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redflagbreakfast · 1 year

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Journal Entry 2- Bandido’s

Melania has been on a mission to get me back on the dating scene, and I can’t blame her. After my unexpected, yet inevitable breakup with Phil, I had sworn off men for good. I even took a vow of celibacy until I hit a certain number in my bank account with my companies, and I have been as motivated as ever.

Melania herself has a track record of poor choices in partners. She recently discovered that her live-in boyfriend was leading a secret life, complete with cross-dressing, meth use and hooking up with men from grinder. Not exactly the kind of girl you want as a wing-woman. Melania can’t see a red flag if it knocked her upside her gorgeous head.

She unknowingly once tried to set me up with a guy who turned out to be a full-blown narcissist that she knew through her real estate connections. From the moment I met him, I could sense something was off. His piercing blue eyes and charming smile seemed too good to be true. I sniffed that narc out within 15 minutes of knowing him.

His overzealous desire to help me find a new place to live after finding out my place flooded, and wanting to “get the kids together for a play date” after knowing him no more than 20 minutes, to him gentlemanly walking me outside to my car and “accidentally” hitting the unlock button on his bright orange Lamborghini so I would see that what he drove… red flag, red flag, red flag…I just knew.

I didn’t let his smooth talk fool me. Within 12 hours, I had dug up his extensive criminal history, which he had gone to great lengths to hide. But with my ungodly skills at internet sleuthing, I was able to unearth the truth and send multiple screenshots to Melania, confirming my suspicions.

The news traveled like a wildfire, burning through the town and leaving a trail of stunned onlookers in its wake. The man had been outed, exposed for the manipulative narcissist that he was. But I couldn’t take the blame for it all, oh no. After all, who doesn’t love a juicy story? I only told two people, but somehow the entire city of Fargo was reeling from the scandal.

I blocked him on every platform imaginable after simply telling him we weren’t compatible, only for him to anguish with questions of why someone, who clearly was used to getting what he wanted, would be left with absolutely not an inkling to why he was suddenly rejected. I knew from experience that narcissists can charm their way out of any situation, and I wasn’t about to let myself be manipulated again.

When he reached out to Melania to ask her why I had blocked him, she just told him she had no idea… If you know a thing about narcissists, you know this type of lack of control will drive them to the insane asylum.

Lesson learned. I wouldn’t give that manipulative narcissist a second glance. And as for the wildfire of rumors spreading about him? Let it burn.

Kalvin, my ex-husband, was a master of manipulation. He had a track record of working his charms on unsuspecting partners, and his third wife after me was no exception. She was originally a stay-at-home mom, used to the luxurious country club lifestyle provided by her successful husband.

But she left it all behind for a man with a 400 credit score and a Napoleon complex standing at only 5’7”. True to form, she quickly became engaged to Kalvin and had a child with him. She even paid off the remaining balance on the sports car that had originally been purchased under my credit, using the alimony check from her divorce after the affair had ended her previous marriage.

After being married to Kalvin for 2.5 years, I had learned to spot the warning signs and red flags that others might overlook. But, like many others, I was initially blinded by his grandiose gestures and romantic getaways, leading me to marry him after knowing him for just six months.

And while I appreciate Melania’s efforts to get me back on the dating scene, I think I’ll stick to flying solo for a while.

Every time we go anywhere she’s bumbling and trying to get me to play along. “Kate, let’s meet someone new tonight! We need to get you laid!” She’ll insist.

Ew. The thought of sex with some stranger in Mexico is revolting. If I wanted sex that badly, I’d recycle an old fling, it’s better for the environment…and the ph balance.

Phil is friends with all of the crew we had visiting in Mexico so we walked over to the hottest bar in town, Bandido’s, for bottle service.

As I took a shot of tequila out of a glass made from ice, I whispered to myself, “Not today, tequila, not today.” Across the table, Phil was eyeing me, and I knew he couldn’t help but miss me. After all, I had been working hard on myself since our breakup, hitting the yoga mat twice a day and coming out looking fitter and better and happier (on the surface) than ever before.

But it wasn’t just Phil who had noticed my newfound confidence and allure. Men were lining up in Fargo just to get a shot at me, and I didn’t even bat an eye at it. Melania, my wing-woman with the not so successful matchmaking track record, had brought along a cute, witty, and smart doctor who was funny as hell. She was dying to set us up.

He was flirting with me relentlessly, even pouring a shot into my mouth and I was soaking up the attention, reveling in Phil’s discomfort as he watched us interact. I couldn’t deny the rush it gave me watching Phil get a bit uncomfortable with how handsy this potential suitor had gotten. Phil quickly slipped out and disappeared, and here I was, wondering what the hell I was doing here.

It turned out, Phil wasn’t the only one watching him get handsy with me that night…I would find out later I was being watched by someone else entirely, someone I had yet to meet.

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#red flags #dating #stalking #online dating #narcissist #love bombing #cheating #match maker

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tennessoui · 3 years

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would you be willing to go more indepth on the TA au first kiss scene?

i'd be willing to apparently really really really fucking in-depth with the TA au first kiss scene it turns out.

(3.1k, no porn but a lil raunchy there at the end)

This is not the first time Obi-Wan has been over to Anakin’s house. At the start of the semester, back in August, Professor Skywalker had invited all of his TAs to dinner, to introduce himself to them outside of the classroom.

This is different, though. Obi-Wan’s alone as he dismounts from his bicycle and stands it up against the garage door. No one else will join them tonight. Anakin had only asked him over.

If Obi-Wan thinks about that too much, he’s not going to be able to ring the doorbell.

He’s already late as it is, having changed multiple times since Anakin had texted him. What does one wear to the house of one’s professor who one desperately wants to fuck?

Lingerie, obviously. Check.

But on top of that?

He’d gone with a navy blue sweater over a simple t-shirt and jeans. Even still, when Anakin opens the door, he feels immediately overdressed. Anakin’s only wearing a black tank top and dark gray sweatpants that cinch at the ankle.

Alright. It’s official. Obi-Wan doesn’t think he’s going to survive the night.

“Obi, great!” Professor Skywalker exclaims, ushering him in and out of the cold November air. “I was worried you’d slipped on ice riding over here. It really is starting to get dangerous to bike in this sort of weather.” His tone becomes disapproving, something that absolutely doesn’t make Obi-Wan’s cock twitch in his pants. “I’ve seen your tires, they’re not up to the way it gets icy up here.”

Obi-Wan could say that he knows the weather better than Professor Skywalker, seeing as how he’s been a student at the same school for going on five years now, and Professor Skywalker still has partially-unpacked moving boxes sitting around his living room.

But what he says instead is, “Yes, Professor,” which makes Anakin freeze for a second before he hurries into motion again.

It’s interesting, is all.

“I told you to call me Anakin, Obi-Wan,” Anakin says sharply, turning away. Alright, yes. Obi-Wan’s body does react to that tone.

“Sorry, Professor,” Obi-Wan murmurs with a half-smile when he sees the way Anakin’s back stiffens for a second.

“You must think I have the patience of a saint,” Anakin mutters to himself. Louder, he says, “Shoes off and do you want some tea?”

Obi-Wan bends down to start untying his shoes, perking up at the mention of tea. “You have tea? I’ve never seen you drink tea on campus.”

“I have rooibos and earl grey,” Anakin shouts from the kitchen. Obi-Wan stands, shoeless, to follow him curiously, looking around the house as he goes. The entrance hallway opens up into the living room, which is sunken into the floor. There’s a dining room table a few feet from the couch, positioned next to a window looking into the kitchen.

There are still moving boxes scattered around, even though it’s already mid-November.

“Earl grey, thank you,” Obi-Wan says absently, still taking in Anakin’s home. Gently he lays his messenger bag on the table next to Anakin’s laptop and retrieves the papers he’s been invited over here to grade. When the kettle goes off, he peers through the window to watch Anakin assemble his cup. “Oh, that’s my favorite brand,” he says happily. Anakin flushes and busies himself putting away the apparently incriminating boxes of tea.

“What a coincidence,” Anakin replies, handing the cup to him through the window. Obi-Wan wraps his cold hands around the mug and allows the warmth to travel through his body. He’d forgotten his gloves, an idiotic move that can only be blamed on his nerves for the night.

But now that he’s here, he suddenly doesn’t feel quite so nervous anymore. It feels natural to sit with Anakin like this at his dining room table and grade their students’ work.

It feels right and scarily easy.

They get to work with little more chatter, as these papers are supposed to be handed back the next section class.

After one high score and two middling ones, Obi-Wan sets down his pen. “You still haven’t unpacked everything?” He says this observation like a question.

Anakin looks up at him from the paper in front of him and adjusts his glasses as he processes the words. “No, not really,” he agrees. “I never usually do, not until I find something that makes me want to stay in one place for a while.”

Obi-Wan’s hands tighten around his mug of tea. His voice comes out more strangled than he’d like. “You’re thinking of leaving?”

“It’s a temporary position, Obi,” Anakin says slowly, taking off his glasses and setting them down on the essay. “I’m renting this place from the school, but even then the lease is up in February.”

Obi-Wan doesn’t know what his heart is doing, but he doesn’t think he’s ever been in so much pain. Not to be dramatic or anything, but the thought of Anakin leaving as quickly as he’s blown into Obi-Wan’s life feels as if it can kill him.

“Oh,” is all he says. “Do you have a bathroom I can use?”

Minutes later, Obi-Wan is staring at himself in the mirror, hands gripping the sink. He’s still reeling from the very real possibility that Anakin will leave in a few short months. That he’ll go to some other college in some other city and make everyone fall in love with him there as well, and Obi-Wan will never find out what it feels like to kiss him because he’d been too scared of breaking the rules or being rejected to try.

Resolve forms in his mind. If Anakin is looking for a reason to stay, Obi-Wan will give him one.

But Obi-Wan’s never really set about seducing a professor before, is the problem. He doesn’t know what Anakin likes in his partners, and he doesn’t know if he even really likes Obi-Wan at all. There are hints sometimes, certainly, the way he’ll stare at him in class, the casual way he’ll touch his lower back when they’re walking somewhere, all of his behavior that night at the bar near Halloween.

But there’s a difference between feeling arousal and acting on it. And there’s an even bigger difference between wanting someone once in your bed for the night and wanting someone enough to stick around town for a few years while they finish school.

So it’s not even seducing Anakin that is real problem here. It’s keeping him interested afterwards. And Obi-Wan needs to start now, before the semester ends. If he waits until January, he won’t have enough time before Anakin’s lease is up. Hell, he doesn’t even have enough time now, not really. He’d probably need four months alone just to get Anakin to look at him with more than dark, considering eyes.

Alright. Alright.

He’ll start with coffee tomorrow morning. He’ll go out there and finish grading papers with Anakin, and then tomorrow before class begins, he’ll bring Anakin a cup of coffee. It’s a start.

Anakin’s made a fair amount of progress by the time Obi-Wan exits the bathroom-cum-war council room. “Alright?” The professor looks up with a small furrow between his eyebrows.

He’s so gorgeous Obi-Wan almost gives up right then and there, but he’s never been a quitter.

“Alright,” he agrees, picking up his mug and carrying it to the kitchen. He’ll just add some more water and a little bit more milk and get started on the rest of the papers. The sooner he finishes, the sooner he can go home and start planning. The thought makes him excited and nervous all at once.

He glances up through the kitchen window just in time to see Anakin lean back in his chair and stretch his arms so far up that his tank top rides up enough that his tummy--or, well, defined abdominal muscles as it were--flashes into view.

Which, of course, makes Obi-Wan’s life flash before his eyes. He trips and then promptly curses when he rights himself but half the tea spills out over his sweater.

“Obi-Wan?” Anakin’s there immediately, as if he’s teleported from the table to the kitchen instead of gone around the normal way. “Are you alright? Are you burned?”

“No, no, I’m fine,” Obi-Wan mutters, blushing furiously. His seduction of Anakin is never going to work if he keeps behaving like a clumsy idiot in front of the older man. “Just got on my sweater, it’s fine.”

Anakin’s hands grab at the hem of Obi-Wan’s sweater, and when he doesn’t protest, slowly drags it up and over his head, careful to keep the wet stain from his hair.

Obi-Wan’s breath catches in his throat at the look of intense concentration Anakin’s wearing, how dark his eyes are. It’s almost exactly what he wants, but it’s not enough because Anakin backs away quickly, sweater clutched in his hands. “I’ll get you one of mine,” he says gruffly, turning to leave the kitchen, but Obi-Wan stops him with a hand on his arm.

“It’s really fine, Anakin, I’m not cold.”

“You’re covered in goosebumps,” Anakin points out, laying his hand on Obi-Wan’s own arm.

Obi-Wan swallows and bites at his lip. “I’m not cold,” he promises. A part of him wants Anakin to hear what he’s not saying. A part of him is afraid he will.

But Anakin only nods jerkily once before exiting the kitchen and returning to his seat at the table. “You’ll tell me as soon as you feel so much as a slight chill,” he insists, picking up his glasses and resettling them on his face.

“Yes, Professor,” Obi-Wan murmurs as he sits down, just to watch Anakin’s jaw clench tightly for a second before relaxing.

They resume grading in silence, but this silence is tense. A different beast than the previous one.

Halfway through his sixth paper of the night, he furrows his eyebrows at a student’s paragraph. “Professor,” he says, standing and moving to lean over Anakin’s shoulder to show him the error. He places one of his hands delicately on Anakin’s skin, because he is a weak, weak man. “They’ve gotten this bit extremely wrong, but the paragraph after this one is basically the same thing but with the correct information. What, do you think it’s just an editing error?”

Anakin looks at the paper without saying anything.

Obi-Wan adjusts his position so he’s more leaning over next to him instead of behind him and points out the relevant sections. “Would you dock points, do you think?”

Anakin’s jaw bunches as his nostrils flare for several long seconds, before he seems to snap out of whatever had taken his mind away. “Take a few off, but for formatting not for content,” the professor decides.

Nodding in agreement, Obi-Wan stays where he is and makes a note in the margins. He looks up at Anakin when he feels his eyes rest heavily on him. “What?” he asks. “Do I have pen on my face?”

“Just haven’t seen you this dressed down before,” Anakin’s voice is incredibly low and the timbre of it makes a shiver run down Obi-Wan’s spine. “You’re always so buttoned-up in class.”

Obi-Wan wets his lips. Somehow the words that come out of his mouth are not ones he’s approved of saying. “That’s not true,” he says so quietly it’s almost a whisper. “I wouldn’t say I was buttoned-up at the bar.”

Anakin inhales sharply and he leans towards him with dark, dark eyes. “You were all dressed up then, weren’t you?” he murmurs. Obi-Wan can’t stop himself from swaying in Anakin’s direction, even if he wanted to.

Slowly, he nods, paper forgotten under his professor’s burning gaze.

“Do you still have it?” Anakin asks hoarsely. “I’ve been wondering what you did with that little dress for weeks now.”

“Didn’t keep it,” Obi-Wan replies honestly. His mouth dries incredibly fast when Anakin’s hand falls to his arm.

“You’ve got goosebumps again,” Anakin observes, rubbing a thumb over his skin. “Are you cold?”

“Not cold,” he whispers, moving closer than he’s ever dared. He’s terrified that if he speaks louder than he is now, the moment will be ruined. They’ll snap out of this, whatever this is, go back to grading papers, and then Obi-Wan will leave and tomorrow morning he’ll buy Anakin coffee and try to make himself come across as the perfect life partner for his professor.

But he wants this so much. He thinks they’re standing on the edge of something that could very well be amazing.

Anakin’s opening his mouth to say something, but Obi-Wan cuts him off. He wouldn’t be able to hear it over his pounding heart anyway. “I kept the lingerie though,” he says. “Do you want to see them, Professor?”

For a second, those words and all they imply hang in the scant few inches between them.

Then, “Jesus fucking Christ, baby,” Anakin groans, sounding torn to shreds. He pushes his chair back so fast that Obi-Wan stumbles.

Anakin’s hands are there to catch him and pull him into his arms, mouth descending onto his.

Obi-Wan moans into the kiss immediately, wrapping his arms around Anakin’s neck and tugging their bodies as close together as he can get them, making helpless little noises he’s never made before in his life. Anakin’s not quiet either, not as his hands roam down from Obi-Wan’s waist to trace the outline of his ass before he grabs it and rocks them together. The pleasure skyrockets when their bulges grind against each other, and Obi-Wan has to break the kiss just to gasp for air.

Feeling brave and desired and hot, Obi-Wan grabs one of Anakin’s hands and slips it down the waistline of his pants, just far enough that he can feel the spread of lace over his skin.

“Baby,” Anakin groans again, rubbing his thumb over the cheap silk of the Halloween costume’s panties. “Baby, fuck.”

Obi-Wan pushes back into the hand, trying to convey how much Anakin really can fuck him, should he want. Obi-Wan wants.

Before he can say anything though, Anakin’s lips claim his again and his tongue fucks aggressively into his mouth. It feels so good, especially when Anakin scratches up the skin of his back gently with one hand. The touch has Obi-Wan turning pliant and weak in the knees, something Anakin must realize because he edges Obi-Wan closer and closer to the table before sweeping the contents off with one hand and lifting him up with the other.

He spreads his legs automatically and for a second everything is perfect when Anakin comes to stand between them, mouth biting searing kisses into his neck while Obi-Wan tries to keep rubbing their pelvises together. He throws his head back and to the side with a high moan, mouth falling open as he stares uncomprehendingly at the ceiling.

Does this mean he doesn’t have to buy Anakin coffee before class tomorrow?

The thought of school is like a bucket of ice water poured directly over his head. Almost frantically, he pushes at Anakin’s chest, trying to get space between them.

Anakin detaches himself from Obi-Wan’s skin with the utmost reluctance. His lips are red and wet.

But Obi-Wan needs to be responsible, and he’s currently sitting on his professor’s table, papers scattered on the floor around them. “Fuck, half of these weren’t stabled together,” he cries, hopping down and starting to pick up the students’ papers. “Shit, Professor--”

“You were just sucking on my tongue like a professional slut, Obi-Wan, I think you can call me Anakin,” Anakin bites out, working his jaw furiously as he watches him crawl around on all fours from above. The nerve of the man for causing the mess and not helping at all to clean it up!

Obi-Wan feels just petty enough that he pauses at one of the papers and arches his back, pushing his ass out and looking over his shoulder. “I thought you liked it when I called you professor, Professor,” he responds in what he hopes comes out sounding mostly sultry.

It seems to work if Anakin’s reaction is anything to go by. “Fucking hell, Obi-Wan,” the man snarls, but his sweatpants make the twitch of his cock impossible to miss.

“What a pair we make,” Obi-Wan says, just for the fun of torturing Anakin. “You’re not wearing any underwear and I’m wearing lingerie.”

He finishes with the papers and stands to stack them on the table.

“I think you should go,” Anakin grits out, watching Obi-Wan intently.

Obi-Wan’s heart stops for a second and he’s suddenly terrified he pushed too far, too fast, that Anakin hadn’t enjoyed the kiss, that he remembered he was too annoying to keep around, that--

“If you don’t go now, you’ll be spending the night in my bed, and I think we need to talk first,” his professor finishes gently, reaching out to rub his thumb over Obi-Wan’s lip.

Obi-Wan licks it immediately, and when no protest is made, brings it further into his mouth.

“Obi-Wan,” Anakin sounds extremely pained.

Slowly, he drops his thumb from between his lips. There’s hardly a foot of space between them. It’s too far. It’s too close.

Anakin’s right. They do need to talk. And it shouldn’t happen tonight.

“Can I borrow a sweatshirt for the bike ride back?” he asks quietly, crossing his arms over his chest. “Only it’s cold outside and--”

And you smell really nice, he finishes in his head. Out loud, he says, “And I think I’d look good wearing something of yours, don’t you think, Professor?”

Anakin’s eyes narrow and his hands clench tightly into fists at his side. “I didn’t have you pegged as a brat.”

“You haven’t had me pegged at all yet,” Obi-Wan points out with a grin. As if magnetized, Anakin’s thumb comes up and digs into one of his dimples.

“I’ve wanted to lick these since the first time I saw you smile,” his professor whispers like they’re in a confessional.

It’s incredibly easy to reach out and trace one of the lines of Anakin’s octopus tattoo down his arm in return. “I’ve wanted to do the same with your tattoos for months now,” he admits. “Will you let me? After we talk? Will you let me put my mouth on you?”

His fingers dance across the front of Anakin’s sweats, before veering back up to more friendly territory.

Anakin’s eyes are dark with promise when he nods in response. “I’ll do more than let you, baby,” he growls. “I’ll put your mouth on me myself.”

Obi-Wan shivers.

No, he probably doesn’t need to buy Anakin coffee tomorrow before class.

But he probably will anyway. Just because the way Anakin’s looking at him makes him think the other man isn’t going to get much sleep tonight either, and it’s the least he can do.

#asks #ta au #obikin #i feel like obi-wan constantly getting and losing his confidence is really sexy of him actually #i mean jk i just wanted to write a lil minx obi-wan lol #enjoy <3

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thetravelerwrites · 3 years

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Birch (Centaur)

Rating: Mature Relationship: Female Human/Male Centaur Additional Tags: Exophilia, Monster Boyfriend, Centaur, Reader Insert Content Warnings: Communication Disorder, Social Communication Disorder, Anxiety, Autism, Autistic Reader, Semi-Verbal Autism, Semi-Verbal Reader, Overbearing Mother, Verbal Abuse, Emotional Abuse, Ableism Series: Shelter Forest Words: 4758

Commissioned by an anonymous party, Birch finally gets his own story! The reader, who has a communication disorder, meets and somehow befriends a beautiful centaur named Birch, who lives in the woods with his family and is known throughout the town as being a bit of a playboy and a flirt. When he realizes how poorly the reader is treated by her mother, he immediately tries to rescue her. Please reblog and leave feedback!

The Traveler's Masterlist

You first saw him when you were thirteen year old. You and your mother came to Coleville to beg for work after your father had kicked you both out of the house for another woman. You and your mother worked in the laundry and kitchen of the town’s most popular tavern, washing bed sheets and tableware, so you hadn’t really had the chance to meet him when he came into town to trade. You were only ever able to watch him from a distance

He was massive, friendly, and beautiful. His horse body was the size and color of a buckskin Andalusian, with a pale tan body fur and black socks. His skin was suntanned from working in the fields of his home farm and he always wore a simply-made tunic. His hair was short and black, and his tail was long and black, but his eyes were a bright, clear blue. He smiled easily and seemed to get along with everyone. You fell in love with him as soon as you laid eyes on him.

Well, no, you knew even then that it wasn’t love, it was just fascination and infatuation, but you couldn’t help yourself. You were overjoyed every time you saw him. Not that he’d ever notice you. You were just a plain, poor, chubby laundress with red, chapped hands and a future of working in a tavern for the rest of your life. Why would he even glance at you?

You wouldn’t be able to speak to him, even if he did. You were terribly shy and timid. You’d always been that way and couldn’t help it. Talking to people, looking them in the eye, facing confrontation, it all made you terrified and shaky. You barely spoke to anyone who wasn’t your parents, although you really didn’t speak to them that much, either. You were sure the most used word in your vocabulary was sorry.

When you were younger, your parents had hoped you’d grow out of it, but you never did. Once you hit puberty and was still unable to speak, your mother began to despair of you, pushing you to talk and berating you when you couldn’t, which only made you withdraw more. You couldn’t blame her for being exasperated with you; you were just as frustrated with yourself as she was. She never said it, but you knew she blamed you for your father rejecting you both.

Even though Birch usually came alone, you were sure he must already be married or have a lover, though he was openly flirtatious. You knew he’d had a few girls in town on occasion, having overheard them bragging about their nights with him, though they all seemed to be one-night trysts or affairs that didn’t last long. Perhaps he wasn’t even interested in settling down with anyone and was the playboy type. He was gorgeous enough for it.

Once or twice, he came to town with his family members or to visit family members who had settled here, like his brother Cetzu, the lizardfolk man running the orphanage with his wife. They were all a strange lot: some were human, most were not. You only ever saw one other centaur, and he looked nothing like Birch; he was a younger, smaller piebald named Yew with black skin, white hair, and pale eyes. You’d heard rumors that there was a mixed family in the woods, living on a farm, and that they were all sorts, but it didn’t really seem real to you until you saw them all together.

He’d come to town one day to buy seeds and supplies and came into the tavern for a drink. For centaurs, alcohol was basically food to them, so they drank heavily and often. A lot of centaurs you’d known got pretty rowdy, but Birch was always mindful. He held his ale well and knew when to stop before getting fully inebriated, careful not to make an ass of himself. He was considerate. You liked that about him.

You were working in the kitchens at the time when he arrived, and he sat at one of the tables designed for four-legged folk. It was a long table with no chairs or benches, but flat cushions instead. He folded his legs under him and flagged the waitress, smiling his dazzling smile, and ordered ale and some roasted vegetables. You were neglecting your work, but even if it was just a few seconds, you wanted to commit his image to memory as often as you could.

“Oi!” The waitress, Cathy, hissed as she came toward the door of the kitchen to put in Birch’s order. “What are you doing?!”

“Sorry, I’m sorry,” You said, barely audibly.

“Go take him his ale,” She said. “We’re understaffed. If you’re going to be in the way, the least you can do is be useful.”

“I…!" You protested, but she pushed past you into the kitchen to yell at the cook. With you heart in your throat, you rushed to fill a clean tankard and skittered it over, setting it down on the table in front of him without looking at him.

“Ah, that was fast,” Birch said, his voice deep, rich, and wonderful to the ear. “You’re a lovely little thing. Are you new, sweet pea? I haven’t seen you in the tavern before.”

You looked down at the ground and didn’t answer. You weren’t sure what to do, whether to stay and try to be friendly, or retreat back to the kitchen, so you were frozen there with indecision, looking at the floor.

“Hey now, don’t be shy, love. I don’t bite,” He said, you assumed in an attempt to be flirty, reaching for your hand. You snatched your hand away impulsively and ran back to the kitchen.

Your heart was racing and your mind reeling. Why did I do that? You thought, covering your face with your hands. He probably thinks I’m crazy or a complete shrew! I should never leave the back rooms again and just stick to washing dishes.

After a few moments, though, your mother pulled you away from washing by the arm.

“What did you do?” She asked angrily. “One of the customers is asking for you!”

You panicked. “I… I just… I brought him his drink…” You whispered in terror.

“Come on,” She gripped your arm and pulled you back out into the tavern common room, where Birch was still sitting. He looked at you with a frown. Oh god, he looks annoyed, you thought nervously.

“Miss,” He said, and you stared at your feet, unable to look up. “I think I may have frightened or upset you. I’m sorry, I sometimes forget that not everyone is receptive to my personality or sense of humor.”

You were completely unable to speak and kept your head down, your shoulders hunched.

“Say something!” Your mother hissed at you, and you could only shrink into yourself further. “I’m sorry, sir,” Your mother said in exasperation. “My daughter is as timid as a field mouse. She can’t speak to other people and she never looks people in the eye. She can barely even speak to me. She’s always been like this.”

“Oh,” He said, sounding concerned. “Is she unwell?”

“Probably,” Your mother replied in annoyance, and you pulled away even further. “Though the doctors can’t tell us what’s wrong with her. She usually stays in the kitchen and laundry away from the customers. I don’t know what possessed her to come out here and bother you.”

“C… Ca…” You stuttered, struggling to speak in your defense, looking back toward the kitchen, where Cathy was hovering by the door.

“Oh, did Cathy ask you to bring me my drink?” He asked kindly.

You nodded fervently.

“I understand. I’m sorry that she put you in an uncomfortable situation, and I apologize for making it worse.”

Your mother sighed wearily. “Sir, don’t apologize to her. It’s not your fault that she can’t function like a normal adult.”

That hurt. You were on the verge of tears and hugged your arms around yourself, desperately wanting to escape back to the kitchen.

“Even so,” He said, his voice cold, but softened when he addressed you. “I’m very sorry, miss.”

You nodded once and shuffled quickly back to the kitchen, unable to keep the tears from falling. Your mother rejoined you a few minutes later.

“You could have at least apologized to him,” He said, taking the plates as you washed them to rinse them off and put them in the rack. “Why do you have to embarrass me like that? How hard is it to say ‘thank you’ or ‘I’m sorry’?” She sighed sharply and wiped her hands. “Don’t you dare get us fired.” And she walked off, leaving you weeping into the dishwater.

Cathy heard the entire thing and came over sheepishly.

“Hey… I’m sorry I got you in trouble with your ma,” She said. “I forgot about the speaking thing. I was just in a rush and I didn’t think.”

You shook your head. Cathy was the one person who you might call a friend. She was a little brusque and had a short fuse, but she was one of the few who didn’t make fun of your stuttering and silence or look down their nose at you.

“Listen, Birch is a really nice guy. He plays around and has his fun with the girls, but he’s never hurt anyone on purpose. He wasn’t trying to make fun of you or make you feel bad.”

You nodded shortly. You knew that. He was being friendly; that’s just how he talked to people. But being humiliated in front of him was a torture unlike anything you’d felt before, and it hurt.

The next day, you were feeding the chickens in the coop outside of the tavern when you looked up and saw him exiting the tavern. He noticed you right away, and you turned immediately and tried to flee.

“Hey, wait!” He called. “Wait, please!”

You stood with your back to him but you stayed put. You heard him trotting up to you, his hoof-beats heavy.

“Hey, listen, I wanted to apologize again,” He said. “To just you this time. I don’t know what your mother’s problem is, but what she said… that was uncalled for. You didn’t deserve that.”

You turned to face him but you didn’t look up, focusing instead on his large hooves. You shook your head. No, he was wrong. You did deserve it.

“You can’t help how you are,” He said. “It’s not your fault. I have a little brother who has trouble talking to people, too. It’s the exact opposite of your problem; he says exactly what’s on his mind with no filter. He can’t control it and it embarrasses him sometimes. It’s not the same, I know, but I understand that it can be hard.”

He was so nice. You were able to lift your head a little, but you still couldn’t look him in the face.

“My name is Birch,” He said. “What’s yours?”

You opened your mouth but nothing came out, so you shut it again.

“Hmm,” He hummed. “Can you write?”

You shook your head.

“Um… sign language?”

You answered no again.

“I see,” He said, sighing. “I… I’ll be honest… I don’t want to leave you here with that mother of yours. I’m not sure what kind of relationship you have with her, but the way she talks to you…” He pawed the ground in annoyance. “It bothers me. Does she do that a lot? Make fun of you in front of other people?”

You shrugged, embarrassed.

He sidestepped in an anxious way and swished his tail. “I have to go back home later today,” He said. “Are… are you going to be okay?”

You nodded.

“Are you sure?”

Another nod.

“Well… alright,” He said. “Look, um… if you ever need to… you know… leave this place, talk to Cathy. She knows where my family’s farm is. She can help you get there. If you need to.”

You nodded again, and he turned to leave, but an unfamiliar impulse compelled you to rush forward and take hold of the hem of his tunic. He stopped and looked at you, though he could only see the top of your head.

“Th…” You gulped, your throat dry, your heart beating in your throat. “Tha… ank…you…” You managed to choke out. “H… Haz…zel…”

“You’re name is Hazel?” He asked, a smile in his voice.

You nodded emphatically.

You felt him put a hand on top of your head and and sort of rubbed his fingers against your scalp. It felt nice, even though you weren’t used to physical touch. Your mother wasn’t exactly the affectionate sort.

“You take care, okay?” He said, taking his hand back. “I’ll be back in a few days. I look forward to seeing you again.”

That evening, you were in the room you shared with your mother as she brushed her hair for bed when she mentioned nonchalantly, “I saw you with that centaur man today. What did he say to you?”

“...he… nothing…” You said vaguely.

“Then why did he touch you? And why were you touching him?” She asked, her voice flat.

“I…” You gulped. “I… don’t know…” You said truthfully.

“Oh, really? You don’t know? You don’t know why a man like him would touch you? You know his reputation in this town. He’s trying to take advantage of you because you're simple.”

“He was… just… being nice…” You said softly.

Your mother snorted. “Men aren’t nice without a reason. I thought you’d know that by now.” She threw down her hairbrush onto the night table and lay down in your shared bed. “You’re not going to have anything to do with him from now on, do you understand? It shouldn’t be difficult for you to manage that, should it?”

You didn’t say anything, just sat at the table and stared into the fire.

“It’s for your own good,” She said, facing away from you. “I know I’m strict with you, but… I don’t want you to get hurt.”

You have no problem with me getting hurt when you’re the one doing it, you thought to yourself, but you couldn’t say it. You knew she was right, though. He was a flirt and a bit of a libertine, and you thought that perhaps he was only being nice to you because he saw you as low hanging fruit. It hurt to think of him that way, but it was the only thing that made sense.

He did return in a few days, an older woman riding on his back. She was lovely, even at her age, and was wearing trousers and a practical shirt, but no bodice or ladies coat. Her brown hair was caught back in a tight braid, a few strands of grey weaved in and out.

You saw them arrive from the window of your room as you were getting ready for the day. He was as handsome as always, and you watched him wistfully. As if he could sense you, he looked up and saw you at the window. He smiled at you and waved. Remembering what your mother said, you were unable to smile back and walked away from the window without acknowledging him. You hoped he wouldn’t be too angry at you.

Before you could start work in the laundry, Cathy called you out.

“Birch and his mother are here,” She said, keeping her voice down so that your mother wouldn’t hear. “They want to see you.”

“I cant…” You said in your normal whisper. “Mama will be angry…”

“Don’t worry about your ma right now,” Cathy said dismissively. “You don’t deserve the shit she gives you, you’re just too shy to tell her off. Just go see what they want. Maybe it’s a chance to get out from under her thumb.”

You had to admit, you did wish for that. You loved your mother, and she loved you in her own way, but you knew she resented you and it was just… exhausting, dealing with her reproachfulness and cutting words every day. You were just too scared to leave on your own.

You thought long and hard about it, looking around to see if your mother was anywhere near. When you didn’t see her, you looked up at Cathy, looking just past her behind her ear instead of at her face, and nodded. She took you by the hand and led you out to the dining area. Birch and his mother were sitting at the four-legged table, with his mother having dragged over a chair to sit with him comfortably.

“Oh, good, there you are,” Birch said. “When you didn’t react this morning, I was worried something had happened. Mama, this is the young woman I was telling you about.”

He told his mother about you? Why?

“I see, I see,” The older woman said. “My name is Ryel, I’m Birch’s mother. Your name is Hazel, right?”

You nodded, unable to look up.

“Goodness, you are rather shy, aren’t you, dear?” She said sympathetically. You chewed your lip, unable to respond. “My son tells me you’re illiterate, is that correct?”

You nodded.

“I imagine that makes communicating with other people very difficult,” She said.

You nodded again.

“So, how about this?” She said, leaning forward. “Why don’t you come to the farm with me for the summer? I’ll teach you how to read and write, and in exchange, you help me out around the farm. How does that sound?”

For the first time in your life, you were surprised into looking someone in the face. She was smiling warmly at you

“I’m getting older and I could use an assistant. My children all have their own work and families to look after and I’d feel as if I were taking advantage of them if I expected them to follow me around and help me all day.”

“Mama, you know we’d do it happily,” Birch said.

“I know that,” She said, hushing him. “Even still, I’d prefer to hire someone for the task, and if I can help them at the same time, why shouldn’t I?” She leaned forward. “What do you say, dear?”

This is exactly what you wanted. A job that was away from your mom. This was your chance. You opened your mouth, as if to answer, when you heard a sharp voice behind you.

“Hazel!” Your mother said, irate, and stalked out of the kitchen toward you, grabbing you by the arm. “Stop bothering these people! Get back to the laundry.”

Birch’s back leg kicked slightly in irritation, thumping the wood of the floor, but Ryel kept her composure.

“She’s not bothering us in the least, madam,” She said calmly. “I’ve actually come here to offer her a job.”

Your mother scoffed. “A job? Doing what?”

“As my assistant,” Ryel said. “I’m a jack of all trades type, you might say, and I’m willing to take her on in exchange for room and board, plus an education.”

“You’re wasting your time,” Your mother said, her grip rather strong on your arm. “My daughter is not capable of making her own decisions.”

“How old is your daughter?” Ryel asked.

“She’s nineteen,” Your mother replied. “But I’m afraid she’s a bit slow. Trying to teach her wouldn’t benefit either of you.”

You frowned, upset. That wasn’t true, you weren’t slow. In fact, you thought you learned rather quickly, you’d just hadn’t had the chance to learn very many new things.

“Be that as it may,” Ryel replied, her voice still even. “Your daughter is an adult and has the right to choose what she wants.”

“Nonsense,” Your mother said. “Besides, even if I allowed this, I don’t want her anywhere near him.” She jerked her chin toward Birch.

Birch bristled. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“I know what kind of man you are,” She hissed. “How many lovers you’ve had in just this town alone? How many broken hearts have you left in your wake? I know you have ulterior motives for wanting to take her from here, and I won’t stand for it. She’s simpleminded and vulnerable, and I won’t let you dishonor her and return her to me used and broken.”

“Stop talking like she can’t hear every vile thing you say about her!” Birch shouted, slamming his fist into the table, making you jump. “I would never do something so shameful! You don’t know anything about me! ”

“Son, calm down,” Ryel said, putting her hand on his. “My son is a grown man of twenty-eight and has desires, true, but I’ve been to this town quite often and I haven’t found any such string of broken hearts, as you call it. Many sighing and wistful girls who long for his company, sure, but not one of them has come to me with tears in her eyes claiming he lied or misled her. He’s open and forthright about his intentions, and I respect his decisions. You should do the same for your child.”

“Don’t talk to me about my child if you can’t even control your own,” Your mother said venomously. “Hazel, let’s go.”

She tried to lead you away, but you refused to move. There were hurt and anxious tears in your eyes and you couldn’t look at anyone, but you refused to let her pull you away.

“Hazel!” She gripped your arm and yanked you painfully, and you wrenched your arm from her grasp, shaking your head.

“It seems like she’s made her choice,” Ryel said. “The least you can do as her mother is respect her wishes.”

“Be quiet!” Your mother said. “Leave us alone!” She grabbed your hands and started to pull you back to the kitchen. Birch got to his feet.

“Let her go,” He said, his voice a low growl, knocking her hands away from you. He stood between you and your mother. You dared to reach out and place a hand on the fur of his back to steady yourself.

“What’s going on here?” The bartender, Brian, asked. He also owned the tavern and knew about your condition. He didn’t speak to you much, but he also didn’t tease you either. You could handle understanding silence a lot better than persistent expectation to interact. “Are you alright, Hazel?”

You were shaking and crying, so you could only shake your head.

“These people won’t leave us alone,” You mother said. “I’d like them to leave.”

“Now, Rita, these people are good customers and friends of mine. I’m going to need more of a reason than ‘they’re bothering me’ to kick them out.”

“We simply offered young Hazel here a job on the farm,” Ryel said patiently. “I’m afraid her mother is interfering with her decision.”

“Is that true, Hazel?” Brian asked. “Would you like to take up this job?”

Trembling, you nodded.

“Well, then, that settles it, doesn’t it?” Brian said. “These are good folks, Hazel, they’ll take care of you.”

“Like hell they will,” You mother retorted. “She can’t make decisions like this. She doesn't understand.”

Brian sighed. “Rita, your girl’s not stupid, and it’s high time you stopped treating her like she is.”

Your mother looked like she’d been slapped in the face. You looked up at Brian in shock. He smiled kindly at you.

“Why don’t you go up and pack your things while your mother and I have a little chat, eh, dear?” He said.

You attempted to smile at him, though you worried it looked a little like you had indigestion, and went to pack. You took a few minutes to sit on the bed and breathe, clutching your chest, feeling a panic attack poking at your brain. You couldn’t believe it. You were really leaving.

There was a knock on your door and Ryel poked her head in.

“Are you alright, dear? That was quite the fuss,” She said.

You dried your face and nodded, getting up to start putting clothes in a bag.

“I sent Birch outside. He was getting rather angry, and I didn’t want him smashing any of Brian’s furniture.”

You looked out the window. Birch was standing in the courtyard with his arms crossed, stamping the ground and stepping constantly, as if he couldn’t stand still. His brow was furrowed, his jaw was working, and his tail was swishing back and forth without stopping.

“He’s worried for you, dear,” She said, following your gaze. “One thing our entire family has in common is that we don’t like seeing people mistreated. You’re mother may have her reasons for acting as she does, and perhaps it is out of some misplaced notion of love, but there’s no doubt in my mind at all that she mistreats you. You can’t help the way you are, and no amount of her cruel words are going to fix that. In fact, I’m more than certain it makes it worse.”

You sighed sadly in agreement. As you stood there, Birch looked up at your window. He smiled, a little sadder than before, and waved up at you. This time, you raised a hand and waved back.

The door opened and your mother walked in, glaring at Ryel.

“I’d like to speak to my daughter alone, if you please,” She said, her voice low and hostile.

Ryel looked at you questioningly, and you nodded. “I’ll be right outside if you need me,” She said, and walked out, closing the door behind her.

Your mother just stared at you with her arms crossed, shaking her head slightly. You looked down and away.

“I guess I should just be glad you won’t be around to humiliate me anymore,” She said, and you shrunk in on yourself. “I don’t like this at all, but it seems I have no say in the matter. You made sure of that, didn’t you?”

You knew she was hurt and was lashing out. She wasn’t exactly sweet and caring on her best days, but she could really cut a person to the quick when she was upset.

“Don’t you have anything to say?” She asked you, and you could hear tears in her voice. “Nothing at all? You can’t muster the courage to apologize to me for that display downstairs? For leaving me without a thought to my feelings? I’ve spent the last seven years protecting you and providing for you after your useless father threw us out, and you do this to me? And you have nothing to say?”

You didn’t say anything. Instead, you walked up to her and put your arms around her waist and lay your head on her shoulder.

“I’ll miss you, Mama,” You said softly.

She started to sob and put her arms around your shoulders. It had been years since she’d last hugged you.

“You’d better start sending me letters as soon as you learn how to,” She said, her voice breaking. “If I don’t hear something from you in a few months, I’m going out there to drag you back, you understand me?”

“Yes, Mama,” You whispered, and took a step back. Picking up your bag, you opened the door and walked out. Ryel was waiting and smiled when she saw you.

“Ready?” She asked.

You nodded.

Back outside, Birch was waiting. He stopped shifting around anxiously when he saw you and his mother exit the tavern.

“Everything okay?” He asked.

“Everything’s just fine,” Ryel said. “We’re ready to go.”

“Would you like to ride on my back?” Birch asked, turning.

You shook your head fervently, mortified.

“Are you sure?” He said. “It’s a long walk back to the farm, over four hours. I can get us there in half the time.”

“She’s feeling shy,” Ryel said. “For centaurs, letting people ride on their back is a special privilege afforded to few. I’ll ride with you.” She grinned at him. “He always makes an exception for his mother.”

He grinned at her in return. “You just assume I do.” But he took out a quilted riding blanket that was rolled up and tied to the bottom of his pack and handed it to her, and she set it on his back. Climbing the steps to the tavern, she vaulted onto his back. She instructed you to do the same. Blushing furiously, with both Ryel and Birch’s help, you were able to scramble on in front of her.

“Let’s go,” He said, and he took off at a trot out of town.

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My Masterlist

The Exophilia Creator’s Masterlist

#Exophilia #Monster Boyfriend #Centaur #Autistic Character #Reader Insert #Semi-Verbal Reader

272 notes · View notes

calaofnoldor · 3 years

Text

Drug of Choice

Characters: Dean x Reader (gender neutral)

Words: 3,790

Summary: A night of drunken rambling leads to an unexpected change in your relationship status.

Warnings: angst, language, alcohol, feelings of inadequacy, very slight allusions of alcoholism/talk of drug addiction, reader likes the sound of their voice a bit too much when drunk, fluff, implied smut

A/N: written for @deanwanddamons 1st blogiversary and 2k follower celebration challenge! my prompt was “I wish I knew how to quit you“ which is bolded in the fic. congrats on the incredible milestone, sorry this is late! also for @spnfluffbingo and it fills the mood board square for @girl-next-door-writes‘ Make Me Feel Bingo challenge!

Square Filled: Kissed to Keep Quiet

MASTERLIST

It was four in the morning when Dean finally came home, and the bottle of Jack Daniels that sat before you atop the library table was over a quarter of the way through.

The heavy thud of his boots against the bunker floor drew your dark-adjusted eyes toward his shadowy figure, while the alcohol in your bloodstream loosened your lips, "How was she?"

"Jesus- Fuck!" There was a slight commotion before the lights flickered on, forcing your eyes to shut against the onslaught of sudden brightness. "Y/N??” Dean’s gruff, alarmed voice shattered the previously eerie silence, “What the hell are you doing sitting in the dark by yourself?"

Your eyelids lifted an experimental sliver but you kept your gaze directed down at the glass of whiskey in your hands. "It wasn't dark when I started."

Dean narrowed his eyes when he noticed the slur behind your words. "Started what? Are you drunk?"

His second question prompted a dismissive snort from you, "Hunters can't get drunk; you should know that by now, Dean."

"Yeah alright, we need to get you to bed." The man of your dreams began to make his way over to you until your gravelly words ceased his steps.

"I can't sleep... you haven't answered my question yet."

"What question?"

"How was she?"

"Who?"

You looked at him like he was crazy, "You know, the girl from the bar, the one with the curly hair… the one that was climbing onto your lap when I left?"

"I don't- there was no girl," Dean stumbled. His lips were parted and his eyebrows pulled together in an ever-gorgeous expression of bewilderment, but you were too busy examining the way the newfound light danced along the lustrous amber liquid between your fingers to notice.

"Oh," you grumbled in response, sounding a bit disappointed, which only served to deepen those adorable lines of confusion between Dean’s brows. "She sure was pretty though.” There was a pause as you pondered his declaration before blurting out in disbelief, “You really didn't fuck her in the back of Baby?"

"What- No! Y/N, there was never a girl and nothing happened, OK?" He sounded genuinely serious, so you conceded.

"I'm sorry."

"Why- why are you sorry?"

"I know you needed to blow off some steam after today, after I pissed you off by fucking up the hunt." You ventured a glance up at him through your lashes and the unadulterated pain in your eyes almost had Dean reeling back in surprise.

"What are you talking about? You didn't 'fuck up' the hunt," he argued, shaking his head as if to accentuate his point.

"Course I did. I got you hurt and I nearly let that dickbag get away."

A weighted sigh escaped Dean, "Y/N, you have to know that wasn’t your fault, and it’s not like you haven’t done the same thing for me. Besides, I wasn’t pissed off, I was... I was scared, OK?”

You were about to take another sip of your drug of the night when you lowered your glass to let the irrepressible giggle leave your system, “Scared? Since when does the big bad Dean Winchester get scared? And if he did, he definitely wouldn’t be talking about it out loud. Are you sure you’re not the one who’s been drinking?”

“I mean, I have been drinking but that’s beside the point. Look, Y/N, why don’t we talk about this tomorrow, alright? You’ve just gotta sleep this off.”

"Pft. This isn't something I can just sleep off. Trust me, I've tried." There was a tickle in your throat that alerted you of the oncoming word vomit, but your friend Mr. Daniels seemed to be gaining complete control of your tongue; it was all he was ever good for really, “I’ve also tried drinking it away, but clearly that doesn’t work either. There’s just- so much- of it, of you… and now, now you’re in me-“ Dean’s eyes went wide but you were no longer at liberty to stop, “and I can’t get you out. Sometimes I don’t even think I want to. But I don’t think I can keep going like this any longer either… all this waiting, and wondering, and watching.” Some fragment of sobriety within you recognized how ridiculous and melodramatic you sounded and it gave you enough sense to avoid eye contact with the subject of you’re alcohol-induced speech, as if that could help you elude further embarrassment.

“OK, you’ve gotta slow down, Y/N/N. What the hell are you talking about?” At this point, Dean had moved to take the seat across from you, subtly sliding the bottle of Jack out of your reach as he sat down.

A mirthless laugh was your reply, "Of course you don’t know. Why would you?“

“What does that mean? Why wouldn’t I? Y/N, what’s going on?”

But you ignored his questions and answered with one of your own, “Why am I never enough? You know what, don't answer that; that was a rhetor- rhetor…”

“Rhetorical?”

“Yes!” you exclaimed, flailing your index finger in his direction, “Yes, that’s the word. See, even your brain is too good for me.”

“What- why would you say that? Y/N, you know that’s not true. And why do you think you’re never enough? You’re plenty enough.” Concern now painted Dean’s features. He hated seeing you this way, broken and depressed, trying to drown your feelings in whiskey; he’d figured that was his trademark amongst the bunker residents. And he couldn’t understand how someone as incredible as you would think themselves unworthy of anything. Whichever son of a bitch made you feel this way would pay, Dean swore it.

“Then how come you never pick me?” you countered simply, deciding it was finally time to call out his hypocrisy.

The accusation floored Dean. He scooted back in his seat as he stared at you with a slack jaw, utter perplexity swirling within his emerald eyes. Over the years, Dean had garnered an inkling that you felt some kinda way about him, but he never really let himself believe, and not once did he think he could be hurting you. On the contrary, he always figured it was his own hopeful heart playing tricks on him. Even now, he wasn’t entirely sure he was hearing you correctly, or that your drunken state could be trusted, though he remembered you once told him that you were always the most honest version of yourself when you drank, whiskey in particular.

“I watch you go out with waitress after bartender after waitress, but I’ve been here the whole time, and you never consider me. It’s like I don’t even exist, like I’m not even an option, like I could never even help you scratch that itch, at least not as good as any barfly across the Midwest could.” You were aware that this was getting out of hand, but you couldn’t seem to find the brakes. “But that’s not even the real problem – I mean, sure, a roll around the hay with you would probably be mind-blowing as fuck – but it would never solve the root of it, never be enough for me.”

Dean had been studying you meticulously as you spoke, your words starting a fire to the embers of his soul, breathing life into a long-forgotten hope that brought him both joy and fear. “What would? Be enough for you, I mean?” His tone took on a raw sultriness that matched the intense, borderline predatory glaze of his eyes. Needless to say, Dean hadn’t expected your sardonic laughter to fill the air, and your sudden frenzied, carefree state certainly took him off guard.

“Nothing!” you laughed, “I don’t think anything will ever be enough for me! C-cause you’re like this drug that I’m hooked on and it’s just so fucking hard to get off… I mean, it’s also hard to get off without you now, or thoughts of you anyway...” Your tangent was quickly overcome when you remembered the topic of your initial spiel, “But it’s like everything about you draws me in! From the way you reference classic literature even though I’ve never seen you pick up a book that’s not about lore, to the way you rebuild Baby from scratch like it’s no big deal, to the way you’re so good with kids even though you never got to be one yourself, to the dumb way you bottle up all your feelings and never let them see the light of day yet still manage to do so much good in the world, t-to the way you get excited over classic rock and crappy horror movies and pie, and don’t even get me started on the way you love Sam! I mean, it’s just all of it! It’s your strength and perseverance through literal hell, it’s your huge fucking heart despite the mask of swagger and charm, it’s that stupid grin you get when you make a dumb joke and Sam rolls his eyes at you, it’s just those god damn lips in general! And then you walk around looking like that!?” you gestured wildly at all of him, “I mean, who gave you the right?!”

Dean looked like he was about to respond, but you cut him off. There really was no stopping your tirade now, “I’m like an addict who can never get enough, and when you leave, I get feelings of withdrawal, and I don’t know how to fucking deal with those either… You’re so deeply ingrained in me; I don’t think I’ll ever be able to flush you out of my system. And I just-“ you took a rare pause to heave a large breath before admitting quietly, “I wish I knew how to quit you. I really do, because as much as I love you, and trust me, it’s a whole fucking lot – God, does it feel good to finally say that out loud – but for every ounce of love that I have for you, for every bit of you that I’ve inhaled, it hurts just as much. Because you don’t feel the same, and you never will, and I don’t blame you, because you’re Dean fucking Winchester and you could have whoever you want with just a wink and half a smile, and you deserve to have whoever you want-”

“Are you done?” Dean was quick to latch onto the brief respite in your monologue, “Fuck, Y/N, you really have no idea what you do to me, do you? What you are to me?” His head shook in disbelief while his troubled green eyes searched yours.

“What I am to you? I’m your hunting buddy, Dean. The one you call when you need an extra hand with a vamp nest or an extra set of eyes to scour the books, the one who stays up with you when you have nightmares about the souls you tortured in hell, the one you sing rock songs out of tune in the car with, just never the one you go to for a booty call,” you finished with a bitter laugh.

Dean’s head had never ceased it’s shaking, even as he got up and walked around the table towards you. “Only because you’re worth so much more than that. Y/N, you deserve so much more than me.”

It was your turn to shake your head. How typical, you thought as you rolled your eyes and stood up to meet his eye line, “Don’t give me that bullshit, Dean. I know you’re trying to let me down easy and that’s nice of you and all, but you can’t fool me. I know you too well, Dean Winchester, and I know there’s no way in hell that- Mmf!“ The rest of your words were intercepted by Dean’s lips on yours.

The feeling was unexpected but not at all unwelcome. There was an urgent force behind the kiss as he pushed his mouth against yours with gentle yet firm ferocity, bracing your head with large hands cupping both sides. It felt as if he was desperately trying to convey a message to you, to disprove your woeful words of self-pity, or perhaps he just wanted you to shut up. You, of course, responded with tremendous enthusiasm regardless of his intent, grasping blindly at his forearms while slotting your tongue and lips around his in an increasingly frantic manner. You didn’t care if the kiss wasn’t good for him; this might be your only chance to take what you need from Dean Winchester, if only a tiny fraction of it.

When he finally pulled back, you were both panting for air. Dean still held your head in both hands as he leaned forward to rest his forehead upon yours. “Dammit, I shouldn’t have done that; you’re drunk... Do you at least believe me now?”

A slight grimace contorted Dean’s features as his mind was suddenly bombarded by a multitude of conflicted thoughts and feelings, feelings of desire and regret and bliss and unease, but when he caught the dazed look in your eyes, Dean made up his mind, “Ah, what the hell, you’re probably not gonna remember much of this anyway. Look, Y/N, you’re wrong. I do feel the same way about you; I have pretty much ever since I saw that magnificent ass of yours.” Pausing to chuckle at his own words, Dean licked his lips, still able to taste the whiskey from yours.

“The only reason I fucked around with those other people was because I couldn’t stand not being able to have you,” he continued through closed eyes and gritted teeth before filling his chest with a deep breath, “Like today, when I saw that fucking werewolf come at you, I nearly lost it. The thought of anything happening to you scares me shitless, and I didn’t know how to process that feeling, so I let that girl at the bar get close. I was trying to fill the hole you created but it was pointless cause in the end, just like every other time, I couldn’t go through with it. Every time I try to forget about you, your face shows up in my head,” he growled in that low, throaty tone that always seemed to reverberate down to your nether regions.

“But I- I wasn’t lying when I said you deserve more than me. Y/N, you know me. I’m a broken, twisted, shell of a man. I’m-“

“Poison, I know,” you finally lifted your head away from his so that you could look directly into his dazzling eyes. Dean’s hands slid down along your neck and landed on your shoulders while yours remained on his forearms, not willing to lose all contact. “I know what you’re gonna say. You think you’re poison, that being with you puts a target on my back, that loving you is a death sentence… Did I get that right?”

Dean gave you a miniscule nod and a look of resignation as he reluctantly released you from his hold, forcing you to let go as well when he took a large step back. You suddenly felt extremely sober, the effects of the alcohol and that kiss all wearing off instantaneously, “And you hate yourself. No one hates you more than you, Dean.” Your voice was hardly a whisper now, “But that’s OK, cause I hate myself too, for never being able to make you realize that you are so much more than you give yourself credit for, that you deserve all the things you think you can’t have, that you can have them all and still be Dean Winchester.”

You watched as Dean’s eyes began to water and when a single tear rolled down his cheek, you couldn’t hold yourself back anymore. Approaching him as slowly as you would a nervous animal out of its natural habitat, you stopped directly before him before cautiously raising your arm to wipe the offending tear away with your thumb. Your eyes seemed to be locked in a silent exchange of colossal magnitude, expressing everything mere words could not, from harrowing regret to agonizing self-inflicted torment to desperate desire. It was the yearning in his shimmering eyes that gave you the courage to speak your next words, a runaway tear of your own joining the whispered plea, “Please, let me show you.”

When your eyes fluttered open the next day, they were greeted with the most beautiful sight you'd ever awoken to. Dean’s face was barely a foot away from yours, and the man himself was already awake, staring directly at you. He was lying on his back with his head turned towards you, while your body was twisted to face his. A bedside lamp was on, allowing you to marvel at the breathtaking perfection in front of you, and despite the booze having long since evacuated from your veins, your mouth still imparted the first thing that came to your mind, “You know, I've always wanted to count your freckles,” you murmured honestly, “Maybe map them out like tiny constellations so I can memorize them better, so that one day I could trace them even with my eyes closed.” Your fingertips moved of their own accord as you spoke, gliding softly over his cheeks and across the ridge of his perfect nose.

Dean caught your hand in his and kissed it repeatedly as his magical olive eyes continued to bore into yours, never once leaving your face. His pouty lips curved into the slightest smile as if he were afraid to rear hope yet couldn't fight the peaceful thrill you were bringing him by simply lying next to him. “You’re not still drunk, are you?”

“Not unless it counts to be drunk on you… Sorry, that sounded a lot less cheesy in my head.” You cringed but Dean’s smile broadened.

“And no hangover?”

“No, I told you, hunters can’t-“

“Get drunk. Yeah, I heard. So does that mean you remember everything?”

“I don’t think I could forget that kiss if I wanted to; my brain wouldn’t let me.” You glanced down at his gorgeous mouth before meeting his gaze again, “I meant it all, you know? Everything I said was the truth. Every word.” You moved your thumb to graze his lower lip and he puckered his lips to kiss it.

“So did I, every word… Especially the part about that sweet ass of yours.” The hand that wasn’t holding yours roamed down to grab at your butt cheek with a hefty yet tender squeeze, causing you to squeal in delight. When you settled down, he moved your hand to place it above his heart, “You know I’m no good at chick flick moments, but you can trust me when I say I’m addicted to you too.”

The sincerity in his voice sent butterflies through your stomach and your smile felt invincible. “I hope you know that when I called you a ‘drug’ I didn’t mean it in a derogatory way. Some drugs are good for you. Some drugs can save your life,” you whispered as you fisted lightly at the soft cotton of his t-shirt.

“I wouldn’t go that far, sweetheart.”

“Isn’t that what you did yesterday?” Dean was about to retort but you sent him a raised brow and a look that said ‘don’t test me, I’ve got loads more evidence where that came from’ so he simply looked down with a small grin. “Does it still hurt?” You motioned to the white bandage on his shoulder where the werewolf had scratched him up yesterday when he jumped in front of you.

Dean shook his head, “Right now I can hardly feel it. Actually, it hasn’t hurt at all since I kissed you.”

The corners of your mouth lifted some more at his words. “See, that’s what I mean. To me, you’re like coffee on an early morning, morphine when I’m hurting, tranquilizers when I’m freaking out, Zoloft when the world’s got me down, mixed with a shot of ecstasy, and quite possibly the most potent form of Viagra known to mankind.” You might have lingered a moment to chuckle at your own joke, thinking ‘it’s funny cause it’s true’. Dean belted a guffaw himself and you were quite pleased as you continued, “You’re everything I’ve ever needed, all wrapped up in one beautiful, self-loathing man.” You stroked his stubbled jaw and caressed his cheek, letting your words waft softly across the distance between you, hoping he could sense the veracity within them, “And I just want you to let me love you, let me get high on you, so I can show you how good you are. That’s all I’ve ever wanted.”

A wave a sadness flowed through Dean and he lowered his gaze from yours. “This could end bloody.”

“I know,” you nodded, “But it’s so much better than the alternative... It was getting a bit too hard to bear, even if you were only eye fucking all those other suitors. Besides, if it means I get to kiss you whenever I want, it’ll be worth it. And if it means I get a chance to prove to you how worthy you are, then it’ll be more than worth it.”

“I was only staying away because I wanted to protect you from me, but I didn’t realize it was hurting you. I never wanted to cause you pain; Y/N, I need you to know that.” Dean’s warm, calloused palm ran up your arm, it’s gentleness in stark contrast to his fierce tone, while yours continued to cup his cheek.

Astounded by the passion behind his words and the utter beauty of his face, you whispered in awe, “How are you so perfect?” Seeing the cogs begin to turn in his brain, you quickly moved your index finger to press against his plush lips, “Shh, just let me say it. Baby steps, Dean.”

He took your finger and guided your arm to wrap around his wide shoulders, careful of his injury, then reached out to pull you snugly towards him until your bodies were completely flush, your chest heaving against his. “Well do we have to take baby steps with everything? Cause now that I’ve finally got you in my bed, I was kinda hoping you’d let me take you for a spin in it. Maybe find out if it’s really – how did you put it again? – ‘mind blowing as fuck’ I believe were your words?” That signature smirk of his that always brought you to your knees came out to play.

Your laughter fanned across his face, and the smile on your face was effervescent, “You really are one hell of a drug, Dean Winchester.”

thank you for reading! as always, feedback is marvelously appreciated!

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#dean winchester x reader #dean x reader #deanwanddamons2kcelebration #spnfluffbingo2021 #Girl Next Door's Make Me Feel Bingo #dean winchester x male!reader #dean x female!reader #dean winchester angst #dean fluff #dean winchester imagine #dean x you #spn #supernatural fanfic #fanfiction #my writing #text

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bookishofalder · 3 years

Text

The Bet

Hotch x Fem!Reader

Request: @honeyshelley - ‘Hiii, I just discovered you and I hope to read soon your work ! And i hope you are safe and healthly ❤ i wondered if you could write something for Hotchner, the reader can be a police officer who call the bau for help to catch a serial killer or something, a bit of angst maybe and write only of you are inspired ! Don't force yourself, 🤗’

Warnings: Panic attack description, mild CM content.

A/N: Man, I love Hotch. They did him DIRTY on CM because he stood up for his cast mates and I’ll never forgive CBS for it.

Hotch was annoyed.

Though a regularly occurring emotion for him, it was rarely so focused upon himself. Today he stood in the conference room of the D.C. FBI Field Office, where they were assisting on a local case. And he was irritated with only himself.

Because of you.

He didn’t blame you in the least, of course. He wasn’t irrational, wasn’t one to deflect or project his emotions onto others-least of all someone entirely innocent and unaware. It was just exhausting, though, working this case. You were a new addition to the field office, having just transferred from Seattle in hopes of further advancing your already impressive career within the FBI. Hotch had heard of you before, details of your more prolific cases and intense work ethic were often relayed by Spencer Reid, who was one to stay up on fellow agents that might one day suit the BAU team.

And while Hotch had been impressed, mildly interested, happy to get a chance to work with you, he had not expected the woman who walked through the front lobby and extended her hand to him three days prior. No, you had caught him entirely off guard, and he was still reeling. He hadn’t felt this way about a woman in...probably ever if he was honest with himself. Hailey and he were high school sweethearts-that kind of love was different, steady and safe and expected. Beth had caught his attention, her kindness and overall different lifestyle an alluring escape from the realities of his day to day. But things never really took off with her, despite their mutual respect.

But you, well you had him captivated the moment he met your friendly gaze, your eyes wide in clear excitement for getting a chance to work with the BAU. Your hand grasped his and he’d felt like time had slowed, just enough that he could take in every single detail as he introduced himself. The way your hair fell, the curve of your hips, the small pout of your lips. Your posture, head held high to convey the message that you were a leader, not one to be overlooked. It all struck him at the moment, and when you repeated his name in your breathy voice, he knew he was done for.

Three days later the case was going well, though there was an uphill battle, progress was progress. Hotch was happy with how his team was performing. They’d worked plenty of cases with the staff of the D.C. field office. With different sections, and even interacted with many of the agents in social settings and workplace functions, given the proximity to Quantico. But Hotch felt he wasn’t working at his best, behaving entirely unlike himself as he was completely distracted by you every time you stepped into the room.

It had been three days of variable torture, his mind continually informing him of the why not’s-the age gap, that you probably already had a partner, that Hotch was damaged and cursed and certainly didn’t deserve a woman like you. And then you’d bring him a coffee, or stand closely next to him as you both surveyed a map provided by Reid, or tuck your hair behind your ear with a little smile when the conversation turned away from work, and Hotch would feel hot and bothered and not at all like himself.

“Agent Hotchner?” Your voice pulled him from his thoughts, his gaze lifting from the tablet he’d been pretending to read, and meeting yours. You smiled down at Hotch, leaning against the table where he sat. The scent of fresh linens and honeysuckle wafted toward him, delighting his senses further.

Hotch returned your smile automatically, something he was aware was rare for him. He hadn’t needed Derek mentioning it last night as they made their way out the doors, calling attention to his sudden eagerness to smile around the beautiful, strong new agent. But Derek had always enjoyed teasing him when he could get away with it.

“I’m sorry, Agent (Y/L/N), did you say something?” Could you hear his heart right now, as it beat against his chest? The thrum, thrum, thrum signalling just how you affected every cell within his body-could you sense it?

You smirked, extending a coffee you’d been clutching toward him with a small shrug, “I think you need this more than I do, sir.” You giggled, and Hotch’s cheeks flushed in response. His fingers brushed yours when he gratefully took the proffered beverage and he felt a shiver of electricity across his skin.

Hotch nodded in thanks, “Cases like this always seem to require extra coffee.” He admitted, taking a sip and noting how you enjoyed your coffee much sweeter than he did, but at that moment he didn’t mind. It was quality coffee, hot and given by you.

Sighing, you crossed your arms and Hotch kept his gaze level with yours despite the captivating way your breasts pushed out. Inwardly, he chastised himself for his train of thought. You were his colleague. His colleague. His very beautiful, disarmingly charming colleague.

“I agree, though they come along often enough that it’s starting to become a poor excuse for overindulging.”

Hotch glanced down at his mug as he laughed, then back up. When he met your eyes, he noticed they widened slightly, a faint flush dusting your cheeks. This captured his attention fully, but before he could begin to consider how to move forward, how to find out what your blushing meant, Derek and Emily walked into the conference room, heads low.

Another victim had been found.

“I really hate alleyways. I think society needs to eliminate them entirely,” You said, your hand clapped over your nose and mouth to ease the intensity of the scent of rotting flesh from the victim that you, Hotch and Reid were staring down upon. “After this case, I’m petitioning for it here-at least within my jurisdiction.”

Hotch laughed aloud. Reid glanced up from the victim, brows furrowed and opened his mouth to no doubt educate you on everything and anything he knew about alleyways. Which you assumed was a lot, because you’d known the genius a few days now and already understood there was little he didn’t know. But you shook your head, resting a hand on his arm as you laughed.

“She’s joking,” Hotch supplied, giving you a warm smile as Reid nodded in understanding. Your knees trembled every time this man looked at you, and you were surprised you didn’t just collapse the moment he flashed you that gorgeous grin. Fuck, you had it bad.

You’d always had a thing for older men, though you hadn’t dated any. You had had a few previous relationships with men your age, either fellow students in college or agents at the academy, but they were all short-lived. You counted some of those men amongst your closest friends. But you focused instead on your career and hoped one day a suitable partner would appear.

You hadn’t expected Agent Aaron Hotchner to tick every single box on your list the moment he introduced himself and those dark, warm eyes searched your face, as though he was seeing something unexpected. You’d spent the last few days finding any excuse to work with or near him, even going so far as to join him and Reid at this most recent crime scene despite how much you really, truly hated alleys.

Nothing good ever happened in an alley, as far as you were concerned, and though you tried to hide your discomfort behind humour, you were eager to assess the scene and get the hell out of the narrow, stifling gap carved between two old buildings.

It was a short while later, when the crime scene photographer was following your instructions, you and the two men on either side of you discussing the case from the vantage of the latest victim, that the discomfort began to fester. It evolved, so slowly you hadn’t realized until suddenly your spine felt tight and your level-headedness seemed to disintegrate. You swallowed, setting your jaw and working to disassociate yourself from your surroundings, hopeful the renowned BAU agents were too focused on their work to recognize your sudden internal struggle for composure.

Though, it seemed that Agent Hotchner had been paying attention, and you couldn’t fathom why. At first, you saw his eyes sweep over you from the corner of his own, taking in your stiff posture, the way your hands clenched at your sides. You thought he would leave it alone, be embarrassed for you when suddenly his large hand was slowly pressing into your lower back. Your shirt pressed to your skin and it was then that you realized the layer of sweat that had broken out over your body as your panic attack raged within.

You closed your eyes briefly, focusing on that hand, but it wasn’t enough. The alley was too narrow, too damp and hot, the odour in the air foul and suffocating. “Come with me.” He suddenly murmured in your ear, and you didn’t hesitate to comply, moving with Hotch as his hand remained on your back, guiding you to the mouth of the alley. Once you were on the street, he moved toward the SUV that you’d all driven over in.

Using the keys, he opened the trunk and gestured for you to take a seat. Again, you followed his instructions, lifting yourself, legs dangling slightly. You still couldn’t breathe, even though the air out here in the open was moving, fresh, a soft breeze dancing across your skin.

You felt like the air wasn’t meant for you anymore, your lungs incapable of pulling it in.

Hotch leaned in front of you, his warm eyes full of concern, “Can I touch you?” He asked you, voice low. You nodded, and his hands found your shoulders, grasping gently. After a moment, during which he gauged your reaction to his touch, his grip tightened and his hands slide up and down your upper arms, grounding you somewhat. “Close your eyes, breath with me, sweet girl.”

His words sent a shiver down your spine, but you followed his suggestion and began to take deep breaths as your eyes closed. Your hands lay flat on your thighs, applying your own slight pressure. He took exaggerated breaths to ensure you could hear him and match your own.

You weren’t sure how long you and Hotch stayed like this, but his movements never ceased, and you could feel his eyes watching you. When your breathing evened out, you focused instead on the cool air, the strength behind his hands on you. Slowly, you opened your eyes and met his. “I’m sorry, I-“

Hotch shook his head, “You have nothing to apologize for. We’ve all been there.”

You smiled shyly at his words, nodding. “Well, thank you. This...it really helped.” You watched as he returned your smile, his right hand releasing your arm to brush falling strands of your hair over your shoulder. The gesture alone was enough to make you shiver again, your mind and body reconnecting as your panic attack diminished.

He seemed to notice your reaction this time, and pulled his hands back, appearing surprised. He didn’t move away, though, for which you were grateful. You weren’t ready for the moment to end.

“I hope I didn’t overstep, Agent.” He muttered, his serious frown returning. You shook your head quickly, eager for him to understand just how much you appreciated what he’d just done for you.

“You can call me (Y/N),” You replied quietly, considering your next words carefully. “Although...I didn’t mind sweet girl if I’m being honest.”

You had held his gaze as you spoke, which allowed you to bear witness to the emotions that played across the usually stoic man's face. Shock morphed into a small smile that met his butterscotch eyes, a blush creeping across his skin and his right hand moved to rub the back of his neck nervously. After a few moments, which you could see he was using to come up with a reply, he sat down next to you, your sides touching. He sighed with a smile.

“Could I take you to dinner once this case wraps up, (Y/N)?”

A grin spread across your face at his words, and, feeling bold, you took his hand into yours as you looked up at the handsome man. “I’d love that, Aaron.” You squeezed.

His eyes lit up at your reply and he returned your pressure as he smiled down at you. You stayed like that for a long while, grinning at one another like lovesick kids, so enamoured that you both missed Reid pulling out his phone to snap a picture.

He sent the photo to the team, conceding defeat to Derek and Emily, who had both bet it would take only three days for Hotch to ask you out. Spencer had bet on four days, JJ on a week, and Garcia on a week after the case would wrap up.

Now he was out forty bucks, but it was worth it to see the smiles lighting you both up as you gazed at one another. The rest of the world was background noise.

Did you enjoy this story? Please consider reblogging or commenting to ease my inner turmoil as a writer. Likes are basically just a bookmark!

#reader insert #fanfic #aaron hotch x reader #hotch x reader #aaron hotchner #bau x reader #fluff #criminal minds #hotch x y/n #requested #feedback appreciated #spencer reid #olderguy #comfort

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theyscreamjade · 4 years

Note

Mkay, since I’ve seen you do big butt and small boobs or big boobs and small butt, let’s go the extra mile bc I KNOW I’m not the only one with big boobs (and I’m talkin DD’s) AND a big butt. Can you do this w/ Bakugo, Todoroki, Shinsou, and Kirishima?

The Double Whammy

WE ARE ENTERING SOME DEEEP SHIT! I mean deep! Extremely deep, please put your big girl pants on because I'm gonna get into the subject as deep as I possibly can because I can relate to this on a thousand levels. Let's go.

DISCLAIMER: NSFW AND CURSING.

——————————————

Eijiro Kirishima

* (I swear, I simp this man too hard.)

* Please acknowledge the fact that he’s a firm believer in respect, manliness, and more. So regardless, he’s going to love you for you and respect you as well, even with that disrespectful body god blessed you with.

* He’s the ultimate simp for you honey and you just don’t know. You see him for more than his insecurities as well and that’s more of a fuel within the relationship.

* Now, Don’t expect him to just let anyone say anything about your body, this includes even his Bakubro. You’re his pebble, he’s gotta protect you.

* Those guys who randomly try to ask you out at parties, restaurants, or even when you’re just inside the store and you’re just grabbing a few things, Kirishima will quickly shut that down.

* The only thing I’d worry about with him is his insecurities getting the way, the mere fact that he might not be enough for you. I mean, look at you. Can you blame him?

* This Red Riot isn’t as innocent as you think though, he loves it when you’re as close to him as possible. For example, when you’re hugging him and you’re breasts are pressed against his chest. It drives him insane while he can admire that gorgeous smile of yours.

* Strapless outfits are his go-to favorites on you, why? That chest is on full display yet your neck is open where those bites he creates a few days ago are being seen as well.

* Speaking of bites..you think they’re not going to be included? When it comes to samwiches, he isn’t picky but the fact that you have the best of both worlds just makes everything so much better.

* Just expect a lot of biting, the constant changing of positions, and more. You’ll be in a missionary first and then you’re somehow on the floor, getting carpet burn on one side of your elbows and knees while he’s holding your other legs, pounding you from behind.

* His favorite place for you two to do the nasty? His gym..but that’s for another headcanon.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Shoto Todoroki

* This might be the first time I go the left with Shoto. Trust me, He loves you. He really really does.

* He loves you for you and everything but he might be a bit hesitant about the relationship at first. Why? Because you’re wanted all the time by many guys.

* I know he’s wanted by thousands of girls everytime he simply walks into a room but you’re a real eye candy. With that, his father did the same thing with his mother. (Besides the fact that she was crazy powerful.)

* The another issue you two would have to face is basically him letting you handle yourself. Remember, he doesn’t want to push his boundaries and pause your independence because he knows you can handle yourself.

* That doesn’t mean he wouldn’t step in if he has to for a guy who doesn’t know when to take no for a answer, just hope he doesn’t commit a full blown murder in front of you.

* His favorite thing on you will still be tights, but remember you have a double whammy now. Top wise? V-Necks or really low shorts. Like the ones that are still sexy yet professional that makes you look like as if you’re Jessica Rabbit in a teacher’s uniform.

* If you want to kill him, during the next winter trip you two take, wear a pair of tights and a top that shows your cleavage. As soon as you attempt to put on your winter boots, you’ll be pulled right back in.

* IcyHot is still a fucking boob guy, don’t think he’ll ignore that junk you got though. He’s going to grip each part of your body while trying to control himself.

* Everyone’s going to wonder why he’s covered in scratches and hickeys.

* While you’re over here with frostbite and slight burns, covered with hickeys and lastly can barely sit down, all because of what you wore.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Hitoshi Shinso

* (They seriously need to use this guy more, he’s fucking great.)

* Please understand another fact here, he’s going to be skeptical about the relationship at first. You’re talking to a man who was told his quirk would be perfect if he was a villain.

* That’s insulting enough, but you know he was constantly judged and tormented as a child because of it. That and you’re an absolute pleasure to eyes.

* So, when the relationship first starts, he’s skeptical about your feelings and how you truly feel, don’t let that hurt you.

* Just reassure him that your feelings are genuine and true, then he’ll start to fully believe you.

* Of course, he’s going to defend you, but there’s going to be times where he might have to use his quirk.

* Which are for the guys who don’t know how to take no for an answer.

* Off-Shoulder shirts or sweaters. He loves it when it hangs off your shoulders but with those shirts, you’re often wearing a tank top underneath? That’s the true prize to him.

* Another thing he loves to see you in? Fishnets and stockings. He honestly prefers you to wear those instead of thigh high socks, the turn on of ripping them apart before he can have you begging for mercy with him.

* Samwiches with Shinso is every brats dream..

* He’s not stopping until you’re shaking uncontrollably, unable to say anything other than his name or pet name, and sweat is coating your body. That mattress will be SOAKED.

* I see that scarf of his being put to good use withholding those arms over your head and blinding you. He’s a trailer and not the park. He’s leaving his mark all over you, trailing all over your body.

* I mean everywhere too, from your thighs to your neck.

* That pretty neck of yours will be gripped while your ass is slapping against him from his hard thrusts.

* While the neighbors are wondering is this man killing you and where can they get one too.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Katsuki Bakugo

* This Silent Simp here is enamored by your personality..but was reeled in by that body afterward.

* Please also understand, when he’s supposedly ‘jealous’, it’s not because of you or even them. He’s just skeptical of those guys.

* You have his heart and he wouldn’t want anyone to woo you away from him, it’s one thing he doesn’t want.

* This also includes friends as well, meaning guy friends. He’s a guy and he knows how some will do to get to you. There’s no limit.

* Enough Angst though, let’s get to the good parts, Remember how I said booty shorts are something he loves? That and jeans. Skinny jeans to be exact. The way your ass looks phenomenal in them and yet there’s a little tiny slot of air right around you waist. Oof!

* Tank-tops! TANKTOPS! HONEY! I DOUBLE DARE YOU TO ATTEMPT TO WALK OUT THAT DOOR WEARING JEANS AND A TANK TOP, YOU WON’T EVEN MAKE IT OUT THE ROOM.

* Lastly....fight me on this, I’m ready for it. I’ll say it. *claps* leotards, like lounging bodysuits. You know the ones you usually wear under a pair of shorts but you just decided to stay home and wear socks with them?

* That’s gonna be your funeral. That’s it.

* Now, Samwiches with him..is like a combination of Hitoshi and Shoto as one.

* He love to bring you to your limits and go beyond. (I immediately thought of All Might and I’m disgusted.)

* While caring at the same time, one thing he’d never want to do is hurt you..but..he wants you to remember just who the hell he is.

* I hope you have soundproof walls because that clapping noise is staying like that until he’s done with you.

* And you’ve got five more rounds to go.

#my hero academia #my hero academy fanfiction #my hero academia fanfiction #bnha fanfiction #my hero academia scenarios #i hope you like this #bnha bakugo katsuki #bnha shoto todoroki #bnha ejirou #eijirou kirishima headcanons #kirishima eijirou #bnha shoto x reader #shoto headcanons #bakugo headcanons #kastuki bakugou #its for your own good #bnha shinso x reader #shinso headcanons

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dragonotaku-justineverything · 3 years

Note

Jaune was asked to be the photographer in Jessica's Cinder shoot, and he was more than happy to see her in a bikini at the Beacon pool. When they were done, her method of payment was laying back on a pool chair as Jaune fucked her breasts and splattered her face wit cum. The real Cinder was quite jealous.

So here’s my first attempt at a real smut/non sfw written piece with Jessica Nigri. I’m actually very nervous about posting this. I’ve been working on this for a while, constantly debating if I should even do it the entire time. I really hope this doesn’t make me look like a creep, but I also really wanted to finally try writing more raunchy stuff with Jessica Nigri.

But I put too much work into this to just NOT post it, so I guess we will all see how this first one goes and whether or not I’ll do anymore.

I’ll also be posting this to my Archive of Our Own account HERE.

So you all have been warned, what follows is a sort of one-shot (for now) smut piece of Jessica Nigri. You don’t enjoy stuff like that, you don’t have to read past this point.

*SNAP* *SNAP* *SNAP*

The gorgeous Jessica Nigri stretched her arms out over her head and let out a throaty moan. She was currently standing waist deep in the pool in the backyard of her house. Her stretch also ‘unintentionally’ pushed out her chest, making her red and gold bikini strain to keep her well endowed chest contained. She opened her eyes, revealing that her irises were gold instead of brown, and looked over at Jaune who was so kind to offer to be her cameraman after her usual photographer bailed on her just that morning.

She ran her hands through her hair, which was now raven black instead of her usual blonde, and held that pose for the next set of pictures Jaune was going to take.

*SNAP* *SNAP*

Jaune, to his credit, did a great job at focusing on just taking the pictures and doing his job. It wasn’t easy. It got hard to maintain focus when Jessica started to pose more and more provocatively. He didn’t stare, but he had to check the pictures to make sure they were okay. With seeing so many sexy pictures, he couldn’t help the hard on that formed in his white swim trunks. He did the best he could to conceal it, but it was pointless.

Jessica saw the bulge forming from the start. She wasn’t offended or disgusted. She know the effect she had on guys and even some girls. She knew Jaune wasn’t a pervert, he just genuinely thought she was very attractive. That made her smirk a little proudly. It was nice knowing he thought she was pretty not just because she had big boobs.

*SNAP*

Jessica stopped posing and relaxed her body. She sighed and moved towards the stairs of her pool. As she started getting out, she looked to Jaune. “Alright Jaune, I think that’s plenty to work with. Thanks again so much for helping me out on such short notice.”

Jaune looked up from the camera screen, a bit startled by Jessica’s sudden voice. “Y-you sure? We could get a few more if you want.”

“Nah it’s fine. You’ve already taken at least 200 already. Put down the camera and I’ll go inside to get you your money.”

Jaune lowered the camera to waist level, but quickly waved his hand to dismiss Jessica’s. “No no, you don’t need to pay me. I was happy just to help out a friend.”

Jessica dramatically rolled her eyes at his dismissal. Seriously, he could really be too nice for his own good. “Jaune, I’m serious! You took four hours out of your Saturday off from Beacon to come down to Vale and help me with my shoot. I’m paying you.”

Jaune just sighed loudly. “Jessica, you don’t need to do that.”

Jessica grabbed a towel and started drying off her lower body as she fired back, “I know I don’t have to, but I want to.”

“I’m serious Jessica.”

“So am I.”

The bickering between the two friends continued for a few more minutes with the same pattern. Jessica would insist that Jaune take money from her, and he would decline each and every offer.

Their ‘argument’ finally ended when Jaune yelled, “I’m not taking your money Jessica!”

Jessica just groaned in frustration. She was getting really annoyed now. How selfless (or stubborn) do you have to be not to accept money you did a job to earn?! She huffed, blowing a strand of her now black hair off to the side, and crossed her arms under her ample chest. When her girls got pushed up a little because of that, she looked down at them. Then she got a naughty little idea.

“Oh alright, fine Jaune. You don’t have to take my money.”

Jaune sighed in relief. He didn’t like bickering with his friends, especially over something as silly as this. He knows he did earn the money, but he just wouldn’t feel right taking money from his friends. “Thank you Jessica, I just don’t like tak-”

“You can just fuck my big tits instead~.”

Jessica had barely finished saying her newest offer when Jaune promptly froze and turned bright red. The camera slipping from his stiff fingers jogged some life back into Jaune. He fumbled with the camera a few times before getting a solid grip on it again. He rigidly turned to look at the beautiful woman who just made his heart stop. She looked very amused with Jaune’s panic. She wasn’t laughing out loud, but her golden eyes lit up while her upper body shook a little with laughter that she was holding back with tightly shut lips.

It took a minute, but Jessica finally reeled in her shaking and Jaune managed to calm down his blush a little. Now instead of it being his whole face, only his cheeks and ears were red.

Jessica spoke first, her lips in a wide and somewhat smug grin. “Wow. That was quite the-*snrk* reaction, ha ha ha.”

“W-well c-can you blame me!?” Jaune defended himself. “Y-you can’t just go making jokes like that! H-how did you expect me to react!”

“I wasn’t joking.”

…

Jaune’s head tilted to the side, the blush on his face being replaced with a look of confusion. “Huh?”

“I was serious. I’ll give you a boobjob.”

Jaune had zero idea how to respond to that.

So instead, his jaw just went slack and hung open in disbelief. Jessica did him a favor and stepped closer to him. She raised his jaw up with one slender finger on his chin to close his mouth. She slid her nail lightly along the underside of his jawline back towards his ear and then up towards his chin again, flicking her finger off when she ran out of track to follow. The small smirk still on her lips, she asked, “So how do you wanna go about it?”

Jaune sputtered while the red coloring flowed back to his entire face, before managing to speak. “Jessica! How could you say something like that?!”

“What’s the big deal?”

Jaune looked away sheepishly. “Y-you shouldn’t throw your body around like that. I-it’s not right. Your body isn’t something to use like a tool. Especially not for payment.”

Jessica’s brow scrunched up a bit in confusion, before her eyes lit up with realization.“Oooooh, Jaune you’re-” Jessica stopped herself and thought for a bit. He thought that she was offering her body just to pay him back for his help. ‘Oh for the love of-!…Jaune, why do you have to be so sweet and cute, but sooo dense! Okay, blunt it is.’ “Okay Jaune, how about this. I’m going to tell you, very clearly, what I meant by what I said.”

“O-okay?”

“I WANT you to fuck my tits.” Before Jaune could make a sound at hearing this new revelation, Jessica continued. “You weren’t the only one who couldn’t help sneaking a few glances.”

Jaune’s brow raised in confusion. “W-wha?”

Jessica grinned almost hungrily at him. She bit her glossy lower lip and moved her index finger to point down several times. “Those white trunks of yours aren’t that great at hiding anything~.”

Jaune’s eyebrows scrunched together a bit in confusion. He looked down to see what she was referring to, and promptly turned red.

Jaune had apparently gotten a bit distracted by Jessica because he had completely forgotten about the stiff problem in his trunks and stopped trying to hide it some time ago. Well that problem hadn’t gone down in the least. Jessica’s proposition hadn’t helped either. His boner had shifted and started pressing into the front of his trunks full force, making a bulge that no one could miss.

“So what do ya say~?”

Jaune’s attention shot back up to Jessica. While he was looking down at his own crotch, she had moved very close to him. So close they were almost touching. Jaune had to tilt his head a bit to look down at her. He accidently looked down a little too far though and ended up staring directly down her cleavage since her wonderful, bountiful chest was only an inch away from touching his.

As much as Jaune wanted to, he couldn’t look away.

Jessica noticed that he was staring again almost immediately. With a smirk, she quickly bounced on the balls of her feet several times, getting her tits to bounce and jiggle beautifully in her tight red bikini top. Jaune’s eyes stayed locked on them.

“You wanna see if my big girls can help out with your little friend down there~?” Jessica’s eyes had a teasing glint, not that Jaune noticed. He just nodded his head to say yes, or he was still tracking her bouncing tits. Either way, both were good enough for Jessica. She gently took his hand and led him over to the closest pool chair next to a small glass table.

Jessica turned around and sat down on the soft, yellow cushion on the chair. She had to admit it felt pretty nice against her ass cheeks since it was warmed under the sun all day. She brought hands up to undo the knotted string on Jaune’s swim trunks and gently slid them down. The white trunks dropped to Jaune’s ankles, the man’s breath hitching when they did, and it was Jessica’s turn to stare.

Jaune’s very, very hard cock sprung free, no longer being confined in those trunks that now looked way too small to Jessica. ‘How did they manage to keep this dick contained? It has to be a good seven inches at least!’ The seven inch monster in question stood directly out from Jaune’s crotch, completely rigid and with the head aimed directly at her face.

Jessica stared down the shaft of the huge cock, not blinking. She inched her face closer to it briefly, but she pulled back just before her lips touched it. As much as she might want to, that wasn’t the deal. ‘There will probably be another time for that anyways~.’ Jessica heard Jaune whimper though when she pulled away. She glanced up at him with a small smirk. “Don’t worry Jaune, you’re gonna get something else. I think it will be even better too~.”

Jessica swung her legs up onto the lawn chair and scooted back on it. She arched her back and pushed out her chest before laying down against the inclined backrest. She reached over to the glass table and picked up the bottle of sunscreen that was on it next to her scroll. She hadn’t used it for the shoot, but it was always nice to be prepared for anything. After all, she was about to get some great use out of it now.

She flicked open the lid and turned it over right above her tits. She stared directly at Jaune with complete confidence as she squeezed the bottle and felt the chilly white cream landed all over the top and into the valley of her cleavage. For a good five seconds, Jessica just kept layering up the sunscreen. Finally the long, white stream from the bottle ended with a small pouf. She closed the lid and put it back down on the side table next to the chair. She jokingly cleared her throat and looked back to Jaune.

With a smile, she grabbed her own tits, almost slamming her hands down on the soft D cup mounds, still covered by her bikini top. Jaune unconsciously let out a high pitched noise when he saw those big mounds flatten a bit under her hands. His eyes stayed locked on her big tits as her hands slowly began to roll them around. The large amount of sunscreen on top of and in between them slowly began to get spread around every inch of her flawless skin, especially in the wonderful valley between her boobs.

Her smooth, tan skin was soon covered in obvious white streaks from the sunscreen being rubbed in just a little bit. The bikini top she was wearing also shifted and Jaune could just start to see the darker skin of her areolas, and her hard nipples pressing against the fabric.

“That should be enough.” Jessica stopped playing with her own tits and ran her slightly messy hands down her slim waist. She laid back against the back of the lawn chair and pushed her chest out. “Well Jaune, feel free to start whenever you come back to your senses~.”

While Jaune was indeed very distracted by her erotic show just now, he was still very aware of what she said. He hesitantly took a small step out of his swim trunks and closer towards the chair she was laying on, his shins now touching the frame of it and completely naked. A part of him still wanted to decline, another part even wanted to say he’d just take the money now, but those were both very small in comparison to the part of him that wanted what was being offered right in front of him.

Jaune carefully raised his right leg and climbed onto the chair as well, his knees pressing down on the cushion on either side of Jessica’s thighs. He slowly scooted his knees forward and soon had his hard cock positioned above her chest. He looked down at her, then realized he was still holding the camera. With one hand, Jaune reached over and set it down on the same table that the sunscreen bottle was on.

With his hands now free, he grabbed the top of the chair’s back above Jessica’s head. He lowered his hips to position his cock at the bottom of her boobs under the middle bikini strap. He looked at Jessica to make sure it was okay. Their eyes locked and Jessica bit her lower lip as she nodded. Without any more hesitation, Jaune slid his cock head into her vast cleavage.

His cock head hit the skin in between her tits and slid up inside with ease, getting both of them to shiver a bit. Jaune pushed his cock all the way through and pulled his hips back. Within seconds, Jaune had started a steady rhythm of fucking Jessica’s tits. Jaune continued to hump into her cleavage, already loving the amazing feeling enveloping his cock from the incredibly soft pillows enveloping his shaft.

Jessica was also enjoying herself. She looked down from Jaune’s blushing face to her cleavage. She was greeted by the sight of the head of Jaune’s cock popping out, now slick with white sunscreen too. She was pretty impressed that it was big enough to do that. She could also feel just how hot and hard his shaft was. ‘Fuck, it feels like a metal rod! Let’s see how he likes this though~.’

While Jaune did already seem to be in paradise, Jessica decided to make it just a bit more… interesting for him~.

With a smirk, she moved her hands back up to her tits and pushed them together. Jaune gasped as the soft tits that were around his cock started to squeeze down, rubbing the cock between them even more. He stopped moving just to get used to the new tightness. Jessica chuckled as she heard the man above her gasp, letting her know that she made a good move.

Jaune started rolling his hips forward once again, this time needing more force to push into her slick cleavage. Pretty soon, his rolling turned into full on thrusting. Jaune was now literally just fucking her tits without a second thought, letting out small grunt and groans as he did so. His grunts almost drowned out the slick ‘plap’ing sound of his cock pumping in and out between her slippery tits as he thrusted away.

Those weren’t the only noises being made though. Alongside Jaune’s grunts, his cock’s slick ‘plap’s, and Jessica’s own moans and giggles as she watched Jaune eagerly thrust away between her sensitive tits, was a creaking sound coming from the rocking chair they were on. With Jaune’s harder thrusting, the chair had started shaking quite a bit. Jaune had also tightened his grip on the back of the chair, unknowing pulling it towards him with his thrusts. Jessica felt the rocking, but thought nothing of it.

Until Jaune pulled so far that the back of the chair slipped out of the slot keeping its back inclined.

“Aaaah!”

With a surprised yelp, Jessica fell back with the chair. She let out a small “Oouf!” as the chair flattened out. It now looked more like a skinny bed.

“Jessica?! Are you okay?”

Jessica, now laying flat on her back, looked back up to Jaune who was propped above her. He looked at her worriedly and had stopped his thrusting. She smiled and nodded. “Yup! I’m all good. Actually, this position might be better~.” Her hands squeezed and rolled her tits around Jaune’s cock, enticing him to continue. “Though, I still haven’t gotten your white stuff on my tits~. So keep going~.”

Jaune looked at her for a second, but once he saw that she really was okay, he started rocking his cock back into her cleavage again. A few seconds later and he was back to thrusting between her tits as quickly as he had been. The new position they were in was definitely making it a lot easier for him to fuck the sexy cosplayer’s tits.

Jessica didn’t stop helping her girls rub his dick either. Her hands still firmly pushing them around Jaune’s shaft, even sinking her fingers into them a little, making her moan along with Jaune. She glanced over at the table next to them, thinking about pouring some more sunscreen on to help things get really messy, when something else caught her attention.

She saw her scroll though the glass. Seeing that it was more within her reach than the sunscreen bottle, she quickly got another idea. She moved her hand off her left tit and reached over to the table, now using one arm to keep her breasts wrapped tightly around the meaty rod fucking them. She smirked as she started her naughty little plan.

Jaune didn’t see Jessica reach for the table because his eyes were closed, just enjoying his own little paradise at the moment. For a whole minute, Jaune was only focused on pumping faster and faster into her slippery cleavage, his cock still gliding effortlessly into her deep valley. It felt too fucking good to stop now, and he wanted as much pleasure as he could get.

His heavy balls were sliding along her stomach and slapping into her underboob at this point with how heavy his thrusts had gotten. Jaune scrunched his eyes shut even harder and let loose a guttural moan as he felt himself get right to the edge. He could feel his cock twitch and pulse as he finally hit his breaking point.

“Fuuuuuuck! Jessicaaa!” Before Jaune even finished shouting her name, he was already unloading ropes of cum. “Uuuughfuck!” As he continued to release ropes of cum out without care, he felt absolute bliss shoot through him. Nothing could have ruined how amazing he felt right now.

For nearly a minute, Jaune kept shooting loads of his thick cum. He felt them get smaller and smaller though, and soon came to a full stop. Jaune panted heavily, coming down slowly from his climax. The best best one he’d ever had too. He slowly opened his eyes finally and looked down, and his slowly softening cock nearly shot back to attention when he did.

Underneath him was Jessica Nigri, covered in his spunk. everything from her head down to the top of her breasts was covered in thick white ropes of his cum. The sexiest part of that though was seeing her happily lick around her lips and scoop up what cum she could into her mouth, all with a sexy smirk on her glossy lips.

Jessica took her hands off her tits and started using them to scoop up cum off her face. She brought her fingers to her mouth and slowly pushed them past her lips one by one, sensually sucking them clean from cum. She moaned in the back of her throat, knowing Jaune was watching her now.

After all her fingers were clean, Jessica parted her lips slightly and pulled her last finger out of her mouth, pulling her bottom lip down a little as it slid out. She looked straight up into Jaune’s eyes and moaned in a sultry voice. “Mmmmmm~. Delicious~.” Jaune blushed when he heard that, getting a small chuckle from Jessica.

After waiting a couple of seconds to let Jaune calm down, Jessica started to sit up, prompting Jaune to back away from her and sit down on the long side of the chair. Jessica made sure that her bikini top was still somewhat fitted on her breasts as she sat up completely, then swung her legs off the chairs side to join Jaune sitting directly next to him. She stretched her arms up above her head with her fingers interlaced, letting out a relaxed sigh. Jaune didn’t stop himself from staring at her chest as she pushed it out.

Jessica’s arms fell back down to her side and she gently started to rub Jaune’s thigh with her right hand. “Mmmmuuuh that was pretty hot Jaune, you have fun~?”

Jaune looked over at her, and eagerly nodded his blushing head. “Yeah, t-that was amazing Jessica.”

Jessica kept smirking and patted his thigh twice with her hand. “Well, maybe that can happen again sometime. Whaddya think of that Jaune~?”

“I’d like that. I’d like that a lot.”

“Well then, I guess we’re gonna have to try to get together more often huh~? But for now, I think I’m going to go take a shower and get cleaned up a bit. You did get me pretty messy~.” Jessica stood up and picked up her scroll. “If you’d like, I have a spare bathroom with another shower that you could use.” With that, she started to sashay towards her house with a sexy sway in her hips.

Jaune started after those swaying hips and committed them to memory. As Jessica slid her home’s backdoor open, Jaune stood up and picked up his swim trunks, covered his crotch with them and jogged to catch up to her. Jessica stepped aside and let him in first, admiring his fine ass as he walked by. ‘I’m gonna have to compare mine with his sometime~. Those are some firm cheeks~.”

With that thought, Jessica stepped into her home as well and closed the door behind them.

.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Chime~

Cinder’s musing on her scroll was interrupted as she received a video message. She also groaned when she saw who it was from. “Uuugh. What does that bimbo want now?” Cinder was really tired of being annoyed by Jessica. Jessica had tried to be ‘friends’ with her at first, but now just seemed to just enjoy annoying Cinder whenever she could. Just the thought of her right now started to make Cinder feel frustrated.

“Whatever it is, it’s probably just a waste of my time.”Despite her better judgement, Cinder still opened the message from Jessica, though a bit begrudgingly. After a few seconds of loading, the video started to play and she was greeted by the sight of her ‘counterpart’ Jessica recording herself by holding her scroll out above her. Cinder could see her body was rocking slightly, but before she could even wonder why that was, the camera began to pan down Jessica’s body.

Revealing a large cock quickly pumping back and forth between her sunscreen covered breasts.

Cinder’s head recoiled back slightly at seeing such a thing on her screen. Because she was farther away from the screen now, Cinder finally noticed that there was a small caption in a tinted dark blue line on the bottom of the video.

[I hope you like trying to catch up Cindy~. I think I have a good step up on you~.]

Cinder scoffed after reading that caption. “What on Remnant is she talking about? What could I possibly need to catch up with…. her…. on…” Cinder’s question trailed off as the camera angle panned again, completely flipping around this time. It landed on the face of a man propped above her.

Not just any strange man either. But Jaune Arc. The Jaune Arc that she had been trying to get to fuck her for weeks, with zero results. And now here he was on her scroll screen, currently fucking this bimbo’s tits!

The video ended while Cinder was ranting in her thoughts. It started to replay on a loop, but before it played the first five seconds again, the screen went blank. Then started to show cracks as Cinder slowly crushed it in her grip. She abruptly stood up and tossed her scroll on to the bed she’d been on.

She straightened out her red dress and started to pace towards the door. “Fine. If that slut wants to try to steal what I want, I’ll happily make her realize her mistake. You wanted me to ‘catch up’ Jessica? Well, I’ll make you regret those words.”

With a determined fire blazing in her eyes, she left the room, slamming the door shut behind her. She didn’t pay any of the scared students she passed a second thought. She had to think of a plan of how her desired fucktoy to get back, and rub that bimbo’s face in it when she did.

#rwby #jaune arc #jessica nigri #jaune x jessica nigri #cinder fall #archive of our own #ask #non sfw #lemon #smut story #anonymous

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idreamofplaid · 3 years

Text

Rebirth

Square Filled: Anonymous Sex

Characters: Dean x Reader; Cara (OFC); Chase and Jake (OMCs) mentioned

Rating: Explicit

Summary: After a nasty divorce and some soul searching, the reader knows just how to get her life back with a little help from a young handsome stranger.

Word Count: 3576

Tags: language; oral (female receiving); unprotected sex; age difference

A/N: This is for @idabbleincrazy ‘s 1k Follower Celebration. Congrats on your 1st thousand followers! I chose the song “1985″ by Bowling for Soup for inspiration and the prompt “Oh, fuck off.”

Created for @spnkinkbingo

Fuck him and his new girlfriend. He could have at least waited until the ink dried on your divorce papers before he decided to parade his “new” woman in front of the entire town. New. Right. He’d been fucking her while he was still married to you.

You needed to get the hell out of this place. Start over somewhere, somewhere that no one knew of your humiliation or how you’d thrown your life away. Only, you couldn’t because you had two children in high school that loved their lives here. At least they were happy; that’s what mattered, right?

The so-called “friends” you had in the subdivision couldn’t wait to tell you about your barely ex-husband and how he’d been seen out with her at the fanciest, most expensive restaurant in town. It was the same place he’d taken you for your last anniversary.

By the time your SUV pulled up in front of the bridal boutique, you were still seething. You slammed the door when you got out, not giving a damn who saw you. Let them go back and tell the entire fucking book club about your lack of decorum if that’s how they got their thrills.

When you walked into the store, a sea of white flooded your vision. Well, here was exactly what you wanted to see. Wedding dresses. Beyond them, further in the back, were the prom dresses. It was like the highlight reel of your life in dress form.

You’d gone to your senior prom with the cheating son of a bitch that was now providing juicy material for all the town gossips, and just like the biggest cliche ever; you’d given him your virginity that night. If only you could take that back, but you’d been young, wide eyed, and in love. Four years later, right after college graduation, you married him. As a result, Chase was the only man you’d ever had sex with. Right now, you were really kicking yourself for that one.

In fact, you couldn’t be more pissed at yourself for the decisions you’d made. If there was a way you could erase it all and somehow keep your two kids, you’d do it. You loved them, and it was that love that brought you here to this hell of taffeta, sequins, and silk. The alterations were finished on your daughter’s prom dress, and it was ready for pick up.

You tried to settle the storm of anger and frustration that was raging inside you before you walked up to the counter. It wasn’t the sales associate’s fault your life had turned out the way it had. You blamed yourself for that, and blaming yourself just made you madder.

Somehow, you managed to plaster on a smile while you gave your name and got the dress. Once it was in your hands, you stood frozen staring at it. It was a sapphire blue, body hugging, silk and Cara would be beautiful in it. It made your mind wander back to another blue prom dress, the dress you had worn thirty years ago. “I was the goddamned prom queen,” you muttered under your breath.

“Excuse me, ma’am.” Joachin, the sales associate was staring at you with a confused expression on his face.

“Nothing,” you replied a little too sharply, abandoning all your earlier good intentions toward the innocent Joachin. You turned and swept out of the store in a huff of tarnished memories and present day frustration.

As you walked out into the sunshine of the early afternoon, you draped the dress over your arm. With your other hand, you started to dig around in your purse for your keys. Where the hell were they?

By the time only a few steps remained between you and your car, a feeling of furious panic started to bubble up inside you. You couldn’t have. When you reached the car and looked through the window, you saw that indeed you absolutely had. There were the keys, hanging in the ignition.

You placed your forehead against the cool glass of the window and closed your eyes. Of course this had happened. You would be stuck here dealing with this fuck up for hours. The auto club was never quick to respond to any call for help. At least you didn’t have to worry about the kids getting home from school. Cara had her own car, and Jake had an away baseball game this afternoon. You wouldn’t need to pick him up until later tonight.

A deep voice broke through your mental attempt to organize this mess. “It looks like you could use some help.”

You opened your eyes to see those bloody keys still hanging there, mocking you. Without nearly as much fire as you’d been feeling earlier, but still enough to get your sentiment across, you responded, “Oh, fuck off.”

“Well, I could. Or, I could help you break into your car.” Break in? Who the hell was this, and how dare he have so much cockiness in his voice?

You turned to confront the unknown son of a bitch who was so clearly finding your situation amusing. Upon seeing him, your attitude instantly changed. This man was gorgeous. He had full lips, a chiseled jawline, and eyes the green of an Irish meadow.

His face was so pretty it could easily grace a movie screen, and his body was equally heart stopping. He had the broadest shoulders you’d ever seen on a man, and you could see enough through the open front of the leather jacket he was wearing to know his chest and stomach were firm. He looked like walking sex, and it had been way too long since you’d had any.

The spark of inspiration struck, but in this case it was more like a lightning bolt. It was time to reclaim your own life. “Forget the keys. Where’s your car?”

Young and handsome smiled and gave a nod in the direction of the other side of the street. “It’s over there.”

Your eyes followed the direction of the tilt of his head. “That’s your car?” It figured. The car was a classic muscle car, strong and beautiful. It was just as much of a standout as the man it belonged to.

You dug back in your memory, seeking your long dormant flirting skills. They were rusty for sure, but still there. You smiled at this breathtaking man, just the right combination of coy and suggestive. “Could I trouble you to give me a ride home?”

He smiled back, and those green eyes got a certain gleam in them. God. He was clearly much better and more practiced at this flirting thing than you were. “Sure, sweetheart. It won’t be a problem at all.”

You followed him across the street, enjoying the view of his ass as you went. When you reached the car, he opened your door for you. THAT was something you hadn’t experienced in awhile. A welcome feeling began to flow through your veins, replacing the anger, frustration, humiliation, and regret you’d been feeling all day. This was a ripple of excitement and anticipation of entering unknown territory.

Handsome started the car, and the purr of the engine revved up that ripple of excitement inside you, turning it into a wave that washed over you and secured the idea that had been dancing through your mind. You silently committed yourself to it, and that decision filled you with something that felt remotely the way you remembered joy feeling.

He reached over and turned the knob to start the radio, then pushed a tape into the tape deck. Good lord. A cassette tape. It had been forever since you’d seen one of those. This guy had barely been born the last time they had been popular.

The songs that poured through the speakers were from your youth, before that even. They were the songs you’d heard when you were a kid. Songs from the time of your life when you didn’t think anything about mistakes, or getting things wrong. You were just filled with hope, possibility, and excitement for the future. That was the feeling you needed to recapture.

This was a good start. Many would say it was a reckless start, but this wasn’t their life. It was yours, and it was time you took it back. In some ways, you would be claiming it for the first time, and this incredibly handsome, exciting, and just a bit dangerous man beside you could help you do that.

He noticed the smile that had appeared on your face. “You like the music?” he asked.

“I do. I appreciate a man with a taste for the classics.” Those intoxicating green eyes were focused on you before he turned them back to the road and smiled.

Then a little bubble of excitement rose up in your chest, and you bit your lip. An idea had struck you. It was possible to redo your life; you were young enough. You weren’t just going to spend the rest of your days on the sidelines watching your kids live. On impulse, you turned and asked him, “Do you have anything from the eighties?” It was possible. This was a man with a collection of cassette tapes.

He didn’t take his eyes from the road, but his grin got bigger. “There’s a box under the seat. You might find some Bon Jovi in there, but I’m not making any promises.”

You reached under the seat, found the box, and started to shuffle through the bunch of tapes you found there. After sorting through the Zeppelin and the AC/DC, your eyes fell upon exacting what you’d been looking for. It was Bon Jovi’s greatest album in your opinion, Slippery When Wet, circa 1987.

You opened the plastic cassette cover and took the tape in your hands. It sent a rush through you, unlike anything you’d felt in years. This was the album you played in your own cassette deck every afternoon after school, all that time ago, with your best friend in the passenger seat beside you. Everything lay ahead of you, all the bad decisions still lay ahead. It was all nothing but good.

It felt like a magical talisman you held in your hands. You looked at your new companion hopefully. “Can I?”

“Sure,” he answered as he popped the current tape out of the deck and tossed it on the seat between you.

You put your find in the tape deck, and immediately the sounds of “Livin’ on a Prayer” filled your ears. Your eyes closed, and you allowed yourself to indulge in the fantasy of turning back the clock and living a different life. It was a life with a different boyfriend and a different outcome, the one where you weren’t a washed up stay at home mom who had put so many of her dreams on hold to support her husband and his.

Dreams of travel filled your mind, dreams of travel and starting your own business. Once you had imagined being a fashion designer, a glamorous fashion designer, before you started wearing conservative suburban wife clothes and stopped dreaming. The rekindling of that spark of who you might have been brought a smile to your lips.

“What are you thinking?” Handsome with the green eyes and the incredible voice asked you. He reached across the seat and took your hand in his. Your smile got even bigger. It was time to push the reset button on your life.

You gave the gorgeous stranger directions to your house. Okay, that was a little risky, but of all the things that had gone off the rails in your life; your intuition wasn’t one of them. You had the very distinct feeling you could trust him.

Your garage door opener was trapped back in your SUV along with your keys. He’d just have to park his car in the driveway. Let the nosy neighbors wonder about that.

Fortunately, you had a spare key to the house hidden nearby. It took a minute to find the correct rock, but when you did; there was the key where you’d hidden it underneath. You returned to the front door triumphant, key in your hand. Once inside, you put your purse on the table in the foyer while mystery man turned in a slow circle, taking in the place.

He turned back to you. “Nice house.”

You took off your jacket and hung it on the coat rack in the corner. “Thanks. There’s a nice liquor cabinet too. How about a drink? A small thank you for rescuing me from the side of the road.”

He rubbed his thumb along the corner of his mouth. “It wasn’t exactly the side of the road, but I will take that drink.”

You walked on into the house, making your way to the living room; he followed. The bar was located near the massive floor to ceiling fireplace, and the ceilings were high. Chase had insisted on it. It always struck you as a little much, but he was ever aware of appearances. Until now, it would seem. Apparently, abandoning your wife and children for a gold digging bimbo was a good look.

The crystal decanters on the bar certainly had the right look. They also had the right aged whiskey inside them. You flipped over two tumblers and poured some in each.

He took the glass you offered him and raised it to those luscious lips. After a long sip, he asked you “What’s it like living in a place like this?”

You whirled the whiskey in your glass for a moment, starting at it, then glanced up at him. “Not as wonderful as you might imagine. What about you? Where do you live?”

It was his turn to find his glass fascinating for a few seconds. “Nowhere really. I travel around a lot.” You couldn’t quite pin down the tone of his voice. Did he like that fact about his life or not? Either way, it added to the air of mystery around him.

You took a swallow from your own glass. The little boost of alcohol induced bravery certainly wouldn’t hurt with what you had in mind. “Are you in town for long?”

He licked his lips before answering. “That depends. I’m here for a job. Not sure how long it’s going to take yet.” Enough with the small talk.

You took the glass from his hand and put it down on the bar. “What about this afternoon? Do you have a little time off?”

He settled his hand at your waist. “I could take a couple of hours for some relaxation.”

You downed the remaining contents of your glass and placed it on the bar next to his. “I have a couple of hours too.” You put your arm around him and let your palm rest over the center of his back.

That sinful mouth was on top of yours in an instant, and he absolutely knew what to do with it. His kiss was gentle but firm, tongue dragging along the seam of your lips until you opened them for him. The taste of the bourbon on his tongue as his tongue moved around yours was practically weaving a spell around you.

The kiss became deeper and more insistent. Your tongue swirled and tangled around his, and your breathing hitched in your chest. He started to bend you back over the bar, and, from deep inside your pocket, your phone started to ring. “Ignore it,” he said against your lips.

“I can’t.” That’s what it meant to be a mother. You fished the phone out of your pocket and checked the screen to see who was calling. Maybe it wasn’t one of the kids. Cara.

You touched the screen to answer and put the phone next to your ear. “Hello.”

Without any preamble, your daughter launched right into the purpose of her call. “Mom, is okay if I…. Why are you breathing so hard? Are you doing one of those old aerobics routines again? Mom, that is so lame.”

He was kissing down your neck, his mouth open just enough to require you to struggle to concentrate. “No, that’s not what I’m doing.”

You heard the sigh and could picture her rolling her eyes. “Whatever, Mom. Can I go over to Tabitha’s for dinner?”

He was sucking on your pulse point, and it was getting harder to keep your mind on the conversation. “Yes. That’s fine. Be careful driving home.” You ended the call, aware the kissing that had felt so incredibly good had stopped.

He’d taken a step back from you, and those captivating green eyes held a big question. “Look, this can’t happen if you’re….”

You quickly replayed your side of the conversation in your head. “Married? No. I am very much not married. That was my daughter, and she won’t be home for several hours.”

His smile was back, and his arm went back around your waist. “Well, in that case, where were we?”

You all but tore the leather jacket from his shoulders and let it fall in a heap on your expensive rug along with your phone. The rest of his clothes and yours disappeared on the trip down the hall to your bedroom where you’d been sleeping alone for so many months.

Surprisingly, you didn’t feel at all self conscious as you walked into your bedroom naked with this man you’d just met. He was a sight to behold. You wanted to taste and touch every tempting inch of him, and you started with his chest.

You ran your hand over the firm muscles in his pecs and let your fingers trace over the fascinating tattoo there. It was as much a mystery as the rest of him, and you didn’t ask him any questions about it. This wasn’t a “bare your heart and share your past” kind of afternoon.

He watched your hands on him, and when he raised his eyes to meet yours; they were dark, filled with lust. His hand closed over yours, large and strong, and he led you to the four poster bed. God, he was gorgeous.

Solid thighs, toned stomach, and thick cock that made your mouth water just looking at it. He lay back on the bed, his golden freckle dusted skin a beautiful contrast to the white of the comforter, and pulled you down with him. You could feel his hard cock pressing against your thigh.

It made you wet for him, and for a brief second you wondered exactly what it was you were doing. That stray thought didn’t last long. It was replaced by a voice inside you that had been silenced by responsibilities and expectations of who you should be. He’s hot, and you’re single. Enjoy him.

He pulled you down into another kiss that made your head go dizzy with the sheer goodness of it. It felt wonderful, blissful, and consuming. Most of all, it made you feel sexy again. You started to move your hips, undulating them on the warmth of his firm body beneath you, losing yourself to the moment.

There were so many sensations competing for your attention. He was igniting the desire inside you that you had all but forgotten was there. His muscled arms circled around you, and he rolled you under him, caging you between his arms on either side of your head.

“Sure you want to do this?” he asked you huskily. His voice was as sexy as the rest of him.

“Absolutely. Don’t you dare stop now.” His lips crashed down on yours, and you returned every bit of the passion he put into that kiss. Then he moved his mouth down your body. The heat of his mouth closed over one of your nipples, and he began to suck on it, pulling the softest, neediest moans from you you’d ever heard escape your mouth.

This man shattered every inhibition you ever had with his talented tongue. The sounds you made when he closed his lips around your clit were absolutely wanton. He licked at you and ate you out like he enjoyed it. If his mouth was talented; his cock was even better.

It stretched you with a sweet burn that satisfied the ache and filled you. You dragged your nails down his back, wanting to leave your mark on him. He was certainly going to leave his with you. The memory of this day would be seared in your mind always.

He knew ways to make you feel good you had never even known about yourself. After your third orgasm of the afternoon, he finally came. You felt the pulsing of his cock inside you, and there was a certain satisfaction in that. You were smiling when he pulled out, rolled over, and lay down next to you.

His chest was rising and falling, his arm slung over his head. He was the picture of debauchery, and you loved how it felt to be debauched. You would need to take the comforter to the cleaners after this, because you weren’t done yet. Let those busybodies at the dry cleaners just try and figure out what happened to your bedding.

That wicked thought made you smile broadly. Oh, yes. The comforter would be ruined by the time you were done. This guy was for sure good for another round. Or two.

Everything: @gambitwinchester @princessmisery666 @peridottea91 @beenlovingromansincedayoneish @fangirlxwritesx67 @waywardbaby @atc74 @tumbler-tidbits @fandom-princess-forevermore @emoryhemsworth @emilyshurley @shaniquacynthia @crashdevlin @terrarium-jpeg @jules-1999 @cosicas-cuquis @sammyimpala-67 @queenoftheunderdark @dean-winchesters-bacon @timelordy-fangirl2 @sweetness47 @hobby27 @awesomesusiebstuff @kickingitwithkirk @becs-bunker @sandlee44 @supernaturalgrandma @volleyballer519 @kdfrqqg @lizette50 @sorenmarie87 @lovealways-j @mrswhozeewhatsis @spnbaby-67 @wayward-and-worn @asthesunwentdown @vulgar-library @thinkinghardhardlythinking @petitgateau911

Dean/Jensen: @deansyahtzee @flamencodiva @deanwinchesterswitch @feelmyroarrrr @focusonspn @akshi8278 @ladywinchester1967 @sgarrett49 @wingedcatninja @coffee-obsessed-writer @adoptdontshoppets @ellewritesfix05 @weepingwillowphoenix

#1kclassicrockchallenge #spnkinkbingo #dean smut #dean x reader #dean oneshot

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safertokiss · 4 years

Text

Don’t Call Me Doctor - Part 2

A/N: Heyo party people! Ok this is part 2 of DCMD and I’m super excited for you guys to read it. I’m so happy I finally decided to give in to my urge to write cause it’s so much fun! Thank you guys for all the support of the first part. Enjoy:)❤️

Pairing : SPENCER x READER

Category: Fluff and Angst and Smut

Word Count: 2.2k

ENJOY!

~~~

MASTERLIST

~~~

The moment she walked through those doors I knew I was a fucking goner.

Her beauty was indescribable. Unmatchable. Unattainable.

Dangerous.

She was dangerous. All she had to do was enter the building and I was already wrapped around her finger. Dangerous.

Even though the bullpen was bustling and filled with chaos at the time, the unmistakable creak of the front door rang clear in my ears. Glancing away from my work momentarily, my eyes were immediately drawn to her. I mean how could they not be? One look in her direction and it was clear she was nervous. She looked flustered, her face was flushed, but strangely enough there was a hint of a smile upon it. Even in her frenzied state, her beauty knocked the wind out of my chest. Who the hell is this girl?

As she surveyed the hectic room, I noticed her head perk up at whatever or whoever it was that she had located. Following her line of sight I was met with Hotch. Oh so she’s here for him, maybe a family member or friend.

Wait. Wait wait wait wait.

Remembering the conversation Hotch had had with us recently about a new recruit to the team, I was able to answer my own question. Oh god she’s the new recruit.

This is bad. This is really, REALLY bad.

I couldn’t go through this again, it simply wasn’t an option for me. My heart could not handle anymore pain, a pain that would surely accompany this girl if I let her in. Too much had happened in my life already at such a young age, from missing my chance with JJ to losing the one somewhat serious relationship I had ever had. Like I said, she’s dangerous. I had only been aware of her existence for a couple of minutes and I already knew that she possessed the key to unlocking my withered heart. However, she also wielded the axe that would run me through in a split second.

I knew in that moment that, as much as it pained me, I couldn’t let her have the chance. I had to take away her power over me before she was even aware she yielded it.

Looking back in the direction of my enchantress, I noticed her and Hotch had moved from their original spot and were now walking towards the center of the room. Towards the rest of the team. Towards me. Quickly, in order to avoid making eye contact I ducked my head down and pretended to work away at the papers sprawled in front of me.

Out of the corner of my eye I could see the others shaking from excitement at meeting our newest agent and I didn’t blame them. It wasn’t often we got new blood around here. Certainly none of them had taken my breath away like she did.

I was aware of how rude it was for me to not join in on the welcome party, but I was still struggling to breathe correctly from the brief glance I got of her. From my position at my desk I was close enough to hear the conversations being held, well enough at least to hear her be introduced to the team.

Y/N Y/L/N.

It fit her perfectly. A beautiful name for a gorgeous woman. While the others were busy meeting our newest member, I decided I just had to hear how her name rolled off my tongue, even if just this once. In the most quiet voice I could muster up, I released my own personal curse from my lips.

“Y/N.”

Fuck. It just felt so right. It was as if she had been given that name just so at one point in life I’d be able to shout it out for the entire world to hear. Why did the universe hate me so much?

I had gotten so wrapped up in my own thoughts that I hadn’t noticed the woman plaguing my mind had already taken a seat at the desk next to mine. It wasn’t until she sputtered out an overly enthusiastic greeting directed towards me that I realized she was there.

“Hi I’m Y/N Y/L/N! Nice to meet you Dr. Reid.”

Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck. Immediately as the words started pouring from her lips I felt my body tense. Suddenly I understood the allure of sirens. How a voice could be so enticing to reel in unsuspecting sailors on the sea. I understood their choice of action. But when she called me Dr. Reid. Fuck. That should simply be illegal. Hearing her use my title awakened something deep inside of me that I had been trying to suppress since the moment she waltzed through the door. It also awakened something below my waist, my body twitching as a result. Stop it Spencer. You can’t let this happen, you need to push through it. Make her stay away.

I must have been sitting there speechless for too long because before I knew it she was at it again.

“Sorry if I scared you! I’m not the most socially adept individual. I couldn’t help but notice that-“

Put a stop to this Spencer. Make her stay away.

“You’re rambling.” Fuck that was rude.

“Pardon me Dr. Reid?”

Holy fuck if I hear her call me that one more time I don’t think there’s anything in the world strong enough to prevent me from ripping her clothes off and taking her right here on my desk. Spencer stop! Make her stay far away from you.

“You were rambling. Thought you’d like to know. And it’s Spencer.” I am such a dick. But I had no choice. Letting her into my heart would only leave the both of us in shambles, longing for the pieces to be put back together. Deciding it wouldn’t hurt, I accompanied my rude remark with a slight glance in her direction. Yeah that was a big mistake. Even if it only lasted a split second, I could clearly see the hurt plaguing her beautiful orbs, a hurt that was caused by yours truly. Wow this fucking sucks.

“Oh...ok”, she replied before turning her attention back to her files in front of her.

I really wish I didn’t have to treat her like that, but it was the only option that left us both unscathed. Returning to the task at hand, I couldn’t help but let my mind wander and imagine a life alongside the enchantress sitting next to me.

Maybe in a world where I wasn’t so fucked up.

~~~

Ok remember when I said this sucked? Yeah it was worse than I could’ve ever imagined. It had been about three months since Y/N had started working with us and I spent the majority of that time running away from her. She’d walk in, I’d briskly walk out before cracking. She’d wave at me and I’d have to look away before imploding on the spot.

The worst part of this whole ordeal was that it was obvious that she had a thing for me. The amount of times I had caught her staring at my hands or for some reason my hair while she was trying to be subtle, was a number almost too large to keep track of. I’d be trying to mind my own business and block her out of my thoughts, when I’d catch her biting her lip, lost in thought, while her eyes raked my body. It was getting to be too much to handle.

Most of the time while we were at the round table discussing cases she would take the seat next to mine, much to my dismay. Her close proximity always acted as a ticking time bomb to my poor, defenseless body, usually eliciting reactions not suitable for a work environment. Following nearly every meeting I’d hightail it out of the room straight to the bathroom. And while she probably assumed I was just trying to avoid her, the reality was much more humiliating.

What had she turned me into? I felt like a horny teenager all of the time. What would my friends think if they knew I had to run to the bathroom to take care of my arousal almost every other day? It was so embarrassing, but only she could provoke such a reaction from me.

As often as my bathroom escapades took place, I had become a pro at suppressing my true feelings for her. For some reason, however, my attempts to make her stay away triggered the opposite response on her end. I can’t even explain the amount of pain that filled my chest everytime I had to reject her offers to get together and spend time together outside of work. I had even stopped going out with the unit because I knew I wouldn’t be able to control myself around her, usually coming up some lame excuse about having work to catch up on.

I had no idea what to do. I wanted her so bad.

I felt like I was in my own personal purgatory that had absolutely no escape in sight. All I had to do to set myself free was reach out and touch the ethereal being in front of me and express the feelings I harbored for her. But I still refused to consider that an option.

Not only was she keeping my mind occupied at work, I couldn’t make it through a single night without seeing her beautiful face. While the dreams had started off pretty neutral and innocent, they quickly progressed into territory that shouldn’t have been accessible. I truly felt like a teenager again with the amount of wet dreams I had been having to deal with. I just couldn’t help myself. Her body was amazing. It was physically impossible for me to not picture myself ramming her into my desk or bending her over the round table, making her scream my name for all of D.C. to hear.

God it was getting harder and harder to ignore her. What was stopping me from grabbing her wrist, pulling her into an empty office and destroying her on every surface available. I had to do something or figure out a way to push those thoughts away.

“Hey pretty boy! Get over here!”

I swiveled in my chair to seek out Morgan, spotting him across the bull pen. Sighing quietly, I made my way over to my friend, trying to mask the internal conflict occurring between my brain and my heart.

“What can I do for you Morgan?”

“You gonna tell me what’s going on between you and Y/L/N?” Shit. Fuck. I thought it wasn’t noticeable. Play it cool Spencer.

“Excuse me?”

“You heard me pretty boy.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Lies. All lies.

“Reid, come on man. It’s not really hard to notice that something is off between you two. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you interact with her outside of a case and you’re the kid who’s known to ramble to anyone within a five mile radius, nevermind the girl who sits next to you everyday. Did something happen?”

“No...no. Nothing happened and quite frankly I seriously don’t think it’s any of your business to question me about who I do and do not converse with, ok?”

“Geez! Calm down buddy. I’m sorry, ok. I won’t bring it up again.” I once again felt like the biggest dick in the world watching him walk away from where we had been standing. Recognizing that there was nothing I could do about it now, I made my way back to my desk, noticing that Y/N had returned from her lunch break.

After sitting down and working for a bit, I couldn’t help myself. The urge to look at the object of my affections was just too damn insistent. Glancing up at her, I was instantly entranced by the goddess in front of me. She was busy scribbling away at whatever was laid out in front of her, but I couldn’t tear my eyes away from her face. She was biting her lip in what I would assume was a way to help her concentrate, but all it did was stir things inside of me. Ok this was getting ridiculous.

It was crazy how even the simplest of things, like her eyes crinkling at the corners when she smiled or the way she licked her lips like it was going out of style, would instantly prevent my mind from functioning correctly and make the world around me dissolve until all that existed anymore was her. God those eyes. So intricately designed that even the most beautiful gods and goddesses would be jealous.

WAIT. HER EYES.

Fuck. She was looking at me. She saw me staring directly at her.

As fast as I possibly could, I ducked my head down and cleared my throat, deciding to play it off and pretend like nothing had just happened. Except that that was kind of hard to do when my body decided to say “fuck you” and turned into a goddamn tomato within seconds. Oh god why did I do that? How was I going to get myself out of this already complicated situation? This was bad. This was really bad. Three months of rejections and cold responses down the drain with one stupid, meaningful glance in her direction.

Fuck.

To be continued...

https://safertokiss.tumblr.com/post/623412350001856512/dont-call-me-doctor-part-3

https://safertokiss.tumblr.com/post/623219810962178048/dont-call-me-doctor-part-1

Tag list: @hopebaker @pastathighs @psychedellic-phase @gloryekaterina @sleepysnapesnake

#spencer reid smut #criminal minds smut #spencer reid #mgg fic #cm fic #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid fanfiction

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geesaotblog · 3 years

Photo

R E D

Levi Ackerman x Reader x Eren Jaeger (Implied) Levi Ackerman x Reader

Tags: Fingering, Back seat fraternization. CEO Levi Ackerman COO Eren Jaeger. Personal Assistant Reader. 18+.

“Oh, now that’s not fair.” Eren’s own dark voice practically rang through your ear while Levi’s hands trailed up your thighs, fingertips slipping past your dress. “Levi, do enough for the both of us.”

“I do what I want,” Levi answered back haughtily, pupils blown out as he watched your lips part with heavy breaths.

You couldn’t really blame Floch for his current actions. After all, this was a rather huge company party, and the opportunities that came with such an event were overflowing. First of all, the networking possibilities were endless. The big named corporate goons were flooding the large Victorian banquet hall that had been rented out and hosted by Ackerman Co., the second largest technological corporation in the states. Everyone who was anyone had attended, ready to mooch off of the billionaires that walked through those lavish ornate doors.

Second of all, employees of Ackerman Co. were all invited, as per request from their generous CEO, Levi Ackerman. You hid a scoff behind the pristine wine glass that touched your painted red lips. Levi Ackerman. The man was anything but generous. He was short, rude, and irrationally anal about the most particular things. You should know—after all, you are his personal assistant.

More like glorified cleaning monkey but you digress.

Then there was Eren Jaeger, Levi’s own little pet project. Eren was a few years younger than Levi but was already being groomed to succeed the company. The two were around each other, practically feeding each other’s egos like the little power hungry mongrels they were.

Well, Eren was feeding Levi’s ego. Levi’s only words of praise being thrown towards anyone were ‘Nice job, not fucking up the data transfer you complete walking pile of shit stains.’

Isn’t he absolutely charming?

The two were also unfairly gorgeous; Levi’s sharp chiseled face and built frame making up for the slight height imparity as well as Eren’s other worldly iridescent viridian eyes and long brunette locks that looked soft to the touch.

God, what those eyes did to you.

Being Levi’s personal assistant basically meant being Eren’s as well. Regardless of just how handsome those two were, it wouldn’t make up for the absolute hell they rained down on you with the way they overloaded you with work.

Maybe you can blame Floch for trying to kiss up to Levi right now. It was pathetic, really. The bumbling idiot’s rambles were only irritating Levi and pissing Eren off which meant four glasses of wine for you to be able to deal with their moods.

Then Eren’s eyes locked onto your frame from across the floor. You wanted to narrow your eyes in distaste, to scoff and turn away, to pretend you didn’t see him—but it was hard to when his towering frame looked so unfairly good in that black tux. That was another thing that wasn’t fair when it came to the way Levi and Eren treated you; the sharp gazes that promised unbearable pleasure every time they laid their eyes upon you were inappropriate. You should be more upset, angrier at the way they looked at you with such possessive fervent hunger within their eyes. But in the end, it only served to burn embers deep within the core of your stomach.

You’ve spent countless nights alone in your bed getting off at the memory of those looks, off at the memory of Levi and Eren. It just wasn’t fair.

If there was a better time to say eat the rich, it would be now.

Before you could comprehend the slight gasps of the awestruck women beside you, Levi and Eren had walked across the floor standing right in front of you, ready to give you a migraine that would last a century.

“, Well don’t you look pleasant, this evening.” Levi snarked, your last name pouring out of his mouth like sweet, warmed honey, dripping down the octave of his voice that continued to lower as he spoke to you. “Usually you look like you’re contemplating murdering us, brat.”

Bristling immediately, you pursed your lips in a tight smile and tried to calm down. He always just got under your skin so quickly.

“Mr. Ackerman, I’d rather not discuss such grim topics in the middle of a party.” You brought the glass up to your lips again, not once breaking eye contact with that gun-metal gaze and took a sip. “Let’s keep that within work hours.”

Eren’s sudden airy laugh broke your staring contest with Levi, garnering attention from both you and the ebony haired man in front of you.

“Now that’s the bite we remember,” Eren murmured, smile softening and eyes glazing over with something more primal. “I was almost worried the atmosphere was affecting your mood.”

“You’re rather confident if you think that the atmosphere you two provide with your money has any effect on what my mood is.” You quipped back, feeling heat rise to your cheeks at the tone.

“Oh, we’re positive that we can provide an entertaining atmosphere, definitely something that’ll keep you…coming back for more,” Levi said, tone husky and guttural feeding the warmth in your stomach a little more. You swallowed thickly, ignoring their desire filled expressions and reached down to tug at the bottom of your dress, hoping to cover a little more of your thighs and hide the any evidence of the arousal that came when you were in contact with the two.

Eren’s hair, though pulled back into a slightly messy bun, still had a few strands peak out of the tie, framing his already symmetrical face and bringing out his prominent features. He ran a hand through those locks, pushing them back as he looked down at you like some sort of animal ready to strike down on its prey.

Levi was no different, more reserved than Eren, but his eyes held a deep promise of toe-curling ecstasy.

You hated those two.

Finishing your glass of wine as quickly as you could, you placed the empty cup on a passing waiter’s tray, fumbling with a hasty response and trying your damned best to get the fuck out of there. “Well, this was a lovely conversation, but I really should head back home for the night. I wouldn’t want to be late to work because of—”

“Because of us.” Levi cut off. You pursed your lips at the implication behind his words and slowly nodded, unable to deny them.

“Yes, because of you two.” You cleared your throat and tightened your grip on your clutch. “Now, if you’ll excuse me—”

“Let us drop you off.” Eren offered, smiling almost childishly, throwing you off completely from the tension that had been building up between you three. “It wouldn’t be right to just let you take a cab on your own. And it seems like you had a little too much to drink so driving is out of the question.”

Alone. Inside of a car. With Eren and Levi. You were slightly tipsy, but you also weren’t stupid.

“No, I couldn’t impose—”

“You’re not imposing, brat.” Levi tutted out, digging through his jacket pocket for his keys before tossing them at Eren who caught them easily. “Come on. We’re driving you home.”

Eren sent another smile your way before gently laying a hand on the small of your back, the large encompassing palm warming the bare skin there but not at all inching any lower as to respect your boundaries. Him and Levi led you out before you could utter another word of protest and your mind was reeling with so many possibilities of just where this drive could end up.

No, you stated sternly in your mind, chastising yourself for your indecent thoughts. You are not sleeping with the boss and the boss’s protégé. Or one. Or the other. Or—why has god forsaken me.

You wanted to throw a tantrum at the fact that two delectable pieces of meat were hanging right there, right in front of you, but morally you understood that wouldn’t be right at all.

Accepting your fate, you decided to just be pressed against the side door in the back seat of the car for the entire ride, hoping to avoid any inappropriate interaction with the two. As you walked between them outside into the slightly chilly night air, you saw Floch standing by the drink table, looking absolutely furious as if he was trying to bore holes into your very innocent skull.

Hiding a smirk, you straightened your back and walked towards the black lavish vehicle, feeling much better from seeing Floch’s annoying little gerbil face scrunch up in envy.

Oh yeah, that was nice.

Rather chivalrously, Eren opened the back door for you, sending you another cute smile—damn him—before shutting it and stepping to the driver’s seat. You let out a small breath of relief. Good, this way Levi and Eren can sit in the front and you would be content, unbothered and definitely not sexually frustrated in the back.

But then the sound of the door on your other side closing was heard and you turned to see Levi right next to you instead of in the passenger’s side like he should have been.

“Um, sir.” You inhaled shakily. “I’ll be alright in the back alone, you don’t need to sit beside me—”

“Oh, I don’t ever remembering doing something I didn’t want to.” Levi hummed back sarcastically, raising an arched brow at you cockily. If you hadn’t found the look to be so attractive, you would have shoved his face in the car seat in front of you.

Saying nothing back, you sat still, hand curled in your lap and knees tucked together as you watched Eren start the car and begin driving to your destination.

It was almost too quiet, only Eren’s off tune humming filling the tense heavy air while you tried to ignore Levi’s body heat radiating off to your side. Ignore him, ignore him, ignore him—you continued to chant that mantra in your head, thinking of anything but the fact that Levi’s hands were laying so close to your bare thighs. The scent of heady, almost sweet black tea touched the tips of your taste buds, the aroma of Levi’s cologne so strong it was enveloping more than one of your senses and it was addicting.

No, you scolded yourself immediately, biting hard on your bottom lip as you clutched the ends of your dress unforgivingly. Do not go there.

Unfortunately, because you were chewing so harshly onto the abused appendage, the sudden pothole that Eren ran through caused you to jump and bite down on your lip harder than before making you gasp in pain. You let the plush, swollen skin fall out from between your teeth, touching it tenderly and wincing in pain.

“You fucking idiot.” Levi hissed towards Eren, grabbing your waist seeing as you had also unintentionally leaned onto him at the same time. “Watch where you’re fucking driving!”

“Hey, don’t get mad at me! Get mad at city funding!”

You giggled at Eren’s indignant remark, not minding the soothing rubs of Levi’s surprisingly large hands that grazed your back. “I’m okay.” You sighed out. “Definitely city funding’s fault.”

Eren shot you an apologetic smile through the rear view mirror before looking back at the road and driving much slower than before.

“Here let me see,” Levi murmured your name softly, uncharacteristically gentler than you thought was possible, and pinched your chin between his thumb and index finger. He turned your face towards him, nose only inches away from your own but not at all seeming to mind it as he ran his calloused thumb across the bruised skin of your bottom lip.

“You shouldn’t be biting on it.” Levi mumbled, voice low and filled with something you couldn’t describe. His eyes trailed back up to lock with your own and you held your breath, those silver irises always muddling your brain and turning your head into mush. “Look how red it is.”

“I-It’s fine—” You gasped as Levi practically yanked you onto his lap, your knees resting on either side of his waist. “Mr. Ackerman!” You yelled affronted, blush painting your skin as his breath fanned the sides of your neck making you tremble in unprecedented delight.

“I do what I want,” Levi answered back haughtily, pupils blown out as he watched your lips part with heavy breaths. You squirmed on his lap, trying to simultaneously get away from his ministrations as well as provide friction to your slick cunt.

“Mr. Ackerman we can’t.” You whined out, rather embarrassingly loud as Levi began to lay wet open mouthed, strategic, kisses onto the supple skin of your exposed neck.

“I don’t tend to take orders really well,” He sneered huskily, your last name added with the formal ‘Ms.’ prefix making your already racing heartbeat against your chest. He pushed the edges of your dress past your hips, exposing your black lace panties that were damp with arousal.

The alcohol must be getting to you because this can’t be okay.

His thumbs traced the edges of you’re the lace frills that your panties had adorned on them—they were cheap and cute from Burlington. You had no idea that anyone, let alone your boss would be seeing you in them. But here you are. You were really thanking your past self for thinking of you now.

“Do you want me to make you feel good?” Levi asked, teasing the edges of your inner thighs but never reaching that one place, making your pussy throb in need. “Answer me,”

“Yes,” You choked out desperately, moving your hips in slow deliberate circles, grinding your wet heat onto his slacks, dampening them with your slick. You were so shameless, but it didn’t seem like Levi minded. In fact, judging by the cruel smirk on his face, he was having the time of his life.

“Beg.”

You stopped immediately, eyes widened as you looked down at Levi to see if there were any signs of him joking anywhere. But he only stared back at you, stern and unmoving, hands slowly inching away from where you needed him most. You could feel your eyes dampen in embarrassment and desperation, a tiny mewl escaping your lips as you tried to grab his hands and bring them back. But his strength was unmatched, arms unmoving even with your insistent budging.

“You heard him, baby,” Eren’s heavy voice sending shivers down your spine. “Beg.” The command wasn’t any less powerful even though you couldn’t see him, and you let out a whimper, grinding your hips in slow circles, hoping to entice Levi into taking action.

“P-Please,” You gasped out, face heating up at the admission. All this time you had sworn you would never bow down to money or reputation, but this kind of power was something that Levi and Eren were born with—you were sure of it. “Please, touch me.”

“Touch you where?” Levi’s hands moved back to cup your aching folds, making you gasp and thrust your hips into the touch. “Tell me.”

“Fuck—Levi, please just—make me cum with your fingers, touch my cunt please.” You sobbed, pressing your lips together at the humiliation and arousal that came with submitting to such a man.

“Good girl.” Levi husked out appraisingly, finally, finally, pulling the fabric of your panties aside and pushing his thumb to rub up against your folds towards your clit, rubbing the throbbing area with slow deliberate pressure. You moaned, the sounds coming out of you so wanton and erotic, you almost couldn’t believe that they came out of you. Your eyes fluttered shut at the pleasure of Levi’s skilled fingers, pressing in and out of you, rubbing your damp walls and eliciting more of your slick out of you, dampening your inner thighs with the obscene liquid.

Each heavy thrust, each beckoning motion that he did inside of you, only served to abuse that one spot, making you see stars behind your eyelids.

“Yeah,” You moaned out, leaning your forehead against his as he continued to play with your soaked pussy. “That’s so…ah…good—!” You cut yourself off, a sudden shriek spilling from your lips as Levi curled his fingers, pressing hard against your bundle of nerves while pressing his wet thumb against your abused clit. It was electrifying, the heat boiling from your legs, up to your stomach and straight to your head making you unable to think properly let alone comprehend the salacious praises that you cried out towards Levi.

You wanted to rip away from that feeling. It was so terrifying the way that sharp coil tightened your insides and tore you apart with each push and pull of Levi’s skilled hands. It wasn’t fair. You had never reached the brink so quickly with someone before but within seconds you were putty in Levi’s hands.

“Look at me,” Levi ordered, sharply using your name in his command and using his free hand to pull your face towards him. “Look at me when you cum.”

You must have made such a sight. Debauched and ruined at the hands of your boss. But you couldn’t say you minded as one final purposeful shove of his fingers going knuckle deep inside of you sent you over the edge and into euphoria.

Your thighs quacked in overstimulation as you tried to muffle a scream by crashing your lips against Levi’s who met your desperation with his own starved mouth. The messy kiss helped ease your orgasm and ride the pleasurable waves down to a dwindling content buzz.

Pulling out his fingers with an almost sickening squelch, Levi eyed them with disgust mixed with a bit of arousal, before moving them towards your lips. He pried your lips open with his slick covered fingers, making you taste your own essence, shoving them inside your mouth unforgivingly. You shuddered at the strong taste but made no effort to disobey his unspoken orders, licking each appendage clean with your tongue.

“If you think we’re done with you, you got another thing coming.” Levi growled darkly, groping and massaging your thigh while trailing his fingers out of your mouth down your chin, creating a thin line of saliva mixed with come down your jaw.

“By the way,” Eren turned in his seat, facing both you and Levi with a sharp, toothy smirk. “We’re here. It’s my turn.”

Judging by the look on Eren’s face, the night was far from over.

#smut #reader #levi x reader #Levi Ackerman x reader #Levi x You #Levi Ackerman x You #eren jaeger #eren x you #eren jaeger x reader #Attack on Titan #Eren x Reader x Levi #Business Au #fanfic #aot fanfiction #eren jaeger fanfic #eren fanfiction #levi fanfiction #levi ackerman fanfiction

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bosspigeon · 3 years

Text

hurts like hope

Pairing: M!Detective/Mason Word Count: 3100 Summary: Detective Juniper Fenn tries to figure out just what the limit on his incorrigible hope is, and when he’ll finally be able to stomp it out.

Hello I Am Here With More Self-Indulgent Character Study Nonsense. For $8000 a month, I Will Stop.

CW for vague descriptions/references to sex

Nothing has ever hurt Juni like hope has.

He wouldn’t call himself an optimist by any means. He’d probably settle on “optimistic pessimist” if pressed, which means always expecting the worst, because at least then he’s either right or pleasantly surprised.

But in spite of that philosophy, there’s a stupid, naive part of him that won’t die, no matter how much it’s beaten down—his dumb, desperate hope.

He hoped doing the best he could in school, never getting into trouble, never arguing with Mum or making her feel guilty for leaving him behind would show her he was good enough to acknowledge in more than impersonal letters and distracted phone calls on major occasions.

He was always disappointed.

He hoped working a job he didn’t care about, that didn’t suit someone as soft-hearted and anxious as he was, would make him feel closer to the memory of his father, would make him feel like he was doing something good enough to make people care about him like they did Dad.

Disappointed again.

He hoped letting Bobby walk all over him, use him, and placate him with saccharine-sweet murmurs of “Oh, angel, you’re so good to me” would make him see Juni as more than just a convenience, a doormat and a stepping stone to bigger, better things that would always matter more than Juni’s ever mattered to anyone.

The repetition got exhausting, after a while.

When he meets Mason, he thinks he’s given up on hoping. At that point, he just wants something for himself. He wants to be selfish. He wants to be wanted, even if it’s just for a tumble or two. Even if it’s just because his stupid, special blood suddenly means he’s catnip for supernaturals. Even if it doesn’t mean anything.

I’m doing this for me, he tells himself when Mason’s touching him for the first time, when strong, calloused hands are dancing up his sides, and he tries to shrink away, suck in his gut, and Mason squeezes with a pleased little growl that makes Juni whimper. I’m doing something for me, for once in my fucking life.

The lights are off. They crashed through the door without turning anything on, but Juni knows Mason can see him just fine anyway, and he wants to squirm, wants to hide, but Mason distracts him with a very thorough kiss, his touches gentle until Juni responds positively, his sharp eyes picking him apart, like figuring out what the detective likes is the only assignment that’s ever mattered.

And then Mason calls him stunning, and he’s done for.

He’s sure that’ll be it. One and done, and Mason will forget all about the messy, bumbling detective now that he’s whet his appetite. It hurts to think about, it hurts to hope, so he doesn’t.

(That’s a lie. He does. He always does, because he’s stupid.)

He tries to bury the hope like he’s done before, but it’s no use. Every time Mason sits as close to him as possible without physically touching him, every time he gives him one of those long, smoky looks, every time he puts out a cigarette when Juni asks or just doesn’t light one at all, every time he touches Juni with a gentleness that feels almost reverent, like Juni is something worth treating carefully, it fights back harder, hopes louder. In just a few months, the vampire’s got Detective Juniper Fenn’s fragile little heart on a string, and he doesn’t seem to know it.

If he did, would he even care?

Juni gets his answer before long.

He’s only seen me naked.

He told himself he wouldn’t hope. He wasn’t hoping. He knows better. He should know better.

But he hoped, and it hurt, and it’s exactly what he deserves, isn’t it? Once bitten, twice shy, and all that, but Juni’s been bitten so many times, and he never shies enough for it to matter. He walks right on into the hurt with open arms, like a moth to a flame, to a fucking bug zapper, and just licks his wounds until the next flame comes along to reduce him to ash all over again.

When will he learn?

If nothing else, he’s resilient. It’s one of the few things he’s got going for him. He knows how to roll with the punches and pretend everything’s fine, because he’s been doing it since he was old enough to know crying for his Mum wouldn’t do anything but give him a headache. So he runs out of Haley’s in tears—she’s known him since school, so she knows he’s a crybaby and won’t tell a soul—but at least he knows how to calm himself down before he walks into the station. He plasters on a smile, cracks a few jokes, and everything’s fine and dandy.

And then Juni’s fucking ceiling explodes and his room floods, because nothing can go right in his life. At least it wasn’t some supernatural attack this time, he supposes. Small mercies.

Of course, it’s got to be Mason who greets him, when he’s soaked to the skin and covered in plaster, and still recovering from seeing Mr. Yu naked.

And Mason apologizes.

The hope he thought had finally, finally died the slow, painful death it deserved springs back to life in his chest like one of those inflatable clown punching bags. He wants to be annoyed, because an apology doesn’t mean a whole hell of a lot if you don’t even know why you’re apologizing, and it feels more like Mason’s blaming Juni for having feelings (stupid, stupid feelings) rather than actually taking accountability for causing hurt, but he’s an idiot, so of course he reaches out, takes Mason’s hand, and asks the dumbest question he’s asked in his life. And he still has to Google literally every odd sound his car makes, because the poor thing is held together with duct tape and dreams at this point.

“What does this mean for us?”

And he’s blown off again, and when the hope shrivels up this time, he wants to grind it into the dirt with his heel, salt the earth so nothing grows there again, because really, when is he going to fucking learn? He wonders how Mum just turns off her feelings, and if that sort of thing can be taught. He wonders if she’d make the time to teach him, now that she’s “trying.”

He wonders if Dad was as much of a raw nerve of a person as he is, but it’s not as if he can ask anyone about it.

"You two… One of you is going to have to make the big leap, and he has no idea how."

Felix has never been shy about needling Juni about his ridiculous and obvious whatever-it-is with Mason (calling it a crush seems as childish as it is reductive, since he doubts it can be called a crush anymore once you’ve, uh, had sex) but this time it comes out... Softer. Gentler. Definitely annoyed, groaned out with a hearty eye roll, as if the two of them are personally responsible for all of Felix’s woes, but still... kind. Kinder than he expected, and that is enough to throw him off for Felix to leave him behind before he can even shake him and ask him what the hell that’s supposed to even mean.

No idea how?

Mason’s confusion when he apologized strikes a new chord, suddenly. Mason doesn’t know how he fucked up, just that he did. In a normal circumstance, with a normal guy, Juni would assume he was just being a dick. Of course he didn’t do anything he saw as wrong, he’d just be apologizing to get back into Juni’s good graces—and also his pants. It was certainly Bobby’s MO.

But these aren’t normal circumstances, are they? And Mason’s not a normal guy.

Juni doesn’t want to think about what he saw in the mirror at the carnival, but if he were any good at not thinking about things that upset him, he wouldn’t be in this mess. He squeezes his eyes closed and shakes his head, trying to clear it of the splashes of red, of the screaming, and he swallows until he can calm himself down.

At least he can distract himself with drumming up signatures for the blood drive. He thinks he can. But Mason is there, and he’s distracting, aloof and unamused and annoyingly gorgeous, and Juniper Fenn never professed to be a terribly strong man. There’s a gut-deep urge that draws him to the vampire, an itch under Juni’s skin to get close, poke at that sneering facade and see the softer bits underneath.

Juni’s seen so many of those softer bits, far more than he thought he could ever get when he tumbled into bed with Mason for the first time. He honestly expected to be ignored entirely once he gave him what he was after in the first place, but instead he was given little fragments of something more, and sentimental idiot he is, he’s been hoarding them and trying to cobble together something from the scraps he’s been given. So he drifts closer, pulled helplessly into Mason’s orbit, and he doesn’t even know what to say, so he just laughs awkwardly and needles Mason about not helping.

Which… works, somehow?

It doesn’t exactly go where he’s expecting it to go, conversation-wise, and he’s left reeling with Mason’s stark, shameless honesty. There’s something that warms him, knowing that the vampire seems to, if nothing else, respect him, in his own way? That anyone, much less someone as difficult to impress as Mason, thinks he’s good enough? Not just good enough, but ‘better than pretty much anyone’ he knows? Juni’s known Mason long enough at this point to understand some things about him, and one of the most obvious is how loyal he is. Loyalty is everything to Mason, and he’s fiercely protective of those that have earned it.

Juni’s fingers are slack enough with surprise that Mason can take the board from him and wander off to frighten the general populace into signing up for the blood drive, and Juni is left with his heart fluttering in a very damning way.

Don’t be an idiot, he tells himself fiercely, shaking his head as if that will rid himself of the pointlessly painful affliction he’s tried for years to shrug off. Just because he likes you as a person doesn’t mean he wants anything else with you.

Whatever weirdness still lingers between the two of them, Unit Bravo’s company makes what would have been a really boring, lonely task actually pretty fun, between Felix dancing around and chatting happily at any citizen of Wayhaven drawn into his orbit, Adam and Nate working together like a well-oiled machine to collect and transfer signatures, and Mason looking genuinely confused whenever someone is brave enough to weather his thunderous expression for the chance to chat with him, however briefly.

It’s nice to be with them all, and their comfortable rapport and playful banter makes it surprisingly easy for Juni to brush his confusing feelings aside and just be, for a while. At least until the banter halts sharply, and every eye is looking over his shoulder. “Hello, angel.”

Juni closes his eyes and stiffens, jaw clenching as a shudder ripples through him. No, no, no, not him. Not today.

Juni's relationship with Bobby was never terribly comfortable, but he’s always been something of a boiling frog cautionary tale. Bobby is not the sort of person who ever turns off the persona. He was rarely ever just Bobby, and Juni knows that hasn't really changed. While they dated, even when they were dumb kids, Juni was always stuck in the shadow cast by someone so desperate to stand in a spotlight they stepped on everyone they claimed to love in order to feel even a shred of that artificial warmth. Juni supposes he wasn’t much different, only the artificial warmth he craved came from Bobby.

He has no idea why Bobby is still so hung up on him. Juni always got the feeling he was never more than the road of least resistance to Bobby. He was easy. Low-maintenance. Didn’t kick up a fuss over being talked over and ignored, because not only was he used to that sort of thing, he was just so grateful to be anyone’s anything, he’d let the man get away with murder just to keep that illusion of happiness.

“What the hell did you just call him?” Mason snarls, stalking to Juni’s side. Juni’s trying to keep calm, trying not to turn into a complete disaster of a person under the sudden stress, but his fluttering awareness of the vampire is crashing into his shrieking fear of confrontation and turning into a messy cocktail that he knows all four vampires can sense. Vaguely, and a little frantically, he wonders if he just smells like anxiety all the time, if anxiety has a smell. It probably does.

“I… always call him that.”

He does, always has, and back when Juni was blindly obsessed with everything he pretended Bobby was, he convinced himself it was cute. Looking back, it always felt sleazy and fake, but Juni’s a master of nothing more than he’s a master of ignoring his own discomfort.

“Not anymore you don’t.” Mason takes another step forward, and for a moment Juni’s terrified he’s going to start a goddamned brawl in the middle of the square. There’s a mean little part of him that wouldn’t completely hate that, but thankfully that’s outweighed by the sensible part that knows he’d be the one stuck dealing with the aftermath. He’s reaching out to try and stop Mason from escalating things further when Adam, thankfully, intercedes.

And then Mason returns to Juni’s side, and a strong arm slips around his waist and hauls him close. His heartbeat goes crazy, and he can only be grateful that none of Unit Bravo are telepathic, because he’s sure his brain is making godawful dial-up noises. It’s a struggle to maintain politeness, but he does his best. Bobby, at least, seems to realize now is not a good time to try and pick at Juni’s defenses, with four government agents backing him up, one of whom has a possessive arm looped pointedly around him.

"Just because he's being polite, doesn't mean he wants you here.” Well, Mason’s greatest skill is reading people, and he’s probably figured out that Juni’s go-to defense mechanism is to pretend everything is fine and dandy and smile, smile, smile no matter what. Still, his protectiveness (if that’s what it is?) makes Juni’s stomach squirm. Mason’s almost baring his teeth at Bobby, who hopefully will not notice that his canines are a bit sharper than a normal human’s should be. “So piss off.”

Thankfully, Bobby is the sort of person who doesn’t like to start fights he’s not sure he can win, so he leaves with, of course, a sleazy parting shot that makes Juni shudder. He really, really hopes Bobby doesn’t find him when he’s alone. He’s got enough mental stress on his plate at the moment, thank you very much, Bobert.

He tries not to make a sad little noise when Adam ushers them back to work, which means Mason pulls away from him, but he’s not sure how successful he is, given the long look he gets from those smoky grey eyes. He throws himself into the work of cleanup to avoid anymore uncomfortable conversations, because he thinks he’s exceeded his quota for the day.

Of course, he thinks that, but he never knows when to quit, and he winds up sidling up to Mason again, fueled, once again, by hope.

He wants to smack himself with a rolled-up newspaper.

What’s the definition of madness, again? Doing the same thing over and over and expecting a different result? He wonders if Mum still has his old therapist on retainer. He bets she’d have a field day with whatever the hell he’s doing now. She’d probably be able to retire with the royalties from a paper picking apart his myriad neuroses and subtle self-destructive tendencies. Maybe he should ring her. Someone deserves to profit from his ridiculous inability to take a bloody hint, and it’s certainly not going to be him.

But, God, Mason’s hands are on him, tugging him in, and he’s helpless under that stormy stare, he had not a chance in hell to resist, not when Mason is being soft, and open, and what the hell does any of this mean?

Juni sometimes wishes he’d resisted when Mason first started teasing him, turned him down, tried to keep things professional and friendly rather than stumbling all over himself at the first sign of interest. He wouldn’t mind at all if Mason just wanted to be friends, because at least then he could still be close, still bask in the steadfast loyalty and companionship of a man who would take a bullet for any one of his team—his family—and Juni could keep his heart intact. But he knows without a doubt he never stood a chance. So he sinks into the attention, leaning into it like a flower towards the sun, bares his soft throat and softer heart and hopes against hope he won’t be torn open and left to bleed.

It’s never gone well for him before, but optimistic pessimism and all that. He’ll either get exactly what he expects and deal with the painful consequences like he always has, plastering on a smile until he can go cry alone and listen to sad music to remember how to face the world again, or the battered, bruised hope that won’t fucking die will finally, finally be rewarded.

Mason’s smile when Juni pitifully asks “That’s it?” leaves him breathless and dizzy in a way just a smile has no right to, but it’s so warm, so open and sweet, it blindsides Juni when he’s already weak. He’s completely helpless. Absolutely done for. Nate’s disapproval is hardly a blip on the embarrassment radar, because Juni is floating.

And, as if Mason isn’t satisfied with just completely rendering him a puddle, he hops off the table with a quick peck on the cheek and saunters off to clean up, leaving Juni’s scrambled thoughts to chase themselves around in a circle. It was just a chaste little kiss. It shouldn’t even mean anything.

Of course, to Juni, it means everything.

For once, just once, without mentally whacking himself with a broom, Juni tentatively allows himself to hope.

#the wayhaven chronicles #specialist agent mason #specialist agent m #twc fanfic #twc detective #pidge writes #oc: juniper fenn #HERE IT GOES HERE IT GOES AGAIN #this one technically comes before the other one ive posted #i just posted that one first bc of the way things appear on tumblr #so you hit this one first and then that one #that makes sense right?#hhhhhh anyway here's some more character study nonsense for juni #bc thats where im at i guess #its all v long and disjointed but thats what my brain is doing so uh #¯\_ (ツ)_/¯

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starkrogerrs · 4 years

Text

The Darkest Touch

@oluka possessed me in spirit and wrote this. it’s 4450 words of literal p*rn. enjoy.

[Explicit content warning]

Steve shuddered as a sudden, frigid wind blew up the hill. He drew his arms closer around himself, taking in a deep breath. He felt disconnected from any life; he couldn’t see anything for miles around him— all vision blanketed by a thick fog. Another draft of wind made his eyes water. Atleast, he blamed the wind for it.

He’d put on a brave face for his crying mother, as he said his goodbyes — a final acceptance of a fate that was handed to him by the great Oracle himself. Now, he didn’t feel as valiant.

“The virgin is destined for no mortal lover. His future husband awaits him on the top of the largest hill. He is a monster whom neither gods nor men can resist."

The oracle’s words still rang as clear as day in Steve’s ears.

He gazed into the distance as the sky darkened. Maybe the demon would not be coming, he thought to himself and his heart soared. Maybe the oracle was wrong.

Steve could hardly bear the thought of having to give up all of his freedom — to becoming a prisoner to a monster, of all things.

A dull ache burned in his chest and he let out a sob. He felt a torrent of emotions — fear, anticipation and worst of all, hot, burning anger. His only crime had been that his allure rivalled the gods’; something he had no control over and yet was being punished for. Steve let out a growl and punched the slab of granite beside him as the world grew blurry from his tears.

Before long, the sky turned obsidian and Steve felt his eyes grow heavy. He leaned against the cool stone, feeling the exhaustion take over and fell asleep.

When he woke up, Steve was no longer on the hill. His body sunk into the silken mattress as he blinked his eyes open. The room was stunning — marble furnished and glistening in the sunlight that poured in through the high windows.

Was this the lair of the beast he was to wed?

It certainly didn’t look like one. The chamber itself was thrice as big as Steve’s own home.

He marveled in awe as he slid out of the giant bed and walked outside which led into a courtyard of sorts. The capitals of the giant columns were intricate, glinting scarlet and golden as Steve gazed on, mesmerized. The walls were adorned with carvings and paintings representing fables and stories he’d heard as a child.

“All that you see is yours,” a voice called suddenly and Steve startled. He looked all around him, but could not spot the source.

“Who are you?” he called, fear seizing him. Would he finally see the monster himself?

“I am yours as well,” said the voice. It seemed to be coming from all around him.

“Feel free to explore as you like, retire to your room when you please and dine to your heart’s content.”

“But-”

“My, and by extension now your, helpers, will be happy to serve you.”

“A feast has been laid out for you in the adjoining hall, my lord,” came another voice which Steve assumed was the aforementioned helper's. Again, he could not see anybody.

Steve was still reeling from what had just happened as the invisible attendant guided him to the hall. There, true to what the monster had said, lay a feast fit for the gods. A long table stood in the middle, covered with several mouth-watering delicacies and the sweetest wines. As he took his seat, invisible performers burst into a song; filling his ears with a sweet symphony.

Steve felt strangely content as he settled into the bath laid out for him. While he was on the hill, he had expected the worst. Instead, he found himself at a retreat fit for a god. Perhaps this was preparation for when he would see the demon himself. The thought diminished his spirits, a little.

He spent hours staring at the sculptures that stood in the garden, and then moved to exploring the palace; the marble feeling colder and colder under his feet as night settled in.

Stars began their ascent into the sky and Steve had yet to see his husband.

An attendant guided him towards a room then, which Steve found strange. He asked the voice why he was there, but no reply came. He was all alone in the hauntingly cold quarters. This room was just as big as Steve's, but it was not made for light. It was shrouded in darkness, save for the little that poured in through the open door, where Steve stood.

Steve wandered in cautiously as his eyes adjusted to the darkness. A single, large, canopied-bed stood in the middle of the room, if there was other furniture, Steve could not see it.

Goosebumps erupted on his arms as he felt sudden movement behind him and just as he turned, the door shut. It sealed all the light behind it, throwing the room into pitch blackness.

Steve rushed to the door, scrambling for the handle and pushed. But the door refused to budge.

"You wish to leave?"

Steve startled for the second time that day. His heart began to pound inside his chest. This was it, he would finally meet his fate.

"Don't be afraid, Steve," the voice called, and for the first time Steve noticed how cool and honey-like it was.

"I can't see you," Steve said, rather foolishly.

The voice sighed. Steve heard dull footsteps followed by something scraping against the floor.

"There isn't a mortal prettier than you," the voice noted and Steve flushed in spite of himself.

"I wish I could say the same about you," Steve said and knew that his words were scathing.

The voice only laughed. "Trust me, gorgeous. It is in your best interest that you don't see me."

There was a sudden draft and Steve felt something brush against him. What grotesque monster was he facing that he wasn’t to lay eyes on him?

"And why is that?" Steve breathed, knowing that the monster — his fated consort — was standing very close. He backed himself further up against the door, wishing it would open.

The creature ignored him.

"Undress for me," he ordered and Steve froze, his grip on the handle tightening.

"Steve."

The tone made it clear that he didn't really have a choice except to listen. He willed himself to stay calm as he slowly unclasped his chiton, letting it pool around his belt, leaving his chest bare.

He heard the creature's breathing deepen, and Steve felt his skin prickle.

"All off," the voice commanded urgently, and Steve felt his knees give out a little under him.

He tugged at the belt, letting the chiton slip from his skin and down to the floor, leaving him nude and stripped in front of the monster.

"So beautiful," the creature said, voice laced with lust. Steve felt his heart race at the compliment but his mind felt conflicted. He was talking to a monster who would do as he pleased with him.

"I'm going to touch you now," he said gently, and Steve found it inexplicably hard to move away. It was as if he had no will of his own. As the creature moved closer, he could feel his hot, deep breaths fanning his neck.

Steve waited with bated breath, for the touch. What would his skin feel like?

He shuddered when warm skin touched his unclad hip. The creature’s fingers were calloused enough to drive Steve's thoughts into dirty waters; his touch, light, as if waiting for Steve's permission and Steve gulped.

His heart raced as the demon’s hand trailed upwards to his collarbone coming to rest on his jaw. He could feel his breath on his lips, smelling like warm flour and Steve's heart gave a tiny leap. He felt a pair of lips brush against his own, arousal thrumming low in his stomach; the lips pressed harder, and Steve gave in easy, way too easily.

He groaned as the kiss deepened, his destined husband's hands roaming over his skin in a frenzy. He seemed eager, and as aroused as Steve was which only fueled him further. He felt like he was burning and cold all at once under a lover's touch.

Steve let his own hand reach outwards, coming to rest on smooth, warm skin and the creature stiffened against his lips.

There was a sudden flutter, followed by a gust of wind and Steve opened his eyes to find the creature gone, leaving the door swinging in his wake.

Steve spent the entirety of next day in his chamber mostly, recalling events from last night.

His husband hadn't felt inhuman, even though the oracle had said he was; His lips — soft as silk, hands — calloused but gentle felt all too human.

How easily Steve had let go of himself, letting his mind succumb to promises of pleasure. And yet, he found himself wondering where the night would've taken them if he hadn't touched him...

Was he not to touch him? How was he to make love to his husband if he was not allowed to touch him, to feel their skins against each other as they moved in passion?

"The lord has asked you to wait for him in the dark chamber as before, sire," called an invisible servant and Steve shook himself out of his thoughts.

The sun had long set and the moon shone brightly, dimming only when an occasional cloud passed over. Sliding off the alcove, he padded towards the room half reluctantly.

He seated himself on the bed this time, it's unparalleled softness laxing. He wished he could snuggle into it and wake up to find that this was all but a dream. And yet, he was conflicted with his own mind — the creature’s kiss alone had swept him off his feet.

Suddenly, the door shut although Steve had not seen anyone come in.

"You seem to have missed me, beloved," the demon said, in a brazen tone.

Steve said nothing as the man drew closer, his warm breath announcing his proximity.

"I've surely missed you," came a whisper right next to his ear then and his heart jumped, and he felt something wet lick the shell of his ear.

Steve felt an arousal pump through him as he slipped out of his tunic wordlessly, baring himself once more to his invisible lover. His mind seemed to slowly shut off around the creature, as if intoxicated by his seductive charm.

Then he was being kissed again, impossibly heated this time. Steve felt himself growing erect already, as the man's tongue flicked across his lips and then invaded his mouth.

Steve was still squeamish, but the attention to his mouth set his blood on fire. In spite of what had happened last time, Steve reached for the demon again and felt the firmness of his chest, heartbeat throbbing under his fingers. To his surprise, the creature didn't pull away. Instead, closed the distance between them until their chests were pressed together. Steve felt brave, as they continued to nibble each other, sliding his hand down his side, curiosity getting the better of him. His hand curved down the man's bare behind, right down to his thick thighs. Steve tried to picture the man in his head — lean and shapely muscles that fit perfectly into him.

The demon pressed even closer, and Steve gasped as he felt the warm press of his sprung cock against his stomach. He took a shaky breath, as his fated partner moved to his jaw, sucking hard. His moans seemed to only entice him further.

Nothing about his future husband seemed abnormal to him and yet the oracle had said he was a monster. He was truly puzzled.

Steve ran his hands back up the man's ass, squeezing as he went, enjoying the groans that spilled against the crook of his neck. His hands trailed up his back, brushing against something very soft, as if extending from his back — but the creature seized his wrist suddenly, and pulled away.

“Hands off,” he murmured, in between pants and Steve forced a gulp.

Gathering both of his hands, he pinned them against the headboard and Steve felt his cock twitch at the sheer force.

Out of nowhere, he felt something soft and satin-like wrap around his fists and tie them together before they were slammed against the headboard, right above his head.

Steve yanked hard, but the satin restraints seemed to tie him firmly to the bedpost.

"You paint a pretty picture," the creature observed, and Steve felt his body shiver under his gaze. He felt embarrassed and hot, spread out so obscenely before him.

The creature lowered himself onto Steve again, and Steve arched against him, relishing in the warmth that his body provided. His lips sucked at Steve's collarbone, moving lower and lower and Steve felt his entire body grow feverish.

He groaned slow and long as the creature licked down the length of this cock, at a pace that felt like the world was standing. Body tightening as the demon pulled away again, Steve whimpered.

Cold enveloped Steve once more. He whined, needing the creature’s touch. Not before long, he felt a knee wrench his legs apart and pull him lower. His hands stretched against the restraints now, body splayed on the silken sheets as he waited for the creature — man— to have his way with him.

Steve gasped loudly when he felt a finger push inside him suddenly. Slowly at first, the man pulled and pushed, before working in another finger and picking up pace all in one breath and Steve felt like he was going to explode.

Every push lifted him higher and higher, as his body throbbed for release.

"Please," he whimpered, tugging at the darned restraints that wouldn't budge. He was so painfully close.

"My pleasure," came the deep, hoarse reply and with a last, maddening push Steve came all over himself, moaning a string of curses.

"Good boy," the man teased and Steve felt himself flush, although he could barely make sense of anything around him. He felt dizzy still, and blood continued to roar in his ears.

He had hardly recovered from the ecstasy of the last orgasm before he was being turned and pried open again.

"Not done with you yet, darling. Open up."

Steve found himself eagerly obeying the command, despite the fact that his arms had started to hurt above his head. The man pulled Steve's thighs open, draping his legs over Steve's and pressed his length between his hips from behind teasing the hole.

Steve hissed as the man filled him, his walls expanding to take him whole. Deep in his gut something throbbed, and he wriggled against his hips, urging him to move.

He gasped as the man started his pace, pulling out right until the tip and slamming into him again with inhuman force. His fingers dug into Steve's skin as he drove into him, moving faster and Steve squeezed his eyes shut, moans beginning to fall from his lips.

“Faster,” he begged, feeling his walls stretch with each thrust. The violent pleasure built up, as his pace quickened to indescribable speeds.

Each deep jab of his cock felt more violent, and Steve felt himself edging closer to climax once again.

He bucked his hips, as pleasure finally burst forth and he was lost in its surges. His husband pulled him close then, thick arms enveloping him and thrust hard as the bed shook under them.

Steve was beginning to feel light headed, his grip from reality loosening. Just then his lover stilled, grunting hard as his warm seed filled Steve. He felt sweaty and exhausted, but his body thrummed warmly as the man held him close. They fell into the bedding, panting in unison as his lover's erratic trusts came to a still.

"Perfect," Steve heard him whisper and his heart soared with pride.

With a start Steve realised that his fear was long gone, replaced instead with bold curiosity.

"Who are you?" he breathed, attempting to turn but failing.

Steve felt a set of lips press against his shoulder in a chaste kiss.

"All in good time, sweetheart," came the reply and Steve felt his heart flutter. “All in good time.”

Steve couldn’t find the strength to argue.

"What do I call you then?"

"Whatever you wish to. I ask only one thing, that you be here, ready and waiting for me, everyday. Understood?"

Steve found himself nodding at his future husband's words.

"Understood."

"Good," he said and Steve felt his eyes droop, the exhaustion catching up. He didn't even realise that his hands were no longer tied when sleep finally claimed him.

In the morning, as expected, his husband was nowhere to be found. Steve had woken up to find himself bare between the tangled sheets, cheeks flushing as he remembered the events that had transpired last night.

As it were, he felt ashamed to have fallen prey to his husband's allure again. The mere thought of seeing him again filled him with passionate desire and it angered him deeply that he was so weak for him, despite the fact that he was here against his will.

Steve decided to explore the palace more, later that evening, and found himself on a veranda overlooking the gardens. A shallow pool stood in the middle of it, it's shimmering waters calling to Steve. Slipping off his toga he waded in, finding it to be surprisingly warm — a welcome relief for sore muscles. All the while, his eyes searched for his lover, feeling alarmed when anything in the shadows moved. But no one approached him.

As the sun dipped lower and the water grew colder, Steve's heart began to thump with excitement. He decided not to leave the veranda, hoping that his husband would seek him out and be forced to be in the open.

Steve was enjoying the hot water against his skin, when a familiar voice called to him.

"Steve.”

"My lord," Steve called back, mockery evident in his voice.

"Come to me," the voice called again, echoing through the corner shadows. His voice reverberated all around Steve and he felt himself harden at his silken tone, much to his embarrassment.

"Why don't you come to me?" he called back, feeling a chill blossom over his being.

"Don't make me make you, Steve."

The voice seemed annoyed and Steve would be lying if he said he didn’t like it. He didn't budge, however, pressing himself against the wall of the pool.

Suddenly, his eyes went dark — a cloth had descended over his eyes and was tied back. He reached for the blindfold, terrified, but his arms were being pulled and tied behind him too.

"You're stubborn, aren't you? Do I have to teach you to obey?"

Steve said nothing, trying to make out just where his husband was standing.

"Get out of the water," he commanded from somewhere above him. Having no other choice, Steve climbed out, trying his hardest to not slip right back in.

"On your knees and bend over," he said hoarsely, as if overcome by the sight before him.

Steve did as he was told, again, falling to the cool marble floor. His erection was throbbing now, the cool wind of the night doing little to help his case.

Steve gasped sharply as something wet — his lover's tongue — swept over his hole. One flick and Steve was already gone. A split second later the tongue had pushed in and Steve screamed something incoherent. He felt his husband grip his thighs, wrenching them apart and pushing in further.

Steve bucked against his mouth, trying to get close to what he now desperately wanted. But as quickly as it had come, the tongue was gone, leaving Steve open, bare and tingling all over.

"P-please," he gasped, wiggling his ass — needing his touch, something, only to be greeted by the cold, cold breeze.

He couldn't even touch himself — but just then, crack — he shuddered, bucking as his husband's hand struck his butt cheek.

He whimpered, feeling the slap ripple through his very core. He was blinded, pain ebbing through his lower body, knees feeling numb and yet, all he could think was how his lover’s tongue had felt.

"You failed to do the thing I asked." Steve didn’t detect any annoyance in his voice but believed him to be serious. He was still on fire and god, he needed him bad.

"Please," he begged, "I'm s-sorry."

"Louder, sweetheart. I can't hear you," his husband said.

"I'm sorry," Steve croaked, feeling his voice thicken with want. "I need you. I'll be good."

There was deafening silence for a moment, punctuated by the man’s deep breaths.

"Walk in front of me."

The man led him to what Steve believed was the dark chamber. Before he knew it, Steve was being pushed onto the silken bed in no time. He was feeling ravenous, needing his lover's lips on him.

His hands were still tied, eyes blindfolded — although it wasn't necessary since he couldn't see him either way.

His fear was once again turning into thrumming desire, the ache between his legs pulsing.

"Why did you disobey me?" the man asked suddenly, sounding pained and Steve found that his heart did not like this one bit.

"I wished to see you, m-my Lord. I don't care what you look like—" Steve began, earnestly.

"Do you doubt my love for you? Haven't I given you everything you've asked?"

Steve found it hard to argue with him at that, but he burned to know who his lover was. "But—"

"If you saw me you would either despise me or love me. I would rather not risk it. "

Steve said nothing, blinking in the dark. Whatever he said, only made him more questions erupt in his mind. His destined husband seemed anything but a monster, and yet his refusal to reveal himself terrified Steve. What exactly was he hiding?

Sprawled on the bed, he felt his husband lower himself onto him again and he was forced to push his thoughts aside. And then the man was kissing him, hands fondling every dip and peak of Steve's body. His hands moved to grip Steve's ass, kneading and twisting until he was a squirming mess beneath him.

"Steve," the voice said against his lips, feverish and frantic. He seemed to be in a different mood today, his tone sounding less demanding than usual.

Still, Steve waited, breathing heavily, ready to do whatever he was asked.

"I'm going to need you to suck me. Can you do that?"

His tone was firm but calculated and Steve felt his heart tighten with anticipation. He remembered how his lover's cock had felt against his stomach and inside him. He wondered what it looked like, mouth watering at the mere thought.

Steve nodded, and he rose, crawling over him. And then, Steve felt the tip of the shaft against his lips. Wetting his lips, Steve pressed a firm kiss against the side, determined to do his best.

He opened his lips then, and the man pushed in, grunting. He could make out its girth and vague shape as he slowly took him in, savoring the salty taste.

His husband hissed as Steve began to hollow out his cheeks, licking the underside as he went. He began to move against his mouth as Steve blew and sucked at his length, hips twitching erratically.

His husband moaned a string of curses as Steve wrapped his tongue around him and sucked hard and fast. Steve bobbed his head up and down the shaft, building up the friction that elicited grunts from his lover. With a shout the man came, his warm cum coating Steve's throat. And he took everything he had to give, gulping hard.

The man pulled out then, moving to kiss Steve again, hand trailing towards his own cock. Steve gasped as he took his erect cock in his palm, stroking him as he kissed him deeply.

Several climaxes later, Steve found himself drifting, feeling more worn out than he had ever before. His destined husband, however, proved to be insatiable — waking him up in between intervals throughout the night and pleasuring him in ways he had never even heard.

Several days passed, as Steve grew more and impossibly intimate with his husband.

For a while it was perfect, Steve felt the happiest and found that he was falling for his to-be-husband.

Still, doubts lingered in the back of his head. How could he wed someone he would, perhaps, never see? In his heart, Steve knew he loved him, knew that even if his husband happened to be the most grotesque he would love him.

Then, why, it finally dawned, did it matter if he did see him?

That night, Steve found himself being ravaged by his lover again— his hands behind his back, mouth agape with pleasure and eyes squeezed shut.

He was pushed over the edge again, and three times after that, until they both collapsed into each other— in a heap of tangled limbs.

His husband had long removed his restraints, one arm draped across Steve’s form as he slept on. But Steve was wide awake, heart beating wildly against his chest. If he could ever chance a look upon his future husband, it was now.

He hadn’t a minute to waste and ran as fast as he could to his room and back, bringing a lit candle into the dark room.

When the flame finally cast its amber light onto his lover’s sleeping form, his body froze. For, instead of a monstrous demon, his husband was the most ethereal being Steve had ever seen. He was lean and muscly — bronze skin and refined features. Perfect, dark curls fell atop his head, long eyelashes resting gently against his cheekbones. Giant, white-feathered wings sprung from his back, that seemed to shimmer gold and scarlet in the dim candle light.

He knew at once who he was, not a man either, as he had thought, but a god. The son of Aphrodite and a mortal man — Tony, himself. He was so drawn to his allure, despite the fact that he had not been poisoned by one of his mechanical arrows. The longer he gazed at his form the more impossible he found it to resist him.

He drew closer, mesmerised, and in his daze, tripped over his feet. A drop of wax from the candle went plummeting down and landed on his lover’s— the god’s— sleeping face.

His eyes snapped open at once, and Steve staggered back— fearing for his life, once again.

#please let me know how it is sjhfkjsd #stevetony #stony #steve x tony #steve x tony au #stony au #stony smut #stevetony smut #bottom!steve #sub!steve #top!tony #dom!tony #mywriting

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afoolforatook · 3 years

Text

Oh look... another rant about James Ironwood.....

I’ve gotten into this some before but I’ve been thinking about it a lot since Witch (I wrote most of this like that day, but then put off ever really finishing it, but in light of the preview for tomorrow’s ep…….I feel like I need to get this out, so…)

(still not 100% on how I said all of this but I’m making myself finish it even though I’m kinda foggy headed before the ep, so apologies if I missed some poor wording in anything)

So, Fear came on while I was in the shower and… Honestly, I’ve had a bit of a roller coaster with Fear over the past 12 months. I love the song, but something about it didn’t sit right with me at first to be honest, though I wasn’t quite sure what.

It’s a gorgeous song. And the message seems like such a staple, good moral. It’s the whole ‘the greatest thing to fear is fear itself’ idea; that we have to stand strong against fear; fear is the true evil and can cause even the best intentions to go wrong.

But, the thing that always bothers me about those messages, or at least how a lot of people tend to interpret them, is the idea that we should judge a person’s morals ultimately by their reaction to fear. And specifically by them not handling their fear well. The idea that how we act in the face of fear is who we truly are deep down, that being truly ‘good’ means never letting that fear win, and if you do, then you must be weak, or a villain, or selfish, or a coward.

And that has never sat right with me.

(got long so rest under read more)

In a tags rant a while back I got into how, to me, James Ironwood is Qrow’s foil. In the sense of ‘a character who chooses to be kind despite all their pain’.

Qrow is that character people tend to love, who is torn down over and over and still pushes himself to be good and kind, and —that we have seen— he usually wins that battle. He has backsliding moments of course (the entirety of V6 is a good example) but even then, he doesn’t really fall into the deep end as far as letting his pain and fear turn him mean or controlling. He might not be particularly pleasant, he might be listless and blunt or even grouchy, but he still cares and he tries to keep to himself and keep his mood from making him outright mean (aside from hitting Oscar, which I’m not gonna get into here cause that’s a whole thing on its own and this isn’t about Qrow)

But here is James as a foil comes in.

Qrow is the character who is pushed to his breaking point over and over, who hits rock bottom. But he has the support around him to be able to keep getting back up, to keep having the emotional ability to choose to be good, to do the right thing.

James? He doesn’t have that support. He has Winter and the Ops and an entire army under him, but he doesn’t have any real personal support. The closest we’ve ever really seen to him having peers or friends, is the hug with Qrow in V7, and Clover’s comment about trusting him with his life (and calling him James, which we’d just been told is only what his friends call him).

And I don’t mean support as in someone telling him what he’s doing is right, someone backing him up in his decisions, making him feel better.

Qrow’s support that got him back on track? It was Ruby standing her ground and telling him to stop treating them like kids he had to protect; to trust them to be able to do the right thing; to stop putting all the blame and responsibility on himself. It was calling him out on how he was letting his personal struggles affect how he treated and ultimately viewed the kids.

James needs this too. He needs someone he trusts to tell him that he’s wrong, but that he can still try to make it right. (RWBY doesn’t count because, at the time that they stood up to him, he had just found out that Blake and Yang had, in his eyes, betrayed his trust. And for a man who is in a sharp spiral of having all his worst fears and paranoia confirmed, that means they can’t be trusted at all.)

We love the character who pushes and continues to be good and kind through hardship. Who continues to do the right thing with the strength they have left.

But everyone has a true breaking point. A point where they have pushed for so long and tried so hard, but then one thing goes too far and they don’t have the support to lean on, to help them keep fighting. And, despite having tried so hard to do the right thing, even thinking this still is the right thing, they react out of fear and pain.

Ren called out Yang on her fear, and her masking it.

We love the character who stands in the face of their fear, who meets it head on and doesn’t let it rule them. We love the character who gets back up over and over and chooses to keep fighting, their enemies, and their own fear and pain.

But, what if one day, after years and years of fighting and pain and loss and paranoia and hard decisions, what if Yang gave into that fear, even just once? What if any of the kids did? What if they reached their limit and, even without realizing it, made the wrong choice because they were tired and afraid and hurting? And people got hurt because of it? Would that undo all the times they’d been ‘strong’ before? Would they be selfish, villains, cowards? Would they be weak?

This is the problem when we see ‘giving into/reacting out of fear’ as a definite moral indicator. When we say that who you really are deep down is shown by the choices that you make when you’re afraid.

Because it’s not.

And that idea doesn't take into account all the times you’ve fought through that fear before. It doesn’t allow for the inevitability of being pushed too far, or the ability to come back from that breaking point.

Yes fighting that fear, facing it head on, is brave.

But no one, no one, can do that indefinitely, especially when they are doing it alone (emotionally).

Fighting that fear takes a lot of strength, that’s why it’s admirable, why it’s brave. It’s not easy. But pushing yourself over and over, until that strength is completely spent, and then having to face that fear again when you genuinely have nothing left?

That doesn't make you evil or cruel or weak or a coward. It makes you human.

James Ironwood broke. Not because of the machinery that is half his body; not because he doesn't have a heart; not because he’s selfish and thinks he’s infallible; not because he’s obsessed with power and too proud to admit he’s wrong, but because he pushed himself over and over until he had nothing left, and had no one to stop him, no one to snap him out of it.

James Ironwood isn’t a coward. He isn’t just power hungry and unwilling to compromise. He isn’t incapable of compassion. He’s tired (I mean, look at all of V7), traumatized (his comment to Oscar in the vault about seeing things, and multiple other examples), a bit awkward (Penny telling him he was getting better at giving speeches), vulnerable (the hug with Qrow), understanding (telling the kids they didn’t have to stay at fight at the Fall), loyal (flipping his weapon around and refusing to attack when he thought Qrow was attacking him at Beacon). Not to mention still undoubtedly reeling from the pain and trauma of losing his other arm.

He has fought his fear.

Over and over. Until it wore him down completely.

And we’ve seen nothing to make us believe he’s even properly addressed that trauma, let alone had proper time to process it ( and the conversation with the Ops about Tortuga all but confirmed this)

And the thing that I hate? That just really bothers me?

Yes. James is making awful, callous, choices that are costing lives. And he needs to answer for those choices. And he’s doing them because he is absolutely terrified, and he’s let that fear overshadow all other options. That fear has made him paranoid to the point that he trusts no one but himself to do what must be done to try to save anyone he can, even if it means abandoning others he’s meant to protect.

But I hate the attitude I see from far too many people; that his fear, and this inevitable loss to that fear, makes him weak, makes him a villain, a coward. That his reaction to that fear proves that he is just a power hungry dictator. Seeing people wanting to see him be shamed him for it, to laugh at how weak he really is for letting fear control him.

We commend characters who push through trauma. We want representation for those who have fought trauma themselves.

But real life? Actual people struggling with PTSD and paranoia, and just everyday fear?

They’re going to break. They’re going to wake up one day and be too tired to fight it, and if they don’t have the kind of support to help them get back to a place where they can fight, and think clearly, again —they’ll make bad, even hurtful, callous, decisions. Not out of malice or selfishness, but simply because they are afraid and unable to see the full picture clearly.

And the way to help them isn’t to mock them for not being infinitely strong against their fear. It's not to tell them that, by submitting to their fear —no matter how many times they've beat it in the past— they have shown their true colors.

The way to help them is by showing them that, even after their missteps, even IN the deepest part of their fear, they can find that strength again. They can come back and try to make things right.

Fear is the enemy, maybe. But being afraid and not having the unending strength to fight that fear, does not make you an irredeemable villain.

James’ flaw is that he sees himself as the grand hero. Not in the sense that he is infallible or better, but that he thinks it's his responsibility, his duty, it’s something he’s ready to make sacrifices for. And, with Oz gone, and RWBYJNROQ apparently against him, he has to believe that he can do it —he can save people— because if not him, who else can he trust?

And that kind of paranoia, on top of trauma, and unacknowledged fear, is so hard to fight on a good day, let alone after physical trauma, and under extreme stress, and having paranoia be proven right multiple times, triggering past trauma.

People in power are still people, and will still have their own psychological reactions to trauma. Acknowledging that trauma and how it affects their decisions (and the reality of the nuance beyond ‘good’ and ‘evil’) and holding them accountable for their decisions are not mutually exclusive. (I’m not gonna get too into a whole thing about direct ties to real world politics and leaders, because I honestly don’t have the knowledge or energy, but let’s just settle that the fictional circumstances are completely different than real world, and that characters and actions have a narrative meaning and importance that is not how real world people and motivations work. Me saying that Ironwood’s trauma and how it affects his decisions is an important part of his narrative and the theme of trauma in RWBY is not saying that we have to take into account every trauma or psychological motivation behind the actions of real world leaders. )

The fact is that James shouldn't have had so much military power, or at the very least, not such seemingly unchecked control, since at least since the fall of Beacon (likely before as well, but we don’t know how much things changed). The fact that things were able to get so far without another military official of similar authority having input is a flaw in Atlas’ structure (not counting counsel members since it’s been made clear that IW is the military leader).

I don’t in any way say that in a ‘traumatized/mentally ill people can’t ever be trusted with power’ way, but rather, that this is a man who has shown obvious signs of PTSD for years, with no apparent attempts or even opportunities to address and process his trauma, or likely even acknowledge it at all.

Trauma and the lasting effects of it don’t automatically make someone unfit for leadership, but that is only as long as it is being addressed and managed properly, including having other people on the same level as you, so that your judgement alone does not control entire groups and their safety (that applies regardless of mental state but, my point here isn’t to get into complicated, real world accurate government debate)

My point is, I know how hard it is to, day after day, fight back that kind of looming fear and paranoia. How hard it is to tell yourself over and over that it is just that: paranoia. How hard it is to keep doing that, when even one or two things happen to seemingly reinforce that paranoia. Let alone when it’s huge things one after another after another.

I know how exhausting that is, and my circumstances are infinitely less dire and large scale than what James has been facing for the last few years at the very least, likely much longer.

The man broke under the pressure. And I don't fucking blame him. Of course he did.

But he happened to also be in a position of power, in a system that did not have an appropriate distribution of power in place (really not just ‘happened’, because a large part of the stress that fed into this was feeling, and actually being responsible for countless lives, maybe even the entire world.)

James sees himself as a hero. Not in a bragging, overly confident way. But as his duty, his purpose. In that he must be unbreakable, he must be able to protect whoever he can at whatever cost. He has to win, or everything will be lost. It’s not arrogant pride. It’s twisted, tunnel vision, dedication.

So, when everything depends on him, and giving into fear is unacceptable, even acknowledging his own breakdown would mean he failed.

He doesn’t just think he is a hero, he thinks he has to be. But really, he’s just a man. And, anyone who refuses to even admit to their fear, who sees their fear as something to be ashamed and afraid of itself, is eventually going to lose that battle.

And laughing at him for that weakness? Wanting to rub it in his face just how scared he really is?

Like I get it, It know its fandom and we can joke. And honestly I'm not really talking about the jokes and memes (though I personally don't like some of them, but I’m not going to just say their inherently awful altogether) or the excitement to see the drama and action of his confrontation with Qrow. I’m not meaning the cathartic tension and messy emotions. I’m meaning people actually wanting to see this all be completely shoved back in his face and watch him be brought down a peg, watch him be humiliated or killed or whatever as a way of him ‘getting what’s coming’. Or just wanting to see him beaten and made to pay for being some power hungry cruel dictator, genuinely reveling in his falling apart.

Like, y’all. It’s not going to be dropping him down a peg, or destroying some power grab. He is literally at rock bottom, backed into a corner.

It’s just honestly very disturbing seeing people so ready to revel in the complete breakdown and possible demise of a (disabled) character with obvious and intentional signs of PTSD, who had previously always been shown to be a good, if somewhat short-sighted or misguided, person.

And think about it, if you were dealing with that kind of overwhelming fear; if you were trying to keep fighting it off, and you saw someone having it shoved in their face just how scared they were, and how much damage that had caused, would you be willing to admit your fear?

Or would you become even more afraid of not being strong enough and giving in to it.

It's all cyclical. You’re afraid. You’re afraid of giving into that fear. You’re afraid of letting people down, of being hated, of being wrong, of hurting people, of becoming the villain in the end if you slip up even once and let that fear win.

In essence you're afraid of being afraid.

Yang has someone to acknowledge her fear in a safe way, she has the ability to admit how scared she is, and keep fighting anyway. Not denying her fear or feeling guilty for it, but accepting it and still moving on

It's not that bravery is just being afraid and fighting anyway. It’s also admitting how scared you really are. Letting yourself be afraid, be terrified. And admitting when you've reached a breaking point.

James isn't just not acknowledging his fear because he's too proud, or doesn't want to admit he is wrong, or give up his power.

He thinks he can't afford to be afraid. That just being afraid, just admitting it, means he is too weak to do what he sees as his biggest role: be the hero. Just admitting how scared he is would mean that he's failed.

Bravery isn't just being afraid and fighting anyway. Bravery is admitting that you are afraid and allowing that fear to be there as you keep fighting, without being ashamed of it.

People aren't either just ‘brave’ or ‘cowardly’. Being brave takes something extra, something intentional. So does being cowardly. Not being able to do the ‘brave’ or ‘right’ thing, not being able to even tell what that is, or even doing the ‘wrong’ thing because it seems like the only option, or even the ‘right’ option, doesn’t automatically make you a coward or evil.

Just because you aren't able to be brave, to be the hero, just because you make the wrong decision in the moment when you are terrified and alone, doesn't mean you are just a coward or the bad guy. That doesn't mean you've shown your true colors, and deep down you really are heartless or cruel.

I'm not the biggest fan of the entire ‘Fear is the enemy’ thing.

Because, if fear is the enemy, then how is the answer to then be afraid of fear? Fearing fear is still giving it power over you. If the worst thing you can do is give into fear, then the bravest thing you can do has to be allowing yourself to be afraid, working to keep that fear from making decisions for you, and forgiving yourself when you fail, and then just trying to do better.

Everyone is going to be afraid. Everyone is going to make the wrong decision at some point because they made it out of fear.

You aren't just allowed to be afraid. You are allowed to not be able to beat that fear 100% of the time. Hitting your limit, especially when you feel like you're doing it alone is okay. You can still come back. You can still try to do better next time, try to make amends for the mistakes you made.

That doesn't mean you don't have to face the consequences of your actions. That doesn't mean the people directly hurt by your actions are obliged to forgive you. It's not an all or nothing thing.

And none of this is to say that James is not at fault, that he isn't and shouldn't be responsible for his actions. That he shouldn’t face consequences.

But his fear, his trauma, matters. It’s at the core of his entire character.

At first, I was somewhat uncomfortable with Fear, because I thought it was saying that James was weak, wrong, the villain, for giving into his fear. That he was an example for RWBY about the dangers of letting your fear control you. That he was already lost because he had given in to his fear.

And maybe it is, I don't know.

But listening to it the other day, I noticed something hadn’t occurred to me before.

‘But our greatest fear will be realized/ when we fall and lose ourselves to fear/ we become what we’ve feared all our lives’

Now, yes, this is all about looking ahead, about being ready to make the right choice in that coming moment. About being prepared ahead of time, and thinking about how you will act when you’re afraid.

But this, and the chorus, also seem a bit reflective almost. It’s posed as future questions, but for James, he’s there already. He’s made the wrong choice. If you look at the lyrics from his perspective, it’s not about if it will happen. It’s about confronting yourself when it already has happened.

James’ greatest fear is to realize he took the wrong path, he lost sight of everything but the most basic goal, he got so caught up in trying to be the hero that he missed how much damage he was really causing. In trying to be the hero, he became a villain.

And, since the end of V7 he’s been having to face his worst fears (likely longer, but Gravity kicked it into high gear that pushed him over the edge).

He’s faced (or believed he has) betrayal, physical trauma and further ‘loss of humanity’ and is almost certainly still in shock and/or pain from the injury and the brand new (likely rushed) prosthetic, not having Oz there (or ‘on his side’), events of the Fall reoccurring with the chess piece and the school being infiltrated, seeing Salem in his office and the loss of anywhere feeling protected, losing a trusted soldier/friend, Salem attacking, the world finding out about Salem and the possible aftermath, Atlas’ defenses failing.

He’s shut down, reacting out of desperation and fear, trying to salvage whatever he can (not to mention his semblance just making it easier for him to ignore his feelings or doubts and put blinders on).

He’s alone, losing soldiers and control and protections and options.

So, him truly realizing his mistakes, and having to face the reality of what he’s done, and try to fix things?

That is the fear he has yet to face. He’s already met his first breaking point. Maybe this realization is the next, but maybe this time he’ll have someone support him enough to hold him accountable and help him come back. Give him the choice: prove he’s still capable of doing the right thing, and accepting his own weakness and need for help, or refuse to admit to his fear and truly become a ‘villain’.

--------------------

Also, at the end here I’ll tack on this total stretch of a theory that I couldn’t stop thinking about after Witch.

Oz, Leo, James, Theodore (I don’t know how Qrow or Glynda would fit into this theory, just the headmasters.)

We say Leo fell to his allusion: he was cowardly and chose to protect himself despite the cost to others.

So people think that James will fall to his allusion: He’ll be heartless.

But it still to me just feels too straight forward for the Oz characters to just all fall to their original vices.

But, in a way, Leo’s end (not his death, but his choices) was reminiscent of the wizard. He was being puppeted, hiding himself and the person really running things for his own preservation.

So, if Leo fell to Oz’s flaw?

Oz. Well, Oz was standing to protect his home, was caught up in sudden chaos and wounded (in his case killed) and flung into a new life.

So.. if it’s a cycle… Oz got a ‘second’ chance, an awakening like Dorothy. Leo got the reveal of the wizard’s lie.

What if James got the lion’s confrontation of his fears (not necessarily, and hopefully not, by dying. Also, James not dying could feed into a different progression than just the ‘headmasters dying’ pattern; Oz handed the reins over to Oscar, Leo acted to protect himself and died, maybe James is the one to have to directly face the consequences of his actions, including giving up his position). And then Theodore somehow getting a decision of heart.

The other thing with Oz being ‘Dorothy’ in this pattern, is Oscar bringing up the ‘girl who fell through the world’ myth. Which feels very much like Alice in Wonderland. And L Frank Baum was influenced by Alice when creating Dorothy. So, what if Oscar’s allusion, at least in part, is Alice.

It’s all a stretch and I don’t know what it could eventually mean but, it’s just something I couldn’t stop thinking about last week.

#my writing #RWBY V8 spoilers #James Ironwood #I still am not really happy with how I said a bunch of this #but with the ep tomorrow....#felt like I should make this post before that #imjustalittleterrified #also Ironwood hate or just general hatefulness on this will get you blocked #dont have energy for it #im not saying you gotta like him #just #some takes i see are so....#oof they just dont sit right

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needs-to-stop-looking-at-yigas · 3 years

Note

that sooga gangbang with the zora boys was SOOO GOOOD, what about a sandwich including sooga kohga AND sidon, any way youd like

I gotchu king, you know I love your requests. Let’s go!

“Kohga! Sooga!”

When Kohga was told Sidon came over for a surprise visit, he didn’t think they were serious. But there he was, smiling Sidon present, and waving wildly. Kohga motioned for the guards to step aside, letting him in. Sidon immediately went for a hug, though Kohga DID notice Sooga got a longer hug. Not that he blamed them. Ever since that heat rut a month or so ago, these two seemed closer than ever. Not that Kohga minded, he liked seeing them together. Kohga chuckled once their hug parted.

“What do we owe the pleasure, fish sticks?”

“I have brought a gift, and it could NOT wait till your next visit to the domain! Figured I’d come to visit!”

Sooga nodded, seeming pleased. Sooga enjoyed Sidon’s company, and it was evident, given how he didn’t silence his sunny companion.

“Well, we’re honored, truly. I hope the gerudo didn’t give you too many problems.”

“Well, they were...touchy, but otherwise kind women!”

Kohga snickered.

“They grabbed your ass, didn’t they?”

“One of them did, yes.”

“Knew it. Come on in, come on in, let’s get you something to drink.”

“So hospitable, Kohga! Thank you!”

You could give this guy a piece of flint and he’d thank you till the day he died. Sidon followed them both, lightly humming as he did just that. Sooga slowed down a bit to look at the sack on his back.

“I take it that’s the present?”

“Oh yes! It’s VERY fragile though, you’ll have to wait till we’ve settled down!”

Thankfully that wasn’t very long of a wait. Kohga brought him to the guest room, and after setting out some snacks and tea, Sidon took the sack off his back, and put it on the table, gently pushing it towards Kohga.

“Go on! Open it! I really hope you’ll like it!”

Kohga tore away at the cloth, revealing a small statue. Made from luminus stone, it was a rather well crafted statue of Master Kohga himself. Kohga held it in his hands, and his legs couldn’t stop moving in his excitement.

“No. Way. No WAY! I look GOOD in luminous stone!”

“You look good everyday, Master Kohga.”

“Flattery gets you everywhere, Sooga. Imma go put this in my room, you two wait here for a second!”

Kohga was practically jumping as he made his way back to his room. He placed it on his nightstand, giving it a good look over. They even sculpted his mask just right. He wanted to sit here and admire it all day, but he had company over. He made his way back to the hallway, and was about to enter the room again, when something possessed him to not enter the room, just yet. He pushed the door open, just a crack, and eavesdropped.

“So I hope we didn’t make things awkward between us, Sooga.”

“Not at all. Master Kohga ordered it so, ergo there’s nothing awkward to be had. I can tell it has been weighing heavily on your mind.”

“It’s not just WHAT I did, Sooga,”

Kohga peered through the crack of the door. Sidon slid his hand over, and held onto Sooga’s. They both looked at each other, with Sidon looking honest, absolute heartfelt.

“It’s what I’d like to do again. I very much enjoyed your touch. I enjoy being with you. With your permission, I’d like to do it again, however you see fit.”

Now Kohga could be mad. Could bark at him for trying to sneak into his man’s dm’s, or. Kohga could be smart about this. He pushed open the door, making them both jump.

“Think you’re missing SOMEONE’S permission in all of this, duel dick.”

Sooga jumped up in a panic, shaking his head wildly.

“Master Kohga please! I wasn’t going to-”

“Shh. I’m not talking to you.”

Sidon gulped, clearly being put into the spotlight.

“I didn’t mean to get in the middle of your relationship! I swear to you! I just-”

Kohga started laughing. There was something SO funny about these two idiots. Kohga took a step forward, shaking his head.

“Listen. I’m not mad at all. In fact, I’m not even saying no.”

That seemed to surprise them both, given their faces. Kohga held that big, shark face in his hands, lightly squishing his cheeks.

“What I’m saying is, you can fuck my Sooga as MUCH as you want. As much as HE wants. But, with MY conditions.”

Sooga butted in, clearly a bit flustered.

“Master Kohga, I told you my body was YOURS, no one claimed you had to share it!”

“One, I’m not saying I have to. I want to. Two, are you saying you DIDN’T enjoy getting fucked by Sidon?”

“I’m n-not saying that! I did enjoy it! I just-”

They both seemed a bit embarrassed by this, averting their gaze from one another like a couple of lovesick fools. It was cute, from a top’s perspective. Kohga let go of Sidon’s face, shrugging.

“See? You two like fucking each other. That’s all there is to it. So, why don’t we just be adults about this? Sidon, babe, you can fuck my Sooga, here and now. IF I get to be the meat in this here sandwich.”

Sidon didn’t seem to be following, and neither did Sooga. Bottoms. Kohga groaned, shaking his head.

“I MEAN the three of us fuck, you gorgeous idiots.”

The realization hit them both like a ton of bricks. Sooga was about to protest, when Sidon nodded eagerly.

“I have no objections on that end! I’m rather fond of you both! Assuming that is fine with Sooga here.”

They both looked at him, and Sooga stammered, trying to find a proper response. Kohga always needed to help this loser have fun. He motioned Sooga to lean down to his level, and pushed his mask to the side a bit, pecking his lips.

“If you don’t want to, you can say no. But I think you’d have fun. You have two studs here who want to make you feel good. Granted I’d still be the head honcho, but I mean, you know I take care of my boys, right?”

Sooga seemed hesitant, before Kohga pulled out the big guns.

“It’d make me very happy~”

That was ALWAYS enough to convince Sooga. He sighed, and nodded.

“I...suppose if it’s alright with you both.”

Sidon acted as if this shit was a bond of friendship, rather than an invitation to a threeway, scooping them both up in a hug.

“Oh joy! I’m completely honored! Where exactly are we taking this?”

“Sooga’s room. Which he can totally carry me there.”

Sooga knelt down to scoop Kohga up in his arms, right before Sidon lifted him Sooga up in his arms, grinning wildly.

“Please! Lead the way, and I shall follow!”

Kohga looked at Sooga, before putting his hands behind his head.

“We should keep this guy. Assuming you wouldn’t get too jealous of him~”

-------------------------------------------------

“God you two are REALLY into this”

It had been only a few minutes into this (hell they JUST got their clothes off), when Kohga decided it’d be cute to have them kiss each other. Apparently they took ‘kiss’ as ‘make the fuck out’. Kohga was nestled in between them, Sooga at his back and Sidon at his front. He sat there, watching as Sidon not only locked lips with his man, but practically forced his tongue down his throat. Hell, Kohga could see the bulge right in his man’s throat, and Sooga wasn’t at all complaining. He seemed to be enjoying himself, holding onto Sidon’s face as he groaned and moaned into it. Kohga almost felt left out, watching them enjoy one another like that. Then Kohga looked down. Sidon’s dicks were already at full swing, and Kohga knew just how he could reel the attention back to himself. He handled one in his hands, slowly stroking it in his palm. Kohga was apparently VERY good at this, as it was enough to make Sidon pull away, big, long, thick tongue hanging out, all soaked in drool like a dog (Kohga had a type it seemed). He lapped at his lips, looking down at Kohga’s hand.

“Your...hand is quite soft, Kohga.”

Sooga nodded, taking a minute to rest his chin on Kohga’s bare shoulder.

“Master Kohga is VERY soft.”

“But in a stud way.”

“The studliest, Master Kohga.”

They shared a kiss for a moment, before Kohga noticed Sidon was lightly thrusting into his hand. He REALLY wanted this, didn’t he? Kohga leaned down, and dragged his tongue across the length of that nice, big girth. It made Sidon shake, grabbing onto the sheets.

“You know, Sidon, I’m well aware you got the hots for Sooga here, but let me tell you, when I’m done with you, imma be the only one on your mind.”

And Kohga didn’t mean that as a flirt. He meant it as a promise. He leaned down, decorating that big (one of them anyway, Kohga was just ONE man), throbbing spike in kisses, before slowly taking him in his mouth. The spiky bumps at the end felt good going across his tongue, and even better when it slowly made his way down his throat. Sidon was damn near shaking as Kohga took him in fully, mask bumping against that rocking Zora bod of his. Sidon watched in fascination as Kohga kept at it, right before he slowly pulled away, drool still connecting his mouth to that one succulent cock. Sidon swallowed, somehow finding his voice after a moment of panting.

“I...not aware you were so talented, Kohga.”

“You’re a big guy, don’t get me wrong, but I’ve handled bigger. You’re up there on the sun scale though, two for one deal here. And excited too, don’t think I can’t see you twitching.”

Kohga sat there, stroking that slick cock in his hand for a moment. He tasted salty, like seawater, and in a way, Kohga was kinda into it. He made a ‘come here’ motion with his finger.

“Now, you gave Sooga a kiss. My turn.”

Sidon didn’t have a qualm in the slightest, holding onto Kohga’s chin, and pressing his lips against his. It started cute and sweet, until Sidon’s tongue worked his way into his mouth, and Kohga actually found himself almost gagging. It wasn’t the size, as that dick was bigger, but it was the way it moved. It squirmed and writhed inside of his mouth, as if he intended to reach inside of him, and eat his entire heart. Kohga loved it. Even loved how Sooga watched, leaning his hand over to play with his Master’s cock, nice and quickly, just how he liked it. Sidon was so into it, Kohga had to pat him on his chest to get him to pull away (and Kohga could hold his breath for QUITE a long time). Even watching him pull away was kinda hot, honestly. Kohga chuckled (like the dumb thot he was), wiping his chin with the back of his hand.

“You are a FUN boy. Now, let’s put that dick to good use, eh?”

They both seemed to know what he meant, and both made the motion to lift Kohga up. Their eyes met, and Sooga cleared his threat.

“I’m sorry- this is my job. You are the guest.”

“I AM the guest. Ergo, it should be in MY honor.”

Kohga almost wanted to let them fight. Ooh, two absolute dream boats fighting over who got to hold him. It was the life. He let them bicker for just a minute more, before he reached up and grabbed Sooga’s cheek, lightly patting it.

“Let our guest do it, Sooga. You’re a good boy, remember?”

Sooga grumbled a bit, before nodding. Sidon stuck his tongue out at him, before picking Kohga up, wrapping his arms under Kohga’s, holding him up. Kohga nearly shuddered as he felt that big, throbbing cock press up against his back. Sooga seemed to immediately be jealous, pressing himself against his front, and essentially making Kohga sandwiched between two sets of abs. Kohga could swoon, honestly. He watched them press their foreheads together, eyes practically shining in competition. He was half expecting a war here, so Kohga chuckled, lightly poking Sooga's mask.

"Easy, easy. You're a good boy. Act good in front of the company. You can even go first if you want."

"...you’re very kind, Master Kohga. The most kind, most handsome man ever."

"I try. Now, fuck me, right in my ass, my big, pretty boy."

With one more kiss, Sooga obeyed, holding onto Kohga's ass (and grabbing him a bit harder than usual), and pushing himself into his ass. Sidon took that as a que to follow suit, slowly pushing himself into Kohga's ass. Kohga actually shook a bit. Oh that was a STRETCHER of a cock. Kohga threw his head back, feeling both of those sweet, sweet cocks pulse inside of him. Sidon leaned his face into his neck, and bit down. It wasn’t a sweet love bite either, but a good, hard bite, right onto that sweet, sweet spot. Sooga made the move to push him away, but Kohga held his hand up.

"N-no. Let him. He's a guest. He can bite all he-ho shit."

Oh that one felt REAL good. He could feel the trickles of blood run down his arm, and it was just, SUPER hot. But Kohga couldn’t ignore his poor Sooga. He made himself breathe, before motioning Sooga to go ahead. Sooga did just that, starting to thrust himself into his ass, even taking the occasional moment to lean in and (rather possessively) smooch his man. Kohga chuckled, noticing how his glare kept turning to Sidon.

"Aw. Is someone worried a big fishy prince is going to take me away?"

Sooga muttered under his breath, only for Sidon to start to move in tandem to Sooga's thrusts. They seemed to grow more possessive of him, constantly taking turns kissing and shoving their tongues into his mouth. It was a wild combination of drool, moans, and possessive growlings. They both wanted Kohga's affections, and Kohga didn’t at ALL mind it. Didn’t mind their throbbing, hungry cocks, didn’t mind their ravenous bitings, their starving, eager nails scratching against his skin and tearing into him like he was a meal. All while Kohga just sat there, pumping his cock and moaning for them to keep going. You'd think Kohga was being lazy.

You'd be wrong. Kogha didn't need actions to be in charge. His voice was enough to command them, and both obeyed with no hesitation.

"Fuck me harder, both of you. Don't treat me delicately, fuck me like you WANT me. I wanna see who can plow my juicy ass better. I want to be fucking SORE, come ON!"

Kohga was a very high demand man. As such, he wasn’t easily pleased. He didn’t need JUST a huge cock. He needed hunger, lust, devotion, force, and absolute submission to please him. These two had to work hard for that, and Kohga, upon finally cumming, getting thick cum all over his hands and Sooga's chest, decided now was their reward.

"Cum inside of me. Now."

It was a simple command, and somehow, it worked. With panting, eager breaths, they came. Sooga came first, stuffing Kohga's ass full of cum, only for it to essentially be flushed out by Sidon's load. Cum was not only in his ass, on their cocks, but on their sheets in pretty much a puddle. The three of them sat there, not moving, aside from loud, heavy breaths. Then Sidon chuckled, sounding kinda wounded.

"That...was exemplary~"

"Eh I'd say 'that was fucking GOOD', but yours is good too. Hoo, you boys were READY for me apparently. Haven't felt this full in a long, long time."

Sidon's coarse tongue dragged against the freshly made wounds, and while it stung, Kohga found himself kinda into it, petting Sidon's head as he went along. Sooga sat there, and was trying (and failing) not to look jealous. Kohga chuckled, pinching Sidon's cheek.

"What's say we let Sooga have a turn this time eh?"

Sidon looked up from Kohga's shoulder, leaning up to bite at Sooga's bottom lip, chuckling.

"Only if you permit me. Master Kohga."

Those sounded DAMN good coming from a prince's lips. There WAS always room for more than one good boy.

#asks #kohga #sooga #sidon #lemon #lowkey #sidon just likes to compete against Sooga #and be called a good boy #both are good boy motivated

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spencers-renaissance · 4 years

Text

Pull Me Out of the Glowing Stream

Summary: Spencer develops bacterial meningitis and Hotch sort of forgets how to breathe

Tags: Hurt/Comfort, Protective Hotch, Spencer Reid Whump, Major Illness, Angst, Fluff, Medical Setting, Angst with a Happy Ending

Pairing: Gen, Paternal Hotch

Word Count: 3.8k

Read on AO3

A grotty police department in rural Illinois was really not the time and place for Spencer’s body to decide to have a minor breakdown, but really, what was he expecting at this point? For things to go right for once?

It’s the kind of headache not even two paracetamol and a cup of coffee can shift and he sort of feels like his head might split in two. Not ideal when he had a complicated geographical profile to work up to help the team locate an enraged killer who was flitting between various small towns in the northwest corner of the state.

“Spencer?”

He’s shaken out of his depressing thoughts by Derek’s slightly concerned voice, causing him to pull his hands away from his head and force himself from squinting against the light. He’d felt fine this morning and he can’t really put his finger on what exactly is wrong besides the headache he just feels… off.

If he can help it though, Derek will most definitely not find out. His coworkers don’t need to think he’s anymore weak than they already do.

“Sorry,” Spencer says, feigning a weak smile. “Didn’t get much sleep last night.”

Derek doesn’t look completely convinced, but he nods anyway. “JJ and I are headed to interview the most recent victim’s family but Rossi and Blake will be back from the ME’s office shortly. Hotch is just in the break room talking to some LEOs, alright?” he says, grabbing his leather jacket from the back of one of the chairs. “See you in a bit, Spencer.”

Spencer has to stop himself from physically falling on the floor and rolling into a protective ball as soon as Derek leaves the room. He’s so exhausted and in so much pain, the last thing he wants to do is gather around the table and have to propose valuable theories about the case to build the profile. He just feels like such an outsider sometimes, and it’s been even worse recently. He’s felt himself withdraw from the group, sheltering himself from the prying glances and teasing comments, but he just can’t help it; he doesn’t even know why, really.

Honestly, he’s desperate to crawl back to the hotel room and bury himself under the covers and never resurface again, but he can’t. The only time he really feels valuable is when he’s working, when he’s tangibly contributing to solving the case, and he can’t sacrifice that for a little head cold or whatever’s going on. Besides, nobody needs to hear him whinge about his stupid problems. Everyone has enough to deal with without him as an added burden.

Hotch is shooting him concerned looks and it’s only making him feel worse. He really doesn’t need to be berating himself for making his team members worry on top of already feeling at death’s door. The real problem, however, is that it’s only getting worse. He’s struggling to concentrate and feels hot under the collar, and it’s getting harder and harder to ignore the swirling nausea in his tummy. But his health cannot be the priority right now and surely Hotch must realise that: there’s a killer on the loose and he knows that he can be an immensely useful resource, headache be damned.

Focus. He tries to look back towards the board -- he knows there’s something in one of the pictures that’s not quite right, not that he can remember which one or what it was -- but his neck protests as he tries to move it, stiffening up in response to the pain. Keeping his head down instead, staring at the case file he has open on the desk in front of him, he notices his pen quivering a little in his hand as it shakes. His glance upwards to check if anyone saw is immediately met by Hotch, whose muted concern has clearly morphed into full-blown distress, and he quickly looks away.

“Spencer?” Hotch says gently, trying not to attract the attention of the other team members who are quietly discussing the case at the other end of the table.

It’s the jerk of his head to look back up at him that does it. He feels his head loll and his stomach drop out from under him, nausea pouring into his insides as his eyes lose their focus. “I’m sorry,” he mumbles, though it comes out far too slurred to be intelligible, and everything fades to black.

★

Hotch is pretty sure his heart stops beating for a moment as he watches Spencer slump forward in his chair, falling to the side a little as his muscles give in to what’s clearly been plaguing him all day. The others snap out of their conversation fast, Alex rushing to his side. “Spencer?” she asks, voice insistent and full of anxiety. “Spencer, wake up, come on.” She pauses to press two fingers to his pulse point as her other hand feels his forehead before looking Hotch in the eyes, urgency filling her voice. “His pulse is weak and he has a serious fever.”

“Call an ambulance and explain what’s going on,” Hotch says, feeling the colour leave his face as he takes in the situation. “Dave, I need you, Derek and JJ to carry on working the case, Blake and I will go to the hospital with Spencer.”

The paramedics arrive quickly, by which time everyone in the PD is nosily peering through the windows, eager to watch the macabre theatrics of a medical emergency. Hotch backs away from where he’d crouched to hold Spencer’s hand, as does Blake and Spencer is quickly hooked up to the portable monitor. Hotch didn’t miss the grave glance that was shared between the two of them; he’d given and received enough of them in the course of his career to know they meant not good.

“Blake, you drive behind,” he murmurs softly as he watches an oxygen mask be placed over Spencer’s nose and mouth. “I’m riding with.”

He hasn’t felt so sick to his stomach since he was driving to his own house to meet his wife’s dead body, and God, did he absolutely not miss the feeling. Spencer’s hand is freezing cold, and he’s still shaking slightly through the deep slumber that has overtaken his body, though luckily he’s stable enough that the paramedics don’t seem to be able to do a lot more for him until he is admitted to the ER.

Seeing Spencer lie so small and frail under all the wires as he’s jolted about slightly by the ambulance’s fast pace cuts deep into an area of his heart he usually keeps so closely guarded, reserved for moments with his son and the grief that lingers cold and heavy from Haley’s death. Spencer is family: he’s watching the man he considers a son teeter far too close to the edge of death, and all he can do is remind himself how to breathe.

“Hang in there, Spencer,” he whispers, gently pulling the cold hand he’s holding to his face and holding it there a moment. “You’re going to be okay.” He has to be.

The nearest hospital is thankfully close, and Hotch sends up a prayer of thanks that they were sent to a city and not on a rural, buttfuck nowhere case. The paramedics waste no time wheeling Spencer’s gurney into the ER, reeling off his stats in code Hotch couldn’t hope to understand to the awaiting doctors, admitted immediately for further tests to establish treatment while he’s steered by a patient nurse to a quiet waiting area.

Alex rushes in less than five minutes later, filling with relief when she clocked Hotch sitting in the corner. “Any news?” she asks, cautiously optimistic.

Hotch grimaces in response. “No, he was only just admitted,” he sighs, emotion creeping into his face in a way he usually staves off at work. A hurt Spencer Reid warrants that much, at least. “He was stable in the ambulance, though. They’re running tests now for a diagnosis.” He looks down at his clasped hands. “I should have noticed it sooner.”

Alex sits down next to him slowly and sighs. “There’s no use in blaming yourself,” she says gently. “Spencer wouldn’t want that. We all could’ve picked up on the signs sooner or been more persistent in asking what was wrong, you’re not in the wrong here. Hindsight, as they say, is 20/20.”

“I know,” Hotch says eventually. “I just feel so responsible for him. He’s still so young and has so much in front of him, if-- if something happened to him, I’d never forgive myself.”

“Yeah,” Alex whispers, pressing her lips together. “None of us would.”

“I just couldn’t live in a world where Spencer doesn’t exist.” His voice chokes off as the dam breaks and he cries quietly into his hands, pain blossoming in his chest as the thought of Spencer dying and the crushing agony of muffled sobs collide.

“Oh, Hotch,” Alex murmurs sympathetically as she watches her boss crumble in front of her. “No-one’s told us to prepare for Spencer dying, okay? You said yourself that he was stable in the ambulance and aside from a thready pulse and a fever we don’t know anything else about his physical state. Don’t torture yourself with a future that frankly looks unlikely as of now, it’s not worth it.”

Hotch nods, taking a deep if shaky breath in and wiping his eyes one last time, looking back at Alex. “I’m sorry for panicking.”

“Don’t apologise,” she dismisses him gently. “It’s a scary situation, and Spencer is like a son to you.”

“This must be even harder for you,” he says, looking up and meeting her eyes. “I should have stayed stronger for you as well as Spencer.”

“Please,” Alex scoffs. “We all have our ways of coping. Ethan died a long time ago and although the grief I feel for him is like glitter I can’t brush away, I’ve learned how to move forward with my life, carrying that gorgeous shimmer with me.”

They share a small smile over that, and Hotch pats her upper arm with his hand softly before patting his knees and standing up. “I’m going to step outside to call Dave,” he says, a new resolve and determination finding its way into his voice. “I expect that it might be a while, but find me immediately if anything happens, I’ll be just outside the entrance.”

“Aaron?” Dave asks, voice a little tinny and muffled down the phone, swept away slightly by the midwest wind. “How’s Spencer?”

“Not sure yet,” he replies, voice grim. “He was admitted immediately for tests but he was relatively okay the last time I saw him, I think. Alex is here now, and we’ll keep looking over the files while we wait, seeing if we can build on the profile. Ring me with any developments, alright?”

“Yeah, no problem,” Dave says. “Morgan and I have come to follow a lead we got on a possible associate, and I’ll give you a ring when we leave. Sit tight and give my love to the kid when you see him, Aaron.”

They don’t have to sit in vigil for long before a middle-aged doctor calls Spencer’s name in the waiting room. “Unfortunately, Spencer has bacterial meningitis,” she explains gently as soon as they approach her. “It’s been caught relatively early so his chances are good, but this is a serious disease that needs to be monitored closely so he’s been moved to the ICU. He had a seizure shortly after the lumbar puncture we performed which is a sign of an escalation, but we’ve adjusted his meds accordingly and I can assure you he’s getting the best treatment possible. The ICU is limited to one visitor at a time, but you can see him now; he’s awake though a little drowsy.”

Alex smiles at him and ushers him forward while she goes to sit back down without a word, leaving Hotch to follow the doctor. He wishes desperately to have Spencer walking next to him, rapidly reeling off statistics and fast facts about the disease, because he feels a little in the dark, here. All he remembers is that bacterial is the most serious manifestation of meningitis and it has a high fatality rate. The same heavy sickness from the ambulance sinks deeper into his stomach, weighing him down. Spencer could die.

He looks small on the hospital bed. It’s such a cliche but it’s true, his already small frame and the spacious bed combined with his pale face and outfit of wires make him look so tiny and all Hotch wants to do is climb into bed with him and wrap him in a protective hug and never let him go.

“Hotch?” Spencer murmurs as he approaches the bed, smiling gratefully at the doctor before she leaves them to it.

“Yeah, Spencer, it’s me,” he says gently, sitting down in the chair next to the bed and scooching it as close as possible. “How are you holding up?”

“Hurts,” he says, voice weak. “A lot. Bacteria sucks.”

“It does,” Hotch chuckles. “It definitely sucks. Big time. I’m sorry this is happening, Spencer. And I’m sorry we didn’t catch on to you sooner and get you here faster.”

“Please,” he laughs, wincing a bit as the movement settles an ache deeper into his muscles. “I wouldn’t have let you. I can be a little stubborn.”

Spencer’s voice is slurred slightly but the relief settling into Hotch’s bones at how lucid he is feels almost euphoric. “You’re definitely stubborn,” he says fondly, caressing Spencer’s hand with his thumb. “Our stubborn little mule.”

“Not little,” he pouts in response, eyes drooping slowly closed.

“No,” he reassures him. “You’re not little. You’re strong, and you’re going to fight this, Spencer.”

“Yeah,” Spencer mumbles. “Fight it. Hotch… stay with me?”

“I’ll stay as long as they’ll let me stay, Angel.”

“Angel,” Spencer whispers, a happy smile playing on his lips as he finally gives in to the sleep tugging at his body.

★

It takes Spencer another three and a half days before he’s awake for more than a few minutes at a time and satisfactorily lucid. Thankfully, the anticonvulsants had staved off another seizure and his temperature was slowly but surely dropping as his body fought off the infection, aided by the intravenous antibiotics being steadily dripped into his bloodstream. His oxygen mask had been swapped for a nasal cannula and he was no longer trembling.

Hotch spends the majority of visiting hours sitting beside his bed, texting or phoning the team while working as many angles as he could with only a laptop and the case files Alex is bringing him, but it seems so trivial everytime he looks up and Spencer is lying there looking small and peaceful as he sleeps, meningitis ravishing his body. He’d been worried for the first day at how much Spencer was sleeping, but a kind nurse explained that it was normal; his body was just fighting off a brutal infection and could do that best when he was asleep. Now it just makes him happy to see him dreaming away, knowing that his body is doing the best to help him get better.

He’d tried to avoid googling ‘bacterial meningitis’, but he gave up on the second day and scrolled through endless sites, torturing himself with statistics and facts and prognoses. It gave him a newfound respect and empathy for Spencer: he knows these about pretty much everything and has to live with them all the time. He knows his own survival chances very well, can probably recite specific cases and studies and has no escape at all.

Spencer manages to sit up on the third day and Hotch pulls out a portable chess board that Dave had gone out and bought specifically for this moment.

“You play?” Spencer asks sceptically, raising his eyebrows.

“I’ve dabbled,” Hotch replies lightly, a smile playing over his lips as he takes in Spencer’s doubtful but eager expression.

“I’ll probably win in under twenty moves,” Spencer challenges, matching Hotch’s smile.

“Oh, I don’t doubt that,” Hotch chuckles. “But I’ll put myself through it anyway.”

Spencer stays true to his word and wins in 17 moves, making Hotch throw his hands up and lean back in his chair, smiling at the other man before packing the board back away. Spencer looks miles healthier, the antibiotics clearly starting to do the trick, but he’s still seriously fatigued and shuffles down the bed to lean his head back and relax a bit more, sitting up for a few minutes tiring him out.

Hotch pauses for a moment before deciding to broach the subject. “Spencer,” he starts softly, meeting the man’s hazy gaze, “why didn’t you say anything to us sooner? You clearly had a crashing headache, muscle pain, nausea. You said you felt the fever come on. You could have said something sooner and I would have helped you. Your health should come before a case.”

Spencer closes his eyes in shame for a moment, a blush blooming over his cheeks as he looks back to Hotch. “I’m sorry, I just-- It was a grisly case and I thought that was the most important thing, I guess. I’m no use stuck in a sick bed. I just felt bad making everything about me when in the grand scheme of things, a headache is pretty menial. Felt… isolated, maybe.”

“Oh, Spence,” Hotch says sympathetically, reaching back over to grip Spencer’s hand in both of his. “This is really serious, okay? If we’d left it much later or you hadn’t passed out but continued to suffer in silence, you could have died.” He has to pause for a moment as he chokes on the word. “Missing one case and being better for hundreds more is better than working yourself to the bone on this one and then not being around for anymore, isn’t it? You are so valuable, Spencer. Not just your eidetic memory or IQ, you. Spencer Reid is special and loved and important, and I don’t want you to ever think that a case is more important than you, or that we’ll be annoyed by anything that you need to talk to us about. If you ever feel alone, you come and find me and I’ll do my best to banish that feeling, okay?”

“I’m sorry,” Spencer murmurs again. “I guess I just find it hard to believe that people care about me for more than what I can offer them. I never had anyone value me the way you do, and I still struggle to wrap my head around it. I’m sorry for scaring you, but I promise I already feel better. I’m not going anywhere, I promise, Hotch.”

“You’d better not,” he replies, letting himself smile a bit. “I know it’s hard for you to trust us, Spencer, but we’re your family, okay? Any of us would drop anything for you, stubborn little mule.”

Spencer doesn’t correct him this time, opting instead for a wide smile. “Thank you, Aaron,” he whispers intimately. “For being here, I mean. It’s scary on my own and having you next to me makes me feel safe.”

“Good,” Hotch says, smiling at Spencer’s use of his first name. “You’re always safe with me. You should rest now, you’re tired. I’ll be here when you wake up.”

★

Once Spencer’s moved out of the ICU on day five, the team are finally allowed to come and visit him, bringing Penelope, presents and smiles and noise. And reprimands. Many reprimands.

“If you ever put a case above your own damn health again, it won’t be meningitis you have to worry about but Penelope’s wrath, alright Spence?” JJ scolds as she gives him a gentle hug, though her smile betrays her. Penelope is stood at the foot of his bed trying her best to look scary, but like JJ her eyes are far too soft and relief colours her body language. Plus it’s hard to look domineering in a bright orange floral dress and flowers in your hair.

“Sorry, Pen, JJ,” he says sheepishly, looking at each of them apologetically. “Bacterial meningitis will definitely teach you to listen to your body.”

“Well if that’s the only good thing that’s come out of this then so be it,” Penelope says with finality, before she melts away her faux stern look and smiles at him. “Now, we bring you gifts and cookies.”

He opens each of the presents with the wide, open smile he doesn’t let cross his face very often, feeling deeply loved and cherished by his found family. His hospital room is covered in flowers and chocolates and academic books as well as endless gift bags and wrapping paper by the time he’s finished, and although he’s still in a lot of pain and knows he might never fully recover, in this moment he’s the happiest he’s been in a long time.

The doctor tells Spencer and Hotch a week and a day after his admittance that he’s been lucky enough to escape relatively unscathed. “You need to look out for any of the long term effects of bacterial meningitis such as concentration issues, hearing loss, visual disturbances, chronic pain etcetera but our tests seem to suggest you’re in the lucky c50% of survivors who escape without a permanent disability and we’d most likely have caught it by now. You need to take it easy for two weeks, make sure you’re resting and drinking plenty of fluids, and if you feel any symptoms coming back or becoming more severe you need to get to a hospital as soon as possible,” she says, handing him the discharge paperwork.

“Spencer, I think you should come and stay with me for those two weeks, okay? I’ll be there to take care of you and keep you company while you finish recovering. How does that sound?” he asks as Spencer signs the sheet of paper and hands it back to the doctor who smiles at them before turning to leave.

“Are you sure you’re okay with that?” he asks. “I don’t want to impose on you and Jack.”

“Don’t be silly, I’m offering. Besides, Jack will love having his own personal encyclopedia in the house. He loves you.”

Spencer grins widely at that. “Then that sounds like a plan.”

He sleeps for the majority of the two hour flight home, leaning against Hotch’s shoulder buried under the blanket JJ always carries with her in case anyone gets cold while the older man fills in some paperwork for the case they’d wrapped up a few days prior. The gentle noise of his family chatting around the plane and the comforting smell and feel of his protector surrounding him lull him into a sense of safety and reassurance, resting in the knowledge that his family loves him unconditionally. No matter what happens next, even if a long term condition was going to hit him like a ton of bricks, they weren’t going to leave him, and he was valued. Not for his brain, but because he was Spencer Reid, loved and cherished member of the BAU.

#criminal minds fic #Criminal Minds #criminal minds writing #angst #hotchreid #Spencer Reid #Hurt Spencer Reid #Spencer Reid Whump #my writing

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