to have to leave you high and dry?” you teased, cocking your eyebrow at him.

Spencer exhaled. “Fuck, please, I’ll be good, I promise.”

If you hadn’t been soaked before, his words just then would’ve done the job.

You lowered your head again, pulling back the waistband of Spencer’s boxers to reveal his cock, hard, pink, leaking precum, and deliciously big.

“Oh, baby, it’s a crime to keep this pretty dick from the world,” you grinned, licking a slow stripe up the underside.

Spencer kept true to his promise and was not holding a single noise back, his head thrown back against the headboard. The room was filled with the curses and moans pouring out of his mouth.

You wrapped your lips around the head of his cock, swirling your tongue around to collect the precum. His hips bucked into your mouth and you smiled around him, going lower and lower until he hit the back of your throat.

You hollowed your cheeks and slid up and down a few times, leaving him practically yelling. You pulled off with a pop and brought yourself back up to his face, never letting go of his dick.

“As much as I’d like for you to fuck my face and cum down my throat, we’ve got that little viginity issue of yours to solve.”

Spencer looked at you, wide-eyed and gasping and nodded as you gave him a few pumps and positioned yourself over him.

“I’m clean,” he croaked, face red. “Obviously.”

You smiled and leaned in, kissing him softly.

“Me, too. And I’m on the pill. Spencer, are you sure? Because we can stop right now,” you said softly, reassuring him.

Spencer shook his head, “There’s no one I’d rather do this with.”

You smiled, assuming your role once again, “I’m glad to hear it, baby boy. Are you ready for this pussy to change your life?” you said, joking to ease the mood.

Spencer smiled, almost laughing, but then you ran his tip through your folds and his face fell into one of pure bliss. You rubbed your clit against him, covering him in your slick and moaning loudly.

“Fuck, baby, you’re gonna feel so good inside me,” you groaned, head thrown back in pleasure.

Spencer squirmed, clearly impatient to feel himself inside you. You chuckled, cutting your grinding against him short to indulge him

You pressed your lips against his in a wildly passionate kiss as you lowered yourself onto him, feeling him stretch you out.

Spencer’s mouth fell open against yours and his strangled moans only encouraged you. Feeling warmed up enough, you dropped the rest of the way onto him, feeling the pleasant burn and crying out.

The feeling was insane. You were so full and satisfied you felt yourself uncharacteristically close again already. You ground your clit in Spencer’s hip bone and mewled loudly.

“Fuck, Y/N, please move,” Spencer begged, writhing under you.

“You don’t tell me what to do, Spence,” you said, halting your movements altogether. He whined and stopped moving, too.

“I’m sorry, Y/N,” he whimpered.

Satisfied with his apology, you brought yourself up slowly, only stopped when he nearly slipped out of you, before dropping quickly, hitting the deepest spot inside you. You repeated the motions again, quicker this time and Spencer’s hands shot out to grip your hips. You decided to allow it purely because of the crazy blissed out look Spencer had on his face.

He looked gorgeous. His hair was fucked and stuck to his forehead with sweat. His head was thrown back in complete pleasure, noises pouring out of his swollen lips continuously and the hickey on his neck stood out prominently.

When you dropped down on him again, he hit a spot inside of you you didn’t even know existed, and you fell forward onto his chest on your elbows, the coil inside you tightening hotly. You straightened up with new determination, practically fucking him into the bed.

Spencer moved his hands up to your tits, pulling one of them into his mouth. His tongue circled your nipple, sucking softly and you grabbed his hair hard, causing him to moan against you. You lowered your hand to where the two of you met, swirling your thumb around your combined juices.

You pulled him off of you and offered him your soaked thumb, which he graciously took into his mouth and began sucking earnestly. You moaned as loud as you ever had. Just seeing him being so good brought you close to the edge again.

“I’m so close,” Spencer said through your hand.

“Me, too. Help me out, baby,” you whispered sweetly, grabbing his hand and guiding it to your clit. He pushed his thumb harshly against it and rubbed and you yelled loudly.

You slammed back down on him and came harder than you ever had, gasping for air and your vision whiting out. a vice-like clamp on Spencer’s dick guiding him over the edge, too. You felt his seed fill you, a warmth spreading inside you. You desperately joined Spencer at your clit, rubbing circles to prolong your orgasm for as long as possible.

Finally, you let yourself go limp on top of him, tracing little patterns into his sweaty skin.

“I hope that was okay for your first time,” you whispered against him, pressing soft kisses into his torso.

“Are you kidding? I think that’s the best sex anyone has ever had their first time,” Spencer said, still catching his breath.

“Are you good?” you asked, turning to face him. “Was that too much?”

Spencer smiled, blushing. “No way. It was perfect.”

The next day at work, you walked in five minutes before Spencer so no one was the wiser.

Spencer walked into the conference room last, so everyone noticed the scarf he was wearing in the warm August weather.

Derek snatched it off of him almost as soon as he sat down and wolf-whistled at his hickey.

“Looks like Pretty Ricky finally got some,” he laughed, everyone joining in in playfully congratulating Spencer. His face reddened and his eyes met yours.

You winked.

#spencer reid #spencer x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid fic #sub spencer reid #dom reader #spencer reid x reader #criminal minds #criminal minds fic #criminal minds fanfiction #spencer reid smut #smut

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sushi0989 · 3 years

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Pick Me If You Want To (part 1)

Summary: Set in the early 1950s, you are an aspiring photographer that is currently working at a toy store until you make your big break. During a surge of Christmas shopping, you are first met by Wanda Maximoff, a mother of twin boys and married. She leaves her gloves, which gives you the opportunity to meet her again. She takes fond of you, and you of her, but her messy divorce with her husband, Vision, risks the custody of her twins. Does she continue your blossoming relationship or fight for her kids? Based on the movie Carol

Pairing: Wanda Maximoff x Reader

Warnings: none (i think)

Word Count: 4823

A/N: I actually thought of this idea in the middle of the night while lying in bed and I literally jumped out of bed to write it down haha. I have 2 parts written so far and I plan on having 4 parts in total. I’m also not sure if I want to include smut because in the movie they hook up once, but I’ll think about it. Anyways, I hope you guys enjoy :)

Christmas was the most hectic time of the year, for shopkeepers especially. You were struggling to stay afloat during the Christmas present buying palooza. The customers kept flowing in searching for the perfect toy for their child or nephew or grandchild, constantly asking what was the best of the best. Not to mention, the annoying Santa hat perched on your head was a little too big for you, so it kept sliding off and obstructing your view. Your shift ended ten minutes from now, you only had to keep at this for ten more minutes, you assured yourself.

That was when a woman walked in: curled chestnut red hair falling just above her shoulders, red lipstick glistening in the store lights, and wore a tan coat over her light blue dress with matching gloves. She looked at the different products quizzically as you tried not to stare. She began to come to your area at the counter, so you pretended you were writing in the sales slip.

"Hello, sorry to be a bother, but I was wondering if you could help me?" the woman asked you, her voice was warm but also had a richness to it you couldn't quite describe. Perhaps like honey. "Of course, ma'am. How could I be of assistance?" you responded with your customer service voice, perky and obnoxious, two things that you were not.

"I was hoping to get something for my twin boys, but I'm not quite sure what I should get them, you see. I was wondering if you could point me in the right direction," she continued, her eyebrows furrowed while addressing you, her green eyes not leaving yours.

Your thoughts about annoying customers disappeared all for this woman. There was just something about her that made you drawn to her, but what was it? "May I suggest a model train? It would be a great gift to share between the two of them," you suggested. The woman felt that she could trust you with anything, you had this energy that she wanted to relish in, but your interaction only lasted for 2 minutes. You gestured to the model train showcase behind the woman and she nodded in agreement. "Yes, I think I would like to order that, thank you, doll," she said to you, your stomach fluttering at the nickname.

"Could I get your name please?" you asked so you could fill out the sale slip, you tried maintaining your professional composure. "Wanda Maximoff," she answered. You asked her to sign the bottom of the page, and she took her gloves off and placed them on the counter beside her to do so, your eyes glanced at her gold wedding band on her ring finger. You stared away to check on other customers as she signed and you noticed an older woman who appeared to be needing help. "If you would excuse me, I need to help another customer. Darcy over here will help you with the purchase," you told Mrs. Maximoff as you made your way to the old woman by the action figures.

She nodded her head and watched you as you turned away. Darcy came over to Mrs. Maximoff and assisted her with the payment, but as Mrs. Maximoff was leaving, she was so focused on you that she had left her gloves sitting on the counter. When you were about to leave for home, you noticed the light blue gloves still lying on the counter, but Wanda was nowhere to be found.

You went to your boss, "Mr. Stark, it looks like one of our customers has left their gloves," you stated with a ring of fear that he might get angry. He crossed his arms and huffed, "well then go look at the sales slip and contact them." You nodded, "yes sir," and pulled out the sales slip for the day. There was written, 'Wanda Maximoff' along with her address and phone number. You wrote the address down on a separate envelope and placed the gloves inside and mailed it off on your walk home.

You got back to your apartment, and much to your disappointment, your boyfriend was there, too. "Hey, baby," he said as you walked into the living room, engulfing you into a hug that you weren't really in the mood for. "Hey, Steve," you said into his chest trying to pull away, the strong scent of cologne invaded your nostrils. He wasn't a terrible person, but you couldn't stand him most of the time by his 'lovey-doveyness'. Your first year with him was great, your love felt pure, but over time it felt bland and repetitive. He, however, was infatuated by you, always wanted to be with you in every waking moment like a puppy.

"Come to France with me," he whines, but you've already told him dozens of times that you didn't want to. You were in the midst of potentially getting signed on as a photographer for The New York Times thanks to your friend, Bruce, who works there. "I already told you no," you groaned, walking away to put your bag down and ready to shower. "Come on, I have so many things planned for us," he pleaded, but you didn't want to hear it and locked yourself in your room. Little did you know, he wanted to propose to you with a candlelit dinner on the Eiffel Tower.

"Open the door," he knocked aggressively, but you didn't want to deal with him right now, or else you would say things that you wouldn't be able to take back. "I'm tired, I'm going to take a shower and crawl into bed," you groaned through the door. "Why don't I join in," he murmured seductively. "Not today, I'm not feeling it," you replied flatly. Steve sighed and walked off, now relieved, you gathered your showering items and went to the bathroom.

Wanda arrived back at her home late at night, her sons running up to her as she walked through the door of her grand estate in New Jersey. Vision, her husband, gave her an irritated expression as she hugged her children. "Go off to bed, kids, I need to talk to Daddy," she cooed and kissed the tops of their heads and they ran off up the spiral staircase.

"Took you long enough to get home."

"Well I was running errands," Wanda huffed and went over to the cupboard that contained alcohol and poured herself a glass of whiskey. She walked over to a chair in the living room and sat with her legs crossed eyeing her irritated husband.

"Errands," Vision chuckled dryly. "It's my turn to sleep in the bedroom, you can stay in the guest room tonight," he seethed while going up the stairs and slamming the bedroom door shut.

Wanda sighed as she chugged her drink and slumped further into the chair. Once the divorce was finalized she could finally be free from his judgment. She could do whatever. Wanda eventually went upstairs and quietly entered the room of her sleeping boys, giving them each other kisses and tucking them in as they were fast asleep.

In the morning, Wanda received a package with her gloves inside, the return address reading 'Stark's Toy Emporium.'

Wanda picked up the phone and called the store.

"Hello, this is Stark's Toy Emporium, Tony Stark speaking," a man answered, seeming to be in a rush. "Hello, I just received my gloves I misplaced at your store in the mail, I was wondering if I could thank whoever found them," Wanda replied.

Soon you were being called over by Tony, his eyes rolled in annoyance, as per usual. You quickly grabbed the phone hoping it wasn't Steve, "Hello?"

"Hi! This is Wanda, I just wanted to thank you for sending my gloves," she chimed through the speaker. "Oh it was nothing ma'am," you replied, trying to shake off the feeling you were getting from this woman's voice. "Well, I was wondering if I could take you out to lunch as thanks," she invited, her voice was a bit softer, deeper than before. "No, ma'am it's okay, it wasn't that big of a deal," you answered back. "Oh come on now, it's my treat. I'll see you at 2 pm at Barnes' Bistro," she hung up the phone before you could object.

It was already noon, only two more hours before you had to awkwardly make small talk with a woman you very well are intimidated by for some odd reason. You hung the phone back on its receiver and returned to work, the rush of people continued through till the end of your shift. There was not even a moment of rest before your lunch. You masked your exhaustion as you entered the restaurant, the aroma of cigarette smoke mixed with delicious food circulated the air, but you would take this scent over Steve's cologne any day.

A waiter noticed you enter and greeted you, "Good afternoon, ma'am, do you have a reservation?" You quickly scanned the restaurant and noticed the top of the chestnut red hair in the back corner. "Um, I believe the name is Maximoff, I see her back there," you pointed in the direction of the redhead. "Ah yes, Mrs. Maximoff, right this way ma'am," he gestured for you to follow him towards the back of the restaurant. It was rather dimly lit, the booths were occupied either by two men in business suits or a man and a woman, all of whom were smoking a cigar or cigarette.

"And here you are," the young waiter said as you stood at the end of the table, Mrs. Maximoff glancing up meeting your eyes. Her fingers also held a smoking cigarette, but you didn't mind since it was the norm, however, you personally didn't smoke. "You made it!" she exclaimed quickly, getting up and kissing both of your cheeks as a greeting. You awkwardly smiled and sat across from her in the booth seating.

"What drink would you like, ma'am?" the waiter asked. "Oh, uh, water should be fine, thank you," you replied quietly, your nervousness could be detected from miles away, but Mrs. Maximoff seemed to be shocked for some odd reason. "Water? No dear, let me treat you to something nice, could you get her a glass of Chianti?" she requested and the waiter nodded enthusiastically and rushed off. Mrs. Maximoff took one last puff of her cigarette before putting it out in the ashtray.

"So, I don't think I ever got your name, dear," she began. "Y/n Y/l/n" you answered quickly. "That's a pretty name for a pretty girl," she smiled and picked up her glass of red wine and took a swig. Your face blushed at the compliment, you looked down at your hands fiddling with the spoon on the table to avoid her eyes. The waiter came back with the glass of red wine meant for you and placed it next to your hand. "Thank you, Peter," Mrs. Maximoff said to him. He nodded his head before dashing off again.

"How long have you been working at the toy store?" she questioned. "It'll be one year next month, it's just a side thing," you answered embarrassed to mention your true dream. "Well, what is it you want to do?" she raised an eyebrow. "I uh- I'm a photographer," you stammered. "That's very intriguing, y/n" she complimented, you were flustered by the use of your name.

"Have you had any success in finding a job relating to photography?"

"I just met with a photo editor at the New York Times last weekend, I have to put together a portfolio and send it off to them to be considered for a position," you explained, finally looking up at her and putting your spoon down. "That sounds exciting! You must show me your work!" Mrs. Maximoff exclaimed with genuine excitement. Steve would complement your photography, but it felt half-hearted, maybe it's because he didn't want you to overshadow him someday.

After lunch as the two of you headed out, Mrs. Maximoff and you exchanged a farewell. "Thank you again for the lunch, Mrs. Maximoff," you thanked her in a quick hug. "Oh, it was my pleasure. And please call me Wanda, you're making me feel quite old. How about I give you my number and we can meet again?" she offered and you couldn't help but nod. As much as you weren't keen on continuing this friendship or relationship or whatever was happening, you felt like this woman understood you in a way no one else did.

You decided to go visit Bruce to thank him for getting the meeting with the photo editor. The thought of Wanda's phone number written on a slip of paper in your handbag added pep to your step as you strolled into the office building. You walked up to the front desk saying you were going to visit a friend, "Mr. Banner is on floor 11," she said. The elevator let you off on the floor and you saw Bruce in his office typing away on his typewriter.

"Y/n! What a pleasant surprise to see you here!" he beamed and got up from his desk to give you a kiss on the cheek. "I figured I should stop by since you're the reason my dreams have a chance of becoming a reality now," you smiled and took a seat across from his desk. "It was no problem, your talent would add so much to the paper. You're also welcome here whenever," Bruce stated leaning back in his armchair.

"Where are my manners? Let me get something to drink! I've got whiskey, gin-" "I just had a drink actually," you countered declining his offer.

"What's one more drink gonna do? Come on, live a little!" he pressured you and got up to go to the corner of his office to pull out two glasses and a bottle of gin. "Fine, only this once," you caved in. He poured two drinks and handed you one. The gin went smooth, but it still burnt your throat, however, you were able to mask it.

"How are things with you and Steve?" Bruce inquired with skepticism, which you found a little out of character, but the alcohol toiled with your mind and proceeded to spill all of your thoughts. "He wants me to go to France with him even though I've told him not so many times. I can't deal with him anymore, but I've been with him for so long now that I feel bad to end things," you confessed, making Bruce intrigued. He leaned on his desk directly in front of you.

"Is there someone else you think is causing you to lose interest in him?" Bruce asked in a low tone and leaned towards you a little bit, but still your slightly tipsy self didn't see the red flag. "I mean, I haven't really thought about that," you answered pondering, thoughts of Wanda flashing in your mind, but you were quickly brought back to reality when Bruce's lips were on yours.

You shrieked, forcing him to pull away. You angrily got up, "what the hell, Bruce?!" you scolded him. "I'm sorry! You weren't reacting when I was leaning closer to you so I just went in!" he defended his actions. "God! All men are the fucking same!" you complained and downed your drink before rushing out of his office. Bruce rubbed his forehead realizing the mistake he made, but it was too late to take it back now.

You arrived back in your apartment to emptiness, Steve was nowhere to be found. Thank god, you thought. You stumbled onto your pea-green sofa and laid there in anguish. Nothing seemed to appease you, nothing went your way. As soon as these thoughts rang in your head, your telephone rang as well. You groaned as you begrudgingly made your way to the kitchen where the phone was hung.

"Hello?" you groaned in a tired and yet apathetic voice which Wanda was a bit surprised to hear.

"Hi, sweetie, it's Wanda!"

You held your breath realizing you rudely answered the woman. You cleared your throat and corrected your shoulders before speaking again. "Hi- uh I'm- hi!" you stuttered, grumbling to yourself for this embarrassing encounter.

"I was calling to invite you over to my house, I would love to have you over," Wanda said, biting her lip hoping that you would say yes. She twirled the cord connecting to the receiver around her finger patiently waiting for your answer.

"Oh, really? I mean, I can. I don't have a car though-"

"I can pick you up!" Wanda interrupted with excitement. "When are you free this week, dear?"

"I'm free tomorrow," you replied with a smile to contain yourself. "I'll come tomorrow at noon then," Wanda concluded, little did you know just how much she was looking forward to seeing you and your adorable self. She couldn't get enough of you, and neither could you get enough of her.

Steve never came home that night, and you didn't care one bit. He was a nuisance to your life, especially right now since he knew how much this photography opportunity meant to you, but his pestering was going to make you snap and break his heart at any second.

You looked your best self, wearing a navy blue blouse with black trousers. It wasn't that common for women at the time to be wearing such things, it was more progressive, however, all you cared about was comfort. You occasionally would wear dresses, but you preferred pants and a shirt. You could say that it was for Wanda, but it was for yourself. People, particularly women, would examine your modern style as appalling, but not Wanda. You figured why not be comfortable and stylish.

You made a small breakfast before Wanda arrived. You had a bit of a headache from all of the alcohol you had the day before, but that was barely on your mind. All you could think about was making sure you looked presentable as did your apartment before Wanda came. You just finished drying the last dish when you heard a knock on your door. You dried your hands with the dish towel before scurrying to quickly let Wanda in.

There she was, standing in a red coat that hugged her figure in all of the right ways. She wore a beige dress underneath, hidden by the boldness of the coat that you couldn't keep your eyes off of. She was also wearing a matching red hat that looked beautiful with her chestnut hair.

"Ready to go?" she asked, seemingly in a hurry. "Yes, let me get my bag," you turned around and grabbed your bag off of the coffee table, inside holding your wallet and your camera just in case there was an opportunity to shoot.

You walked with Wanda side by side in a comfortable silence until you reached her car. You sat on the passenger side, which was connected with the driver's seat.

"Would you like any music?" Wanda inquired as she pulled out of the parking spot on the curb. "I'll listen to whatever you do," you answered. You didn't listen to music all that much, you didn't have the time to nor did you have a radio.

"I like to drive in silence, the sound of the wind soothes me," Wanda replied. You turned your head and saw how the cool wind tousled Wanda's hair around, but never did it ruin her perfect curls.

"There's a Christmas tree farm on the way that I wanted to check out if that's okay with you," Wanda imparted quickly glancing at you but focused on the road. "That's fine, I don't mind," you said. Wanda's cheeks feathered a light pink, delighted that you agreed. She soon pulled into the small but crowded Christmas tree market. There was Christmas music playing, kids laughing and sprinting around completely oblivious to the disgruntled shouts by their parents, and the occasional newlywed couple admiring what tree was to be their first one.

"You can stay in the car if you'd like, I'm just going to pay for one and bring it back some other time," Wanda was saying to you standing right out of the passenger window. You didn't even notice her get out of the car let alone walk around to get your attention away from the beautiful scene you were watching. "That's fine, you go ahead," you answered, glancing up at her face.

Wanda turned around and made her way towards the clerk, the cool winter breeze ruffling her coat and hair. Your attention was now focused on the woman, how her smile stretched from ear to ear, her mannerisms like how she would play with the ring on her finger while speaking to someone, or how she would partially bite her lip while thinking of a response to a question in conversation.

Your hand automatically reached for your bag and pulled out your camera. You stepped out of the car and shot some candid photos of Wanda, capturing her elegance. As Wanda finished up, you took pictures of the rest of the scene you were so enthralled in before Wanda had caught your attention again. Once you were satisfied, you went back into the car and wrote your name onto the foggy window.

"Dirtying my car I see," Wanda teased, making you tense up. "I'm sorry, I'll wipe it-"

"I'm just kidding, you're so uptight! Let loose! I don't bite," Wanda assured you, but you still held your breath around her. You didn't want her to think badly of you, to set her off in any kind of way even though you barely know this woman. You responded to her with a weak smile to exemplify that you understood her suggestion, you reprimanded your subconscious for looking into her enchanting eyes.

She got into the driver's seat once again, only her left hand gripped the steering wheel while her right hand rested on her lap. After another 20 minutes, you arrived at her home. It was evening by the time you got there, the sunset earlier in the winter, but the area around her room was beautifully lit. It was just as you imagined, a large estate with a grand yard filled with all kinds of bushes and flowers surrounding it.

"Wow," you gawked in amazement. You both entered and your head swiveled to take in all of the details perfectly situated around her home. Your eyes lingered at a family portrait of her, her twin children, and what appeared to be her husband, a tall man who had a strained smile, forced, no true happiness lying beneath it. There was no one in the home, was what you thought at first until you heard the giggles of children emanating from upstairs.

"Billy! Tommy! What are you doing?" Wanda shouted, her hands on her hips facing to look up the spiral staircase in the direction of the laughter. "We're just playing, Momma!" one of them shouted back from the bedroom.

Wanda turned back to face you and sighed. "They can be a handful, but I'm just glad they have one another to keep each other entertained." You nodded in understanding, you had younger siblings who were reckless little misfits that you had to take care of, so you knew exactly what it was like.

You noticed a beautiful grand piano located in a room beside the dining area and your legs automatically took you towards it. You hand caressed the top, you had never seen such a luxurious piano, you've only ever played cheap upright ones. "Can you play?" you asked Wanda, your eyes still admiring the ivory keys.

"Sadly, I cannot. My husband can, but he hasn't touched it in years," Wanda confessed, a twinge of disappointment in her tone. "Can you?"

"I can, but I'm not the greatest," you chuckled dryly. "Oh, you shouldn't have said that, y/n because now I'm going to need to hear you play for me," Wanda smirked and walked over to you and the piano. "Oh gosh, I'd rather not. My hands probably have lost their ability and my voice-"

"You sing, too?! Now I must hear you play and sing!" Wanda was elated, she leaned on the piano as your face heated up. You sighed knowing that you were a guest and you brought nothing to give, not even a bottle of wine. "Since I didn't bring you a gift for inviting me to your home, this can be it," you grinned nervously as you slowly sat on the bench and placed your hands on the keys.

Your fingers automatically played a run, completely captivating Wanda at the effortless ability. You cleared your throat and began to sing.

"Everybody loves somebody sometime. Everybody falls in love somehow. Something in your kiss just told me, that sometime is now." You carried on singing, your voice lulling Wanda as she swayed to the song. She crept over and took a seat next to you on the piano bench as you continued playing, trying not to stutter your words when you felt her leg brush yours.

"Everybody loves somebody sometime. And though my dreams were overdue, your love made it all worth waiting for someone like you," you slowed the song and the piano still hummed the last note. Wanda placed her hand on your thigh and whispered, "that was absolutely beautiful." You shuddered by the touch and curled your toes.

"My dad taught me how to play. He would always sing this song to my mother. He loved her so much, I swore that I one day want to love someone the way my dad loved my mom. When he passed, I would play this song for my mother in his place, but then she started to lose her memory and now she stays with my younger sister in New Haven," you explained solemnly. Wanda furrowed her eyebrows, her heart ached for you. She moved her hand from your thigh to your face, cupping your cheek.

"I'm sorry to hear that. I am certain, however, with that talent and song you can win over anyone's heart in under five seconds," she smiled and kissed your forehead. You blushed and looked deeply into her green eyes. You tried to capture this moment into your subconscious. She was no longer in her coat, just her beige dress, a pearl necklace, no gloves, and the same red lipstick. Her mouth was slightly open, she glanced down at your lips and began to close the gap.

The front door of the house abruptly opened and a man wearing a suit hiding underneath a black coat walked inside with a brown briefcase. Wanda quickly dropped her hand from your face and stood up. You turned away from her as well. He took notice of the tension and scowled.

"Wanda. You brought your antics into our home. My home. Under my roof. Already moved on from Monica and now you've brought someone else!" he fumed and aggressively put his briefcase down. "Don't yell in front of her, Vision! We can discuss this privately," Wanda hissed at him.

"I'm taking the kids to Florida with me for Christmas, right now," he announced as he ran upstairs to their room. "You're what?! You didn't discuss this with me!" Wanda yelled at him running after him. He soon was holding each kid in either arm and pushed Wanda out of his way. "You can't do this!" she began to cry, but he ignored her, anger clouded all around him. There was a car outside with a chauffeur, Vision put them in the backseat. You stood there watching this all unfold, unsure of what to do.

You rushed over to the front door to see Wanda sobbing while on her knees on the porch as the car drove off. You crouched down and embraced her, she put her arms around you and burrowed her face into the crook of your neck and shoulder. Her sobs wracked her entire body, her breathing was uneasy, so you rubbed circles on her back. She eventually calmed down and pulled away.

"I'll drive you to the train station," she said with her broken voice. You nodded your head, she needed time to herself and you were right now a reminder of what she just lost. "I'll call a cab, you should go get some rest," you responded and held her hand in yours. "Are you sure?" Wanda replied. You gave her a smile, which she took as her answer.

The cab arrived within ten minutes, Wanda waved goodbye, no hug or kiss on the cheek. You waved back through the window and the view of her became smaller and smaller as the cab drove off into the night.

#wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff #fanfic #marvel #avengers #wanda x reader

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tg-headcanons · 3 years

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Touka Was Done So Dirty So I Must Analyze It

I have a lot to say about how poorly Tokyo Ghoul turned out. There was so much wasted potential, so much meaningless angst, so many straight relationships crammed where they didn’t need to be, and so many sudden, anticlimactic plot points. But of all of the mishandling and poor choices, I think that Touka’s treatment is the worst.

Touka was a complex and interesting character. She was raised by loving parents, one of whom died early, the other lived a little longer while doing everything he could to impart lessons to keep her and her brother alive. When he died she was suddenly forced to become her brother’s guardian and rush out into a world that is so much less forgiving than her father was. They got taken in by her uncle and his friends, housed and fed, and she even got the opportunity to pursue an education which is a monumental luxury to ghouls. Despite resenting humans for the way her family was massacred and she is forced to live, she became close to a human, looking past her trauma for a friendship she cherishes. Her brother reacted badly to the idea of her being around such a dangerous person who could have them killed like their parents were, and ran off to join Aogiri, leaving her and her uncle as the last remnants of their family.

Touka is angry, and id say rightfully so. Her parents murder, being forced to grow up far too fast, being forced to live in this war she was drafted into at birth, any one thing would be enough to fuck someone up. She has all that going on, so understandable, she’s going to be pissed at the world. If it ended there it would be perfect, a great starting point for a character to delve deep into the concepts of society shaping identity, but then the worst happened

Touka is an archetype I like to call ”Angry Teen Girl”

Before we talk about the archetype, let’s talk about teen girls in real life, specifically how they’re treated by society. The teen girl in the public eye is simultaneously the epitome of beauty who is seductive and manipulative and lustful, as well as airheaded and shallow and naive and pure. The way that changes has to do with the convenience of the adult male onlooker. She’s A tactical mastermind when she doesn’t want to fuck you and she’s an airhead when she has opinions. She’s a prude when she doesn’t respond to advances and a whore when she wears a t-shirt. Most importantly, she’s a silly stupid baby when she demands independence and respect, and a grown woman who should know better when she acts her age

Teen girls don’t have the same understanding that boys their age do. When a teen boy messes up its “oh he’s 15 he’s still learning.” When a teen girl messes up its “shes 15 shes practically an adult she should know better by now.” Because adult men have decided the teen girl is desirable, she’s forced to grow up faster to save them the shame of acknowledging that she is a literal child. And after being treated like stupid children and sexy mature adults, teen girls are rightfully angry. This is so universal, so all encompassing, that almost every teen girl has this undercurrent of anger and grief at how they’d been socialized. Because of that, it too is brushed off as “stupid teen girls and their silly little feelings.”

This is where the Angry Teen Girl trope comes in. There is so much history behind women’s treatment, so many valid reasons for a teenage girl to be pissed, but this character is almost always played off as a joke. Either a joke or something to fix.

Back to Touka, let’s run through this again, this time through her eyes. Her family was perfect until it was taken violently away, she had to become violent against her dead fathers wishes to protect her little brother, that little brother who she was forced to sacrifice her bloodless life for left her for having a single friend, she lived her whole life knowing that no matter who she is or what she does the world hates her and she’s going to be murdered by the state. She has to deal with all of this, and then she meets Kaneki, who tells her to her face that he’s better than her because he was human, not realizing that not eating people is a privilege from birth that she never had. Touka is angry, and Touka is a child. A traumatized child who isn’t in the right for her violent reaction, but isn’t an adult with a peaceful world who knows better

Now if people just hated her for that then fine, but there is a huge overlap of the people who hate Touka for her aggressive personality, and people who love ayato. For every “she’s a bitch who’s so mean and super violent and shouldn’t be killing investigators when she doesn’t need to and deserves getting hurt” there’s a “he’s a sweet boy who’s trying his best and he killed all those people because he’s traumatized.” More and more, it’s clear that the same sympathy given to ayato, the much more violent and aggressive sibling, is not given to his sister. Right off the bat, she’s easy for many to dismiss because the misogynistic tropes that made her are fully reinforced

She is established as a complex person who simultaneously resents humanity for how ghouls are treated and doesn’t want them dead. She’s aggressive to her loved ones as a way to protect them and kills investigators so they don’t have the chance to threaten them. She’s angry because of how she spent her whole life just barely avoiding death at the hands of a genocidal government, she’s angry that she has to live this way, she’s even angry that she had to become violent at all and couldn’t live the peaceful life she could have had

But because she is an Angry Teen Girl, nothing matters except “But She’s such a bitch”

Now Touka at this point is still a great character, but things go south fast. The focus shifts from the world and complex relationships to Kaneki. Out of nowhere, Touka is pining after him. Out of nowhere, she has feelings for him. It was more convenient to just Insert Romance instead of developing them. Even if it stopped here Touka would still be a great character, but it didn’t.

After she fled anteiku, her character died. Not only was she completely cast aside during Ken’s Plot Convenience And Honestly Lazy Amnesia arc, but everything behind her character was stripped to its bare bones

You see, the Angry Teen Girl is only a teen for so long, and she can become one of two things: Hysterical sad evil woman or Calm Momwife. It’s a problem a lot of male authors have of only seeing a woman’s anger as a character flaw. In order to keep her as a hero, her anger needs to be “fixed,” and even that isn’t done well.

Suddenly, her drive is gone. Her love of Yoriko is completely abandoned, as is her reason to care for average humans. Her ambitions of collage and success are cast aside. Her complicated feeling towards her brother become “oh I get it it’s all cool I love him and just want him safe no hard feelings haha.” By the time we see her in Re:, she is no longer Touka. She is just the Momwife personality she got crammed into because Ishida just couldn’t think of a use for this previously complex character than “Wife And Mom.”

I’m not saying that she should have stayed angry and aggressive, but she should have stayed consistent, she should have changed over time and for coherent reasons. Such pivotal parts of her character are unceremoniously thrown out, we don’t even get a good explanation for why she turned out that way. Yes, she could rebuild her family with her brother, but it should have been built up to. Yes, she could leave Yoriko behind, but it should have any reason for it at all. Hell, I’m a die hard Hidekane fan, but I’d say she could have had a great romance with Kaneki if it didn’t come out of nowhere

She was “calmed” by having her dreams stripped from her after losing anteiku. She was given her “happy ending” by getting knocked up from desperate and uncomfortable pity sex. She was a girl who wanted to go to collage and protect her loved ones, she had queer undertones of being in love with her human fried, she had reasonable aggression as a self defense mechanism. Any one of these things could spring into an arc of their own.

But all that was thrown out in favor of being the most convenient straight love interest for Kaneki, though her personality was so incompatible with him that it had to be stripped bare to even pretend it works

If she had been given the same treatment as her brother and had her anger treated as a byproduct of the way she’s forced to survive rather than a self caused character flaw, she could have been perfect. If she’d been kept in the focus and not shoved aside for so much of Re:, she would have been good. If any part of her character at all stayed in tact, she would have been fine. But instead she’s reduced to either a Bitchy Child or Momwife. She was so interesting, and I wish her character didn’t get gutted for the sake of her male family and rushed love interest

#tokyo ghoul #rant #touka kirishima #ayato kirishima #tokyo ghoul meta #tokyo ghoul criticism

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honeymoonjin · 4 years

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ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ: ot7 x reader || ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: 11.1k || ɢᴇɴʀᴇ: smut - rated 18+

sᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ:

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ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢs: voyeurism, exhibitionism, filmed sex, unprotected sex, oral (f receiving), big dick namjoon serving us tripod realness, dom!joon, and when i say dom i mean both dominant AND domestic : ), impregnation kink, daddy kink, praise, dom!jimin, sub!reader in both of these scenes, lingerie kink (m wearing), copious teasing, very light spanking, french kissing, lapdance, the jimin scene is filthier than the tags give it credit for ngl, oral (m receiving), cum swallowing/eating, aftercare (as always)

banner designer @jamaisjoons | thank you everyone in the sfhs server, you bring me so much joy, motivation and good ideas | AND finally thank you to the anon that suggested [redacted] jimin i legit replanned everything just to make that his prompt

DAY TWELVE

The mattresses in the room of bunk beds are surprisingly comfortable. The metal springs squeak a little if you move too much, but you wake up feeling well-rested.

“Not too bad, right?” Hoseok chirps, swinging out on the ladder and jumping down onto the floor with a thud. Using his laundry from the day before, he unceremoniously swaps his sleep shirt and boxers for some deep green skinny jeans and an orange sweater. Namjoon, more modest and distinctly more sleepy, grabs his clothes and stumbles back to his own room.

“The beds? Better than I was expecting for sure.”

Hoseok smiles warmly as you hop down the ladder and arrive on steady ground again, toes curling into the carpet. He fiddles quickly with a chunky watch, doing up the links. “Breakfast is downstairs if you want it.”

You throw him a teasing grin. “Not if you’re making it, thanks.”

He has the good graces to pretend to be offended, before tugging you into a playful side-hug, ignoring your squeak of surprise. “No, you cheeky fucker, Jungkook bought pancake mix. He texted me saying there’s plenty for everyone.”

“Jungkook making breakfast?” you ask dubiously, but the warm image of pancakes for breakfast makes your stomach growl. “Let me get dressed real quick and I’ll come down.”

Jungkook, it seems, is starting out the day cheerful as ever. He gives you a big grin when you, Namjoon and Hoseok come down for breakfast, and he makes sure to dish up the biggest pancakes for you, before taking the second biggest for himself.

Jin raises a teasing brow when you come down accompanied by the two men, Namjoon still with his hair ruffled up awkwardly from his slumber. “Long night?” he questions with a cheesy wink.

Hoseok catches on to the teasing nature, letting out a dramatic sigh. “Sadly, Namjoon wanted a rest day, so we didn’t enjoy any funny business.”

Jungkook watches the three of you closely, lips tightening just a little bit before he breaks out into a cheeky smile. “I think Y/n would have been too tired out to do anything more anyway.”

You choke on air, a forkful of pancakes blessedly not in your mouth yet. Beside you, Hoseok chuckles awkwardly. “Goodness, JK, we heard enough yesterday. The gym walls are not as thick as they should be.”

Instead of blushing like you are, Jungkook puffs his chest up. “I’ve never heard Y/n scream like that with any of you guys. Then again; I bet you haven’t made her squirt like I did.”

This time you aren’t so fortunate, coughing on a mouthful that you’d anxiously stuffed in to keep yourself occupied. You send Yoongi a grateful look as he slides you a glass of water.

“Jesus, Jungkook,” Jin grimaces, “we’re trying to eat breakfast.”

You keep your eyes down, confused by Jungkook’s behaviour and more than a little embarrassed.

When you hear Namjoon speak up, his voice is strangely tensed. “That’s really not appropriate.”

A heated pause. “This is literally a porn show,” Jungkook states defensively, “sex is the whole reason we’re here. I think everyone’s forgetting this is a competition about being the best in bed, I’m just- You know what, never mind, pretend I didn’t say anything.”

“You just what?” Namjoon questions. It’s unlike him to be argumentative, and you shift in your seat, taking another sip of the ice-cold water. “Did you really make us all pancakes just so you could gloat? Y/n is a person, not a video game, Jungkook. Have a little respect.”

Jungkook doesn’t respond, but when you glance up, the frustrated rolling of his eyes and furious stabbing of his fork in a pancake speaks volumes.

Yoongi pinches his brow. “Jin-hyung, can you pass the syrup? Thanks.”

Namjoon stares expectantly at the youngest Gentleman for a few moments, before letting out a light huff and returning to his food.

Silence continues for a moment or two before Taehyung pipes up, voice tiny in the oppressive tension. “How many people still have to do their prompts this week? I haven’t done mine yet.”

Yoongi sends him a lightly exasperated look. “Really?”

Taehyung gives a small shrug, glancing to the camboy sitting beside him. “I mean… I don’t think we need to be explicit but this show is about sex. I feel like it’s equally bad if we don’t talk about it at all, you know?”

“The kid’s right,” Jin allows with a wry grin. “I’ve done mine. Tuesday; though I suppose some of you saw.”

Jimin cocks his head, lost. “Saw? Uh, yes, I haven’t done my prompt yet. Actually, uh, if you guys wanna take part, stay in the lounge tonight. I need an audience.”

You send him an inquiring look. “What about me?”

Jimin lets out a short laugh. “Your participation is kind of mandatory. Please stay in the lounge too.”

You appreciate the slow brushes of conversation that ease the tension away. “Am I an audience member or a volunteer?” You grimace suddenly. “Wait, fuck, it isn’t like a circus act or something, right? You aren’t a magician?”

“Don’t worry, the show won’t be that kind of magic,” he promises.

You go to reply, but your attention is caught by the way Jungkook is openly glaring at Namjoon like he’s waiting for something. “Kook?” you question.

Jungkook’s eye twitches. “Why aren’t you saying anything now, Namjoon? So they get to talk about sex but I can’t?”

Jin sucks in harshly through his teeth, sending a look of alarm to the youngest. “Okay, break it up, that’s enough. Jungkook, any more smart comments and you can leave. We’ll talk privately if you need it.”

Jungkook lets out a bitter scoff, but Namjoon is already rising hastily, banging the edge of the table in his haste to get up. “I’ll go,” he urges, “you all can enjoy your breakfast in peace.”

Nobody seems to even breathe as the sounds of Namjoon’s footsteps fade away, a door upstairs shutting harshly.

Yoongi has his face bent, thumb and forefinger pressing to his forehead, like a headache is coming on. “What the fuck was that?” he muses tiredly.

Jungkook doesn’t answer, staring at his pancakes like he’s trying to make them burst into flames.

You bite your tongue harshly, unsettled by how tempers flared so quickly. Unsure of what to do, you stare at Jungkook for a moment. You don’t want it to seem like you’re picking a side, but he has five others around him, and Namjoon is upstairs alone. You slide your chair out, quieter than last time. “I’m just going to check on him. Jungkook; you’re fine, I’m not angry.”

He breaks out of his death stare at his breakfast to send you a look of bewilderment, but Yoongi is already clicking his tongue disapprovingly. “Well, I am,” the second eldest declares, and you rush upstairs before the scolding begins.

Namjoon answers, albeit reluctantly, when you knock on the door and call out to him. He’s well and truly awake and alert now, hair combed down sullenly, the purple looking more faded than ever against the rich blue of his long-sleeved t-shirt. “Are you okay?” he asks with a tired frown.

Your brows lift automatically. “That is the exact question I came up here to ask. Can I come in?”

His bedroom is even more tidy than usual, now that he hasn’t been sleeping there. You sit down on the edge of his bed, feeling an unsettling swirl of dread.

“I’m sorry about Jungkook,” is the first thing out of his mouth as he sits down beside you, shoulders hunched like he’s making himself as small as possible.

You shake your head slowly. “You shouldn’t apologise on other people’s behalf. He’ll say sorry if he wants to.”

Namjoon pauses for a moment. “Then I’m sorry about contributing to the uncomfortable atmosphere.”

Despite the situation, your mouth quirks into a grin and your eyes soften. “Forgiven. I’m more worried than angry, you know? About the both of you.”

Namjoon lets out a sigh, eyes dancing aimlessly around the room, no doubt pondering complex concepts at the speed of light like he usually was. “This is probably to be expected, right? Tension. I didn’t think I’d be the one involved, though.”

“Ah, it wouldn’t be a reality show without some drama,” you allow, scooting back on the bed so you can tuck your feet up, crossing your legs. “We’ve just gotta move past it, I guess.”

“Didn’t it make you uncomfortable?” Namjoon blurts suddenly, cringing at the volume of his voice. “Him talking about you so publicly like that?”

You run your tongue along the inside of your cheek. “It took me off guard for sure. I don’t know; I guess sex is kind of our currency in here, you know? Him being so, uh, bold about it out of nowhere is pretty weird, though.” You shrug it off. “Maybe he slept bad last night.”

Namjoon searches your face. “I’m too much of a prude, aren’t I? Things like that bother me, so why did I sign up for a porn show?”

You turn to face him, brows knitted in sympathy. “Just because others are more open doesn’t mean being modest is a bad thing. Don’t let Jungkook’s bad mood make you believe that you don’t belong on the show or that you need to change. Okay?”

The two of you share a tender moment of eye contact, before Namjoon laughs shyly and turns his head away. You grin at him. “What?”

“It’s stupid,” Namjoon deflects, “it’s not the time.”

“Not the time for what?” you press. “Tell me; I’m curious now.”

Namjoon’s eyes dart up, pausing briefly at your lips. “I just… I really wanted to kiss you.”

Your heart swells, but you keep your face open, your voice barely louder than a whisper. “Then you should kiss me.”

All the breath leaves his lungs in a rush, but before he can inhale again, he’s propelling himself forward, wide hands cradling your jaw steady so your lips can join, a little uncoordinated but perfect nonetheless.

The small whimper of surprise is muffled by his lips, but you quickly melt into him, hands clutching at the front of his shirt for stability.

You can taste the remnants of breakfast, the sweet stickiness of maple syrup on his lips. You deepen the kiss to seek out more of the flavour, breaths escaping your nose as you don’t dare part for a second. Namjoon seems equally enraptured, shy flicks of his tongue making your head spin.

You lean in until your wrists are pinned between his chest and yours, and then lean in more, wanting to be close. Like oxygen to fire, the more contact you get the more desperate you become, and when his hands lower to lift you easily onto his lap, grinding you unconsciously against his erection, you feel ablaze.

“I need to-nm-do my prompt,” Namjoon murmurs out, teeth catching on your tongue with how deeply you kiss.

You swallow, leaning back slightly to take a breath in. “We don’t have to now,” you assure, moving your hands up to stabilise yourself on his shoulders so that he cranes his neck up to chase your lips. “Or have you graduated from Hoseok’s School of Sexual Prowess already.”

You smile down at the way his eyes flutter shut with a crooked grin, delicate crescent moon lash line a deep brown against his tanned skin. His lips are flushed and swollen, and he swallows like a man parched before he speaks, blinking blearily up at you. “I prefer to learn on the job,” he quips hoarsely.

You grin, leaning down to nudge him slightly to the side with your nose, giving you a better angle to leave a trail of light kisses from the corner of his mouth to the top of his jaw, tugging on his earlobe just enough that you feel his dick twitch against you. “What’s it gonna be, then? Am I a naughty student? Slacking receptionist? Do I need to sign for a package, delivery boy?”

The chuckle Namjoon lets out is pained and reluctant. “Was that what you were hoping for? It’s a bit more romantic than that.”

“Romantic is good,” you assure, letting his arms on your hips hold you steady as you lean back and search his face. “Do I get any more clues? Tell me something.”

When he blinks up at you, there’s something open and earnest in his gaze, like he’s left behind that shy boy that blushes at any mention of sex. “Let me show you, love.”

He cradles your back and lays you down on his bed so delicately it takes your breath away. Without speaking, he presses his lips to yours again, and once again you feel unanchored in an ocean, kept floating by the pressure of his proximity. Slower than usual, you move against each other; his hands bracing him up by the pillow, your leg hitched up over his waist to keep him close. Between the soft cushioning of his bed and the solid heat of his body, you feel secure and safe, eyes closed so that he fills your other senses entirely.

The sweetness of the maple syrup on his tongue and lips has long since melted away, but it leaves behind his natural flavour, one you think you prefer more. Aftershave still clings to his cheeks, tingling your nostrils, but past it is the bright candylike scent of his orange blossom shampoo, and they mix dizzily as the ends of his hair brush your skin.

Need begins to pool between your legs, but it doesn’t drive you, instead staying muted in the background like the pleasant heat of a bubbling jacuzzi, hips rocking lazily without any true purpose as you focus on the shocks of pleasure when your tongues connect.

It’s impossible to tell how long the two of you stay like that, no urgency or haste, just enjoying the intimacy and closeness of shared breaths and swollen lips. When he trails a hand down to slip under your shirt, even his slightly calloused fingertips running up your side is enough to make you whimper, sensitised to every touch.

Namjoon groans when his palm covers your breast, gripping it and swiping a thumb over your stiffened peak, arousing even through the fabric of your bra, his mouth only leaving yours for the second it takes to push your shirt over and off, connecting again with a small grunt of need.

Though Namjoon’s body is hot like a furnace against you, the open air still causes you to shiver, arching your back so Namjoon can blindly locate the hooks on your bra, able to slip it off you in no time at all.

This time, when his teeth tug at your lip and you feel the uninhibited contact of his fingertip tracing a circle around your nipple, it’s like a spike of electricity straight to your core, igniting that spark of full-blown arousal. Namjoon’s lips quirk against yours when you let a moan catch in your throat.

When he shifts down, you’re expecting his mouth on your breast, or perhaps him to sit up to take his own clothes off, but he doesn’t go nearly that far. Instead he presses your jaw up, exposing your neck but laying kisses on the underside of your chin first.

Perhaps it’s that you weren’t expecting that touch, or perhaps such a unique place isn’t used to that type of attention, but his swollen lips caressing just below your jaw feels magical, eyelids fluttering as he sucks so, so gently.

His hand never leaves your breast, massaging the flesh, tracing where your regular skin pebbles into the dusky areola, nail dragging teasingly over the bud, and your mind is working itself into knots trying to process all the sensations he’s stirring in you.

If his first time was thrilling, this was nothing short of electric, neon bursts of colour behind your eyelids the only thing you can see. As his kisses slowly venture lower, dipping to the base of your neck, pulse throbbing against him, you picture your nerve endings like purple strands of electricity in a plasma ball, lighting up with every touch of his fingers, lips and tongue to your skin.

“Na-Namjoon,” you gasp out, swallowing to ease the dryness in your throat, “don’t tease, I need you.”

Namjoon shifts lower, but not low enough, chin resting on your chest as he looks up at you with a pleased smile, clearly satisfied with his improvement from last time. “But love, there’s no rush. We have the rest of our lives, remember? To have and to hold,” he rumbles lowly, pressing two light kisses to the top of your heaving breasts, “til death do us part.”

Your eyes widen. “Oh.”

Namjoon’s lip twitches. “Oh,” he repeats playfully. Goosebumps break out on the tops of your arms at this sudden brazenness. He’d clearly been doing plenty of talking with Hoseok, and to see his hard work pay off in your pleasured reactions probably gave him a burst of confidence. “Are you going to be patient for me now, love? Let me savour you?”

Your breath catches in your throat, so you just nod shakily.

Satisfied with your response, Namjoon quirks a lip before using the very tip of his tongue to trail a circle around your nipple, just wide enough that the bud strains for his attention. Your fingers clutch his sides, annoyingly still clothed, as he moves to the other one, still giving your nipple a wide berth. “C-come on, Joonie,” you complain hoarsely, “I need more.”

When he looks up at you from below his lashes and sucks one nipple slowly into his mouth, tongue pressing it against his upper teeth, you hiss sharply, releasing the air in a breathy moan. Namjoon suckles at you gently, still languid but no longer avoiding your most sensitive areas, and the hand not propping him up begins rolling the other one between his fingers, making you shudder.

You’re so wet between your legs it’s growing uncomfortable, and so you cant your hips up towards him, hoping he gets the message. He tuts at you, but pulls off your nipple with a wet pop and sits up to undress further.

Namjoon shucks his own shirt without ceremony before his fingers find your waistband, and you let him slide off your pants and underwear as you lie back and enjoy the sight of his thick chest and smooth stomach, a trail of dark baby hairs disappearing past his jeans that you didn’t remember noticing the first time you slept with him.

He takes off those jeans, his boxers too, and joins you on the bed again, running a warm palm up your side. “I want to taste you,” he announces simply, carding a hand through his hair to keep it out of your face.

“Fuck, please.” You watch with wide eyes as he lies on his stomach, hands dipping under your thighs to lift and part them. The exposed air has you clenching instinctively, and you swear you can see his eyes dilate at the sight. “Namjoon,” you whine, back arching in impatience.

“Shh, love, I’ve got you,” he assures, peppering kisses from just below your knees, down your thighs until you can feel his breath on your core. “So beautiful.”

You can barely breathe, head propped up on the pillow to stare down the plains of your chest and stomach to the insanely attractive man between your legs. Though you’d grown fond of the kinkier, wild scenes - in fact, your dreams at night had taken a turn since joining the show - something about seeing Namjoon so at his element in this domestic atmosphere has you dripping.

Like he has all the time in the world, he locks eyes with you and blows a wave of slightly cool air over your folds. You breathe out a groan, sending him what you hope is a convincing-enough pleading gaze. He smiles placidly, licks his lips, ducks his head even further, and-

And blows another stream, this time narrowed and colder, directly over your clit. You shudder and buck instinctively in his grip, his hands on your thighs keeping you spread.

“Come on,” you gasp out, “Hoseok’s made you into a fucking demon!”

“Oh, trust me,” Namjoon murmurs, “Hoseok’s version was way kinkier than this. I’m trying to be romantic and sensual.”

You shift again, fruitlessly trying to wiggle your hips closer. “It would be really fucking romantic if you would actually put your mouth on my-ah!”

Just like you know Hoseok would (you don’t know whether to thank him or curse him for this), Namjoon strikes when you least expect it, and when you most need it.

Though his mouth is small, his tongue is no less nimble, darting deeply through your folds to collect your juices and using them to slurp harshly at your clit. You jerk, hand shooting down to latch in his hair, but he continues that constant, unyielding vacuum until you’re squirming hopelessly beneath him, finally pulling off with the slightest graze of teeth.

“Happy now?” he retorts, swollen lips glossy with your slick. His hands tighten on your thighs. “Hold them.”

Invigorated by his command, you rush to grasp the backs of your knees, keeping your legs up and spread for him. “Fuck, so good, Joonie, w-want more.”

Now with two hands freed, it’s no surprise when two fingers find their way into your wet heat, twisting inside you with every smooth thrust. His chin is smeared with your wetness when he lowers it to continue laving his tongue over your sensitive clit, but he groans sinfully into you, like he’s getting just as much pleasure from it as you are.

Once he really gets going, he’s merciless, his fingers so thick that you don’t even need a third one to really feel him filling you, hooking up to rub at your g-spot every now and again to hear the involuntary whimpers you give out.

You hold onto your own knees for dear life, writhing under him as a hot coil tightens inside you. “Fu-fuck, Joonie, I’m getting close.”

His mouth detaches from your clit for a bare moment, enough for him to pant out a groan and stare lustily up at you. “Don’t cum yet,” he instructs lowly, “you’re going to cum on my cock this time, love.”

You whine, biting your lip harshly to try and distract from the building pleasure. “Then you have to- have to stop, Joonie,” you shudder out reluctantly.

To your surprise, Namjoon is even more begrudging than you are, tugging out his fingers to chase a last few indulgent licks up your seam before he finally sits up to kneel, panting. “Are you ready for me?”

You feel yourself grow impossibly wetter at the sight of him grasping his length, slipping it through your folds to slick it up. “Yes, god yes, I need it, need your cock,” you garble.

Namjoon’s eyes flutter shut for a moment, before he presses his head to your entrance, sinking in barely an inch to test your reaction. “Can’t wait to fill you up, love,” he admits, abs clenching with the effort it takes to sink in slowly. “Fuck a baby into you, my perfect girl.”

Your heart races at his words, clenching around. “God, yes, Joonie, please.” Though all the Gentlemen were well aware you were on birth control, there was something wildly erotic about the thought of it. “Fill me up, wanna be good for you.”

Finally he bottoms out, and your thighs shake at the stretch. With your hips tilted up, it almost feels like he’s fucking right into your stomach, so deep your mind struggles to process the sensations. He heaves a few breaths, giving you a chance to squeeze around him experimentally and grow accustomed to him filling you so completely.

You mumble out your permission for him to move breathily, the air punched out of your lungs when he pulls out only to drive deep inside of you in one slick thrust. Your mouth drops open once he begins to thrust, holding onto your knees for dear life as they tremble uncontrollably.

“God, look at you,” Namjoon pants out, chest heaving with excitement or exertion, perhaps a mix of both. One of his palms presses against the top of your stomach, increasing the pressure of his cock inside you. “‘Be so beautiful with my baby inside you, love, tummy swollen. I’ll take good care of you, would you like that?”

You have to squeeze your eyes shut to put all your focus into speaking. “Ye-yeah, I want that, Joonie,” you manage to articulate, his length keeping your mouth watering whenever he’s inside you. “Gonna be such a good daddy, Joon.”

Like a switch being flicked, Namjoon suddenly jerks, going rigid. Your eyes open blearily when he stills inside you, and you moan openly at the fucked-out look on his face, his eyes lidded and hair wild.

“S-say that again,” he commands, and your mouth drops open at the desperate grate to his voice.

So Namjoon liked to be called… “Daddy,” you whine experimentally, grinning when his cock twitches, hips juddering. “Want you to fuck me, Daddy, please move.”

“God, love, so fucking perfect for me,” he makes out before he starts off again with a renewed vigor, hands kneading at your breasts, at the flesh of your hips, at your ass as he lifts you up to meet his every thrust.

The feeling of him fucking into you so intensely has you feeling delirious, unsure if the ringing in your ears is actually the sounds of your own cries, torn from your throat with every slap of his balls against your ass, the weight of his hips jerking you into the pillow more and more every time.

You feel the pressure of his body hovering just above you, the angle of his thrusts changing, then suddenly his mouth is on your breast again, sucking harshly at the nipple. With the way your body moves beneath him, he can’t help but scrape his teeth against you a couple times, but it just makes the pleasure soar higher, neon starbusts of colour behind your eyelids when you squeeze them closed.

“Close again,” you warn desperately, losing the grip on one of your knees due to the sweat gathering there. With one up and one down, the angle changes again, and you reach out blindly to latch onto his upper arm, screaming at the heights of pleasure. “Can I cum this time, Daddy, please let me cum!”

“Fuck, give it to me, cum for me,” he growls out around your breast, and you see stars.

The orgasm that rips through you is powerful enough that all your senses fade suddenly away, unable to feel anything expect a rush of pleasure all the way down to your toes, boneless yet convulsing as he pistons his hips into you once, twice, three more times until he’s taken by the way you clench tightly around him.

He laps clumsily, wetly at your nipple as he spills inside you, before the two of you are completely drained of energy. Panting, heaving, you don’t even manage to catch your breath before you’re falling into slumber, Namjoon still inside you.

“He told us to wait here, right?” you ask anxiously.

There are six of you gathered on the couches in the lounge. Television off, the silence is weirdly uncomfortable. Perhaps that’s just because you know that everyone is waiting here not only to see Jimin, but to see what Jimin is going to do to you.

Hoseok, tucked into the smallest corner of the couch on the right, huffs lightly at your question. “He’s Jimin, Y/n. Either he’s up there primping or he’s just making you wait to be obnoxious.”

Perched beside him with a glass of whisky, two fingers full, Yoongi sends a droll glare to Hoseok. “Bold words for a man who’s choosing to watch the show.”

“I’m curious, sue me.”

“I think we all are,” Namjoon adds, curled up beside you in the central position of the three couches. “I think the only one that knows his prompt is Tae.”

Taehyung turns to answer, propped up against Jin’s side on the left, but the eldest interrupts, a crease of worry between his brows. “Not all of us, it seems,” he points out. “Don’t you find it strange that Jungkook isn’t here?”

“Does he know?” Taehyung wonders, fingers dipping into his pocket to reach for his phone.

Yoongi frowns. “He knows. He asked me not to make him anything for dinner tonight. Said he wasn’t feeling well. Didn’t seem like he was sick, just… distressed. I think you should talk with him, Jin.”

Jin sucks in a breath, pauses, and exhales again, jaw flexing. “Sure.”

The six of you lapse into a slightly strained silence again, before Namjoon gets restless, shifting beside you until he finally clears his throat and looks up at Yoongi. “What is for dinner, hyung?”

“We didn’t really have much for lunch, so I’m thinking steak and pasta,” the doctor offers up. “There’s some carbonara sauce in the pantry that looks good.”

Taehyung coughs nervously. “Do we have steak? I didn’t think there were-”

“We had plenty this morning when I checked,” Yoongi cuts in evenly. “Should I be aware of any recent developments?”

The masseuse pouts, leaning further into Jin’s side like he’ll protect him. “Well… It’s just that I feel so bad for Mango! The kennel I bought online isn’t as insulated as I hoped it would be and I know she gets lonely.”

Yoongi groans, going lax on the leather of the couch. “So you figured she’d what? Cuddle with the steaks?”

“I just figured maybe if I gave her nice food she’d cheer up,” Taehyung adds, “and it was just two! Are you mad at me?”

“No, I guess I’m not. Jungkook isn’t eating anyway, and…” Yoongi grins. “As penance, you can have plain pasta and watch the rest of us enjoy our perfectly cooked steaks.”

Taehyung throws himself against Jin dramatically, but even as he moans in misery, a relieved smile crooks at his lips. “I suppose,” he drawls begrudgingly, and once again a light atmosphere fills the room, like everyone’s just sighed out a breath of relief.

You lean onto the arm of the couch, facing Taehyung. “Tae, Jimin’s prompt isn’t too, like, intense, right?”

He cocks his head. “What do you mean? For him or for you?”

“Uh…” Your mind whirls blankly, cheeks heating up as you draw the attention of the other guys. “For- for me. So far some of the scenes have been pretty taxing, and I guess I just didn’t expect such a jump up from Week One.”

Instead of laughing or teasing, the others go a little solemn, perhaps even bashful. “Jimin’s isn’t super crazy, Y/n, don’t worry,” Taehyung assures quickly.

Yoongi bites down hard on his tongue, jaw popping. “We didn’t go too hard on you, did we?”

You suck in a breath. “I mean- No, not individually. It builds up though, you know?” Something niggles in the back of your mind, something you’ve wondered for a while. “Do you guys talk about it?”

Hoseok hesitates. “About fucking you?”

Your cheeks are on fire as you curl up small in the corner. “Not- Not that specifically, but just… Do you guys discuss who goes when and who has what? I kinda wondered why you spread yourselves out, if it’s just a coincidence or if you- Never mind, it’s stupid.”

“We kinda do,” Hoseok admits freely. “Like, obviously we don’t all sit down in a room brainstorming or something-” You don’t miss the way Taehyung and Namjoon instinctively lock gazes, though you can’t quite read their expressions. Hoseok continues, “but we do chat with each other and try and give each other space.”

Jin shrugs easily. “Yeah, like, I’ll just say in the groupchat, ‘I’m planning on doing my scene outside, look outside at your own risk’ or whatever.” The eldest stiffens as he’s fixed with several glares of alarm, including your own. “What? Were we not meant to tell her about the groupchat?”

Your mouth drops open. “You guys have a groupchat without me? I wanna see!”

“That defeats the purpose of you not being in the group chat,” Yoongi points out, though his grin is more sheepish than mischievous.

You make a noise of exasperation, ready to protest further, but before you can open your mouth the doorbell rings.

Everyone freezes.

After a moment, the doorbell rings again.

“You should go get it,” Taehyung supplies helpfully, eyes on you. “Might be interesting.”

Your heart picks up with the cool thread of adrenaline. It’s time. All eyes are on you as you sit up and make your way out to the foyer, the tile cool under your bare feet.

Though the door is a rich mahogany, clouded glass panels on either side betray a dark figure, perfectly still. Even though you can barely see the outline, there’s no deny the expectant tilt of their head belongs to none other than Jimin.

By the time you pad up to the door and turn the knob, his hand is outstretched to ring the bell a third time, and his mouth parts in surprise before giving you a pleasant beam.

You’d been wondering if he was meant to be a delivery guy, a mechanic, something along those lines, but your first glance over him proves you wrong.

His blue hair is glossy enough to reflect the light of the lamp above the doorway, curled in graceful swoops on his forehead and temples. Though he always wore makeup, it was clear he’s set to impress, with a bold russet red lip, powerful black eyeliner and a spot of gold under each eye.

He’s taller than usual, and you glance down automatically, to be greeted with the most gorgeous black heels, stiletto points giving him an extra few inches of height. The shoes make his legs look a mile long, and you suck in a breath as you follow them up, realising they’re completely bare, the only adornment a sinfully tight pair of black fishnets that dig in to his thighs and calves.

In fact, all he seems to be wearing otherwise is a black trenchcoat, falling to mid-thigh and with the sash tied so tightly it accentuates his narrow waist.

All put together, he looks like sin personified, the kind sailors drown for. You can’t help but want to dive in yourself. Trying to go along with the roleplay, you play dumb. “Do I, uh, do I know you?”

Jimin’s smile broadens as his arm falls, hand resting snugly on his hip. “You will soon, sweetness.” Usually one for pinks, nudes and clear glosses, seeing him suddenly in a deep red makes you realise just how full his lips are. You miss the feeling of them on you. “Did Taehyung not tell you I was coming?”

“Did Tae-?” You clear your throat, unsure how to proceed. This Jimin was Amazonian; bruisingly pretty and intimidating in his grace. “I guess not? Was he supposed to?”

His eyes crinkle empathetically, darting past you into the foyer. “Let’s talk inside, shall we? I’m not exactly dressed for the outdoors.”

“Oh, fuck!” you blurt instinctively, and you swear his lip twitches before you’re backing away hastily, ushering him inside. “I’m so sorry, please come in! Do you want me to take your coat? I don’t- I don’t know what you need.”

Jimin steps inside and closes the door behind him in one smooth motion, punctuated only by the click of his heels on the tile. He reaches out to pat your cheek, only somewhat condescendingly. “No wonder, sweetness, you didn’t even know I was coming.” That isn’t quite true, but in the scheme of things, you may as well not have known he was doing his scene tonight at all for all it’s helping you. “Why don’t you lead me to Taehyung? I assume he’s here.”

“Of course he’s- I mean, yes, he’s here. Right this way.”

The two of you only have a short trip to the lounge, where no doubt the other five have been straining their ears to eavesdrop, but every strike of his heels against the floor behind you has the hairs on the nape of your neck standing on end.

In the lounge, the guys are all turned around in their seats to shamelessly ogle Jimin, Taehyung the only one without the gobsmacked look on his face - though even he takes in an unsteady breath at how gorgeous the man looks.

You make your way to him, standing awkwardly in front of the couch that him and Jin share. Turning back to face Jimin, you can’t help but match Taehyung’s reaction. Jimin looks even more radiant in the decent lighting of the room. You can see now his trenchcoat is a lush fabric, slightly thicker than silk, and deeply matte. Around the inside of the collar is a faint embossed silver logo, promoting Chanel as the designer of that piece.

Ignoring the stunned silence of the room, Jimin slinks immediately to Taehyung, tipping his chin up with his knuckles. “Did you not tell Y/n about me, hm?” he questions with a faux pout. “Kept it a secret, our naughty Taehyungie.”

The masseuse wilts pleadingly under Jimin’s gaze, and the responding wicked grin makes you think that Jimin probably told him to keep quiet, only to tell him off for it now. “Sorry, Minnie,” Taehyung mutters nonetheless. “Wanted it to be a surprise.”

“Did you now?” Jimin lets go of him, stepping back. “I suppose we should get down to business, then. Are you all leaving, or do I have an audience tonight?” Glancing around imperiously, you watch as his eyes dart back and forth, smile faltering. His breath catches, eyes dull with disappointment that he quickly masks under a broad smile. “It’s just the six of you, then?”

Your heart aches as you think of the missing person still upstairs in his room. “Yeah, it’s just us.”

Always the professional, Jimin moves on without comment. “Well, then, sweetness; take a seat and get comfortable. You’re a lucky girl tonight.”

Your mouth feels dry even as it waters. Taking your seat beside Namjoon again, you watch in rapt anticipation as Jimin slips a hand into his pocket and pulls out his phone, fiddling with something on it as he strolls slowly into the center of the room, just in front of the television.

“We have a few rules,” Jimin announces. “No heckling, no getting drunk while I’m here, and no touching unless I give you permission. They’re simple, so I expect you to follow them. Got it?”

With his back to the group as he sets up his phone, you’re unsure who exactly he’s addressing, but some of you make general hums of confirmation, all the attention on Jimin.

When the music starts - a deep, thrumming beat with a sensual pace - you can see the change in him immediately, even from the back. His shoulders adjust, head tips back slightly like he’s letting it run through him, and his fingers find the knot of his sash.

You can barely comprehend the fact that Jimin is about to dance for you, breath caught in your throat when his hips begin to sway and the fabric of his trenchcoat loosens, slipping down just enough to reveal the tops of his shoulders, bare except two skinny black straps.

Following the groove of the music, he rocks his head back, hips shifting side to side, and lets the coat fall an inch at a time. A tight black bodice is revealed, structured leather with a soft velvet trim that covers most of his back. Sleeves dangling right at the ends of his fingertips, the coat dips just below the swells of his ass, which are clad in a racy g-string, a thicker band of lace low across his hips and a narrow one running down the middle of his cheeks. Letting the coat go completely, the last of his back silhouette is exposed, the leather garter straps that hold those fishnet stockings up.

“Shit!” Yoongi hisses under his breath, hands glinting in the light and whiskey glass significantly emptier than before. A dark patch spreads across one leg of his pants, evidence of him spilling his drink.

Though he was quiet, Jimin picks up on it, and turns smoothly, lightly surprised and heavily amused, watching Yoongi squirm in embarrassment as he approaches.

If the view from the back is breathtaking, seeing Jimin full-frontal is another level. The bodice has clearly been tailored for someone with a flat chest, but the shape no less speaks to the feminine style of a bra, roughly triangular leather covering the upper half of his chest to meet the smooth velvet straps. The whole piece is just short enough that it leaves a stripe of skin between fabrics, his hipbones jutting out gracefully and guiding your gaze lower, where the front of his lace panties strain with the size of his length, the tip threatening to peek out the top.

He’s hard, you notice with a start, and from the hazy look on everyone’s faces, they’ve noticed it too. Jimin likes this.

When he’s standing in front of Yoongi, towering over the other in his heels, he reaches out a hand silently, eyes darting to the glass in Yoongi’s hand.

The elder gulps, holding it up, blushing as Jimin wraps one hand around Yoongi’s wrist, and takes the glass from him with the other. In a graceful swill, he downs the last of Yoongi’s whiskey, not even wincing. Teasingly, he bends down to place the empty glass directly over Yoongi’s crotch, making him hiss.

Like he has all the time in the world, Jimin straightens up again and tugs the wrist in his grasp higher. Locking eyes, Jimin parts his lips and wraps them around the base of Yoongi’s thumb, sucking off the spilt liquor.

Yoongi groans lowly, cheeks stained red as his eyes flutter shut in a mix of pleasure and humiliation. As Jimin makes his way through all of Yoongi’s fingers, bobbing his head obscenely and swirling his tongue, you think you see the empty glass wobble on Yoongi’s lap, like his cock is twitching in his pants. Fuck. It’s not even you getting the full weight of Jimin’s attention and you already feel dizzy with need.

Once he’s done, Jimin lets go and Yoongi’s hand falls limply to his side. Satisfied, he moves to the center of the room again, hips fluid with the flow of the music.

A cursory glance around the room shows that you’re not the only one heavily affected. Beside you Namjoon is restless, shifting back and forth from spreading his legs to ease the pressure, and clenching them together to try and hide the bulge in his pants. Hoseok looks pale, eyes wide and locked onto Jimin’s ass as he walks away from their couch.

On the other side, Taehyung and Jin are significantly more shameless; Jin rests a hand on the back of Tae’s neck and tugs at the curls of hair there as the younger boy ruts against his thigh, curled into his side even as the two of them focus on the attraction in the centre of the room.

You can only imagine how fucked out you must look too, wriggling against the couch cushion seeking friction with your heart thudding in your chest. The effect is only heightened when Jimin locks his eyes to you and begins to dance.

One day, a few of you were gathered in this very lounge, having enough drinks to get a bit silly and uncoordinated. Jimin had told you all a little bit about his dancing career. From what he’d said, you formed this mental image of him in soft makeup and satin shoes, dainty but powerful in front of an adoring crowd. The way he spoke about music - too much of a heavyweight to be as incoherent as the rest of you - made it seem like it was his greatest love, a match made in heaven.

Though now pirouettes and grand jetés had been replaced by spread legs and lidded eyes, you could still see that passion he spoke of. It enchanted you like a snake charmer or a siren, and arousal entwines endlessly with awe in your stomach.

After what feels like the shortest eternity, the music of the first song fades out, and Jimin straightens up, exhaling a breath like he’s releasing its hold from his body to make room for the next.

The tune that fills the room next has a decently higher tempo than the first one, each beat punctuated by a clap, and he grins when he hears it, stalking forwards.

Between Jimin and the rest of you is a coffee table, and he makes his way around to Taehyung and Jin, eyes sparkling at how Taehyung straddles Jin’s thigh, blinking up at the dancer owlishly.

“Oh, baby,” Jimin coos, “enjoying the show?”

Taehyung nods, not shy but too wound up to speak.

At the lack of verbal response, Jimin grins, perching himself on Jin’s other thigh, making the eldest hiss. “Taehyungie,” Jimin calls in a sing-song voice, fingers winding into his hair, just above Jin’s, “you still haven’t paid me for my services, you know?”

“H-huh?” Poor Taehyung looks barely coherent, interrupted from his grind and staring weakly at Jimin’s glossy lips. You can’t imagine you’d be faring any better in his situation. “What- How do I pay you?”

Jimin faux pouts. “Normally I’m very expensive,” he admits lowly, but the room is silent apart from the music, and since it’s just playing from his phone, it doesn’t impede the rest of you listening in. “But I like you. I’ll take my payment tomorrow. You know what I mean, right?”

Taehyung nods dumbly, obediently, making the dancer grin wickedly.

Fixing his attention on Jin, Jimin trails his fingertips up his thigh and traces the outline of Jin’s cock in his makes, making him groan. “Take good care of my baby tonight, won’t you?”

Jin sucks in a shaky breath, eyes darting to Taehyung, but the curly-haired boy just whines and buries his face in the crook of Jin’s neck, a wordless display. “You got it, Min.”

From the other side of the room, a click of the tongue catches your attention. Hoseok is straight-faced, extricating himself from the corner of the couch to stand up and make his way out.

Jimin swiftly stands in front of him to impede his way. “Where are you going?”

Hoseok rolls his eyes with a shrug. “I came, I saw, I sated my curiosity. I’m not interested in waiting in line to be fondled, thank you very much.”

Jimin seems to have forgotten the music, eyes gleaming as he faces off the dom. “Poor baby too impatient to wait, hm? I’ll let you jump the queue,” he finishes in a husky voice, grinning.

Hoseok eyes the doorway behind Jimin, huffing impatiently. “Nice try. I’m not interested.”

Tipping his head to the side, Jimin’s brows lift in a mix of surprise and bemusement. “I’m inclined to disagree,” he says, taking a step closer so that only a sliver of air parts them. Hoseok stiffens, stubbornly avoiding looking at the dancer. “I’d venture a guess that you’re leaving so suddenly because you’re a little too interested.” Slow enough that Hoseok has plenty of time to refuse, Jimin runs his knuckles all the way down Hoseok’s front, brushing over his crotch. His grin widens, flashing white teeth. “Hmm.”

Hoseok scoffs and pulls himself away, neck and forehead slightly red. “Don’t get too cocky. It was from Taehyung, not from you, peaches.”

Even from the other side of the room, Jimin’s instinctual reaction is clear as day. His shoulders drop and his lips part, lashes fluttering before he can control the response.

If you didn’t miss it, Hoseok certainly didn’t either. He barks out a laugh, back in power again, and steps to Jimin’s side to pass him. “Knew it. Don’t miss me too much, then, peaches.”

Even as Jimin is shuddering at the petname again, Hoseok rears his hand back to smack Jimin’s ass with a sharp noise of impact, Jimin jumping forward with a startled squeak. “No touching!” the dancer hisses, one ass cheek already flooding with a sweet candy pink.

“Apologies,” Hoseok says with a teasing grin, already at the doorway, “I’ll see myself out.”

Jimin makes an indignant cry, but the older man is already bouncing up the stairs cheerfully. Determined to get the sexy atmosphere back, Jimin takes a deep breath and turns back to you all with a rueful smile, but it falters when the music fades out, the second song ending. “Ah,” he murmurs, “show’s over, kids.”

Namjoon, the only guy that hadn’t received any personal attention, sits up with a frown. “Wait, already?”

Jimin shrugs, smiling at him sweetly. “Sorry, Joon. Last song’s a private dance. Maybe another time.”

A private dance. Your breath quickens as Jimin turns off the next song that randomly came up on shuffle, collects his phone, and hitches his coat off the floor with the point of a stiletto, gathering it under his arm.

The others quietly start to stretch, sit up, Yoongi going to fill up his glass again. By the time Jimin makes his way to you, Jin has already lifted Tae up with a single arm under him, carrying the younger upstairs as Taehyung sucks shamelessly at his neck. Namjoon is slower to move, probably still a little worked up and edged from the show, but he joins Yoongi in the kitchen, leaving the two of you alone.

Once Jimin is directly in front of you, your breath stops. He’s gathered the lightest sheen of sweat from dancing, or perhaps that’s just the highlighter on his cheeks, and his eyes are hazed from the excitement of performing. He silently reaches a hand out to you with an enticing smirk.

You furrow your brow in confusion. “Not here?”

“I did say private. Unless you want me to fuck you where everyone can see?”

You gulp at the thinly veiled threat. “We can go.” You take his hand and let him lift you up with effortless strength, pausing when he looks at you expectantly. “Did I do something…?”

Jimin beams like you’re a cute but stupid pet. “I haven’t been here before, remember? Show me to your room, sweetness.”

“Oh!” You rush past him, hands catching to guide him out and upstairs. The thrill of excitement speeds your steps, and in no time at all he’s placing his coat and phone on your desk, guiding you to sit on the end of the bed.

The third song starts with the familiar smoothness of Beyonce’s voice, an older pop song that holds up still, and Jimin slips off the black straps of the bodice, another set directly below them. Arms tucking behind him, he begins to undo the clasps one by one.

“You were being very well behaved, you know, sitting there and waiting for your turn,” he muses, fiddling with the fabric behind him. “Now you get a reward.”

You don’t know what to say in response, just nodding wordlessly, but it seems he is content with that. After a moment, you notice the top half of the bodice pull away from his chest lightly, revealing not plain skin but more lace, matching the panties that struggle to cover his cock. He approaches you as he undoes the last few at the base, and slips smoothly between your legs, letting it fall to the side.

In front of you in all his glory, Jimin looks gorgeous, the inky swoops of his tattoo peeking out from under a sweet black lace bralette, the skinniest straps holding up the delicate cups. In the center is a tiny black satin bow, and you think you feel your heart give out a little at the sight of it.

Even in his pretty lingerie, he’s no less intimidating, and you shudder at the feeling of his eyes locked onto you, feeding on your reactions and pinning you to the bed.

“You like it?” the dancer asks, voice rough with arousal. You nod quickly, still too stunned for words. Jimin hums, winding a hand around the back of your neck. “Show me how much you like it.”

Before you can suck in a breath, his mouth descends on yours, and a shot of electricity runs through you as he spares no time for pecks and caresses. This kiss is nothing short of filthy, his tongue runs over your teeth, he bites your lips, he sucks on your tongue. You do your best to reciprocate enthusiastically, but there’s no question who’s in charge.

With how deep and primal it is, there’s no surprise when you feel your shared spit begin to collect in the corners of your lips and run down your chin. Jimin doesn’t stop, but lowers his mouth to lap it up, pushing it back in and continuing to fuck his tongue into your mouth.

You moan hopelessly into the kiss, hips rocking on the edge of the mattress fruitlessly and fingers holding on to his neck and shoulder for dear life. His teeth are sharp, nipping mercilessly at your bottom lip until your eyes sting, but it only serves to drive more need.

The music in the background livens up as it reaches the chorus, and suddenly the thought of the song finishing and him leaving you high and dry comes to mind. You tug yourself away from him, sucking the spit off your swollen lip. “Jimin,” you gasp out, “I want you.”

Jimin grins. Though his gloss is all but gone, the colour on his lips remains intact. “You aren’t gonna let me finish my dance, sweetness?”

“Wi-Will you still fuck me after the song ends?” you ask, feeling stupid for needing confirmation.

Jimin lets out a soft but condescending coo, hands squeezing your cheeks together so that your lips pout. “Poor baby just wants to get fucked, does she? Baby just wants a cock in her.”

Even as he mocks you, you can’t even defend yourself. “Please, Jiminie.”

He places a single light peck over your protruding and obscenely swollen lips. “Let’s make a deal; I’ll dance for the rest of the song, and if you can keep your hands to yourself, I’ll let you cum when I fuck you. Sound fair?”

At this point, you’d agree to anything, and both of you know it. “I can do it,” you insist even as your voice wobbles.

Instead of answering, Jimin begins to move, following the momentum of the music. Your hands lie at their sides, the duvet cool against your heated flesh.

He starts out easy, stepping back to give himself more space and slowly lowering into a crouch, the heels making his calves pop. Running his hands down his chest, fingers slipping under the lace, he sighs out like his own touch gives him unspeakable pleasure.

You grit your teeth. Watching him touch himself just makes you want to touch him more. He widens his legs, showing the place where the lacy band narrows down below his balls into a thin string. Whether it’s the angle or just the amount of moving he’s done, the tip of his cock has nestled up higher, poking out just to the side of his hip. Shamelessly, he runs a single fingertip over it, tapping so you can see the clear strands of precum that cling.

You let out an unsteady breath, relaxing slightly as the song begins to build to the final chorus. Not long.

Unfortunately for you, Jimin recognises the changing keys as well as you do, and he stands up smoothly, slinking towards you.

Instead of settling between your knees this time, he turns his back to you and bends down, folding himself in half to fully bare his ass. Hoseok’s handprint still pinkens the skin of one, and the sudden desire to reach out and see if it’s as warm to the touch as it looks overcomes you. You hiss and fist your hands in the fabric of the duvet cover, making Jimin stretch up with a laugh.

Merciless, Jimin widens his stance, choosing to sit on top of your lap, ass grinding on you. You can imagine this movement would be much more unbearable for a guy, but you still feel your resolve unravelling, taken by the fluidity of his hips, the lace accuentuating his slender waist, the pressure of his head as he tips it back onto your shoulder.

“This is so unfair,” you complain shakily, and are rewarded with the musical giggle Jimin lets out, bubbling from his arched throat right into your ear.

Luckily, the chorus ends, and the final notes settle down. Jimin’s hips still and he turns his head, lips just about brushing your cheek. “Good job, sweetness,” he praises warmly, “can I have another kiss?”

Your jaw jerks automatically before you catch yourself. Though it’s fading out, the song technically hasn’t ended yet. “Not yet.”

Shameless even as his ruse is exposed, Jimin just beams and twist around so that he’s straddling you face-on. He lowers his mouth to your collarbone, nibbling at the skin there as the beat fades and the overlaying instruments peter out. Though it must only be ten or fifteen seconds, it feels like forever as he rocks himself against you just like Taehyung had done to Jin - albeit less desperate and more strategic - and licks at the bite marks on your neck.

Finally, it goes silent, and you exhale deeply, hands automatically coming up to rest on his hips as he laughs lightly at your successful efforts. “I’m impressed,” he admits, “guess you get your reward after all, sweetness.”

So relieved that the heat between your legs will get some attention, you barely take notice of him standing up off you, at least not until he slips his cock fully out of the panties.

His cock, straining with being left unattended so long, is a far deeper pink than the mark on his ass, particularly around the head. He sucks in a breath through his nose as he strokes himself, before blinking down at you.

“Clothes off if you want me, sweetness.”

You could guarantee you’ve never undressed so quickly before, frantically enough that your hips are hot from the friction of tugging down your pants. You take no note, however, just spreading your legs wantonly as you eye up his cock.

“Fuck, look at you,” Jimin curses, bracing a hand on your hip as he lines himself up. “Don’t even need stretching, do you? Looks like Joonie opened you up for me already.”

Your cheeks burn, but there’s not enough time to dwell on the embarrassment, as Jimin holds you down with his grasp on your hip and bottoms out in a single thrust.

Even though he’s right, the sudden fullness has you gasping a moan, almost falling onto your back. You prop yourself up and widen your legs further, eyes locked on the sight of his cock, nestled underneath by the lushest black lace, buried deep inside you. “Fuck, please move.”

“My pleasure,” he coos with a sweet smile, before the smile drops to a slack pout of lust, snapping his hips with a deftness that you now know is due to his background as a dancer.

You fight to keep yourself sitting up, one hand around the back of his neck as he fills you with every stroke, but the angle isn’t quite right, and you find your pelvis shifting to find it.

Jimin notices your frustration, and wordlessly pauses, grips your thighs and tugs you forward so that you’re flat on your back, ass over the edge and held up by his upper body strength. Without you even processing the change, he’s returning to his ruthless place, and you sob from relief at the way your insides come alive with pleasure, so much stronger than before.

“Fuck, right there! Right- ungh, yes, Ji-Jimin,” you pant out, feeling unbearably hot all at once with the intensity of it.

Though part of you is still sore from the scene you had with Namjoon earlier, your swollen walls only increase the drag of him against your sensitive tissue, and you quickly turn incoherent, tongue so thick in your mouth that you open it, panting as your fingers clutch the duvet to anchor you.

“That good, huh?” Jimin notes with a laugh stuttered by grunts of exertion. Normally, you’d protest or retort, but with your ankles wrapped around him and back arching off the bed, there’s nothing on your mind but the enveloping urge to cum.

Rather than reply, you just let yourself drown in the sensations, vision going black as your eyes roll into the back of your head.

Your orgasm comes so fast that you don’t even notice it approaching, can’t even warn him. It’s like a clap of thunder, making you go stiff with a scream before turning completely boneless, legs slipping down off him weakly.

Jimin curses as you squeeze around him, but fucks you through it thoroughly, only slowing down once you begin to fuss, shivering and wriggling away.

Dazed from the sudden onslaught of pleasure, it takes you a few moments for the fog in your brain to clear. Once you do, you glance down and realise Jimin is still achingly hard, dripping with your slick and the remnants of Namjoon’s cum, but none of his own. He strokes it lazily, gaze searching your face.

So exhausted from two intense scenes in one day, you don’t think you could manage to jerk him off or give him a decent blowjob, but to leave him hanging would be cruel. Instead, you fumble to slide yourself off the bed, landing a little too hard on your knees.

“What are you- oh, Y/n, fuck,” Jimin exclaims lowly as you blink up at him and open your mouth, sticking your tongue out. He gets the message easily, speeding up his strokes as his tip bounces on your tongue, brief sparks of the salty tang of your shared arousal.

He must have been close before, because it doesn’t take him more than a minute to fall over the edge, cumming into your mouth with thick spurts. A shame it couldn’t have been inside you a different way, but you nonetheless chase his cock, blade of your tongue dipping into his slit to make sure you’d gotten every last drop.

Jimin swears lowly, stroking your hair back fondly as you swallow, and helps you stand up on wobbly legs.

Leading you to the bathroom, Jimin sits you on the closed toilet seat as he runs a bath. Having slipped off his heels somewhere back in the room, he unhooks his garters as he waits for the tub to fill. With one leg resting on the high edge of the tub, rolling down the fishnets one at a time, you once again are silenced in awe of his beauty.

It feels unspeakably intimate to watch him unclasp the bralette, slip off the panties, and slowly take his makeup off, easily locating the makeup remover he’d borrowed from you that very first night.

Your eyes sting a little as you’re reminded of that time. It feels like an eternity ago, even though it’s just under a fortnight. You’d thought he was so intimidating back then. Though he still had the power to command attention, you’d seen enough of the kindhearted, thoughtful and sensitive man beneath that the Jimin two weeks ago felt like a very different man.

“Water’s ready.”

You blink yourself out of that train of thought, letting Jimin help you carefully into the tub, joining you on the other side, legs tangled. “Thank you,” you manage to say, still feeling a little out of it after a tiring day and a good orgasm.

Jimin beams, glancing away to obscure some of his face. It’s clear to you that the lack of makeup has him feeling a bit vulnerable. His skin is flushed red - either naturally or from exertion you couldn’t tell - and his brows were softer, eyes looking smaller without the shadow that emphasised them. He wasn’t any less beautiful like this, just more human. Comforting, in a way, as he passes you a washcloth and begins to lather himself up in strawberry-scented bodywash.

“Hey, Y/n,” Jimin starts, but his voice sounds weirdly stilted and unlike him.

“Mm?”

“My, um, my…” He lets out a light cough, avoiding your gaze with an air of forced aloofness. “Granny keeps asking about you. She’s convinced we’re dating, but that’s, uh, I’ve assured her we aren’t. She really liked you, and whenever we chat she asks to speak to you, and, um…”

You feel more coherent than you have in a good couple hours, sitting upright. “She does?”

Jimin laughs ruefully. “I never really knew how to ask you if you wanted to speak to her, or if I should even ask you at all-”

“So you thought now, while we’re both naked in a tub after you fucking my brains out is the right time?”

Jimin’s cheeks colour more as he splutters. “You can say no, I just didn’t want you to… I don’t know. You can say no.”

You beam at him. “I have one rule.”

“What?”

“I’ll hang out with Mrs. Park on one condition.”

The blue-haired boy stares at you warily. “Which is?”

You lean forward with a deadpan expression on your face, making him grimace in worry. “You let me sleep in your bed tonight,” you explain gravely, “I’m running out of options for this Bangasm Bomb thingy, and it’s only fair after you just took me out of commission like that.”

Jimin laughs in relief, throwing his head back with a joyous grin. “Deal! Don’t scare me like that.”

You return his smile, heart swelling from the fondness you hold for him. “Of course I’ll chat with your grandma, Jimin. I love her. She reminds me of you a lot.”

You may have said too much, but Jimin goes lax against the opposite end of the tub, smile never leaving his lips, and you don’t regret it for a second.

1K notes · View notes

lancermylove · 3 years

Text

Mixed Signals (Oneshot)

Fandom: Obey Me

Pairing: Barbatos x fem!Reader

Warning: N/SFW! I MEAN IT! Kinda slow burn.

Requested by: Anon

Prompt: Hi. Could I request a one-show with a female reader and Barbatos (Obey Me). It's holiday themed so if it's not you cup of tea I understand. Both are attracted to each other but never said anything, though they have friendly banter often and think the feelings are mutual. There's a party going on and they end up under the mistletoe. She thinks it's going to give them an opportunity to open up to each other but he is reluctant to do it (fearing she likes one of the brothers). After he pecks her cheek she thinks she read the signs wrong & feels down. After the party she decides to find his room. She confesses her feelings, he explains why he acted the way he did. He didn't want to do it just because of tradition, he wanted it to mean something. Maybe he mentions wanting to know a side of her the brothers don't & keep it to himself. I'd like it to be cute but spicy so you can go as n.sfw-ish as you feel comfortable. I hope it's not too long/confusing. Thanks.

A/N: I know you said n.sfw-ish, but it turned into n.sfw...no wait, DETAILED N.SFW. XD Also, I know Barb’s bedroom is filled with door, but I’m just going to pretend he has another room that’s like a normal room. 😂

Word Count: 2,973

———————————————

Your first day at Devildom was completely unexpected. Aside from being teleported into a different world, and that too hell, you didn't expect to meet such good looking men.

As time passed, you met all the brothers, angels, Solomon, and Diavolo. You found each one attractive in his own way, but you never considered dating any of them. That is until you attended the party at Diavolo's castle and met Barbatos.

When you saw the butler, you couldn't take your eyes off him. Was it his looks? His calm demeanor? The sense of mystery about him? You couldn't put your finger on it, but you were drawn to him.

Unfortunately, since you lived at the House of Lamentation, you rarely saw the butler. Your eyes yearned to catch a single glimpse of the green-haired man, and one day, your wish was granted by none other than the demon king himself. Diavolo invited you to his castle to ask about your stay and experience at RAD thus far. On top of that, he informed you about your weekend meetings with him.

"(Y/N), I would like you to visit me every weekend to share your experience and progress in Devildom." Diavolo flashed a friendly smile, "Also, if you don't mind, I would like to hear stories about the human world. Your world intrigues me."

You immediately agreed to his invitation and took it as an opportunity to meet Barbatos.

At first, Barb simply greeted you while serving you refreshments and then excused himself. As you visited the castle more frequently, the demon butler became friendlier towards you. He started to converse with you, asking about your day and classes. To your surprise, he even asked about your favorite foods, so that he can prepare them for your next visit. You merely took as his kindness, not realizing that Barbatos began to develop feelings for you.

Even the Ruler of Devildom noticed the changes in his trusted butler when you were around. Diavolo wholeheartedly supported Barbatos's feelings for you. Every weekend, he made excuses to show up late for the meeting, allowing you to spend more time with the demon butler. Slowly, the two of you began chatting about topics other than food and Devildom.

Your friendship grew to the point where Barbatos invited you to help him in the kitchen as an excuse to spend more time with you. More than anything, the demon enjoyed teasing you - smearing flour on your cheeks, dabbing icing on the tip of your nose, playfully arguing about Devildom food being better than human food. His actions made you think of him in a different light. No man would tease and banter with you to this point if he didn't like you, right? You didn't get the answer to your question until Christmas came around.

Diavolo planned a grand party for all the important people of Devildom, and of course, he invited you. You donned your finest outfit, picked by none other than Asmo. The Avatar of Lust knew about your feelings for Barbatos and supported you.

"Sweetie, when I'm done, you'll look so beautiful that Barb won't be able to take his eyes off you." Asmo winked while applying blush to your cheeks.

The fifth-oldest brother was not kidding. When you entered the party, everyone stared at you in awe, including the demon brothers, angels, Solomon, and Diavolo. Unfortunately, Barbatos was nowhere in sight, so you exited the party in search of him. Though you looked and looked, there were no signs of your crush anywhere, not even the kitchen.

You returned to the party once more, hoping to find him there; instead, you found yourself standing under a mistletoe. As you stared at the green branch overhead, you wished that by some miracle, Barb would join you. Unbeknownst to you, your partner in crime noticed you staring at the mistletoe and immediately found Barbatos, dragging him in front of you.

"Sweetie, I found him! Barbatos, (Y/N) has been looking for you everywhere." Asmo chuckled, "Hm? Why are you blushing, (Y/N)?"

The Avatar of Lust moved his eyes to the branch above you and gasped, pretending he never saw the mistletoe above you. He glanced at Barbatos before shifting his eyes up, clapping his hands together. "Barb, please do the honors of fulfilling the Christmas tradition!"

This was the happiest moment of your life. To think that you were going to kiss the man of your dreams, all thanks to your fairy demon. While you indulged in the thought of how the kiss will feel, you failed to notice Barbatos hesitating. He slowly leaned in, but instead of kissing your lips, he pecked your cheek. The butler quickly excused himself, leaving both you and Asmo in shock.

Your chest tightened, making it difficult for you to breathe. You instantly walked out of the party with Asmo following in your trail.

"Sweetie, please wait," Asmo gently held onto your arm and pulled you closer to him, turning your body to face him. The demon cupped and wiped your tear-stained cheeks.

"I...am stupid," you began and bit your lower lip, fighting the tears threatening to escape your eyes, "I thought he liked me, but I misread everything."

"Don't say that, dear." Asmo drew you into a hug and rubbed soothing circles on your back. "Please calm down and don't jump to any conclusions. Talk to Barbatos first."

You weren't sure why, but a strong feeling told you that you didn't misread the signals. Barbatos was not the type to get friendly with just anyone. You thanked Asmo for comforting you before rushing to find your crush, knowing well that your heart was not going to be at peace until you got the answers to your questions.

After a while, you found yourself standing in front of his bedroom door. You raised a shaky hand to the door and took a deep breath before hitting your knuckles against the wood. The butler was stunned to see you but stepped aside and invited you into his room.

"Did you lose your way?" He questioned, closing the door behind you.

You weren't sure if he meant 'lose your way' in a literal direction or figuratively, but you pushed on. "Barbatos, do you have time to talk? I need to tell you something."

The butler studied your averted eyes and red cheeks as he nodded. "What would you like to tell me?"

"When I first came to Devildom, I was surprised to see the men here. I found them all to be attractive in one way or another, but none of them tugged on my heartstrings. That is...," your voice turned into a whisper, "until I met you."

Upon hearing your words, Barbatos's eyebrows tugged up as his body stiffened. He remained silent and waited for you to continue.

"I felt drawn to you and wanted to spend more time with you. That's why I always looked forward to the weekend." You couldn't bring yourself to look at his face, so you continue speaking with your eyes glued on the stone floor. "When you started to spend more time with me, I was very happy. Um..."

You gathered the courage to lift your head and look at the handsome demon. Barbatos stared, expressionless, but you didn't let that faze you.

"I thought you liked me. Your behavior around me was different, bu-but...," you curled your damp hands into a fist, preparing yourself for the worse as you asked, "why didn’t you kiss me properly under the mistletoe? Did I misread your signals?"

You felt your eyes stinging, but you dug your nails into your palms to hold back the tears. Barbatos didn't expect you to ask him such a direct question, but much to your shock, he smiled.

"You did not misread my signals. I presumed that you held feelings for one of the brothers, considering you seem to be quite attached to them." he paused to see your reactions and chuckled. "As for the kiss, I apologize for hurting your feelings. I want our first kiss to hold meaning, not for the sake of tradition. Also, I did not want to kiss you in public."

Barbatos stepped closer to you, delicately wiped away the tears collecting in the corner of your eyes, and whispered, "I apologize for causing your pain and bringing tears to your eyes."

“Y-You like me?” You couldn’t believe your ears and weren’t sure how to react. You always dreamt of this moment, but now that it arrived, you were at a loss.

“I do.” He pressed a kiss to your forehead and looked into your eyes. "Might I be selfish enough to ask for a favor?"

"S-sure."

"I always considered the brothers lucky for being able to get friendly with you. How I wished my lord had asked you to stay in this castle instead." The demon butler gave a small smile. "Would you be kind enough to show me a different side of you? A side that not even the brothers haven't seen."

It took several seconds to digest his words, and you weren't sure what exactly he meant. So, you pursed your lips and closed your eyes, waiting for him to kiss you. Barbatos held a finger to his lips and chuckled, finding your action adorable. He rested his hand on your cheek delicately as if he was touching glass.

"I am not familiar with the traditions in the human world, so forgive me if my words frighten you. Physical intimacy holds a deep meaning for me, so my love, would you permit me to hold you? Would you be mine?" Barbatos held out his hand in front of you and waited patiently for your reply.

You stared at him with your lips ajar. ‘Be his...what does he...?’

A deep shade of crimson covered your cheeks as you gasped, clamping one hand over your mouth. Your heart jumped with joy as your head spun slightly from the sudden rush of blood. Only when you nodded did the demon plant a tender kiss on the back of your hand.

Barbatos placed butterfly kisses on your face before capturing your lips. He gently pulled away from the kiss, his hot breath tickling the lower half of your face. Barbatos slide the tip of his tongue along your lower lip, waiting for you to part your lips. A shade of red once again spread across your cheeks, but you granted him entry. The demon impatiently thrusted his tongue into your wet cavern while his hands stroked the curves of your waist. He explored your mouth and rolled his tongue on yours.

You dug your fingers into his jacket as his hands began to roam freely around your heated body. Barbatos drew his tongue out and wiped saliva running down your chin. He ran a finger up your back, tracing the zipper of your fitted dress before tugging down the pull tab. Not breaking off eye contact, Barbatos helped you out of your clothes and undergarments. Feeling the cold air against your warm skin, you shivered and crossed your arms over your chest.

"You look breathtaking," he complimented, scooping you in his arms and walking towards the bed.

The red on your face grew darker as you nuzzled your face in his warm neck. He gently set you on his bed and straddled your body. Barbatos tugged his gloves off with his teeth while giving you a teasing smile.

"You are such a tease." You mumbled and tried to pry your eyes from his face in vain. He chuckled at your statement and continued his venture.

Taking hold of your hand, he kissed your fingers, the back of your hand, and up your arm. Barb trailed wet kisses to your shoulder, neck, and up to your lips. He pecked your lips before tenderly kissing down the other side of your neck and to your chest.

You watched him examining your mounds, finally realizing that your dream was coming true. The man you yearned for was in bed with you, physically showing his feelings for you. ‘This isn’t a dream, is it? This is...really happening.’

The demon butler rolled his tongue on your perked nipple before taking the bud into his mouth and sucking on it. Gasping loudly, you closed your eyes as your heart pounded against your chest. You ran your fingers in his hair and dug your nails into his scalp, prompting Barb to take your whole breast into his mouth as his free hand massaged the other mound. Your muffled cries only added to his desire.

After leaving both your breasts sore, the green-haired man processed to kiss down your stomach while caressing the side of your hips. His touch was even more satisfying than you had imagined in your fantasies. He pushed your legs apart only to have you press them back together.

Barb brushed your pelvic bone with the tips of his fingers and smiled tenderly, "Let me see how beautiful you look."

Though you were nervous, you gave in to his request and slowly parted your legs. He sat in the middle, taking hold of your right leg and ghosting his lips over your ankle. The entire time his eyes stayed glued to your glistening womanhood. Barbatos trailed his lips up your leg, leaving goosebumps in his wake.

"My love, you are beautiful." He whispered, his hot breath caressing the area between your legs. He sunk his teeth on the side of your thigh, marking you as his before pressing his lips deeply between your legs.

"A-ah, Barb." You groaned, arching your back.

Your voice was music to his ears. Barbatos slowly ran his tongue up and down your slit, drawing more lewd sounds from you.

“You taste so sweet,” he groaned, pressing the tip of his tongue to your clit, sliding it down to your entrance. Shifting his eyes to meet yours, Barbatos shoved his tongue inside your entrance.

"Oh my god," you exclaimed in a breathy voice, earning a witty reply from your lover in return.

"There is no god here, my dear."

Barb teasingly thrusted his tongue in and out a few times, earning a series of moans from you in return. He licking up to your slit, and without warning, he pushed two digits into your entrance, wiggling his fingers to get a feel of the soft flesh inside. You yelped, gripping the bedsheet with both your hands.

"B-Barb. A-at least wa-warn me."

"Where's the fun in that?" He chuckled as he gently began stretching your insides with his fingers.

Barbatos withdrew his long fingers, earning a disapproving groan from you. He brought his digits to his face and licked them clean of your essence. "I could get used to this taste."

You averted your eyes and bit down on your lower lip to suppress a groan.

Maintained eye contact, he stood up and started to undressed. The butler took his time, peeling each layer off one-by-one until you cried, "Barb...hurry!"

"My, someone is impatient." He teased while pushing his pants down to his ankles. You stared hungrily at his precum-soaked erected manhood.

Barbatos positioned himself between your legs and pressed his tip at your entrance. "My love, are you sure about this? If you are not ready, then I do not want to pressure you into this. We can always-"

Not being able to take it any longer, you shot your eyes to his face, "Barb, I want you NOW!"

The butler let you a small laugh at the unexpected reaction as he gripped your hips. Little by little, he pushed his length inside, taking care not to hurt you. You cried as your inside stretched to accommodate his large size, tears collecting in the corners of your eyes.

"Are you alright?" He asked, concerned by your pained expression.

"Y-Yeah," you managed to answer.

"You are taking me in quite well." He stole passionate kisses while cooing words of praises as you adjusted to his size. When you gave him the green signal, Barbatos slowly started to move inside you. You held onto his arms as your body gave into the intense pleasure. He studied you with a smile, watching you melting under him. Barbatos was truly happy to finally become one with you.

The butler hovered over you, sweat bead rolling down his face. He kissed you hungrily as he changed his angle to hit you deeper. His focus was on you, and his only goal was to please you. Barbatos took note of every expression, movement, and sound you made.

"There! B-Barb h-hit t-there." Your voice drove him mad, but your words made him crazier, "ugh...g-go f-faster."

The butler pinned your trembling hands next to your head, pulled out his length, and slammed into you. He hit your sweet spot with enough force to make you scream his name. Though he had picked up his pace, Barbatos tried not to be rough with you. He wanted your first time with him to be passionate and memorable.

As you got closer to your climax, Barbatos moved his hips faster against yours, leaving you a moaning mess. The sound of your bodies slapping against each other and your mewls filled the room. Not long after, your vision went white as your body shuddered under the demon. Your head was spinning as your essence coated his length. Barbatos held you closer to him, his thrusts losing their rhythm. Soon after, he pulled out and released on your body, coating you with his essence. The butler rested his forehead against yours as he caught his breath.

"Thank you for agreeing to this," Barbatos whispered in a breathy voice, "I promise to always be there for you and love you till your last breath. N-No, continue to love you even after your last breath."

———————————————

➣ Obey Me Masterlist ➣ Buy me a Ko-fi or Commission?

#obey me #obey me barbatos #barbatos x reader #obey me diavolo #obey me asmo

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petersthree · 3 years

Text

Okay so I’ve seen a lot of conflicting responses to Buddie this episode, from it being clear to people that they’re getting together, to thinking the writers have unintentionally messed things up to thinking it’s purely queerbait.

And I get the different responses, I do - tbh I’m somehow in two camps, where I simultaneously believe it’s a slowburn but I also think it’s bait. And those are two very different opinions to have and it got me thinking about why we have these different responses as fans to the possibility of a queer ship (namely two men who would presumably be bi/pan) being canon.

While people talk about how it’s just people wanting two characters to kiss or entitled fans - sure, that’s existent in every fandom, but I think there’s also a very real fear from queer fans who don’t want to get their hopes up and I d on’t love how the conversation has shifted to calling queer fans stupid for having hope, so I kind of wanted to break it down into 3 aspects that I’ve noticed:

How writers portray bi characters and why that makes fans hesitant to have hope

What queerbait actually means as a concept

How much “slowburn” has changed in procedurals

1. How writers portray bi characters

Something I’ve thought about a lot are the bi characters I’ve seen on TV - Darryl (CEG), Sara Lance (Arrow), Lucifer (Lucifer), just to name a few. These are great characters imo and I think you’d have a fun time watching but a thing to note is that all these characters were established as bi within the first season of their respective shows and they all fairly quickly fell into a clear romantic ship as well (with the exception of Sara as she spanned multiple shows). It may have taken time for them to say the word bisexual, but it was still clear these characters were queer fairly quickly on. You could maybe argue that Lucifer was a slowburn, but then (while it does not take away from him being bi/pan so do not use this as an excuse to be shitty about him) it’s a m/f ship which is still not the point of my post, to find a m/m or f/f ship that has that same treatment.

Some writers have done it - like for Valencia in CEG, or Petra in JTV - when they saw that fans read them this way, but trying to find those characters were few and far between, and when I looked at popular queerbait ships (whether or not they actually are queerbait) it’s usually ships where the characters are largely viewed as bisexual. A lot of times this also comes with pushback from both straight and to be frank, other queer fans as well. Straight fans don’t always see the signs that queer fans do, so to them a queer character who hasn’t been explicitly clear from the start comes out of nowhere. And what I’ve seen from certain queer fans are concerns that people aren’t appreciating the canon queer characters in a show - and I think there is a conversation to be had about that, but I don’t think the response should also be about then demanding less representation for people either.

If we go back to 911, people talk a lot about how it has canon queer characters, which it definitely does - Michael, Hen, Josh, Karen, and David are all canonically gay/lesbian and that’s awesome, and we absolutely should talk about fans (white fans in particular) ignoring these characters. It also does not change the fact that none of these characters are bisexual and that is the representation people are looking for. Both of these things are true - these characters are often under appreciated in canon AND people deserve bisexual representation. They don’t contradict each other and to act like one negates the other does a huge disservice.

And even if a character was made bisexual in the canon text we don’t get that slowburn. This may be true for things like Leverage, or LOK, but there’s also a real fact of censorship that affected these shows and the fact that general audiences may not understand the queer text tjat the writers intended. It doesn’t make the writing any less wonderful or the ships any less poignant or beautiful or important, and there’s ofc shows like She Ra that made this more obvious (or the.....mess that was Supernatural that made it. Half true?) but these are still real things that should be acknowledged on why people are so hesitant to call it slowburn - because it’s something most queer fans haven’t SEEN DONE, because m/f ships will get that care for slowburn when it’s done but it’s not done for m/m or f/f ships in that same capacity.

2. What queerbait is

This one’s fun because I don’t think many people understand what it is, but queerbait is very dependent on the intentions of the writers/creators/etc. - which tbh can be hard to gauge, because a genuine intention that ended up not happening or someone baiting fans or someone trying to support all ships and not be rude all have very different intentions but to a fan who only sees bits and pieces of this person on social media, it can be hard to gauge.

Honestly with how much the 4th wall gets broken because of social media now I’d personally say we’ve probably moved into a different definition of queerbait - unintentional vs intentional - because we’re at a point where a show knows what ships are popular and at what level of excitement fans are for it - but that being said, there’s still a clear spectrum of intent. And imo? I don’t think 911 has that intent of queerbait - whether it’s a slowburn or they have a different vision for buddie that I (probably) won’t agree with remains to be seen, but this show usually treats its storylines with care. Are they perfect at it? No, definitely not, I definitely think that they’ve dropped the ball a few times (especially with just how many characters they have lmao), but they also clearly do their storylines with earnest and with genuine care for these characters.

Is 911 getting them together? I want to say yes. I don’t think this was always the plan, just something that they decided along the way, but I also don’t think that changes anything about the ship. A lot of people point to Tim Minear being vague about the ship, or the actors and their interpretations, but 1. We have no idea what they’ve been told about Buddie moving forward and 2. No show runner is going to spoil their show that much. 911 may be keeping quiet because they have a different plan for buddie, sure, but also maybe because they’re still figuring out how exactly they want to do this and/or they want to make this slowburn and don’t want to give it away.

3. Slowburn in procedurals

I feel like this is something that procedurals have started shying away from, but slowburns used to be very common - Bones, Castle, their ships didn’t get together for literal years, but that’s just not something that many shows do nowadays, even for m/f ships. Even things like Deckerstar will have the characters get together after ~3 seasons and explore the relationship onwards, whereas a few years ago, y ou’d pr obably be watching a sh ow and it’d take them 7 seasons to get together. My assumption for this is that shows are afraid of getting canceled, but there’s been a pretty big shift in getting a couple together after say, 6 seasons to now getting them together about halfway through the show. I don’t think either one is bad or good - in good writers’ hands, either can be amazing - but that shift has made it so that a lot of younger fans in particular, I think, don’t fully recognize slowburn when they see it.

911 as a show tends to run pretty fast - it kind of has to with its depth of characters they have - but when they do have slower running storylines they really do make use of that as well. Bobby’s addiction is something that’s always going to be present in his character, May’s suicide attempt was brought up again front and center after 3 seasons, even Chim’s dynamic with the Lees was brought up again and it was reinforced again that they’re his family. There are certain storylines that have to be continuous and aren’t a one and done type of thing, and that includes Buck and Eddie, especially if you want to establish them as queer to a general audience who doesn’t think about these things.

And honestly, despite my fears, I think they are laying groundwork there. We have Buck learning to be more confident in his relationships, we have Eddie ready to date and learning to follow his own heart, we have Buck and Eddie both establishing that Buck is family and will always be there for Christopher. These are pretty big steps to do for a ship and we’ll obviously have to see how the show goes forward but they’ve already insinuated Eddie and Ana are breaking up, I’m sure Taylor and Buck may last a season and be over, but we do have to see what this next season brings. Do I think they’d say this? No, definitely not.

tl;dr:

911 is a show with good viewership, but there’s always a possibility they can’t continue with their season and then their promises would feel like a lie. Or they may still be hammering out the details as this season hasn’t been written. Or they may just simply not want to spoil their show, or they don’t want people criticizing a story before it’s finished, all of these could be reasons. The showrunners, writers, actors, ultimately they owe nothing to us as a fandom to potentially spoil their series, or do something, change it or their schedule for it, and get accused of bait.

But it also doesn’t change why fans are wary of this storyline either, and I wish people would have more nuance and compassion for fans who are worried about queerbait (whether they think it’s not queerbait and dislike people worrying about it or if they do and are calling people idiots for believing it). There’s a lot of reasons why fans are wary and don’t want to have hope, and it’s not necessarily about 911 specifically as it is a pattern of writing seen in other pieces that have fans worried. These things can all coexist and I wish we as fandom in general could acknowledge that, because pretending that they don’t and criticizing each other/people’s intentions or knowledge when they have certain expectations also doesn’t do much to help.

#warning this is long so if you read this bless you #but also i wrote this forever so maybe give a read?#it gets into buddie more specifically at the end so bear with me lmao #buddie #911 fox #fandom #queerbait #janie overthinks media #buddie meta #911 on fox

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witcher-and-his-bard-archive · 4 years

Text

A Small Price to Pay

doing this thing | day 1 - makeshift gag

"I cannot and will not." Jaskier puts his foot down - literally and metaphorically - and crosses his arms in Geralt's direction. Geralt just rolls his eyes and sighs at him.

"Then how do you propose we get past half the Nilfgaardian army?"

He's being ridiculous, of course; a few dozen men hardly constitute half their army, but he does have a point - Jaskier is disappointingly low on ideas. But the idea of being bound and gagged is just... well, it's not detestable but he'd prefer it under very, very different circumstances.

"We'll just go back. Or wait for them to move on." Geralt glances over to where three men are setting up a tent and quirks an eyebrow at Jaskier. "Oh, I don't know! There has to be something else we can do? Surely we can go around, through-"

"We've been delayed enough already. If we don't make it to Vengerberg in the next three days Yen and Ciri will leave without us."

Jaskier frowns. He does so enjoy travelling with Ciri, but the entire trip to Kaer Morhen without Yen sounds like a dream come true if he's honest. He wants to say as much, but he suspects it won't be taken well. Instead, he just continues to frown at the grass beneath his feet.

Truthfully, Geralt has a very good reason for not wanting to upset Yen - or to confront the army, to be fair - but has failed to take into account that Jaskier also has a very good reason for not wanting to be tied up. Nor does he seem to care as he rifles through his pack and produces a length of rope short enough to bind Jaskier's hands behind his back.

"But why does it have to be me? They're looking for you! I could just say I'm bringing you to them!" He takes a step back as Geralt moves into his space and the look he gets is incredulous.

"And risk both of us getting killed because I can't use my swords? I don't think so." Geralt reaches out to him and Jaskier takes another step back, promptly hitting the trunk of a badly placed tree.

Realizing he's trapped and Geralt is smiling about it, Jaskier sighs and relents. He turns around reluctantly and Geralt takes his hands, placing one wrist over the other. Under other circumstances, he would revel in this much contact, but right now he just feels defeated and apprehensive.

It takes all his concentration not to think while Geralt binds his hands. It's bad enough that Geralt is practically holding his hand, rough, calloused fingers curled around his own to steady him, but the rope. He doesn't know where it came from, but it's surprisingly smooth against his skin without even the reliably scratchy bits to distract him from the feeling of, well, being entirely at Geralt's mercy. And that- that is something he really can't focus on right now.

"Is it too tight?" Geralt asks and Jaskier doesn't trust himself to speak so he just shakes his head. "Your heart is beating too quickly, what's wrong?"

"Nothing," he mutters, staring too hard at his boots. "Nervous," he adds as an afterthought; Geralt won't shut up about it until he gets an answer that satisfies him and sometimes it's better just to lie.

"Do you trust me?"

Fuck, what kind of question is that? Trust is not at all the problem here. "Of course," Jaskier whispers and his voice comes out light and wispy, not at all what he was hoping for. But Geralt seems unfazed.

He finishes his task and returns to their packs. When he returns, he's got a scrap of fabric in his hand and if Jaskier's heart was beating quickly before, it's outright pounding now. Because Jaskier would recognize that fabric anywhere. He's the one who washes and mends their clothes and that right there is a piece of Geralt's unsalvagable shirt and it's not going anywhere near his face - not in a million years.

He opens his mouth to tell Geralt as much, but he just splutters indignantly as Geralt slips the material between his lips. With his hands bound behind him, Jaskier is helpless to resist.

"Surely, you've had worse," Geralt mutters and Jaskier doesn't know if he's referring to traumatizing experiences, embarrassment, or bondage but the answer is no almost straight across the board.

Because this smells like Geralt. And Jaskier doesn't know what he tastes like, but this is probably as close as he'll get, tasting the soap he uses to wash it and something he can't place but feels remarkably like Geralt. A sharp stab of want breaks through his composure and for a horrifying moment, Jaskier wishes the gag was covered in dirt or blood or monster innards.

"Ready?" Geralt asks and Jaskier just groans. He most certainly is not ready and if he thought pushing down his arousal was hard with his hands bound, it's ten times worse with Geralt's scent flooding his senses.

Geralt steps away to collect Roach and Jaskier takes a moment to try to breathe and compose. It works for the briefest of moments before Geralt appears out of nowhere, wrapping a firm hand around his bicep and hauling him forward. Heat spreads through Jaskier's entire body and he stumbles to catch up.

Either he's going to blow it for them because the guard will take one look at him and realize he is in no way a prisoner against his will, or they'll make it through and he'll be horrifically embarrassed for the rest of his life. It's not that he's ashamed of his sexual preferences, he'd just rather not share them quite so blatantly with Geralt.

As expected, a soldier stops them just as soon as they step out of the trees. Geralt's hand tightens a little around his arm and Jaskier tries to keep as close as he can to him without seeming suspicious. Geralt speaks before the Nilfgaardian even has a chance.

"I need to speak to your commander," he growls, low and commanding, "this man claims to have knowledge of princess Cirilla's whereabouts."

He isn't even questioned, the guard just mutters something and Geralt grunts a response and hauls Jaskier forward a little more roughly than necessary. Jaskier's cock twitches and he pretends not to notice as Geralt makes a self-satisfied noise at him. So he was right then. There'll be no living with him after this.

They make it to the opposite side of the Nilfgaardian camp, a safe distance away and Geralt finally released him, but it's too late for that now. Jaskier's cock has taken a distinct interest, what with the growling and manhandling and bondage that fucking smells like Geralt and is now pressed firmly against the front of his trousers, unmistakable in his current position.

Jaskier angles himself away from Geralt, and Geralt naturally reads him wrong and slips up behind him to untie the gag. Which is little relief at this point and then, as Geralt presses up against his back, actually so much worse than just keeping it on. Because Jaskier can feel the heat radiating off his body, can imagine what it would feel like if Geralt just took one more step forward and slotted their bodies together. Jaskier bites back a moan, squeezing his eyes shut and trying to think of anything else, but then Geralt's hands are on him.

And who touches someone this much just to untie a gag? Someone who seeks Jaskier's imminent death via spontaneous combustion - or, apparently, Geralt. His fingers slip up the back of his neck, press lightly against his head. And if it's not bad enough that he spends an eternity untying the damn thing, he pushes his fingers through Jaskier's hair after before finally stepping away.

Which, Jaskier quickly discovers, is only because they've been followed. He drops to his knees to further hide his... situation and peers over his shoulder as Geralt strides toward the soldier, apparently unconcerned.

"What are you doing here?" the Nilfgaardian asks. Geralt cocks his head to one side.

"Nothing. And you're going to go back to your camp and forget you ever saw us here. In fact, you're going to tell your commanding officer the surrounding area is clear, no reason to send out scouts."

Jaskier just sits and gawks, horrified and betrayed, as the man nods and echoes Geralt's words back to him before turning away.

"Are you-" he splutters when the soldier is a safe distance away, "are you telling me you could have just done that the whole time!?" The faintest smile tugs at the corner of Geralt's lips and Jaskier could kill him. Might, even, if he wasn't still bound.

Geralt casts a final look to make sure the soldier is gone and crosses over to him. Jaskier shifts, but his mobility is limited without his arms to balance and Geralt crouches down in front of him, clearly pleased with himself.

"Maybe," he shrugs, reaching up to tip Jaskier's chin up. Jaskier's heart is in his throat and he can't fucking believe this is happening to him. Either Geralt has some very surprising feelings about humiliation or he's a grade-A dick. "But then I wouldn't get to see you like this." His voice goes very soft at the end and Jaskier shuts his eyes, biting down on a groan.

Either Geralt is a very cruel man or somewhere along the way Jaskier passed out from the lack of blood to his brain and he's dreaming. But Geralt's fingers feel solid and real where they slide against his jaw and he's close enough now that Jaskier can feel his breath on his face and oh-

Geralt's hand settles on his thigh and Jakier's eyes flash open, searching Geralt's for any sign of hesitation but there's nothing. If he doesn't do something soon, Jaskier's going to do something incredibly stupid that he'll probably regret. He sits back on his heels, pulling out of Geralt's touch and looks up at him.

"You knew?" he asks.

"No. I was joking when I said I could tie you up and take you through the camp, but the way you reacted-" he hums and Jaskier's resistance fails him.

Geralt shifts toward him, dropping to one knee as he reaches out, running his fingers down Jaskier's chest. And Jaskier is weak to resist him. He presses up into the touch, only barely conscious of how needy he must look and Geralt huffs a soft laugh.

"I wanted to see how far you'd let me go," he breathes, "I didn't think you'd actually let me do it."

"You're an arse," Jaskier huffs and Geralt grins at him.

Jaskier doesn't know what he's supposed to do here. This is a side of Geralt he's never seen before and he's not sure how far he'd actually take it. Geralt moves closer, kneeling between Jaskier's thighs and it's all Jaskier can do not to lose control right there. Geralt's breath dusts over his jaw and Jaskier lets a soft moan slip out as he shuts his eyes.

"You didn't think I'd just leave you like this, did you?"

Everything in Jaskier's head comes to a screeching halt and before he can even consider whether or not that means what it sounds like it means, Geralt's hands are on his trousers, working them open and slipping inside. Steady fingers curl slowly around him and Jaskier loses control of his body in an instant. A sharp whine slips, unbidden, from his throat and his hips snap forward against Geralt's hand.

Fuck, he doesn't even remember the last time he was this turned on.

"What was it," Geralt asks, sliding his hand maddeningly slowly against Jaskier's cock, "that got you so worked up - the rope or the gag?"

"Both," he whimpers, "and the uh- manhandling."

"Hmm. I was just trying to make it seem realistic."

"Mission- ah!accomplished."

Geralt shifts to sit on the grass and with one quick motion gets both arms around Jaskier's waist and tugs him into his lap. Jaskier shuffles forward, encouraged by the way Geralt's hands slip to his ass, squeezing almost playfully. Jaskier tips his head up and Geralt catches his mouth in a rough kiss, nearly dislodging him in his enthusiasm.

Jaskier's head swims. He's never known Geralt to be so forward with anyone, much less with him, and the thought of it makes him impossibly harder. He aches for Geralt's touch again, rolls his hips forward encouragingly but Geralt's hands remain firmly in place, pulling him in closer. Here, Jaskier is pressed right against him, can feel the firm lines of his chest and the surprising press of Geralt's cock, thick and hard where it fits up against his own.

"And what about you?" Jaskier tries, feeling much more suave than he sounds, "what's got you so hot and bothered."

One of Geralt's hands slips up his back, right up his neck and into his hair, pulling his face right up against his own. Their noses bump together and Jaskier can feel Geralt's breath against hi, and then they're falling, dropping back into the grass beneath them.

"Just you," he breathes and Jaskier feels like he could combust. Geralt keeps a hand on him, rocking up against him and gods, he feels incredible. Geralt mumbles something against his lips that Jaskier doesn't quite catch and then Geralt is reaching between them, tugging his trousers open and pushing them down.

Jaskier rises up as his cock slips free and he finds himself staring, unable to look away. His lip is trapped between his teeth and Geralt reaches up, gently freeing it and running his thumb along the sensitive flesh. Geralt tugs him forward, grinding up against him and Jaskier drops his head against his shoulder, hips shifting quickly.

"Should I untie you?" Geralt breathes and Jaskier nods enthusiastically, pressing his forehead into Geralt's skin.

"Please," he groans, "I want to touch you."

Geralt doesn't move, but reaches around, fumbling with the rope as Jaskier kisses him again. As soon as he's free, he gets one hand on Geralt's face, sliding the other up through his hair, groaning as Geralt rolls him onto his back.

He should probably be more concerned about the Nilfgaardian camp only a few hundred meters away, but all he can think about is Geralt's cock against his own, his hands, his mouth.

Jaskier comes with his legs wrapped around Geralt's hips, completely entangled and the sky darkens above them. He doesn't move for a long time afterward and Geralt kisses his neck, slides a hand up under his shirt to brush his fingers over Jaskier's skin.

When he finally settles, he rolls onto his back, tugging Jaskier up against his side.

"Yen's gonna be pissed," he mumbles, tipping his head to press a kiss to Jaskier's temple.

"A small price to pay."

#geraskier #october prompts 2k20 #rex writes #the witcher

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marvelsswansong · 4 years

Note

Could you please do 48 with Sugar daddy!Bucky, please? Thank you!

48: “Why do you keep this picture of me in your wallet?”

word count: 2.3K

a/n: includes mention of sexy times (obviously, it’s a sugar daddy AU). I changed the quote slightly to fit the blurb better, sorry about that x blurb requests are still open, check my bio for more info :)

NOTE: above gif is simply used for aesthetic. not to indicate the reader is imagined to be white and skinny.

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“No feelings, just business.”

That’s what he had told you, the first time he had bought you that far too expensive champagne at the bar at a roof party in Milan. You had been dragged there by Natasha after turning down her offer to let you stay in her penthouse for a few weeks while you could find another place to live in after your landlord had decided to kick you out for a wealthier renter. As a university student, you needed to find a new place to live, and fast, near the university. Unfortunately, your university was in the smack middle of the city- making any possible accommodation extremely expensive.

“Just two drinks and you can leave.” Natasha argued, grabbing your hand and dragging you into the party. You already regretted entering as you felt so out of place- Natasha had been born into wealth, her father being an oil baron and her mother being one of the most famous actresses in Russia’s history. The other people at the party were those in her circle, other rich, successful and attractive people far above your caliber.

“I don’t belong here, Nat.” you complained, frantically pulling at your dress. She had insisted on buying it for you, going as far as pretending to go to the bathroom before paying the bill at the cashier of the designer store, but it was far too tight and short. The black little number clung to every crevice of your skin and matched with the velvet heels you were wearing, making you feel slightly self conscious with every step you took.

“Nonsense, babe. You look fucking gorgeous, you’ve been stressing too much lately and you need to blow off some steam tonight! Besides-” she leaned in closer to your ear to whisper. “I’m pretty sure half of the men here want to jump into your pants tonight.”

You didn’t even want to glance at the direction she was pointing at and scowled, pushing her off with a playful glare.

“You’re just saying that because you’re my best friend.”

“No I’m not, I-”

Someone near the pool called Natasha’s name and she gave you a brief apology and a hug before scurrying off, greeting the other person with a loud scream. She was definitely a social butterfly, whilst you took a bit of time to warm up to people- especially in situations where you felt out of place. And now you were left.

Alone.

“Could I keep you company instead?” a deep voice rung out from behind you. His tall stature dwarfed yours in comparison as he extended his hand towards you, the cuff links of his Armani suit rolled back slightly to expose his skin. The designer suit was nothing compared to his gorgeous face, a hint of stubble on his chin and a jawline that could cut crystal glass.4

“S-sure.”

He ordered the two of you a cocktail you’d never heard the name of, but you didn’t question it, still mesmerized by his presence. He chuckled at your obvious stare, causing you to look away in embarrassment.

“Are you fond of Oscar de la Renta?” he asked, seemingly out of nowhere.

“W-who?”

He chuckled at your frantic response, sipping on his glass slowly as he eyed you up and down.

“Your dress. It’s an Oscar de la Renta piece.... You’re not a part of this usual crowd, are you?”

You shook your head sideways, confirming his suspicion.

“How’d you know Natasha?”

“We go to the same university. She invited me to this party because I’ve been pretty stressed in between studying and finding a new place to stay... Money’s really tight right now and places in the city are expensive...” you rambled on, not noticing the shift in his eyes as he listened to your predicament.

“I could help you, you know.” he proposed. You chuckled nervously, toying with the hem of your dress.

“I don’t even know who you are.”

“The name’s Bucky. Bucky Barnes.”

Three glasses of wine later and he’d lured you in, trading details of your life with his. You found out that he was a self-made billionaire who co-owned a private equity firm with his business partner, Steve Rogers. With hundreds of companies under his palm, he had it all- the money, the fame in the business world, the admiration and loyalty. But he wanted more than a “quick fuck”, as he put it.

“So what exactly are you proposing?” you’d pressed, leaning in closer. He smirked, flexing his rolex watch in the dim bar light.

“I could be your sugar daddy, in the bluntest terms.”

“Do I look like the type of girl who’d be a sugar baby?”

He raised his eyebrow.

“I don’t know, doll, but... you’re fucking gorgeous. And out of money. I know you’re busy with school and all, but all I’m asking is that when you’re not at school to accompany me. I’ll give you everything else- money, gifts, trips to exotic places, connections.... All you need to give me is affection and physical company.”

You bit your lip, mulling this over. The thought of being a sugar baby had never entered your mind, but here you were, being offered the world and more by an insanely attractive man. And all you had to do was keep him company- emotionally and sexually. His hand traveled over to your lap, his clean cologne warming your senses as he awaited your answer.

"No feelings, just business, right?” you asked quietly. He nodded.

“No feelings, just business.”

That solidified your decision.

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For the first few months, you followed him everywhere.

Fiji. London. Paris. French Rivieras.

You’d let him pin you against the wall and fuck you senseless at the hotel room in exchange for an unlimited access to his platinum credit card the next day. He spoiled you with designer dresses from brands you couldn’t even pronounce and gifts that could single-handedly pay off student loans.

With your schedule as a full time student and his hectic lifestyle as a billionaire CEO, you both agreed on having spaced out interactions. If he was in the city, you’d meet him twice a week, maybe even more if he was offering extra. If he was travelling, you could take a week off, week and a half off, maximum, to see him. On the days where you couldn’t physically see him, lots of sexts and calls were exchanged, all from the new phone Bucky had bought you.

It was as business as it could get, or so you thought.

You’d gotten a call from Bucky in the middle of the night, whilst you were cramming for a final, even though you’d both agreed at the beginning that meeting up during finals would be extremely limited.

“Hello?”

“I need you to fly with me to Boston tomorrow night.”

You sighed, rubbing your eyes.

“Bucky, I can’t. I’m swamped with finals and-”

“Doll, I’m literally begging you, I-”

That caught your attention, causing you to sit straight up. Bucky never begged for anything. Let alone, to you.

“My family’s been bugging me about meeting my new ‘girlfriend’ and me ‘settling down’ or whatever. I already told them I was bringing you, please, doll? I’ll double, even triple your pay.”

“Buck... It’s not about the money right now, I really need to do well on my finals. It’s in two weeks.”

“And we’ll be back in a day or so, it’s just a quick stop by. Please... do this for me? A-at least as a friend, we’re at least friends, right?”

And for some reason, perhaps it was because he sounded unusually desperate, you said yes. He picked you up in his limo the next day, exactly at 6pm, and you flew with him in his private jet to his childhood home in Boston.

“It’s a little small.” he’d warned on the plane, as he helped you step down the metal stairs.

Small your fucking ass.

You were astounded by the sheer amount of ground the mansion covered, as a maid scurried towards you and took your bags into the house. The steep marble arches and the high pane windows made you feel small, as you felt Bucky slip his arm around your waist and guide you towards the entrance.

Bucky’s mother was waiting for you at the door, pulling you into a tight hug and gushing about how pretty and polite you were to Bucky. You felt your heart skip a beat when Bucky referred to you as his “girlfriend”, but you forced yourself to breathe and smile.

No feelings, just business, you had to remind yourself.

Bucky was dragged off to the side by his sister and father, meaning that you were dragged to the kitchen to keep his mother company. She was a very lovely woman, which was why you felt quite guilty lying to her about dating her son.

“I’m so happy you’re dating my son, (Y/n).” she cooed, opening the stove. “I’ve never seen him stare at a woman so madly in love.”

Signing if off as good acting on Bucky’s part, you smiled, waving off her compliment.

“I’m the lucky one, miss. That said, I’m pretty sure I’m the romantic in the relationship.” you joked, eliciting a laugh from her.

“I wouldn’t be too sure about that, you know. I’ve seen that picture of you in his wallet.”

Picture?

Bucky never told you he kept physical pictures of you. You’d spend him pictures and you two took pictures on dates and outings, sure, but it was all digitalized and kept away in your phones....

Right?

Before you could question her further, she announced that dinner was ready, forcing you to sit next to Bucky. He pulled out a chair for you, causing his sister to outwardly “aww”, and making you let out a shaky sigh. His hand found his way down the table to rest in yours, his thumb grazing your hand repeatedly in a soothing manner.

That was new.

Bucky was an affectionate man, but he usually kept it brief, unless in bed.

“So (Y/n), tell us more about how you met Bucky.” Rebecca pressed, sipping on her glass of wine with a teasing smile. The conversation flowed easily from there, jokes and embarrassing childhood memories being thrown around as time passed by. Four cups of wine and a mortifying story about Bucky falling on his face during a dance recital at his boarding school, you and Bucky clambered up to bed, your face still red from laughter.

“It’s not that funny.” Bucky grumbled underneath his breath as you clung onto him for support.

“Sorry, I just... I never would’ve thought you’d be a dancer. Let alone a clumsy dancer.” you teased, opening the door to the bedroom.

“Well I guess there’s more of me for you to discover.”

The drunken haze lifted from your consciousness at his response, the sudden soft tone catching you off guard. The entire night, you drank away your fears, the fear that maybe he liked you back. You’d realized you had caught feelings for him, hard, about two months into it, but you’d talked yourself out of acting on it.

No feelings, just business. That is what he had said.

But the whole night he went out of his way to touch you, holding your hand and kissing the back of your neck. Calling you “doll” and “sweetheart.” Telling his family stories about you with an adoring gaze in his eyes. And according to his mother, that picture of you in his wallet...

“Shit, I left my phone downstairs. I’ll be right back.” he said, interrupting your train of thought. He conveniently left his wallet behind, and when you flipped it open, there indeed was a picture of you inside.

And not just any picture.

It was one of you, passed out on his lap after a particularly grueling and boring conference call, in which Bucky was working from his home. You weren’t dressed up, hell, you didn’t even have any makeup on. Just an old t-shirt he owned and short pajama shorts, and a pair of penguin socks. It was oddly domestic and simple.

And he had it printed and stuck in between the leather bindings of his wallet.

“Why do you keep this picture of me in your wallet?”

Bucky’s smile dropped off his face as his eyes shifted to the picture he’d been hiding away in your hand, dread seeping across his chest. He swore under his breath, he knew he should’ve kept it somewhere more secretive, but he just couldn’t help himself.

“Can I be honest?”

You nodded as he took in a deep breath.

“I.... I know I said ‘no feelings, just business’, and really, at the beginning, I thought that was all it was going to be. But... somewhere down the line, I realized, you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me. You’re wicked smart. You’re so kind. You’re not afraid to crack a joke at my expense. You’re... the perfect girl for me, except I was paying for it. I was paying for this... fantasy. Before you say anything, I know you don’t feel the same. I know this is all business for you, so uh, if you want to end the relationship now, since I’ve gotten attached, I’ll under-”

He’s cut off by your body crashing into his, your arms wrapping around his shoulders and he can taste the cherry wine on your lips as you press into him. He eagerly returns the kiss but is left dazed when you pull back, a wide smile on your face.

“I love you, you idiot.”

He smiles back, a smile so bright and sweet that makes your heart flutter, before he pulls you onto his lap on the bed. His hand is already underneath your blouse as he pulls out his phone, his lips tracing your neck.

“So... what’d you say I get a new picture for my wallet?”

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes x you #sebastian stan x reader #sebastian stan x y/n #sebastian stan x you #bucky barnes fluff #sugar daddy!bucky #sugar daddy!bucky x reader #sugar daddy!bucky barnes #bucky barnes oneshot #bucky barnes imagine #marvel fanfiction #marvel blurbs #marvel imagine #marvel reader insert #i actually really like the way it turned out

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astarryon · 3 years

Text

Tame Your Demons

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Violence, blood mention, implied assault, language, general criminal minds things

Summary: The deal you have with Spencer is simple. You call him to take care of the men looking to take advantage of innocents on the street, and he comes to ensure you don’t kill them before he gets the chance. Unfortunately for the both of you, though, things don’t always go according to plan.

A/N: This is my latest love letter to Spencer Reid and Criminal Minds! Part Two will be posted a little later this week, and will be for a slightly more mature audience, if y’all catch my drift. A big thank you to @reids-trauma for letting me run this fic by her, she’s literally half the reason it even saw the light of day. Enjoy!

Masterlist

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You see him before he sees you.

It doesn’t hurt your feelings— it’s the norm, in any case, and it’s what typically happens each time you reach out to plan a rendezvous. Part of the agreement is that you get to set the location, and you’re always careful to pick places you’re comfortable enough to slip your way out of unnoticed in case he ever morals up and brings his team to corner you. To his credit, that hasn’t happened yet — though you’re not naive enough to give up on the idea that it ever will just yet — but never subscribing to uncertain chances was a lesson you’d learned a long time ago.

But you know you’re safe for tonight, at least. He wouldn’t be meandering around the bar for such a prolonged amount of time searching for you if there were rows of feds waiting to take you into custody as soon as you stepped foot out the door. It takes a full fifteen seconds before his wandering gaze finally touches on you, another three before the glint of recognition appears in his eyes, and by the time he’s straightening his spine and striding purposefully toward you, it’s been an entire minute. Damn. Someone was really starting to lose their touch.

“You’re late, Doc,” you simper, arching a brow as you knock back a hearty sip from your glass. “Didn’t your mommy ever tell you it’s rude to keep a lady waiting?”

“Couldn’t be helped,” Reid huffs, crossing his arms over one another as he tries — and fails — to sidle up to you in a casual manner. You note the way he avoids touching the bar at all costs, how he folds in on himself like an exceptionally uncomfortable piece of origami. And then, of course, there’s the suit, far too dressy for a place so casual as the lively little bar nestled in the far side of downtown Georgetown. Jesus, the only way he would look like even more of an off the clock fed would be if his badge were superglued to his palm. “Getting away from the others without raising suspicion on such short notice isn’t exactly the easiest thing to pull off.”

“Yeah, well,” you chuckle, taking another sip from your glass. You make eyes at him, pointedly and conspicuously allowing your gaze to rake his lanky, suit clad frame head to toe. He looks good in the outfit he’s picked, the dark black of his jacket drawing the eye to the maroon button down he wore beneath it, and you marvel at the way his chosen color palette sets off his skin in the dim light. If Reid notices your staring or cares, he makes no show of it. Your ogling doesn’t bother him, not like it used to — doesn’t even make him blush, to your admitted dismay, though you suppose that makes sense. Spencer Reid is nothing like the sweet, shy boy he used to be. He’s not so wide eyed and naive anymore, though you’d never expected that to last very long in the first place. Still — getting a rise out of him had always been your favorite part of your arrangement. If you don’t get to keep that going, these meetings are about to become significantly less fun. “That’s the deal, isn’t it? When I call, you come running.”

“That’s the deal,” he mutters, nonchalantly waving off the approaching bartender. “And I came running. So who is it?”

You jut your lip out into a pout, resting your elbows atop the bar before settling your chin against your palms, sparing only a moment’s thought for how low the neckline of your dress must be dipping with the switch in position before casting the worry out of your mind. Were any other man your company tonight, you might have felt more concern for your modesty, but Spencer Reid was far from being anything like most men, and, honestly, the day you caught him checking you out was the day you mentally marked another tally on your side of the metaphorical score board. “Why’s it always straight to business with you?”

“Because—“

“No ‘hello’,” you go on, skirt riding further up your thigh as you cross your legs over each other. Not even a spare glance. Damn. “No ‘how are you,’ no admission of your undying love for me. If you’re not careful, Spencer, you’re going to start hurting my feelings.”

“No offense,” Spencer retorts, sounding particularly unconcerned with whether his words actually offend you or not, “but your feelings aren’t exactly my top priority right now. Arresting whoever this man is before you take it upon yourself to brutalize him is.”

“Well he’d deserve it, if I did,” you tell him matter of factly, swirling the contents of your glass as you pretend to be more interested in that than the eye-catching man just beside you. “This one likes to take advantage of young girls in clubs who accept drinks from strangers because they don’t know any better and still think there are nice people left in the world. Sometimes he keeps track, like it’s a game, and tries to see how many he can assault in a night, and this most recent time three of them made it home all right, but the fourth one turned up in a dumpster. So, yeah, Spencer, you’ll have to forgive me for figuring that if he ends up in a back alley with a couple of bruises and a broken leg he probably got what was coming to him, but don’t insult me by implying that I don’t know how to keep a promise.”

“If broken legs and bruises were all you left men with it wouldn’t be such a problem,” comes Spencer’s dry remark. “Unfortunately for the both of us, you seem to have a particular affinity for leaving men in comas.”

An affinity with which Spencer was all too familiar, you knew — not because he’d fallen victim to your habit of enacting revenge for all those poor defenseless victims, but because he’d caught you in the act with someone else. Two years later and you still weren’t positive how he’d managed to track you down. Spencer had told you minimal things — that an acquaintance on the city’s police force had reached out for his advice on a mysterious case of incapacitated men turning up in dark alleys, rarely little more than a few minutes away from going brain dead. That he’d been surprised to realize you profiled as female, considering the amount of unadulterated rage your behavior presented. That he’d made the decision to do what he could to keep from turning you in provided you help him be able to do so with a clean conscience before he’d even found you standing over some man with a white-knuckled grip on a tire iron.

“Give me your word that you’ll contact me first,” he’d instructed, a shockingly small amount of hesitancy glinting in his irises. “Give me your word that from the moment you call me, I have twenty four hours to find you so I can take care of all those awful men the right way. If I don’t make it in that time frame, they’re fair game, but if I find out that you laid a finger on them before you called me, I’ll personally see to it that you do time for every single man you’ve hospitalized. Can you agree to that?”

And you had. Partly because you had no interest in spending any prolonged amount of time behind bars, and partly because the odd sense of emotional recognition he’d gazed upon you with had been so unlike anything you’d ever been met with from another human being that you were essentially startled into instant complacency.

“He’s in the bathroom,” you sigh, downing the rest of your drink and flagging the bartender down for another. More for show than anything else, though you know the theatrics aren’t strictly necessary. Your drink of choice while out with company is much more coke than it is rum, and after two years there isn’t any doubt in your mind that Spencer is aware of that. “Has been for a while now, as a matter of fact, because he’s pompous and arrogant and wants to make sure the bait is set right for the barely legal girl he’s meeting here tonight.”

“Don’t suppose you want to share with the class the barely legal method you used to figure that one out?” Spencer deadpans, plucking your new drink from the bar and draining a few healthy sips before you even have the chance to reach for it. That’s something he’s never done before, though you suppose his repulsion to germs wouldn’t factor in one way or the other since the drink was fresh. But Spencer never indulged in alcohol around you, and was always incredibly careful to keep his guard up during these meetings. Either he was playing a different angle tonight, or something in him had drastically shifted.

“Only if you want to share with the class why I’ve been tailing this guy for two and a half weeks while you dodged my phone calls,” you retort, never breaking eye contact as you grab the glass and tilt the rim to your mouth, in just the same place that Spencer’s had been. You think you see a vein in his neck pulse as you swallow, but you can’t be sure whether the lights are playing tricks on you, so you decide not to count it. “Not like you to leave an innocent man’s life in my hands.”

Spencer arches a brow, eyes narrowing as he searches your face for something you’re not sure about. “Not like you to wait to hear back from me before doing anything about it.” He pauses, then, and more to himself than to you mutters, “And I’ve never said they were innocent.”

“Guess you’re right,” you mutter, shrugging a shoulder and leaning back in your chair as you let your eyes scan around the restaurant. The man you’re looking for is still nowhere to be found, and with the way your nerves are beginning to fray beneath Spencer’s all too calm and collected scrutiny, it’s hard to get ahold of your imagination as it barrels toward the worst case. “He’s still not back.”

“He’s probably still in the bathroom,” Spencer offers, giving an unconcerned shrug of his own. “You said he was a primper.”

“It’s been almost twenty minutes,” you shoot back, fixing him with a harsh stare. Normally you’d bother to be a bit more vivacious when speaking to Spencer, even in spite of your own irritation, but the sinking feeling in your stomach is making it impossible to pay attention to niceties. “That’s never happened before. Something’s wrong.”

“I’m sure it’s nothing.” But even to you Spencer’s words sound hesitant, like he’s trying to convince rather than tell, and somehow his lack of confidence only serves to make your throat that much thicker. “He couldn’t have left already, you would’ve seen him.”

Yeah, you would have — provided you hadn’t allowed every ounce of your attention to be monopolized by Spencer. You’d been so preoccupied with trying to appeal to his attention, so hung up on matching him wit for wit and taunting and tempting him with bared flesh and sultry gazes that, truthfully, anything could have escaped your notice in the last couple of minutes. Anything. And if some poor girl ended up preyed upon, if she ended up beaten or assaulted or worse, it wouldn’t be as simple as blaming the monster taking advantage of her. You wouldn’t even be able to blame Spencer for distracting you. No— the only person you’d have to blame would be yourself.

“He’s gone,” you breathe, horror a jagged knife twisting in your stomach. Your hands shake so badly that Spencer has to uncurl your fingers from around your glass so he can set it gently down for you. “God, he’s— I let him get away. He’s gone.”

“Don’t work yourself up,” Spencer insists, and if you weren’t sure your panic was playing tricks on you, you’d have sworn you saw his hand reach out to comfort you, just as you saw apprehension tensing his expression. Of course the one thing it took to get a reaction out of him would be unbridled panic. “Listen to me, everything is fine.”

“Not for whatever girl he decided he liked enough to blow off his date for!” you hiss, and it’s a strain to keep your volume low enough not to attract the attention of any other patrons, but you manage. “We need to— Spencer, we have to stop him! He’s going to hurt somebody!”

“Okay,” Spencer tries to calm you, quickly moving to his feet. You can’t get a read on the way he’s looking at you, can’t tell if he’s taking you seriously or trying to decide if he should make a phone call to he nearest psychiatrist, but he seems to be picking up on the urgency of the situation, so you make the choice to let it go. “Let me go check the bathroom to see if he’s still here. If he’s not there, then we can start worrying.” He turns, taking three steps towards the bathroom before spinning on his heel and coming back to say, “Just— stay here, okay? Don’t move. I’ll be right back.”

And as you watch his back as he makes the trek towards the restroom, you think about doing what he tells you to. Truly, you do. Spencer could walk into that bathroom and find the man you’d been planning to turn over to his custody and come back with him in handcuffs, unable to help leveling a handsome smirk at you by way of a silent I told you so. You could be panicking for nothing.

But… if there was even the slightest chance that someone innocent could be in the worst kind of danger, was it really worth leaving their fate up to a coin toss?

You’re on your feet as soon as Spencer’s out of sight, beelining for the exit and dodging between other patrons until your legs have carried you out the door and immediately to the dimly lit corner of the block, lined with the closed shops and darkened alleys the man you were after would need to get away with the unspeakable acts he planned to commit. Even as you book it to stop what you know in your gut to be happening, you can’t help but to hope that Spencer had been right. Things would certainly be easier to stomach, were that the case.

But, as you’d somehow known with sickening clarity, the closer you draw to the dark alley gaping between the buildings down the street, the more prominent sounds of a struggle become. You heard a man’s voice — deep and angry and enough to set your hands shaking and your mind blazing with fury — and then, beneath that, the muffled, whimpered cries of a young woman, the sounds of which were so pitiful that you didn’t need to have laid an eye on her to know that she was already sobbing. After that, all thoughts of Spencer effectively flew out the window. Suddenly all there was in your mind’s eye was you, some poor innocent girl having the worst night of her life, and what you were going to do to ensure that nothing bad befell her or any other girl ever again.

“Hey!” you screech, running head first into the alley. “Get the fuck off of her!”

There isn’t any time to survey your surroundings, to take stock of the fact that the man you’d known would be out here was in the process of brutalizing a young woman — one who looked to be barely more than a teen, to your unadulterated horror — nor was there time to really assess what you were barreling toward. All you knew was that your body moved of its own volition, and it was much too late to think things through once you’d collided so forcefully with the assailant that you’d knocked him bodily to the ground. It was too late to second guess yourself now, to wonder whether it wouldn’t be smarter to wait for Spencer, who could actually, legally take care of this guy. The only thing that mattered now was getting justice for everyone who had been too incapacitated to stand up for themselves.

“What the fuck?” the man hisses from beneath you, but you’re already whipping around to get a look at the frightened girl staring down at you. Her eyes are rimmed red, tears trailing down her cheeks, and to your morbid relief, you note that she appears to have no more than an expression of horror on her face.

You’d made it in time, then. By the grace of some higher power, you’d made it in time.

“There’s an FBI agent in the bar down the street,” you bark at her, struggling against the brute strength of the man you were trying — and failing — to keep pinned down. “His name is Spencer Reid. Find him.”

And that was all you had to say before she was running off down the alley and out of sight, the mercy of her safety striking such a psychological chord that you were just distracted enough for the man beneath you to throw a punch that successfully manages to clip you on the jaw, causing stars to swim in your vision as a result.

“Who the fuck do you think you are?” he hisses, quickly pushing himself to his feet and leering over you with a sneer. It made sense that he was under the impression that he had the upper hand— were you anyone else, he likely would have, and you’d have been little more to him than a replacement for the target you’d just saved.

But you weren’t anyone else. You weren’t helpless, or defenseless, and you certainly weren’t about to let this lowlife get away with all of the things he thought he was. No — you were someone hellbent on making a lasting difference in the world, and if that had to start with this guy getting his head bashed in, then so be it. You were down a tire iron, but your rage was weapon enough.

You wait until he grabs at your shoulder, waiting for just the right moment as he fully extends his elbow before punching as hard as you can against it in the opposite direction, not pausing to hear the sickening crunch of his bone snapping before rolling to the side, jumping to your feet, and subsequently kicking out his knee with a high heel clad foot. His howls of pain are equivalent to music in your ears, but you don’t pause to revel in the sound before you continue on with enacting your justified persecution. In this moment, you aren’t yourself. You’re not sure who you are, as a matter of fact, but you know it isn’t someone willing to let this lowlife get away with the mass amounts of pain and terror he’s inflicted on so many innocents.

“You like that, baby?” you snarl, letting your foot fly against his unprotected ribcage over and over again between sentences. “Does that feel good? Hmm?”

“You—“ The man cuts himself off with a hacked cough, spluttering and moaning as blood trickles down his chin. You’re not sure if that’s because you’ve kicked him in the face without noticing or because you’ve done enough damage to have already caused internal bleeding, but you’re not overly focused on figuring it out. “You psychotic— bitch,” he spits, and the hatred he gazes up at you with is so potent that you can’t help the wicked grin that curls across your mouth in response.

“That’s right,” you murmur, hovering your foot over the center of his chest for just a moment before digging your heel into his sternum. The harder you press, the louder he roars, and the louder he roars, the more you’re inclined to ensure that his screams continue. It’s a vicious cycle, but one you’re much too fond of to let go. “I’m a crazy, psychotic bitch because I’m a woman who stands up for herself and other women, and because I won’t let shitbags like you take advantage of us. Do you even know how old that girl was?”

His face contorts in pain, hands flying to your ankle in an attempt to pry your foot off his chest, but with one arm out of commission and pain proving to be too much of a distraction, he doesn’t manage to make any significant progress in alleviating your attacks. “Fuck you,” he hisses, but even to your ears, the vulgar words sound weak and reedy.

“I’m sure you’d like to,” you shoot back, digging your heel in that much further. You wait until you see tears welling in the corners of his eyes before letting any of the pressure up, and when you’re sure he’s hurting too badly to try and pull a fast one on you, you step off his chest and kneel to the ground, straddling his torso before your hands snake up to form a necklace at his throat. “You’re not used to girls fighting back, are you? You’re not used to anyone putting up a fight, and because of that you think you can just take whatever you want. Is that right?”

His eyes bulge out of their sockets as you begin to squeeze, hissed obscenities caught in his throat with nowhere to go, and the more he claws at the manacles your hands form, the tighter you let your grip become. It’s power, what you feel as you reconcile with the fact that you’re now quite literally holding this man’s life in your hands, and for a moment, you forget everything else. That you were only in this situation because you’d set out to save someone, that you’d sent that very same someone to go and fetch Spencer to come resolve all of this, that you weren’t an angel of death enacting revenge upon those who rightfully deserved what was coming to them. All those things washed away in the night, in just the same way as the beginning rainfall washed the man’s blood onto the ground in runny pink ribbons. It was only you and him, now. Nothing else mattered.

“You know, it’s men like you,” you snarl, squeezing so tightly against his throat that your knuckles go white and your fingers stiff, “that make people afraid to walk home alone at night. To send their kids off to college, to let their little ones grow up and experience the world. Because there are always— always monsters like you just waiting to take advantage of us. And no one’s ever made you pay for that, before, have they? That’s why you’re still so cocky, and confident enough to pull this shit out in the open because you know you’ll get away with it.”

Distantly, in the back of your mind, you think you hear someone calling your name. It’s hard to say for certain; with how focused you are on enacting revenge, on making sure this lowlife feels every single ounce of pain he’s ever managed to inflict on another unsuspecting human, your senses aren’t left with much more of an attention span. Even if they had been, you wouldn’t have bothered using it. Your fury, burning your nerves like hellfire, proves such a strong beacon of desire that you have no choice but to indulge. It feels good, the way his breath catches beneath where the heel of your palm digs into his throat, and you can tell by the way his eyes are beginning to cloud that if you keep it up, if you press just a little harder, squeeze just a little more—

Warm, strong arms snake around your middle, forming an inescapable cage of iron trying to pry you off the man beneath you, and the primal snarl that rips from your throat in response is a clear threat, but it does nothing to deter them. Hyperfixated as you are on finishing the job and ensuring that the man on the ground never lives to breathe another day, you don’t have the attention to spare, but your subconscious takes in the sharp scent of cloves filling your nostrils, the soft brush of curls against your shoulder, the domineering grip shackling your wrist maintaining a surprising air of gentleness. Your name is hurriedly whispered into your ear once, twice, three times, and by the fourth round you realize they’re not whispers at all — they’re shouts.

“Let go of him,” Spencer barks, bruising your ribs with how harshly he yanks you backwards. “Listen to me, listen to me. Let go of him.”

“Get off me!” you hiss in pain, stars dancing across your vision as you feel a slight bend in one of your bones, throwing an elbow back in retaliation. It lands square on his chest, and though the resulting grunt of pain he gives is certainly satisfying, it isn’t worth the grip you lose on the man’s neck. Once you’re down by one hand, it isn’t at all difficult for Spencer to wrench the second one back, and before you know it you’re a good ten feet down the alley, kicking and screaming wildly against Spencer’s grip as the monster you’d nearly strangled to death sputtered his way back to life.

“Calm down,” Spencer snaps, voice deep and low in your ear as he adjusts his grip around your torso so that you’re more fully pressed agains his body. “You need to breathe, do you hear me? Snap out of it. She’s okay. You got here in time and she’s okay. She’s safe, and you’re safe. Calm down. Calm down.”

You want to tell Spencer that he’s wrong. That you can’t be safe, that no one can be, so long as the man groaning on the ground across the alley is allowed to keep breathing. That this man can’t be allowed to live another day, waiting for the next opportunity to take advantage of an unsuspecting stranger who didn’t know any better. That it would be better to put him down now than to wait around for him to fuck up all over again, to ruin someone else’s life.

So you do.

Or, you try to. But all that manages to leave your mouth is little more than bent sobs and broken screams.

“It’s okay,” Spencer goes on, “it’s alright. Everything’s alright.” He uses the grip he’s got on your arm to spin you around, muffling your sobs as he brings your head against his chest and keeps it there with a gentle hand rested against the back of your head. Your body’s shaking so badly against his that, with your eyes still closed, you’re certain you’re still struggling to free yourself from his grip. It isn’t until you feel your fingers — numb with cold and shock and adrenaline — curl into his jacket that you realize you’re holding onto him for dear life. “Just breathe. Just breathe. You’re okay.”

“He was going to—“ You cut yourself off with a choked sob, shaking your head profusely. “He was going to—“

“I know,” Spencer murmurs, “I know. You don’t have to explain, just breathe.”

You hate this — that he’s caught you in such a vulnerable position, that he’s bearing witness to the rapid decline of your mental state. You hate that this is what it took to finally get him to wrap his arms around you, to offer words of reassurance and certainty rather than fixing you with unimpressed looks and exasperated eye rolls. Most of all, though, you hate that he’s now seen you at your worst, and that, going forward, he’ll never quite be able to dissociate you from the monster you truly are.

You don’t know how long he holds you there, murmuring insistent reassurances into your ear as he holds you gently to his chest. For how at odds it is with every other interaction you’d had with him — those ones where he’d roll his eyes, wave you off, regard you as little more than a vapid, spoiled brat who was all too used to getting her way — it’s nearly impossible to reconcile how you’d grown used to being treated with how you were being treated now. And though it’s certainly the last thing your mind should be focussing on, though you really don’t have the mental capacity required to work through this on top of everything else, you can’t help but come to the realization that you’re actually quite fond of the change.

A voice from across the alley cuts through the careful atmosphere of misguided comfort Spencer has crafted for you, and though he won’t let you turn around — actually goes so far as to squeeze his arms more tightly around your middle so that you can’t — the very sound of the man’s voice sends you dangerously close to the edge of the precipice all over again. “Are you… the fed that bitch was talking about?” His voice is hoarse, and half his words come out in broken hacks. It’s childish in the most juvenile of ways, but you can’t help the twinge of satisfaction that sparks to life in your blood. “Arrest her! She tried to kill me!”

“Actually,” Spencer mutters darkly in response, “from where I’m standing and from what that high school senior told me, she was only trying to stop you from committing assault. If anyone here is getting arrested tonight, it’s you.”

“Are you— are you fucking serious?” The blatant shock shooting his cracked voice up two octaves might have been funny, were the situation that led to it not so horribly severe. “She broke my fucking leg!”

“Thing is,” Spencer shoots back, never even missing a beat, “they do a lot worse to rapists in prison. I’d know— I’ve seen it.” The way his voice drops as the words tumble from his mouth catches your attention, but you don’t have the time to properly contemplate asking why before he’s going on. “You ask me, she went a little too easy on you. Remember that when you finally get what’s coming to you.”

And then Spencer’s calmly leading you away, maintaining a gentle yet firm grip on your waist to keep you from trying to look back. Even if you could, you don’t imagine you’d be much inclined to. You have no remorse for what you’d nearly done, and, truthfully, you’d left men in far worse states in the past. You know that; Spencer does, too. Yet, even in spite of that, even in spite of the fact that this was the second night he’d born witness to you attempting to kill a man, his touch on your body remains soft, and he curls over you like a protective blanket.

“We can’t just leave him,” you find the strength to whisper once you’ve put a healthy amount of distance between you and the alley’s opening. The street lights grow brighter the closer the two of you get to the bar, and you’d never admit it out loud, but it makes you feel that much safer. “He’ll get away. You need to… you need to go back.”

“I called the police as soon as I went to go check the bathroom,” Spencer tells you, leading you back into the safety of the bar. Suddenly surrounded by the sounds of raucous laughter and joyful whoops, it’s almost easy to forget what just occurred outside — almost. “They were on standby in case anything went wrong, but I had them hang back until I could get you out of there safely. They’re probably in the middle of cuffing him now.”

“And the girl?” you ask, so dazed that you don’t even protest or make any sort of snappy remark as Spencer gently helps you into a secluded corner booth. “She’s... you made sure she got home safe?”

“I called her a taxi and gave her my phone number,” Spencer answers, fixing you with as reassuring a stare as he can manage. “She’s going to give me a call in the morning about pressing charges. She was scared and a little banged up, but he didn’t... nothing happened. You stopped it before it could.”

You’re too weak to do anything with the knowledge but nod and sink down to the table, protectively covering your head with your arms as you squeeze your eyes shut and try to breathe. Dark thoughts, thoughts twisted in rage and a deeply intense need to protect, continue swirling through your mind, and if you’d thought catching your breath was impossible before, it’s effectively become something of an Olympic sport now, though the reasoning for why effectively evades your understanding. What you’d been through tonight, what you’d been ready to do to that man — if he could even be called a man — isn’t anything that’s never happened before. Hell, scum like that were the very reason you’d gotten caught up with Spencer in the first place.

But… something’s different now. You can tell by the way the oxygen rattles through your lungs, the way you can’t still your shaking fingers as they clatter against the tabletop. You don’t know what it is, where it’s come from, or how to stop it, but it’s there, and you can feel it.

Fingers softly brush up against one of your wrists, startling you so forcefully from your reverie that you can’t help the cry of shock that drops from your mouth as you yank your arm back with as much urgency as if you’d been burned. Seconds pass, then ten, then thirty, and even as your subconscious mind works double time to interpret the concerned light in Spencer’s eyes in response to his touch, you remain unable to fully come back to the present.

“You need to eat something,” he tells you, casting his eyes back down to the table. It’s a testament to how much time has passed that there are now two glasses of water covered in condensation that, up until this point, you’d not even been aware were present. “It’ll help with the shock.”

“I’m not going into shock,” you mutter, squeezing your hands together and resting them in front of you. Spencer catches sight, but if he has something to say about it he keeps it to himself. “And I’m not hungry. I just want to go home.”

“And I’ll take you there,” Spencer responds, metaphorically digging his feet in. “But you need to eat something first. And drink water.”

You roll your eyes, shakily moving to stand. “I’m not—“

“Sit down.” The hard glint in his eyes, sharp and metallic as a knife, makes it clear that he isn’t asking, and against your stubborn will, you immediately do as he commands. You want to think it’s simply because you’re too tired to fight back rather than too frightened or intimidated, but then, you can’t quite be sure. At least, not until Spencer leans across the table, insistently holding your gaze in something that you think might be a warning, and it’s only now that you realize he’s been holding back his frustration in favor of seeing to your needs, just as his composure begins to slip. “I told you to wait for me at the bar.”

“Yeah, you did,” you respond with a halfhearted roll of your eyes. “You should have known better.”

“No,” Spencer shoots back, “you should have listened to me. Instead you went and broke your word, all because you had something to prove to yourself.”

You can’t help but scoff in disbelief at Spencer’s implication, momentarily startled into genuine speechlessness. Those words hurt — so much so that you really weren’t inclined to admit that they did, lest Spencer think he have more power over you than you were actually willing to give him. So instead, you pushed back the hurt and leaned into the rage. It wasn’t healthy by any means, but at this point, you’d try just about anything to cut through the debilitating numbness medicating your senses at the moment.

“I didn’t break shit!” you hiss, repressing the urge to scream. “And if you really think I did what I did because I was thinking of myself, then you’re just as bad— no, scratch that, you’re… you’re even fucking worse than the rest of them!”

And you expect Spencer to launch some scathingly cruel insult back at you, one that cuts you deeper than you’d ever known words could be capable of, because Spencer’s a genius, after all, and he’s kept up with you enough over the years that he knows how to make an insult hurt if he wants it to. To your admitted surprise, though, he doesn’t open his mouth and hurl knives your way; he doesn’t even look at you like he wants to hurt you, in the way that you’re positive you’re looking at him. Instead, he only blinks down at you, carefully analyzing the expression on your face and the fury in your words before giving you any kind of response. It’s more than you deserve, really.

But Spencer’s soul has always struck you as kind.

“You could have gotten yourself hurt tonight,” he sighs, shaking his head in what you think could be disappointment. “You realize that, don’t you? That what you did was reckless and ridiculously stupid?”

You bark a harsh laugh in response to that, shaking your head as you go on squeezing your hands together. “In case you didn’t notice, I wasn’t the one in danger. Believe me, you didn’t have anything to worry about.”

“You said he’s escalated to killing girls after assaulting them,” Spencer presses, and it’s only as you minutely glance down at the table that you realize he’s curling his hands into fists of his own. “Did you ever stop to think that if he’d managed to overpower you, that could have happened to you too?

“Well it didn’t, did it?” you snap, searching for the power to quell your sudden annoyance. You know it’s misplaced; Spencer’s only doing his best to take care of you, without saying as much in so many words. You should be happier for it; after all, hadn’t you spent years attempting to get Spencer to consider you? To leave lasting impressions on his mind? To sneak your way into his late night, private, personal thoughts? Sure, on the surface it had all been more for show than anything else, but… even if he’d never known the truth, you certainly always did. “I’m fine. Okay? Fine. I’m not going into shock—“

“You’re certainly acting like you are.”

“— I’m not having a panic attack—“

“Again, you could have fooled me.”

“— and I’m not hungry! Okay? I’m not! I just want to go home!”

And it’s lucky that Spencer had the foresight to seat the both of you as far away from the general population of the bar as possible, lest any of the unsuspecting strangers hear the two of you squabbling over something so harrowing, but even if he hadn’t, you wouldn’t have cared enough to bother lowering your voice. All of these people, laughing, chatting, obliviously participating in their good times, and all the while an innocent girl had nearly been violated just a few buildings away out on the street. It wouldn’t have been their fault — really, the only person that should have been held accountable was hopefully being dragged to the police station at this very moment — but the fact that life could so casually go on while a child had to suffer the worst night of their life in silence just didn’t sit particularly well in your throat.

You inhale a deep breath, squeezing your eyes shut as you brace against the inky misery staining your senses. When you open them again, blinking through the stubborn tears trying to form in the brim of your eyes, you find Spencer carefully considering your face, and all you can do is hope he doesn’t notice the way your lip wobbles.

“I just want to go home,” you say again, hardly managing to get the words out in anything above a whisper. “Please, Spencer, just… I don’t… I can’t be here right now. Please just take me home.”

It’s hard to say what exactly takes the fight out of him. It could be the way you’ve said his name, softly, desperately, pleading in a manor which you’re certain he’s never heard from you before. But then, it could also be the tears welling in your eyes, far more conspicuous a sight than you’d have liked and one Spencer had only ever been confronted with once before. Whatever it is that’s done the trick, it prompts the softening of his gaze, along with the gentle downturn of the curve of his mouth. Just out of the corner of your eye, you think you see his fingers dancing hesitantly over the table top as they steadily migrate closer to yours, and though he doesn’t try to make contact with you this time, he manages to offer you an inexplicable amount of comfort as his fingers dance in a mirror image of the motions of yours.

“Okay,” Spencer concedes, frustration fading out of his expression to allow concern to take the lead. “If that’s what you need, then okay. But— just, put this on, at least.” Before you can interpret his meaning, he’s shrugging out of his jacket and pushing it across the table, and before you can protest, he’s pressing forward stubbornly. “It’s raining outside, you��re shaking, and that dress is gorgeous but it’s not going to stop you from catching hypothermia. Just wear it until we get to the car.”

He’s not leaving you a choice, judging by the glint in his eye that makes it clear he isn’t willing to hear any back talk on the subject. You consider doing so anyway — partly because you’re not sure you’re in the mood to take orders from Spencer, no matter how emotionally distressed you are, and partly because you’re afraid the weight of his jacket on your skin and the scent of his cologne in your nose would be just a bit too intimate for you to handle in this moment — but ultimately, you do as he asks, grabbing at the dark bundle of fabric and wrapping it around yourself like a blanket of protection.

It’s… warm. And it smells good, too. Embarrassing as it is, concentrating on further inhaling the scent of it — of him — is nearly enough to instantly cause your hands to cease their trembling.

“Let’s go,” Spencer murmurs, offering his hand as he stands from the table.

Wordlessly, you take it.

––

Part Two: Something of a Dangerous Game

#spencer reid x reader #criminal minds fanfiction #cm fanfiction #spencer reid #mgg #matthew gray gubler #criminal minds #angst #hurt #comfort #semi fluff #unsub reader #tw assault #tw violence #tw language #tw blood mention

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aimeelouart · 3 years

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The Calamity’s Cursed Child, Part 2 - 1672 words, ASGZC, Cursed to Strife continuity

[Part 1] [Read it on Ao3]

It turned out that Cloud had showed up in the middle of nowhere, because Zack’s house just so happened to be in the middle of nowhere. Cloud wasn’t too surprised⁠—whatever the details of his curse, it tended to spit him out in the unluckiest possible position. Such as right on top of Strife’s empty grave.

It really was uncanny.

Zack explained, in their brief hike back to the house, that they all preferred the privacy and security of living in the middle of nowhere. They made trips back to civilization occasionally, to see their AVALANCHE friends or get supplies, but for the most part they were self-sufficient. It sounded...nice. Idyllic, almost. Cloud tried not to dwell on that for too long.

They paused at the front door and Zack looked at him nervously. He raised an eyebrow in response. They’re your boyfriends to wrangle, he conveyed with that eyebrow. Zack deflated a little. “Okay,” he said. “Uh. Just...be ready to dodge if you have to.”

Sephiroth moved from standing at his side to standing in front of him protectively, which was...a little trippy, but he rolled with it.

Zack took a deep breath and promptly slammed the door open, hollering “DON’T FREAK OUT!”

Cloud wasn’t entirely sure how that was supposed to help, but it was such a Zack move that he couldn’t help but grin and stifle a snort. Sephiroth was also suppressing a smile.

“What?” came a call from further in the house, laced with alarm.

“Zack what did you do!” someone else called, footsteps pounding down the stairs from the second floor.

“Nothing, just don’t freak out!” Zack said, stopping a few feet in the entryway. Cloud peered curiously out from behind Sephiroth’s towering frame. That was a mistake, maybe. Two sets of eyes from two alarmed former commanders locked on him as they came rushing into the front room.

“You!” they said, nearly as one.

“Seph, look out!” Angeal cried, pulling a broadsword from a nearby rack and blurring forward as Genesis cast a reflexive spell.

Cloud sighed. Sephiroth raised a Barrier. Zack quickly got between Angeal and the door, parrying with his own broadsword. “What did I literally just say about freaking out!” he scolded.

“Strife is⁠—!”

“He is not Strife,” Sephiroth said firmly, projecting his voice. He held one arm up in a very clearly protective gesture. “Calm down. I know how this looks, but he is not Strife.”

Cloud stepped out from behind Sephiroth so that the other two could see him, keeping his hands loose at his side. If they got a good look at him, they might calm down quicker. Assuming Strife was anything like Sephiroth, his battered clothing and timeworn face would be a very stark difference. He glanced between them and waited patiently.

Angeal’s hostility eased almost immediately, confusion furrowing between his brows. He lowered his broadsword. Genesis took a few seconds longer, eyes sweeping up and down Cloud several times before they settled on his face. Slowly, he frowned.

“I’m not your Strife,” Cloud said simply.

“Yeah!” Zack agreed, bounding over to sling an arm around his shoulders. “Can’t you tell by the cute face? And, you know, the lack of raging insanity and murderous intent?”

“Zack,” Cloud said reprovingly, elbowing his side. “That’s not helpful.”

Angeal huffed a laugh, then looked startled with himself for it. Zack pumped a fist victoriously. “Yes!” He cheered. “Okay, now that no one is trying to kill anyone else, this is Cloud but he’s from a different dimension and he’s going to sleep on the couch until he leaves.”

Cloud sighed and put his face in his hands. Even four hours of sleep was not enough to deal with Zack when he was like this. “Zack, please stop tormenting your boyfriends.”

“Aww, don’t worry Cloudy. They’re used to it!” He leaned in and added, sotto voce, “they’d be way more alarmed if I wasn’t acting like this.”

“Alright, Zack, you’ve made your point,” Genesis said, eyeing Cloud. “Enough with the theatrics. If he is not Strife, he deserves better hospitality than being left to linger on our doorstep.”

Both Commanders looked cautious but not hostile as Cloud was herded inside and Sephiroth shut the door behind them. Angeal was the first to step forward, after laying his broadsword on the coffee table. “Cloud?” he asked hesitantly, reaching a hand out toward his face but pausing half way.

“It’s fine,” Cloud told him. It was hardly the first time the grieving and the lonely had seen echoes of their lost lover, parent, or child in him. It seemed a theme, to be given what belonged to others⁠—both gentle touches and hateful wounds. “But you should know I never had a romantic relationship with any of your counterparts in my home world.”

“No?” Angeal asked, daring to close the distance and lay his palm along Cloud’s jaw. Like Zack, his thumb swept across the delicate, bruise-dark skin beneath his eye. “Why not?”

“Never met you. Never knew any of you, really, though Zack got the closest.”

The corner of Angeal’s lip twitched upward, just a little. “All things considered, I don’t know if I should be sad or happy for you.”

“Funny. I was thinking the same thing about you.”

Angeal stepped back, drawing his hand away. Everyone looked to Genesis, but the redhead just stood and watched with an unreadable expression. “You’re not our Cloud.”

Cloud couldn’t help but grin tiredly at that. “No, I’m not. I have to admit, it’s very refreshing to hear someone else say that for once”

Genesis looked away, closing his eyes, then huffed. A weary smirk crossed his face. “Infinite in mystery is the gift of the goddess. You could have fooled me. You talk like he used to. Act like it too.” Only then did he step forward, putting his hands on Cloud’s shoulders. “It’s the eyes that give you away. He never looked quite so…”

“Tired?” Cloud suggested archly.

“Worn. Zack mentioned you borrowing the couch?”

“That was part of the deal, yeah. I’ll be gone in about three and a half hours and I intend to sleep while I can.”

Genesis’s expression softened fully at that. “Of course.” He used the hands on Cloud’s shoulders to steer him over to a chair. Cloud sat willingly enough, after taking Tsurugi off and leaning it against the chair’s arm. “Just wait a moment and you can sleep.”

Like a well-oiled machine, the four men broke off to gather pillows and blankets, dim the lights, and generally make their living room habitable for sleeping. They worked fast. Before Cloud quite knew what was happening, he was laying down⁠—Tsurugi pressed against his side and boots on, as he insisted⁠—swathed in warm blankets and resting on a veritable mountain of pillows. He threw an arm over his eyes, mumbling something that might have been thanks, and dropped right off.

Of course, Cloud had long since developed the habit of sleeping without truly losing touch with his surroundings. How it worked, he didn’t know, but if he hadn’t he would have died quite a bit more often than he already did. So he heard, and retained the gist of, the conversation that the four men had around him.

“He looks half dead.”

“I know. Why do you think I insisted he come back here to sleep? He never said anything outright but I swear he was going to bunk down in a tree as soon as we left.”

“What happened to him?”

“I don’t know. He only said that he’d come from another dimension and that he was going to vanish.”

“He also said that he was not the one who Zack “usually” greeted with hostility. I believe he has been traversing dimensions involuntarily for some time.”

“He certainly looks it, poor boy.”

A hand brushed tentatively through his hair. He murmured nonsensically, shifting for a moment before settling back down. The hand resumed its motions as soon as he’d stilled.

“Is this what he could have been, do you think? Strong and selfless? Patient with us?”

A different hand traced the edge of his jaw. His mind whispered not a threat, and so he stayed asleep.

“He would have been a good man. The best, really. If only we could have…”

“Hush. We made mistakes, but our Cloud made his own decisions. And at the end...he was already dead and gone. We put a shell to rest, nothing more.”

“I know. I know that. But it still⁠—”

“—hurts?”

“Yeah.”

“I know, love.”

“...I wonder if he would have been better off like this. If he’d never met us.”

The conversation died after that. Cloud drifted along in silence until the burning sensation that warned of an impending jump became too intense to ignore. He sat up, rubbing the sleep from his eyes, then stood and slung Tsurugi across his back.

“What is it?” Zack asked from where he was sitting in an armchair. All four of them were in the living room, pretending they hadn’t just been watching him while he slept. Watching over him, if he was feeling generous, though he understood the impulse either way.

“Two minutes,” he murmured, rubbing at the old scar on his hip. It always burned a little more intensely than the surrounding unscarred flesh. “This is goodbye.”

Zack, of course, got up and hugged him so tight his ribs creaked. “Go get ‘em, tiger,” he joked, but there were tears in his eyes. Angeal’s parting embrace was wordless, as was Genesis’s, though the latter also pressed a chaste kiss against his temple. Sephiroth was the last, as the burning licked up into Cloud’s neck.

“Be safe,” the silver-haired man whispered, releasing him.

Cloud huffed a laugh, though it lacked all but the faintest trace of humor. “Yessir, General,” he drawled, snapping off a perfect salute.

The very last thing he saw was Sephiroth’s small, amused smile, eyes glistening wetly, before the world turned to white static and he vanished.

#ff7 #ASGZC #cloud strife #zack fair #angeal hewley #genesis rhapsodos #Sephiroth #my fics #Cursed to Strife #aimeelouwrites

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inlovewiththefictionalcharacters · 4 years

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COERCION AND HAVEN

CHAPTER - 5 : NOT AN IDEAL PLACE

Pairing: (dark) Steve Rogers x Reader

Warning(s): MCU spoilers, slowburn, Stalking, Obsession, Non - con, Dubious content, Kidnapping, Sexual themes, Strictly 18+.

*****

<- Previous Chapter

*****

To say that the team was shocked when he told them that he will be moving out soon will be an understatement of the century. They all immediately shot question after question at him.

“Why?”

“Did we do something that made you angry at us?”

“Did we hurt you?”

“Are you crazy?!”

“Have you gone nuts, punk?”

“Are you mad at us?”

“From where did this come from?”

“Why did you decide that, out of nowhere?”

All the while, Tony was the only one who remained quite while the rest of the team kept asking, talking, rambling and that went on and on.

But the most hilarious question asked was “How are you going to survive out there, all on your own?”

Steve sighed in exasperation. He wasn’t a five year old. Not appearance wise and definitely not chronologically. The team wasn’t giving him a chance to speak, let alone reply to any of their questions. At this point, Tony popped into the conversation.

“He’s a grown ass man. He’ll be doing just fine” he told them making all of them look at him.

“Plus, it’s not like he’s quitting the team. He’s just moving out and getting a life” Tony added.

“Are you saying that we don’t have a life?” Wanda asked.

“No, we do. He doesn’t. All he’s done till now is fight. Let him do something else now” Tony replied and walked out of the room, patting Steve’s shoulder as he left.

The team looked like they’re processing what Tony said and Steve followed Tony to his lab.

“Thank you, Tony” Steve said, entering the lab and billionaire just waved it off.

“Well, just so you know, I’m gonna add some upgrades to your new home before you move. Just some safety precautions. We all have enemies, cap. It’ll be better if we take some safety measures” Tony said while moving towards a table with what looked like a metal arm on it and Steve nodded.

“By the way, who’s she?” Tony asked while tapping on the screen beside the, setting some configurations.

Steve stilled hearing that.

“You know?” he asked after a moment.

“Of course, I do. You keep on going out in the evenings, come back at midnights, suddenly have loads of sweets with you, I connected the dots” Tony replied.

��Oh, by the way, Morgan may or may not have seen the wallpaper of your phone and asked me who that pretty woman was. I thought it might have been Peggy Carter, but Morgan said that the woman on your phone was not Peggy Carter and gave a three minutes 12 seconds lecture saying that she knows who Peggy Carter is” Tony added and Steve sighed.

*****

“You’re planning on doing what?!” Tony asked, as if he’s not sure if he heard it right.

Steve sighed “You heard me.”

“Yeah, I did. I mean, don’t get me wrong, I want you to get a life, but an abduction, cap? Do you know how much of a PR nightmare it’ll be if this gets out?” Tony asked with wide eyes.

“I’m aware of it, Tony. Look, I don’t have any other choice” he said.

“You do have another choice. Ask her out like any other sane person does instead of going out all caveman on her” Tony told him.

“Don’t you think I’ve already tried that?! She’d rather stay closed off from the whole world than go out on one single date! I’ve seen men trying to woo her, hell, I know I’ve tried to do that over the weeks and everytime I do that, she just closes off!” Steve exclaimed.

Tony dropped into the seat by his desk and sighed. He rubbed his face with his hand and asked “When are you going to do it?”

“As early as possible. I’m thinking about as soon as we come back from Hangar” Steve said.

“Wait, I thought we’re not gonna bother about Hangar for a few months” Tony said, siting up.

“Me too, but Fury sent an intel a few hours ago and trust me. Hangar needs immediate attention. The abandoned Hydra facility is showing a lot of secret activities, I’m afraid. Hill confirmed it with a few photographs sent by another Agent that was nearby the location” Steve said.

“When are we gonna strike? Do we even have the intel we need? And who all are going?” Tony asked.

“Yeah, we have the intel we need. We don’t need the whole team. Just Nat, Bucky and I. Sam will be staying as backup” Steve said and added “We’re going to strike on that base tomorrow.”

*****

This time, Steve approached her while she was locking the back door of the bakery after closing up. She turned around and a shriek left her when she spotted Steve standing right behind her.

She placed a hand on her chest and sighed out in relief.

“Captain America... Rogers... Steve... You gave me quite the scare” she told him and Steve had the decency to look embarrassed.

“Sorry about that doll” Steve chuckled.

Y/N just smiled and frowned.

“You didn’t come in today” she said.

“Yeah... Work happened” Steve said.

“A-are you going home?” Steve asked her.

Of course she’s going home. He knows that. The girl has nowhere else to go. And nobody else to go home to. Just her, all alone with that little plant that she placed by the window.

After days of following her to her home at nights, Steve started tracking her entire day schedule. Apart from the bakery, Y/N also works as a waitress at a diner and during her free hours, she goes back to her tiny apartment and spends her day, doing some chores at home and reading a book if time permits. The she gets refreshed and comes to the “Sugar Shack” to start her shift their and mostly, she’s the one who’s closing it. Steve also became brave enough to stalk her inside her apartment by hiding on the terrace of the apartment complex beside the one she lives in and gazes into her apartment. If he wanted to observe with a little more detail, he used the binoculars that he brought with him. He even took it upon himself to install some security cameras and keep them hidden inside her apartment, just for her safety. The place was not 100% safe and he didn’t want to risk it.

“Yeah, I’m heading home” she told him, looking down at her shoes and moving and curling her toes inside them.

“I was hoping that I could walk you home, doll” Steve told her.

That surprised her.

“What? Why?” she asked, not really liking where this was going.

“I have to talk to you about something. It’s already late now and I don’t want to delay you this late” he told her.

“But I don’t really live close” she told him, giving an excuse to just stop him from accompanying her.

“I don’t mind, doll” he told her.

Y/N thought about it. Really thought about it and came to a conclusion with a sigh. He’s Captain America. He’s pretty harmless. What could he do to me? Literally nothing was what she thought.

With that, she gave him a nod and Steve smiled at her. They both made their way to her place.

*****

Steve and Y/N reached Y/N’s place and stood right outside the apartment complex. Steve set his best acting face and looked around the area as if he’s seeing it for the first time, pretending that he has not been there a trillion times before. Hell, he has even sneaked into her apartment while she was not present or awake just get a little closer look at things. On their way back, they made some talk here and there, but nothing seemed important for him to come with her just to talk.

“So... This is me” Y/N said, turning around to look at him.

“Not an ideal place to live for a woman like you” Steve told her what he thought that first time he saw the place.

Y/N on the other hand didn’t know whether to get offended or not. Is he insulting the place or her? She didn’t have the answer to that. At the end, she decided to play it cool.

“Well, New York is not exactly and easy city to live in” she told him.

Steve smiled hearing that “Agreed.”

She too smiled at it and they both looked at each other.

A moment later Steve smiled and said “I won’t be coming to the bakery, doll.”

That surprised her.

“What?” she asked in surprise.

“I’ll be out of town for a couple of days. Don’t exactly know when I’ll return” he told her.

She frowned hearing it.

“Are you moving or something?” she asked him.

Steve laughed hearing that “No, doll. I have to go out of town on a mission.”

“Oh!” her voice held relief and Steve reveled in that.

“Yeah...” Steve tucked a stray lock of her her behind her ear.

“In the mean time,” he cupped her cheek and added “I want you to be careful around here and take care of yourself” while her eyes widened at this.

It was a strangely intimate act for two strangers who barely knew each other. But Steve literally knew everything about her. It was her who doesn’t know Steve.

“Do you hear me?” he asked her, make his voice more deeper, like he’s giving a command.

Her eyes widened a bit and she nodded quickly. She was not comfortable with this and didn’t know what to do. Steve on the other hand, read her like an open book. He just wanted to push things a bit more and dropped his hand to her elbow and caught it and moved closer to her, kissing her forehead. Her eyes widened and her skin flushed up her neck.

Both of them looked at each other’s eyes until she broke the eye contact, awkwardly clearing her throat. He loved how she reacted to him.

“Right umm... You too take care of yourself Capt- uh... Steve” she told him and Steve smiled.

“Will do, doll” he said and decided to put a stop to her temporary misery.

“Good night” he told her and she nodded “Good night. Take care” she said and quickly walked inside the complex, but not before casting a look back at him one more time before making her way to her apartment.

Steve waited till he saw the shadow of her silhouette by the window and started walking away from there with a smirk on his face, loving how she reacted to him.

*****

Next Chapter ->

*****

Taglist:

@mandiiblanche

@literalmcuhoe

@saiyanprincessswanie

@elegantcroissantplaidpony

@jevans2

@red--aren

@brownsugur

@justanotherintrovert

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perriewinklenerdie · 4 years

Text

Hand in my hand (Ethan Ramsey x MC)

Open Heart, Ethan Ramsey x MC

A/N: Hello, hello, hello! We back, how we feeling, fam? Everyone alive? When I say I got thrown into the writing pit after yesterday’s chapter, I mean I was *slammed* against the wall, not the first and certainly not the last time either. So, it is a rewrite of two scenes in particular, with my own twist and added touches cause I couldn’t help myself :D

Special thanks to my friend @strawberrwess for coming up with a line in here and letting me use it <3

AO3 link:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/24471001

Tag list: @paleweasels, @kittykatchoices, @valiantlychaoticbarbarian, @radlovedreamer , @usuallyamazinglyaverage, @strawberrwess @palestazure, @cordoniaqueensworld, @universallypizzataco, @princess-geek, @faithhasnowords, @mightyfangirlofthefandoms, @drakewalkerfantasy, @timmagicktoad, @laceandlula, @greywitchyshots, @llamasgrl, @gingerjane15, @bucket-harrington , @marywrites-things , @ethanplaysfavorites , @mfackenthal , @betelgeusebee , @simsvetements, @i-only-signed-up-for-fanfiction, @buzz-bee-buzz, @owleyes374, @cora-nova, @aworldoffandoms, @l822, @cream-ray, @ughhhxjazzy, @silverlitskies, @justendlesssummerfeels, @togetherwearerapture, @desmaranj, @edgiestwinter, @friedherringclodthing, @daisy-ashton, @waytooattuned, @choicesgremlin , @lapisreviewsstuff, @the-soot-sprite, @writerapprentice, @chasingrobbie, @choicesobsessedd, @x-kyne-x, @thisperfectmemory, @drakewalker04, @rookie-ramsey, @jlynn12273, @thepinknymph @dr-brianna-casey-valentine, @a-i-n-a-a-s-h @justanotherrookie

Enjoy! <3

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

The administrative office is strangely empty and quiet when they enter, the artificial lighting making the white of the walls and furniture even brighter. After making sure that they were alone, twice, for the good measure, Claire strode towards the desk, leaning forward to catch a glimpse of the screen. It was unlocked, there for the taking

“Is it bad that I was expecting that to be the case? Amateurs.” she muttered under her breath, causing Ethan to let out a laugh that he had to stifle. Claire sat down on the chair, clicking a few buttons on the keyboard, her eyes scanning the information before her. Ethan walked over to her side, putting his hand on her shoulder to get her attention.

“Let me, I’m more familiar with their system.” He spoke gently, their eyes locking for a brief moment when she stood up to make space for him, their faces in close proximity long enough for his thoughts to get swarmed with all kinds of images that threatened to overwhelm him and make him throw all this inhibitions to the wind and just reach for her.

Claire moved to the door, leaning against the frame, watching the hallway for anyone that might sink their mission. Meanwhile, Ethan took the seat and got to work. He combed through the files, looking for the name of the senator, but it proved to be more work than he anticipated, for his eyes kept straying to Claire. She was keeping guard, but more often than not, he felt her gaze on him, and found it incredibly distracting.

“Is there something on your mind, Claire?” he smirked, directing his attention back to the task at hand.

“I like looking at fine things, Ethan. That’s all.” She shrugged her shoulders, looking back towards the corridor. “So how often do you come here?”

“Very occasionally. I’m consulting on a research project with an immunologist which requires me to come by a few times a year, but I largely try to avoid the place.” Ethan answered offhandedly, his tone neutral for the most part, sparking up only when he mentioned his research.

“Because of Tobias?” after receiving no answer from him, she carried on. “Ethan, Tobias seems to enjoy messing with you.”

“Oh, he does. He messes with everyone, I’m no exception here.” He nodded after a moment of consideration, without delving into the memories too much.

“Even when you were friends?”

“Of course. After all, we were both troublemakers. But while I was direct with challenging my authority figures, he always was a prankster.” A ghost of a smile appeared on his face as he recalled his first med school year.

“Challenging your authority figures, huh?” Claire grinned widely, looking back outside to make sure they were safe before walking towards him. “Do you mind me challenging you, Dr. Ramsey?”

“No, as long as I get to challenge you too, Dr. Herondale, I don’t.” he looked up at her, electricity humming softly in the air around them. After a long, intense moment, he continued. “We had one particularly uptight professor with some… very outdated theories. Tobias swapped out his projector slides with rude drawings.”

“You draw?” she asked, surprised, laughing when he nodded.

“Yeah, I do.”

“Is there anything you can’t do? Actually, don’t answer that, I don’t think I want to know. Don’t burst the bubble for me.” Claire held her hand up, looking over her shoulder to check on their situation. “What kind of ‘rude drawings’ did you do?”

“What makes you think it was me?”

“Was it not you?” her eyebrow shot up in a question. He held his breath, fighting to keep a straight face, before ultimately failing and laughing warmly. “Thought so. So, what was it?”

“Some women and men in very revealing poses.” He admitted, his cheeks reddening slightly. Claire giggled, her eyes widening a bit. Nodding her head, she brushed her hand against his shoulder.

“If you ever need a model, hit me up.”

“I’m going to pretend I understood the last part of that sentence and accept your offer. Anytime, Rookie.” He mused softly, his hand moving to brush his fingers against hers, twining them for a short moment. Wordlessly, they spent the next few seconds, reveling in the quiet comfort of each other’s closeness. Eventually, they fell back into the everyday world, him going back to searching for the senator’s name on the long list of patients while she retreated to her previous spot by the door.

“Anyway, the professor did the whole two-hour lecture without one looking back to notice why we were laughing. Me? I always preferred calling him an idiot to his face.”

“Sounds like you.” she teased him, moving her weight from one foot to the other. “It also sounds like you two were having a lot of fun together.”

All he did was hum quietly, then his attention was focused solely on the task at hand. His smile fell as he sat back in the chair, confirming what they both were afraid of. “There is no Farrugia anywhere in the hospital. Are we sure June’s tip was reliable?”

“I think so… Could he be under a pseudonym? Would a hospital allow that?” Claire’s confusion was clear on her face as she walked over to him, leaning against the desk, folding her arms over her chest.

Ethan nodded, deep in thoughts. “It’s possible. But that means we need to figure out what a senator neither of us has ever met would use as an alias.”

“But it may not have been the senator who came up with the alias at all…” she trailed off, the gears in her head turning. Letting out a deep breath, she spoke up. “Okay, what do we know about Tobias? He would have been the one to admit the senator, and it seems unlikely he’d pick a name at complete random.”

“No, almost nobody would.” He agreed, leaning forward, resting his head on his hands.

“Can you think of any name that might have popped into his head? A relative, or friend, or-“

“Dwight Theodore Lewis III.” He stated firmly, a spark in his eyes. Claire shifted in her place, turning to face him more directly.

“Who?”

A smirk lit up his face when he recalled that piece of information. “It was the name of Tobias’s fake I.D. He kept it framed on his desk as a memorial to ‘all the good times’ they shared. He used it any time he needed to avoid getting in trouble.”

“Great.” She drummed her fingers against the surface of the desk in excitement. “So is there a Dwight Theodore Somebody the Somethingth in the records?”

A few clicks later, a file popped up on the screen and Ethan turned fully towards her with a wide and satisfied grin. “Room 734. That’s in the V.I.P. wing.”

“Kenmore had a literal V.I.P. wing?”

“There’s more than one reason I despise this place.” He muttered under his breath, sharing a knowing gaze with her. He opened his mouth to say something else when the voice of a woman reached their ears, indicating she was approaching them. They both froze, uncertain what to do. Not enough time to run and nowhere to hide, about to be caught.

With no warning, Ethan reached from his seat for her, his hand grabbing the front of her scrubs, and pulled her onto him. She stumbled, her knees hitting the chair, hands grabbing onto his shoulders to keep her balance. He looked up at her, eyes locking for a brief moment, and she couldn’t find a sliver of hesitation if she tried. His hands pressed firmly against her back, pushing her onto him even more, and with one, small movement from him, his lips touched hers urgently, like he couldn’t wait a second more, like he’d combust if he had to stay away from her.

The intensity took her breath away. Her heart stopped beating, only to pick up its pace the moment it came back to life, her head spinning. She twined her fingers into his hair, pulling on the strands to pull him closer, even though it was humanly impossible to do so. Their faces were as close as they could possibly be.

“Oh! Uh… Sorry!” the same female voice rang behind them, but neither noticed nor cared. Retreating footsteps were barely acknowledged, for they were far too gone. The lady closed the door to provide them privacy, making Ethan grateful, mostly because it allowed him fully sit her in his lap. He grabbed her by the hips and hauled her into the sitting position, her knees locking him down in the chair.

A soft sigh slipped past her lips when Ethan directed his kisses down her neck, moving aside his own lab coat, a bit too big and hanging loose on her body, then the material of her scrubs, to reveal the skin on her collarbone, teasing it lightly with his lips. Claire shifted on top of her, drawing a strangled groan from him.

Ethan stood up and carried her onto the desk, stepping in between her legs, kissing her like there was no tomorrow. His hands were running up and down her back, holding her in place, closely to him, while her fingers combed through his hair gently. Claire’s heels grazed against the back of his thighs briefly, preventing him from stepping away at the same time.

When the kiss finally broke, they were both out of breath and out of mind. He leaned away from her, with no enthusiasm, wanting nothing more than to dive back into her and never stop kissing her. Knowing that they both had duties to fulfil, he reluctantly moved back, though his hold on her never lessened.

“We should… We need to…” he panted as he spoke, his eyes darkened with desire. Claire nodded, grinning widely at how certain he was in all his movements.

“Room 734. Yeah.”

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

Her laughter ringed in the air as her and Baz ran out of the hospital through the main entrance, not daring to look back and see if Tobias was still following them. Just then, ever the savior, Ethan pulls up in front of them, slamming the brakes. He called out through the open window.

“Need a ride?” unsurprisingly, he was incredibly smug about it. Baz laughed, throwing himself towards the back seat.

“This is just like a movie!”

“My hero.” Claire giggled, opening and closing the door to the passenger’s seat hastily. She turned her head towards the building, just in time to see Tobias bursting out of the entrance. “Ethan, hit it!”

His foot slammed on the accelerator, the car speeding away, leaving Tobias far behind them. Looking back at his form that was getting smaller and smaller, she noticed his amused smirk. “Looks like this round goes to Edenbrook.”

She then turned back around, letting out a relieved laugh as her forehead fell against Ethan’s shoulder. He looked at her briefly, a soft smile lighting up his face. Claire leaned back into her seat a moment later, her breathing evening out.

“So, did our plan work?” he asked, relaxing when the tension left him.

“Like a charm. We should be expecting the senator to join us in the hospital soon.” She grinned, her heartbeat picking up when Ethan looked at her again, his eyes softening.

The silence was comfortable, a striking contrast to the adrenaline-driven events that took place just minutes ago. Ethan kept stealing glances at Claire, Claire kept on brushing her fingers against his, seemingly by accident.

“You two can hold hands, you know?” Baz’s voice rang from the backseat, causing them to freeze in their movements.

“We don’t-“

“Why would you-“

“Oh, come on. You couldn’t be more obvious if you tried. Both of you are flushed, your lips are bruised, not that I have any idea or want to know when you two found the time to make out on a mission. So, please.” He laid it all out for them, then leaned forward, grabbing their hands and joining them firmly. “Commit to it, dammit.”

Ethan fought the overwhelming smile, tried to bite it down, but ultimately failed and just accepted it, his fingers tangling with hers. Claire nodded, catching Baz’s eyes in the rearview mirror. He winked at her knowingly, then sat back in his seat with a satisfied smile.

#ethan ramsey #open heart #ethan x mc #mc x ethan #open heart fanfiction #choices fanfiction #choices #fic #fanfiction #ethan ramsey x mc #dr. ethan ramsey #mc x ethan ramsey

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