#after THAT week I’m invincible | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

dyaz-stories · 16 days

Text

say my name and everything just stops || gojo satoru x reader

synopsis: You welcome Gojo back after a mission that lasted longer than expected.

(He fucks you on your desk)

word count: 2.6k

genre: canon compliant, smut

cw: porn with some plot, porn with feelings, vaginal sex, fingering, gojo is a tease, light angst, some fluff too, reader is afab, implied fwb, gojo calls reader sensei but they're both teachers

a/n: just a little thing for fun and practice :) enjoy!

more gojo x reader here

Though the sun is setting outside, you’re still at your desk, dutifully filing paperwork. You’ve dismissed the students a long time ago, of course, but you haven’t left the classroom yet. The door sliding open, though you haven’t heard any footsteps, has you glancing up, on high alert. The worry dissipates right away when you’re met with familiar white hair, a broad grin, and all-black clothing.

“Well, well, sensei,” Gojo Satoru says as he approaches your desk with a nonchalant pace, hands in his pockets, “working late, are we?”

“Gojo,” you reply, eyes back on the paper sheet in front of you. “How was your trip?”

“You know you can just ask Ijichi to do that for you, right?” Gojo continues, now standing in front of your desk. “No need for you to do all that by yourself.”

“Ijichi is busy,” you answer, unperturbed by the way he ignored your question. “You’ve been gone a whole week. Did something go wrong?”

“Aw, sensei,” he coos, “were you worried?”

You put down your pen to look up at him. You’re always worried, obviously. While you’re a teacher at Jujutsu High, the main role you’re expected to fulfill is that of strategist, to better coordinate group actions. You wouldn’t be able to do that without being at least a little paranoid.

It just so happens that you are very paranoid.

Faced with your stare, Gojo’s grin widens.

“Well, I guess they were happy to have me around and they had me fix all the little problems they hadn’t been able to get rid of by themselves,” he tells you with a shrug. “If I didn’t do it, no one was going to, so, might as well get everything taken care of in one go.”

It’s hard not to openly grit your teeth at his words. You’re not thrilled about the way Gojo just gets used and shipped off to wherever the elders deem fit. You and Shoko, on the other hand, are expected to remain caged in the more ‘safe’ properties, all in the name of the greater good. You’re not sure what good it’s doing. You still know better than to say it out loud.

“You stopped by Shoko’s before coming here,” you say. It’s not a question, and his face lights up at it.

“One day, you’re really going to have to tell me how you do that.”

It’s not that hard. A light smell of smoke lingers around him; the last button of his shirt is unbuttoned, likely because of an examination; there’s a pen sticking out of his pocket that you suspect he’s stolen off her desk; and he’s not wearing his usual travel shoes, meaning he changed since coming back to Tokyo, and knowing him, you must have been close to the top of his list of people to see, so you don’t think he went home, so Ichiji must have brought them to him at the lab.

You could easily have been wrong, of course. You just made an educated guess, and it worked out well for you.

“I found something weird out there,” he states matter-of-factly. “Didn’t need any patching up. C’mon, don’t tell me you were worried?”

You roll your eyes and push your chair back to stand up. He should have been back three days ago, and you didn’t hear from him. Not that the way your relationship works means you should have. It explicitly doesn’t.

“We don’t know what kind of curses are out there,” you say. “Anything could happen.”

“Aw,” Gojo says. “But you know I’m the strongest. I can take everything they throw at me.”

He says it with such absolute confidence that you want to believe him blindly, but all your instincts rebel at that idea. You can’t let yourself think he’s invincible. You can’t make your plans based on that idea. There’d be too much to lose if— if—

“With how gloomy you look, it’s hard to think you’re happy to see me,” Gojo pouts. “And here I was, thinking I’d get a warm welcome back…”

You scoff, fighting the smile that wants to break on your face, then make to move past him. You have no intention of actually leaving of course, but you know that—

Of course, the second he thinks you’re getting away from him, he grabs your wrist and twirls you around and into him. His arm wraps around your waist smoothly, presses your chest against his.

“Really? You’re not even a little bit happy?” He says it lightly, but you don’t miss the very light twinge of annoyance in his voice.

You like to think that you are one of the few people that can get a rise out of him.

It goes both way, of course, but now that you’re in his arms, after a week without touching him, anger and fear melt away all too easily, and all you want is him.

You put both of your arms around his neck, and push yourself on your tiptoes to capture his lips. There is a second during which he remains still, as if unsure, no matter how unlike him that would be. It’s like you don’t have him back yet, like there’s a part of him, of his mind, that is still out there with the curses.

But the moment passes, and then he’s kissing you feverishly. He pushes you back until you hit your desk, then helps lift you on top of it. The papers you’ve filled so dutifully fall to the floor, but he doesn’t care and neither do you. His warm tongue meets yours and you feel small moans escaping you, which he swallows hungrily. One of his hands sneaks under your shirt, the other pushes up your long skirt as he lifts up one of your legs, fingers digging into the flesh of your thigh.

You burry your hand in his hair, try to pull him closer to you, because fuck, you’ve missed him, you’ve missed the weight of his body on yours, and you want him, you need him to be as close as possible. He groans inside your mouth, and when your other hand moves down to trace his jaw, his neck, the muscles of his shoulders, before trying to unbutton his shirt, it turns into a full whimper.

Unfortunately, that sound also brings you back to reality, and while your body is an inferno right now, you feel your cheeks heating up even more.

“Wait, wait, Gojo—”

“Satoru,” he almost growls. Now that you’re trying to speak, he presses open-mouthed kisses along your jaw, then down your neck, sucking and biting lightly at the skin.

“Satoru,” you whine, left with no strength nor desire to fight him on that, “we shouldn’t— students could—”

“They’ve gone home,” he dismisses your worries easily. “None of them are going to show up here at this time.”

He’s hooking his fingers in your panties now, trying to slide them down your legs, but you catch his arm first. You’re quite the spectacle, breathless and panting, clothes half off. Even then, there’s that serious light in your eyes that just has him weak in the knees.

“Yaga— Yaga could—”

“If you think about it, that’d be doing him a favor,” Satoru hums. “Would give him some really, really good material, if you ask me.”

He doesn’t add that the material in question is all his, and that he’d never let Yaga catch you in the act, just for that reason. He doesn’t have to, because his answer makes you laugh softly.

You always laugh for him.

“He better not find us,” you warn him, as your grasp on his arm relaxes.

“Hm, that shouldn’t be a problem, as long as a certain someone can keep quiet…”

You roll your eyes, and then you pull him back down against your lips to interrupt his laugh.

He manages to get your panties out of the way, and then pushes a long finger inside you. You’re already so wet for him, he marvels as it slides in easily. He soon follows it with a second one, spreading you open carefully, and that’s when you throw your head back, closing your eyes and pushing your hand against your mouth to muffle your moan.

“So you’ve really missed me, huh?” he can’t help but tease as he chases your mouth. He’d love nothing more than to hear you loud and clear, but he knows you won’t risk it, no matter how empty the school is right now.

Underneath him, your body trembles, and he can’t resist any longer. He pulls his blindfold out of the way, drinking in the most beautiful sight he’s ever beholden. You’re trying your best not to let the pleasure get to you, but even then, you manage to open an eye to look at him, and you’re met with the stunning blue eyes you wish you could see more often. Something softens inside you, and you reach up to touch his cheek.

“Of course I’ve missed you,” you answer.

Shit. He doesn’t know how long he can keep this up. He’s already rock hard and all he’s done is rock against you. He wanted to take his time with you tonight, because all he’s had the past week is the memory of you, and that’s nowhere near enough, but it’s not looking like he will last that long.

“Yeah?” he insists as his thumb finds your clit and he starts rubbing carefully. “Thought about me while I was gone?”

You let out a loud cry, manage to cover your mouth again before another one comes out. Your thighs are trembling around him, and fuck, he’s going to have to fuck you real soon, otherwise he’s just going to burst in his pants without you even touching him, at this point.

“I’ve thought of you,” he tells you as he pulls his fingers out of you to get rid of his pants. “Thought of how good you feel around me, of how good you sound for me, of how pretty you are when you’re bouncing on my cock…”

He guides his cock against your entrance, presses it against you. You buck your hips, unable to stop yourself, but he doesn’t give it to you, not just yet.

“You really want it that bad, don’t you?” he practically purrs.

“Satoru,” you whine, and oh, if you knew what it does to him when you say his name like that… “don’t make me b— Ah!”

Finally satisfied, he sheathes himself fully inside of you, and fuck, it’s all he’s been dreaming of for days now. Next time he swears he’ll come running back to you the second he’s done with the stupid assignment. You reach up for him and he lets you, lets you dig your nails into his shoulder blades as you bury your face in his neck to stifle your moans. His hips set up a lazy pace at first, and you try your best to follow, try to meet him with small movements of your own, before you feel his breath against your ear.

“It’s all good,” he says warmly. “Just let me take care of you, babe. I’ve got you.”

That’s when he picks up the pace, and you’re left to writhe underneath him, whimpering his name desperately against his skin like a prayer, Satoru, Satoru, Satoru!

You come, shaking, around him when he brings his fingers to your clit once more, and he doesn’t lose a second of it. The high-pitched moan that you just can’t hold in, the way your head falls back, how your thighs shake on either side of him, it’s all so perfect. You’re perfect.

He does his best to let you ride your orgasm on his cock, but he comes inside you just a couple seconds later, unable to last longer. He collapses on top of you, and your labored breathing fills the room. Your hand on his back moves gently, tracing circles on the nape of his neck, gently running through his hair.

“If you’re not down for a round two just yet, I recommend you stop that,” he mumbles against you, only to regret it immediately, because you do stop.

“We should— we should take this elsewhere,” you say quietly.

Ah, now that’s more like it.

“I can call Ichiji and we could do that in the back of the car on the way home,” he offers cheerfully as he gets up, putting the blindfold back in place, though not before he can see you grimace in horror at his suggestion.

“Absolutely not,” you say firmly, though once more, he was only teasing. He’d never let Ichiji see you like that. “Although, if you could call someone to come clean up in here, just, uh, just in case…”

Cute.

“Done. Now, about that round two…”

“Else. Where,” you insist, and you don’t fall for his cute pout.

He sighs but takes your hand to help you to your feet, then turns around as he pulls out his phone. He’s about to hit Ichiji’s number when your fingers on his skin almost bring a shiver out of him.

“Shouldn’t this be healing?” you ask, frowning, and he realizes you’re talking about the marks you’ve left on his back.

“Nah, I quite like them, actually,” he grins back. “Don’t you?”

There’s a lot of unsaid things that hang between the two of you. A lot of things that are better left unsaid. Sadly, you’re too smart for your own good, and you know better. You leave them be.

“I was worried for you,” is what do you say.

Satoru’s expression shifts. The grin vanishes, and you can’t see his eyes, so you’re not sure how he’s feeling, not until the corner of his lips lift up in a soft smile.

“Thank you,” he says, voice uncharacteristically low.

Then he turns away from you, and he’s as loud and boisterous as ever when Ichiji answers.

Of course. The strongest can’t let himself grow soft.

You bend down to pick up your papers, rearrange them neatly on the desk, eyes still on him, on the animated way he moves around the room.

You think you’re more grateful than he knows, for him being back here. Not because he’s the strongest, not because no one gets rid of a curse like he can, but because he’s Satoru. It’s probably better that way, though. You’re both too busy for distractions.

With a sigh, you put your papers back on the desk, then start moving towards the exit.

“Aren’t we going?” you ask Satoru right as you’re reaching the door.

You watch his Adam’s apple bob up and down as he swallows.

“Hope you wrote all that down, ‘cause I need to get out of here,” he says on the phone, and you hear Ichiji protest, but that doesn’t stop Satoru from hanging up unceremoniously. He follows you in the hallway, shoulders brushing against yours without quite touching.

“Hey, if not in the car, there’s a supply closet on the first floor—”

“No.”

“Yaga’s office is probably—”

“Absolutely not.”

“How about in my bed?” he asks, right against your ear, breath tickling against your skin. Your cheeks heat up.

“…Sure.”

He only savors his victory for a second.

“What about the couch?”

“Don’t push it.”

But he does, and you let him.

How could you not, when you finally have him back?

still trying to get used to writing gojo's character, don't know if i quite have him just yet. i hope you enjoyed this, any feedback you have is welcomed and encouraged! reblogs and comments are what keeps me writing, so please engage with my work to let me know if you'd like to see more~

if you enjoy my writing, you can find more gojo x reader here

#gojo x reader #gojo satoru x reader #gojo x you #gojo x y/n #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #gojo smut #jjk smut #jjk x you #jujutsu kaisen smut #gojo imagine #gojo x reader smut #gojo satoru smut #satoru smut #gojo fluff #jjk imagine #jjk x y/n #my writing

518 notes · View notes

yandere-daydreams · 11 months

Text

Title: Caught In The Spider's Web.

Pairing: Yandere!Miguel O'hara x Reader (Spiderverse).

Word Count: 2.8k.

TW: N0n///C0n, AFAB!Reader, Biting, Mentions of Blood, Implied Kidnapping, Obsessive Behavior, Verbal Degredation, Slut-Shaming But In A Projection Way, and Choking.

“Get back here, qué perra!”

“Keep your voice down, we’re in a museum!” You called over your shoulder, chasing it with a breathless laugh before sparing a glance behind you, to where Miguel was still busy clawing through the layers of haphazardly laid webbing that were currently keeping his chest and arms pinned against the far wall of newly-emptied display. You saw his talons tear through the last of it before turning your attention forward – to the tall, narrow halls of the museum, or more specifically, to the stone archways spaced every twenty feet or so. With a wild grin and one last squeeze to the diamond-studded necklace around your neck, the strap of the rucksack weighing heavy against your back, you shot your webs toward the next archway and flew.

Or, swung, more accurately – with Miguel close on your heels. He was more experienced than you, more used to superhuman strength and animalistic agility and everything that happened when a radioactive spider took an interest in you, but no amount of refined skill could’ve measured up to your raw, unrestrained zeal, to the rush of adrenaline that came with every new heist, every new opportunity to use your new powers. Even in the confined space, you moved erratically; vaulting off of walls and falling into jagged nose-dives, never gaining any distance on Miguel but never letting him catch you, either. More than once, you felt his claws graze your back, heard his low growls and muffled cursing, but you couldn’t bring yourself to worry. Why would you? You were a superhero, now, even if you didn’t do many heroic things. You felt invincible. You were invincible – at least in that moment. At least before Miguel got his hands on you and put an end to your fun for the thousandth time. “Y’know, I really thought you’d be cool with this,” you went on, bouncing off of a display case a fraction of a second before he crashed into it, shattering the glass. “I’m like Robin Hood, dude!”

There was a half-snarled bark, a flash of red in your peripheral. You threw yourself to the left just in time to avoid a tendril of pulsing, luminescent webbing – earning yourself just enough time to shoot a playful wink back at him. He bared his teeth, in response. “Robin Hood gave to the poor. You just steal and cause anomalies.”

“I’d be poor if I stopped stealing!” Finally, you came to the room you were looking for – an open lobby with a domed, crystalline ceiling – a ceiling with a panel no one ever seemed to remember to lock. You’d left it open on your way in, and if you were lucky, you’d be able to slip out of it without alerting the guards posted at every other exit. After that, it was only a matter of losing Miguel in the dark city (you’d apparently been the only spider-people smart enough to skip the eye-bleedingly bright color scheme) and hiding a place to lay low in your own dimension. You’d have to come back in a few weeks to sell what you’d stolen, but that was something you could worry about later on. You’d earned your haul, tonight. “It’s been fun, Miguel, baby,” You let your swing go wide, vaulting yourself towards the ceiling and landing just underneath your escape hatch. You let yourself hang there for just a second longer than you could afford, flashing another smile toward Miguel before—

Before you felt his webbing latch onto your lower back, wrenching you away from the domed ceiling and sending you plummeting downward before you could think to react. Your back hit the floor with enough force to crack the marble, your rucksack of stolen art and jewelry landing somewhere to your left and spilling open. With any chance of escaping Miguel gone and your latest haul scattered across the museum floor, you went limp, letting a pained groan slip past your lips. That was the thing about super-durability. The fall hadn’t broken every bone in your body, but your bones didn’t know that.

Miguel was bolting towards you in a second, on top of you in another. You managed to lift your arm, but your web-shooters only responded with a sad, dry grinding – out of ammo, because you always ran out of webbing at the worst times. His hand shot to his mask, his bared fangs catching in the dim light, but you raised your hands in surrender before he could bite down. “Hey, hey, you can save that for the thirst traps. I can spend the next twelve hours catatonic without your help.” With a heavy sigh, you collapsed, letting another wave of aching soreness wash over you before going on. “Take me home. I’m done for the night.”

It took him a few seconds to bite back his anger, to put on that stoic, put-together face you loved to tease him for. Pursed lips, narrowed eyes – all the things that’d fall away as soon as you got on his nerves. “You’re not getting off that easily, this time.”

“C’mon, Miguel, what do you think you’re going to do to me? Lock me in a cell for a couple days? Let your mega-spider bite me? Lecture me until I buy into your ‘great power comes with great responsibility’ bullshit?” Even exhausted and worn down, you couldn’t seem to stop yourself. He made himself an easy target, and you’d always loved the taste of low-hanging fruit. “We both know how this works. You toss me around a little, tell me to spend more of my time saving orphaned puppies trapped in burning buildings, then send me back to my own dimension. Don’t tell me you’re gonna break our routine now.”

He didn’t answer, a pressed scowl pulling at the corners of his mouth as he worked off his mask. He hand dropped to the collar of your suit, and you let out another laugh, this one more nervous than the last. “Are you going to take my watch? You know I’ll just make another one when I get home.”

His fist wrapped around your stolen necklace, wrenching it off of you with enough force to snap the silver, jewel-studded chain and send rubies and sapphires scattering around you. You watched the precious gems clatter to the floor, mentally tallying up how much you could’ve gotten for each. Clearly, Miguel wasn’t as concerned with their value as you were. “You’re not going home.”

“Miguel, that’s not fun—”

“Say my name one more time and I swear I’ll—” He cut himself off with a throaty growl, turning his claws toward your chest. Before you could so much as think to panic, the front of your suit had been torn to tattered shreds, leaving you vulnerable and exposed to the open air and thrashing against the hand now wrapped around your neck, clawing at his wrist and kicking at his chest for all you were worth. If Miguel noticed your meager attempts at resistance, he didn’t seem fazed, didn’t feel the need to respond with anything more than a harsher glare, a straighter posture, a row of pointed nails driven that much deeper into the side of your throat. “Cállate. Just shut up and take what you deserve.”

The palm pressed into the base of your windpipe, a flash of sharpened teeth in the corner of your vision, and then, Miguel’s fangs were planted in your neck, his venom sent coursing through your veins. The feeling, while unpleasant, wasn’t alien to you. You were hyper-aware of your joints locking into place, your limbs going stiff and still, a heavy fog forming over the part of your brain that told the rest of your body to get up and fight. He pulled away before the numbness set in, before you could completely float into that void of immobile, oblivious existence, but when you tried to lift your arm, to kick at his chest, your body failed to respond. You cursed under your breath, glaring at Miguel, but he'd already moved on.

A gloved hand worked its way under the tattered remains of your suit, grazing over your lower stomach before cupping your cunt. It was the adrenaline, the high and the sudden let-down. Miguel must’ve known that, but it did little to dampen the condescension in his faint smirk as he collected your slick on his fingertips, swiping the pad of his thumb over your clit and drinking in the way your expression contorted. “Little slut,” he muttered, the scarlet shine of your blood still visible on his fangs. “You’re already soaked. Can’t let someone put their hands on you without dripping all over them, huh?”

You grit your teeth, doing what you could to swallow back a half-choked moan. “Stop,” And then, with more than a note of desperation in your voice, “This is a crime, you’re not supposed to—”

The air hitched in your throat as he brought his open palm down on your cunt – the blow rough, sudden, sharp. If you’d been able to, you would’ve gone stiff, would’ve lashed out, but you couldn’t move, couldn’t squirm, couldn’t do anything but hold your breath and stifle a pained moan as the first blow was followed by another, then another, then another, until your cunt was sore and throbbing, until there were tears forming in the corners of your eyes and Miguel was breathing heavily above you. “I told you to be quiet.” It was a hiss, more than anything. A threat he could carry out, but not say aloud. “I’d tell you not to make this worse for yourself, but you were always going to find a way to make this more difficult than it had to be.”

You moved to apologize reflexively, to beg him to let you go, but he clearly didn’t have an interest in anything you had to say. He was already shoving two fingers into your burning entrance, adding something else to the ache – not quite pleasure, but not as far as you needed it to be, either. Everything he did was rough, cruel, from the way he stretched you open to how much force he used while grinding the heel of his palm into your clit. Everything he did was less for your gratification and more for his own entertainment, for as humorless as he’d always seemed to you before. Miguel’s paralysis limited your reactions, stopped you from grinding into his hand or squirming underneath him, but it didn’t help to hide your expression, to stop you from biting your lips or rolling your head to the side, giving in to the baselessly hopeful part of your mind yelling that not looking at Miguel would make him leave. He only laughed, the noise low and dark and infinitely more than anything he’d ever given you, before. That made sense. Miguel had always struck you as the kind of man who could only let his guard down after he’d already broken through yours – this was just the first time he’d gotten the chance to prove you right.

Eventually, he pulled back, drawing an airy whimper from the base of your throat at the sudden lack of stimulation. There was a wet, distorted sound you couldn’t bring yourself to name, a fist wrapped around your arm, and then, he was turning you onto your chest, keeping your wrists pressed against your back with one hand while the other spread your thighs apart. You felt his cock, already hard, already thick enough to send a pang of dread to your core, against your ass, and suddenly, you were very aware of just how easily he towered over you, just how little effort it took for him to press his chest into your back and cage you underneath him. Even if you hadn’t been paralyzed, you didn’t know if you’d be able to do anything to get away from him. Not after you’d already been caught in his web.

“You’re going to cum on my cock,” You felt his lips against your ear, the low timbre of his voice reverberating in the back of your mind. “And you’re going to fucking thank me, when you do.”

There might’ve been more. There probably was, but whatever he said was drowned out by a dull, droning buzzing in your ears – a lifeless static that nearly blocked out the feeling of his hands on your hips, his knee nudging your legs apart, the leaking head of his cock resting against your entrance before he thrust into you, splitting you open in an instant.

He was so, so much bigger than you. Even with the fall, even with his venom, you could still feel so much of him, still couldn’t seem to block out the way your own dripping cunt struggled to clench down around the girth of his cock. You let out a fractured gasp but regretted it immediately, trembling as you struggled to inhale while feeling so impossibly full. There might’ve been blood. It was hard to tell with the slick dripping down your thighs, with Miguel lapping over the side of your throat. He sounded animalistic, growling as he rolled his hips and buried himself deeper in your core, his nails burrowing into your hips and mangling what was left of your poor, ruined suit. You’d have to make a new one, when you got back to your own dimension, when you got back to your tiny apartment already over-crowded with stolen art and half-finished projects. If Miguel ever let you go back.

“You’re tight for a little whore.” He made no effort to be gentle, to hold back, to do anything but bully your cunt, bruise your ass, leave you breathless and struggling just to keep yourself sane. “Must be a tease,” he went on, dropping a hand to your clit and rubbing circles into the abused bundle of nerves. “That’s it. Stealing everything you could get your hands on, wrecking the multiverse – that was just your way of getting my attention, huh? Bet you were just waiting for someone to pin you down and fuck you.”

You could feel your legs starting to shake, in spite of the paralysis. “Please, I can’t—”

“So fucking needy, too.” There was a deep laugh, an open-mouthed kiss pressed into the curve of your throat. “I’ll have to put a collar on you. Might catch you bending over for the first person you see if nobody knows who you— fuck, who you belong to.”

His pace had been punishing from the start, but at that, it turned brutal. You felt tears starting to form in the corners of your eyes, a tight knot of tension forming deep in your core. His cock beat against something sensitive and vulnerable in your pussy and you screamed, a strangled moan tearing past your lips. “Please, Miguel, I need you to stop—"

Your voice gave out before you could finish, but that was all Miguel needed to hear. Before you could take it back, before you could bite your tongue and curse yourself for trying to say anything at all, his hand was on your neck, cutting off your oxygen supply and leaving you choking for air, leaving your cunt convulsing around him. “De nuevo.” It was a demand, an order. You were starting to wonder if he knew any other way to speak. “Say that again, before I change my mind and snap your neck.”

“Miguel.” Croaked, airy, only half-coherent. When his grip only grew tighter, you said it again, and again, and again, his name forming an incomprehensible mantra that played in-time with the pulsing in the back of your skull, in the walls of your pussy. You felt yourself clench around him, your vision burning white as either his cock or the lack of oxygen or some awful combination of the two vaulted you to a breath-stealing, mind-numbing climax – strong enough and blinding enough to leave you crashing on the downswing, plummeting into an infinite abyss of searing heat and overstimulation as soon as your climax gave out under his violent affection. Vaguely, you were aware of Miguel’s touch growing rougher, of his voice in your ear, of his cum flooding into your sore pussy. He made no attempt to pull out, but you weren’t surprised. You didn’t know if anything Miguel did could surprise you, anymore.

You were in a haze as Miguel drew back, nipping at the corner of your jaw one more time before finally letting you go. It wasn’t his venom keeping you still, anymore, but your own exhaustion – weighing you down as he lifted you into his arms, letting you rest your head against his chest. Through your eyelashes, your watched Miguel type something into his watch, a neon-shaded portal cutting through the fabric of reality a moment later. You tried to protest, to call on whatever hidden pocket of strength you still had and get away from him, but all you managed to do was squirm in his arms and let out a small, pathetic whine. Miguel responded by pressing his lips against your forehead, chuckling softly. As if this was funny to him. As if he found this cute. “Settle down. You have nothing to worry about.”

He smiled for the first time that night, and you felt something in the pit of your stomach crack.

“I’m taking you home.”

#yandere #yandere x reader #yandere x you #yandere imagines #yandere oneshot #yandere spiderverse #spiderverse x reader #across the spider verse spoilers #spiderverse spoilers #across the spiderverse spoilers #across the spiderverse #miguel o'hara x reader #yandere miguel o'hara #miguel x reader #yandere miguel #yanderecore #yancore

1K notes · View notes

titanic-angel · 11 months

Text

мιgυel o'нara х F!reader

◥︎ 『 coғғee ︎pт.1 』︎ ◣

▁︎▁︎▁︎▁︎▁︎▁︎▁︎▁︎▁︎▁︎▁︎▁︎▁︎▁︎▁︎▁︎▁︎▁︎▁︎▁︎▁︎▁︎

ѕυммary ➞︎ yoυ вrιng мιgυel coғғee тo нelp нιм тнroυgн a long worĸ nιgнт

warnιngѕ ➞︎ none

noтeѕ ➞︎ part 2 is up ❤︎

▁︎▁︎▁︎▁︎▁︎▁︎▁︎▁︎▁︎▁︎▁︎▁︎▁︎▁︎▁︎▁︎▁︎▁︎▁︎▁︎▁︎▁︎

The evening air was so dry in the summer, and the silence that invited itself into the coffee room buried deep in your skin. The tiles felt cold under your slippers, the setting sun stealing the heat and light from every inch of the room.

You let out a harsh breath, pouring the deep brown liquid into the two cups, staining the white glass with caffeine and steam.

You, Jess, and Peter B had made an agreement since your involvement in the Spider Society had started.

Miguel’s workaholism caused long periods of time, sometimes days, where he wouldn’t even leave his lair, chest deep in his own mind and perfectionism. You all initially believed that his inhumane attributes gave him the stamina to last weeks without rest, but after catching him in deep sleep on his own computer, you realized the goliath wasn’t, in fact, invincible.

So, like any good friends (although Miguel never really used those terms), you took shifts bringing him coffee. With the mugs, Peter and Mayday brought him laughter (all of which was their own, but there wasn’t an indication he didn’t appreciate it), Jess brought him a tough love and a listening ear that fueled his work and you…

Well you weren’t sure what you offered.

You never left without a conversation- and maybe a little coffee yourself. Sometimes he would explain whatever anomaly had taken his attention for the hour, or he would stay silent, listening to you talk about your own day, slightly less exhausting but much more exciting.

Most times, however, you’d give him his coffee, and without saying much, he would look at you.

You are convinced more and more each time that, years ago, his eyes were more brown than they were red. Deep bronze like the color of the coffee in his cup. Younger than they are now. Maybe it was his exhaustion seeping through his irises, but something in the way he looked at you…it felt softer.

Kinder.

You shook off the image as your slippers padded against the hallway marble, the once lively hub now hushed to an empty whisper.

Jess had gone to her universe, undoubtedly resting her weary body, and Peter B eagerly ran home to his beloved red-heads. Homes filled, endlessly, with reunions, warm meals and kisses doused in exhaustion and a love unique to them.

You were happy for them, but you would be lying if you told yourself that you weren’t envious.

Quietly, secretly, you much preferred the hub over your own home, it’s thrum of life filling the emptiness of your crammed apartment. It was depressing to go home to silence after a day of action, which meant many nights you slept in your office, feigning the stress of work and battles to avoid questions from your peers.

You stepped over stray wires and scraps of metal, amongst other abandoned equipment you were sure meant something, once. The dark room was illuminated in neon, flashing lights pulsing across the floor and ceiling.

His gigantic platform came into view, hovering over the pitch floor. The familiar sight of him, surrounded by yellow holograms, greeted your eyes with a brightness that made you squint, vision adjusting to the light.

You caught the butt-end of a conversation, Lyla glitching around his head with attitude. You kept your mouth shut, a little curious to hear their idle chat.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Miguel said, flatly.

“Don’t play stupid, I’m an incredibly intelligent A.I. I know fondness when I see it.”

“She brings me coffee- that’s all.”

You paused, muscles tense and the suggestion that they were talking about you.

“I don’t know Miguel~. Peter B and Jess do the same and you aren’t as soft with them.”

“I am not soft!”

“Sure, sure.”

Lyla’s hologram stuttered, and she suddenly focused you. Even from far below, you recognized her mischievous grin.

“Well, I’m feeling awfully tiered. It’s very late y’know! I’ll just let you do your thing!”

“But you don’t-“ Miguel followed her line of sight. He looked down at you with surprise, and you sent him an awkward wave through the cup handle.

“Bye!” Lyla’s drawn out y’s echoed even as she disappeared, Miguel’s hand swiping at the air before she vanished.

He let out a harsh sigh, and you slung up to his platform, handing him a cup. He looked at you again, that faint brown sparkling clearer tonight.

Strange.

“Thank you.”

You nodded, leaning against his table.

“Long night again?” You asked, thumb tracing the smooth glass of the handle.

Miguel nodded, letting another exhausted sigh escape his chest. “Yes.”

You waited for more, but it never came, Miguel shifting near awkwardly as he clicked on the screens with his free hand.

You nodded slowly, taking a sip of your cup. You shuddered, unfamiliar with the pure caffeine. You looked down at your cup, dark brown looking back.

Oh shit.

You watched in short-lived anticipation as he took a sip of your cup. He’s face scrunched in surprise, as if the sweetness of sugar and cream was completely foreign to him.

He looked at you, the red in his eyes more prominent now. Your cheeks strained, but soon the ballon of laughter burst from your chest.

It bounced off the dark walls, echoing around the both of you. You closed your eyes, squeezing out tears as you gripped his desk, laughter shaking your core.

When you regained yourself, you slowly sat up, wiping your wet cheeks and grinning ear to ear. You sighed, small laughs residing with your quickened breath.

“Oh, Miguel you should’ve see your-“

You stopped.

Miguel was smiling.

Well, in the generous sense of the word. Although it wasn’t bright like Peter B’s or gentle like Jess, it was genuine. His eyes crinkled, his lips drawn into a gentle upturn, highlighting his dimples.

Your shocked face must have startled it, because it quickly disappeared, now taught in a hardened, neutral line.

You smiled at him empathetically, slightly guilty you had embarrassed him. You reached out your hand, beckoning your drink.

“Here…let’s switch.”

You fingers brushed at the exchange, and you blushed, the warmth of his skin penetrating your own. If he noticed, he didn’t let it show, taking a quiet sip of his flavorless, bitter coffee.

An awkward silence fell over the two of you, agonizingly different from the laughter just seconds before.

You were beginning to think that he really only was fond of you because you brought him coffee. Sure, you had polite conversation but it never really passed surface level. Not to mention you always initiated it. Maybe Miguel was just playing along, desperately waiting for you to leave him to his work and study.

You sighed, your tone possibly letting on to more than you would’ve liked. You stood, flexing your legs and taking a sip from your cooling coffee, ready to breathe air that wasn’t so endlessly stiff.

“Why- why do you drink coffee with so much sweetness in it?”

You paused, looking at Miguel with surprise. He’d never asked you a question like that. A question about you.

“I uh- well,” you laughed a little bit, still a little startled at the sudden interjection, “black coffee is too bitter for me. The sugar and cream lets me enjoy it.”

“But coffee is meant to energize you, you aren’t supposed to enjoy it.”

You lifted a skeptical brow. “That’s a pretty serious take, don’t you think?”

Miguel paused, lips pressed together in thought before he replied, “I’m a serious guy.”

You laughed, a little quieter now, leaning back onto the table. But this time, closer to him. If you were paying attention, the way his eyes looked at your new position might of told you he noticed.

“I gathered.”

Silence fell over the two of you like a weighted blanket. But now, you had hope that he might want this conversation to continue. That he liked it- you.

“How about this Mr. Serious,” you leaned in, “I’ll give your black coffee another shot if you do the same for my sugar and cream.”

He scoffed, but when the corners of his mouth quirked up you knew the proposition interested him- if only a little bit.

“Absolutely not. I already did try it.”

“First impressions aren’t always accurate, y’know.” You shook your mug, the light brown liquid creating a small whirlpool.

“Try it? For me?”

He glanced at you, and although you thought yourself educated on his eyes and their looks, you were stumped by this one. It was entirely alien to you- there was something in it that you couldn’t place.

You liked it.

He let out a sigh, and held his hand out. You grinned, taking his mug and swapping it for your own.

You both took a sip, and you forced yourself not to wrinkle your nose.

His coffee was extremely bitter- as close as coffee could get to the bean. If his scowl and general demeanor was grown and grind into a beverage, his drink of choice is what it would taste like.

However, it was extremely warm. Somehow it hadn’t cooled off in the fifteen minutes since you had poured it. It’s bitter bliss seeped down your throat and made home in your chest. It was almost calming.

You opened your eyes, surprised to be as content as you were with the drink.

You glanced at Miguel, whose lips were pulled into a tight line. His brows were drawn in thought, eyes glimmering in the hologram light.

“Well?” You asked, rocking on your heels.

“You first.”

You paused, running your tongue over you teeth to remember. “It was a bit gross. But honestly? No bad.”

He nodded, and sighed. “Yours wasn’t….bad either.”

You gasped, a wide smile spreading across your face in stunned victory. “So you liked it.”

“I never said that.” He said, narrowing his brows.

You raised yours. “Didn’t have too.”

He shook his head, handing you the coffee mug. You looked at him as if to ask are you sure? To which he rolled his eyes and pushed it closer to your chest.

You sighed, taking his cup and swapping mugs for the last time. When you looked up at him, sending him a gentle smile, you noticed a thin line of cream that lined his dark lips. You stifled your laughter, stepping forward to a clueless and confused Miguel.

“What are you-“

“Stay put, you have a little-“

You brought your hand up to his face, cradling is course skin under your palm. Your movement stuttered, just for a moment, savoring the feeling of his rough jaw.

You lifted a gentle thumb, your touch but a whisper on his skin as wiped the sweetness from his upper lip. Contrary to his jaw, his lips were soft under your print, molding to your movement with ease.

You imagine they’d taste like coffee.

You paused, your eyes drifting from his lips to his eyes. When they met yours, they were the softest brown you’d ever remember seeing them. It could be how close you were, feeling his slow breath on your nose. It could be how small, short the moment was, catching his facade in a moment of weakness.

But you think, hopefully, foolishly, that it might be how good it felt- to be this close.

You drew your hand away, still staring at the warmth. You settled yourself on the floor, holding your cup with both hands, the once steaming glass now a cold comparison to his face.

“You…you had some cream left on your face.” You laughed weakly, your gaze looking to the side. “I didn’t want Lyla to make fun of you.”

You paused, uncomfortable with the silence your created.

“Sorry.”

Miguel stared at you for a moment, with that same glimmer you couldn’t quite place. He cleared is throat, eyes flitting between your eyes and your lips.

“It’s- okay…I-“ He paused, eyes finding your again, “thank you.”

He had whispered, speaking as though if he has said it any louder he would’ve scared you away. It was so- gentle compared to the gruffness of his voice. Warm.

The silence that followed was completely novel from the past dips in conversation. It was full of tension, thick and suffocating. It felt as if you had swallowed cement, every breath trapped in your collarbone and buried in your throat.

You stepped back, your vision so deep in his own- their intensity making it feel as though there wasn’t anything else to look at. Even in their softer colors, they were so deeply overwhelming it felt like they had woken something visceral in you. It wasn’t fear, or terror-

It was fondness.

“Well- I think I need to get my own rest,” you tore your gaze from his, setting your coffee down on the table next to him, “I won’t be needing this- I don’t want caffeine dreams. You’re welcome to finish it- now that you like it. A little.”

You smiled up at him, the thrum of your heart and the heat of your breath tickling your skin.

“Goodnight, Miguel.”

His chest rumbled, preparing to speak, before he sighed quietly and quickly, another genuine smile playing at the corners of his mouth.

“Goodnight.”

You took one last look at the brown- intimate and tailored to yours. One look at the coffee cups, different in every sense but comforting none the less.

One look at the man who may have just given you the home you’d been envious of.

As you slung off into the the void, you smiled at it all, welcoming the shudders of warmth that pooled in your stomach at the revelation.

︎▁︎▁︎▁︎▁︎▁︎▁︎▁︎▁︎▁︎▁︎▁︎▁︎▁︎▁︎▁︎▁︎▁︎▁︎▁︎▁︎▁︎▁︎

The next morning, you woke up in your office yet again, the early morning chill crawling up your spine and beckoning you to wake.

The first thing your eyes were met with was your mug, matte in the morning light.

It was empty, a yellow note rested under it.

I didn’t want it to go to waste.

︎▁︎��︎▁︎▁︎▁︎▁︎▁︎▁︎▁︎▁︎▁︎▁︎▁︎▁︎▁︎▁︎▁︎▁︎▁︎▁︎▁︎▁︎

Part 2

2K notes · View notes

art · 2 years

Photo

Creator Spotlight: @tinypaint

My name is Michelle Fus. I’m a Jewish, non-binary artist. I graduated from the School of Visual Arts for Computer Art and Animation in 2011. I’ve interned at Pixar and worked for a few years at Dreamworks Animation. Over the past ten years, I’ve self-published two books and have run three successful Kickstarters. I now work with Skybound (The Walking Dead, Invincible) in developing my webcomic, Ava’s Demon, as a physical book series for stores. I like hiking, cultivating plants, caring for my cats, and hanging out with my beautiful husband. You can read my webcomic at avasdemon.com.

Check out our interview with Michelle below!

How did you get your start in art, and more specifically, with Ava's Demon?

I’ve always been into art since I was very young. I started to gravitate towards it in first grade, where we were required to keep a daily journal. I found myself drawing in it more than actually keeping entries. From there, I got more and more interested in honing my skills as an artist. I started making my own comics for fun. I signed up for classes outside of school and put together a portfolio for the School of Visual Arts, where I majored in Computer Art and Animation. After getting my first job in the field, I realized that it wasn’t what I wanted to do with my life. After working my day job, I would come home and work towards building a career in comics for myself by creating and uploading my webcomic, Ava’s Demon.

What is one habit you find yourself doing a lot as an artist?

Looking things up to learn more before I make art or write. For instance, how many livable planets are in a Galaxy? What does a black hole actually look like, and can it give off light? How long would it actually take to travel through space if you had the fastest ship possible? I look up all of these things and then ignore most of them for the sake of writing a fun story and making fun art.

From idea to final piece, how long does it take for you to create something?

It depends on the feeling I want to convey. Sometimes I’ll work for a whole week on a drawing and then delete it because I just don’t feel good about it. Other times I’ll make something in a day that I absolutely love from beginning to end. Some drawings I never delete nor finish, and instead, the files just kind of sit in a folder. The time it takes varies a lot.

Over the years as an artist, what were your biggest inspirations behind your creativity?

I really love good stories. So movies and books with captivating stories usually motivate and inspire me; stories that stay with you permanently, with twists and turns that you can’t stop thinking about. I also love finding characters whose struggles I can deeply relate to. I try to hold onto those feelings and emulate them through my art.

What is the hardest part of your process?

Actually finishing a drawing. The anxiety of it piles on me sometimes. I’ll work for a while on a drawing and constantly ask myself, “Is this drawing really finished? What terrible things about it am I not seeing?”. My desire to avoid making something terrible can sometimes put me in a mental prison where I keep chipping away at a drawing until I no longer know what I am looking at.

What is one interaction you had from a fan of yours that has stuck with you over the years?

In general, I like letting young artists in middle school, and high school know that I wasn’t very good at art at their age (I really wasn’t, I didn’t have the same resources they have now, and I didn’t have any perspective on what it takes to have a career in art, it’s a different world). Kids have come to me at conventions with their work for critique and advice, and I have to tell them that they’re already miles ahead of what I could make at their age. I have to tell them that it’s okay if they can’t make what all the professionals make online, to know that they have SO much time ahead of them to work at what they love. If you love making art, do it often, study art throughout history, and over time you’ll be able to create everything your heart desires.

What is something other people find hard to draw that you find enjoyable?

I have no idea. Sometimes it feels like drawing anything is suffering, even if you like what you’re making.

Who on Tumblr inspires you and why?

@loish has been consistently inspiring me since my days in high school. Every new painting has so much grace and power and is so excellent to look at. Her skill in shape and form seems limitless, and I hope to someday achieve even a small fraction of her understanding of art. Seeing her new work on my timeline also makes my dopamine spike, so I’m always looking forward to updates from her.

Thank you so much for stopping by and sharing, Michelle! Be sure to check out their Tumblr blog over at @tinypaint and follow their webcomic, Ava’s Demon, over at avasdemon.com.

#creator spotlight #artists on tumblr #webcomics #michelle fus #ava's demon

4K notes · View notes

saint-siren · 6 months

Text

Sugar

summary: cooking for someone is the sweetest expression of love.

pairing: mark grayson x gn!reader

content warnings: soft yan!reader, poisoning, gaslighting, caretaking, fluffy if you ignore that reader is a lil crazy

author’s note: I never posted this here but in honor of s2 of invincible, here’s this fic I wrote after s1 😵‍💫 my first mark fic

Mark remembered his mom making pancakes on the weekends. It was his favorite breakfast when he was a kid. There was less time for sit down breakfasts as he grew older and spent more time outside the house working, going to school or hanging out with William, it remained a nostalgic thing for him. The smell of butter, the sizzle of the batter hitting the hot pan, he hadn’t realized he missed it.

Not until he woke up to the clattering of pans downstairs. Debbie was out for the day already, busying herself with work. As of late, the house had become stifling and she felt ill at ease. Mark was mostly left to his own devices for food and Mark being Mark, mostly subsisted on take out.

You had slept over (in the guest room, per Debbie’s request) and woken up early to make breakfast. Into the dry ingredients, you added a vial of powder as white as flour. You sprinkled it all in, hand inside the bowl, careful not to let it spill anywhere. You mixed carefully. With a focus as complete as ever, batter dropped onto the pan, sizzling.

“Making breakfast?” His voice almost made you jump. You thought you were used to him sneaking up on you.

“Good morning to you too, Mark” You smiled to yourself, not looking up at him. “And yes, I’m making you pancakes.”

You didn’t look up but you could tell he was surprised by the pause and the awkward shift of his silhouette.

“I didn't…I know I only eat out these days but I don’t need you to cook for me, I feel kind of like an asshole watching you cook for me in my own house” He mumbled, looking away.

“I know I don’t need to, I want to. I’d feel better if you didn’t eat pizza everyday for breakfast.”

“It’s not everyday, just…most of the time” He was embarrassed you’d noticed. “Are you not gonna have some?” He changed the topic.

“I had four bowls of captain crunch at 5am, I’m not exactly sure more sugar is a good idea for me right now.”

You flipped the pancakes onto a plate, sliced a pat of butter onto the top and poured the syrup. Mark, even in his quest to be somewhat gentlemanly, could not resist. The first bite of the buttery pancakes drenched in the syrup evoked strong feelings. Longing, gratitude and love. The yearning for an innocence abandoned and the feeling of being loved was so strong he could cry.

Mark, like most teenage boys, could eat. You silently kept cooking pancakes and he kept eating them. It was a lovely morning, the air was sweet and the sky was a vibrant blue. You spent the day in Mark’s room, in pajamas, tracing shapes over his skin with your fingertips as you watched a marathon of movies he liked. He eagerly explained every gag and bit of trivia. But as the sky began to darken with the day’s end, Mark’s energy declined.

He was sluggish and he felt a bit warm. When he insisted he was alright, you still stayed by his side. A comfort he was secretly grateful for. Even when Debbie came home, fatigued, you kindly asserted that you would stay up with Mark and watch over him. It was only right, Debbie already had enough to deal with and she fussed over Mark until the early hours. If there was anyone she could trust Mark to, it would be you, just while she got some sleep at least.

You wiped the sweat from Mark’s brow with a gentle hand. You brought him water and aspirin, you rubbed his tender muscles, you changed his sheets soaked by sweat. Mark felt like shit but knowing you were there, unperturbed by his frequent vomiting, was a comfort beyond words. You even slept in the same bed as him now, holding his hand, rubbing over it with your fingers. He felt like a kid again, cared for and safe.

Even though after more than a week, Debbie wanted to bring him to the hospital, you waved away her concerns. “Part of this might be coming from Mark’s emotional state after what happened, maybe we have grief to blame for this, in part. Mark doesn’t need a hospital, his symptoms aren’t worse than the stomach flu, he just needs to be cared for” you had said, so convincingly, so knowingly, that it made her hesitate. You only had his best interests at heart. Mark even spoke up and said he didn’t need to go to the hospital. He had been in the hospital so often, he was sick of it. Even the memory of the strong antiseptic smell brought a sense of dread. He would rather be with you, at home being touched by your familiar, healing, hands.

He loved you so much, and told you as much very often. When you were showering with him, washing him because he was too winded; your wet, warm skin carefully cleaning his, he murmured ‘I love you.’ He was vulnerable, tender, worn and tired but he was certain of one thing. He couldn’t live without your warmth. Everyone else counted on him, they needed something from him and if he failed to deliver he’d be letting them down. It’d be another fuck up to add to the roster and yet another time someone he loved would look at him like a loser. But with you, he felt the closest thing to unconditional love he had ever experienced from anyone besides his mom. You didn’t care who he decided to help or what he messed up, you would always accept him. Even if you weren’t always pleased with what he did, you never judged him harshly for his mistakes. For his wins or his fails, you loved him. Mark thought it was way more than he deserved and part of him really did regret his actions more in the face of your forgiveness. He did feel like such an asshole when he found comfort in your acceptance, when you consoled him as if he really deserved it. But fuck if he didn’t need it.

He obviously couldn’t rush off saving people like he had, so he stayed safely inside. His world was small and manageable. His body was whole, if aching and feverish. That was what you intended. For Mark to be safe. He was always putting himself in danger like it didn’t matter, running off to save the world like no one else. Sometimes he would come back intact and sometimes he wouldn’t. Sometimes he was a hair’s breadth away from death. But Mark didn’t want to stay put, you weren’t strong enough to protect him directly and you couldn’t order him to. What were you to do?

A bit of poison wouldn’t do him in, in fact, you were certain it wouldn’t even keep him down very long. But buying even this amount of time was a blessing. You wanted to keep him safe, keep him inside forever if that’s what it took but that wouldn’t work. For now, you were just buying a little time and some peace of mind. You tell yourself you were driven to this.

A few days later, Mark’s strength had recovered somewhat. You fed him soup and he kept all of it down. He was relieved to be recovering even though he would miss being babied by you and Debbie’s worries eased meaning you were safe from her suspicion. He went back to school, back to saving the world eventually. You waited until enough time passed. Until you could return things to how they should be.

The moment came six months later, the previous night you two had been out with William and Eve. He’d rushed off to the city with Eve while you were in the middle of eating at some greasy pizza joint. Your heart fluttered as you gazed at the empty space next to you in the booth. At least Eve was with him, though it was a poor consolation. They were fighting the same aliens they were overwhelmed by a few weeks ago. He came home in one piece, thankfully, but he had been fighting so much lately. Cecil asked so much of him, he’d been flying off to this and that attack. He was bound to be hurt again soon, even just that month there had been threats he’d barely escaped from. It was your misfortune to fall in love with a hero, it meant that he would never really be safe and neither would you.

You called Mark to sleep over at yours when he came back that night. Your mother worked late or sometimes, simply didn’t want to come home so the house was yours. The two of you watched mafia movies, argued about whether the godfather was overrated or not and ate an ungodly amount of popcorn. The following morning, you cooked a big breakfast, muffins, bacon, omelets. Pancakes.

He ate so hungrily it hurt your heart. He truly did love your cooking. Even though Debbie had gradually started making dinner for him again months ago, he had really missed your cooking. It wasn’t that her’s wasn't delicious, it was just…there was something that made him warm inside about the idea that you should make something for him. That you thought about him, cared about him enough. That much effort wasn’t necessarily a given in a high school relationship. It was new and nice to be with someone who showed their love for him so frankly.

You watched him eat with such a sweet look on your face. You ate with him, an omelette and bacon, for the sake of appearance. Planned out in anticipation of Mark’s tastes and in the interest of keeping suspicion to a minimum, you added your remedy to both the muffins and the pancakes. The muffins had less of it, as you knew Mark would be likely to eat more pancakes than muffins but if he chose to forgo that for the opposite, he would still be made ill. You even had plans for the unlikely event that he chose to eat neither. But Mark wasn’t rude enough to pass up food made for him by someone he loves.

Shortly after breakfast, Mark was in the bathroom vomiting. It seemed far more likely that the pizza joint with the sticky seats and chain smoking cooks gave him food poisoning than anything having been wrong with your food. In his head, it didn’t even occur to him. When you helped him into bed, he felt grateful that he was with you. It was such a relief not to say that he was fine, not to have to be brave. Nobody cared for him as gently as you did.

Your sheets and your pillows smelled like you. Mark felt weird smelling your things but it was nice to be surrounded by comfort. You washed him in your soap so he smelled like you too. He couldn’t have wanted you more in that moment, he wanted your skin against yours. He wanted your voice, the brush of your fingertips against his. When he was well, he wanted to be someone you would be proud to be with. To be that hero you deserve. When he was this sick, he still had that desire lingering somewhere in the background but he melted down into the barest of wants. And what remained was a need for you, an uncomplicated desire. He felt as if he’d dissolve into your mattress if he couldn’t feel you.

“I’m right here, Mark” You murmured, cleaning the sweat from his chest with a cloth. You have such gentle hands, your eyes stay on his to make sure you’re not hurting him. Under your loving attention, a few tears roll down Mark’s cheek. He can’t help it, you’re always there for him. Without you, who does he have to lean on like this? His mom was already a wreck, Eve had her own problems, William had no idea how to deal with something as big as what he went through — he doesn’t even know how to deal with it. He cannot live without you, who doesn’t understand what he went through but understands what he needs better than anyone.

“What’s the matter? Does something hurt?” You asked, panicked at his tears. Mark didn’t cry easily, you hadn’t meant to put him in so much pain he’d cry. You had added just enough, you always operated on that balance. Just enough pain, just enough sickness, just enough time.

“No, it’s just-” Mark’s voice was raw. “I’m glad I’m with you, that’s all.”

You softened. Hearing him say that made you melt into a puddle of sticky sweet syrup. It only strengthened your resolve and you were overcome with the need to keep him safe. And with the knowledge that if something happened to him, you would die. When the savage, gruesome fight happened, your stomach was in knots for days while you heard no news. Your heart squeezed painfully as if you were going to have a heart attack and it went on for days. When you slept to escape the constant anxiety, you had nightmares. You didn’t even go to school, you couldn’t get out of bed for anything other than checking whether or not he’d come home. For weeks you lived in hell, thinking you would lose him. And although he was alright that time, a piece of that moment lived in you every time he flew off toward danger.

“I love you so much, Mark” You bowed your head and rested it against his chest, hearing his strong heart beating. You pressed a kiss there, along the contours of his chest, right over his heart.

“I love you too” He mumbled weakly. There couldn’t be anything sweeter than you.

Your love was falling over him like powdered sugar. These moments, without knowing it, he had come to need them. Being sick was the only time he was allowed to fully be human. No one needed or expected anything of him. Under your care, he could be briefly vulnerable.

That was all you needed to ease that inkling of guilt that rose in the back of your mind. Who was protecting him like he protected everyone else? No one but you. It was why you had to resort to using underhanded methods, if everyone was trying to protect him, if they only cared — you wouldn’t need to. That was what you reasoned, anyway.

Mark needed you, anyone with eyes could see that. And you had no intention of abandoning him. Whatever you had to do, in your eyes it was all the desperation of a powerless human trying to save the man they love. It was romantic, even. You anticipated the moment where Mark might put two and two together. It made you anxious and you had practiced the speech you’d give him a thousand times. “I love you and I’m scared. I’m so scared for you. I always am." But you soothed yourself with the knowledge that Mark would understand, above anyone else, you’d earned the benefit of the doubt.

Because Mark knew what he needed, even if it was something he couldn’t have expressed on his own. Even if it was something that he shouldn’t. He was only human — even if he was half viltrumite — could he really deny your feelings and his own? No. Not when you were his saving grace. How could he not understand what you were trying to do when his sentiments were nearly the same?

You were watching Mark sleep, laying next to him, his arm around you. His skin was warm and his breaths were labored. You reassured yourself as you pulled the blanket up to his chest. You would take good care of him, he knew that. He had to, he had to know. He just had to.

#x reader #mark grayson x reader #invincible x reader #yandere reader

582 notes · View notes

aemxnd · 1 year

Text

the thrill of the chase | aemond targaryen x niece!reader

Aemond has a plan, whether you like it or not.

Inspired by a wonderful anonymous request — I’m sorry for keeping you waiting, but I hope this is what you were looking for!

WARNINGS: consensual non-consent/dub-con, physical assault, chase play, primal play, knife use, v fingering, p in v sex, praise, degrading, profanity, breeding, aftercare, reader has silver hair for plot point, reader is Rhaenyra’s child with undisclosed father, Aemond being sinister af, sickening fluff at the end

WORDS: 5.2k

DISCLAIMER: I do not own any of the House of The Dragon/Fire & Blood characters nor do I claim to own them. I do not own any of the images used nor do I claim to own them.

As fire forged steel, the gods forged your soulmate from your own blood.

Betrothed to each other by and large since birth, your bond with Aemond Targaryen was as invincible as Valyrian steel itself. Born mere weeks apart, two dragonriders watching each other grow and mature knowing you would be spending the rest of your natural lives together under the eyes of the Seven, your pledge to marry your beloved uncle was a match made in the heavens.

Filling your parents’ hearts with the first sign of contentment they had felt in years, your union intended to solidify the bonds between your two Targaryen branches at last. After all, your brother Lucerys had not ingratiated your unit with glory having permanently disfigured your husband-to-be as children. Your marriage to your kepus would salve the wounds between Viserys’ offspring once and for all, leaving behind only scars.

Having sworn yourselves to each other so young and placing an unrivalled trust in each other’s hands long before adulthood, your childlike antics sprawled long into your years of maturity. You still challenged each other to races on dragonback knowing full well Aemond had the upper hand with Vhagar, pulled childish pranks on the other and giggled your hearts out whenever King Viserys mucked up an important speech.

Your bedchamber activities were no exception — remarkably unconventional and downright blasphemous. Still children at heart, you played games among the sheets, adopted unrealistic roles and experimented with your own pleasures more than a wed couple twice your tenure. In placing such trust in each other, you decided upon a number of safety nets to reassure each other should your adventurous nature exceed each other’s boundaries. Aemond’s signal bore the form of pressing two fingers to the inside of your left wrist, to which you would respond with either two taps of your fingers to signal your comfort, or three to mark your discomfort. Failing that, you decided upon a word to utter if either of you felt uncomfortable, unsafe or unwell in the situation you created within your carnal adventures — Malvales. If those three syllables were spoken at any point, you each made a solemn vow to cease at once. The safety net this term provided had sprung open the doors of possibility between you, each night (and often day) setting a challenge to explore new heights with the reassurance that you could each call a truce at any moment.

Court’s proprietary standards bypassed you to the point your family no longer expected you both to conform. Where wed couples would typically keep a respectable distance at public engagements in the presence of others, you and Aemond were so often found stealing chaste kisses and boldly wrapping your arms around each other that more traditional members of your family became all too accustomed to rolling their eyes at your unseemly behaviour. Not that their clear visual disapproval irked you in the slightest, they only sought to encourage you in amplifying your public displays of affection with your husband to make their skin crawl even more.

At the close of a particularly monotonous family dinner and dance, Aemond’s arm snaked dutifully around your waist constricted slightly, startling you back to earth from your daydreaming. You turned to find your husband staring idly into the crowd, his violet eye desperately willing to gaze at you instead of maintaining a noble indifference for the sake of present company.

“My darling wife,” Aemond addressed you without breaking his stare into the swirling commotion at court. “Are you quite aware of how beautiful you look tonight?”

“What, this old thing?” You chuckled to yourself before mirroring his hard glare into the crowd, flicking a dismissive palm over the heavily beaded emerald dress flowing over your form. “It’s just something I threw on.”

“It is quite unbecoming of you to appear so indecently delectable when I cannot take you until we return to our chambers,” Aemond gulped, his Adam’s apple bobbing eagerly. “I wish to inform you that I consider this a personal indignation against your long-suffering husband.”

Your ability to withhold a typically jesting slap to his chest was waning with every insufferably formal syllable tumbling from his irresistible lips.

“I am most apologetic, dear husband,” you declared through a sarcastic half-pout. “Pray tell, how could I possibly make a reparation for such an erroneous act?”

Aemond’s fingers idly stroked into the deep green velvet so rudely obstructing his access to your body beneath.

“I fear there is only one way to compensate for this,” he sighed softly, jaw tightening as he calculated his punishment so deeply he may as well have exuded steam from his ears.

“For you, Prince Aemond, I would do anything,” you gulped in anticipation.

“Considering the evening’s festivities are drawing to a close, I must insist on a hunt,” he leaned to hum into the shell of your ear. “A hunt where my irresistible wife shall become the prey.”

You fired a hand to your chest in a vain attempt to disguise your faltering breaths, eyelids fluttering at his implication before he embellished his ingenious plan.

“You wish to hunt me, dear husband? So what happens if you catch me?”

“If I catch you before you reach our shared chambers,” he lowered his voice to a faint murmur to avoid prying ears. “I will fuck you in any way I see fit, and I will not take ‘no’ for an answer.”

You swallowed thickly at the prospect. Even if you put up a resistance, Aemond would take you by force. Especially if you put up a resistance.

This unconventional demand was not without precedent. One time you feigned weak protests against Aemond’s needy advances, dribbling out half-hearted “stop”s and “please don’t”s so temptingly that you portrayed more of an encouragement than an obstacle. Immediately upon hearing your false resistance, Aemond’s violet eye darkened to a sinister pitch black and sparked an inhuman drive to fuck you harder than ever before. The mere memory of that night’s ecstasy, losing track of the times he forced you to your peak and the way he gazed at you as if you were his prey, helpless and captive in his grasp, was enough to make your knees buckle beneath you.

“Easy, princess,” Aemond hummed, tightening his grip on your waist to keep you upright. “Something tells me you approve of this notion.”

“And…,” you swallowed thickly in a terrible attempt to retain your conversation at a publicly respectable level. “What is the prize if I evade capture before I reach our bed?”

“Unfortunately I have not yet considered that outcome on account of its sheer impossibility.”

“You may maintain this delusion, your Grace,” you choked down a giggle, shaking your head dismissively and finding a new spot in the crowd to focus on. “Perhaps I shall decide the outcome myself if I am crowned victorious.”

“Considering its improbability, you may do so, Princess. Meanwhile, I see the Lannisters and Starks are bidding the King their leave,” Aemond husked, his gaze finally snapping back to you, finding his violet eye already descended into a deep lust-filled black. “So the hunt is nearly upon us. Are you satisfied with the plan, dear wife?”

“You shall hear no protest from me, Prince Aemond,” you nodded dutifully.

He quirked a brow. “Oh I hope I will.”

You gulped so loudly, you swore the entire court heard as you prepared to seek a lesser-known path through the castle to a safe hiding place. Eyes darting around the great hall for a plan of action, Aemond watched your deliberations intently, firing his tongue out to trace along his bottom lip.

“You have a head start, my love, but use it wisely,” he confirmed with a flick of his eyebrows, gently growling beneath his breath as he watched you like a panicked deer searching for a way out. Just as you started to pull away, his hand grasped yours and dragged you back to face him. “Remind me, what is our word again?”

“Malvales,” you confirmed, nodding frantically. “Y… your Grace.”

“Good girl,” he half-growled in the base of his throat, his sinister grin drawling out his final syllable. “Now I believe it is time for you to run for your life. May the Seven bless you, issa jorrāelagon.” My love.

In the moment Aemond released his grip on your hand, you demonstrably smoothed your gown and calmly paced toward your first exit.

“Ah, Y/N!” Your grandsire bellowed, beckoning you over to join his conversation with Queen Alicent. “My dearest granddaughter, how beautiful she looks in Hightower green this night, do you not think so my beloved?”

Alicent smiled faintly, nodding in agreement. “Quite, your Grace.”

You could barely hear their conversation over your thundering pulse in your ears, well aware of the precious time this idle conversation would be wasting. You glanced back across the hall to the spot where you left Aemond, clocking his lip curled into a predatory smirk. “Go now,” he mouthed before turning on his heels to disappear down a darkened corridor.

“I… I am sorry, grandsire, I must bid you farewell,” you stuttered frantically, balling your fists into the layers of your dress. “I… I am tired and I must rest.”

“Oh, of course my dear, it has been quite a long evening, please take your leave,” King Viserys pleaded, palms outstretched toward the nearest doorway.

“Thank you, your Grace, I shall see you at first light on the morrow!”

The promise sent a pang of regret through your veins the moment it left your lips while you fled for the door, for if Aemond has his way tonight, you will be quite unable to walk for the next five days straight, let alone first light.

In the throes of sheer excitement, every hallway in the Red Keep looked exactly the same. The same bronzed candlelight only partially illuminating the way, leaving all too lengthy sections of darkness in which danger could lurk. The dull grey flagstones never changed in texture or pattern, enough to leave you disoriented after the first few twisting turns in the darkness when motivated by sheer tension between you and Aemond should he find you. You broke into a run each time you faced a long, straight hallway, settling to a jog with every corner.

Your breaths grew ragged and hitched in your throat, spinning on your heels to check behind you at every turn but finding the same empty corridor as before. Your heartbeat brewing a storm in your ears prevented you from hearing even your own frantic footfalls on stone, let alone those of a predator.

You swallowed thickly as you reached a familiar hallway, recognising that you were not far from your destination and that Aemond would lose his precious hunt after all. Slowing your jogging pace to a brisk walk, your thundering pulse relaxed. It was a nice challenge while it lasted, you thought to yourself, allowing your mind to drift through the multitude of consequences you could enforce on Aemond as forfeit for losing his precious race to you. Perhaps you would tie him to your bed and leave him untouched for hours, pleasuring yourself with your fingers while he watches on with lust-blown pupils, unable to reach out and conquer your body for himself.

Suddenly, a loud whoosh behind you suggested that the shadows concealed more than the same old flagstones, but a cloaked hunter. You swooped around to catch a glimpse of the spectre but found nothing. Your heart sank at the realisation that Aemond was not wearing a cloak in the hall, eyes widening at the thought that you may have been pursued by someone other than Aemond. After all, the castle was still teeming with noblemen and women of varying families with very conflicting ideals of loyalty to House Targaryen’s claim to the Iron Throne, not to mention the looks of incredulous disgust cast in your direction for kissing your husband in front of the court. In a heartbeat, your blood ran cold as your anticipation transfigured into terror, freezing you to the spot — there is another attacker in the Red Keep.

Yet the hunter did not strike, leaving you motionless in the middle of the hall staring into shadows but finding no ambush. Trying your best to dismiss what you heard as a cruel delusion in the midst of panic, you turned on your heels and continued on your path. Only two more corners and you would be safe within your chambers, free from this torment on your nerves and senses.

Your heavy dress swooped around the final stone turns as a lead weight, dragging you down as if you were taking one step forward and two steps back. Trudging ahead, the wooden portal to your chambers came into view in the dim candlelight and elicited a deep sigh of relief from the bottom of your lungs. Whatever had been chasing you had failed, you were finally within reach of safety. Grinding to a halt as you pressed a palm to the wood between you and your safe haven, you exhaled once more, eking a slight self-satisfied grin across your lips.

The loud swoop of an unsheathed blade filled the silence and a cold breeze snapped you from your blissful stupor, you gasped against the shock of a cool blade resting on your throat and a hand firing to cover your mouth to conceal your screams. Wordlessly, your captor steered you through the portal which once offered you sanctuary in order to avoid any prying eyes in the hallway.

Your eyes darted to their peripheral points desperate for a glimpse of your captor, any glimmer of poker-straight silver locks would quell your concerns at any moment, but there was no respite to be found beneath a pitch black cloak flowing in the corner of your eye. The long fingers cupping your lips were concealed by a pair of sleek black gloves, hiding your assailant’s identity at every turn. You swallowed as shallow as you could against the restraint of the blade, jagged breaths betraying the sheer terror conflicting your every thought as you were being puppet-driven into the doors of your own chambers.

As you entered, the attacker threw you against the closing door, the wooden portal smashing into your chest as they used your body to close it. In removing their gloved hand from your mouth to click the door lock beneath you, they soon ensured no escape from your once safe haven that had now become your prison. No matter how many times you strained to see your captor, you could not glimpse any recognisable features. Whoever they were, they took great efforts to remain anonymous. Now free to cry out for help but still restrained by the threatening blade, you instead issued a soft plea to your captor.

“Ser, please…,” your pathetic pledge spilled from your lips against the wooden door, careful not to move your throat too much against the sharp Valyrian steel edge. “If it is money you seek, I can bestow riches upon you. If it be power, I can arrange it. But please, spare my life for the sake of my family.”

Your assailant did not respond, merely holding you flush to the portal and awaiting your next comment.

“My… my husband, h—he would stop at nothing to avenge me,” you cringed at the mere thought of the words tumbling forth. Whether you genuinely believed they would spare your life for the sake of a weak plea such as this was by-the-by, the waves of sheer panic flooding through you were responsible for all your decisions at this point, foolish or otherwise. “Please, ser…”

A low groan echoed from your captor’s throat, stopping just short of allowing you to identify their voice. Instead, they removed the blade from your throat and trailed it down your spine, following the path of the boning in your gown which cinched your waist beneath. Now able to breathe, your chest heaved and another growl emitted from the attacker as they observed your dress throbbing before them. While a hand reached to pull the top seam away from your body, the blade traced to the edge, pressed into you and sliced the fabric all the way down to your hips, decimating your smallclothes underneath in the process. You squeezed your eyes shut and hissed softly as the cool air of the chamber flushed over your bare back, the realisation of your fate flooding over you in chilling waves. Your captor would certainly take what he wanted from you before slitting your throat, your own Targaryen blood flowing between the flagstones of your chambers.

“Ser, I’m begging you,” you pleaded weakly, gasping at the sharp sensation of cold gloved hands rolling the ripped fabric down your shoulders so what remained of your gown pooled at your ankles. Your captor swallowed thickly behind you, consuming your naked figure and the goosebumps that prickled in the cool air’s wake.

No response came.

“W… what do you want with me?” You stuttered, petrified of the answer. Suddenly, both gloved hands clasped around your hips and steered you toward the bed in the centre of the chamber, violently tossing you head-first onto the sheets. In that brief moment, you could have escaped, should have escaped, but the fear of capture as you raced naked across the room no doubt to be stabbed by your captor froze you to the core, instead burying your face in the pillows as if to will the moments away. Maybe your ordeal would be over sooner if you accepted your fate, but that didn’t stop you kicking and flailing your limbs to deter them from attempting to pin you down.

“Please, stop…”

A rustle of leather behind you suggested your speechless captor had taken off their gloves and began fumbling with their pants while watching you bare before them, faint echoes of sobs emanating from deep within the pillows. The mattress sank beneath you as they crawled onto the bed, bare knees caging you on both sides of your bucking hips yet still evidently wearing their cape as a wave of heavy fabric sweeping up your bare thighs. In the blink of an eye, a hand reached into your hair and tugged you skyward as hot, predatory breaths fanned your hair. A faint chuckle erupted from the attacker, coiling their fist into your silver locks and revelling in the way your body so easily caved to their will, even if your mouth did not.

“No, please, my husband, please…,” you panicked, writhing in their vice-like grasp as a wave of dread coursing through you as the enormity of your situation finally hit you. You had only ever bedded your husband, only ever felt his touch, only ever felt his cock inside you, only ever felt his cum dripping from your folds. Tonight, that loyalty, that commitment would be forever tarnished. Scalding hot tears burst their banks and seared their way down your countenance to soak the pillows below as you lowered your cracking voice to a pleading whisper: “Aemond, please help me.”

Suddenly, the hand that tugged on your hair reached for your left wrist, pressing two fingers to your pulse point.

Aemond’s signal.

Your every muscle relaxed with relief, the tension in your spine loosening immediately. A sigh of contentment escaped you as you tapped your fingers twice onto the pillows beneath you, an unexpected bolt of pleasure thrumming through your core and seeping through your folds as you snapped back into the room, realising you were completely naked and pinned beneath your husband, not an anonymous attacker.

“Aemond, gods be good, I--.”

You were cut off by his hands firing straight back into your hair, yanking you back to face him. His silver locks billowed under his dark hood, the cloak clearly the only garment he was still wearing, his jaw tensed in a sinister pout and most notably, his eye patch was nowhere to be seen, enabling his sapphire eye to glimmer softly in the dim light of the chamber.

“It seems I won the hunt, Princess,” he cooed into your ear, nibbling gently on the lobe and groaning gratuitously as you bucked into his touch, your thighs squeezing together tightly. “But you resist me so well.”

With one hand wandering to part your cheeks beneath him, the other scooped around your hip to drag you up from the sheets. His motions were just as swift, curt and merciless as they were before you knew his identity, making it abundantly clear that Aemond was still very much in character.

“Aemond, I need time to still my nerves,” you pleaded weakly and unconvincingly, your back arching instinctively into his touch.

“I don’t think you do,” Aemond snapped, again tugging at your hips to pull you against him, his hardened cock tapping on your parted cheeks, leaving a light trail of his own slick in its wake. “You will do as I say, dear wife.”

“Please, at least prepare me first,” you panted, wriggling gently against his restraint but not enough to betray your own desires. The adrenaline rush from realising it was indeed your husband that ravished you had left you desiring to fuck him now more than ever. You didn’t need any preparation, he could bottom out inside you in a heartbeat and your warm walls would welcome him as ever.

“Oh, my dear sweet little princess,” he hissed through feigned gritted teeth, venturing a finger to trace through your already dripping folds. “It appears your cunt is already well prepared for me.”

A blast of heat rose to your cheeks as if a furnace had ignited before you. “Aemond, stop…”

“Tell me,” he hummed, replacing his finger with the tip of his cock lining up at your waiting entrance. “Did the thought of being ravaged by an anonymous intruder really satisfy my little wife that much?”

Frantically shaking your head, you balled your fists into the sheets in anticipation.

“This is quite a way to find out my beautiful wife is not only a liar but also a whore,” Aemond concluded, slapping his tip against your cunt before nudging inside just a little. “I’ll have to take you by force more often.”

In one swift snap of his hips, his cock slipped inside you as comfortably as the first time he bedded you so many moons ago. Both moaning in unison, his fingers dipped into the flesh of your hips and drew you back to impale yourself further on his cock, his length nestling into your spongy walls like the missing piece of a jigsaw. Your eyes bulged at the intrusion, in sure and certain knowledge that you may never get used to how big he felt, how perfectly his girth filled you, how his tip reached the furthest points inside you that felt as if he was nudging into your lungs.

“Oh gods fuck, you’re so tight,” he swore out amongst a strangled gasp, the sensation of your walls clamping around him becoming almost too much already. “That’s it, clench down on me, try and stop me fucking you.”

“Aemond please, please stop,” you let out a half-hearted protest which stoked a fire in his loins, making your husband rear back and deliver a punishing thrust that stole the air from your lungs. “Please, it’s too… too much.”

“You’ll take what I give you, Princess,” he commanded, reaching down to knock your elbows from beneath you so you fell into the pillows. His hand pressed the back of your skull ever so slightly downwards. “Scream into the pillow if it hurts, because I’m not listening.”

Muffled whimpers and yelps vibrated through the cushion as you feigned protest, arching your back and pushing up your ass to meet his thrusts. Somehow, play-fighting against his actions only heightened your sensitivity to his every movement inside your heat, and Aemond responded eagerly each time you pleaded with him to stop when every inch of your body persuaded him to surge ahead.

“I knew someday my plan would come in useful,” Aemond’s free hand fumbled to cast aside his cloak as it impeded his motions, leading him to initiate a perfectly normal conversation while piledriving your cunt and sinking your head into the pillows. “I concealed a cloak and gloves in a chamber some moons ago for a quick midnight escape if the Red Keep ever became too much to bear. Tonight, it finally paid off handsomely.”

Aemond began bending his knees to curl his thrusts, his cockhead meeting your sweet spot with every swoop inside you. Noticing his new tactic, you took the opportunity of his distraction to wriggle your hips beneath him, a false attempt to break free and stop his onslaught on your pussy.

“No you don’t, little whore,” he spat through gritted teeth, one hand grasping your hips and the other firing to pin your hands above your head. “You’re not just fighting a mysterious assailant now, issa jorrāelagon, you’re resisting your husband and we both know you could never resist me.”

Testing his theory, you writhed and flexed harder beneath him, trying to kick away his thighs behind you. “Please, please let me go,” you feigned, gasping for air now you could freely breathe above the pillow.

“Take what I give you like a good girl,” Aemond commanded, an accomplished growl spilling through his last syllables. “Next time, I think I’ll fuck you while you’re sleeping. Maybe then you’ll stop trying to fight off what you want more than anything.”

You swallowed harshly as your body betrayed your façade, hot waves of pleasure pooling in your core and building a searing tension in your walls that threatened to burst its banks with a particularly devastating thrust.

“Aemond, I’m… I’m…,” you stuttered in hopes your husband would catch your hint that you were about to reach your peak.

“No you fucking don’t,” he snarled, rearing his hips back to pull out of you completely, kicking your knees from beneath you and tumbling you on your back into the sheets. Your first full-body vision of your feral Prince claiming you by force revealed his porcelain frame beaded with sweat, his violet eye so blown with lust that in your blurred vision it looked pitch black. His jaw constricted into a fierce pout, he gazed down at your shaking body beneath him as if a man starved, desperate to reach his home deep inside your cunt once more. But in dropping to the sheets, your thighs had clamped together, battling the loss of his cock inside you.

“Spread yourself for me,” he growled like a wild animal. “Now.”

You nodded frantically, acting as innocent as possible as you opened your thighs before him, your throbbing folds reddened and puffy after his first onslaught.

“I said, spread yourself for me,” he repeated, palming at his cock as he waited for your compliance.

Your shaking hands trailed between your legs and parted your soaking folds, trails of your own slick glistening in the dim light.

“Good fucking girl,” he praised through a filthy drawl, his syllables melting together as his own heightened senses overwhelmed him. “Always such a good fucking girl for me.”

He leaned forward and plunged his length back into your waiting cunt, his eye journeying to the ceiling as your rippling walls greeted him willingly. He returned to his devastating pace all too quickly, fighting to gaze back down and watch his slick-glistened cock disappearing inside you at a breakneck speed, the lewd splashes of your coupling making a filthy echo throughout the chamber.

“Please… please let me go,” you began to falsely plead for mercy again while his punishing thrusts sent you sinking into the mattress. “It’s… too much…”

“Easy, princess, I won’t cause you harm,” he cooed softly, bending down to whisper in the shell of your ear. “I only intend to break you so that the only coherent thought in that dumb little whore mind of yours belongs to me, my cock and how beautifully I split you open.”

The bolts of pleasure from his sinful words sent your hips keening up to meet his, head throwing back into the pillows and crying out his name like a sacrament to the Seven.

“Aemond, please…,” you pleaded in the brief pauses between his thrusts, gasping for air and consciousness as the corners of your vision began to blur, your eyes fluttering closed. “I’m… I’m…”

“Stay with me, angel,” he husked, curling a hand around the back of your neck and hovering his lips above yours. “Be a good girl and watch me claim you.”

His pummelling pace refused to relent, taking your approach to your peak as a challenge to chase it fervently, swooping his hips and drawing his length out as far as possible before plunging deep inside you until you gasped his name so weakly that no sound came out.

“That’s it, all you can think about is me, right?” He growled, relishing the way your mind and body had now caved to his desire, melted to his will and broken any wish for resistance. “I knew you could take it, I knew you wanted me to force you. All you needed was a little encouragement.”

With one last surge of strength, you pressed your hands to his chest and made a half-hearted attempt to push him off you. Chuckling deep in his throat at your pathetic action, his trademark sinister grin crept across the corner of his lips.

“A valiant attempt, dear wife,” he smirked, rearing his hips back so far his tip very nearly slipped out of your folds. “Now you get to watch me fuck a babe into you whether you like it or not.”

With one last devastating thrust, his tip pummelling against the perimeter your cervix, you cried out and wrapped your legs around his waist, curling your arms around his neck and drawing him in for a searing kiss as you toppled over the edge of your climax along with him, spilling his seed inside you and grunting with each string painting your walls.

The chamber filled with both your ragged breaths, slowly riding out your orgasm as if you could stay rutting up into him for the rest of time. His exhausted gaze met yours, the fierce snarl to which you had become accustomed now softened to his traditional warm smile.

As he tentatively withdrew from your folds, the mixture of your fluids dripping onto the sheets beneath you, Aemond scooped both arms under your back and pulled you up to sit upright with him. He held onto you so tightly, arms wrapped around you protectively as he dipped his head into your neck. Your body shook so gently in his grasp, the aftershocks of your experience still taking hold of your limbs.

“I’m so sorry,” he pleaded softly into your ear, his tone so gentle and reassuring in such stark contrast to the entire evening. “Can I call for the Maester?”

“I… I am fine,” you stuttered weakly, returning his embrace and slumping into him. “Please, don’t send for him, I really don’t wish him to see me like this.”

“I did not mean to harm you, I would never… but you didn’t say the word…”

You shook your head against his. “I didn’t need to, my love. I promise, all is well.”

“Are you sure?” His worried tone calmed as his fingers ghosted lazy, comforting circles over your back.

“Of course, please just… hold me.”

You could feel the stretch of his smile against your skin.

“Kesan ōregon ao syt mirre hen ñuha tubissa, ñuha jorrāelagon.” I will hold you for all my days, my love.

1K notes · View notes

kleftiko · 1 year

Text

❦ FLOPPY HAT

cw: none, this is fluff

alternate title: team 7’s first impression of you

kakashi always delays your mornings. he’s late to everything and one of the reasons is because he prefers to keep you in a loving headlock each morning (he calls it cuddling, but it’s inescapable) while he reads his books.

needless to say, when he finally leaves much later than he should for his first mission with his new team, you can get ready and go outside to tend to your garden.

only to get severely pissed off.

your garden was new, kakashi had his routine and your garden literally got in the way of it, BUT DID HE HAVE TO WALK RIGHT THROUGH IT FOR THE THIRD TIME THIS WEEK????

your blood boils and you feel it in your cheeks as you see the murderous footprints of kakashi who was probably reading his stupid icha icha instead of looking where he was going.

team seven, on the other hand, is being continuously amazed by their new teacher. they can’t land a single blow on him, he seems invincible to everything. and they’re about to give up hope when they hear the piercing scream of of a killer, a sound so horrifying it shakes their sensei to a halt.

it’s you. and you’re pissed.

“kakashi hatake! how many times have i told you to look where you’re going!!!”

the man freezes as he sees you coming over the horizon. a jonin knows when he’s defeated, and seeing his significant other blowing steam out their ears as they march straight towards him, he knows he’s done for.

he doesn’t do much when you approach him. and team seven look on in horror as you rip the book out of his hands.

“this is what happens when you read your stupid book while you walk!” you swing the novel down onto his head. repeatedly. “you ruined my garden again! this is the last time kakashi!!”

your man takes the beating, slightly laughing at you because your assault doesn’t hurt, and team seven is looking at this random person in a floppy sun hat beat their sensei.

kakashi holds you in his arms. no book in his hands this time as his fingers run up and down your back.

“that better be the last time, kakashi.” you mumble into his chest. he chuckles and adjusts the two of you on the couch. after todays kerffufle, you went home and took a nap. kakashi had replanted everything while you slept, leaving a path that he can walk through in the morning. it looked funky, and out of place with everything else, but it was sweet.

“it’ll be the last time.” he assures. “my team thinks you’re pretty scary:”

“that’s cause i’m the only one who can kick your ass.”

#kakashi headcanons #team kakashi #kakashi sensei #kakashi hatake #kakashi x reader #kakashi hatake x reader #kakashi x oc #kakashi imagines #naruto x reader #kakashi fluff

2K notes · View notes

strangersmunsons · 3 months

Text

Eddie, My Love! eddie munson x reader // valentine's day special series Day 8 Prompt: Rom-Coms 🎟️ ~ 2,400 words Watching a romantic comedy on TV brings back some memories for Eddie. (angst, w/ a hopeful ending)

Eddie taps the lit end of his cigarette into an ashtray, staring at the television screen with tired eyes. The bluish light casts an eerie glow about the room; it feels cold, sterile.

This has been his ritual for far too long now: go to work, come home, and watch some mind-numbing program alone until he falls asleep. Wash, rinse, repeat.

He yawns, and rubs his stubbly face with one hand. He should get in bed before he passes out on the couch — save his back the trouble — but instead he picks up the remote again, flicking through channels, waiting in vain for something stimulating.

Coca-Cola ad. Late night talk show interview. Some black and white picture from MGM. Meg Ryan and Billy Crystal. Sitcom rerun.

He pauses, thumb hovering over the button.

Eddie switches back to When Harry Met Sally. He rented it from Family Video once upon a time, but he hasn’t watched it in years. It feels like an eternity has passed since then and yet, he remembers it like it was yesterday.

That’s what every memory with you feels like to him; it’s both an old scar and a fresh wound. He doesn’t know what feels worse — the hot, gut-wrenching ache of longing that pains him now, or the knowledge that those memories, no matter how agonizing they may be, might start to fade one day.

But it seems an impossibility; he can recall every detail. He wets his lips, remembering how you had pleaded with him in line to rent this particular film, even though he’d been hoping to see the new Indiana Jones movie.

“Rob Reiner doesn’t make bad movies, Eddie. He did The Princess Bride, remember? Besides, it’s Valentine’s Day!”

He relented, as he always did. Who was he to deny you anything?

But oh, how things change.

Pipe dreams turned to reality. Demo tapes turned to albums. Dive bar gigs turned to international tours. You, bravely avowing that he had to grab hold of every opportunity he could — you told him that no matter where in the world he went, you would always be here, loving him. All the while, secretly, the small pit of fear planted in your stomach was sprouting and unfurling as the distance between you two grew further, and the silences louder.

He should have tried harder. Came home more. Picked up the Goddamn phone. He’d always had to call you; it was too difficult to get a hold of him yourself, to keep track of where he might be, when he was traveling constantly.

And then that awful night, when he’d lost everything. Everything that mattered, anyway.

It was the last time he ever saw or spoke to you. Hours of arguing, pleading, crying; it was the death rattle of the most important relationship of his life. You finally told him what you were afraid of, what you had been afraid of, and that it had come true.

“I’m just a girl from back home, Eddie.”

Wrong. Wrong, wrong, wrong. You were never just a girl to Eddie. Not then, not now. Not ever. But what difference had it made? When the time had come for him to make a choice, he had still walked out the door.

The world was being presented to Eddie Munson on a silver platter. He was young, up-and-coming, successful. A talented musician — gifted, even. He had the right look and the attitude.

Being his partner wasn’t easy. Your support was unwavering, but your lives were going in different directions, it seemed. You both loved each other enough to want the other person to have what they wanted, which were…no longer the same things.

But it was still horrible.

He spent the next few weeks in a near-fugue state, numb and inconsolable. His bandmates whispered to each other in the studio, casting furtive glances over at their supposedly-invincible leader, while the rest of their team offered him pseudo-smiles tinged with impatience, and suggested that he focus on channeling the pain towards his music.

After that, when he had the time, he’d leave LA and come back to the city he’d initially dragged you out to after graduation. He had no idea if you still lived there, but it didn’t matter. It was the last place he knew you to be and so he wandered those familiar streets, looking for you in every person he passed, as though it were likely that he might bump into you at a bus stop, outside the grocery, sitting on a park bench.

It was a luxury he could afford until Corroded Coffin started to fall apart. Disputes between band members, both personal and professional. Declining album sales. Bad management. Once sold-out venues were a struggle to fill. The once-steady flow of cash turned into a trickle, and then the boys were unceremoniously dropped from label, the execs deciding that keeping them around wasn’t worth the expense.

He supposes he could have stayed in the industry if he really wanted to. Formed a new band or begged to join another that was in need of a guitarist, but Corroded Coffin was his baby. The idea of starting all over again or leeching off of another group’s success left a bad taste in his mouth. And the producing gigs and session work somehow felt even worse; he dreaded having to watch others succeed at what he had ended up failing.

Fame had chewed him up, decided it didn’t like the flavor, and promptly spit him back out. His music career felt like a fever dream now. His life before that, with you, was the realest thing he’d ever had.

As he watches Harry and Sally dine together at Katz’s Deli, his mind wanders to the slip of paper stowed carefully away like a sacred jewel, all alone in a drawer of his bedside table.

No, he won’t.

Harry and Sally fall apart.

He won’t dare.

Harry runs through Manhattan to find his girl.

Not after everything he’s done, after all this time.

Harry tells her all the reasons that he loves her…

Eddie abruptly switches the TV off, unable to hear anymore. He sits in the darkness for a moment, aching with bone-weary sadness. What had Dustin told him, as he passed the paper to him across the table over lunch one day?

“It couldn’t hurt to try.”

But Dustin was wrong about that. It could hurt him very, very much.

Eddie stands, and pads through the apartment to his bedroom. He sits on the side of the bed, and pulls open the drawer that holds his very last tie to you — a scrap of old receipt bearing your name and phone number. He picks it up with trembling fingers, then lowers it again, terrified that his clammy hands with smudge the ink. The phone seems to taunt him from where it sits atop the nightstand. As though he’s having an out of body experience, Eddie’s arm reaches out beyond his control and picks it up, the dial tone emitting a low buzz in his ear. He stares down at the number in the drawer, as though he didn’t memorize it the second he got it. He doesn’t even know how Dustin found you; but the geeky little shit has his ways.

He punches in the number, heart racing faster with each digit he puts in.

It rings…and rings…and rings…

“Hello?”

Eddie’s mouth falls open in a low gasp. Your sweet voice is the same, only slightly marred by the bewilderment you must feel at receiving a call this late in the evening. Embarrassingly, his eyes sting with tears; he can’t speak.

“Hello? Anyone there?”

Eddie slams the phone back into the receiver, white as a sheet. He gets up, paces a lap around the room, chugs a glass of water, and finally takes his seat again, trying not to hyperventilate.

Taking a deep, steadying breath, he picks up the phone again, and re-dials.

His heart is in his throat now, swollen and beating so violently it threatens to choke him.

Your voice again, slightly more annoyed, though you still sound like an angel. “Hello?”

“H-Hi,” Eddie says hoarsely, and tries to swallow his fear.

There’s a brief silence on the other end. “...who is this?”

“It’s me. It’s…it’s Eddie. Munson,” he tacks his surname on at the end, as though he needs to specify.

Muffled noise through the speaker. The seconds tick by, and Eddie waits with dread for you to hang up.

Finally, you whisper, “Eddie?”

“Yes, it’s me.”

“H-How did you get this number?”

He has the phone in a vice grip. “Dustin gave it to me.”

“Why…why are you calling?” He wishes he could see your expression. You sound terrified, like he’s going to bite you through the phone.

How can he answer that? What is there to say, after so much time, after so much pain? I miss you. I love you. None of it was worth it, even when I was on top. Losing you was like being cut in half.

“I wanted to see how you were. How you are, I mean.”

“I’m okay.” The response is quick, automatic. But you don’t elaborate any further than that, and awkward silence prevails again.

Eddie deserves that, he supposes. Sweat trickles down his back, under his arms, breaks out on his forehead. He pushes his damp bangs back out of his eyes. “That’s good. I’m glad to hear it, sweetheart,” the term of endearment slipping out as though a day hasn’t gone by where you haven’t been his sweetheart.

“Don’t call me that,” you tell him tersely, sounding pained.

“I’m sorry,” he replies, ashamed. He had no right to do this to you. Drudge up old memories that you probably wanted to forget, or had so already.

“What is this about?” you ask him again, voice shaking.

“I told you,” he mumbles, “I want to know how you are. And I guess…I want to apologize.”

“You want to apologize,” you repeat skeptically, with an incredulous huff. “Now? Really?”

“Yes, really. I’m sorry,” he repeats, eyes glazed and wet. A dry sob rattles his chest. “I don’t what I was thinking. I shouldn’t have called, I shouldn’t be…I’m sure you hate me and I don’t blame you, because I do too.” He wets his lips and presses on. “But if I can take this time to say one thing to you it’s that I’m sorry. For everything. I am so fucking sorry. For leaving, for hurting you, for every stupid little thing I did. That’s why I really called. To tell you that.”

“Oh God,” you say, almost to yourself, voice suddenly small. “I — I’m not ready for this.”

“You don’t have to say anything back,” he whispers, voice breaking, closing his eyes, letting the tears slip over his lashes.

“Are you crying?”

He wipes furiously at his nose. “It doesn’t matter.”

“It does to me.”

Eddie can’t lie to you, certainly not now. “Yes. I’m sorry, I can’t help it. Your voice…”

“That — that came out sharper than I meant it to —”

“No, I mean it’s beautiful. I missed it.”

“Eddie…”

“Yeah?”

You start to speak and then falter, struggling to articulate what it is that you’re feeling. “I’m sorry, I have no idea what to say.”

Eddie laughs brokenly. “Funny, because there’s a million things I want to say to you. I just don’t know if I should or not.”

You swallow with an audible click. “I don’t know if you should, either.”

Another silence. Eddie thinks he could pick out the sound of your breathing from a mile away, he’s still so in tune with it. After hundreds of nights spent laying next to you in bed, no other sound could send him to dreaming so quickly or peacefully.

“But why call now? After all this time?”

“I miss you.” The words escape before he has a chance to stop them; he bites his tongue against the rest of them. He considers his next words carefully before continuing.

“I never reached out before, because I made my bed and now I have to lie in it. I didn’t deserve to ask you for another chance, and I don’t think I do now, either, but…I was thinking of you tonight. Even more so than usual.”

Your voice shakes. “Does…does that happen often?”

He sucks in a sharp breath. “All the time.” The floodgates open; all his woe and regret from the past spills forward. “I am always, always thinking of you. Even when you thought I wasn’t. I know I was a shitty partner, but that didn’t mean — that I didn’t love you more than anything.”

“Eddie —”

But he can’t stop now. “I’ve missed you like hell since that very last night. I loved you so much, a-and I threw it away! How could I bring myself to speak to you after that? Especially after I lost it all? I would — God — I would hate for you to think that I was only coming back to you because I didn’t have anywhere else to go. I couldn’t do that. I didn’t wanna hurt you again, baby, and I know it would’ve.”

There’s a quiet sniffle on the other line. “It broke me when you left. And now this hurts, too.”

“I’m so sorry,” he breathes. “I wish I could make it better. I would do anything to make you not hurt anymore. I won’t ask you for a second chance, but just know,” Eddie takes a deep breath, closes his eyes, and seals his fate. “I’ve loved you for more than half my life,” he whispers. “I’ll love you until I die.”

And with that, the line goes dead.

Eddie stares at nothing, doesn’t move. He doesn’t know how long he sits there for; eventually, his body moving on autopilot, he hangs up the phone and crawls under the covers. He’s done sobbing, but tears drip down his temples as he lays back in bed, dampening his hair.

Time doesn’t exist anymore, but he hopes he’ll fall asleep soon anyway.

Breathing, quiet and even. Eyelids slightly heavier. He thinks maybe it’s finally within reach.

He’s almost there.

The phone rings.

Eddie blindly feels with one arm, and picks it up from the receiver for the third time tonight.

“Hello?” he asks hoarsely, not daring to believe it.

An angel answers.

“E-Eddie? It’s me again…”

thank you for reading!! xoxo Valentine's Day Special Masterlist

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson reader insert #eddie munson oneshot #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson blurb #eddie munson angst #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson x fem!reader

282 notes · View notes

averytirednerd · 3 months

Text

Just watched the 1x07 sneak peek

and AAAAAAAA

My week’s already been pretty crappy so far, and I desperately needed this 😭

Nearly two minutes of Alastor and Charlie, ft. them actually discussing things I wanna hear about!!!

These are some of my favorite things from the scene:

Charlie’s angry facial expressions towards Alastor are truly a highlight of this clip. She looks adorable wrapped up in her little blanket burrito, which is a plus.

I also adore the fact that it’s Alastor who’s trying to cheer Charlie up, and get her to stop wallowing in self-loathing (whether it’s just b/c it helps him or not, I still like it). I wonder if he took it upon himself to or the others nudged him in that direction.

I also love Alastor’s passive-aggressive comments in the beginning of the clip. He seems really frustrated and it’s hilarious to see.

“Who’s joking?”

THE WAY HE JUST APPEARED AND THE WAY AMIR TALAI DELIVERED THE LINE AND CHARLIE FELL OFF THE BED AND-

I like it :]

Ngl I’m disappointed in myself for deriving so much joy from watching Alastor be all silly and mess around on the bed. BUT ALSO I MEAN C’MON HIS LEGS WERE KICKING BACK AND FORTH WHAT DO YOU WANT FROM ME??? Not to mention he’s being all silly like this, just vibing, while Charlie’s having a little meltdown. Very fun juxtaposition to see.

YESSS FINALLY SOMEONE PROPERLY MENTIONING THE WHOLE SMILING THING, I WAS WONDERING HOW LONG IT’D TAKE FOR THAT TO BE BROUGHT UP

And the reason why I wanted someone to question him, so we’d get to hear Al’s response. The look into Al’s thought processes is amazing! It’s exactly what I thought he’d say, and I’m pleased with that now being checked off my list of things I wanted from this season. I’m so happy that Charlie knows this now too.

And last but certainly not least… “I know something you don’t know~”

WHAT? WHAT IS IT, ALASTOR? HOW DARE YOU LEAVE ME HANGING 😭

Edit: Sitting there, after having rewatched the clip like 20 more times post making-this, it finally clicked that he’s probably talking about the exterminator. You know, the dead one. As the lovely comment down below has pointed out, he says it after Charlie mentions the exterminators being “invincible.” Now it’s just a matter of whether he tells her, if he does then how, and how exactly Charlie reacts to this information. Can’t wait :]

#hazbin hotel #hazbin #hazbin hotel spoilers #hazbin alastor #alastor hazbin #alastor hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel alastor #alastor #hazbin charlie #charlie morningstar #hazbin hotel charlie #charlie hazbin hotel #charlie #my post

215 notes · View notes

starsandhughes · 10 months

Text

Penalty Box Series— Lake House Shenanigans Edition

22/23 SERIES MASTERLIST

yourusername

liked by trevorzegras, _alexturcotte, and 10,346 others

yourusername the hughes & co annual lake house week summarized:

- i pushed trevor into the lake 17 teams and he only did it 16 times

- I WON THE CHEL TOURNAMENT! suck it boys <3 (cole got second place)

-our annual twister game is not pictured, but trust that no one died

- z-baby is back in his bucket hat era and i’m so obsessed with him! my fiancé is so fiiinnnneeeee

- i did not get sunburnt out on the boat (jacky boy and turcs did) so i’m obviously a god

- z and i forced everyone to listen to us do karaoke to taylor swift songs (they loved it)

- lukey lost sorry 5 times (we played 5 times)

- sorry as a drinking game is an 11/10 i highly recommend

- i was nice and didn’t force everyone to watch the hunger games series and it was terrible

- quinn dropped me after throwing over his shoulder (see slide 9) and i have a giant bruise on my leg (i’ve named it jerry)

the hughes & co. annual lake house week summarized in a poem: “i’m so happily in crazy with you” ~atticus

tagged trevorzegras, jackhughes, _quinnhughes, lhughes_06, _alexturcotte, and colecaufield

view all comments

trevorzegras oh you and your poems… i love you, forever, my fiiinnnneeeee fiancée 🧡

yourusername i love you, always, loser🧡

trevorzegras that was uncalled for

yourusername you should’ve thought about that before losing everything?

trevorzegras i let you win!

jackhughes @/trevorzegras maybe at the pushing in the lake contest, but not chel

_alexturcotte @/trevorzegras you were out round 1

trevorzegras @/jackhughes @_alexturcotte she practiced with jimmy all season!

jamie.drysdale @/trevorzegras don’t blame me for you sucking

trevorzegras i quit

yourusername @/trevorzegras cry baby

trevorzegras @/yourusername your cry baby?

yourusername @/trevorzegras i mean i guess

user77 i would’ve killed to be a fly on the wall

_quinnhughes why on earth would you name your bruise?

yourusername it was a gift

_quinnhughes it was an accident!

yourusername @/colecaufield quintin said he doesn’t love me anymore so congrats you’re best friend number one!

_quinnhughes i didn’t say that!

colecaufield @_quinnhughes too little too late

jackhughes @/yourusername why am i not in the running for best friend?

_quinnhughes @/jackhughes because she hates you and i love her

yourusername @_quinnhughes TOO LITTLE TOO LATE

yourusername @/jackhughes you remind me of a muddy rock <3

lhughes_06 @/yourusername don’t worry i still love you

yourusername @/lhughes_06 and this is why you’re my favorite! i love you, lukey moosey!

jamie.drysdale stop having fun without me

yourusername stop having other friends

jamie.drysdale no

yourusername then i will continue to do so! i still love you!

jamie.drysdale i mean i guess i love you, too

yourusername you guess?! i should be your sun, your moon, and all your stars!

jamie.drysdale you’re definitely my something

yourusername i’ll take it <3

jackhughes @/yourusername if i said this you’d tell on me and ridicule me

yourusername @/jackhughes that’s because i hate you🥰

user4 let’s play “who’s sissy’s least favorite hughes?”

yourusername it’s still quinn?? idk why we keep playing this game

user20 they’re throwing money at her😭 idol status

_alexturcotte “our annual twister game is not pictured, but trust that no one died” you fell face first into the coffee table and have a bruise on your forehead

yourusername but did i die?

_alexturcotte no…?

yourusername didn’t think so #invincible

_quinnhughes @/yourusername did you name your forehead bruise?

yourusername @_quinnhughes no? that one wasn’t a gift! what part of this do you not understand?

_quinnhughes @/yourusername all of it

_alexturcotte @_quinnhughes do you even love her?!

yourusername @_quinnhughes yeah! do you?

_quinnhughes @/yourusername OF COURSE I LOVE YOU

yourusername @_quinnhughes somebody needs a nap

_quinnhughes i quit

trevorzegras @_quinnhughes welcome to the club

user17 oh how i’ve missed this chaos

user99 your posts help fill the offseason void

lhughes_06 “my hand is on yellow, you personification of a semi-colon” is hands down my favorite sissysult

_quinnhughes one of the most entertaining things i’ve been called

jackhughes i liked “stop acting like a pissed on snow cone” (also to quinn)

colecaufield you’re all wrong the best sissysult was “go change, you look like a minecraft creeper rubber duck”

trevorzegras @/colecaufield that’s because you weren’t called a minecraft creeper rubber duck

yourusername @/trevorzegras think about that the next you wear all green

trevorzegras @/yourusername you’re mean

_quinnhughes @/trevorzegras personally, i think she should be meaner

colecaufield we’re playing a rematch when we play the ducks next season

yourusername over my dead body

colecaufield i could arrange that

yourusername @/jamie.drysdale you wouldn’t let him kill me, right?

jamie.drysdale @/yourusername i’ll protect you, ex-wife!

yourusername @/jamie.drysdale this is why you’re my favorite ex-husband <3

jackhughes @/colecaufield i’ll help kill her

yourusername @/jackhughes i know your weakness, least favorite ex-husband/muddy rock

jackhughes @/yourusername and that is?

yourusername @/jackhughes me.

lhughes_06 @/jackhughes she’s got you there

jackhughes @_quinnhughes @/trevorzegras i’m joining your club

user9 maybe i don’t want to be a fly on the wall… that sounds terrifying

jackhughes if you have ever been bullied or physically attacked by sissy soon-to-be-rowden soon-to-be-zegras, you may be entitled to compensation. dial 442-839-6876

trevorzegras that’s a good one

_alexturcotte 🔥

yourusername i hate you sm too damn

jackhughes @/yourusername can we truce now? for the week?

yourusername @/jackhughes FINE. i love you, soulmate

jackhughes @/yourusername i love you, too, sissy

#penalty box series #penalty box series: bonus editions #trevor zegras imagine #trevor zegras #trevor zegras x reader #cole caufield #cole caufield imagine #quinn hughes #quinn hughes image #jack hughes #jack hughes imagine #luke hughes #luke hughes imagine #alex turcotte #alex turcotte imagine #trevor zegras insta edit #hockey imagine

408 notes · View notes

emo-batboy · 1 year

Text

Battinson and Food

He’s vegetarian and I will hear none of your crap

Depression meals, so many depression meals

I already made a post of his greatest hits here but here's three more:

A whole tub of apple sauce

Instant grits mixed with a hot chocolate packet

And a bowl of croutons

Some meals have actually graduated from the “Depression Meal” category to “Whenever I Can Sneak It Out of the Kitchen” status (because Alfred is appalled every time)

Dick, with the invincible, titanium-lined stomach of a 9yo, doesn’t know why Bruce makes them, but he loves taking bites of Bruce’s weird concoctions.

His favorites so far are:

Cream cheese and jelly sandwich

Spoonfuls of peanut butter (with chocolate chips, that was his idea)

And frozen garlic bread

Diner Food is King. (This is New Jersey. What did you expect?) His go-to order is two eggs over easy, well-done rye toast, grits with syrup and butter, and a fruit cup with no melons from the 24-hour place two blocks east. Hasn’t changed since he was five. Never will.

Bruce can cook food that is edible. Edible.

Like if he tries to make Italian, he can successfully cook the pasta. He can make a basic sauce. He can even plate it.

The tomato sauce is crunchy in some places, yes, but it’s fine :) and it is edible

but Bruce has NEVER succeeded in a baking endeavor, and it positively devastates him every single time

“Baking is science! I love science! I’m great at science. So why didn’t the cake rise when I did everything on the recipe?!” “You need to make it with love-“ “That wasn’t on the ingredients list, Alfred!”

He can handle spice surprisingly well. It’s not like he could avoid it while training all over the world, so he ended up building a tolerance, but his eyes still go unbelievably red every time.

He really fucks with bagels (I mean, what self-respecting Gothamite doesn’t) and he has a very specific bagel order for every possible mood from the great place downtown

The workers at Bagel Kingdom know which moods correspond with which order, and they have a designated spreadsheet taped to the back of the counter so they can work accordingly.

They know he’s barely hanging in there when he gets a toasted blueberry bagel with no butter.

He’s having a good day when he gets a plain bagel sandwich with tomato, provolone, two fried eggs, and hot sauce. In that order. That’s the shit

When he’s stressed, he gets a pumpernickel bagel with strawberry cream cheese to cheer himself up.

The workers of Bagel Kingdom will NOT let you disrespect his bagel.

Bruce almost burnt the tower down when he tried to cook a toaster waffle in the microwave while running on 40 hours without sleep, and he just kept cooking it because it wasn’t crisping for some reason

Alfred needs to force him to eat all the time

(It is definitely because Bruce suffers from disordered eating.)

There was one period of time in which Bruce went days without food, and Alfred (lovingly) threatened to send him to in-patient if he didn’t eat

Bruce said that those gross, mushy, lukewarm blueberries were the only thing he’d tolerate when he was struggling, so blueberries became their indicator: if Bruce can’t stomach blueberries, he goes to in-patient.

He’s gone twice, and Bruce was very mad each time, but he still uses healing methods that he was taught in there so it couldn’t have been that bad.

(He’s also friends with some of the nurses now. He, Denise, and Kayleigh have a group chat.)

Dick once convinced him to test taste different kinds of olive oil to learn the difference between regular and extra virgin. It was absolutely disgusting, and he ended up puking an hour later. Alfred now puts child locks on the kitchen cabinets.

The first time Bruce ever makes a meal that doesn’t look horrid is when he spends two weeks practicing Romani dishes for Dick the month after he adopts him.

He has since perfected three different recipes:

Stuffed peppers

Goulash

Cabbage rolls

(Keep in mind Dick is not vegetarian like Bruce.)

He tried making almond cake like 80 times (which is more like a biscuit but still a baked good) but could never do it right so Alfred makes them instead.

At dinner time, Dick always eats off Bruce’s plate more than his own. Alfred has chastised him several times, but Bruce only encourages him more. He thinks it’s cute. And so does the general public when they attend dinner parties.

One of Bruce's favorite memories of his parents is when he had a bad dream in the middle of the night so Thomas and Martha drove him out to the nearest diner to have a chocolate milkshake at 3 am.

Now, after patrol, if Bruce saw something traumatic or something that reminded him of his parents’ death, he’ll go to that same 24-hour diner and sit for a bit with a chocolate milkshake.

He continues this tradition after Dick becomes Robin. (Even if it took months for Bruce to even consider the idea of letting Dick near harm’s way.)

No matter how hard he tries to keep Dick away from the gruesome stuff, he can’t stop everything. They get milkshakes a lot more than Bruce would like.

But eventually, it turns into a treat whenever Dick does well in school or needs a pick-me-up.

And when they add Jason to the mix, they introduce him to the tradition as well.

They know everything will be okay when they have chocolate milkshakes together.

877 notes · View notes

octuscle · 4 days

Note

hey dude, I’m not a writer, but a bro sent me this request and I think the chronivac team can help him out

I’m a 21 year old gay geek who lives in a very loving but nerdy family. My dad is a geek who has been taking me to gaming conventions since I was little. Me and all my brothers take after him. I love my family, but I’ve always wondered what it would have been like growing up with a jock family. Could I have been the jock I fantasize about being if I had more masculine influences in my life?

March 10th, 2024

I never thought my family would turn into a bunch of fitness fanatics, but here we are. Mom, Dad, even my little brothers, they're all obsessed with this new super athletic lifestyle. Protein shakes, chicken breasts, and hours at the gym have become the norm in our household.

I used to be content with my telescope and chessboard, but now I find myself being dragged to the gym and force-fed protein shakes. It's like my family has become a cult, and I'm the reluctant follower. I'm not sure how I feel about all of this.

March 25th, 2024

I can't believe how quickly things have changed. Just a few weeks ago, I was the nerdy kid who spent his days studying the stars and playing chess. Now, I'm a typical high school jock, hanging out with the popular crowd and making fun of anyone who doesn't fit in.

I've traded my telescope for dumbbells and my chessboard for a football. And the worst part? I'm starting to enjoy it. I feel powerful and invincible, like I can do anything. But I'm also starting to notice a mean streak in myself that I never knew existed.

April 10th, 2024

I've become a bully. I can't believe I'm saying that, but it's true. I'm the one pushing kids into lockers and stealing their lunch money now. And the worst part? I'm not even sorry about it.

I've also developed this gross habit of forcing kids to smell the stench from my sweaty armpit after football practice. It's like I get some sick pleasure out of humiliating others. What has happened to me?

April 30th, 2024

Yo, dude, like, physically, I'm a whole new person now. Went from a scrawny little dude to a 280-pound muscle beast. My clothes are bursting at the seams, and I gotta turn sideways to squeeze through doors. But hey, ain't complaining - diggin' all the stares I'm getting. And guess what? Bagged a wrestling scholarship to a college out in the Midwest. Me, the dude who used to daydream about space and stuff, gonna be slammin' in the ring for a college team. It's bonkers, but man, I'm totally stoked about it.

May 20th, 2024

Yo, OMG, peeps! I am legit ecstatic right now, like I never in a million years thought I'd be uttering those words, but BOOM, it's straight facts, fam! E'en though I've gone through some major transformations, like morphing into this 280-pound jacked AF bodybuilder who lowkey bullies nerds, I am L-I-V-I-N-G my best life and am beyond stoked about it! I've finally discovered where I belong in this crazy world, and that's under them bright lights on the wrestling mat, ready to throw down and slam some bodies, chug some protein shakes, and maybe, just maybe, dial back on the bully vibes a smidge. Here's to the next epic chapter in my saga, AKA living my dream and taking names! #OnTopOfTheWorld #LivingMyTruth #BodySlamsAndBulkingBro

#male tf #muscle tf #reality change #chronivac #ai image

74 notes · View notes

fortheloveofwonderland · 3 months

Text

Midnight | Chapter 17 | S.R

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

Chapter Summary - Luke arrives in Crested Butte and meets some locals. Spencer has his own problems to deal with.

Pairing - unsub! Spencer Reid / Fem! Reader

Category - dark angst | smut | very eventual happy ending

Warnings - drinking, brief mentions of sex, swearing, bribery, false allegations, sexual abuse. WC - 5.8k

Chapter 17 - Wolf in Sheep's Clothing

You didn’t remember much about returning to the cabin last night as upon arriving back in Butte you and Spencer had indulged in one two many drinks at The Eldo before finally stumbling home well after midnight.

Judging by the fact your body was sore and you were naked, you’d probably had sex more than once and your head was throbbing when you opened your eyes, but you felt at peace.

Spencer stirred next to you, pulling you closer to his body and kissing your messy hair.

“I swore I’d never drink that much again.” He grumbled.

“I feel like I’ve been hit by a freight train.” You agreed.

“I think that was more my fault than the alcohol. I’m fairly certain we had sex at least five times. And from memory it got pretty rough.” He pulled you even closer.

“Worth it.” You smiled sleepily, resting your head on his chest. “I feel like shit, but I also feel on top of the fucking world.”

“Hmm, me too.” He agreed, nuzzling his face against your head.

“Don’t get excited, I don’t think my body can handle anymore sex right now.”

“Trust me when I say I don’t even think I have the energy to get it up.” He chuckled.

“That is music to my ears right now.” You giggled.

“Give it time, I’m sure there’s only so long I can lay next to a beautiful, naked woman before it happens of its own accord.”

“Fair enough.” You giggled again. “I can handle that. But I never want to drink again in my life.”

“Agreed.” Spencer exhaled before adding. “You know, until next time.”

You snuggled into him, wrapping your arm around his waist and slinging one leg over his. In that moment you felt invincible.

***

McGill’s Diner on Elk Avenue had a traffic camera positioned between the ground and first floor windows, capturing every car that passed by. It was the same camera that had witnessed the little blue Nissan purchased by Andrew Burnett in Franklin County, Virginia, drive up and down the street multiple times over the last week.

With no better place to start, Luke parked up at the curb and headed inside. He was under strict instructions from Prentiss that he was to not treat this like a federal investigation, they had no idea what they were dealing with and they didn’t want to alert the townsfolk to FBI presence. He was simply a concerned friend.

To stave off temptation, he left his creds in the hire vehicle he’d driven the forty minutes from Gunnison-Crested Butte Regional Airport. He did however keep his firearm visible in his holster on his hip.

A little bell chimed above the door as he entered the diner. It was late enough that the breakfast rush was over and early enough for the lunchtime crowd not to have surfaced yet so it was reasonably quiet. There was an older couple in a booth over the back and a younger man and woman sitting at the counter.

Luke made his way over to where a guy around your age was fixing a pot of coffee behind the counter. He looked up when he heard Luke approached and offered him a friendly smile. He wore a green flannel shirt over a black tee which had some kind of stain down it.

“Hi there,” he put down the coffee pot and gave Luke his full attention. “Can I get you a table?”

“No, thanks. I’m actually looking for some people. My friends, I think they might be here.” Luke dove straight in.

“Sure, I might be able to help. Most people come through here even if they're just in town for a day or two. Our coffee is pretty good.”

“Is this your place?”

“No, my dads.” The man wiped his hand on his jeans before extending it towards Luke. “Jesse McGill.”

“Luke Alvez.” Luke shook his hand. “So like I said, I’m looking for my friends. Rose and Andrew Burnett. I can show you pictures if you like?”

“No, that’s ok.” Jesse rolled his lip between his teeth. “I know them. Well, I know her better than him, never really spoken to him but I’ve seen him around.”

“They still in town?” Luke asked with a raised eyebrow.

“Uh, I guess so. Haven’t seen them for a few days so I can’t be sure. People come and go, you know? This place is a bit of a tourist trap.” Jesse shrugged.

“A ski resort isn’t much of a tourist trap in spring time.” Luke narrowed his eyes on Jesse, feeling as though the man was hiding something from him. “You know where they’re staying?”

Jesse straightened his back, running a hand through his thick beard while he contemplated how to answer that. Luke could tell he knew exactly where they were staying but for whatever reason, didn’t want to share the information. He knew all it would take to get it out of him would be to flash his FBI badge, but of course Prentiss had ordered him not to.

Jesse was mulling over what you’d told him the other night about Rose not being your real name and not really being married and now a stranger had shown up looking for you, that couldn’t be good.

Something happened and we had to leave our jobs, our homes, that’s what you’d said to him. Were you running from someone, someone like this man in front of him? He didn’t want to risk your safety or betray your trust. He didn’t get a good vibe from this Luke Alvez character.

“No, sorry I don’t.” He shrugged again. “Like I say, haven’t seen them in a few days, they may have already left town.”

Luke wasn’t buying any of this. Jesse knew exactly where you and Spencer were but he wasn’t going to tell Luke. Why, Luke didn’t know, but without his FBI creds to back him up he knew he wasn’t going to get much further. Maybe he’d reassess, call Prentiss and tell her that no one was talking to him and he needed some authority on his side.

“Well, you also said most people come through here right? So I’ll take that table now and a cup of that coffee and I’ll wait.” Luke smiled smugly at him and subtly put his hands on his hips to draw attention to his firearm.

Jesse glanced down at it and the fear he’d felt for your safety only doubled. What the hell kind of trouble were you in and how could he alert you to it without arousing suspicion? For now he nodded, motioning Luke towards a table and following him over with the pot of coffee. He left him alone after that but kept a watchful eye over the stranger in his diner.

Luke pulled out his phone and texted Prentiss to let her know that he’d arrived in the Butte but hadn’t had much luck yet. He sipped the coffee, which he couldn’t deny was pretty incredible and stared at the door as if it would magically open and you would stroll in.

He was only sitting there for about a minute before a young girl with bright red hair who had been sitting at the counter slid into the booth opposite him. She had a curious look in her large green eyes as she leant on the table with her elbows.

“I know Andrew Burnett pretty well.” She cut to the chase.

“Really?” Luke cocked his eyebrow at her.

“We hooked up a few times.” She shrugged, her words causing Luke to pull a face.

“You and S…Andrew?”

“Yep.”

“How old are you?” Luke’s brow furrowed heavily, thinking there was no way Spencer would sleep with this girl.

“Twenty seven.” She sat straight and puffed out her chest but Luke’s disbelieving look caused her to huff. “Fine, I’m twenty two.”

“Yeah, uh, no offence but I’m fairly certain he wouldn’t sleep with a twenty two year old.” Luke clucked.

“Well, he did. More than once.” She smirked smugly. “I promised I wouldn’t say anything because of his little wifey, but he couldn’t keep his hands off of me.”

“Wifey as in Rose?”

“Uh huh, between you and me she seems kinda like a stick in the mud.”

“That stick in the mud is my friend.” Luke scowled at her.

“Don’t get me wrong, he’s no better. She might be boring but he has some anger issues.” She picked at one of her nails.

“Anger issues?” Luke frowned, it wasn’t the first time someone had inferred that about Spencer recently.

“Yep. I think he controls Rose, she always seems a little timid round him. And then there was the time he practically threw me against a wall.”

“He…are you sure?” Luke was frowning so hard he felt a headache pinching at his temples.

“Yeah that’s not the kind of thing you forget. He couldn’t keep it up, tried to blame me for it. So I told him he probably couldn’t keep it up because he was old…no offence.”

“None taken.” Luke pulled a face.

“Anyway so he just freaks, gets me up against the wall and yells in my face and I swear he’s going to hurt me.” She finished with a shake of her head.

“Did he?”

“No, but I think he wanted to.”

Luke pulled out his phone and got up a photograph of Spencer which he turned to show the girl.

“Is this the man you’re talking about?”

“Yep, that’s him.” She nodded. “You say you know him, you must know what he’s like.”

“Yeah, see that’s the thing, I don’t know him to be an angry or violent man. So what I’m wondering is maybe you had a little crush on him and he rebuffed you and so you’re making up stories to tarnish him and make yourself feel better.” Luke picked up the coffee mug and lifted it to his lips.

“I’m not five.” She spat. “I know what happened. I was just trying to help but if you don’t need-”

“Ok, Mary, that’s enough now.” She was cut off by a hand on her shoulder and she looked up to see Jesse standing over her. “You can leave now.”

She rolled her eyes and huffed, sliding out of the booth and sulking away. Jesse soon took her place, sitting down opposite Luke and exhaling through his nose.

“Look, I don’t make a habit of agreeing with her, but I think she might be telling you the truth.” He chewed on the inside of his cheek. “Rose told me something bad happened to them and that she had get away and when you strolled in here looking for them, I thought maybe you were the something bad, you know?”

Luke nodded slowly, sitting forward in his seat.

“But you don’t think so now?” Luke narrowed his eyes on Jesse.

“No.” Jesse shook his head. “You’re a cop right? Shoulda noticed that before, you scream law enforcement.”

“FBI.” Luke whispered so no one else would hear. “I’m not here on official capacity though, I worked with Y/N and Spencer, they’re my friends and I really am just trying to find them.”

“Y/N and Spencer?” Jesse frowned. “She told me Rose wasn’t her real name but she wouldn’t tell me what it was. They’re FBI?”

“They were, until a while ago when they just skipped down.” Luke ran his fingers through his hair, knowing he shouldn’t be telling Jesse any of this. “You said you thought that kid was telling the truth? Why?”

Jesse exhaled again, looking sceptically at Luke as though he still wasn’t sure he trusted him. He ran his fingers through his beard and pulled a face that Luke couldn’t place.

“When I first met Rose…Y/N, she told me her “husband” was a drunken bully. I got the impression she was scared of him. I asked her if he hurt her and she said no but she did say that he had a temper. He’s a skinny dude but there’s something about him that makes me think he wouldn’t hesitate in kicking someone’s ass. He doesn’t strike me as stable, if that makes sense.” Jesse looked uncomfortable sharing this information, like he was betraying you in doing so.

“It makes absolutely zero sense, but if you knew Spencer Reid, it wouldn't make sense to you either.” Luke shook his head.

“I’m scared for her.” Jesse admitted, leaning on the table and lowering his voice to barely a whisper. “They’re staying on Gothic Avenue, big cabin right at the end. Come out of here and go straight up 4th, take the second right onto Gothic. Keep going for about a half mile and it's the big one on the corner right before the large rec.”

“You did the right thing.” Luke smiled at him, reaching into his pocket and subtly sliding his card across the table which Jesse quickly took. “If you see either of them, please call me.”

“Sure.” Jesse nodded, soon sliding out of his chair and walking away.

Luke downed the rest of the coffee and got to his feet, making quick work of getting outside and back into his hired car and following Jesse’s instructions, drove towards the Gothic Avenue cabin.

But he wasn’t the only one on that particular mission and he didn’t notice the redhead following him outside and heading the same way on foot.

***

It was just before lunch time, after some extremely lazy sex that you finally dragged yourself out of bed, your hunger getting the better of you. But you soon came to find the cupboards were empty.

Spencer bribed you with sexual favours you probably would have gotten anyway, to go down to Scout’s as he physically couldn’t prise himself away from the bed. Reluctantly you’d agreed, taking a quick shower to wash the stench of sex off of you before dressing and heading outside.

You got about a third of the way down Gothic Avenue when you suddenly felt as though you were being watched. The hairs on the back of your neck stood to attention and you felt something was wrong in your gut. You picked up your pace, partially wishing you’d had the forethought to bring the Colt with you.

Just before you made it to 4th Street a hand clamped down on your shoulder. You were trained for this. You knew exactly what to do.

Without even so much as taking a breath, you spun quickly on your heels and sent your fist flying into the face of your potential attacker. They stumbled backwards with a loud groan of pain, hands flying to where you’d just punched them in the nose.

“Jesus Christ, Y/N!” He yelped, glaring at you as he held his nose.

You stared at the man you’d hit wide eyed as the air felt like it escaped your lungs.

“L-Luke?” You stuttered, wobbling on your feet. “What the fuck are you doing here?”

“Nice to see you too.” He grumbled. “I should have known better than to sneak up on you.”

“What the fuck are you doing here?” You repeated.

“Where’s Spencer?” He let go of his nose and dropped his hands to his sides.

“Don’t know what you’re talking about.” You didn’t miss a beat.

“Sorry, I meant Andrew. Andrew Burnett, your husband.” He nodded his head towards the wedding band.

“Goddamnit.” You growled, pinching the bridge of your nose. “How did you find us?”

“We’re profilers, Y/N. Come on.” He rolled his eyes. “Garcia found Reid’s car. We tracked you to a used car lot and the car you bought with Spencer’s fake licence. We put out an APB on the Nissan and found it had been picked up on cameras in this town several times.”

“Are the rest of the team here?” You folded your arms across your chest.

“No, just me. We’re shorthanded, remember?”

“Good. You need to leave, you have no idea what you’ve walked into.”

“Y/N,” he softened, stepping towards you. “Has Spencer done something? Has he threatened you?”

“What? Why would you think that?” You scoffed.

“I spoke to some people in town and they seem to think he’s this violent, angry man.”

“Who told you that?” You frowned at him.

“That doesn’t matter. You need to tell me what’s going on. You understand that this looks bad, right?” Luke pleaded with you.

“We just wanted to get away. Spencer’s been struggling since prison and I was feeling stifled at the BAU. So we decided it might be a good idea to just get away from it all for a while.” You tried to insist but you knew Luke wasn’t buying it.

“I might believe that if it wasn’t for the burner phones and fake IDs and burnt out cars.” He spat. “You were an FBI agent for a long time, you know what that looks like, don’t you?”

It looks like two criminals on the run. It looks exactly like what it is.

“What are you implying, Luke?” You frowned heavily at him.

“If Spencer has done something, to you or to anyone else, you can tell me, Y/N. You can tell me anything.” He looked deep into your eyes and you felt for a brief moment that bond between the two of you.

You could tell him anything, you knew that much. Luke Alvez had done nothing but stick by your side through everything and you knew this would be no different.

You reached up and fiddled with the rose gold heart pendant around your neck. Did you love Spencer enough to protect him from this? Or was this finally your way out?

***

Spencer threw the pillow over his head and groaned deeply as a heavy knock sounded on the front door. The alcohol from last night that still seemed to be drowning his brain cells meant it felt like whoever was knocking was doing so directly against his skull.

His plan had been not to leave this bed all day. His drive to and from South Dakota plus an exuberant amount of sex had drained his energy and the scotch he’d consumed left him feeling dizzy.

The knock came again, followed in quick succession by the doorbell. Whoever it was clearly didn’t plan to go away easily. He groaned, his head spinning as he forced himself out of the comfort of the plush bed. His eyes were blurry and made trying to find any semblance of clothes almost impossible.

As a third knock sounded he managed to locate his boxers and stumbled trying to put them on. His legs wobbled frantically as he slowly crept from the bedroom and down the stairs.

His stomach lurched as he walked and he briefly thought he might throw up but thankfully it passed. He continued through the living room towards the door as the doorbell rang once more.

“Jeez. Alright I’m coming.” He belched rather unceremoniously. “Jesus I’m still drunk.”

He threw open the door, keeping hold of it to help steady himself. He blinked a few times against the bright red assault of colour on his retinas before focusing on her face. He groaned, suddenly wishing he’d made an effort to put more clothes on and that he wasn’t standing here in just his boxers with her on his front porch.

“Fucking hell, what do you want?” He leant against the door jamb, not trusting his wobbly legs to stand unaided.

“Well that’s just rude.” Mary smirked at him and there was something menacing to it. “I just want to talk.”

“We have nothing to talk about.” He stood back up, moving to close the door in her face only in his state she was faster and she shoved her hands against the wood to stop it from closing.

“Oh I think we have a lot to talk about.” Her smirk grew. “Why don’t you invite me in, Spencer Reid?”

***

“You can tell me anything.” Luke repeated when you were silent for some time.

You rolled your eyes and scoffed.

“Oh please, Spencer couldn’t hurt a fly and you know it.” You shook your head.

“So he didn’t give you those bruises on your neck?” Luke looked quietly smug.

You unfolded your arms and one of your hands went to your throat. You’d gotten used to them being there if truth be told and didn’t think much of them most of the time.

“It’s not what it looks like.” You brushed your fingers over the bruises.

“Oh really? Because to me it looks like he tried to strangle you.” Luke hissed.

“Fucking christ, Alvez,” you spat back, grinding your teeth furiously. “You really want me to stand here and tell you I like it when he puts his hand around my throat when he fucks me?”

You swore you saw the exact moment Luke’s heart shattered in his chest. His eyes softened and he stumbled backwards, his mouth falling open as a pain washed across his face. You instantly regretted your harsh choice of words but it was too late.

“You’re…you’re sleeping with him?” He couldn’t hide the upset from his voice despite how hard he tried.

“Yeah.” You nodded. “We’re, uh, together I guess.”

“You are aware he’s sleeping with some young redhead, right?” Spencer spat.

“What? How do you know about Mary?” You glared at him.

“I met her! She told me that Spencer got aggressive with her when he couldn’t get it up. I didn’t believe her at first but then that McGill guy said you’d told him that your “husband” was a bully.” Luke sounded exasperated.

“You talked to Jesse?” You spat. “Luke, you had no right! You had no right to follow us here in the first place. We’re happy here, just let it go.”

“Happy? Happy?” He scoffed, stepping towards you. “You’ve got a fucking trail of bruises around your neck and I’m starting to think they aren’t the only ones.”

Before you could reply, Luke was grabbing one of your hands and pushing the sleeve of the pink wool sweater up your arm revealing more finger shaped bruises circling your wrist.

“Goddamnit, conejito, really? You’re happy? You’re happy being abused?” He dropped your arm and stepped back, sadly shaking his head.

“It’s not abuse, jeez. We like rough sex Luke, so what?”

“Oh my god, please stop talking about you and Reid’s sex life.”

“Are you jealous?” You scowled at him. “Are you jealous because he’s got all you ever wanted?”

He frowned at you, looking at you like he didn’t recognise you anymore, like he was standing in front of a stranger. He took a step back, shaking his head in disappointment.

“Maybe once this is what I wanted, yeah. But you aren’t the same person anymore, are you? You’re not my conejito.” He rolled his lip between his teeth.

“I was never your conejito, Luke.” You spat. “You need to leave, you shouldn’t be here.”

“I’m not going anywhere until you explain to me what’s going on. What has Spencer done? What are you scared of, Y/N?” Luke begged.

“Spencer has done nothing but love me! We wanted a fresh start, away from the BAU and all the bullshit. I don’t need you anymore Luke, I don’t need you protecting me. Let me go, for the love of god just let me go!” You raised your voice.

“I think something happened,” he stepped closer to you. “I think Spencer did something really bad and you’re covering for him because you’re scared. You don’t need to be scared, Y/N. Just tell me what he’s done and I can help you.”

He reached for you but you slapped his hand away.

“Don’t touch me. Spencer has done nothing wrong, Jesus just because you’re an FBI agent doesn’t mean you always have to think like one. Sometimes the simplest explanation is the right one. And in this case it’s as simple as we wanted to get away and we knew we’d never be able to do that as Y/N Y/L/N and Spencer Reid.” You growled at him, your back well and truly up.

“You’re lying.” He bit back. “I know you better than you know yourself and I know when you’re lying. We’re the best goddamn profilers in the world and I swear to you, Y/N, we will find out what he’s done and we will come for him. Don’t let yourself become collateral damage.”

“Burden of proof.” You shrugged, a wry smile on your face. You remembered so well having a conversation with Spencer in his apartment about the same subject not so long ago. “You say you’re the best goddamn profiliers in the world, but so are me and Spencer. And if, hypothetically, he'd done something, do you really think he’d leave behind any evidence?”

“You could save yourself a lot of trouble if you just tell me what I need to know.” Luke continued to plead with you.

“You need to know nothing, except for the fact Spencer and I love each other and we are in this together until the bitter end. So why don’t you hop back on the jet and leave us the fuck alone.” You spat so venomously that Luke was actually a little scared of you.

“You’ve changed.” He shook his head sadly.

“And you never will.” You pushed past him on the sidewalk, deciding to forgo Scout’s in lieu of going home.

Your blood was boiling in your veins as you marched back towards the cabin, furious at the BAU for tracking you down, angry at Luke for coming all the way out here.

But it was only the beginning.

***

“What do you want from me?” Spencer sat on the couch while Mary stood over him, wishing he weren’t still tipsy and clouded by last night's scotch.

“I want to know why two FBI agents are hiding out in our town using fake names.” She folded her arms across her chest.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He tried to insist but he wasn’t able to control his facial expressions the way he normally would.

“Does the name Luke Alvez mean anything to you?” She scrutinised him and Spencer fought with his expression not to give anything anyway but the scotch was in control.

“No.” He shook his head, swallowing thickly.

“Hmm, I don’t believe you.” She spoke in a sickly sweet tone. “Because I met him and he seems pretty convinced that you and Rose…or should I say Y/N are FBI agents who just dropped their whole lives and ran off without a trace.”

She met Luke? Luke is here? Why the fuck is Luke here? What the hell is happening?

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” He folded his arms across his bare chest.

“Let’s try this again,” she came closer to him. “And I swear to god if you’re not honest with me…”

“What? You'll do what?” He scoffed at her.

“I’ll tell everyone the truth about who you are.” She shrugged.

“And you think they’d believe you?” He chuckled. “You think they will believe a story as convoluted as this? Sweetheart, they will think you’re crazy.”

“Maybe. Maybe not.” Mary shrugged. “Fine, I’ll tell everyone I know that you sexually assaulted me.”

Spencer stared at her in utter horror of what she was saying but she looked nothing by smug. His heart started hammering so hard in his chest he felt even sicker than he already had done. He searched for a sign she was bluffing but saw none.

He was taken back to an interrogation room at a woman’s correctional facility. He could see her so clearly in front of him, Cat Adams telling him she was pregnant with his child. He could hear her wicked voice in his ears.

I had Lindsey dose you in Mexico. You lost time. And I gave her very specific instructions to get you in the mood.

“W-what?” He stammered. “That’s not the kind of thing you lie about.”

“Tell me the truth then.” She shrugged.

“I’m not telling you shit.” He shook his head, pushing himself up to his wobbly legs.

“Well then, I guess I’ll go. Who should I start by telling? My dad? My brothers?” She started towards the door but Spencer quickly moved and grabbed her roughly by the wrist, somehow able not to fall flat on his face.

“Listen you little bitch,” he shook her by her arm, growling in her face. “Do you have any idea how many people are actually assaulted every day? How many don’t report it because they’re scared they won’t be believed? And you want to use their real pain for your own sick gain?”

“You know you’re not helping yourself right? If you bruise me it’ll only make my story seem more believable.” She glanced at his hand on her wrist and he quickly let her go. “And don’t think I haven’t seen the bruises on your lovely wife. I’m sure she would back up my story.”

“The only story she would back up is the one where you’re a desperate little whore who shamelessly wanted to fuck a man you perceived to married.” He snapped at her.

“Well I guess we’ll see won’t we? Who’s going to believe the strange out of towner over the young, innocent girl.” She pouted.

Stop being the boy who cried rape, Spencie. It’s not a good look.

“What do you want? Why do you care who I really am? Fine, if it’s going to shut you up, yes, my name is Spencer Reid. I was an FBI agent and so was Y/N. We changed our names and left town. Why do you even care?” He sighed in exasperation.

“I guess FBI agents make pretty good money, right?” She mused and Spencer felt his stomach coil into knots at the insinuation.

“That’s what this is about? You want money?” He scoffed.

“I told you I want out of this town. I work three jobs and I am nowhere close to having enough. Finding out your little secret is the best thing that could have happened to me. So if you don’t give me what I want, I will disgrace the former FBI agent Spencer Reid and tell everyone that you raped me. Ten grand should do it.” Her smirk grew tenfold and Spencer felt the anger rising throughout his whole body.

But his brain was still clouded in a thick fog of alcohol. If he’d been at full capacity he would have easily been able to figure a way out of this, but right now all he could think of was killing Mary. The only problem with that was his guns and hunting knife were upstairs.

He could strangle her to death, feeling as she took her last breath. But he knew better, even in his state, that killing someone close to home would only come back to bite him in the ass. He’d been so careful up until now and he couldn’t ruin everything because of this stupid bitch. There had to be another way.

Mary was a wolf in sheep’s clothing, much like he was. He’d tricked everyone in this town into thinking he was just the mild mannered Andrew Burnett here with his wife to escape the big city. But in reality he was a violent killer, an injustice collector of sorts. Maybe Mary was his karma and now was his time to pay up.

“Let’s just talk about this, please?” He begged her, eyes flickering somewhere off to the side as he sensed a movement by the kitchen.

“No, no more talking.” She shook her head, clearly not noticing he was distracted. “You pay me now or I will go straight to the cops.”

If she heard the sound of the gun being cocked, it was too late. And then suddenly the reverberation of a single gunshot filled the room and the bullet pierced straight through the back of Mary’s head, exiting between her eyes and continuing into the wall next to the front door.

The last sound Mary made was a small gasp as she collapsed on the floor in a pool of her own blood at Spencer’s feet. The shock was written all across his face as he looked up at you, still holding the smoking gun in your hand.

You tucked it in your waistband and strolled closer to Spencer whose mouth was hanging open and wide eyes glared at you in a stupor.

“W-what did you…? Why did you?” He croaked out as you stepped closer, not a single hint of remorse in your eyes.

“Karma’s a bitch.” You shrugged simply. “And so was she.”

Hahaha, this is about you.

Beware, beware, be sceptical,

Of their smiles, their smiles of plated gold.

Deceit so natural,

But a wolf in sheep's clothing is more than a warning.

Baa baa, black sheep, have you any soul?

No sir, by the way, what the hell are morals?

Jack be nimble, Jack be quick,

Jill's a little whore, and her alibis are dirty tricks.

So could you,

Tell me how you're sleeping easy,

How you're only thinking of yourself.

Show me how you justify,

Telling all your lies like second nature.

Listen, mark my words, one day (one day),

You will pay, you will pay.

Karma's gonna come collect your debt.

Aware, aware, you stalk your prey,

With criminal mentality.

You sink your teeth into the people you depend on,

Infecting everyone, you're quite the problem.

Fee-fi-fo-fum, you better run and hide,

I smell the blood of a petty little coward.

Jack be lethal, Jack be slick,

Jill will leave you lonely, dying in a filthy ditch.

So could you,

Tell me how you're sleeping easy,

How you're only thinking of yourself.

Show me how you justify,

Telling all your lies like second nature.

Listen, mark my words, one day (one day),

You will pay, you will pay.

Karma's gonna come collect your debt.

Maybe you'll change,

Abandon all your wicked ways,

Make amends and start anew again.

Maybe you'll see,

All the wrongs you did to me,

And start all over, start all over again.

Who am I kidding?

Now, let's not get overzealous here,

You've always been a huge piece of shit.

If I could kill you, I would,

But it's frowned upon in all fifty states.

Having said that, burn in hell, yeah.

Oh, oh, oh.

So tell me how you're sleeping easy,

How you're only thinking of yourself.

Show me how you justify,

Telling all your lies like second nature.

Listen, mark my words, one day (one day),

You will pay, you will pay.

Karma's gonna come collect your debt.

@bubblebuttwade @jay-2s-world @daddy-dotcom

#spencer reid #unsub spencer reid #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid smut #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x fem! reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction

104 notes · View notes

stusbunker · 2 months

Text

Spotless: Rubato

Chapter Fifteen

Featuring: Dean Winchester/Reader, Dean/Bela

Other characters: Lee/Pam, Sam/Madison, Benny, Charlie, Elizabeth

Word Count: 3340

Warnings, etc: Mutual pining, mentions of Bela's childhood sexual abuse, lots of drunken shenanigans, Benny's not flirting, just being his own charming self, jealousy, Dean is slipping, unbeta'd

Series Masterlist

The week between Christmas and New Years is always a week of stasis, celebratory and lazy, just holding its breath for changes to come. In a word, it’s possibility. You still did some work, but not many requests were coming in and social media was bombarded with gratitude and self reflection. Not many people noticed the band’s lack of posts and you were grateful for not having to make excuses for some family time, for anyone.

Your flight home had been arduous, delays and a layover that just left you a zombie for a solid 36 hours afterwards. You woke up on the morning of New Year’s Eve with a sense of dread. You checked your phone just to be safe and all seemed well, or quiet at least. Annoyed with your brain, you decided to punish your body instead, or practice self-care, depending on who you asked. Your stationary bike had gotten a little dusty while you were out of town, but after a couple miles everything else fell out of focus. The rolling hills made you feel invincible.

It had started as physical therapy after your car accident back in college, but biking had turned into one of your go to hobbies. And as boring and non-creative it sounded, it did you a lot of good when your thoughts got too loud. It was like running away from your problems, but it still benefited you both physically and mentally.

Win win.

By three, you were just waiting to get ready. The outfit you picked out with Bela hung on the back of your closet door still wrapped in the Sister Jo’s bag. You slumped in your robe and scrolled through the news as you waited to switch the wash around.

Different broadcasts covered the various local NYE specials and reminded everyone to drive sober, take the bus or get a ride. You thought Dean said he had gotten rides covered the last you talked, but you weren’t sure who was getting you or when, really. If you needed to meet somewhere to go as a group, you needed to order your ride now or everyone would be waiting on you.

Biting your lip, you called him instead of texting, because your worry was immediate not eventual. He picked up on the third ring, slightly out of breath.

“Hey, Trouble, what’s up?” “What’s the plan for tonight? Are we leaving from your place or are you picking me up? I don’t know where Elizabeth’s Nightowl Cafe actually is, Dean.”

Naturally, he laughed. “Hey, look, it’s not a great time. I’m in wardrobe right now. But I’ll make sure you get home safe. Maybe just head over to Bela’s and we’ll pick you both up on the way?”

“The photoshoot is today?! I could have sworn you already had it.”

“Yeah, well, Christmas took longer than I thought and they wedged me in.”

“Dean—”

“Look, I figured it out. And you didn’t have to hold my hand or anything. Now, look, I gotta drop trough, so if you need to continue this conversation with my dick out, by all means. They’re putting me in white pants, so bye-bye Batman boxers.”

You almost swallowed your tongue.

“Yeah, I’m good. You— you have fun with that.”

“See you tonight.”

“Right, bye.”

You slammed your eyes shut, but the damn visuals still flooded your mind. Gorgeous fucking bastard. You exhaled and called Bela, which was far less of a rollercoaster of a conversation and you agreed to be at her place after five to get ready together.

“You still haven’t said anything about your trip home,” you reminded Bela as she handed you another flute of champagne.

You were both dressed and ready, nibbling on an assortment of cheese and crackers on her oversized kitchen island. From what Dean said about Benny’s cousin’s cooking, dinner was on the agenda, but you had started pregaming and didn’t want to get sloppy too early.

“I’m trying to black it out, honestly. It was such pretentious bullshit. And don’t get me started on my mother’s latest project involving the southern gardens at the summer home,” Bela rolled her eyes and shoved another slice of cheese into her mouth.

“Topiaries?”

“Close, a walking maze. Because apparently Queen Victoria is alive and well,” Bela dusted her hands and raised them in surrender. “At least she didn’t try to force me to bring Dean, that would have ended poorly.”

“Dean is actually really good with moms— but I’m pretty sure he’d get arrested if he had to sit down and have a meal with your dad like he isn’t evil incarnate.”

Bela hummed, sipping her drinking.

You took another bit of cheese and made a sandwich, sensing she was holding something back. “You actually told him about it?”

Bela swallowed and chewed on her words. “Let’s just say Dean and I bonded over our less than stellar fathers, but yeah, I agree with you. In fact he said as much, something about knowing how to hide a body and having a big trunk to drag it away.”

You laughed darkly. “That would be Dean. Prepared, but with violence at the ready.”

“Anyway, setting up another fundraiser for Prevent Together for the new year. Please keep both of your calendars free because I need all my people there, alright?”

“Of course,” you promised, reaching across the butcher block countertop and squeezing her hand. Bela never ceased to amaze you with her strength. You switched gears to grant her some space, “is this the first time you’re meeting the rest of the band?”

“Well, I’ve met Sam. But I’m guessing he’s in on the plan. They’re a bit attached-at-the-hip types?”

You smirked. “Basically a package deal, but I think he’s more protective lately. His girlfriend Madison is fun and I hope they work out, he’s a good guy.”

“So who else do I need to charm?”

“Pamela.”

“Pamela?”

“The drummer, possibly psychic and honestly a little frightening at times. But she’s got a big heart to go with her bluntness. If you can’t convince her, we’re all in for it, because she’s gonna dig. So we’ll make sure you and Dean are on all night. I am definitely snagging some midnight shots, so pucker up, darling.” You teased, but honestly, kissing Dean couldn’t be anything but a treat, even just for a camera.

Maybe you were biased.

“Naturally. Alright, and how does Dean know the owner of the cafe?”

“She’s Benny’s cousin. A good friend and head of tour security, sometimes a personal bodyguard.”

Bela nodded, “I think he’s mentioned him as being on standby if one of our nights out got to be too much.”

You were grateful Bela had paid attention, if she was actually dating Dean, she would know all of this already. The less you had to explain on the spot, the less chance of a slip up.

“Big Cajun guy, total teddy bear. He’ll love you,” you added.

“Nice.”

A mechanical crank sounded somewhere behind you. “Is that—?”

“The garage, they must be here,” Bela gathered the tray and unceremoniously set it inside the fridge.

“How did they get into the garage? I didn’t see you get a text.”

“Dean has the code. Finish your drink,” Bela rushed you.

You slammed the rest of your champagne and added your glass in the sink with Bela’s. Something felt weird that Dean knew Bela’s security override code, but then again you didn’t drive, must be why you didn’t have it.

“Hey— whoa!” Dean’s voice snapped you out of your sleuthing spiral. “Lookin’ good, ladies.”

You turned and took him in, burgundy suit without a tie, a dark undershirt with the collar popped. Fucker.

“Thank you, likewise.” Bela leaned in and pecked his cheek.

Dean turned to you. “All set?”

You looked around for your phone and grabbed it and the charger off of the ledge towards the sidedoor. “Yeap. You?” you asked Bela.

“Do I need a touch up?” she asked, tilting her head side to side for your honest inspection.

“Nope, lipstick did its job. You’re glorious,” you affirmed.

“Right, well, shall we?” Bela gestured toward the door which Dean pushed open for you and Bela to go first. Past Bela’s MG the big door was still open, showing a pair of black SUVs waiting on the curb. As you stepped out onto the short drive, Lee screamed out a backwindow from the first vehicle, “ladies, ladies, ladies, are we ready to have a good time?!”

You laughed, dancing a little up the incline and pumping your fist to an imaginary beat.

“Trouble’s ready! What about you? You gonna give this one a run for his money?” Lee teased and then took a swig off of his own bottle of champagne.

“You can count on it,” Bela said darkly, eyes only on Dean. Everyone cheered as Dean put his hand on the small of her back and kissed her temple.

From the second SUV Sam emerged smirking and opened the door, waving you all inside. It was time to get the show on the road.

You had met Elizabeth a handful of times and everytime you were floored by her natural hospitality. The cafe was closed for the event, where barely thirty of you were gathered in the vintage-diner- themed all night cafe. She had tables set up with appetizers and a bartender working the soda fountain so you could get dessert with your booze if you wanted.

You wondered if Dean had requested the pie, because there were three cut and displayed on a stand with plastic domes to keep them from drying out.

Oldies played from the antique jukebox and everyone mingled as others arrived. You snapped pictures of the guests and the hand painted mural on the wall showcasing blues artists and faces from classic Hollywood. Everything was gorgeous and it was a little overwhelming seeing everyone dressed to the nines, but you remembered how smashing you looked in your outfit and tucked your shoulders back and held your head high.

Eventually, Benny found you and pulled you in for one of his signature bear hugs.

“It’s been too long, doll. Stickin’ to your namesake or have you been behavin’ ?”

You chuckled, pulling back to look up at his handsome face. “Oh you know, I do what I can. You?”

Benny’s bright eyes searched for something and eased you back onto your heels. “Uh, yeah, good. Itchin’ to get back on the road. Working the movie lots is a real pain, glad it’s only temporary.”

The song changed and Benny hummed along, you caught a glimpse of Sam and Madison talking with Bela while Dean and Lee waited in line for drinks.

“I can’t wait for the tour either, I think we all could stand to get back to basics.”

“Boys causing a ruckus for ya?” Benny asked knowingly.

“Nah, just a feeling. They’ve been working too hard more than anything. So a little balance will probably do the trick.”

“Well, that’s what we’re here for. Time to play hard. Wanna dance?” You looked around and sure enough, Lee and Pamela had started swinging to Johnny B. Goode, while some of the other roadies were shuffling along with their partners in a less flamboyant way.

You flexed your knee and decided you were tipsy enough to risk it and your pride for such an earnest proposal. “Lead the way.”

Benny was surprisingly light on his feet for such a sturdy guy and he helped you get in a good groove, just for the song to switch into Patsy Cline. Benny slowed it down into a stroll to fit the song and you giggled as he told you about what his ex Andrea had done now, after getting out of prison for trying to stab him, of all things.

“You are so better off without her,” you told him, patting his chest as the song came to a close.

Dinner was phenomenal: medallion sized steaks that were still juicy inside with spiral cut fried potatoes, green bean almondine and Waldorf salad. There were four tables set for eight set up in the space that would usually hold a dozen two or four seaters. Elizabeth finally took a seat as you were half way through a plate, but you made sure to let her know how amazing everything was.

“Oh, it’s nothing, now make sure you save room for pie. Got Strawberry Rhubarb, Dutch Apple and Blackberry waitin’,” she insisted like a favorite grandmother and not somebody you could have gone to school with.

Dean groaned deeper as she mentioned each variety, making everyone around your table share a knowing look.

“Easy there, Dean might need to claim a pie as his own, you know how he gets. And I am not one for sloppy seconds,” Benny teased.

The table erupted and Dean didn’t even look like he cared. “If she ends up sending me home with a whole pie, it’s my business what happens to it.”

Tears were burning in your eyes from laughter and the lecherous look Dean shot Benny. He was ridiculous.

You turned to Bela, “good thing Sam isn’t at our table or he’d need to excuse himself.”

“It is getting a bit indecent isn’t it?” Bela said out of the side of her mouth.

“Are you raggin’ on me now, too?!” Dean asked aghast.

“Of course not! Just don’t want your girlfriend to get jealous of a pastry,” you quipped.

A low rumble of an accepted burn answered from around the table.

“Hey now, my girl knows what tickles my taste buds, if you know what I’m saying,” Dean shot back, earning him a fist bump from Lee.

Bela rolled her eyes and shrugged, which only made the laughter louder. The humor dissipated until every noise was roaring like the ocean in your ears. This wasn’t even the worst thing you’d heard out of Dean’s mouth, after years of groupies and life on tour, you thought you’d heard and seen it all. But Bela not denying Dean’s prowess in pussy eating suddenly made you feel impossibly lost.

You literally set up the joke and now you wished for anything to take it back.

“Gentleman, please!” Elizabeth broke into the cacophony. “Or no dessert.”

Which promptly set them all off once again, but they got their act together enough to be gracious when the pie did arrive. You had blackberry and it was thick and rich enough to keep you from opening your big mouth again. Also the vodka cranberry you had switched to was a perfect chaser for the sweetness of the filling.

Two more drinks and three hours later, you were in better spirits and a sequined top hat. The noise makers were harder to come by, Madison and Benny fighting over the last one like toddlers over the last Hot Wheel. Sam had to break it up, which meant Madison won anyway, naturally. But at least Benny could still whistle. The countdown was getting close and everyone was crammed together on the makeshift dance floor under the dimmed lights, talking and swaying in circles. Dancing would have been too much with all the anticipation in the air.

You had your camera at the ready, taking small videos of the crowd and snapping selfies with anyone within reach. The lone television behind the counter hopped between coverage of celebrations in Vegas, Seattle and LA. You did a quick scan of your immediate vicinity for Bela and Dean. Finally, you found them next to Pam and Lee, who were sharing a bottle of bourbon between them, while Bela and Dean were whispering and readying their noisemakers and confetti respectively.

“Oooo, two couples one shot! I want you guys to make it count okay, this is for posterity’s sake!” you ordered, framing the shot just as the countdown began.

10…9…8…

Dean pulled Bela close by the waist. Lee tipped back another swig before almost losing his hat to the movement.

7…6…5…

Bela gazed up at Dean’s face and said something you couldn’t hear over the numbers shouting out of every corner of the party.

4…3…2…

Dean leaned in and started kissing Bela before she could get to one, tipping her back until she almost knocked into Lee, who was hauling Pam up by her haunches before starting to tongue fuck right there in front of your camera. You snapped countless shots, screaming and jumping in place as you worked your magic. Hot people doing hot things who were also clearly into it, was marketing gold.

Eat that Crowley.

Sam swooped you up in a hug and wished you happy new year, then came Charlie, who had arrived after dinner with some girls from her LARPing group. After a few elbows to the side, Dean broke from Bela’s mouth and welcomed you and Charlie into a group hug. The speakers blasted Auld Lang Syne and everyone joined in, arms linked and swaying to the stilted beat.

Elizabeth ensured the party was still going, so she had her people put out fresh appetizers and turned the jukebox back on. There was a run for the bathroom and then for refills and before you knew it it was after one. You had a fresh drink in your hand and a circle had formed around you of women grooving to Mustang Sally.

“Ride Sally, RIDE!” you all bellowed.

Bela had taken off her shoes and was holding them over her head as she swayed her hips. You whipped your head and shoulders back and forth feeling loose and timeless. Charlie was snapping and getting soulful as she sang along, knowing every line of the verses even.

Sam Cooke followed Wilson Pickett on the jukebox, slowing it down and sending your little circle off towards their partners. You didn’t care, you just kept swaying and taking turns singing “yeah— yeah!” and sipping your cocktail.

The crowd was thinning and you knew either brother would be corralling the group for the after party at their place shortly. Thank the label for drivers and security all on the craziest night of the year.

“Hey, you good?” Dean’s voice came out of nowhere and you turned towards his warmth, eyes closed and humming.

“Yeah, is it time–?”

“Let’s get off the dancefloor, I can barely hear you,” Dean took your elbow and brought you over to the edge of the counter where the bartender was wiping glasses dry.

“How are you? Need to puke and rally before we get in the car?” Dean asked firmly, testing your sobriety by your answer and the focus of your eyes.

“I’m fine, why? Is Bela puking?” you looked around for your bestie amongst the remaining partygoers.

“No, look, I just, here,” Dean brushed his knuckles against your cheek to get you to look back at him. Once he had your full attention, he leaned in and licked his lips, watching you as you waited for him to finish his thought. And then he was kissing you, hand on the back of your head and impossible lips massaging yours into complete submission.

You shuttered around a breath and opened your mouth for his tongue. That delicious sensation was enough to reset your brain and you pulled back, gasping.

You couldn’t form words and Dean’s face went from sleepy to wary to disappointed all in the blink of an eye.

“Look— you deserve a midnight kiss, too, you know. I just—- thought you should have one,” Dean said in the space between maybe and almost.

You cleared your throat. “Oh, well, I guess it’s okay then. Thanks?”

You couldn’t look him in the eye, you were too shellshocked, too exposed.

“I’ll start getting everybody towards the exit. See you at the cars,” Dean said lowly, fingertips brushing your hip as he moved through your space.

You finished your drink and got a road beer from the blissfully unaware bartender. It was time to slow down, especially if you were going to be in Dean’s space the rest of the night.

Damn it.

Tagging:

@deans-spinster-witch

@mrswhozeewhatsis

@cosicas-cuquis

@fics-pics-andotherthings-i-like

@suckitands33

@ladysparkles78

@deans-baby-momma

@stoneyggirl2

@sassy-pelican

@leigh70

@globetrotter28

@winharry

@lastactiontricia

@rockhoochie

Chapter Sixteen: Schleppen

#spotless series #dean/reader #dean/bela #slow burn #rockstar au #fake dating #dean angst #dean's got a potty mouth but you love it

59 notes · View notes