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peachesofteal · 4 months

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Simple Math / Part Seven

Simple Math masterlist

Ghost/Soap/female reader 4.8k words - AO3 Warnings-tags: 18+ MDNI. Brief suggestive content, sex dream. Mentions of domestic violence, stalking. Hospital setting, nurse!reader. Feelings of fear, anxiety. Mentions of stress and weight loss. Soft dads. Little bit of flirting. Simon is... Simon. You get caught in a spell.

Johnny knows this is a dream.

It’s an odd thing, to be conscious of it, to know you’re dreaming but still unable to control your actions. It’s like watching a movie of yourself, but also being yourself, directing your body without having a say in what it’s doing.

He knows this is a dream, because you’re in it. You’re in their home, in one of Simon’s oversized sweatshirts, boy shorts rucked up over the little lightning bolts that arc across your hips, the underside of your cheeks. You’re smiling at him too, like you belong in there, like it’s yours too, and his heart swells, growing to a preposterous size.

“There’s my bunny.” He pulls you into his chest, mouthing up your neck and over your jaw. Your skin tastes like sugar, and when he gets to your lips, his hands shift, sliding down your back to grab two fistfuls of your ass with a groan. “Missed ye.”

“We missed you too.” His fingers trace the edge of your panty line, barely dipping into where you drip for him. “Come to bed, Si’s waiting.” You whisper, stifling a moan.

“Johnny.” Simon calls him, too loudly. He wants to hiss, snap at him about not waking the baby. “Johnny!”

His eyes blink open. White ceiling stares back at him, and he turns his head, finding Simon with a bemused look on his face.

“I was havin’ a great dream.” Johnny grumbles, latching onto him. Simon scoots closer, lifting the back of his hand to his lips with a secretive smile, dotting kisses down to his wrist.

“I know.”

“- and he has access privileges, as long he’s not interfering with care, he’s allowed to be in the room whenever he deems fit. Obviously, in cases where he shouldn’t be, like burn debridement, he’s fine with stepping out, but you should expect him to sleep here.” The nurse nods, nervously peeking over your shoulder at Simon, who’s lurking in the hallway, staring through the glass at the transport techs getting Johnny settled in his room. You catch her eyes, motioning to redirect her attention, and she mumbles a meek apology. “They have a daughter, who Johnny has been mostly separated from since he got here, and he’s hoping to see her often, since she’ll be allowed to visit more freely now. I told him it wouldn’t be a problem.”

“Okay.” Her toes tap against linoleum, weight shifting from foot to foot, and you resist the urge to sprint back to her boss and demand someone else. Fuck. Why does Nora have to be on maternity leave?

“This is my favorite patient.” You warn her instead, dropping your voice low, pitching it brazenly serious. “I don’t ever want to see him back upstairs again, and that’s going to depend a lot on you.”

“Okay, okay.” Her work phone rings, and you jerk your head in dismissal, not quite finished, but not seeing a need to continue to harangue her, either.

Simon glances at you from down the hall, head turning once you’re alone. He doesn’t speak, doesn’t call to you, or say your name, but you’re helpless to the magnetic yank of his presence, a beam of gravity dragging you closer until you’re shoulder to shoulder, looking into Johnny’s room. He’s asleep, dark lashes feathered against his cheeks, blissed out and nearly snoring. “This will be great.” You say quietly. “He can see Penny almost as much as he wants down here. There are far less restrictions, and he’s doing so well, there’s nothing to worry about it.” He doesn’t say anything, just watches you with the x-ray vision that peels you open. Like he’s digging around in your head again.

“D’you have a minute?” You blink at him, graceful words dried out and missing.

“Uh, I… yeah, I’m technically off now so. Sure?”

“Have a tea with me? I’ll meet you outside the café, on the patio. Ten minutes alright?” Have a… have a tea with him?

His eyes are heavy. They’re lasered, locked onto yours, brows knitted together in something soft, some form of emotion that you don’t understand, framing his face above the mask. How can you say no?

“Okay, sure. Ten minutes.” You try to hide how your hands shake, tucking fingernail to palm, squeezing tight.

It doesn’t escape him.

You grow more afraid with each day, that nothing does.

The paper cup cradled in Simon’s outstretched grip is like every other paper cup you’ve seen before, drank from a thousand times, with steam wafting from its rim and aromatics spilling out into the air. “Sorry.” You blurt, reaching. His fingers brush against yours, warm contact momentarily stunning you. ‘Thanks.” You lift the tea to your nose, inhaling deeply.

Irish breakfast. With milk. Your favorite.

“How do you know what tea I drink?” You don’t mean for it to sound so suspicious, or aggressive, but it does. It’s nearly accusatory, but doesn’t affect him. He merely shrugs in response.

“I pay attention.” An engine turns over in the carpark, a small car sweeping across the lot as it turns out onto the street. You watch, feigning mild interest, trying to get a closer look at the driver without appearing too fixated. “So.” He sips, and then removes the lid, vapor rising from the top in a delicate little dance. “How long have you been at Addenbrooke’s?”

“A few years.” The answer is effortlessly supplied, like you’re under a spell. Your eyes go round. What are you doing? Crow’s feet crinkle at the corners of his own, and you manage a shaky smile.

“What brought you across the pond?” He jokes, velvet, soothing lilt in his voice.

“Work.” It’s easy to lie about this, the fabrication usually used in casual conversation almost every day with patients and new coworkers, people who are interested in you being from somewhere else, having a different accent, different education, customs, the whole lot. His jaw moves behind the mask, and before he can push the question further, you rush out your own interruption. “Simon, I want… I want to talk to you about something.”

“Sure.” He nods. “What’s on your mind?”

“It’s… the other night Johnny said something about,” Your face is nearly scalding, embarrassment laden lump stuck in the back of your throat. “about you and him, and… me, I guess…” you trail off, eyes darting down into the tea.

“Go on?”

“He said that you guys think I’m special, and you- you said-“

“That we’re here for you.” He finishes, nonchalant.

“Right.” You breathe a little easier, knowing he knows what you’re talking about, words picking up steam. “I want you to know that it’s totally normal to feel this way. It happens a lot, you know. Patients and, or their family members, loved ones, they get attached. This affection starts to happen towards a member of the care team because we become that person who… provides care, twenty-four seven. So, you and… and Johnny, feeling like you have this attachment towards me, it’s very normal. Not a big deal.” You finish in one big breath, cutting your ramble short. His cheeks swell behind the fabric, like he’s smiling, eyes squinting again.

“That’s not what this is.” That’s not… what this is? What does that mean?

“What?”

“Transference. That’s not what is happening here.”

“How do you…”

“I’ve had years of therapy.” He sighs. “Are you uncomfortable?” Say yes, the girl in your head screams. Tell him you need it all to stop. That you don’t like them, that it’s inappropriate. You know how this will end.

“No.” You don’t know why you don’t acquiesce to your own good sense, why you ignore the very clear boundaries and rules that have kept you alive this long.

“Bunny, I need you tell me, honestly, if you are uncomfortable.” He levels you with an intense look, seriousness bleeding from his irises to yours. You press your palms flat on the table, quelling their trembling.

“It’s not… it’s not you. Or Johnny.” You whisper, eyes slipping shut. It’s easier that way, to just close them, to hide. To pretend you’re somewhere else, to block everything out.

What the fuck are you doing right now? Your brain screams, but your heart wails.

What is it like, to be loved like that? To be known like that? To be held in someone's heart, cherished and protected?

“Sweetheart,” Simon’s voice is low, calming, and when you don’t answer, one of his hands folds over yours. “are you with me?”

“Yes.” You peek at him, and then fully let yourself look around, steadying the rancid fear that permeates through your body. “Sorry.”

“You don’t need to apologize.” He hums, hand still over yours. It’s warm, and broad, big thumb stroking a slow circle into your skin. “Is today your Friday?” You nod.

“It is, yeah. I’m… I’m looking forward to catching up on some sleep.” He straightens in the chair, shoulders and torso so unbelievably wide, like a long forgotten mythological god. Or the trunk of a massive tree.

“Will you have dinner with us, tonight?” The last of the orange red dawn spills over the crest of the buildings, and the world spins, cold sweat breaking out down your back.

“What?”

“Dinner, with us. I’m picking up takeaway for Johnny from his favorite place as a celebration, for graduating the ICU. We’d love to spend some time with you. Get to know you, if that’s alright.”

“Oh, I…” Say no, you have to say no, shut this down. It’s too much risk.

“No pressure. Just, hanging out, talking. As friends, if you like.” Butterflies thrash in your stomach so violently your knees bounce, and your heart leaps, pitching itself off a cliff like it wants to die.

“Okay.”

“Great. I can pick you u-“

“No! No, I’m fine. I have some errands to run after I get up for the day so, I’ll just meet you here.” It will be just like going to work. No harm, no foul. You can hang out with them, and go home, just like you’re at work. It doesn’t mean anything. It won’t.

You barely sleep. You pace, you nap, you thumb through endless craigslist listings in faraway cities for apartments, you read. You take the long way through the city back to your flat and slowly sift through pieces of your life that you want to keep. Your quilt from home, that’s been tucked away on a shelf. A sentimental trinket that belonged to your mom, also hidden in a drawer. These things that can be removed, without being noticed.

Not that it matters.

He hasn’t been here. Not since the sick shit he pulled with your underwear. It makes you curious when you inspect the undisturbed tape on the back side of the door, the light dusting of baking powder on the bedroom carpet, but not surprised.

It’s not unlike him, to make himself known and then suddenly disappear, the endless mind games partially intentional, and partially something not even he can control.

After all, duty calls.

He could still be in the city. He could still be watching. You don’t know anything for sure.

“Three things you cannot outrun in this world, babe. Death, taxes, and… me.” You mumble it to yourself, the same words that live in your head, in his voice, repeated, pulling a pair of scrubs from your dresser.

But you had been running, and still had your life to show for it.

It doesn’t matter, you know how this will end.

You’ve changed your clothes five times. You hem and haw in front of the mirror, trying not to look too closely at any one piece of yourself, switching shirt and pant combos until you finally settle on your usual, a pair of jeans and a long sleeve shirt. They’re high waisted, because low rise is not even within the realm of possibility for your hips, and you appreciate how they fit, even if they may sit a little loose right now, given your recent stress levels.

You look fine, you decide. You look professional. You don’t really look attractive, in any way, but the scars on your torso are hidden, and with a little bit of make-up, you think you look presentable. At the very least, you don’t look like you’re half asleep, which is exactly how you feel.

Not like it matters, you chide. This isn’t a thing; it’s just hanging out. You’re going to put an end to this entire charade, tonight.

The train is quiet, and you’re extra watchful. Every face, every movement is logged, every jacket or hat or hood is inspected. Posture, skin tone, height, of every person you pass or see is tabulated and run through your mind. Your brain, a supercomputer in its own right, does it all, seamlessly. It wants to protect you, it keeps you on guard, it can look at a crowd of twenty people all facing the opposite direction and locate a potential threat, just by the shape of the shoulders.

You don’t see him, you don’t feel him, your skin doesn’t prickle, and you let the lack thereof bring you peace, if only for a few moments.

Johnny’s floor is bustling. You wave hi to those you know, checking in with his nurse for a moment, letting her know you’ll be hanging out for a bit. She doesn’t even bat an eye, thankfully, and you try to settle yourself as you turn down the hall.

You’re not prepared for what you find when you knock on his door and slide it open, breath catching for a moment, and you scramble to cover your initial balk.

Their daughter is here. She’s cuddled up on Johnny’s good side, the one without the burnt tissue or recovering surgical wound. She’s asleep, wearing a black onesie covered in skulls, her head tipped back and mouth open, chubby cheeks and sweet little face perfectly content. She’s got her entire fist wrapped around one of Johnny’s fingers, holding it right under her chin like she’s afraid he might vanish while her eyes are closed. “Hey, bun.” Johnny whispers, smiling so wide, two fingers stroking through the wispy curls on top of her head. “We snuck in a visitor tonight.”

“I see.” Your heart trembles.

“Fell asleep right away, next to her Da. Been missin’ him these past few nights.” Simon chuckles, patting Johnny’s leg gently, affectionately. There’s a bag of take out on the table behind him, as well as what looks like an overnight bag, a purple duffel stuffed full. “Price is on his way to pick her up.” Penny gurgles, eyes blinking open in a sleepy daze like she knew they were talking about her.

“Ye’re alright, sh-shh, wee lamb.” Johnny coos. She’s half soothed by his words, but the lights in the room are far too bright, and her small noises waver into a cry, frustrated and tired. He tries move her, cradler her higher up his chest, but his face falls with pain, and Simon swoops in, pulling her into his arms. “Bunny, could ye-“

“Would you-“ They both try to ask at once, and you flounder once you realize the intention, a cranky, sleepy Penelope being pushed into your arms.

“I-“ she wails, interrupting you, bending you to her will without fuss, and you hold her closer, rocking side to side, humming above her ear. Just like the NICU, like a patient, like your stint in L&D, it’s fine, it’s-

“Sorry, sweetheart.” Not fine. It’s not fine. Heat burns in your belly. He can’t call you that, not when you’re holding their baby. “Thank you.” Simon says over his shoulder. He’s moving Johnny, lowering the bed slightly to help reposition him, and they speak quietly to one another, voices low enough you can’t make out any of the words.

“I can help you with him, if you want.” He waves you off.

“I need the practice, won’t have you around all the time anymore, yeah? And once he gets home…”

“Ach. ‘m not paralyzed. Jus’ uncomfortable.” Johnny glowers, pouting, and you roll your eyes, rhythm steady, gently bouncing, letting Penny cuddle into your chest, snuggling her face against your arm and side. She’s beautiful, precious and sweet, cooing herself back into a light slumber, and you smile despite yourself, still rocking after her eyes start to shut. “Knew she’d like ye.” He says softly, and you glance up, surprised by the intensity of their focus, heavy gazes fixed on you.

“She’s very sweet.” Your lips twist.

“She is.” Simon agrees. “We were happy to get her some time with her Da. Good for both of ‘em.” His fingers find Johnny’s cheek, and then their hands meet, a palm pressed to lips, a whispered a I love you.

An intimate moment, as you stand there with their baby in your arms.

“Alright, now that ye’ve done the hard work by gettin’ her back down,” Johnny gestures, urging you to step forward, and you carefully place her back in his arms. For a moment, your faces are level, and you get caught in his eyes, nerves strung so tight they could be a tightrope. “I’ve got her.” Weeks in the hospital, and he still smells like cedar and oranges, woodsy citrus that envelopes you, your lashes fluttering on the inhale. “She likes ye.” He murmurs, breath warm and tickling over your cheek.

“Well, she’s...” you straighten, hands smoothing down the front of your top. They’re moist, somehow, and you tuck them behind your back. “She’s a good judge of character, I guess.” Simon’s phone vibrates, Johnny’s plush smile turning dour, and he sighs.

“Okay baby girl. It’s time.” She cries a little, readjusting to Simon’s hold, and he slings the purple duffel over his shoulder, promising to be right back. Johnny nods, eyes downcast, and his face twists once the door shuts, cheeks turning red, staccato, hiccupped breaths coming fast.

“Hey.” You whisper. “Hey, Johnny.” The chair at his bedside creaks under you, and you lean forward, fingertips lightly caressing the tape residue that still sticks to his skin. You should clean that off.

“’m alright.” His shoulders roll, chin jutting out, brilliant blue gleam in his eyes returning, like storm clouds rolling off after rain. He’s silent for a beat, pinky finger folding over yours. “How was yer day?”

“Oh, it was… fine.”

“Simon said ye were goin’ to catch up on some sleep?”

“Yeah, I didn’t.” You laugh, and he smiles. “I feel okay though. Still awake at least.”

“I’m glad… ye came. I’m sorry if the other night, I was too… forward.”

“That’s okay. You’re just… so flirty, I don’t even know what to do with myself.” You tease, expecting to get a lighthearted quip in response, or a laugh, but he gives you neither, only a serious, sympathetic expression.

“I didnae mean to make ye uncomfortable. Felt terrible, when ye ran off, I-“

“I’m fine, Johnny. You… you didn’t. I mean, it was just… confusing, this is… this is a lot.” He nods.

“I know it is.”

“And you don’t even know me.” His brow creases, focus narrowed in so tightly on you, white walls, white hospital blanket, white everything falling away in a spiral of color.

“I know ye better than ye might think." He cracks a smile. "We want to, if ye’d let us.” No, you don’t. You almost say it. Almost promise him that knowing you would be the stuff of their nightmares, that they have no idea what they’re trying to bite into, or bite off, a near guarantee that it would be than they could chew.

“Well, no harm in making new friends, right?” You entreat weakly, and his eyes flash, ethos of an entire life that you have no knowledge of slipping through, and the dark severity rumbling in his gaze sends a shiver down your spine.

“Aye, bun. Especially when they look like ye in a pair of jeans.”

Dinner is an idyllic affair. Johnny’s favorite takeaway turns out, is Indian, like yours, and the three of you talk for hours, trading bites back and forth, laughing and listening to stories, discovering little bits and pieces about their lives while running interference on personal questions about yourself, allowing them to dip in skin deep, skimming off the top but never getting further. They tell you about themselves, Penelope, their jobs, how they met, and Johnny confides in you about his sketchbook collection, pages upon pages of charcoal and pencil line work, portraits of Simon and Pen covering each page, landscapes, and the occasional cartoon. Your spine eventually starts to wilt, muscles liquifying into goo that can barely hold you upright, and you curl up in the armchair, chin on your palm, listening to the ebb and flow of their voices as they tell you a particular story about how they came to find their current home, a near slapstick comedy about an interaction with the previous owner. Their voices soothe your restless mind, wrap you in a cozy embrace that feels so safe, so comfortable that you can’t fight the languid, siren call of sleep, eyes drooping into darkness, drifting away on their melodies, content and too tired to rationally put together what’s happening. At some point, something covers you up, knit warmth that is tucked in around your shoulders, your feet, a tender touch on your neck and cheek. A whisper of affection soothes the unease that lurks in the background of it all, and you fall into it lazily, farther into the hold of sleep, something your brain and body are desperate for.

When the lights go dim, you don’t even realize, already lost to the sand of slumber.

Around midnight, you wake with a start. Your heart is racing, triple timing in your chest, and you squint in the dark, trying to parse together where you are, what happened.

Oh no. Oh god, did you fall asleep on them? Did you fall asleep in Johnny’s room?

Simon calls your name. He’s settled in a recliner, head turned your direction, mellow light from the little lamp spilling across his features. “Are you alright?” Your mouth is dry, the web of sleep that holds you in suspension finally starting to wane, fuzzy clouds in your head trying to clear without much luck.

“How long was I out?”

“Four hours.”

“I’m so sorry.” He shakes his head.

“Wanted to let you sleep. I know you were tired, and Johnny was out almost immediately after you.”

“Th-thanks.” Your back groans, muscle and bone grinding together, stiff from sleeping in a cramped position for hours, and you’re surprisingly unsteady on your feet. Simon’s out of his chair in a second, turning around the end of Johnny’s bed to offer you a hand, his other lightly resting between your shoulder blades.

“Easy.”

“Sorry… just… think ‘m more tired than I realized.” It’s dark, and you’re disorientated, woozy, tongue stuck to the roof of your mouth, limbs and lids still heavy and desperate to fall back asleep.

“I’ll drive you home.” His keys jingle, and you know you should reject him, refute this presumption, push him off, but you can’t string the right words together in your mind, can’t bring yourself to truculently pull away.

So, you don’t. And to your surprise, your shock, it feels… nice. You let him open the door for you, get you settled, you listen to his music on the way, city flying past outside the window, quiet hour of the night crawling by. You let him help you out of the car when you pull up to the curb, and when he asks if he can walk you up, your rational pugnacity is nowhere to be found.

“This is me.” You gesture to the door, fumbling in your wallet for your keycard.

“How long have you been in the hotel?”

“Oh, not long. Reno just started so…” His head turns, surveilling the hallway. You’re in an end room, far from the elevator but close to the stairs, as requested, and there’s a camera that sits on the ceiling, green dot consistently blinking. He glances at it, then back to you, head tilted.

“Are you safe here?” The world goes cold. Your stomach roils, blood draining from your face, and you try to hold yourself steady, mind turning over a million times. You’re overreacting. He’s just asking in a general sense. He doesn’t know. He couldn’t. Breathe. Deep breath.

“I uh, yeah. It’s got a deadbolt.” Along with a door stop alarm, and a security bar. He steps closer, so close that you can smell him, fresh laundry and musk, something spicy lingering there, something dark and enchanting.

“Are you in trouble, little bunny?” You’re in his shadow, beneath the stretch of a mountain, shielded by it, by a monolith so large it could blot out the sun. It overwhelms you, slows the racing pace of your mind, and you try to sort through the merry go round of feelings that are all trying to push their way out of your mouth.

You’ve never felt this. Never felt this… desire, to entrust someone with your life. Never felt this… attraction, this hold that the two of them have on you.

It makes you want to trust them. Makes you want to lay it all out and beg them to help you. Makes you want to close your eyes and leap, praying they’ll catch you.

It’s wicked. It’s dangerous. It’s a fool’s errand.

It’s unfair.

“No.” You whisper. You can’t look at him, and time slows in the silence, your anxiety piquing. Of course, he would assume something is wrong, after witnessing the panic attack. Don’t read too far into it.

“But you wouldn’t tell me if you were, would you?” He’s pragmatic, yet still kind, watching you with intent. It doesn’t allay any of the stress that’s building up the back of your throat and closing it, cutting you off from the oxygen you desperately need.

After an eon, he sighs.

“Okay, sweetheart. You can keep your secrets. For now.” You choke.

“I… I should probably-“ you jerk your head towards the door, half turning away to swipe your keycard.

“Alright.” He moves carefully, dipping low, and you stand immobilized, confused and quivering as his cloth covered mouth presses a slow kiss to the top of your head. It’s like he’s bewitched you, cursed you, and you can’t do anything but stand there, stunned. “Thanks for coming tonight.” You’re a deer in headlights, a rabbit in a scope.

“Simon.” His name is the only thing you know right now, and it comes out reedy, almost a squeak.

“Get some rest. We’ll text you tomorrow.” He pushes the door wide, arm snaked behind your shoulders, and when you don’t move, he urges you forward, an encouraging hand on the small of your back. Your feet blindly stumble through the motions, searching for the light switch, for your sanity. “Goodnight, bun.” He hums, and the door clicks shut, leaving you alone, staring at the beige-yellow paint on the wall.

The afternoon trains are packed. It makes your skin crawl, not because you dislike busy or hectic places, but because there are too many eyes. You force your head to stay up, casually scrolling past the faces that are turned every which way, keeping your back to a corner or window as often as possible. You’re not sure you even needed to take this route, the one where you loop around and change trains twice, but… old habits die hard.

You’re lighter today, mentally. It’s in your steps on the stairs, the way you tilt your face up to the sun, how you bounce and bob a little along to the rhythm in your headphones.

You try not to read into it, too much. You tell yourself it has nothing to do with the good morning text messages from Johnny and Simon, or the hilarious back and forth between them after Simon sent a god-awful joke to the group chat. It has nothing to do with the heat that spreads through your fingers to toes when you think about Simon last night, kissing your forehead.

You slip inside your apartment, popping your headphones free, glancing at the tape and the door jam, before setting your bag on the counter. You idly sort through some mail you left out the other day. Junk, junk, junk, nothing taxing or important, nothing work related or-

A shadow moves. It flickers against the wall by your bedroom, growing larger, stalking closer to the kitchen, to where you stand, frozen, heart pounding in your ears.

This can’t be real. This can’t be happening.

“Hey there, sugar.” He croons, the thick, Texas accent unmistakable, and you breathe his name in horror.

“Phillip.”

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utahimeow · 6 months

Text

cw — reader and gojo have a daughter, established marriage, gojo is sad but reader comforts him

satoru gojo is not a man of many fears. heights, spiders, needles, death—fearing these is alien to a man who’s looked death itself in the eye and refused to let it touch him. however the words that his five-almost-six year-old daughter just uttered send shivers down his spine.

he’s frozen, eyes wide, face pale. he thinks his lungs stop working and his heart stops beating.

big, blue eyes round as a bug’s stare up at him, oblivious to the implications of it all.

the sentence echoes in his head like a taunt. he thinks he’ll hear it in his nightmares tonight.

then, her little hand as she tugs on his pant leg yanks him back to reality.

“daddy, i said my tooth fell out!”

satoru gulps, gaze falling to the crumb of bone in her hand, then to the tiny gap that’s now in the front of her mouth.

he didn’t think it would happen so soon.

you’re home from work not long later and the girl rushes to greet you at the door, screeching with delight to announce the loss of her tooth to you.

you’re gasping dramatically, gathering her up in your arms as she gives you a gummy smile so wide her eyes scrunch shut. staring at her is like looking in a mirror, a perpetually perfect reflection of you and your love combined into one small being.

“it didn’t hurt, did it?” you ask her.

“nope! i didn’t even cry,” she tells you, beaming with pride.

“oh, how brave you are,” you tell her, kissing her soft cheeks, grinning as her giggles bubble throughout the entire foyer.

she wriggles out of your grasp and then she’s off again, bounding back upstairs to her room to the pile of plushies upon her bed so she can continue to brew up tales and backstories for each of them. now that both her mother and father have heard her big news, she’s satisfied enough for it to no longer need to be on her mind.

you’re not surprised to find satoru in the kitchen, rummaging through the snack cupboard. you are surprised at the fact that he doesn’t turn to greet you like he always does. with a pout, you stride over to his towering frame and snake your arms around his slender waist, pressing yourself flush to him.

“hi, lover,” you hum.

in your embrace, satoru becomes lighter. the tension in his hard muscles lifts, his shoulders dropping, his back shedding the weight of the world.

“hi, pretty,” he replies, uncharacteristically quiet, yet somehow his voice still drips with affection for you.

“what’s the matter?” you ask him. you’re well aware of your husband’s melodramatic nature, and it’s because of that that you don’t find yourself worrying over his state of despair. still, you’re rather filled with a curiosity—what minuscule nonsensical issue has him down today? did they discontinue his favourite kitkat flavour?

hands migrating up his torso and finding his chest, you squeeze your fingers into the fat of his pectorals. in the blink of an eye, satoru is facing you and his cold hands have grabbed hold of your wrists. he grins down at you softly, amused by your antics as always, but you blink again and his face drops, growing almost grave.

“talk to me,” you urge, prying. his soft grasp leaves your wrists, moving to envelop your hands which drown in his. he brings them to his lips, kissing at your fingertips, making your heart beat in your ears and your face grow hot. it’s strange to think he once shrivelled away from your affection, convinced he was not worthy of it.

“how was work?” he asks.

“fine. good. same as always,” you tell him. “but you’re avoiding my question. and your feelings.”

he shakes his head, a child through and through. “tell me about your day.”

“satoru,” you say, stern, and it feels like you’re scolding your daughter for not listening to you. “i hate it when you’re… off like this.”

his eyes pierce through yours then, filled with unspoken apology. then, he exhales, long and hard, a sigh that’s heavy with weariness. for you, he’s learned to surrender.

“our daughter losing her tooth today made me realise that she’s getting older and i can’t stop it,” he admits.

you sigh along with him, half relieved that your conscience had been right in believing that it wasn’t anything serious. well, in the sense that no one had died. the rest of you knows he’s not being irrational. since becoming a father, and even before that, when having children was just a distant fantasy for him, an anxiety had lived inside of him. an anxiety of fucking up, of being inherently unsuited to fatherhood, of the idea that she may suffer the consequences of him being her father.

and now, a new anxiety sprouts.

“true, but we get to watch her grow, satoru. don’t you think that’s amazing?”

he stays silent, mouth forming an absentminded pout.

“i just keep thinking about when she was a baby… how tiny she was, how she would waddle around, and drool on my chest. soon she won’t be my little girl anymore, you know?”

“satoru,” you say firmly. your hands curl around the back of his neck, scratching at the snowy hairs of his undercut. “she’ll always be your little girl. i know that because she’s your whole world, and you’re hers. she may never be that little baby again, but she’ll never be as little as she is now either, so love and cherish her now instead of moping about the inevitable passage of time.”

satoru smiles a dopey smile at you, the same one his daughter has.

“i’m so glad i married you,” he says. his hands are warm now as they settle on your lower back, dipping down, down, down.

you roll your eyes at him, opening your mouth to reply with something witty, but he beats you to it.

“i’m being serious now, baby. you always know what to say when i’m being stupid.”

“when you’re being overdramatic, you mean,” you say, grinning playfully.

“hey, it just shows that i care, doesn’t it?”

you pull him down to your face by his neck and kiss him, moulding your lips against his, tender and warm and home. it’s not just his thoughts that melt away when he kisses you, it’s his entire head, until all that’s left is a man with nothing but his wife on his mind, heart beating for no reason other than to keep him alive so that he can keep thinking about you.

briefly, you pull away, in spite of how he chases your lips with his, because he could kiss you until the end of time and you could do the very same, but there’s something weighing on your mind suddenly.

“if you want a second baby i can make that happen, by the way,” you tell him, your hips pressing against his.

“oh, now you want another one? but every time i ask for one i get an earful? heh,” he says, quirking a brow, but unfortunately for him he’s hard in his pants in an instant.

“yeah, but now i feel bad for you.”

“babe, i don’t want a kid out of pity!”

#gojo x reader #gojo satoru x reader #gojo imagine #gojo fanfic #gojo satoru imagine #gojo satoru fanfic #jjk imagine #jjk x reader #jjk fanfic #꒰ lovers. ꒱ — gojo

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tumbleupdeals · 2 years

Video

Amazonian Drip Method

#youtube #ignite drops #ignite #amazonian drip method #easy weight loss

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comatosebunny09 · 11 months

Text

untitled | leon k.

warnings: smut, loss of virginity, female reader, p in v, language, pet names, soft leon, stream of consciousness, short af

had this mashup on repeat, and i just couldn’t move past this imagery. thank you for reading, lovely. ❤️

He fills the space between your fingers with his, gentle and reassuring, rooting you to the mattress.

Molten tears prick the corners of yours eyes, brows knit, lips parted with wet exhalations. He chases your tears with chaste kisses, whispering pillow-soft affirmations through the static of your ears.

Doing so good. Taking me so well. My pretty baby. Stay with me, okay?

He’s a hulking shadow of concern, balanced on muscly arms. Paints a pretty cutout of disheveled locks and startling blue eyes amid the room swathed in moonlight. Radiates a blistering warmth that singes your innards whilst sweat gathers on his temple, drip-dropping onto the ruffled sheets.

Breathlessly, he murmurs, “You alright, sweetheart?” Knows you’re not if the shallowness of your breath is anything to go by. If the wince of your eyes serves as any gauge. But you’re a big girl. Stubborn as all hell, but you manage a nod despite the pain coursing through your nether regions.

His hips stutter as he tries to remain perfectly still. Your thighs shakily wound about his waist, and your heels digging into the divots of his back don’t help matters. But he’s a patient lover. Waited this long to have you. Ravage you. Split you in twain.

What are a few more moments in tortuous bliss?

Through the Gaussian blur of your vision, you know he’s trying his damnedest not to thrust further in. Not to dig a little deeper, spearing you with his delicious girth, dredging the most sinister of sounds from the bowels of your belly.

Your throat rumbles with a pathetic keen as you pulse around the head of his cock, drawing a wet hiss from swollen lips. His forehead finds the curve of your shoulder. He pants there. Fights a battle within, wrapped in the luxury of your womanhood.

“Fuck,” he chuckles, allowing the weight of his torso to anchor yours down. “Keep sucking me in like that, and I won’t be able to last.”

#leon x reader #leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy smut #leon s kennedy smut #leon s kennedy x reader #just musing #tw: smut #cw: loss of virginity #cw: pet names #cw: language #tw: language #resident evil 4 smut #resident evil 4 x reader #leon kennedy drabble #leon x fem reader #leon kennedy x fem reader #leon kennedy x female reader

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reidsqlick · 2 months

Text

You’re back.. || (S.R)

The second part of “You’ll be back, right?” — Part One!

pairing(s): Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

summary: he said he’d be back for you, you waited.. he hadn’t shown.. what’ll happen?

warning(s): (MDNI 18+) stress, nausea, self-degradation, skin picking, pet-names, fingering, swearing !! (i believe that’s all..)

word count: 1,8k

‘He had gotten up from the mattress, it springing up due to the loss of his weight. Once he reached the handle of the door you yelled out to him, "You'll be back, right?" your voice drowsy, dripping with tiredness.

He looked back for a moment, smiling softly, "Right."’

—

The room was pale, normal for a hotel room. It was dark, gloomy, very much on the brink of unsettling. You hadn’t quite realized this before.. not really minding the room, it’s average, right? You’ve been on this job to be able to say you’ve been in enough hotel rooms than the average person does in a lifetime, but this room.. it’s different. A pit starts to form in your stomach, a feeling of utter emptiness.

Well.. now it’s different. The obvious lack of your previous partner is enough to make you weak, not that you weren’t already.. but your mental state is becoming ever so fragile by the second. He hadn’t returned. He said he’d be ‘right back’ and truly, an hour and a half doesn’t seem to be ‘right back’ to me.

Reid had always been a man of his word.. in fact, he had promised you he hadn’t wanted to leave, yet the minute he did and got the chance to be stripped of your company, he took it. The pit in your stomach grows. Didn’t he want you as a partner? Didn’t he want what you wanted? Did he lie? Why does he always make you feel like this, one second he likes you, the next he’s gone without a word.

Tears begin to form in the creases of my eyes. Am I truly that naive? So naive I let the man I’d fallen hopelessly for three years ago take my virginity? I had to constantly remind myself not to let myself go, and here I am.. alone in a hotel room miles away from home, hopelessly trying to grip onto a sliver of hope that he’ll return any second.

The sad part is I actually thought he’d be back, I trusted him with my feelings, with my body. My stomach turns, a single tear falling from my eye and burning my skin, like a fire igniting within me… anger? No, not at all anger, but pure regret. I told myself I’d handle myself around guys, especially that one, and I hadn’t. I left myself down. Another tear falls from my glassy eye.

I want to reverse what happened, go back and tell myself that this had to have been another thing for Reid to have against you, another way for him to turn against you, another way to control your feelings in a way that was more than belittling.

I claw at my skin, picking at it, dangerously close to drawing blood, but I don’t care. My stress takes control, my body shaking, my skin an absolute wreck. I need an out, I need to be out. I want to be home.

I feel nauseous.

I’m rocking myself from side to side, a mechanism I’ve had since I was a child. Biting my lip, picking at the skin that surrounds my nails. I feel like a child. I’m so childish. Couldn’t I have denied him? Why do I let him into my heart when all he does is break mine? The pit in my stomach drops, I need to puke.

I crawl out of bed, and run to the bathroom, jerking myself forward, feeling my stomach turn. I hate loving Spencer Reid. It’s a mistake, one I shouldn’t have made, one I poorly made. I need to take it back, I need to leave the team, I need to be home, why did I drink so much?

As I sit there, direly close to puking everywhere, I hear the doorknob rattle, once the person on the other end had realized the door was locked, a knock came seconds later. I pulled myself off of the floor, I’m dizzy. Mental note to self: take medication for this headache.

When I open the door, unaware that it would’ve been smarter to look through the peephole before, it opens to a panting Reid, a concerned look on his face, a sigh of relief leaving his mouth when he saw my face.

He reached his arms out, springing forward to hug me, and he won’t even shake hands with people? His arms on me feel all too familiar, I’m nauseous. I want to push him away, but I need him here, I’m a puddle of nothing without him.

I’m so pathetic, it’s depressing.

I sniffle, having only cried minutes earlier. “Where were you?” I said quietly, almost a whisper. He frowned, keeping his hands steady on my waist “Pretty Girl…” he shook his head at what seemed to be himself, “I’m so sorry. I went to grab clothes for tomorrow so I would be able to stay with you tonight, I didn’t want to leave you alone..” he said, voice cracking.

“I didn’t mean it, I had searched my go bag and couldn’t find anything, I stressed, and that stress led to me being so tired I fell asleep, i didn’t want to leave you, love.. please understand.” You sniffle again, another tear falling from your eye, is he lying? If so, it’s got to be the worst lie he could’ve come up with.

He lifted one of his hands to your face, his thumb wiping away your tears, your cheek felt hot, the same fire from earlier getting hotter. “I waited for you.. you promised you’d be back..” you looked down, not needing to see him right now, it didn’t help your case.

“Angel..” his hand still soft on your face, his touch seemingly healing all that’s wrong. “you’ve got to believe me, I wouldn’t leave you like that, ever. You should’ve came and woke me up.” He shook his head again, “I shouldn’t have even been sleeping, princess.. trust me when I say I didn’t mean this even a little bit.”

You had to tell him you were a virgin, but first you needed to not be standing up, you were already dizzy, and this is the type of conversation you’d sit for. You waddle to your bed slowly, him following suit, once sat he was directly next to you, sitting against the headboard, hand slung around your waist, thumb rubbing circles into your plush skin.

“Reid…” your voice cracked, “I need to tell you something.” He nodded, “Mhm?”. The pit in your stomach returns again, eating you from the inside out. “I’m.. a.. well I was.. a-“ a tear falls down my cheek “virgin.” He’d completely had moved to face you, hand moving to your face to wipe your tears.

“Angel,” he spoke, quieting you when you’d almost interrupted him, “why didn’t you tell me? I.. was I? Too much..?” You giggled foolishly, tears still leaving your eyes, the faint taste of salt now lingering on your lips. “No, not too much.. just.. figured you- should know.”

He smiled softly, moving both of his hands to the side of your face, “Can I kiss you?” He asked, you nodded. “Do we have to go through this again? I’d prefer it if you used your words, Angel.” All that could leave your mouth was a faint “yes,” a whisper, silent consent for him to make his next move.

His mouth was on yours in an instant, his tongue entering your mouth tasted like your tears, making you wince. You melted into the kiss, feeling safe, feeling content.

The kiss had gotten heated quickly, your hips bucking into the air, a faint “please” left your lips. He broke of the kiss, “Hm? Couldn’t hear you, princess..” “Please, I-“ he chuckled, “You?” you looked down.. “I want.. more.. please?” He’d move his hand to your chin, lifting it, enforcing eye contact.

“Your wish is my command, pretty girl.” He smirked, spreading your legs, and reaching under your pajama pants, finding your apparent lack of underwear. “Oh..” he smirked “so wet already, all ready for me, right? No panties.. you wanted this.” His finger ran up your slit “you were waiting for this.” Your head fell back, whimpering his name.

He groaned in appreciation, his hand moving to circle your clit, watching your hips buck, hearing your name fall from your mouth with no remorse, he loves this. He loves you. Always has.. “Feel good, doesn’t it? I’m gonna take care of you, Angel.” More whimpers left your mouth.

He didn’t want to be too harsh on you, he wanted to take care of you, to apologize in the only way he knew. He was good with statistics, talked about them for hours, rambling as much as he could get in a conversation. His feelings? They’ve always been hard for him, he’s best through expressing how he feels physically. This is his way of apologizing, and you knew it without him even telling you.

He stopped his circles to move his fingers down to your aching cunt, it tightening around nothing, you were his favorite sight he’s ever seen by far. “You ready for them, princess?” He asks you, teasing you softly, “y- mhm, mhm yes.” You were essentially incoherent, he understood half of it, and the other half was answered by your body’s reaction to his words.

His fingers entered you slowly, but couldn’t keep that pace for long, watching your face contort under him was something that’s going to be ingrained in his mind for the rest of his life. His pace had sped up fairly quickly, not too fast where it’d hurt, but fast enough to make your legs shake with such ease you didn’t even know how a person could do such things.

You gripped onto the sheets, whimpering incoherently, “I- p- lease… m- fuck.. close…” how he can make you so needy, and get you ever so close in such a short amount of time baffles the both of you, he chucked, moving faster.. anything for you, forever. Your head cocked forward and you had locked eyes with Spencer, “I- Reid.. I’m- c-“ he cut you off, “let go for me baby, please. Let me make this up to you..” he brought his thumb back up to rub small, tight circles, matching the rhythm his fingers had kept.

Your orgasm hit you like a tidal wave. Your whole body warm, to cold, to hot, shaking like you had just hours before due to him. You had pulled your pajamas back up, and gotten closer to him, needing him.

The pit in your stomach was gone, vanishing without a trace.

“Thank you…” you smiled up at him, snuggling into his chest. He rubbed circles into your waist with his hand, “Anything, Angel. I don’t care what I have to do, but I promise, I’ll make this up. You didn’t deserve any of that, me leaving you? That was cruel, and I’m sorry.” He took a deep breathe, “I’m never going to leave you like that again.”

You spoke up, “Promise? And I mean promise. No empty ones, but ones you’ll stick to.” He smiled to himself, “Promise. I’ll fulfill however many promises it takes to make this one up to you..” you giggled, “I love you.” He whispered, making himself just loud enough so you could hear him, “I love you too.”

The room was livable again, I could breathe. I was relieved, the walls no longer feeling claustrophobic, I guess I won’t leave the team after all… Spencer’s worth waiting for.

A/N: I’m so sorry this is SOOOO bad holy shit but here you guys go i hope uu like it! please, i beg.. tell me how i did or something feedback really helps w stuff like this 🙏🙏

#Spencer Reid #Spencer Reid smut #smut #criminal minds #gublergram #gublerland #gublernation #gublerween #mgg #mgg imagine #mgg smut #mgg x reader #mgg pics #spencer reid x you #cm #cm smut #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid x reader

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moonlitdesertdreams · 8 months

Text

Thankful

A/N: Everyone wanted more soft Astarion, so how's traumatized instead? Tags: Astarion Ancunin, Astarion, BG3 Astarion, BG3 Imagines, Astarion x OC, Astarion x Tav, Astarion x Reader WARNINGS: Canon-typical blood, mentions of grieving/loss. ACT III/ 'THE PALE ELF' QUEST SPOILERS Summary: You comfort Astarion and talk about emotions after the events at Szarr Palace.

Word count: 2.1k+ (GIF credit to @silverformymonsters)

Leaving Szarr Palace is both a weight off your shoulders and the biggest burden you’ve carried since this adventure started. Cazador is dead, and Astarion is free as last. No master, and no more being used as a means to an end.

But it’s never that simple, is it?

Shadowheart and Lae’zel, mercifully, take Astarion’s second wave of heart-wrenching wails, after all the spawn were set free, as their cue to leave. You give him space as he cries and wait until it’s only a soft whimper to approach. He’s on his knees at that point, Cazador’s bloody body inches from his. The daggers still sticks out of the vampire lord’s chest, begging to be used once again.

You come to a stop behind Astarion’s left shoulder and let your fingers barely brush his skin. For once he feels warm, filled with anger, denial, fear and vulnerability. When he doesn’t brush you off, you press more firmly, moving to the front of his body. Astarion’s hands creep up to your hips and use them as leverage to stagger to his feet. It isn’t until he’s upright that he makes eye contact and breaks your heart into two.

Blood runs in macabre trails down his skin and clothes, puddling on the floors around him and his fallen master. His eyes, normally alight with mischief and mirth, are downcast, swollen and dripping with tears. The pain is apparent, tied together with confusion and grief for the end of an era, even if it was depraved and lonesome.

“... I should be happy.” He whispers, pinching his eyes shut. “I’ve wanted this for so long.”

“Oh, Astarion.” You murmur, reaching to envelop him in your arms.

Your vampire crumbles, arms wrapping tight around you to the point you’re fairly certain you’re not getting enough oxygen. Astarion clings to your clothes, to any concrete fragment of reality that can ground him from what he’s been through. His face buries itself into the crook of your neck, hiding the tears from your prying eyes. One hand comes up to cup the back of his head and strokes his blood-stained curls.

“I-I… I feel numb. Empty.”

Keeping him close is the only thought in your mind. It’s not the time to delve into the implications of grieving an abuser. You decide it’s best to get back to your lodgings above the Elfsong Tavern to let him have privacy instead of being surrounded by the exact place causing him so much pain.

And a long journey it is. Past the Gur leader Ulma waiting at the dais, and through the bustling streets of Baldur’ Gate.

Astarion barely makes it into the washroom before he collapses, and you just do your best to keep him on his feet.

“Here, here. Sit down and I’ll draw you a bath, yeah?”

Astarion drops on the floor where you’re lowering him. You think he nods, but don’t stay long enough to confirm it. The other members of your rag tag team are dotted about the lounge area when you walk in and beeline straight towards Astarion’s chest of clothing.

Karlach is the only one brave enough to approach you, tapping long talons nervously against her leg.

“Well? How’s he doin’?”

“As well as can be expected…” You sigh and sit on his bed, fresh clothes in one hand. “It’s a complicated situation. He hated Cazador, but the man was also some of the only constant interaction Astarion had in damn near two centuries.”

“Sometimes I fell empty, not having orders and all. Not having something constant that tells you where to go and what to do.” Karlach rubs her arms and shrugs. “Then I remember freedom and how much that means. I’m done being bound to some wretched leader. But there’s still a spot that feels empty. It’s healing, but it takes time. Hells, mine’s gotten better just having all of you around.”

Her words kick your brain into gear. “Yeah, that makes sense. Thanks, Karlach.”

Much to your surprise, Astarion’s already in a warm bath upon your return. You close the door behind you and slide the lock over, ensuring privacy for you both. The vampire’s eyelids only lift slightly when you drop his clothes onto the fireplace hearth and drag a wooden chair close.

“That was fast.” You observe and nod towards the water.

“Mhm. I caught Gale on his way up from supper. He waved his fingers around and made it work.”

You’re thankful for Gale’s presence and quiet affinity for the vampire, as it would’ve taken you twice as long manually.

“You don’t have to sit here, you know. I’ll be alright.” Astarion says quietly.

“Is that you nicely asking me to leave?”

His answer comes quickly. “No. I just don’t want to be a burden.”

The words are like a shot through the heart. “You could never burden me. No matter what.”

Astarion opens his eyes then. “Not even with a century of fucked up emotions? Trauma, as I’m sure you’re thinking?”

Ah, he needs the direct approach. You begin undressing, tossing your belongings in a messy pile on the floor.

“Fuck off and move over.”

Astarion stares at you and blinks comically before sliding over.

Once naked, you climb into the still-steaming water. There’s not an over-abundance of room in the tub, but enough that you can both put your backs against opposite sides and face each other. His long legs stretch to either side of your bum while yours remain crossed beneath. With both of you inside, the water easily rises above your chest, licking gently at sensitive collarbones instead.

“Talk.”

He sulks, but you can see the redness in his eyes and the swelling beneath. “And what should I talk about? How I’m not feeling as free as I should despite killing my slave-driver? I don’t need a psychic to tell me something is wrong with me.”

Astarion’s anger is familiar and raw, defending the vulnerable emotions swirling like a whirlpool in his gut. You don’t flich at its bite, nor retreat from its bark. It only rolls off your shoulders, dripping like rain right back into the bathwater.

“Yes, exactly that. You’re allowed to be upset. To be sad. Cazador and his necromancied skeleton guard were the only constants in your life for a long time. And now they’re gone. You’re allowed to grieve that loss. Even if it feels wrong.”

He draws in a breath, water rippling around his bare chest. “It feels atrocious. After everything he’s done - I’ve done- killing him should be a relief. Joyous, even. And instead I feel like this.”

You reach a hand onto the table to grab soap. Its smell is a pleasant break from blood and gore, and you start towards Astarion with it in hand.

“You’re still in shock. Everything we saw and did in that dungeon, all those people you knew. It’s natural to be sad and feel guilty.” You lather up your hands and bring them up to his neck, starting a slow and cautious massage. “Releasing them into the Underdark was the best chance they had to survive… and the best way to redeem the sins forced upon you.”

He leans into your hands as they rub the soap into his chest and shoulders. “I suppose it was.”

“Turn.” You tell him softly. He complies, drawing his legs to sit cross legged and face away from you.

Knowing it might be easier to hear your sentimental words while facing away, you lean into his ear. “No matter what, I’m proud of you. You’re a hundred times the man Cazador ever was.”

Astarion heaves a breath at your words, scarred back rising into your hands as you continue to spread the lather across his skin. You pretend the horrific rune isn’t there, doing your best to prevent another angry outburst His shoulders hitch when you start scrubbing at his hair and gently cupping water to wet his curls.

“I think I’m glad it’s over. I just….” He’s at a loss for words and flounders. One hand waves aimlessly in the air.

“Need time?” You supply, gliding your hands across his trapezius.

One of his strikes upwards like lightning, grabbing onto yours and squeezing. “Yeah. Time.”

You use a small cup from the tray to rinse his snowy curls without getting soap in his eyes. He hums at the warm water rolling down his scalp, and spins to face you as soon as you’re finished.

“Tav?”

You’re leaning to grab the soap when you pause to look at him. “Astarion?”

“Will you come to bed with me tonight?” Astarion stops and corrects himself. “Just to keep me company.”

“Of course I will.”

Much to your surprise, Astarion pushes himself through the water until you’re chest-to-chest. The liquid swirls and sloshes, splashing onto the floor and no doubt dripping onto a table at the tavern below. He draws your close, arms winding around your waist and pulling you into his lap.

You smile and wrap your legs around his middle, ignoring the discomfort due to limited space. Astarion’s head finds its place on your shoulder, nose brushing against the delicate side of your neck. His cool skin is a reprieve against the steamy bathroom. You nuzzle his damp curls and rub his back softly.

“I’m glad you didn’t stick to your original plan when we slept together that first night.” You hum, “You’ve become quite important to me on this journey.”

“How could I have? You’re too perfect.” Astarion’s breath sends goosebumps shooting in all directions from the joint of your shoulder. The feeling is similar to that of his bite, but less intense.

It hits you that he’s probably famished, not having fed on you the night before and being partially drained by Cazador’s profane ritual. Not to mention the amount of strain that’s been put on him both emotionally and physically in the last few hours.

You brush your hair away from your neck. “You need to feed,”

Astarion lifts his head. “That wasn’t what I was-”

“I know. But you’ve been through a lot.” You insist, rolling your head to the side. “Humor me.”

“I suppose I could be tempted.” Astarion’s eyes darken, and he shift back in towards your neck

His cool breath washes over your skin, and combined with the water it’s so chilly that it’s almost numb while he prepares to sink his teeth in. You feel his nose brush your skin, seeking out the delicate vein carrying the liquid he needs so desperately. He marks his target with a gentle kiss, and one hand holds your hip as he bites down.

Ice shoots through your veins, spreading slowly from collarbones to belly button, and eventually your toes as he drinks. The freezing quickly turns to ecstasy, shooting arousal into every corner of your body though you know it's not the time. Your hand knots in Astarion’s hair, unconsciously encouraging him to keep going. Somewhere in your brain, you realize this is how people fall so easily to vampires. With a blissful numb that rivals the best Opium and a feather-light sensation overtaking all your limbs, what wouldn’t someone fall for?

But luckily, your vampire would never let you fall.

Astarion’s fangs pull away from your skin but his mouth remains on your neck, lapping at the weeping blood until it stops. You’re woozy for sure, and allow yourself a few moments to be dead weight in his embrace.

“I apologize, darling. I got carried away.”

You shake your head and press a kiss to his chin. “You have nothing to be sorry for.”

“Are you going to be able to navigate back to bed?” He asks, tipping his chin towards the shared space. “While you understand me, I’m not sure the others will be so friendly about my choice of dinner.”

“I’m willing to pay the barkeep for the private room across the hall for tonight.”

And you do, without thought. Anything that provides Astarion with comfort is worth the price for you. So you both trek across the hallway, leaving the bathroom mess for morning. Exhaustion has completely taken over after Astarion’s bite, and you take a moment to wrestle with the sheets until you’re able to climb under them.

“Comfortable, darling?” Astarion asks as he lays down.

“Delightful.” You reply, “Now get some rest.”

Astarion does as you say, but keeps you within arms reach at all times. He might be having trouble with his feelings towards Cazador and the missed opportunity for power, but he’s thankful.

Thankful for his choice, and thankful for you.

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sluttyminghao · 9 months

Note

Wonwoo!Gamer boy wants pussy

before he plays a game

during he's playing the game

after he's done playing the game

so something for gamerboy wonwoo 8k celeb 🫂🫂

"if you win this round ill let you cum inside."

you hear wonwoo intake a sharp breath before his fingers are messily smashing against the controller. he's been driven to insanity with this game, with junhui obliterating him in each round. he wasn't sure how he was doing it, since he didn't even know how to play before he showed him last week.

a grin spreads across your features as you hear him mutter curses under his breath, while you strip yourself down to the pretty white lingerie he had bought you not long ago. you lay on his mattress, letting the cool sheets envelop your body while he grows angrier with each loss.

it grows quiet in the room for a few moments, besides wonwoo's soft curses. you look up from your book and notice the word "WINNER" blazing across the screen, while your boyfriend has a look of victory splaying over his features.

the controller drops to the floor and the bed dips quickly under the new weight, and within seconds his body is hovering over your own, victorious grin covering his lips.

"you said i could cum inside, so get ready darling."

he has your back arching, his hands splaying over your stomach and pushing against the slight bulge that appears with each thrust. your whimpers are like music to his ears, and only drive him further and further to the point of bliss.

"gonna fill you with my cum, gonna fuck it deep into you..." he mumbles, eyes rolling back as he drills his cock into you and lets his cum paint your walls. your walls spasm around him as you're sent into your own orgasm, spots covering your vision.

you can feel wonwoo's cum drip out of you, more than likely staining the sheets. you groan and flip to your side, only for wonwoo to chuckle and pick you up to get you cleaned up.

"try not to let any of it spill, otherwise ill have to fuck it back into you again."

"who said i didnt want that?"

#8k celebration #sluttyhao smut #sluttyhao reaction #svthub #kpop smut #seventeen smut #wonwoo smut #wonwoo reaction #kpop reaction #seventeen reaction

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vympirestake · 10 months

Text

— No Better Sight

— bo sinclair x afab!reader, 🔞,mostly just smut without plot, fluff, lowkey bodyworship, slight aftercare

— gentle degradation, unprotected, not proofread

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Bo Sinclair had never had much of an eye for beauty. Instead, he found his own art in the oil covered grime of his mechanics shop. He had little care for the appearance of anything in the rundown town he called home.

Though, at the sight before him, Bo figured it didn't take an artist to know he was the luckiest man in the world. The last golden hues of sunset crept through the decrepit curtains of his room; indescribably illuminating your figure bouncing on his near aching cock.

"Look at you go, darlin'," Bo drawls against your bruised lips. His eyes drag down your body, feasting on every curve and crevice he knows all too well. He catches your lips once more only to slip his thumb into your all too eager mouth when he pulls away. Groaning at the feel of you suck around him. "Just my sweet little slut, aren't cha' honey," His voice dropped for a moment, dripping nothing but lust and love. He allowed you to continue sucking his thumb before slowly removing it once again.

Your moans were like music to his ears and, though he loved hearing them, Bo enjoys feeling them even more. So, despite the desperation of the moment, the man before—and below—you pulled you down into a gentle kiss. His thumb gliding down the curves of your jaw, cuping his hand at your chin to keep you steady. Keep you exactly where he wanted you.

You whined at the loss for only a moment before Bo began gently circling your clit. The shock of almost painful pleasure, courtesy of Bo insisting on eating you like a man starved earlier, making you cry out and your hips stutter in their movements. Moans and chants of Bo's name flowed from your lips, trying desperately to regain your rhythm.

A groan sounds from Bo at the sight, his free hand flying to your hip to aid your desperate grind. His other only continuing its assault on your clit.

"That feel good, doll," he asks.

"Yes! Yes, please, feels so good," you move your hands to find purchase on his shoulders.

"Oh," he tilts his head to get a better look of where you connect, "I bet it does from how you're clampin' down on my cock like that." Your desperate bouncing now became a frantic grind again Bo's hand. Begging for just a little bit more friction to finally push you over that edge. Seeing how close that sweet release was to overtaking you, Bo slowed to a torturous pace.

Feeling his hands come to hold your hips almost still, you let out a pained sob into Bo's shoulder. "No—please, Bo. Please keep going." You tried to bounce again but the grip Bo held on your hips was too tight. Your hands slide to his chest, nails digging into the tanned flesh. "I'll—I'll do anything just please, keep going." Bo hadn't allowed you another moment to ask before he flipped your positions.

Bo released his grip on your hips for only a moment to settle your thighs comfortably on his scarred forearms. As he reaches to grasp your waist he growls out, "arch your back for me, honey. You know how I like it."

You comply with his command, arching your back just a little, feeling how his cock shift to his new spots inside you. The feeling making your hips now shift and buck in anticipation.

"Bo, baby, please," he shifts his weight down closer to you, "need you s'bad. Please, need your cock," you shift to steady yourself on your arms, leaning into him. At that, Bo gives a sharp, gentle thrust. Enough to have your eyes rolling and head leaning back. He chases your neck, lips kissing and sucking on the column of your throat whole building his pace.

The angle now allows you to feel him hitting deep into your soaked cunt. The sound of wet skin slapping reverberates around the room and though the sun no longer shines through the blinds, Bo can't look away. He pulls himself from your neck, watching your lips part to allow a symphony of moans to escape.

"Open your eyes, doll. I want you to look at me when you cum." You do as he says, catching his lust-blown eyes as he, again, brings a hand to toy with your clit. A sharp cry of his name slips from you while your body arches up towards his own. Arms flying around his neck to find something to hold onto.

"'m close, Bo! Please don't stop, need t' cum," you cry out. Bo quickens his pace, his fingers rubbing circles into your clit. He can't focus on anything other than the need to feel you clench around his length.

He leans his head around to hover his lips just over yours. In a low tones he drawls out, "do it, cum for me. I want you to, baby, my good girl." He stutters out more but you don't notice. The tension in your core finally giving way to an explosive climax. Your hands scramble, nails clawing at Bo's back and bicep while you float from your high.

The feeling of you clenching down on him has Bo releasing with a low growl. The sensation of him filling only aids you, nearly sending your overestimated body into a second climax. Bo's arms slowly give way, releasing your legs to the bed and gently bringing himself to somewhat lay on your heaving chest. For a time, you breathe together. Caressing the parts of the other you can reach and slowly coming back to each other.

Bo is the first to move, shifting his weight to instead lay beside you. Pulling your limp body into his arms, tucking your head gently into his chest while he slowly smoothes you hair. In your tired haze, you bring a leg to rest over his own.

"So good, honey, always such a good girl f'me." Bo brings his head to rest in your hair, placing a gentle kiss while soaking in your scent. Chuckling at the slight 'mhm' he receives in response.

He'll run a bath in the morning, but for now Bo settles in next to you. Content letting everything but you drift away, forgotten.

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#bo sinclair #house of wax #x reader #mine #bo sinclair x reader #bo sinclair smut #bo sinclair x reader smut #house of wax 2005 #horror #slashers #slasher #slasher x reader #slashers x reader #afab reader #spicy

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uglypastels · 11 months

Text

Not Wholly Evil |VII| pirate!Eddie au

a/n - ok, so first of all, i cannot thank everyone enough for the support on this fic. i am just in awe at the love its been getting recently. so i think it times out perfectly that this chapter is the one i have been the most excited to write and had been waiting to write since probably chapter 3 or something. I really hope you like it. Be sure to reblog and/or comment (and remember asks are also always welcome!)💗

Series Masterlist

word count: 5.4k

"semi dark fic" - READ the warnings:. (gun/sword)violence. blood. mention of severe wounds. minor character death. allusions to suicide. kidnapping. imprisonment. alcohol. open and deep sea. near death experiences in water. pirates are pigs: mentions of non-con, but it does not actually occur. malnourishment and weight loss. paranoia. mention of poisoning. abuse. manhandling. lying.

Chapter 7: Four Corners of Heaven

“The heart of man is very much like the sea; it has its storms, it has its tides, and in its depths it has its pearls too."

- Vincent van Gogh

The ship swayed from side to side, taking you along with it, stumbling from one leg onto the other as you struggled to find your balance. Wardrobe doors flung open, banging against their hinges. Papers flew all over the ground as the desk shifted from its secured position.

A banging noise sank deep into you, pulling you back to the Red Tail. The panic lasted until you realised you heard waves crashing against the window. How tall would they have to be to reach the glass? How strong to be able to open the hinges?

It smashed against the wall, nearly cracking, but the damage was still done as water spilt inside with vicious attacks. Cursing, you made your way over, trying to close it before the entire floor would be under water. The spurts hit you in your face, shoving it down your throat. The icy feeling froze your skin as the heavy salt taste burned your tongue. By the time you closed the window, you had been drenched. You heaved for air, bend over with your arms on your knees.

There was shouting outside the room. Incoherent behind the wood and rain layers, but the sense of emergency remained.

You let yourself fall to the ground, back against the wall. All the commotion was now accompanied by your heartbeat drumming in your ears. When you calmed down, you realised you had still been holding the letter, scrunched into a wet roll between your fist, the water dripping off it came down in dark grey tears. Quickly, you dropped it into one of the desk's drawers and shut it.

The ship also began to halt its tilt, regaining its composure, and so slowly, your anxiety faded. It allowed you to think; look around. Two longswords were hanging up on the wall, so you grabbed one and did your best to block the mechanics that opened the window. It should hold the water for some time, but you could only hope. You ignored the metal's clanking sound against the glass as the force pushed against it.

As more shouting erupted from outside, the smaller the room felt. Suddenly you were back on the Red Tail, under the desk, hiding from these men. That was how it had all started, wasn’t it? They hid you away to keep you safe… and yet. The walls closed in on you. The water seemed to rise, but only in your mind, drowning in helplessness.

If something did happen to this ship, you thought you would die either way, and you might not know many things, but one thing was certain: you would not die in Munson’s cabin.

When you walked out of the room the past days, you were greeted with plush warm air, as if you had fallen gently atop a pillow. Now, it was more like a hard fall. The wind slapped your entire body, and the harsh rain cut at your cheeks. Each step felt as if you had been anchored to the ground.

All around you was chaos. Water was everywhere. Rain poured harshly, a million icy bullets coming down your skin, soaking through your clothes. The waves reached a height as you had never seen, coming in closer by the second, threatening to spill over the railings. Some already did, drowning the wooden panelling of the deck, leaving nothing untouched as barrels rolled around. Crew members ran behind them, with meters of ropes, hoping to steady the load, but it was in poor attempts when their feet could barely remain steady. Munson threw around commands, but in these circumstances, his beloved ship had a mind of her own, and it was protesting her captain.

The rest, in the meantime, did their best to keep up with what the captain had to say. Pulling the sails, ensuring a hold on all the loose cargo on the deck from slipping away. With buckets, they threw out water that splashed onto the ship, but with each wave, the amount only doubled. The men stumbled over themselves, knocking eachother over as the boat swayed immensely.

You heard your name being called from the side and saw Harrington at the helm. Seeing him in the rain, you could not help but think of a dog. How the animals shrink in size when met with water, shaking and whimpering, just wanting to escape the cold. All of them, in fact, everyone around you, reminded you of it. They were all simply fighting for their life against the elements.

Harrington looked at you sternly, and you could tell what he was saying with his expression alone. Go inside. But you stared blankly back, with no intention of listening.

That is when the wind picked up, pushing the ship off course. The helm began spinning in circles, and Harrington held onto its spurs for dear life, turning it back with all his remaining power. You could tell he wouldn’t be able to hold it much longer. His grip kept slipping. He cursed loudly, but there was no one there to help. No one except you. It took you one quick glance to realise it, and once that occurred, you immediately stepped up to him and pulled at the spurs.

Harrington looked taken aback, for a second forgetting the task at hand, and that one second had been enough for him to fall back a few steps and the helm to begin to unfold again, resulting in another loud curse.

‘What are you doing?’

‘Helping you!’ you called out; both of you were sputtering as the water of both sea and sky engulfed you.

‘Don’t be ridiculous.’ He yelled out moments before another wave hit the vessel's side, and he got knocked off his feet. For a brief moment, until he had regained his stance, you were the only one holding the helm. The weight of the entire ship fell upon you for those brief seconds, which was overwhelming. It was too much, too heavy. You couldn’t carry on on your own.

Harrington coughed out as he regained a grip on the wheel. He glanced at you with another expression of displeasure at your presence, but there was no longer time for him to argue. You could barely hold the wheel together. Your feet were slipping on the wet floor.

‘Pull!’ he shouted almost directly into your ear, but he could have been miles away with the thunder roaring over your heads.

‘I am!’ you shouted right back, but clearly, it was not enough.

‘Pull harder than!’

I can’t, you wanted to shout back, but that would have been worthless. You were putting in every inch of power you had left in this, yet it would still take much more for the ship to cooperate. By the time you released the helm with certainty, your arms were burning with exhaustion, and your skin was numb from the thousands of pinpricks of the harsh downpour.

Not that this mattered much. The rest of the ship was still in turmoil. If you didn’t know any better, you would have thought a mist had set in from how dense the water came down, covering everything in a grey mass. The wind blew you back three steps for each that you attempted to make.

You were both breathing heavily, which was hard as it was combined with trying not to swallow the loads of water that came down upon you with each breath you took. Was there even air to breathe at this point? Or had you already sunk into the ocean? Everything felt on top of its head, spinning around. You barely heard what Harrington said as you pulled yourself out of the nausea.

‘What?’ you asked, shouting everything out to come out above the noise.

‘I’m sorry,’ he repeated. Now, what was he apologising for? And why now, as the storm was only growing stronger, it seemed. The two of you still stood side by side at the helm, holding it tightly, but now more for your own sake, anchoring yourself from the wind. Across the ship, you saw the rest of the crew battling with the weather. Munson had stopped shouting out commands and was part of a group trying to keep the mizzenmast up. He had discarded his jacket somewhere along the way, leaving him to let the water soak into his shirt, which stuck to him meticulously.

‘That are you apologising for,’ you turned quickly to Harrington. Facing his direction only caused the rain to directly attack your face.

‘For listening to him,’ he shouted. As the storm raged on, you doubted anyone could hear the two of you anymore, no matter how loud you spoke. ‘I thought I was doing what was best for everyone, it was stupid.’

‘But why—why did he tell you to do that?’

To your surprise, Harrington laughed. ‘I’ve realised long ago it is better not to understand how his mind works.’

You wanted to reply that, no, you did want to understand exactly how his mind worked because it was making you insane when suddenly, a crash sounded over the vessel. All heads turned to starboard, where something must have just crashed bast the railing beams. A large whole gaped at the rest of you; a crate had already fallen out, but it was the least of your worries as you saw an arm hanging on for dear life from one of the broken wood beams.

Munson was the first person to reach the crewman in peril. He reached for him just in time as the man’s grip slipped off the wood. The captain lay flat on his stomach across the deck. Some more men reached him and tried to pull him in, but the ship shifted again on the waves; nothing was in their favour.

‘Harrington!’ the captain yelled, but when his voice reached you, it was less than a murmur against the wind. ‘HARRINGTON!’ He looked over toward the helm, and that is when he noticed you.

You didn’t give him the same amount of attention, for you had a better view of everything around. You could see the stack of men that had now gathered at the broken ship’s side, pulling their mate back to safety, but you also saw the barrel that was lopsiding, threatening to fall over with each hit of the waves. They must have missed it when securing everything in haste. From its position, it seemed that if it would topple over, the barrel would roll directly into the panicked rescue operation.

Harrington, who had been trying to steer the ship as best as he could in the circumstances, must have seen it too, as you had only taken a step to the side, and he had already grabbed your arm.

‘Let go off me, or I will give you another black eye!’ You threatened.

‘Have you gone mad!’ He shouted over the yelling below you.

‘Yes!’ You couldn’t help but smile and possibly not even far from any truth. The last few weeks were maddening in every possible way. Whatever had or would have happened, there was no denying that you had changed, and the most evident proof was right there as you ran down the stairs in an attempt to save the men that you had thought would lead you to your death. Just as you thought you had reached it in time, the barrel tipped over entirely, hitting the ground and immediately started to roll. It rolled in your direction, the only obstruction in its way.

Without thinking, you let yourself crush against it, shoulder to wood. The pain was intense but passed quickly, and though you had let your feet slip and there was nothing to mask the fall, you had still managed to stop the large piece of refuse from hurting the others.

You could see them pulling the fallen crewmate back onto the deck when you got up. Shuffling through your memories of what you had encountered and heard the past few days, his name didn’t come up, and yet you felt a huge relief fall off you.

‘You’re welcome!’ you said, tired and feeling heavy.

Someone helped Munson get up. His hair was stuck all over his face, but when he brushed it aside, you saw his face—full of anger. He stormed over to you or tried to, considering how the ship had thrown him off-balance.

‘What should I be thanking you for?’ He spat out, primarily due to all the rain that had soaked into him.

‘For saving your life!’ You had not expected him to be thankful, that was not who Munson was, but you had not imagined him to be angry. Yet, his eyes were rageful, his jaw tense as he looked at you silently and turned to his men to yell out:

‘Someone secure that damn wall.’

Aye. There were already three men on it, trying to block the wrecked piece of the ship. Any proper reparations would have to wait until the storm had run its course. There was no way for them to sit there with the waves splashing into their faces at such speed and force and nowhere to stand without a risk of falling.

The captain turned back to you. ‘I told you to stay inside.’

‘If I had, you would have been in the water now!’ You shouted back, ‘clearly, you need as many hands on deck as possible.’

‘Not yours.’ He wiped his face off from the rain, but it poured over him with even more strength. ‘Go back to my quarters. Now.’

‘No.’ You stood your ground, pushing back against Munson’s and the wind’s will. You would not let yourself be stowed away. He could not take this away from you. He could not take you away. You wouldn’t let him. Not again.

‘That is an order.’ He snapped.

‘I do not take orders from you.' You may not have been much help, but you had already kept Harrington from losing complete control over the helm and practically saved the captain from falling into the ocean's depths. Still, it was not enough to convince the captain, as his reply was clear and straightforward, despite all the noise that muffled your voices from eachother.

‘You’ll die out here!’ A wave pushed you forward, stumbling into his chest. He held you up by your wrist before you both fell.

‘So will you!’ You looked him in the eyes, pleading. Unsure for what. Something. Anything.

For a moment, you thought you had won him over, but then he looked around, shouting out names of his crewmen, anyone who could hear him or get close enough to you. But they were all too occupied. Finally, one of the coopers, who was already tying up the barrel you had so swiftly taken care of with the rest of the cargo, ran up at the sound of his name.

‘Take care of her before I do,’ Munson told him. The boy—as he seemed younger than most men on this ship—nodded, but you saw in his face he had nothing over you. Before he could reach for you, you pushed past him towards the captain.

‘I’m not leaving you.’ Perhaps that were not the words you had meant to say. Maybe you simply wanted to say that you were not about to leave this deck, but those were the words to come out of your mouth.

As a response, he asked the same question that crossed your mind as soon as those words had left your mouth. ‘Why?’

‘Because–’ but before you could answer, a pair of arms grabbed you and pulled you away. You screamed out, demanding to be let go, but it was all washed out in the storm. It couldn’t have been the boyish cooper that had taken you; his hold was too firm and strong. Whoever they were, they dragged you back toward the cabin on the captain's orders, towards alleged safety. What would happen if they opened the door to reveal a waterfall streaming past their feet because those bloody windows broke open once more? What then?

But you felt a pinch of pride in your heart because you knew that some days ago, you would not have dared to stand up to the captain with such defiance. You certainly would not have dared to kick and scratch at the man holding you until he let you go. You would have been shoved into that room and locked away, and maybe it would have been for the better because just moments after you freed yourself, you locked eyes with Munson. He was ready to speak, yell, and so were you, but all of that was washed out by a wave. One larger than you had ever seen before. It towered over the ship, dampening everything in its shadow. And then it crashed down. You had just about managed to take one final breath and heard a scream of your name.

There was a push, and something hit your head, or was it your head that hit something. Either way—

Everything went black.

That must be what death feels like. Floating, weightlessly numb. There is darkness, and then there is light. It grows and grows, overcoming the chasm and suddenly, all the pain from before is gone.

It is disorienting at first as you try to understand where you are. It all feels familiar and yet impossible at the same time. You do not know how you got there but know the way perfectly well. You remember it all exactly—that day—like no time had ever passed. It must have been years ago. Long before the wreckage and the fire and the storm and chaos. Long before him. And yet…

As you come to, but not exactly, you hear the mewing of seagulls. A flock hovers over your head. The sun shines brightly. As you move your hand, blades of grass tickle your fingertips and that smell… the sweet scent of summer.

There’s a weight on your stomach. A book. You had been reading it for hours under the tree. The large lime tree in the garden, but to call it a garden is an understatement. The branches rock gently in the breeze, shaking their leaves in a greeting.

You sit up, letting your back rest against the tree bark. In the distance are voices, children playing, merchants selling their produce, and animals roaming freely over the streets like any other day.

Then you hear it.

‘Gentlemen, I think we have an agreement then,’ your father says as he emerges from a corridor. You want to jump into his arms, tears already welling up in the corner of your eyes, but that is not how that day had gone.

Besides, he has company.

‘Yes, sir,’ a second man replies. ‘The troops are all ready to go.’

‘Brilliant,’ your father says. None of them have realised that you were sat there yet, able to hear every word they said. If they had, they would have sent you away. Not because any of their matters are private or a secret, it is just some light conversation between commanders. They would have sent you away because you, as a lady, have no reason to be bothered by such topics.

You dare to peek a glance at the men accompanying your father. Like all the others before, they must be some kind of officer; their appearance told you as much. You had seen plenty of these types of men. Your father often invited those who harboured their ships in town. No matter where they were from. Although, they seemed to be wearing similar colours to what the soldiers around your house wore.

You didn’t know either of the two men’s names that day. Why would you? It was the first time you had seen them in a lifetime full of new faces. And it would be several years until you would see them again. Years that would barely change admiral Carver’s appearance. He had maintained his boyish young looks until the day he died.

By now, you knew you had fallen deep into a dream, but how much of it was fantasy? It felt like a memory, but why were you haunted by demons? Maybe it was your brain filling in gaps, playing tricks on you, covering up a face you had entirely erased from your memory by one you could never forget. That did not seem right, however. The pieces fell too perfectly into place. Just not in any way, you had expected them to.

It was a trick. It must be. That was, could, not him, after all. His hair was neatly tied back and much shorter, to begin with. Though mostly covered with the shadow of his brimmed hat, his face was fuller, happier, and clean-shaven. His fingers were clean, and light without the weight of those large silver rings, and his clothes were the pristine uniform of the navy, which could not possibly hide a lifetime of scars and tattoos underneath them. It simply could not be.

And yet, when he catches your eye, that same pair of warm brown eyes catch you off guard. He smiles your way, tipping his hat, saying ‘ma’am’ with a smile before catching up to the rest of his entourage.

You awoke in a sheen of cold sweat, but it might have been the storm's remnants. The gentle feeling of grass blades against your fingers was exchanged into a harch grip on the bedsheets you lay upon. The only thing you could hear was your breathing, but behind that was the tap-tap-tapping of rain against the window. That’s where he stood, leaning against the glass by his side, arms crossed as he looked at you. No expression that you could make out in any sense, not because of the lack thereof, but because the emotions came in abundance.

‘What happened?’ Speaking felt like you had inhaled a bucket of sand instead of water; your throat had wholly dried out.

‘What do you remember?’ the captain walked over to the bed with a cup of water to hand you, which you took with a shaky hand.

‘Everything… I think.’ One sip had been enough to heal your drought. ‘There was a storm and a wave—’

‘Nearly washed us out,’ Munson filled in the gaps. His voice was steady, emotionless. Somehow, that felt worse than if he had been angry. He was holding back on you. ‘You hit your head and been asleep—we assumed you were sleeping—for six hours. More or less.’ But the longer he kept on talking, the more of a shake you felt in him. How he was holding back the rage that had exploded out of the both of you during the storm.

He continued talking. ‘We should be arriving at the harbour of Saint Claire shortly.’

‘I don’t understand,’ you let your fingers ghost over your forehead, which was wrapped in bandages, and a flash of pain blinded you momentarily.

‘It’s a small island, not far off course. Safer for the night than the waters.’ The storm had calmed down but had not found its rest just yet.

‘No, I don’t mean that,’ you said, standing up.

‘Don’t get up,’ He tried to push you back but decided against making contact, which you took as an opportunity to defy his wishes.

‘Do not tell me what to do, Munson.’ You were tired of it, and his constant commands made you sick…. Or was it the dizziness you felt as you got up too fast? Munson caught you just in time before you would hit your head again. Only then you realised that his shirt was still wet. It stuck to you like it stuck to him. His hair was a mess too. He must have come out of the rain moments ago.

He set you back up on your feet just to bring you back onto the bed. Once your head stopped spinning, you weakly asked: ‘Is everyone okay?’

‘You seem to have gotten the worst of it.’

‘Of course,’ you laughed at your own fortune. ‘Look,’ you made a second attempt to get up, hitting the last of the captain’s nerves.

‘Why won’t you ever listen?’ He grunted as he held you up.

‘Because I don’t want to.’ You swatted away his hands, letting go of him entirely. ‘Will you stop that!’

‘Stop what?’

‘Pretending like you give a damn about me while we both know that I am not worth a dime of your time..’

He sighed, pivoting your tangent.

‘No, sorry, you have your bounty to look forward to, of course, but don’t worry, I will personally write a letter to my father to tell him to just give you all his money, no matter in what state I return home if you will just leave me alone!’

‘Will you please stop yelling.’ He had his head rolled back, looking up at the ceiling. His fists clenched, and he walked around the room to calm down.

‘No! I am tired of this. All of this. I am tired of being treated like vermin.’

‘Vermin?’ He scoffed this time, turning his head to you in disbelief. ‘I’ve given you my clothes, my bed and two perfectly fine meals every day, and that’s what you think this is?’

‘Yes, and I’m very thankful for that, just as I am for being locked in a cage for days and now—what, you’re isolating me from your entire crew like I have the pest?’

‘I did no such thing!’ He was quick to defend himself from the accusation.

‘So, just Harrington then? Do not lie to me, Munson; I saw how he avoided me the whole time, then tried to not sound as if you had not commanded him to not speak to me.’

‘It was his own will that followed that order. I gave him a choice.’

‘What was it, listen or die?’ That sounded about right for you.

‘We do not kill on this ship,’ he said sternly, seriously, almost more severe than you had ever heard him speak.

‘Only on every other ship?’ With a snap, the window burst open again, letting in the whistling wind and the last drops of rain into the room, but it went unnoticed by the two of you as all the focus lay in the vicious words you threw back and forth.

‘Only those who deserve it. Yes.’ His face was set in anger, and you backed away, not because of his appearance but what he had admitted to.

‘What did my men deserve? They were innocent!’’ Everyone on the ship must have heard you if they had not already been listening to the rest of the conversation.

‘Of course, we’re all just innocent men, aren’t we?’ He regained his need for theatrics as he spread his arms invitingly, laughing hysterically. ‘Everyone except for me, that is. I am the big scary monster at the bottom of the sea that you should fear. That’s what I am, right, darling? I’m the monster.’ He also began to get louder with each word, his words slurred with exhaustion. That is when you noticed the bottle on the edge of the desk. The rest of the room lay in disarray, but the bottle stood pristinely on the corner of the oaken desktop, uncorked without anything spilt it, but nonetheless half empty.

‘Are you drunk?’ You reached for the bottle.

‘You wish, princess.’ He laughed. ‘Then maybe I wouldn’t remember any of this tomorrow. But please, be my guest, drink–’ he pointed at the bottle you were holding, ‘eat, take my clothes, my bed, men, maybe go through all of my belongings once more, read my personal correspondence like its a bloody periodical. Jump of the ship if you please. I do not care.’ He threw his arms up, and something in you tightened. Of course, he knew about you, having read the letter. But should you feel guilty about it now? When he just admitted to targeting your friends? So many things were going through your head, and words you wanted to say to him, but only one question truly encapsulated it all.

‘What is your problem?’

‘You.’ He pointed sternly, so there was no confusion on the matter, ‘You are my problem. Have been since the very first day.’

‘Well, if only there had been a solution to that,’ you threw your arms up in faux-surrender, ‘Like maybe, not kidnapping me, or you could have left me to die on my ship or, even better, not ambushing my ship!’

‘You were never meant to be on that ship!’ He yelled out, letting out all his frustrations while all of yours disintegrated at that moment, too, as you let his words go through you. The next word you spoke was too overcrowded by confusion to be heard from a distance.

‘What?’

‘You know you weren’t supposed to be there.’ He blinked, and something in him cracked. A part of him you had never seen before that had come out by mistake and was now vulnerable against everything. ‘It was supposed to be them—him—’

‘How do you know that?’

‘Because I know them. You speak of what a monster I am, but I know what kind of monsters they are and what they do, and I know you’re not one of them.’

‘You don’t know anything about me!’ You gritted your teeth as tears pricked the corners of your eyes. With each sentence spoken between you, unbeknownst to either, utterly subconsciously, you had both pulled at an invisible string. Pulling each other closer and closer until there was nowhere left to pull; the knot tied you down. Inseparable.

Munson looked down at you, the angles of his features suddenly softer, eyes flickering over all the corners of your face. ‘Well, what do you know about me?’

If he had asked you this any other day, any other minute, even if it had been ten seconds before, you would have been able to answer him directly with no hesitation. But, unfortunately, he had asked it right at this moment, as you stood only inches apart. Breathing the same air in and out. Everything around you dampened. It was just you and him. No sound, no light, no touch. Time sped up and slowed down at the same time. You could have stood there for an hour or a second, which would not have mattered.

You were still fighting to find the words when he touched your cheek and pulled you in. His lips practically crashed into yours with the force of a burning sun, and that is what must have burst inside you as he did. All thoughts fizzled away from your mind to the point that the only thing you could think of was his body on yours. The touch between the two of you. His lips on yours, hand on cheek, chest to chest.

But as smoothly as those thoughts had dissolved, as quickly they rematerialised when he pulled away. And with the moment of clarity, you let your body speak for itself as now your hand met his cheek.

Harshly.

The impact ghosted your palm as the red mark across his jawline began to form. Following your hand’s movement, he turned his face away but slowly came back to you, and nothing had changed about him. You could not read anything of him. He was a closed book. A tall wall between two cursed lands.

But that is when you realised that something had changed in you. Deep within.

A fracture.

It must have been there for ages, shattering away small pieces here and there as time passed. Each day, no matter how hard you tried to keep them under control, the cracks would grow and grow, ready to burst out whatever it was hiding on the other side. This thing that was hungry for something. Something you had never known you wanted, even needed, but now could not live another second without. As your chest still rose with anger, and the final crack formed, breaking the foundations apart, you leaned in and let your lips meet his for a second time. Without letting another second go to waste, he grabbed you tightly and pulled you in, closing any possible gaps. Bursting through the walls.

Like a cannon,

straight through the heart.

The damage was done.

Chapter 8

thank you so much for reading!! if you want more of where this came from, check out my masterlist.

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taglist (part 1)

@nope-thanks @seventhlevelofhell @strangerfreaks @hangmanscoming @blueberrylemontea-fanfic @vintagehellfire @raven-rust @eddiesguitarskills @taccobelle @imjusteddietrashatthispoint @lunar-corgimon

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anama-cara · 5 months

Text

Bargaining

dark!Joel Miller x f!Reader

Bargaining Masterlist

Summary: You try to bargain your virginity for your family’s safety. Word count: 1.8k

Warnings for full fic: 18 + mdni , Dubious consent, virginity loss, unsafe p in v, mentions of STDs, pet names, dark, age gap, survivalism, I do Not condone this. Reader is in her early 20’s, Joel is in his 40’s. Reader’s inner thoughts are in italics. This is my first fic, please give feedback.

“Wait. I can give you something else. My virginity.”

He raises an eyebrow.

---

Joel Miller, the infamous raider, stands before you. He and his band of men control these parts, and they provide “protection” from clickers and other raiders in exchange for a monthly payment. Your household (its just you and your younger brother) usually give them a large basket full of vegetables. But this month something, maybe a gopher or a deer, tore up your garden, eating everything. You had nothing else to give. When Joel’s men had broken down your door you begged them, told them you’d give them double next month. They threatened to take your brother instead, put him to work. And then Joel strode through the front door, filing the doorway with his large form. He wore a red flannel, thick tan leather jacket, heavy boots and tight jeans with his knee cocked out and his hands on his hips.

“What’s taking so long in here? There trouble?” He asked his men. They nodded to you and Joel’s gaze shifted to you. An intense gaze, one that made your knees weak and your chin tremble. You swallowed and pulled yourself together.

“I’m sorry, an animal destroyed our crops. We can forage and plant again. I promise next month we will pay double.”

He shook his head sadly and your stomach dropped.

“Sorry sweetheart, can’t go around making exceptions, even for someone as pretty as you.”

One of his men stepped forward and made to grab your brother’s arm. Pretty? Maybe there was another way.

“Wait. I am still a virgin. I’m unused. I have no diseases, which is good because out here if you get sick you could die,” you ramble, shifting your weight from foot to foot.

“I’m clean. I’ve never been touched by a man. And I wouldn’t just be giving you sex, or safe sex, or my virginity, I’d be giving you a piece of me, my dignity, my identity, my soul.”

He grins wickedly at that so you plow ahead. He likes to have power, you can read it in his face, so you use it to your advantage.

“I’d be yours, claimed, forever marked by you, by my first time. Yours to ruin. Yours to torment, yours to degrade, yours to fuck, yours to fill. You can stretch me out and when your cum is dripping down my thighs and I am reduced to a sweating, sobbing, shaking mess on the floor - striped of my dignity and humanity, then you can proudly sit back and see your power. How you’ve ruined someone, claimed them, destroyed them, owned them.”

Damn you’re really trying to sell this. He has to take bait, you can’t let them take your brother.

You have his undivided attention, his eyes never left yours throughout your whole monologue. He seems surprised and a little impressed by your unexpected language. Now that you’ve said your piece, finished begging, he breaks eye contact. He shamelessly looks you up and down like he’s inspecting a horse to buy. He says nothing but gives one curt nod.

You loosen a sigh of relief. Your brother would be safe. You turned to face him, you had been standing a step in front of him, protecting him with your body. You knelt down and put a hand on his check. “Go upstairs, and don’t come down till I tell you. Okay?” You tell him softly. He nods silently and heads for the staircase in the corner of the room. You straighten up and turn to face Joel again. There’s something on his face, almost like a sad understanding as he watches your brother leave.

“Alright sweetheart, where do you wanna do this?” He asks gruffly in his thick Texan accent.

Oh god this is really happening.

“N-not upstairs.” Is all you manage to get out. Your mind seems to be going blank with the anxiety and shock of what’s about to happen. When you don’t move or say anything else he just nods and grabs your hand, pulling you from the main room where all his men remain, rifling through your things. He pulls you through a door and into the kitchen. He closes the door and pushes a chair underneath the doorknob, jamming it.

“Don’t want anyone interrupting us.” He smirks at your widened eyes. “You know sweetheart, you sure do have a filthy mouth. Saying all those things.” He’s shaking his head. He finally lets go of your hand to take a step back and look you over again greedily. Nothing soft remains in his eyes now. No, the only thing you see is a predator. His hungry eyes devour you. All the warning bells are going off in your head, every instinct telling you to kick him in the crotch and run. But you know you can’t, because although you know you could probably outrun this big guy, there are too many of them, and your brother is upstairs. So, you take a deep breath, loosen your fists and accept you fate. He notices the little movement. He notices everything.

“Ready sweetheart?”

You give a small nod, still unable to speak. You’re afraid of how small your voice will sound. You will not appear weak in front of him. You hold your chin higher and meet his stare.

The corner of his lips pull up in a wicked grin. “Good.”

And then he moves, and he’s so fast you don’t even know what’s happening until you’re pushed up against the kitchen island. With a broad hand he pushes you down and pins you between your shoulder blades. He’s got you bent over face down on the counter. Your breasts are pressed against the cold granite and your nipples harden against it. He presses into you from behind and you can feel his considerable bulge. With one boot he hooks your foot and slides it out, spreading your legs further for him. You hear the metal clanging as he undoes his belt and lowers his zipper. You don’t turn to look. There’s no need, you know he'll be big. With his cock freed he closes the gap between you, leaning further into you.

Shit. This will be painful.

He's even larger than you thought. You feel his hard cock behind you, pressing against your ass and the small of your back. His head tilts and you feel his hot breath on the curve of your neck. His lips glide over your shoulder. “So soft.” He inhales deeply, smelling your hair. “Mmmm.” With one hand he reaches up and grabs at your breast roughly. He can feel your hardened nipple through the thin fabric of the dress. He lets out a low growl and gropes you harder. You can feel his breathing getting faster. He reaches back down to pull your dress up above your ass. It bunches around you hips.

“Hold this sweetheart.” He whispers in your ear. You obey, grabbing the bunched up fabric with one hand and bracing yourself on the counter with the other. He pulls back, and pulls your underwear down to your ankles. One hand moves to your hip, keeping you in place. With his other hand wrapped around the base of his cock he notches at your entrances and pushes in half way. White hot pain flashes through you. He’s so big and your body was not prepared for him. He pulls out almost all the way and pushes in again, all the way, hips snapping. Searing pain, he is splitting your insides apart. You hiss in pain.

“Sorry sweetheart, didn’t say this was gonna be nice for you. Remember this is your payment. Take it.”

He chuckles darkly and slams into you again. You shake your head.

No, no no no, it’s too much.

You can’t breathe. You feel a trickle of blood run down the inside of your thigh. Your hips dig into the countertop and you know there with be a line of bruising left on your skin. You’ll have bruising on the side of your hips too, his fingers are griping you so tightly.

“That’s a good little virgin. So fucking tight. Relax sweetheart. Don’t fight it.” He grunts. “I know your pussy will want it anyways.”

He sets up a rapid pace, slamming into you roughly with each thrust. It’s dry and painful and you hate it. Hate him. But after a few minutes when your body has adjusted you begin to loosen a bit. You still hate Joel, hate this man who runs these lands like he owns them. But you can’t deny that your body has stopped protesting. So you try to drown out the obscene sounds of skin slapping and his grunting behind you. You let your mind travel far away and forget that it is Joel behind you.

You’re not sure how much time has passed, but you feel a change behind you, the hot breaths on your shoulder blades are uneven and the pace is different, slower and deeper. He lets out a pained moan then pulls out of you, there’s a seconds pause then you feel hot liquid spill over you. It hits the small of your back in ropes and drips onto your ass. He sighs deeply from behind you. You finally turn to look at him. He’s staring your body, satisfaction on his face as he watches his cum drip down you. You whip your head back around before he can catch your eye.

There’s silence as he watches you and catches his breath. Finally, he reaches down and pulls your underwear back up. He takes the dress out of your grip and tugs it down. He runs his hands over your waist and ass, smoothing the fabric and feeling you up. One rests at the small of your back and presses the dress into the wetness there, letting to fabric soak it up and stick to you. He grins.

“Alright sweetheart.”

He gives your ass a smack then lets go of you. You push up and raise yourself off from the counter, resting on your elbows. He says nothing else as he moves to the door, unwedges the chair and opens the door. He looks back at you. You’re still leaning against the counter for support. He eyes your shaking legs, your ruffed up hair, your wrinkled wet dress. “See you next month.”

You’re in shock. That’s it? You don’t move as he leaves and whistles for his men to follow. You don’t move till you hear the front door slam behind them. Then you sink to the kitchen floor.

You don’t understand, Joel is infamous for being violent and cruel. You know that could have been much worse, that he could have beat you, that he could have passed you around to his men afterwards. But he just left. Suddenly you feel grateful. Then you silently curse yourself for it, reminding yourself that even though it could have been worse it was horrible that it ever happened in the first place. That someone threatened your family, that they took something from you. That they acted like they owned the place. You grit your teeth. No, the only thing you’re grateful for is the fact that it’s over. You stand on your shaky legs and reach for a kitchen towel. You call out for your brother, letting him know that they’re gone and he’s safe. You clean yourself up and you hear his little feet running down the stairs. He bursts into the room and flies at you in a hug. “Your big sis took care of it. I’ll always protect you remember. It’s okay. It’s over.” You pat his back and comfort him.

See you next month.

#raider!joel #raider!JoelMiller #dark!joel miller #dark!joel x reader #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x reader #dark!joel #joel miller smut #joel miller x female reader #joel miller x f!reader #virgin!reader #virginity loss #joel tlou #tlou #tlou fanfiction #dark joel miller #dark!joel miller x reader #dark!joel miller smut #raider!joel miller x fem!reader

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avidhorrormoviefan · 10 months

Note

Smut request about sitting on sub Charlies face 🙇‍♀️🙇‍♀️🙇‍♀️

AAAHHHH

thank you so much for your patience with me i’ve had writers block for like a month but i’m back!! keep the requests cominggg!!! love you all!!

smut, sub!charlie, “momma”, not proofread

—————

imagine this but with more of a smile 😮‍💨

charlie’s such a pathetic little simp. whenever you ask him to do something for you, he says yes.

need water? he’s on it. want to take a shower? he starts it for you and makes sure it’s a perfect temperature. want head? believe me, he’s there.

he finds himself kissing your tongue with you on his lap, something very familiar to you.

his hands wander from your hips, down to your thighs and up to your waist as his touch gives you goosebumps. you rock your hips back and fourth to give you both some much needed friction, his clothed erection pressing against your wet heat.

he lets out a mewl at your movements, parting from the kiss. he looks up at you, his light eyes looking so pathetic.

“baby..” he whines as you play with the long hair at the back of his neck.

“what’s up, hun?” you slightly tilt your head at him, giving him a small frown.

he breathes shakily as your fingers grip the roots of his hair. “i wanna make you feel good, momma…”

you smile at the plead, “why don’t we try something new, hmm?”

he perks up, his hands coming to grip your hips, “like- like what??”

“here..” you say as you get off of him, his face slightly dropping at the loss of you. he looks so desperate and needy looking up at you. “lay down,” you demand. he immediately complies and lays on his back.

he watches as you take off your hands and peel off your panties to reveal your dripping cunt. he’s giddy at this point, blushing and giggling, so excited to see what’s to come next.

you step closer to him, his eyes locking on yours, moving to rake down your body. "baby..." he whines.

your hands come to push his hair away from his face. as you take his his features as you come to sit on his chest, legs wrapped around his torso.

"i need you to be a good boy and listen to me, okay?" you say, moving your hands to brush your thumb on his cheekbone.

he nods frantically, wanting to be so good for you, just wanting to make you feel good. "yes, momma i promise"

"alright.." you lift your hips up and move up closer to his face, "put your arms under my hips,"

"yeah..." he wraps his arms under your thighs and plants his hands on your hips as he looks directly at your pussy.

you huff out a laugh through your nose as he thrusts his hips up to get some friction out of his jeans.

"babyyy.." he whines again, just wanting to taste you.

"alright, alright," you scotch up a little once more, hovering just above his face. "you ready, baby?"

he nods desperately, again, "mhmm"

you sit down slowly, tongue automatically darting out of his mouth to lick a stripe from your entrance to your clit. he makes sure to pay close attention to the noises coming from you. you let out a high whine as your head rolls back and your hands come to grab a handful of his hair.

he licks and sucks on your clit, so eager to please you. he grunts as he pulls your full weight on him, the vibration rumbling through your body. he doesn't care if he fucking suffocates between your thighs.

you shift slightly forward to get his mouth on your entrance. he gets the point and pushes his tongue inside you. you moan as you feel the warmth of his mouth finally kissing your walls.

the lewd sounds coming from both you and him are pornographic. the sloppy wet noises mixed with your moans and whines are music to his ears.

he thrusts his tongue in and out of you, loving the taste. you almost fall forward as he sucks on your clit. how is he so fucking good at this?

his mouth working on your clit is like heaven on earth for both you and him.

he pulls you closer to him as you feel your orgasm rushing towards you. what puts you over the edge is feeling a final grunt come from his, again feeling it in your pussy. you moan and whine as you come over his face, his tongue lapping you up in all your glory, coursing you through your orgasm.

when you tighten your thighs around his face, his hands grip the flesh of your hips. he continues to suck on your clit, your hands pulling on his hair to try to get him to stop or at least slow down. he doesnt.

"fuck baby, baby.. sto-stop please!"

he lets go of your clit, releasing your legs to fall back against his raised knees.

“holy shit…” you say, completely out of breath.

“i’m sorry momma i’m so sorry, i didn’t mean to, you just- …tasted so good..”

“it’s okay baby, it’s fine..” you say, soothingly rubbing his thighs as you keep laid back, “s’good baby, you did so good f’me. so proud of you, thank you.”

you keep your eyes locked on him, as he looks more embarrassed then normal. “honey, what is it?”

you sit up a bit, trying to keep eye contact but he looks away. “charlie, look at me.”

“i- mm i…” he gestures at his lap.

you look down, seeing a darker spot on his jeans by his dick.

“baby,” you slightly laugh, “it’s okay.” there’s really no reason for him to be embarrassed. you both know how you get him; he’s so in love with you.

“really?” he finally looks at you, cheeks going back to a normal shade.

“yes, charlie. i’ll just have to repay you some other time,” you say slowly getting up.

“w-what?

—————

(would you want this to be foreshadowing wink wink)

sorry this is kinda bad i wrote this at like 1 am

#charlie walker smut #charlie walker #scream smut #scream 4 #taglist #anon request #he’s perfect #he gives me life #i cant tag

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evelzzzk · 1 year

Text

Ladies, I present you... his lips.

Imagine Aemond brushing your cheeks and chin slightly with his soft swollen lips right before he kisses you, slowly, passionately, his tongue fighting your own over dominance. When he finally breaks the kiss to catch a breath, you whine at a sudden loss of his touch and he only smirks cunningly seeing your visible discontent. His puffy mouth finds its way down to your neck, nibbling and biting every scrap of your sensitive skin, making deep, purple-red marks and bruises to make sure everyone knows that you’re only his to claim. You moan quietly and you tilt your head back to give him better access as he keeps on sucking and nipping you from the crook of your neck to collarbones. He grows seemingly impatient as his hands sneak underneath your nightdress, kneading your breasts like a piece of dough and pinching your hardened nipples, twisting them between his fingers. After a moment he ultimately rips the chemise off with a one, swift move of his hand and you’re quite impressed with his strength and how easily he could break you if he wanted to. You stand before entirely naked, your dainty figure trembles when a gust of cold wind hits your skin and your tits bouncing lightly in the rhythm of your heavy breathing. His only eye is devouring you, trying to memorize every curve of your magnificent body, his lascivious smile is literally steaming from the raw desire. He pins you to the wall behind you with his whole weight, grabbing your one thigh and pulling it up to his narrow waits and holds it firmly, you could feel growing bulge in his pants, rubbing against your core, already filling with slick. You start to rock your hips back and forth his taut crotch to gain some more friction but he stops you by pressing his other arm to your stomach and you whimper with disappointment.

And your Prince continues teasing you as he gets to your shapely boobs, his dexterous lips sucking and kissing their fragile flesh and he completely loses himself while he engulfs the soft mold. Breathy moans keep on escaping your parted mouth when he carries on coddling you with his damn tender lips and you involuntarily run your fingers through his silky silver-blonde hair, not wanting him to stop. But for Aemond it wasn’t enough as he still was grappling with an insatiable need to taste you, to drink all of your juices until you run dry and weaken, being fully sated beneath him. Without further ado, he starts slowly to make his path down your belly with his hot tongue and mouth, not leaving an inch of your body untouched or uncaressed, marking it with wet traces of his saliva. At last he reaches your pubes, filling his nostrils with the scent of your heated femininity, there was such bliss written on his face, as if he were a hungry wolf that has just scented his bleeding out prey by its bloody tracks. You are so desperate for him to start fucking you with his tongue already that you push forward your pelvis against his face, so his warm breath brushes all over your soaked folds and clit, merely spurring them. But he only smirks, being amused by your fussiness as he doesn’t give in to your pressure, not a bit. ‘So needy, huh?’, he asks mockingly when one of his fingers strokes your pubic crease, just above your exposed clit and he does it so gently that it’s almost irritating. You’re mewling with want. ‘Worry not, ñuha gevie riñītsos (my pretty little girl). I will give you what you desire and much more. And I won’t stop even if you beg me to.’ As if nothing had happened, he puts your one leg on his portly shoulder so that your pussy is at the perfect angle within his tongue reach. While his one hand holds your ass firmly to give you more support, his other one grasps your waist to prevent your shaking form from falling down.

For a moment he watches a trickle of your juices dripping down your inner thigh, almost hypnotized by the sight, but then he starts licking every single drop from your knee bend to the groin, wet feeling of his tongue makes you go soft as your stretched legs are getting wobbly. You see that he is no longer able to control himself, the taste of your liquids makes him go feral and in a split second his tongue springs out, lapping on your drenched folds, slowly at first, making small circles over your slit. Your ringing shriek fills the room and you start to tremble so hard that you have to clutch the nearest curtain to regain your balance. Your hips start to rock rhythmically, urging him to set a faster pace but he stops you, grasping your thigh painfully, nearly leaving bruises on it to warn you to do not hustle him further more.

When you cooled yourself down and finally obeyed his silent command, he resumed his movements, drinking all your juices like a starved man having a feast at last, with nothing more on the menu than your sweet nectar. His long nose rubs your clit as his tongue keeps on lapping on your soaked cunt, sucking it in and biting it gingerly, sending shivers through your spine, while you’re moaning like a common whore. Your screams and groans are like music to his ears and he is ready to do everything to coax more and more of them from you as all that he desires is to give you the greatest pleasure that he can provide you and he wants to know that you are wholly satisfied and sated. He’s whispering dirty words in High Valyrian as if that would make them more sophisticated. He talks so sweetly and praises you, how good and obedient girl you are, how he loves when you moan for him and that very sound makes him so hard that it hurts, how he could eat nothing more but you for the rest of his life and he would die to taste you even once more. How beautiful your pussy is when it’s so wet and ready for him, that he could fall asleep with his face between your folds or with his enormous cock buried deep down inside you. His words alone could make you come right now, at this moment, but you look down to see his face pressed between your legs, guzzling all your slick, his chin glistening with limpid fluid and he licks it off greedily, wanting for more.

At last his tongue finds its way through your hole, slipping in and out, fucking you with his mouth at delicious pace, enough to stimulate all the right spots inside your walls as his serpentine muscle torments your core relentlessly. You couldn’t help but to spur your hips moves and this time he doesn’t deter you, allowing you to gain desirable friction, at whatever angle or position you wish. His finger joins his caresses as it seizes your clit on view, making small circles with just fingertip and that alone drives you insane and you squeal wildly as he torments your poor bud of nerves. He doesn’t stop his tongue movements as it continues to push in and out of your dripping pussy at a frantic pace, he adds the other finger to penetrate you deeper, more severely and you were ready to cum just at the very sensation of it, feeling you walls starting to clench around his digit. When he notices that he purrs delightfully, being ready and willing to drive you into your first climax. Aemond carries on overstimulating your overwrought clit, slightly biting and nibbling it, just enough to fillip your already sharpened senses. After a short moment, he slips second finger through your needy cunt, pumping into you in a killer rhythm, stretching your walls to the limit, pounding and squashing them violently. And it was already too much for you, you felt that you were about to reach your peak as you couldn't stop clutching around his fingers, your pussy sucked them in so tightly that he barely could move them. ‘Aemond, I-I’m going to cum... Oh Gods...!’, you whimper as you feel your entire body shaking, chills running through your every nerve. ‘Come, ñuha gevie (my beautiful). Don’t hold yourself back’, he coos, not interrupting neither his tongue nor fingers moves, driving you through your orgasm.

And you come so hard that it washes you over like a flood, all your limbs are numb, you’re quivering so much that you think you’re going to pass out and slump down that wall within a second but your Prince holds you strongly, not letting you fall. You weren’t aware of it until you looked at his face, but you squirted, spurts of your liquids dripping down his cheeks and chin, even running down his muscular torso. You blush like a ripe beet, being abashed of yourself and your own pleasure. But he only smiles heartily at your embarrassment, showering your face with tender kisses and gently wiping off your juices and tasting them with a deep hum to assure you that there is nothing to be ashamed of and he’s proud of you and of himself of course - after all, it was he who managed to make you so happy. He caresses your face softly with one hand, praising you how well you did for him and he wants to make you cum again, while his other hand is still inside your spent pussy. You look at him scared, being afraid that you might not handle another climax as you are literally whacked after this one, your head is still dizzy as if you’ve just guzzled a whole bottle of wine. ‘Aemond, p-please... I-I can’t take more... I can’t do it, please...!’, you chirp, feeling as his fingers start to ravage your poor cunt again and he merely chuckles mischievously, hearing your whining, only to increase the number of his fingers inside you to three. You scream tearfully as he tears your walls apart, stretching them to the impossibility. ‘Of course you can and you will, little dove. Sing for me once more, ñuha hontes (my bird).’ And you sing, filling his waiting ears with your intoxicating moans, getting louder and louder every time he thrusts his fingers into you at an unimaginable pace or licks all the juices off of you until you're completely dry. You knew full well he wouldn't rest until he'd tricked you into orgasm after orgasm, and there would be nothing left from you but a complete mess, squealing underneath him. And you didn't mind that, you've always loved his sweet tortures.

I'm back!!! I'm back from the tumblr jail, and it turned out that it was some mean glitch. I'm so happy and decided to celebrate this by posting this one-shot. In a few days I should post 6th chapter of my series, meanwhile here's the Masterlist if you want to catch up with my work -> Dragons eat Seahorses series

btw sorry for any mistakes, I've wrote that one quickly on my phone and english isn't my native language. And yeah, the pic of his puffy lips alone inspired me to write this short drabble. This man's got a total hold on me and it's about time to confess it, lol. Anyway, I hope you enjoyed this one! xx

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oceansssblue · 4 months

Text

~[INDEPENDENT ONE-SHOTS]

[THE BAD BATCH]– "ONE HUG AWAY"

HUNTER/F READER 💖💔

TRAVELLING WITH THE BATCH FOR QUITE SOME TIME NOW, HUNTER AND YOU HAVE GROWN TO BE THE BEST OF FRIENDS. BUT FRIENDS DON'T FEEL LIKE YOU DO AFTER JUST ONE –OR MAYBE TOO MANY– HUGS, RIGHT?

I JUST WANTED AN EXCUSE TO HUG HUNTER OKAY?

WARNINGS: PTSD–EXPLICIT WAR NIGHTMARES (BLOOD&FAMILY LOSS) IN THE FIRST PART 💔 (CAN SKIP IF YOU WANNA), OTHERWISE PURE FLUFF 💖.

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

You have a recurring nightmare. Sometimes it's just the smell; smoke and ashes, and the rotting skin of the deceased bodies that pile around you being burnt. Your nose scrunches in your sleep and you turn to your side, trying to get rid of the stench of blood and death. It doesn't usually work; and it doesn't this time, either.

Sometimes it progresses to images. Flashes of endless battalions of droids and endless battalions of clones; mixed with your own people in between, the numbers of the three groups reducing drastically each day the war drags on. It used to be beautiful, your planet, with it's peculiar blue grass and vibrant flowers; tall delicate trees and a fascinating wildlife. Now everything is mutted to orange, grey and black; fire and the shattered debris of the capital left behind.

The images turn real with sounds. It's a slow transition. It starts as a distant distorted echo, as if you were listening to something underwater. Then it blasts; roaring in increasing intensity until your ears ring and you shake unconsciously in your sleep, trashing around in your bunk.

Screams. Orders. Cries. Begging for help. Tears in your eyes. Smoke. Fire. Blood, dripping from the open gash of your shoulder and the shot wound on your side. Where are they? You can't see them. Are they safe? Are they...?

You shout their names. The tears keep streaming down your face, wetting your cheeks in real life too. You whimper in your sleep, your body shaking in place.

You can't see them again. You beg not to. But the "you" in your nightmare turns around, slowly, almost recreatively; and then...

"No!" You wake up crying, no restraint whatsoever in how you do.

You weren't even aware of it; of the way your body replicated the same emotions of that damned day of your past while sleeping in your bunk in the Marauder, surrounded by your boys, the family you have now.

You take a deep breath –a weak, stuttering thing–. Your hands quickly find their way to the collar of your t-shirt, tugging it down harshly to expose the scar on your shoulder. Your eyes flicker over every inch.

Another

deep

breath.

Your heartbeat hammers in your chest. Your trembling hands slowly pull up the end of the shirt to reveal your side as well; another scar etched in place.

You touch them. You breathe. You're safe. That had been the past; and while your loss had been heartbreaking and terrible, you were not alone in your present. You had the Batch; you were not back there.

Your breathing pattern starts to slow; your heartbeat still protesting madly in your chest. You let your shirt drop back to place and sigh, still sitting in the middle of your bunk. You take a glance around. You hope you haven't woken up any of them; Maker knows they need the sleep, after last night. You specially hope you haven't startled...

Hunter. He's laying on his bunk with his torso propped up on his elbows; gaze stady and intent on your shape. You can barely see him in the darkness of the room; just his siluete and the weight of his heavy stare. He knows. He can hear your heartbeat, your breathing. He could hear your quiet whimpers and cries, before, maybe even smell your tears. Hell, he can probably guess what the dream was all about. After all, he had been the one to help her escape the wrath of the Separatists. He had seen the destruction of her planet, too.

A powerful need to go to him wrecks you. Your fingers tremble, and a choked sound threatens to pour out of your lips. You hesitate for just a second. Hunter and you have never really been that close before –fellowship, fondness and polite respect, sure, but not that level of raw affection–; and you don't want to bother him. Or make him feel weird. Or like he has to take care of you out of duty as the good human being he is but not really wanting to do so. But you need him. You do.

You cross the small space between both of your bunks as noiseless as posible, wavering on your tip-toes. He tracks every one of your movements; chin tilting up slightly to look up at you when you finally stand in front of him. You play with your own hands for a moment; feeling uncertain and restless in the expectant silence. You can see him a tiny bit better now; long hair –a bit of a mess without his bandana on–, sharp profile and impossibly magnetic eyes. He's always being so good to you...

You feel yourself starting to shake again –your emotions swirling inside your mind–; but it all stops with Hunter's movement as he pulls the covers back with one hand in a clear invitation to share his bed for the night. You make a small needy uncontrolable sound with your throat; and scramble to crawl in his bunk besides him without much thought.

Hunter's body is incredibly firm and warm. You move for a few seconds while trying to find the best position against him; quickly setting for your cheek pressing into his chest and your nose hiding in his neck, one arm wrapped around him and both legs respectfully on top of the thin matress inches away from his. Hunter make's a deep humming sound of his own and his right hand slowly presses against the middle of your back; just a reassuring presence that without words messages "i'm here". You know. He always is.

You take in his comforting familiar scent and sigh. You're too tired to give much thought to the fact that you're actually hugging Hunter; and dark memories replaced in his safe embrace, you take no time in drifting back again into unconsciousness.

Hunter stays awake for a while; making sure your nightmares don't return before going back to sleep as well, getting used to the strange feeling of being this close to you. It's new; and nicer than he'd like to admit to himself.

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

The second time you hug him is a relief-driven action that holds no pre-planed thought at all. You had been waiting for news of the Batch for weeks now, having to stay back on Pabu after breaking your arm in the last mission; forced to watch them go on their own. It hadn't gone right for them either –the Empire smelling their trace and making their trip twice as long and with no coms available, even with Tech's security measures–. You had nearly picked your nails off; and a somehow un-nervous Phee standing next to you and chuckling to herself for whatever mysterious reason you couldn't care to find out had definitely not helped.

You're running towards them the moment the Marauder touches the ground. Wrecker's the first to walk the ramp; and though you care for him dearly, it's not him you jump towards.

Hunter has no other option than to hold you tightly against his chest in surprise when you crash into him. The force of your desperate hug makes him stumble –definetly not expecting that kind of welcome from you–; but he quickly gains his footing and carefully and almost hesitantly hugs you back.

"You should be more carefull with that arm" he points out, voice deep and roughned up by the tiredness and dehydratation close to your ear. "A cast doesn't give you inmunity".

You chuckle, tightening your one-arm hug against him once before taking a deep relieved breath in and stepping back. You tilt your head to look up into Hunter's dark chocolate eyes. He looks exhausted, but still holds a firm and gentle aura. He's always the composed soldier; and you admire him for that.

"No, and that's why I've mastered the one-side tackle" you joke, eying quickly the rest of the Batch and softening your glance. "I'm glad you're back and safe, Hunter".

His eyes fill with warmth and affection at your sweet, sincere tone. A fleeting thought passes through your head, noticing the difference between amicable fondness and this newfound emotion shining in his gaze. His hand briefly squeezes your un-injured shoulder once, close enough to your old scar that it somehow makes it burn. You wouldn't have been able to take your eyes of him even if you tried to.

Hunter pulls his hand back and offers a tiny tired smile.

"I'm glad to be back too".

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

The physical contact with Hunter continues to grow in the following month; until it becomes a natural expected thing, a helping hand or a brush of arms here and there.

Hunter's the one to actually give you the third hug. It's one night when you all say your goodbyes to each other and prepare to get to your respective apartments for the night that happens. The people in Pabu had been kind enough to offer a twin set for you lot; having divided yourself in boys and girls. Hunter bends down to give Omega a hug; turning right after to you and enveloping your figure in his arms as well.

You freeze momentarily –though not in disgust–; your heartbeat speeding up slightly at the surprising –and unusal– gesture. Yeah, you've hugged Hunter yourself twice now; but he has never been one to initiate contact himself, maybe too polite for that.

It's him who realises what he's done, stepping back with a confused expression on his face and pushing his long hair back in a shy selfconscious tick.

"Oh, um... I don't know why I did that. My bad" he shrugs it off, offering a sheepish smile, and you chuckle at his reaction.

Not so composed this time.

"That's alright, Hunter. I don't mind. You're a good hugger" you point out.

His expresion turns into amusement, and he shows his signature side smirk. He crosses his arms in front of his chest. He's one of a motherfucker atractive man. Future girlfriend will be ecstatic to have him.

"Am I, now?"

You both laugh softly, and he decides it's time to leave you so you can have some time to rest. They're going on a mission tomorrow, and he needs you bright and early.

"Good night, mesh'la" he tells you, voice soft feeling like a caress, and you study him in curiosity at the new Mando'a.

You've heard them say some words here and there –mostly insults or surprised expressions–; but never that one.

Before you're able to ask the meaning of it, Hunter offers a last smile and turns around, quietly walking away to their own apartment straight across from yours. Your eyes never leave his retrearing figure; while Omega's switches curiously between you both.

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

You lose count after the fourth one. Hugs start to form part of your usual rutine; sometimes a quick way of saying "hello" or "goodbye" and sometimes a simple show of affection, until it reaches the point where they're not unexpected anymore –though equally pleasant–. You also start to hug the rest of the Batch as well; not Echo, of course –he isn't comfortable with you like that just yet, though he admits small pats and squeezes on the shoulder as a substitute–, but Omega, Tech and Wrecker. Each hug with them feels different than rest; Hunter's keeps being the best.

It's not just physical contact that grows over the two of you; but mental as well. You often find yourself sitting with him in the cockpit –when you're on a mission– or strolling through Pabu –sometimes with Omega on your tail, sometimes not– when you're on a break. Your relationship with him deepens. He even opens up enough to talk about Crosshair; something you know it hurts him and has never been mentioned around you before. Other times he shares his worries about Omega and her on-the-run childhood; his fears for what the future beholds. You take special care of those quiet, heartfelt moments, listening carefully and giving your thoughtfull opinion that is neither naive nor too depressing; just the right amount of truth. You must be doing something right; because Hunter keeps coming back for more.

Somewhere along the way, two months in since that day of your nightmare, he casually opens his arms wide for you –not as a hello or a goodbye, not because it has been too long since you last saw each other, just a spontaneous gesture because he wants to– and you can't help but smile and cuddle straight into his arms. He sighs, body curving slightly to drap himself closer around you; and you feel the luckiest person in the world.

You take that as a license to hug him whenever you want. Sometimes he's in the middle of a conversation with his brothers when you walk towards them and slide your arms around him, pressing softly against his side; Hunter quickly growing into it and wrapping an arm around you as well without stopping the talk. Other times it's him who does it; like when you're watching Omega play with other teens on the beach, and Hunter come's around and hugs you to him while resting his chin on your shoulder, observing her.

People in Pabu start gossipping about you; rumours spreading that you might have started dating. You almost laugh when you hear it for the first time. Yeah, Hunter and you hug a lot, now, and it's undeniable that you've grown much closer; but don't friends hug too?

You start being more aware of your own actions from there on; and conclude that maybe not like that. And maybe hugs between friends aren't supposed to make you feel this way either; the way Hunter's does.

It's like that how you realise you're falling in love with him. You've always respected and admired him so much; but your feelings for him run deeper than that.

The hugs become even more frecuent as time passes by. You start to play with his hair too; Hunter even proping his head on your lap when you're resting on your bunk to demand some. You do it each time with a small chuckle and a rush of warmth and love that makes your eyes shine. You wonder if he's able to read the differences on your reactions, now.

You gather your courage, and when one of those times he relaxes on your lap again, enjoying the soft caresses of your fingers on his hair and scalp, you bend forward to kiss his forehead. Before you do, his breath hitches; his senses detecting some kind of movement above him. When your lips finally press softly against his skin, Hunter relaxes and lets out a small content hum. His right hand travels up to close around your leg, squeezing gently; and you restart your little massage.

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

You're honestly surprised with how quiet the rest of the batch has been around you; not a word of your unusual closeness with Hunter even after three months of development. Yeah, they steal glances of the two from time to time, as if expecting for something to happen; but there's no out of place comment or impatient complaint.

You're... hesitant about Hunter. About his feelings for you; sometimes so convinced they're as romantic as yours are, and other times swaying towards a strong friendship. Hunter doesn't kiss on the cheek anybody else, or cuddle with any other woman, for that matter; he's a bit reserved. But then again, he has never had a close female friend before, either; so maybe he's just curiously exploring what it means, enjoying the change. A bit of your own insecurities play their part as well. Hunter is such a striking man... And though you don't believe yourself to be unnatractive by any chance, you're not sure you're able to compete on his league. But maybe you don't have to, right? Hunter's not one of your past fleeting flings, not someone who values how you look and how many times you have sex in a week with as your main value. He's a decent person; someone who truly cares for your well-being. You snort at your following thought. Maybe that problem of your last relationship hadn't been you; you're sure you'd never lack the desire to jump in bed with Hunter. And you know he wouldn't pressure you if that weren't the case. That's the best part.

One week later, it's him who finally points out the elephant in the room. You're just entering their small apartment after watching a beautiful sunset in Pabu; deciding to make him some company while the rest of the Batch stays with Omega in the beach. He had stayed back under the need for some quiet and silence. After a whole afternoon to himself, you believe he must have had that covered.

Hunter's attention inmediatly snaps to you as soon as you walk through the open door; turning his body towards you and crossing his arms with an arching brow. He knows what's coming. It's tradition, now. You feel the inmediate need as soon as you're in front of him.

"You know... I'm one hug away from kissing you, cyare" he warns, amused little smile dancing on his lips while he gently stops your hips with his hands. "You're driving me crazy with all that physical contact, mesh'la".

You laugh. Your eyes shine up at him, insides warm and fuzzy with the raw affection he's directing towards you. His thumbs trace slow lazy circles over your hips. You love him. You have enjoyed the unhurried natural progression of your developing relationship; but you can't wait to take the next step, to finally being able to call him yours. You want to be that lucky girl you thought of once.

Oh well. If one more hug is all it takes...

You slowly stand on your tip-toes; and without taking your eyes off of him, your hands slowly skim up his arms til you're enveloping his back and shoulders in a half-hug. Your face is inches from Hunter's now. Your smile is impossibly wide and proud while you grin at him.

Hunter chuckles in amusement, quickly catching onto your logic, the silent question in your gesture; and one of his hands abandon your hips for a gentle hold on the side of your jaw.

"Love you" he mumbles, still smiling while he gives you his first ever kiss, making you giggle while you cling to his shoulders and kiss him back as well.

He deepens the kiss, demanding more of you while tigthening his grasp on your hip and pulling you closer. You make a satisfied happy noise with your throat, fingers slipping into his hair and body melting against him.

"Love you too".

THE END.

•••••••••••••••••••••••••

AUTHOR'S NOTE:

I JUST THOUGHT OF HOW GOOD A HUG FROM STRONG HANDSOME HUNTER WOULD FEEL AND THIS IS THE RESULT.

HOPE YOU'VE LIKED IT (LET ME KNOW)!

AS ALWAYS, REBLOGS ARE DEEPLY APRECIATED.

REMEMBER I'M TAKING REQUESTS/PROMPTS!

Xx,

Sky.

PS. HELPPPP CAN SOMEONE PLS EXPLAIN TO ME HOW CAN I LINK MY ONE-SHOTS IN TUMBLR WITH JUST THE TITLE IN THE CUTE WAY EVERYONE DOES AND NOT LIKE I'M CURRENTLY DOING? TY!

(Back to general masterlist here)

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beautifulbrainrot · 9 months

Text

spencer reid x reader

cw spencer in prison, mention of him being attacked, loss of weight & talk of eating

No.

You couldn’t breathe.

Your ears were ringing. You faintly felt someone place their hand on your shoulder, but you didn’t look too see who it was. Your eyes were glued on Spencer.

You watched his face drop as the judge banged her gavel on the table, announcing what you had been dreading since he got arrested in Mexico.

Spencer was going to prison. Your Spencer.

You stood up with tears in your eyes.

“He didn’t do it? Why are you doing this, please!” You cried. Spencer looked at you, tears shining in his eyes as they handcuffed him.

You span around to face Emily behind you.

“Em, please- He can’t! No- Emily do something, please!” You sobbed, grasping onto her blazer. She pulled you close to her, holding you as you sobbed into her chest.

“There’s nothing I can do.” She whispered softly, tears pricking in her eyes as she watched her friend be walked away in cuffs, as your pained sobs filled quiet courtroom.

You couldn’t sleep. It had been weeks since Spencer was sent to federal prison, locked away like the people he caught for a living. Unable to sleep knowing he was there, alone, suffering, you instead spent all your free time working on his case, trying to find whoever did this to him. You barely ate, living off of coffee, which was starting to show. The bags under your eyes had darkened and you were visibly skinnier which led a lot of your friends to worry about you. But you didn’t care. All you cared about was getting Spencer out of that place.

The best and simultaneously worst day of your week was when you got to see Spencer. You loved being able to see him, to be near to him, even if there was glass between the two of you, but you hated seeing him in there.

You had noticed changes in Spencer. His eyes were duller, eye bags darker, but the part that made you sick to your stomach was the array of purple and sickly yellowing bruises adorning his face.

“Spencer- What happened?” You gasped, rushing to sit across from him. He looked down, tears pricking in the corners of his eyes.

He never wanted you to see him like this.

“Spencer, please talk to me. You- You need to be put in protective custody, this is insane!” You cried, wanting nothing more than to hold him close, the fact you couldn’t, breaking your heart more.

“I’m okay. I promise.” Spencer said, finally looking up at you. You could see the tears in his eyes.

He was lying. And you knew it. But there was nothing you could do.

“I’m worried about them.” JJ said, turning to Emily as they both watched you from Emily’s office.

You were at your desk, obsessing over Spencer’s case and how to solve it like usual, it was the only thing you came into work for, abandoning all other cases.

“Me too, but can you blame them?” Emily sighed.

“I guess not, but this isn’t healthy Em. They need help.” JJ responded, turning to look at you through the glass windows.

“We need to talk to them.” JJ finished. Emily nodded, shooting off a text to tell you to come to her office.

“What is it guys, I’m working on Spencer’s case right now.” You said, walking into the office with JJ.

“We need to talk.” Emily started, leading you to sit on the sofa in the corner of the office.

“What about?” You asked, already itching to get back to your file to figure out a way to exonerate Spencer.

“You’re not.. You’re not doing well.”

“Of course I’m not, Spencer’s in prison.” You exclaimed, angered by her words. How dare they, of course your not doing well? How could you be, when the person you love was locked away from you?

“You’re not taking care of yourself,” JJ remarked, “ You don’t eat, you clearly aren’t sleeping and you’re living off coffee, it isn’t healthy!”

“How can i sleep? How can i eat, how can I live, knowing Spencer’s locked away in there?! God, I cant do this! I cant live without him.” You sobbed, tears dripping down your cheeks.

JJ pulled you into her arms, holding you close, tears in her own eyes as you sobbed into her chest.

“I cant do this- Please, I cant do this without him.”

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

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aelinschild · 2 days

Text

Dropping this and running away.

Regular evenings seemed to come less frequently these days.

Aelin remembered when the drip of some leaky floorboard was the sole pace of her shifts. The dripdripdrip a marker of seconds passed. Ticking in the back of her skull like a pulse she'd long forgotten. A beating heart settled - put down. It's gentle sounding no different than a petulant child. Itching underneath her skin like the uncomfortable scratch of wool gone too long without washing.

She had grown fond of the noise, though. Like the hand of a clock steadily raced forward, so did that godsdamned floorboard. Racing against time, or the composition of the building in it's entirety. She didn't know. Didn't care.

Much of what she did here was just for the wad of cash slipped under worn tables. Hands cracked and peeling - slivers near her nail beds. The blood lasted on the money, so long as it stayed with her longer than a night.

It was why she was still here. Still watching the same game of poker begin for its thousandth consecutive time. Roucous chatter drowning out the drip. The sound of heavy coins denting the rotted wood.

Funny, how it was strong enough to pierce her skin and simultaneously bend to the weight of a piece of silver.

She didn't take well to the irony.

Her shifts had for so long been the same routine. Serve the regulars. Pocket a coin from the gaggle of grannies, crammed into the recess in the wall. A little alcove. Made great shadows to conceal the trick of fast hands and faster tongues. Wipe down the tacky residue that accumulated faster than she could keep track of. Argue with the old man from across the street - he didn't like the (outrageous) fractured neon lights. Pity for him, because when he was knee deep in his points, face red from exasperation, pulling out a chair had the most similar movements as a sly hand into a pocket. Cool cash crawling up her sleeve. He'd leave in a huff and Aelin would be a little lighter when she missed back behind the bar. Then the night would roll in on itself. Drunkenness a curse of this corner of the Earth, she was only powerful enough to keep her head above water and do her job. Close the bar. Count the cash. Wire it away and consider mourning the loss. Until she wouldn't and was back behind the counter.

That was her normal.

And so when her flagging gaze swept across the floor, the appearance of a new piece on the board made her falter. She wished there would be more reaction than the stuttering of her eyes, wished that she felt something deeper, drawn from newness, but there was nothing.

Nothing walked closer to her. She had the thought to smile, make herself pleasant, but the action didn't follow. Nothing laid large hands upon her bartop, the one to her right (nothing's left), crawling with whorls and scribbles. Like a child had gotten a hold of a tattoo gun. How unfortunate. Those hands - large, uncomfortably so - were attached to arms. Shocking, she supposed, as her eyes crawled up along the weaving tattoo. Golden skin and visible definition could have heated something in her. Maybe it did, maybe it had been so long she no longer knew what heated her core.

"...neat,"

Hm?

The dripdripdrip was gone. And with it took the clarity borne from acute annoyance. Hands, arms, shoulders... Was she warm? Or was she losing it?

"Love."

Like a fog had descended over her minds eye, snapped away as quickly as it had formed at the call of that petname. Love. What?

She balked. "Pardon?"

He - nothing, nothing of nothing who is nothing and of no effect to her - pursed his lips. Rolling the flesh between teeth, tightening the hinge of his jaw. Gods, there was definition there too. The angle of that jaw raised to high chedckbones, a tinge of red, pulsed with life. An overwhelming urge to follow that rise and fall, trace the hollows and contours. Feel along the strong brow that framed pine green eyes. Eye that sparkled. Eyes that tightened. Eyes lined with mirth...

"You work here?" He gruffed. The smirk in his eyes didn't reach his voice. But that voice... She'd love to compare it to crashing waves, smoothing over jagged rock. Endlessly leaving a print on what was considered impenetrable. But it instead stroke along a frayed edge in her. Breaking, rather than soothing.

A pause. Where were her words? "Yes."

"Right," he murmured. Muscles flexing as he rapped his knuckles along the worn bartop. She wanted to tell him to not. Grab his fist in her own and hold tight above the shitty wooden slab. Cover it with her own. "Then I'll get a whiskey. Neat."

Crawl over the tanned skin. "Of course." Trace the inked designs. "Just give me moment." Litter a marking somewhere.

Something tangible.

"Yes!"

She didn't know how it had really happened.

Well, she did. She had played her part, and now was enjoying the outcome. Somewhere along the lines of him ordering the whiskey, leaning only lightly against the barstool, delicately draped like he was ready to spring up at a moment notice. She had wandered around. Who knew that dust collected so quickly on tables that were just cleaned? Repetitive movements only let her drift into the sensation of green eyes pinned to her back. Lower, even.

She needed extra cleaner from the back. And it was only an accident that her hand grazed his upper thigh. She had practice in the deft movements that could steal a pretty coin, but her fingers didn't dig in, clasping around valuables. Rather, she had grazed the worn jean. Lighting a blaze, trailing the fire down to his knee.

It had pulsed in her core as she walked to the back room. The bar quieter, different to the usual rowdiness of a Saturday. She had swayed her hips a little more. Sensual machinations coming back like the flip of a switch. She felt a buzz in her head, unlike a dripdripdrip of a leaky floorboard.

It was stuffy. Her face so close to his, the height difference didn't serve them well at first, until he had hoisted her up around his waist. Her legs locking her tight. She had felt the heat of his body. Felt the heat through the clothes - get them off - felt the heat from her body, emanating out in a pulsing rhythm.

She had been panting. Breath coming out faster and faster as she wiggled her hips to tuck deeper into the hardness she felt pressing into her core. Writhing would get her nowhere when he was holding her in his arms. Her mouth found the underside of his jaw, and she sucked hard.

His groan was music to her ears.

Her apron fell. Ripped apart by those large hands. How much could they hold? He was surprisingly deft with unbuttoning the front of her dirty blouse. Button after button, down until he could rip it from her waistband, and shuck it off her shoulders.

Her bra was nothing special. Some department store sale piece, but it didn't matter, because it was off just as quickly and she was bare from the waist up.

"Off." She tugged at his shirt, taking a break from marking up his neck. She wanted to feel him against her. Skin to skin. She needed the contact more than anything. She was burning.

He had leaned her back, still in his hold. A little rough, her head nearly crashing into the wall they were pressed up agaisnt. She'd forgive him though, when he snaked one arm behind his head and expertly peeled the shirt from his torso.

Gods. Gods above, was this her lucky night. The tattoo wound all the way from his wrisr to his neck, matching like a puzzle along his chest. Corded with muscle, Built from genuine use, she could tell. This man was not built of aesthetics.

Her fingers found the hardened planes of his stomach, pressing lightly along the muscles. It tightened under her hand. Palms pushing agains the tautness of his abdomen, she didn't know whether to trail back up to his mouth, or push lower.

"Hold on," he bit out. Breathless just as she was.

She dug her nails into the shoulder she was tracing, his hand snaked to the button on his jeans. Her breaths came more rapidly now. Blood rushing through her ears. It was hands and tongues and teeth and no other thoughts. Nothing but what would come next. Nothing at all.

The zipper was so loud amongst their panting. But it was pulled down, and Aelin made a effort to shuck off her pants as well. But where her thighs were stretched around his waist kept her from making any further moves. She wanted nothing between them.

"Hurry up," she hissed, pressing herself back against him.

He shuddered when she pulled him tight, nails digging deeper. She hoped they would mark him. Stay with him longer then this moment. "Gods." It's not soft the way he shoves them closer into the wall. The way his hand is under her nondescript panties in seconds. Burning a trail along the most intimate skin. He stalls there for a second. Aelin is pulsing; in her head, in her blood, in her cunt.

His eyes find hers. Green and vibrant and swirling and dark. All blown wide with lust. He keeps her trapped there, pinned by his gaze while his fingers swipe along her folds. Through them, deeper until they wetten with the arousal she surely though was dripping down her leg by this point. He traces along for a moment, and she has half a mind to snap at him to hurry it up when his thumb is pressing into her clit so hard she sees stars.

She squeaks out a breathless yelp.

"You're soaking," he drawls, mouth coming down to the skin at the coloumn of her neck. He breaths into her, breathes her in. "Just waitin' for me, weren't you? All pretty behind your bar top."

She would roll her eyes if they weren't already at the back of her skull from the pleasure. He kept a steady hand on her clit while rough fingers slipped back through her folds, down to where she needed him most. Yes. The roar in her head heightened.

"Please..."

He hummed. "Please what?" A smirk, in voice or against her skin, she could not tell "Please who?"

Fuck. She hadn't gotten his name either. They had tumbled into the closet so quickly, bodies pressed so close, that introductions had been skipped. She thought she could make it throigh without his name. But this bastard was going to hold it over her head.

Fingers traced around her entrance; probing, waiting.

"Please... Sir. Fuck me."

He laughed. She jostled with the movement and his fingers pushed against her just right. "I'll let it slide," and with little pause, he pushed in. Slicking in quick, easy, the slide only assisted with the way she was falling apart in waiting for him. Two - two - fingers stretching her wide and pushing that rising wave higher. She keened a breathy whine when he curled those rough fingers. Pressing hard into that spot inside of her she could never reach herself.

His breath curled around her ear. He bit the shell of it before murmuring "But you better call me Rowan. No Gods or Sir. I want to hear my name from those pretty lips."

She nodded, feverish for more. He bared his teeth in a satisfied smile, increasing the pace of his fingers inside of her. She had hardly noticed when he swapped his thumb for the heel of his palm against her clit. But she felt it now. Pushing against her whole he slicked up her panties. The wave rose higher and higher.

"Rowan!" She cried. "Ah! Don't stop... Please."

"Wasn't even thinking of it, love." He kept her trapped under his gaze. And she wanted to look away when her jaw dropped in white-hot pleasure but something in his eyes promised to hurt if she did. "There you go, pretty girl." She moaned at his comment, riding high after the crashing of the orgasm. She could feel every press of his fingers inside her as he stilled them, still sensitive even after the rush of pleasure.

And oh, was she riding a fine line. Legs a little shaky and breath hurried. But when Rowan pulled out - to her displeasure - and brought those hands to his face, to his mouth, and licked her clean off of them.

She whined. A pitchy sound that worked its way out of her as he stared into her eyes, licking along the crevices between fingers. She opened her mouth to say something, anything, but he quickly shoved those same fingers against her tongue and pressed down. Freezing her there.

"Taste like heaven, love. But that was only the first course"

Jeans ripped off and pants pulled down. She swapped the wall against her back for cold air. Stiffening nipples to an even harder peak than what they had come to in post-orgadmic bliss. More more more, she changed in her head. She was so sensitive and so ready and so-

She squeaked. He had pulled himself from the confines of his underwear. She has missed it. Blissed out with the feel of him against his chest, but he was there, notching against her entrance in hasty movements.

He eyes met hers, "Condom?"

Fuck her. "I'm on the pill."

His grin was feral. His grip tightened to a near bruising hold. She felt his cock prod at her entrance, and he pushed it around, catching on the arousal she had spilled. At least he had prepped her. She hadn't seen his size, had felt it, yes, but this man seemed like he was blessed, if only judging by what she had already seen.

The moment spans, and her what desire jumped thrpigh her at a rushing pace came to a near stall. The dripdripdrip threatening to return, when the air was punched from her lungs as he pushed up, up and into her in one stoke.

"Ah! Rowan!" She choked. Stretched so full she felt him in her stomach. Tears brimmed her eyes as the stretch ached. Gods, the prep wasn't enough, and the tight grip on him must have let him know, as he held still, caressing her back and down to her ass, before his hand snaked back around to her clit.

She moaned, sharp little breaths as he circled his finger with enough pressure to relax the tightness in her body. She hadn't noticed, but when she looked up to his eyes, wanting to see him fully, his jaw was tensed so tight that the muscles of his neck pulled. Was he in pain?

"Ah... Rowan, wh-whats wrong?" Her tears brimmed and fell over. A loosening in her core and a rushing through her mind. Every sensation was a fire lit inside of her, so much so that she didn't notice as the pain morphed into pleasure, and how she could feel every ridge, every vein, of his cock inside of her. Inside of her, gods, he needs to move.

"Nothing," he gave a shallow thrust, Aelin keened. "Jus' squeezing me so fuckin' tight I can barely breath."

"Y-yeah?" She laughed, salty lines tracing down her face. "Gonna come?"

The words were out of her mouth before she had really considered the implication of them. She was no sadist, liked the high better then the route there, but something in her tingled (beside his cock, nudging deeper and deeper with every breath) at the fire that lit in his eyes.

He laughed, a deep rumble from within, and moved. Soon, they were back up against the wall. Aelin squeezed him so tight, wanting some pleasure and wanting it now. And maybe she was egging him on more. But when Rowan tossed her legs up above the crook of his elbows - rendering her immobile - and pulled out, she almost came again there.

He pushed back in with so much force that her hands came up to cover her mouth. He set a relentless pace, hair falling over his brow and beads of sweat beginning to form at his brow. He leaned over her, pushing closer and closer and testing the limits of her flexibility. Aelin was still moaning, but it was punched out in a yelp every time his cock shoved deeper inside. The slick noises only added to the lewdness. "You gonna come? Huh, love? Gonna come for me now or do I need to fuck you harder?"

He was teasing her.

He leaned down, she dropped her hand, expecting his mouth to close over hers. But he just smirked. When his tongue traced the lines of her tears, licking all the way up her face, she closed her eyes and let go. Falling deeper into the sensation.

It wasn't long before he bored of licking her face. His mouth did finally come to her, and she let him into her mouth so fast that her head was spinning. He still thrusted in, a relentless thwap at every entrance inside of her, and she felt the wave rising again. She traced up his abs, winding around his shoulders to grip onto his hair and pull, just as he pushed in so deep she saw stars.

"Come," he growled. Tiny little movements only to plant himself deeper inside. The roaring came back to her head and she nearly screamed when it hit her. Harder than anything she felt before. Harder than she knew how to handle. Rowan groaned above her, and that was it.

He came inside her. Flooded her cunt so thoroughly it was actually uncomfortable. And it dripped down when he pulled out with little celebration. She whined at the loss of him. Whined more when he set her on her feet and stepped away.

"Thanks, love." He said, breathless and reverent. She felt lost in the aftermath. Head empty and body shocked.

"Yeah. Yeah, no problem...?" It came out as a question and she didn't know what to think. He grabbed a tissue from someplace and offered it to her. Well, at least he did something. Strange and beautiful man. Rowan, oh Rowan.

"Fucked you so hard you forget how to think, huh?" He smiled. Less feral than before, but still the edge of a knifes blade inside of those green eyes. She just nodded, reaching for her clothes that had been scattered on the floor.

She guessed that he was giving her space to come down, giving her a moment. But it crashed into the dirt when he gripped her chin between his forefinger and thumb and searched so deep into her eyes. He held her in his grip, both naked and reeling, and said, "don't shut me out, love." Before he pressed his lips to hers again. Kissing the roaring in her head to a stop and breathing something into her. Something she'd like to hold onto.

"I'll be back. Proper date and all soon, alright love?" He said as he stepped into his pants. Dressing with all the grace he had exhibited while fucking her a moment ago. What? He just moved for the door, shucking his shirt back over those beautiful shoulders and hiding the length of his tattoo. "Don't wander too far away anytime. I don't want to waste my time chasing."

The door opened, just a crack, "I'll see you soon, Aelin."

When Aelin was clothed and less in mental limbo, she pulled on the conversation (one-sided). Some deep, darker part of her was satisfied to see the nails marks she had driven into his back. Some tangible sore he'd no doubt have to clean up, if he wanted the blood off. She smiled to herself.

It wasn't until she was stepping out of the backroom that she realized Rowan had called her Aelin. Had said goodbye to Aelin.

She had never told him her name.

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