If your serious about doing the drabbles maybe some Royai of either 6 or 20, depending on your mood
Hello!!! I’m going with 6 because I was in the mood for something a bit silly. I hope you enjoy <3
6. “Is there a reason you’re naked in my bed?”
Riza turns the shower knob, cutting the water off with a firm squeak. She gathers her dripping hair in her hands and wrings it out and then grabs a towel off the motel bathroom’s rack to wrap herself in.
She should be meeting with the team in a little while so the Colonel can fill them in on what was discussed at his meeting tonight. She figures that gives her at least another few minutes to herself, so she takes her time in getting ready.
Trapped in her room’s small bathroom, the steam from her shower sticks to her skin in a humid sheen. When she opens the door, the fresh air cools her bare arms and shoulders. Between their initial meeting at Eastern, to the train, to the first night of their investigation, Riza realizes this is the first time she’s actually been alone all day.
Wrapping her towel more firmly around herself, she pads into the room, taking a seat on the floral-patterned bed. Its springs creak beneath her weight. The motel might be half a step higher than a dump, but as far as she’s concerned, it’s a place to sleep and best of all, it’s private.
Request: Can you make a Calum smut about him hating you but you have to tutor him but he has better ideas of what to do?
“It might help to open a book,” I sneered, crumpling up a blank piece of paper and tossing it at Calum, who was leaned back in a chair trying to balance a pencil on his nose. “If I have to waste my Saturday tutoring you, you could at least pretend to pay attention.”
He dropped forward, leaning against the table. “Or we could pretend we did all this studying and Monday, when I fail another test, you can tell our teacher that I’m a lost cause and you did all you could.”
“But I haven’t,’ I smiled sarcastically. "So open the fucking book.”
“God, you’re annoying,” He rolled his eyes, flipping the book open to a random page.
“You’re one to talk,” I snapped. “Now, do I have to go over compound-complex sentences one more time?”
“You’d like that.”
“What’s the supposed to mean?” Fortunately, we’d booked tutor room in the back of the library, because we’d surely be kicked out already. In the two hours we’d already been there, all we’d done was argue.
“It means you’re a know-it-all who likes to hear herself talk,” He replied, pulling his phone out.
“I’d rather be a know-it-all than fail my classes,” I growled, leaning on my elbows over the table challengingly. “So shut the fuck up and pay attention until five o'clock when we can go back to ignoring each other until next Saturday.”
“And if I don’t?” He replied, mimicking my movements.
Our faces were inches away from each other. His eyes were zeroed in on me, eyebrows furrowed creating a little crinkle at the top of his nose. His plump lips were fixed in a straight line as he obviously thought of a response to anything I could have replied with. His bare biceps flexed, a giveaway that I had successfully worked my way under his skin for the last time that day.
I hated him, and that stupid crinkle above his nose. I hated how he called me a know-it-all. I hated that he was letting himself fail when I knew he wasn’t a stupid guy. I hated his challenging smile and his condescending remarks and I really hated how much I was attracted to him.
With no threats or reasoning left, I leaned forward a little more and pressed my lips to his. He seemed surprised at first, but that was to be expected. It only took him a second to kiss back so forcefully that he actually stood up and leaned over the table, pushing me back in my seat a bit.
“The door,” He said against my mouth. I pulled away, grabbing a piece of paper and a ripping a piece of tape that was unnecessarily long, moving quickly to cover the small window on the door. Calum got up, too, approaching me from behind as I taped up the paper and sliding his hands up the bottom of my shirt and under my bra, giving my boobs a squeeze.
I let out a small laugh, biting my lip as he began to suck roughly on my neck. One of his hands moved downward, his middle finger finding my clit, using the palm of his hand to pull me back up against him. I let out a deep breath and leaned my head back against his shoulder. “It’s my turn to teach you a few things,” He said in a low voice, pulling me back to the table.
He used one arm to push all of the books and papers to the floor in a quick motion as I pulled my shirt over my head. He yanked down my jeans, taking my panties with them. Calum grabbed me by the back of my neck, pushing me to bend over the table.
“Y/n, I’ve heard you can’t keep the students that you tutor concentrated on their work,” He told me. “Being a bad girl comes with consequences.”
“Yes, Cal-” I let out a yelp as he laid a hard smack across my ass.
“Yes, Mr. Hood,” He corrected me.
“Yes, Mr. Hood,” I said obediently.
“Now, the student you help every Saturday. He tells me you distract him.. biting your pencils.. the way you bend over to get books off the shelf..” He dipped a finger into my slit, running his finger up to my entrance and slightly pushing it in. “Now how do you expect him to do his work with that going on?”
“I don’t know, Mr. Hood,” I squeaked, my knees shaking as he slowly pumped his finger in and out, curling it deep inside of me to find my g-spot.
“Well, he can’t,” He said, pulling his hand away and laying another stinging smack, surely leaving a hand print. “I’m afraid I can’t award you with volunteer hours if you aren’t really helping anybody.”
“Please, Mr. Hood,” I whined. “I’ll do anything.”
“Anything?” I could hear the smirk in his voice as he pulled his zipper down. I felt him rub his tip against my slit.
“Fuck me, Mr. Hood,” I begged.
“What’s the magic word?” He asked, pressing into me just a bit, running the tip down to my clit and sending a jolt through my body.
I panted, “Please, fuck me, Mr. Hood.”
He chuckled, thrusting into me so deep that I clutched the sides of the tables and squeezed my eyes shut. As he continued, I moaned and squealed along to the sounds of the chair legs scratching against the floor. Calum let out more of a groan than a moan as I felt him throb each time he pumped in and out of me. With all the teasing he had done, I had almost reached my limit as well.
He came inside me, grabbing my hips so tight that his fingernails dug into my skin. The sensation pushed me over the edge, my legs tensing up and my walls closed in on him as he pulled out for the last time. As I orgasmed, he got on his knees and licked me clean, clutching my weak knees as I whimpered in pleasure.
When I found the strength to stand, I pulled up my pants and leaned against the wall, gasping for air. He ran his fingertips up my bare stomach, and I was still so sensitive that just that alone was enough to make me moan again.
“You’re so cute when you’re out of breath,” He smiled.
“Next time, our session is at my house,” I gulped, closing my eyes.
“Fine,” He shrugged, leaning against the walls beside me. “But prepare for your grades to drop faster than your pants.”
eggsy is the dreamy lead singer of a popular boy and , and harry is the uncle that was dragged there by his niece/ nephew . ( I think I read it some but I cant remember where ) but juST IMAGINE + have a nice day . xx ~a.ju ♡
I’m not sure if you mean this is an IDEA you’ve seen
before, or if someone has actually written it elsewhere. I’m not even
sure if this was a prompt for the headcanons meme or just a hilarious
mental image! But I’m thinking about it now, so fuck it, let’s dance:
1) The thing about being a secret
secret agent, working in obscurity for the safety of the public, true
occupation hidden from loved ones for their own protection, etc. etc.,
is that you miss so many birthday parties and family dinners through
misadventure that when a very reasonable request is made of you by your
beloved sister, the only way to claw your way forward from your current
standing in negative points on the family duty scale is to just…meekly agree.
And that’s how Harry ends up as his niece’s escort to see some overgrown teenager (“He’s twenty-four, Uncle Harry!” Imogen says. “God.”) prance up and down under the lights of the O2 arena.
So he’s sitting in a sea of entranced young people, exchanging occasional brief, English, we’re-all-in-this-together
nods with various other parental figures, when his excellent view of the lad’s
gyrating hips and unnecessarily transparent T-shirt is suddenly full of
Arthur’s face, tinged with the red glow that denotes a Kingsman
“Galahad,” Arthur says, sounding relieved. “I don’t know how you knew, but well done for being on the ground so fast.”
foot stops tapping. With some irritation, he realises that he has no
idea how long it’s been tapping for. The music isn’t even any good.
“I beg your pardon?” he says.
And that’s how he finds out that there’s a terrorist plot to bomb the O2.