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aperrywilliams · 2 years

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Lost and Gain... and Lost Again? (Spencer Reid x Fem!BAU!Reader)

(Not my gif. Credit to the creator)

Author Masterlist

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Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!BAU!Reader.

Summary: Reader and Spencer’s bond strengthens after the team receives devastating news. But what happens when that bond becomes an agreement that ends up confusing them more?

Word Count: 10k (Ouch!)

Warnings: MINORS DNI. NSFW. 18+ ONLY. Reference to a character’s death; crying, feelings of regret; mention of nightmares and ideas about drug use (doesn’t happen); mention of wounds and blood (superficial); strong language; penetrative and unprotected sex; oral sex (f and m receiving); fingering; rough sex with chocking; crying after sex; oral and penetrative sex in a public place; voyeurism (from a third person); size kink; gagging. If I forgot something, let me know.

A/N: I wrote this one for Smurph’s Birthday Challenge. Happy birthday, my friend!!!! (a bit late, I’m sorry). If you haven’t read a @smurphyse fic yet, I recommend you do! You’ll find a great writer (Room 405 has the top 1 of my heart). On top of that, one of the best human beings I have had the honor to know. For the challenge, I used the prompt “Get on your knees and show me.” (Category 2); and Choking, Deepthroating, Public sex; Voyeurism; Size Kink (Category 3). Thanks for reading, and keep sending me requests!

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Reader’s POV.

Emily Prentiss is an extraordinary woman. Smart, determined, brave, tough, compassionate, and the best friend you could ask for. But when she faked her death and disappeared for seven months, it started a series of events that hit my life forever.

‘Devastation’ falls short of describing our emotions after getting the news. The team crumbled. Nobody could believe what had happened. Not to our Emily.

I remember being in my apartment crying for days. I barely made it to Emily’s funeral. I was a complete mess.

Hotch granted us time to process, but we didn’t think it would be enough to overcome our loss.

I knew the other team members were grieving Emily’s death too, but I felt it harder. Maybe it was because I had known Emily for eight years back then. We worked together before she joined the BAU.

Two years after she settled there, a suggestion from her to Hotch gave me the chance to join the team. Once me there, we got inseparable.

So you can guess how hard it was to assimilate that you would never see your friend again.

Morgan and Spencer weren’t okay either. Derek leaned on Garcia for support, showing his anger whenever he could. Spencer leaned on JJ in a more reserved way, although he thought JJ couldn’t fully comprehend his pain.

He told me about this feeling when he knocked on my door one night.

“Spencer?” I looked at him, puzzled. It was near midnight.

“Hey,” he mumbled. “I’m sorry I came here like this all of a sudden. I - I thought that -” he trailed off. His hands were shaking, eyes glassed, dark circles under them, and he looked pale. I knew that face. I saw this in myself plenty of times in the last weeks. Nightmares.

“It’s okay. You don’t have to apologize. Come in.” I pulled him inside the apartment and led him to sit on my couch.

That night we talked until the sun rose. We talked about everything and nothing. He told me about the nightmares, the headaches, and the cravings. I knew about what happened after Hankel. But never did someone tell me the details, and I didn’t ask. It wasn’t my business.

We never were that close before, but I guess circumstances did the job. Grieving the loss of our friend, we realized that we were struggling in a similar way. So why not lean on each other?

That way, nights like that kept happening in the following weeks. Some days at my place, others in his.

Sometimes we just sat to talk. Other times we watched a movie to turn off our thoughts. We could even sit on the couch without talking and staring at the ceiling in comfortable silence.

Gradually the pain gave us a truce, and the company became nice by itself.

I never thought of Spencer as a close friend, at least not in a sense Emily was, but the time we spent together gave us a chance to get to know each other better. I was pleasantly surprised that we had more in common than I had imagined.

We hung out a lot, and we liked it. But there was something more there that I couldn’t explain. Yeah, we could talk, cry, and laugh, but why did it feel like something was missing?

I couldn’t pinpoint what it was until one particular night.

After a messy unsub takedown, Spencer got some cuts and bruises, but he didn’t let the paramedics check on him.

On the flight home, I saw Spencer hiss every time he brushed some spot on his left side.

Spencer-fucking-stubborn-Reid.

When we landed in Virginia, I persuaded him to have dinner and a movie at my place. Secretly I was worried that he would go home without anyone checking on his injuries.

As we put a foot in my apartment, I required him to sit on my couch while I went to get my first aid kit.

“Okay, now let me see those cuts,” I said, inspecting his face as my hand clutched a gauze dipped in alcohol.

“You are being dramatic,” he pointed.

“Oh yeah? Well, prove me wrong then,” I challenged, cleaning one of the cuts on his forehead with the gauze. Spencer hissed at the contact.

“Who’s the dramatic here,” I teased.

Spencer rolled his eyes, knowing I could be as stubborn as he.

“Whatever,” he mumbled.

Once I finished wiping his face, I took another piece of gauze.

“Okay, now let me see your left side.”

“What? Why?”

“I saw how you sizzled whenever you rubbed your left side, Reid. Don’t argue with me.” I instructed. I could see his cheeks turning pink.

With hesitation, Spencer unbuttoned his dress shirt and slid it from his shoulders.

My eyes immediately focused on the scratches on his torso and the dark bruise on his ribs.

“Holy shit Reid. That must hurt,” I said, using the gauze to give attention to his skin.

Then is when I felt it.

A change in the air. It became thick and difficult to ignore. I met Spencer’s eyes, and there was an intensity in them I didn’t see before.

Honestly, I never noticed how beautiful Spencer’s eyes were and how desirable he looked, licking his lips as he watched me methodically sweep the dried blood off his wounds.

Feeling the nearness between us ignited in me a spark I didn’t know was there. When did Spencer’s lips start to look so kissable?

I tried to put that thought in the back of my brain, but touching his skin - even indirectly through a gauze - made it almost impossible.

Chastising myself, I did my best to concentrate on whatever could move me away from my salacious thoughts about my coworker and friend.

‘A Friend. A Friend. A Friend.’ I repeatedly told myself as I finished bandaging the cuts I had just cleaned up.

Little did it help that he was looking at me with those doe eyes.

I wanted to kiss him so bad.

I wanted to fuck him so bad.

I could feel the warmth in a specific spot on my body. My cheeks tinted in dark crimson when I realized what was happening to me.

“Are you o-?” Spencer tried to ask, but before he could finish the question, I silenced him with my lips on his.

I felt Spencer frozen in his spot as I kissed him. Surely he wasn’t expecting that. Neither do I, but I couldn’t help it.

When the senses returned to me, I pulled away.

Shit, I had fucked it up.

Stuttering, I tried to apologize.

“I’m sorry. This was so inappropriate. I - I shouldn’t have done that,” I mumbled, scooting back on the couch and entirely baffled.

Spencer seemed surprised. But something in his eyes told me that he wasn’t upset, quite the opposite. The confirmation came from the very Spencer. Not saying a word, he cupped my cheeks and leaned to kiss me this time.

It didn’t take me long until I let loose and kissed him back.

Quickly our lips started to move frenziedly—all tongues and teeth. The kiss turned heated fast, and our hands began to wander. Just running my fingertips on his bare chest sent shivers down my spine.

Without a second thought, clothes flew from our bodies to land somewhere on my living room floor. I was on Spencer’s lap only minutes later, grinding over his massive erection.

“Fuck,” he muttered. His hands gripped my hips as he bucked up his to increase the friction between us.

Desperately I grabbed his dick to pump it a few times before aligning it to my entrance.

I looked at him, and his full-dilated pupils told me everything I needed to know. He wanted this as much as I did.

Feeling him stretching me was like heaven.

He was big, and his girth perfect enough to have me trembling around him in no time.

That night we fucked on my couch once and two more times in my bed.

I didn’t know if my lack of sexual activity at that time had to do with it, but those were the best orgasms I had had in a long time.

Panting and looking at the ceiling, we agreed not to do it again. It would be weird, and we didn’t want to feel that way at work.

But it happened again. And again. And again.

Some people say that when you get the ‘taste,’ there is no return. If I stick to that, Spencer Reid turned out to be my favorite drug those days.

And I had the feeling I had become the same thing to him.

We settled a new agreement: the typical friends with benefits. How cliche is that? It didn’t really matter to me at the time; we needed the release, the sex, and neither he nor I wanted to pursue a romantic relationship. Let alone when it all started as animalistic sex.

Fantastic, marvelous, extraordinary, necessary animalistic sex.

Thanks to Spencer Reid, I got laid considerably more times in three months than in the past years.

Not that I would complain about it, quite the opposite.

The rules - because, of course, we settled rules - were not to tell anyone, keep it as only sex, not stay the night, and not jeopardize our friendship. If any of us suspected this arrangement could put our friendship in danger, we would call it to quit with no resentment.

It seemed pretty easy.

Having clear rules, we used every chance we got to fuck. His place, my place, sneaking to our hotel rooms during cases. Even at work, we had our favorite abandoned office in the basement.

I found out a lot of things during these months. For example, I didn’t know I could be that horny all the time. Okay, thinking better of it, scratch that.

I did know I could be that horny, but kind of I forgot how it felt until then.

What I truthfully didn’t know was that Spencer could be that horny and touch-starved all the time.

You would say the boy genius that doesn’t shake hands avoids any kind of touch. Wrong. He loves it. Spencer adores cuddling after sex. He likes me playing with his hair and drawing soft patterns on his skin with my fingertips.

Could you believe that Spencer Reid is a boob man? I do now. Sometimes, he lays his head on my chest and hums comfortably between my breasts. I’m pretty sure he would do it if he could always use my boobs as pillows.

But all those displays of affection - or lust, if you want to call it - were only reserved for the bedroom. As soon as we left bed, we returned to our traditional roles as friends and coworkers.

It was working for us. And nobody had to know.

After Emily ‘died.’ Hotch thought we could be fine without another agent, but Strauss had another opinion. That’s why Alice Brown joined the BAU. Strauss herself brought her directly to the team.

As you can guess, we weren’t very enthusiastic about the decision, but the poor girl hadn’t any fault. Young and inexperienced, Alice came to a team with a fractured heart.

The first one who showed friendly with Alice was JJ, who took her under her wing.

Brown did her best to fit into the team. Not much time passed until Morgan and Penelope warmed up with her. Rossi acted like her loving father and Hotch like an understanding boss.

Spencer, the gentleman he is, was way far nice to her. He usually talked to her about books and facts about our cases and the BAU history.

That’s how Alice seemed welcomed after a couple of weeks.

But with me, things didn’t come easy. I knew the poor girl wasn’t trying to replace Emily. I truly understood that, but for me, something about her didn’t fit. I never was deliberately harsh or not polite to her, but we didn’t get that groove she had with the rest of the team.

I thought it was a matter of time.

But maybe I was wrong.

With Hotch away for months, JJ moving to another division, and Rossi barely present, the job weight laid on the remained team members: Morgan, Garcia, Reid, Brown, and I.

Only four agents in the field made things a little bit rough. Rough enough for me to be irritable very often. The bad thing was that my sour mood tended to land on Alice most of the time.

“Why do you go so hard on her?” Morgan chastised me once Alice ran from the conference room crying after I said something a bit sharp.

“I don’t go hard on her. It’s just she should be in tune by now,” I explained.

“Pretty girl, you already forgot when you joined the team?”

“No, Morgan. Don’t play the sentimental card with me. It’s not going to work,” I warned him. Morgan only shook his head.

“I’m just saying you should be more understanding. That’s all.”

Yeah. Maybe Derek was right.

That’s why I gathered the courage to talk to her and apologize. But when I reached Hotch’s office, where I knew she was, I saw Spencer hugging Alice.

The girl was fully crying with her head buried in Spencer’s chest.

I halted in my tracks. Spencer noticed my presence and gave me a disapproving look.

What? Now everyone blames me?

Huffing, I left the room without saying a word.

I didn’t know what was more upsetting: that people accused me of being a bitch with Alice or that she played the victim role. Because that’s what she was doing. She was in Spencer’s arms, looking for comfort, and the bastard provided it with no question.

How does SHE dare? How does HE dare?

That last thought made my heart stop for a second.

Why was I so apprehensive? Was it because of her nearest to Spencer? No. It couldn’t be.

Spencer was only my friend and my fuck-buddy.

And maybe that was the problem. I didn’t want Alice to steal my friend AND my benefits.

“It’s not - fuck!- it’s not I dislike her,” I managed to say to the man with his head between my legs.

“Yu-shul-be-nice-tho,” Spencer mumbled from his spot as he lapped my clit with his glorious tongue and used his slender fingers to pump them in and out of my pussy.

“I am - Oh my God! - I’m nice to her, really - Spencer! Please! Right there!” I whined.

“No. Yu-not,” Spencer rebutted, muffling his words in my core. Feeling my heavy breathing, he sped his fingers’ movement and sucked on my clit hard. Fuck, I was so close.

“Okay! I’m not, but- would you - fuck! - can we stop talking about our coworker? I’m trying to have an orgasm here!”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Seven months ago, I made a decision that affected this team. As you know, Emily lost a lot of blood after her fight with Doyle. But the doctors were able to stabilize her...”

Hotch’s words reverberated in my head as we were in the conference room discussing what to do about Declan’s kidnapping.

‘Stabilize her’? I was still trying to make sense of those words when I saw a ghost at the entrance.

Emily-fucking-Prentiss was alive.

It wasn’t my imagination. I pinched myself to be sure. I locked eyes with Spencer and Morgan, looking for confirmation.

Of the three of us, I was the nearest to faint.

The lack of oxygen made me feel dizzy.

Why didn’t JJ seem surprised? Why Rossi hadn’t the same shocked expression we had?

A lot of those questions were kept on standby as we focused on getting back Declan.

Emily was cautious and didn’t approach anyone just yet.

I worked on autopilot most of the time. I barely spoke a thing in the twenty-four hours the case was open.

After finishing Doyle’s ordeal that night, we returned to the BAU. Emily tried to talk to me, but I ditched her attempt by sneaking into the kitchenette.

I was pouring coffee on my mug for the umpteenth time that day and so lost in my thoughts that I didn’t notice Spencer standing on the threshold.

He cleared his throat but kept silent as he decided what to say.

I spared him the trouble.

“You don’t need to say anything, you know. There are no words to make sense of this.”

Spencer sighed.

“Eventually, we should,” he pointed.

I met his eyes so that he could see the bitterness in my gaze.

“Should we? I was prepared to miss her forever,” I confessed, sensing tears pricking my eyes.

“I guess I was prepared to do that too.”

Spencer didn’t look better than me. His eyes were as glassy as mine. His lips were tightly pressed like he was holding back.

Truth be told, both were holding back emotions.

That’s why when I asked him to help me to unravel, he was quickly in the same boat as me.

That night we fucked harder than we had been doing in the past five months.

We were angry; we felt betrayed, and this was the way we thought could help us to navigate those emotions.

I needed to lose control. I needed to stop thinking, so I gave him the reign of my body and, maybe, something else.

Spencer understood what I was looking for and didn’t waste time. He gave me what I craved.

Dark hickies and bite marks on my skin would prove that the next morning.

“Please, harder!” I begged, clasping his wrist as he put more pressure on my throat. Spencer’s kept his rough thrusts, grunting each time his hips snapped to mine.

“You want me to let you dumb, uh? So fucking needy,” he panted, his pace not faltering.

“Yes! Make me dumb! Use me!” I cried out, feeling the air leaving my lungs. The dizziness was welcoming as I allowed the tears to run free—a mix between the pleasure and the past hours’ pent-up emotions.

I didn’t need any other stimulation to trip over the edge for the third time that night. After a wild scream, I let myself go, clenching my walls and sending Spencer to his own end.

Collapsing on top of me, Spencer hid his face in the crook of my neck as we tried to catch our breath.

But my body started to shake, and sobs left my lips. That alerted Spencer, who immediately pulled out and leaned back to inspect my face.

His concerned hazel eyes met mine. I could see the panic in him.

“Did I hurt you? Was it too rough? I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have-” he trailed off. I shook my head, resting my palm on his cheek.

“No. No, Spencer. You did nothing wrong. It was amazing, actually. It’s me. It’s just- I don’t know what-” I couldn’t end the sentence because of the lump in my throat.

“Hey,” he mumbled, engulfing me in a tight embrace. It didn’t matter we both were naked and spent; I needed his solace, and he didn’t hesitate to supply it.

Kissing the top of my head and tracing delicate patterns on my back, he took his time to whisper sweet nothings until I calmed down.

It’s weird, but this was the first time I showed myself so vulnerable to him, and it scared the shit out of me.

We leaned on each other when Emily died, but this was different.

Our relationship was different now; even if I didn’t want to admit it, Spencer became an essential part of my life. As a friend. As a confidant. As the man who has seen beyond my defenses and knows me in the most intimate way.

When I regained some composure, Spencer put his boxers on and helped me to reach the bathroom. Then he went to the kitchen to grab me a glass of water and a snack. Once I was dressed in my pajamas and under the covers, he looked at me to ensure I was okay.

“Thank you,” I mumbled, sipping the water.

“You are welcome. Uh- well, I think I should go now? You need to sleep,” he said, hunching to grab his clothes scattered on the floor.

I couldn’t conceal my disappointment, although it was a reasonable thing to do. Our agreement worked like that: Don’t stay the night.

But I wasn’t ready for him to leave.

Maybe I didn’t want him to go ever again.

That last admission wasn’t clear to me at that moment, though.

“Spencer? Would you stay tonight, please?” I asked, my voice small as if I was begging for something forbidden. In some way, it was.

He halted his doing to look at me. I cleared my throat.

“I know it’s not what we agreed on, but I don’t feel I could stay alone now. I’m sorry if-” I stuttered.

“It’s okay. You don’t have to explain to me. If you want me to stay, I’ll stay,” Spencer offered.

“Thank you.”

Spencer joined me on the bed, wrapping us with the sheets and comforter and switching the lights off.

I fell asleep with my head on his shoulder and arm over his naked torso.

Waking up the following day, the first thing I noticed was the grip of a strong arm around my waist and a soft fan of breath on my shoulder. A warm sensation filled my senses.

Not wanting to wake him up, I slowly turned in bed to find Spencer asleep. He stirred a little but did not wake up. Soft snores escaped his lips. He looked so beautiful sleeping. By far the most attractive man I have ever met.

My stomach clenched as I analyzed the potential consequences of my thoughts.

What was this feeling? Of course, there was infinite gratitude for the best friend I could have found. But a friend who also became your sexual partner? Someone with whom you have been able to experiment, and is willing to please you, just as you would do anything for him to please him?

This was moving to another level.

I was falling in love with Spencer Reid.

Neither Spencer nor I mentioned the morning we woke up together in the days that followed. I assume it was just a one-time thing, and I thought Spencer considered it the same way.

As the cases kept coming, we had no chance to chat about that. So we let it slide.

But I couldn’t get out of my mind the idea there was something more. Was it just me imagining things?

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Spencer’s POV.

It was the perfect arrangement until it wasn’t.

I must have known that it could happen. I’m not that experienced in that field.

I only kissed a few people in my life.

I had sex just a few times before her.

And non just a few months passed until I broke the rules. At least one of them: no mixed feelings.

We were friends, and we fucked.

That was all.

In theory.

The rule was clear: if we saw this could put in danger our friendship, sex had to end.

But this was more than that for me. And it had been that way for months, yet I didn’t dare to call it to quit.

Having her by my side is the best thing that happened to me. I didn’t know I could fall so deep for someone, but she made it easy.

After the long talks and hanging out a lot, it wasn’t difficult to notice our connection.

But that was a friendship means. Or that is what I thought until we had sex.

God, it was amazing. I didn’t feel like that with anyone before.

What did she do to me?

I thought I had it under control, but I lost the last ounce of self-defense the night he asked me to stay.

How couldn’t I? She was vulnerable and needed someone. A friend. Me.

Watching her in my arms sent me into a spiral of overthinking. I wanted this for the rest of my life, but I would never have the nerve to confess that to her. That would mean I’ll lose her forever.

She didn’t feel the same way I did. Why should I bother then?

Sure, we were attracted, but keeping it physical was the agreement. No other feelings should have been involved.

I screw it up. What do I do now?

It became worse when she started to act a bit cold around me. I mean, not the same friend affection we used to have daily.

God, I was losing her as a friend too, and I couldn’t let that happen.

Two options came to my mind: play it cool or finish the friend with benefits bullshit. I needed to decide something, but I delayed it. Like if things could resolve themselves magically.

She knew something was happening yet didn’t say anything. Instead, she tried to keep it casual.

“What are you doing?” I complained when one afternoon, she dragged me to an abandoned office.

“Hey, relax. I only want a moment alone with you, okay?”

“Somebody could see us!” I scolded. Honestly, it wasn’t an issue in the past five or six months, so why would it be now?

“Don’t be paranoid, Spencer. We are in our usual abandoned office. Nobody walks here. You know that” she reassured me, kissing my jaw, but I was still tense, with my hands to the sides. Hands that, in another time, would be pulling up her skirt to squeeze her delicious ass.

She wrapped her arms around my neck to kiss my lips hungrily. I couldn’t help but gasp, kissing her back and gripping her hips. I was almost lost in the feeling and about to give in until my senses returned.

I rapidly used the grip on her hips to pull her away.

“I think we should come back.”

She frowned and parted entirely from me. I could see the anger rushing in her.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” She spat.

Well, I couldn’t tell her truly what was wrong with me, so I tried to play ignorant.

“What do you mean?”

“You’re avoiding me.”

Her voice sounded annoyed and something else that I couldn’t decipher.

“I’m not.”

A lie, of course. Excellent, Spencer Reid.

“Yes, you are. We haven’t fuck in two weeks. You tell me what our statistics are. A week at most?”

I knew that: six days and twenty-one hours. I opted for a nonspecific answer, though.

“Sort of. I guess.”

“Why then? Don’t tell me it’s because of work or anything like that. You know we managed before.”

She was trapping me. Every remark she made was pushing me to tell her the truth. I wasn’t ready for her to know, though.

Maybe I will never be. I needed to escape from there.

“We should end this,” I blurted out.

She frowned again. “End what?”

“This arrangement. It’s not working.”

I saw her demeanor change. I couldn’t exactly pinpoint what it was, but my first guess? Hurt. That broke my heart.

“Why? You... You don’t want to be my friend anymore?” She asked. Her voice was small. Why could she think I didn’t want to be her friend anymore? Not in a million years. I would like to be more than that, but I knew it was impossible.

“No! No that! I’m talking about the benefits thing. I - I think we should end that,” I hastened to explain. I prayed she could agree with me without any question. Too much to ask?

She kept silent for a couple of seconds, contemplating her answer. I knew this would happen. I knew that doing this would mess up everything between us. And the people assume I’m a genius. Waste of genius I am.

“So it’s true you found someone else. You want to fuck someone else.”

‘No! I want only to fuck you!’ I wanted to scream, but instead, I repeated myself: ‘Calm down, Spencer. Calm down. Stay focused’.

“I’m trying to keep our friendship, that’s all.”

“So you can fuck someone else. I get it,” she insisted. Why was that so important? I mean, she could have any man in the world to feed that need. I’m not that special.

“It’s not - I mean, not that I - “ I tried to explain, but she cut me off, putting a hand over my shoulder.

“Spencer, it’s okay. I know. She is pretty and a smart girl. Not to mention she’s head over heels for you.”

Now I was confused. Who the hell was she talking about?

“What? You - she, who?”

“Alice. You are talking about Alice. I know.”

Alice? Our colleague Alice? Does she think I want to fuck Alice Brown?

“I’m not thinking-” I stuttered.

She sighed.

“Spencer. I’m so sorry for my outburst. We knew this would happen eventually. One of us would find someone and want to be in a relationship. You have the right to get that,” she said, shedding some tears. I was so confused that I couldn’t determine the real reason for her tears. Was it because she was happy for me? Or because she didn’t feel she deserved the same? Damn, why am I so incompetent at interpreting this kind of thing? Either way, she was giving me a friendly outing. Wasn’t that my initial purpose?

“Thanks,” I mumbled. (Y/N) gave me a tiny smile and kissed my cheek.

“She is lucky, you know? But if she hurt you, I’m going to kill her,” she sentenced before leaving the office.

I would like to say that after that conversation, I was more relieved. I would like to say that it was the best decision I have made in a long time. But I would be lying.

Yeah, we’re still friends, but things were weird between us, though. She avoided me more often, and our conversations were more superfluous than before.

It didn’t help that Alice was always around because when she saw Alice, she definitely stopped talking to me or left the room.

That’s where the jokes started too. Morgan jumped at every chance he got to suggest - in a not subtle manner - how interested Alice was in me. I didn’t think so, but JJ even ventured out once and asked me when I would do something about it.

Little did she know that Alice was not the woman my heart and desires gravitated around.

God, I missed (Y/N) in my arms. But I needed to be strong. Hopes weren’t an option in this case.

And it seems that peace of mind wasn’t an option either. When (Y/N) started flirting with other guys, I felt the blood boiling inside me.

I shouldn’t have felt jealous; I didn’t have any right, but I couldn’t help it. Knowing she could have some of those guys in her bed, the bed I used to be in for a solid six months, made me sick of my stomach.

I didn’t know that part of me—the possessive one. That part that yearned for her and was desperate.

Another local case closed, and Prentiss convinced us to go for drinks.

After Emily’s return, it was rough to settle for the idea of having her back, but she managed to coax out of us any resentment we could have, even with (Y/N) and me. We didn’t take pretty well Emily’s fake death. Not after grieving her for months. Of course, rationally, we understood her reasons, but it hurt. It hurt a lot.

But they say time helps, and they are right. At the end of the day, Emily was alive, and slowly we got used to that.

Garcia picked the club this time.

Only Hotch and Rossi were excused for not going.

Instantly Morgan pulled Garcia and JJ to the dance floor, leaving Emily, Alice, (Y/N), and me at the table, sipping our alcoholic drink of preference.

Sitting by my side, Alice laced her arm with mine, leaning her head over my shoulder.

“I’m so exhausted, Spence. This case was so draining!” Alice sighed. I returned a hum in response, more focused on how she clutched my arm. When I shifted my gaze to (Y/N), she quickly averted her eyes from me. In a matter of seconds, she stood and strolled to the dance floor, joining Morgan, Garcia, and JJ.

Emily narrowed her eyes as she realized something.

“Alice?” Prentiss asked. The girl looked at her with full attention. “Can I ask you something from the bar? I would go to bring it myself, but I don’t want to be abducted by Morgan.”

Convinced enough, Alice complied and headed to the bar.

“Okay, what the fuck is going on between you and (Y/N)? Or should I say between you and Alice?” Far from Alice’s eardrops, Emily asked immediately.

“Nothing.”

“Spencer, I’m not stupid. (Y/N)’s behavior with Alice around? Your eyes on her?”

Profilers. Not that I had been subtle about it anyway. I cleared my throat, Emily’s gaze on me the entire time.

“I - we - uh. We had sex.”

“With (Y/N)?”

“Yes,” I admitted. Prentiss didn’t look surprised. Of course, she wasn’t.

“And what’s the problem?”

I spit in thirty seconds what had happened between us in the past six months.

“That kind of agreement never works. But sure, you already know that.”

“Believe me. I know that” I sighed.

“Tell her.”

“What?! No! She’s my friend on top of everything. She doesn’t feel like I do. I can’t tell her.” I assured Emily, who didn’t seem too convinced.

“How do you know? I bet she’s jealous of Alice.”

“I don’t think so,” I mumbled, pointing to the dance floor. (Y/N) was grinding against a guy who seemed too enthusiastic about it.

“That means nothing,” Prentiss scoffed.

But for me, it did. (Y/N) was enjoying the night and that guy’s company. And I was stuck in the same shit I wanted not to. I needed to move on from her. Try, at least.

Alice came back with some drinks. Emily took hers and stood to talk to someone who greeted her from another table.

I sipped my beer as Alice smiled and scooted to my side.

“Well, it seems we are alone now,” she pointed.

“Technically, no. The team is scattered between the dance floor and the -” I tried to explain, but Alice’s giggle cut me off.

“You know what I mean, Spencer. In fact, you know what I have been trying to do in the past months,” she asserted, looking at me with a smirk on her face.

“Do I?”

“Yeah. Flirt with you. I want you, Spencer. And I know you want me too,” Alice said, brushing some hair I had over my face. I didn’t know how to respond to that, so I didn’t say anything, seeing how she moved closer and closer. I darted my gaze from her eyes to her lips, which was her cue to close the remaining gap between us, pressing her lips to mine. It was a foreign feeling, but I told myself, ‘why not?’ so I kissed her back.

I cupped her cheeks and cocked my head to deepen the kiss. Wrapping her arms around my neck, she pressed her body against mine. I swept my tongue over her lips, and she complied and opened her mouth. Our tongues were fighting for dominance.

But it was wrong. I was kissing Alice, and I was thinking in (Y/N). How different she kissed me, how I missed her touch. The way she plays with my hair on the nape of my neck. The sounds she makes when I touch her.

I ended the kiss because of the guilt for what I was doing and the lack of oxygen. We both were panting, but Alice was the one who had a grin plastered on her face.

“I’m sorry. I - I shouldn’t have done that,” I apologized. Alice looked at me with a frown.

“Why do you say that? That kiss was amazing.”

“Alice. I’m sorry. I can’t do this. I just can’t. You are such a beautiful and intelligent woman; any man would be lucky to have you.”

“But I want you to have me, Spencer. Why not? You are single; I am too. And I know we’re attracted to each other,” she reasoned.

“But I love someone else,” I blurted out. Alice sat straight in the booth, scoffing.

“It’s (Y/N), right?”

I nodded. I really didn’t care right then if the whole DC finds out.

“Yeah. It’s (Y/N).”

“Come on, Spencer. She is not the one for you. I know you have been friends for a while, but you? with her? In a romantic relationship? Not a chance.”

That judgment took me aback. Why was it so difficult to believe?

“Why do you say that?”

“You need a person who cares about you, for real. Not someone that is constantly bossing everyone around and ditching your feelings. I saw how she was treating you lately. The cold shoulder and everything. She doesn’t deserve you, Spencer.”

“(Y/N) is not like that. You’re mistaken,” I shook my head. Alice didn’t understand. It was all my fault.

“Well. If I am, then please tell me what you see right now. That’s the woman you love?” Alice mocked, pointing to a corner where (Y/N) was making out with the same guy from the dance floor.

They both were getting handsy, and my blood started to boil again.

I couldn’t stand it anymore. I barely heard what Alice said when I stood up and marched where (Y/N) was.

--------------------

Reader’s POV.

Kissing that bitch. Spencer was kissing that bitch. But why was I surprised? He was the one who told me that our agreement should end because he wanted to fuck Alice.

It shouldn’t hurt the way it did. Not when I had another human being roaming my body with his hands and whispering praises into my ear.

Fuck you, Spencer Reid.

I took my fuck-mate prospect’s hand and made him follow me to a more private corner. I needed to forget what I saw, and if that meant getting lost with another guy, so be it.

We were heavily making out when I heard someone clearing his throat. I recognized that sound immediately.

“I need to talk to you,” Spencer sternly said, tapping my shoulder.

I parted from the kiss, and my buddy didn’t seem happy about the interruption. I wasn’t either.

“Hey dude, we’re busy here,” Randall - I’m sure that was his name - told him.

“Yeah, get lost, Reid,” I snarled. It was dark, but I still could see the redness on Spencer’s face.

I was about to resume my kissing session with Ryan when Spencer cleared his throat again, speaking louder this time.

“I will not go. We need to talk (Y/N). Now.”

Did I hear correctly? Was Spencer Reid demanding something from me?

Raymond was pissed off right now and turned to face Spencer with anger in his eyes. I should have felt bad for Spencer, but he deserved it.

“You heard the lady. Get lost!” Reggie grunted, but Spencer didn’t move from his spot, preparing himself for the worst.

When I saw Rendell fisting his hand to land a punch on Spencer’s face, I felt like I should do something.

“Hey, hey, Richie. Calm down. I had fun with you, but my friend needs me now. I’m so sorry,” I said, quickly grabbing Spencer’s wrist and dragging him to the back exit.

“Call me! And it’s Robbie. My name is Robbie.”

The poor guy spoke out before I disappeared.

Once outside, I looked at Spencer deadly.

“Spencer, what the fuck was that?!” I yelled.

“That guy only wanted to take advantage of you,” he spat back.

“How the hell do you know that?” I asked him, my hands on my hips and my best-annoyed look.

“He was touching you!” Spencer cringed as if he were talking about the world’s more disgusting thing.

“Oh! Is that a problem?” I mocked. Spencer looked frustrated with my sarcasm.

“Yeah, it is! You were going home with a stranger!”

“Good observation, genius. Maybe it is what I wanted to do.”

“To fuck that guy?” Spencer asked in disbelief.

“Yes! Since I don’t have my fuck-buddy anymore. Does it make sense to you?”

Spencer opened his mouth to say something, but no words came out. I huffed.

“You did end our agreement, not me!” I reminded him.

“So that is what you miss. Your fuck-buddy,” Spencer pointed, his voice pained as if I said something hurtful.

“Yes. I mean - yes! Of course, I miss you,” I added, but Spencer shook his head.

“No, you miss the sex. Not me,” Spencer corrected.

“What the hell are you trying to say? Just say it, Spencer!”

An awkward silence fell between us. Spencer had his hands fisted as if he was holding something back. As if I had struck a chord in him.

“It can’t be that I was the only one who felt it! All this time was just sex for you?” He asked, and I saw the hurt in his eyes.

“No! That’s why we are friends too. You are not a stranger to me, Spencer. You could never be a stranger to me.” I tried to explain.

“And what if it was more than that? What if I broke the main rule of this whole thing?”

This time I was speechless. How could it be?

“You did not. You have feelings for Alice. That’s why you ended it.”

“No! And no! I don’t have feelings for Alice, and I didn’t end it because of her.”

“Oh please, you were devouring her in that booth minutes ago!” I scoffed.

“Yeah. I - I did kiss Alice, but because I wanted to forget how you were rubbing your body with another guy!” He argued.

“What? Why does that bother you so much?”

Spencer ran his hands through his hair. He was holding back something. When he locked eyes with me, I could see his struggle inside.

“I’m jealous, okay?” He yelled out, and I stepped back from the impetus in how he said it. “And not only because another guy was touching you. I’m jealous because I realize you can go on with your life without me. And not a day goes by that I don’t regret telling you we should have ended our arrangement without explaining the real reason.” Spencer said, averting his gaze from mine.

“And what is that real reason?” I asked in a whisper. I was afraid about what he would say.

Spencer returned his gaze to me.

“That I fell in love with you.”

I was taken aback. I didn’t expect Spencer would say that. I thought that I would be the one who would say it. My surprise seemed to deflate him.

“I know. I screwed up. We said this couldn’t jeopardize our friendship. And I really tried. I swear. But it got stronger every day, and I didn’t know what to do-” he rambled until I pressed my hand on his cheek. Spencer looked at me with doe eyes.

“If it makes you feel any better, I broke the rules too. And I’m not only talking about the night I asked you to stay with me. Although that night, I realized I had already loved you for a while,” I confessed, feeling my cheeks burning at the admission.

Spencer looked at me in utter surprise.

“You – you what?” I let out a nervous chuckle, like a teenager confessing to her crush.

“Yeah. I love you.”

Spencer didn’t seem to get the whole idea yet.

“But you were - I mean, that guy over there-”

“I was jealous too. And what could I do? You told me that we should end it. I thought you would fuck Alice and start a relationship with her,” I shrugged.

“God, no! In a million years. You have to believe me,” Spencer hastened to say.

“I don’t think that’s such a bad idea. I saw you excitedly kissing her a while ago,” I pointed matter-of-factly.

“You would think that even if I tell you I was thinking of you when I was doing it?”

“Liar.” I jeered, looking anywhere else but him. Spencer’s hand on my chin guided my gaze to him again.

“I’m not lying. Alice will never kiss me the way you do. She won’t give me goosebumps like you do when you touch me. Much less could she make me – you know – make me that hard, like when you kiss that special spot on my jaw,” he said, now stroking my cheek. I chuckled because I knew that sweet spot so well.

“I bet she couldn’t suck you off as I do,” I dared to say to see his reaction.

Spencer groaned, and I knew he was picturing the scene. Me on my knees, my lips around his shaft.

I was sure that my sultry voice filled him with pent-up desire. He missed me. He wanted me. He needed me the same way I missed him and wanted him.

“Kiss me,” I begged. I couldn’t take it anymore.

Spencer didn’t need to be told twice. He leaned and complied, with one hand on my cheek and the other on the back of my head; we crushed our lips together. I tried to ground myself, grabbing Spencer’s coat lapels, but the kiss was so fierce that I felt my knees weak. It was sloppy and full of passion.

I could feel Spencer’s erection pressing on my thigh. Maybe this was heating us faster than it should, but I didn’t care, and Spencer didn’t seem to care either.

When we broke the kiss, we were both panting. I could see Spencer’s eyes full of lust, which turned me on more than it should have. I was going to kiss him again, but he stopped me, holding me in place with his hands on my cheeks.

“Did you say she couldn’t suck me off as you do?” He asked me, and I fastly nodded. A smirk emerged on his face.

“Then get on your knees and show me,” Spencer demanded, running his fingers up and down my cheek and jaw.

Wait, what? Was he asked me to give him a blowjob in the back of a club? A public place?

It’s not that we haven’t talked about something like this before, but it was left as a fantasy that could happen in the future. Well, it seems that this moment could happen now. The idea made my panties absolutely soaked.

Without a second thought, my hands worked on Spencer’s belt.

I quickly unzipped his pants and freed his cock from his boxers. Before I got down and started my task, Spencer stopped me, took off his jacket, and hunched to put it on the ground, where I would put my knees.

Quite a gentleman, worried that my knees would not touch the dirty floor. Sure, a gentleman who was going to get a blowjob, but a gentleman nonetheless.

Once ready, he leaned against the wall as I pumped his cock with my hand. I could see the precum on the head, which I spread with my fingers.

Jeez, no matter how often I did this, the man was packed, and it was always a challenge to give him a blowjob.

A groan of satisfaction left his lips as I took him into my mouth.

“Fuck, (Y/N),” he muttered.

His hands immediately landed on my head, stroking my hair while I sucked on it, trying to take it whole. I hollowed my cheeks to take more and more of him as I bowed my head to increase his pleasure. And it worked. Spencer’s moans were all I needed to go on.

“Baby, you take it so well. You don´t know how pretty you look with my cock in your mouth,” he praised, coaxing a loud moan from me.

My eyes were fixed on him. Seeing him so lost in pleasure turned me on, throwing his head back, grabbing my hair to hold me in place, and pushing his hips up to fuck my mouth.

As he quickened his pace, I couldn’t help but gag when his cock hit the back of my throat.

“Come on, (Y/N). I know you can take it. This big cock is made for you,” he encouraged me. That way, it helped me relax my throat to take more of him.

I could feel him twitching, a sign that he was close. I loved knowing that I was the one who could push him to the limit, that I was the one who could give him so much pleasure. I wanted to do this for the rest of my life.

Spencer yanked on my hair to stop me as he was about to explode. Panting, he gazed at me adoringly as he helped me to my feet.

“I think we’ll leave this kind of ending for another time. Come here,” Spencer panted. I grinned, sweeping my lips with my tongue.

Spencer collided his lips with mine in another heatest kiss. He could taste himself in my mouth.

In the dark alley now was Spencer, who caged me against the wall. The cool bricks didn’t cool down the fire running through my body.

“Please, Spencer. I need you, baby,” I moaned on Spencer’s lips. He didn’t hesitate to act for his desires. His fingers toyed with the hem of my skirt, pulling it up enough to slip his hands under the fabric, caressing my thighs up and down but still not touching where I wanted him the most.

Feeling me squirming, he knew I was growing desperate for more.

“Are you greedy right now, sweetheart? Tell me what you want,” he taunted. That little did help me to stay still. His low voice and the teasing only made my arousal grow.

“You. I want you. Now. Please,” I mumbled. My eyes shut, feeling Spencer’s hands traveling upper my tights.

He took pity on me and reached my covered center with one hand. He started to circle my clit over my damped panties. A growl escaped my mouth.

“So wet, and I barely touched you,” he teased.

“Umm. It’s all for you. Keep touching me, please.”

I purred, feeling the pleasure of his thumb circling my bundle of nerves.

His lips sucked the skin on my neck, making me moan. My hands tugged the curls I had in my reach. Spencer grunted as his hand pulled the fabric to the side, letting his thumb work on my clit without any barrier. He added his middle finger, pushing it between my folds. A silent scream told him that it was what I wanted, quickly adding a second finger.

“Fuck! Spencer!” Still dizzy, I bucked my hips to feel his fingers deeper and deeper.

“You like that, uh?”

I couldn’t manage to let words out. But Spencer already knew the answer, speeding up his pace.

The poor light in the alley let Spencer see my face. Sure I looked like a mess, moaning and taking what he was giving to me.

“Spencer, baby. I’m so close,” I whimpered.

“I know. Do you want to cum in my fingers? Here, where can anyone see us?” He was openly teasing me, but honestly, he was just as worked up as me.

“Yes! Make me come. I want to give it to you because I’m yours—nobody else. Yours.”

That encouraged him to work faster, panting praises in my ear, circling my clit, and fingering me. That was enough to push me to the edge.

A loud moan and my walls clenching around his fingers told Spencer I was almost there.

“Let it go, baby. I’ve got you,” he whispered in my ear.

“Spencer! Fuck!” I whimpered as I came.

He helped me ride my orgasm, moving his fingers slowly and kissing my lips tenderly. Carefully, Spencer retrieved his fingers, brought them to his mouth, and sucked them clean. The sight made me moan, pulling Spencer by his lapel to kiss him again. Now I could taste myself in his mouth.

“Are you okay?” He asked after breaking the kiss.

“Yeah. But I need more,” I panted, still regulating my breathing. Although the poor light, I saw him smirk.

I wanted to feel him so bad. It didn’t matter that we were in a dark alley where anyone could pass and see us.

Spencer pumped his shaft a couple of times before aligning it at my entrance. He made eye contact with me to confirm if I was ready.

“Fuck me, please,” I whined.

It was the answer he needed.

“Fuck!” Spencer groaned when he slid the head of his cock between my folds, pushing inch by inch until he bottomed out.

“Oh my God. Yes!” I moaned. The feeling of him filling me up has always been so intense, no matter how many times he had done this.

“Baby, you’re so tight. I don’t know how I can fit in you,” he panted, stilling there and basking in the feeling of my warmth and wetness.

“You’re so big. I love how you stretch me. I love to feel everything of you,” I whimpered. Spencer let out a grunt trying to keep still and not move until I was ready.

“You - you can move now,” I whined, urging him to oblige.

Spencer pulled out almost entirely, only to slam into me right after.

“Shit!” I cried as Spencer set a pace. Ragged breaths erupted from both of us.

It was like being at home. I’ve never felt like this with anyone else.

“You like that? Uh?” Spencer grumbled, increasing the speed of his thrusts.

“Yes! You feel so - so good. I love the way - ah! - the way you fuck me,” I said.

“That’s why you were flirting with that asshole? You - you wanted me jealous?”

“Uh - yes! Yes! Yes! I wanted you so bad. I missed you so bad!”

Some tears pricked my eyes. A mix between the pleasure Spencer was giving to me and the realization that I missed him, and I couldn’t stand the thought of losing him.

People might say it’s strange that such a collected, shy, and socially awkward man could have such an animalistic side. For me, it is part of a whole. Spencer is all that and much more. People are multifaceted, and our social side often seems to be the opposite of our intimate side. Honestly, that’s not a problem for me. I love Spencer in all his different ways: the nerd, the fact-spouting young genius, the Dr. Who fan, the good friend, the one who’s by your side when you need him, the one willing to sacrifice for you, the man who is self-conscious when he receives compliments, the lover, the one who can mark your body with lovebites and who can make you see stars with his tongue or his fingers.

They are all the Spencer I love, my Spencer.

Spencer grabbed one of my legs and looped it around his waist. I held onto his biceps for stability as he speeded up his thrusts. Our moans were loud enough that it was a miracle no one had seen us yet.

Though perhaps I spoke too soon.

I opened my eyes, looked over Spencer’s shoulder, and saw someone looking at us. That made the adrenaline rush in a different direction than it was at that moment.

“Spencer. She’s - she’s watching us - she’s there. Fuck!” I managed to say between whimpers. Spencer didn’t seem bothered by my announcement, as his thrusts remained in the same delicious way.

“Who? Who’s watching us?” He asked, panting in my ear.

“Alice. Fuck! Should- should we stop?” I barely could form coherent words at this point, but I needed to warn him. We were in a public place, after all. The realization made my arousal grow somehow, so I only could close my eyes and feel Spencer’s cock stretching me most delightfully.

Almost forgetting that I told him what was happening around us, I swear I feel Spencer smirk on the crook of my neck.

“No. No. Let her watch if she wants. So she knows I’m yours. That you’re the only one - the only one I want to fuck in my entire life. Every time, everywhere. Let her see us. I - don’t - fucking - care,” Spencer emphasized each part with a deep thrust. I was a moaning mess, eyes shut and clinging to Spencer’s biceps for some balance as I lost myself in the pleasure.

The coil in my lower belly built it faster and faster.

“I love you so fucking much,” I panted, bucking up my hips to feel him deeper if that was possible at this point.

We both knew it was animalistic, lacking all rationalism. But we need it. We craved it in the most primal essence, where the words were not enough.

“I love you too. Look at me. I want to see your eyes when I’ll make you come. That’s it, my love—my good girl.”

“Repeat it, please,” I begged, arching my back.

“I love you, my good girl—only you,” he said, struggling to keep his eyes open.

“Yes! I’m yours. Spencer! God! So so good,” I babbled. I didn’t know it was something coherent, but who cares anyway?

“Are you close? Are you going to cum on my cock? Let her see how I fill you up?” He asked, a twisted smirk on him. Oh, fuck, how I love this man.

I didn’t know if Alice was still watching us, but the thought of her realizing that Spencer only wanted me and I only wanted him made me delirious.

“Yes! Please! Let me cum. I’m so close, baby.”

The feelings must be shown in some way, expressed, and offered in the form of actions. This time it was the possessiveness: the fact that reminded us that the fire was there because we belonged to each other.

At the top of our climax, mouths only served to moan our names, curses, and praises.

“Spencer! Fuck!” I yelled, shutting my eyes in pleasure.

My muscles tightened around Spencer when I came, pushing him to the edge. Spencer groaned as he emptied himself in me.

“Arg! So good, so good for me,” he muffled as his head nestled in the crook of my neck.

The moment and the place made the feeling more powerful. So powerful that we got lost in the dizziness of that post-coital bliss for a minute or two.

“God, I love you,” Spencer mumbled, kissing my neck. I giggled, feeling his stubble on my skin.

“I love you too. You’re more than my fuck-buddy, Spencer. And more than my friend too. You’re the man I love. I mean it,” I reassured him, tracing my fingers between his locks. He hummed contentedly. Parting from my neck, Spencer focused his eyes on mine.

“I know I should have said something before, but I was scared,” he confessed.

“Me too. But here we are. In a dark alley, in the back of a club, after fucking the shit out of us. I guess we are okay now.” We both giggled.

“Yeah, we’re more than okay,” he said, pecking my lips and hugging me tightly.

Well, maybe Emily Prentiss faking her death did bring something good to my life, after all.

------------------

Spencer Reid’s Taglist: @dreatine @nomajdetective @jayyeahthatsme @rosalinasam2 @averyhotchner @tvandfanfic @lovelyxtom @princessmiaelicia @pastelbabygirl19 @reidsbookclub @alexxavicry @gspenc @spencerreidisbae123 @calmspencer @thebloomingeagle

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#Smurph's Birthday Challenge #spencer reid #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fanfictions #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid x fem!bau!reader #spencer reid x fem!reader #dr. spencer reid #spencer reid smut #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid angst #spencer reid x y/n

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the-dairy-of-a-normal-person · 13 days

Note

idk how to start but I am SO confused about that last look of a flabbergasted Francesca when she meets Michaela? WHAT WAS THAT? i haven't read the books so excuse me for that 😭

some thoughts-

+ they are wasting away Benedict. they are wasting his potential and story and what all he could be. he felt so...out of place, confused and useless this season. half of his scenes were of him having sex that was not going ANYWHERE. i love Benny so much but i want shonda to treat this President of Pookie Nation with care and love. I want the story to respect Benedict because his character has so much potential and so much to offer. He hides behind his charming smiles and taunts but his eyes are always sad. As if he is looking for something-this one crucial piece of puzzle and he cannot seem to find it. shonda babes you better sharpen your quill.

+ all the instances that were supposed to be happy for Pen- the marriage, the engagement, the wedding night, ALL OF IT WAS RUINED BECAUSE of that stupid LW secret.

+Kate and Anthony still the best couple i do not make the rules. i don't think even Polin is topping them. tho Kate is certainly topping Anthony tonight.

+ the season was good don't get me wrong but it felt..a bit... rushed and its like the writers are focusing more on the future than savour the present. everything is happening because of the future seasons. idk if that makes sense

+i DID NOT like violet's treatment of kilmartin. i like violet most of the time but she didn't have to act so "unsure", distant and sloppy with kilmartin.

+Francesca gave some slippery vibes as if she is hiding something. or is it just me?

+I don't know why everyone is bashing Eloise so much. I pity her so much. She has kept the sword aside, she stopped fighting but she looks SO LONELY. she is not always the easiest person and she is whiny but i wish i could give her the tightest hug and talk day and night. maybe I see myself in her too much that i am defending her.

+i like they included hyacinth and Gregory this season, they are so precious.

+ i liked cressida's redemption arc but I think Lady Featherington might have won this one. She made peace with Pen in her own tight lipped fashion but i love that for her, i am not going to lie.

+ oh, cressida. i feel too bad for her. i do. but I do not sympathise with her. i actually do not know what to think of her at all.

+mr and Mrs mondrich yassssss slaying as always so cool so suave i love them

+once again, KANTHONY💅🏻🕺🏻✨🥰✨⭐✨💫❤️❤️❤️ ALWAYS AND FOREVER

+ Best acting this entire season- Claudia Jessie. She is just too good.

Honorable mention- Colin and his rage when he finds out the real LW

+ Nicola is so real for baring her boobs we love a relatable queen and SHE MADE SO MANY WOMEN SEEN WHO DO NOT THINK THAT THEY ARE BEAUTIFUL JUST BECAUSE THEY LACK CONVENTIONAL BODY TYPE. THANK YOU, QUEEN FOR MAKING ME FEEL SEEN.

+did I mention KANTHONY?

+LADY DANBURY' storyline was TOO DAMN GOOD. Her pain, the sweet moments between violet and her, how she confronted her brother. She is simply sublime. One of my fav characters. Again, i love my boy Benny but Lady Danbury had a better storyline than whatever the heck his story was trying to achieve.

okay, i ll stop. i am so sorry for making you read all this. i may not be as interesting as Lady WhistleDOWN.

Abt benedict : i'm afraid they are just going to use him off but apparently next season is about him so we'll, but yeah, appart from the sex scenes we had nothing more of him 🥲

Abt LW secret and all : I absolutely hated colin's reaction to pen's power and his stupid jalousy that he has all bc she is more sucsesfull than he will ever be and that she was able to build all of it by herself and her own labour and NO ONE praised her for that exept mme delacroix

Abt kanthony : i loved them sm but why werd they randomly popping on and out. I honestly lost track of them at some point

Abt the season writing : after discussing with a friend, we thought that the season did not have the same pattern as the others, especially part 2 which seemed a bit weird, as if not wrote by the same person

Abt violet : i used to be always like " i could never hate her " but now she just pissed me off. Girl, u can see that your daughter is happy and she found someone she's confortable with so why being such a brat ???

Abt Éloïse : i understand that she felt lonely and all but she is such a bad friend, took cressida for granted, just using her and not even caring for anyone but herself

Abt lady featherington : i had the feeling her "redemption arc " was forced and unatural

And finally, i agree with pretty much everything

Thank you for interacting ❤️

#bridgerton s3 #bridgerton s3 part 2 #bridgerton spoilers #nicola coughlan #bridgerton

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theunbonded · 14 days

Text

Coming back to Basgiath was a slap in the face. I arrived back at the dormitory early in the morning, dripping water onto the cool, wooden floors. No one woke up to witness my humiliating return back, but it didn’t matter once the routine of the day started.

All of the Unbonded had been assigned to the undesirable chores. I found the kitchen swarming with people I had never seen before, angrily slicing away at pieces of fruit or white-knuckling a spoon to stir a stew. The energy in there was negative and deadly. When I served the food to the riders, their sneers and taunts came one after the other. They all wanted to kick the wounded dog. Violet and Rhiannon tried to talk to me, but the moment I saw their pitying stares I grabbed the empty tray in front of me and ran back to the kitchen.

I ripped the net off of my hair, threw the gloves in the trash, and stomped into the mess hall, eyes searching for a specific person. When I found them, I quickly crossed the room.

“Aetos.” I stopped in front of the table where Dain and the other second-years were sitting.

“Capplynger.” His eyes were sharp as they surveyed me. “Do you need something?”

“I need off kitchen duty.” I could admit I appreciated that he didn’t mention last night and my new status right off the bat.

Dain sighed, rubbing a hand over his jaw. “I understand that-”

“I need off kitchen duty,” I interrupted, repeating myself in the hope that he could tell I wasn’t playing around.

“I’ll see what I can do, Capplynger, but no promises.”

⤧⤧⤧

“It’s your lucky day. The last cadet got kicked off of rotation due to a communication problem, so your chore has just changed.”

Dain had led me outside of the rider’s quadrant to the grassy quad. We stood next to the stone bridge that would take me to the other side of Basgiath where the rest of the quadrants were. In Dain’s hand was a large, brown satchel, which he now had outstretched to me.

“Markham needs this delivered to the infantry quadrant. They’ll be expecting you.”

“What sort of communication problem?” I grabbed the satchel and slung it over my shoulder. It wasn’t heavy; Markham must have filled it with reports for the generals in the infantry division.

Dain grimaced. “You’ll see. Just don’t let them get under your skin.”

He left me alone to traverse across the bridge. Diagonal from where I stood I could see the Parapet. It seemed like ages ago I had crossed the thin, crumbling walkway. The me then would have spit on me now. As I walked away from the rider’s quadrant, I wondered if maybe everything had been a mistake.

Walking into the infantry quadrant, I was the lone black uniform in a sea of navy blue. Curious and hostile glances kept being shot my way. It was almost as bad as being back in the rider’s quadrant, but at least no one here knew that I was Unbonded. Their distaste came from the presumption I was an egotistical Rider.

Only one of those things was true.

“They found a new one,” a voice behind me drawled. I turned to find two girls leaning against the wall, sizing me up. One had freckles coating every inch of her skin, her flaming red hair tied in a high ponytail. The other girl had deep brown skin and had kept her black hair loose, allowing it to spill over her shoulders. They both wore the navy blue of the infantry, their uniforms identical and complete with a rucksack and sword strapped to their back. While their hair may not be as big of a problem as it was in the rider's quadrant, they were not given the same flexibility with the uniform.

“How long do you think she’ll last?” The black-haired girl smiled at me, but there was nothing nice about the gesture.

“If she comes back at all?” The red-head smiled too. It was like they were baring their teeth at me, showing off the weapons they’d use to maul me apart. “A week at most.”

“Where do I drop this off?” I lifted the satchel in the air, keeping my tone bored. They were the type of girls to feed off of any reaction. I wouldn’t give them the honor.

“We can take it off your hands.” The red-head tried to grab it from me, but I swiftly moved out of her reach.

I tsked my tongue. “Not so fast. I need names and why I should trust you.”

The red-head scowled at me. “Are all riders this cocky?”

I returned her previous smile, making sure she could see every ill-intent behind my eyes. I could still feel the blood coating my hands from Threshing last week.

“Lidia Newman. First-year. Twenty-third company.”

“Divya Sengal. First-year. Twenty-third company.” The black-haired girl, Divya, said after Lidia. “This is one of our duties, which we have done since conscription without failure. While you may not trust us, we have seen plenty of your kind come and go.”

“So I would suggest not thinking too hard, since it might hurt that small head of yours, and just hand over that satchel so we can get this over with.” Lidia held her hand out. I slowly passed the satchel over to her, and she looped it over her neck and over one shoulder.

“Good doing business with you.” Divya gave a mock salute before both girls turned on their heels and began their walk back into the infantry quarters.

“Nice swords!” I called at their retreating backs.

They halted. Turned back towards me.

“Do you have something to say to us, Rider?” Lidia scowled.

Not a rider. Still a cadet. I swallowed the bitter feeling in my throat.

“I meant it. Those swords are nice.” I had finally analyzed the swords strapped to the two girls’ backs. The shortswords were much more practical than the long monstrosities that Xander and Garrick liked to carry around. It would be something that could benefit riders like me to carry around. I hadn’t seen them anywhere in the rider’s quadrant, but if they were the standard-issued weapon for the infantry, they would be easy to come around eventually.

“Come closer. You can see how sharp they are.” Lidia’s grin was evil.

“Ask the last rider what he thought about the swords,” Divya giggled.

“We can play another day.” I began to walk towards the bridge to bring me back to the rider’s quadrant. “Play nice and we might learn a thing or two from each other.”

Masterlist

#fourth wing #iron flame #the empyrean #garrick tavis #garrick fourth wing #xaden riorson #violet sorrengail #fanfiction #fourth wing fanfic

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tiriansrambles · 28 days

Text

Letters. Pt 1/???

Edwin & The Cat King

ft Charles.

spoilers mentioned. please don’t read if you have not seen dead boy detectives!!!

ﾟ*☆*ﾟ゜ﾟ*☆*ﾟ゜ﾟ*☆*ﾟ゜ﾟ*☆*ﾟ

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┊ ┊ ┊ ┊ ˚✩ ⋆｡˚ ✩

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┊ ┊ ✩

┊ ⊹ ✯

✯

Edwin isn’t entirely sure when this all began. the letters. the feeling of joy when he’d receive one from dead mail. he never thought something so small would give him so much to look forward to. even though he should be focused on cases, his mind always wondered when he’d get another letter. considering he doesn’t … have a telephone. this was the best bet for any communication.

Edwin had begun to receive letters from the cat king. he shouldn’t be as surprised as he is. but he is. He was pleasantly surprised about how nice of a feeling this was. when he first got a letter from Cat King, he figured he would forget about Edwin the moment he returned to London, even after their small goodbye. He still has the Lilly, preserved and put away for safekeeping. Mostly, he doesn’t want Charles to know he kept it.

The first letter received was him asking if he was okay. It had been some time since Niko. And to be frank, he wasn’t okay. At all. Even though he knows she’s moved on now. he misses her. every day. She became a dear friend and one of the only good things that happened in Port Townsend. He missed her. Despite her bravery, she didn’t deserve to die. He wanted her here. badly. Who else could he tell about the letters? Who else could understand? But he knows, for sure, that her afterlife is pure magic. Peace. Perhaps she had reunited with her father. He hopes she’s happy, at peace. The Cat King even allowed Edwin to talk about Niko for a long while through their letters, it was nice to let it out. He still missed her though, tremendously.

Since then, they haven’t stopped writing to each other. They’ve been writing every single day for weeks on end. Between cases, he’d make the time to write something to complete the letter and send it off. He appreciates Cat King’s effort. Truly. Considering there were probably easier ways of communicating. Like a telephone, or whatever it is that the kids use nowadays. Texting and Snapchat and whatever else. He can barely register the internet. And snap chat has a ghost emoticon for its logo. offensive. what do pictures have to do with the dead?

As the letters go on, of course, there is always a flirtatious tone to them. So much so he could even read the words in his voice. Imagining him in front of him, the way he would move about. Edwin didn’t want to admit this, but he almost … /missed/ the Cat King. After taking the time to understand him, the way he behaves. they are not so different. Two lonely souls. Perhaps he found comfort in that. In him.

Edwin’s gaze follows the stroke of each letter on the page, a soft hum escaping his lips. And soon enough, he’s smiling again.

Edwin,

How are you today, handsome? I found myself bored and decided to visit the library. I know, crazy, right? What would a sexy, and powerful being like me be doing in the PortTownsend public library? Well, I remembered you talking about how reading was a good pass time. So, I figured, why not? Take a page out of Edwin Payne’s book, amirite? I don’t know how you feel about modern books as of late. But I found something rather intriguing. I think you might like this one. The Song of Achilles. Madeline Miller. Did you know they have audiobooks now, where things are read to you? But I figured you’d hate that. Too lazy for you, isn’t it?

I was thinking, as much as I love writing to you…I thought maybe we could read this together. I’m sending you the book. Let me know what you think. And maybe, just maybe you could mirror to Port Townsend. We could read and talk about it. No funny business, I promise. Cat’s honor. But yes, this is me asking you out on a date. Whether it’s friendly or romantic is up to you, you’re painfully aware of what I prefer. I’d come to you, of course, but I’m sure it would cause unnecessary drama with your bestie. Although, I love the drama. I’ll spare you the drama until you inevitably fall in love with me.

You should be receiving it soon. Let me know. Don’t keep me waiting. <3

Love,

The Cat King.

If Edwin could blush, his face would be as red as a tomato. He reads the letter, once, twice, three times. A DATE?! A date… of reading a book. Together. That was intimate. Especially to Edwin, he loved to read. To research. He has not read anything modern, though. The only other ‘person’ he shared books with was Monty. Monty… he still couldn’t believe that. He had seemed to lose interest in making any more friends or sharing things with anyone. But The Cat King is the one who reached out. As he re-reads the letter for what felt like the millionth time, he jumps at the sudden shouting.

“MAIL!!!!” Called out the delivery man. Edwin is on his feet, quietly shushing him, but thanking him nonetheless. He hands him a package. it was the book, of course. but it was wrapped neatly with a bow. the wrapping paper was an interesting shade of green with a gold bow. It seemed to be the only thing to come. , It had been such a long time since he’s received a gift. especially like this. he almost didn’t want to open it, but of course he does. and despite being quick with it, he is cautious to save the wrapping paper. He stares down at the book, a finger tracing the cover. Interesting… a modern retelling of the Trojan War? From the perspective of Patroclus? The Cat King was correct. This certainly caught his eye…

“Wait!” Edwin calls out to the delivery man before he can leave, stopping him in his tracks.

The delivery man shoots him a look, and Edwin smiles, sheepishly. “I apologize, could you just wait one moment?”

Edwin is quick to get back to his desk, setting the book down and quickly getting out parchment to respond to the Cat King.

Cat King,

I have received the book… I must say, my interest has peaked.

I would very much like to read this book with you…

Edwin hesitates, a nervous breath escaping him.

I would … enjoy this to be a date. I don’t know in what way just yet. I would like to see you. I will find time to come see you. For now, we could read and write letters back until I can mirror over. Cases always take priority, of course.

Thank you… for thinking of me. It means a lot to me.

I am looking forward to this.

Edwin.

He can tell the delivery man is getting impatient, but he gets the letter ready in the nick of time, handing it over.

“I apologize. Could you please send this…and um, perhaps when you have letters addressed to this person, could you not announce it? ”

The delivery man blinks a moment, before rolling his eyes. Perhaps he could even sense the shame Edwin felt. He was keeping this from Charles. How could he explain this to him anyhow? He would just be angry…

“Very well,” the delivery man spoke, phasing through the wall.

Edwin sighs, leaning against the desk as if the wind was knocked out of him. This was already hard enough to hide from Charles, how was he going to do this? After the confession…things were? Well, awkward wasn’t necessarily the word. They just didn’t talk about it again. Charles said they had forever to figure it out. He was right…but it was obvious. He did not feel the same. He knows he would prefer Crystal as well… if his affections are for her, then how could he keep that from him? He loved him. He just wanted him to be happy. More than anything in the world. His dearest friend. His best friend. Perhaps that is what they are destined to be. He wouldn’t have it any other way…

Even if the Cat King is still really confusing for him, he can’t lie to himself. He has grown fond. Why shouldn’t he pursue it?

Yeah. That’s exactly what he will do. If reading this book together goes well, and he truly enjoys his company? Why not.

He nods to himself, turning to look at the book on his desk. Just as he was going to reach for it, Charles’ voice snapped him to attention.

“You all right, mate? You look frazzled.” Charles asks a brow quirked in confusion.

Edwin nearly jumps out of his skin, soon taking a moment to collect himself.

“Yes. Yes, perfectly fine.” He clears his throat, soon moving his position to hide the book on his desk. As discreetly as possible, of course. He felt guilty, hiding this from Charles. But he had no way to explain this. He just knows he will be angry with him.

Another quirked brow and a chuckle escaped Charles. “You sure, you look like you’ve seen a ghost.” He grins.

Edwin rolls his eyes, fondly. “Ha ha. You’re hilarious, Charles Rowland.”

“Arent I just?’ Charles grins, “really, though, you good?”

Edwin nods, “im fine, yes. just lost in thought.”

That wasn’t a total lie, of course.

“Well, Crystal and i were going to watch a movie. Care to join?” Charles asked, although he already knew the answer.

“Oh… um…” god, why was he so nervous.

“I think I’ll skip this one,” Edwin chuckles, “i uh— i would like to read tonight. You two have fun, though?” He offers, a nervous grin on his lips.

Charles brow is quirked again. The way he answered was not what he expected. A rather nice answer rather than saying something silly like it was a waste of time. There was something on his mind, but he doesn’t question. For now anyway.

“Alright then, mate. you know where we’ll be. enjoy your book.” He chuckles, offering a wave as he exits the room.

Edwin’s demeanor changed when he left, turning his attention to the book.

“Yes… i think i will enjoy it.”

#ramble with me #ramble with tiri #tirians rambles #tirianswriting #dead boy detectives #edwin payne #the cat king #charles rowland #edwin x the cat king #crystal palace #i fully imagine cat king buying the book wrapping paper and bow for Edwin #I feel like he struggled wrapping that I bet it took him hours to get it perfect #he probably had some cats hold things down for him too #the man is going to be kicking his feet at the response aaaaa #this is so silly should i keep going?

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cardboardqueen · 1 year

Text

In honor of AO3 being down and also realizing that I never posted this fic to tumblr, here’s my Good Omens fic, Unconditionally. [AO3 link]

4254 words, M, Ineffable Husbands, hurt/comfort, mentions of past dubcon but lots and lots of fluff, ace affirmations. I made myself cry rereading this

Aziraphale was just as soft as he’d expected, maybe even more so. Kissing him (gently at first, and then more deeply) was like sinking into bed at the end of a long, long day. Was like sitting on a rock in the sun. Was almost like Grace, except without all that pesky guilt.

Six thousand years, and they could finally do this. Six thousand years of watching him from across the garden, the desert, a city square, a table at the Ritz. Six thousand years of looking over his shoulder, of fluffing up reports, of carrying out a job to the letter so that Hell didn’t have any reason to check up on him. Six thousand years and an almost-apocalypse and he could finally kiss his angel.

He brought his hands to Aziraphale’s hips and nudged him backwards towards the loveseat he kept in the living space above the shop. A loveseat, wasn’t that perfect? It had been the object of much frustration over the years, having to watch Aziraphale sit there and read with just barely not enough space for him to share without touching. Well he thought now’s our chance, isn’t it?

So he walked Aziraphale back until his knees hit the loveseat and he had to sit down, breaking the kiss with a breathless, surprised noise.

“Change of scenery, dear?”

“Figured it might make things easier, y’know. Won’t have to worry about falling over.”

“Excellent idea, my boy. Now get down here, or I’ll get lonely.”

“Can’t have that,” Crowley murmured against his lips as he crawled into Aziraphale’s lap.

Crowley was no stranger to kissing. He was no stranger to the bits that came after, either, but this was different than any temptation of a king or deflowering of an important virgin. This was Aziraphale. These were Aziraphale’s hands on his waist, on his neck, in his hair. Aziraphale’s lips on his, more precious that he could ever have imagined. This felt right and warm in a way no temptation ever could, and he marveled at what he had missed. It was no wonder humans spent so much time kissing, he was quickly finding that it was one of the best sensations on earth, so long as you actually liked the person you were doing it with.

His thoughts were getting away from him a bit. Aziraphale’s kisses were deeper now, harder, and so was the grip on his waist. Crowley groaned quietly at the rush of sensation (of love too, though he didn’t dare say it yet). Aziraphale broke the kiss with a grin and met his eyes, bare for once, before diving back in and working kisses across Crowley’s jaw, behind his ear, down his neck, dipping into his collarbone. He was having quite the difficult time not blaspheming, because the sensations never stopped, they honestly just kept getting better. Amazing what kissing could feel like when it wasn’t part of a job.

Crowley wrapped his arms around the angel’s neck and settled more deeply in his lap, pressing their chests firmly together. His angel was warm, and lovely, and when he wrapped his arms around Crowley tighter still, it made something bright bubble up in his chest. It made his heart skip and his eyes get hot, and so he sat there reveling in it. Thank anybody that he could simply miracle away the ache in his knees from bending them like this, because he wouldn’t move from this spot, from Aziraphale’s arms, for anything short of another apocalypse.

“You know,” Aziraphale breathed against his skin. “If we were humans, this is the part where we would have sex. Do you want to?”

Crowley froze. A prickle of frost crept down his neck, and then melted to shiver down his spine and into his lungs. He… honestly hadn’t considered that. And wasn’t that the understatement of the century, he hadn’t even known that was an option! Would it even work with a demon and an angel? He supposed they’d had no problem with the kissing up until now, so it was probably fine, but he wished he’d thought of it sooner. He wished he’d had time to prepare, to do a bit of research, maybe, to brace himself.

“Crowley, dear?”

And that was worry in Aziraphale’s voice, wasn’t it? He’d been quiet too long.

“Yeah,” he managed, voice rough. “Yeah, ‘course”

He caught a small smile flash across Aziraphale’s face and relaxed slightly. He was ok then, hadn’t messed it up yet. With humans it was as easy as dipping your feet into a pond to see their minds, their desires. Tempting was easier when you could make yourself the perfect temptation, after all. But angels were different, and Crowley had had to rely on body language, tone, and blessed verbal communication to get this far, and it felt like he was stumbling around in the dark.

“Beautiful,” Aziraphale whispered into his collarbones as he undid the top button of his vest. “You really are beautiful, my dear boy.”

Crowley huffed out a breath at that, distracting Aziraphale with a kiss deep enough that he seemed to forget Crowley’s buttons entirely. He skated his hands down Crowley’s sides slowly, and goodness that did feel nice. This is what it’s come to he thought to himself he’s reduced me to words like “goodness”.

But the cold, wet feeling in his chest was still there, and it seemed to have doused that bright, bubbly thing from before. Why was that? He had no reason to be nervous. In fact, he had every reason to be confidant, to take the lead and show his angel the time of his life. He didn’t know if Aziraphale had ever made the effort before, but he doubted Heaven would have approved. Crowley on the other hand, had thousands of years and hundreds of temptations worth of experience to draw from. He could give his angel everything, and he couldn’t possibly fail. He just had to listen, to read it right, find the small grin or raised eyebrow that meant that he was on the right track, and he would be fine. He could do this.

Aziraphale’s hands wandered back down to his hips and traced the waistband of his skin-tight jeans, fluttered over his belt, dipped under the fabric to caress the skin of his hips. Those beautiful hands dipped lower, below the waistband of his underwear. They may have bent reality a bit to allow those hands to take gentle handfuls of Crowley’s ass and pull his hips closer still.

Crowley gasped raggedly, breaking the kiss as Aziraphale pulled him close and he could feel it now. Regardless of any effort made in the past, his angel was making an effort now and that was. Perfect. That was perfect, that was exactly what was supposed to happen. Crowley didn’t know why he hadn’t made the effort himself yet, Aziraphale was bound to notice soon.

Ducking his head into the safety of his angel’s warm shoulder, he set his mind to it, called a cock into existence with all of his considerable will and imagination. It didn’t come. It had always come before. Instead of a cock there came the pinpricks in his fingers and toes, crawling up his arms and legs. Those were normal by now, but usually he at least had a cock to go with them.

He felt Aziraphale latch onto his neck again, the other side this time, but it felt far away. His heart started tripping again like it always did before sex, less like skipping though a meadow and more like stumbling down a steep rocky hill. It went quiet for long moments at a time, trying to find the safest path before jerking to a start and sliding a few feet on loose dirt. The cold wet thing in his chest was spreading, dripping down to his stomach. It slipped down his arms in goosebumps that turned them to lead around Aziraphale’s neck. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t seem to find the gentle warmth from before. With a cold start he realized that with his eyes buried like this, he couldn’t actually tell Aziraphale apart from any of his jobs. He should have been able to. Aziraphale felt nothing like James I, or Alexander the Great, or Elizabeth I, or Nzinga, or Julie d’Aubigny, or, or, or.

He was starting to tremble. He could feel it, barely, just like he could feel Aziraphale move away from his neck and nudge him backwards gently.

“What do you want, my dear boy?”

Crowley pulled his brain back into his head and met Aziraphale’s eyes. They were dark with arousal, and so deeply adoring that it nearly took his breath away.

“I… what?”

A wry grin crept onto Aziraphale’s face. “What would you like to do, Crowley? Don’t get me wrong, kissing you is a dream, but if we’re going to do things the human way, there’s a lot more to it than kissing.”

Crowley managed a chuckle at that. He was overreacting, clearly. Aziraphale was here, and he was himself. Crowley could feel the warmth slowly seeping back into his legs from where he sat on the angel’s lap.

“Have a lot of experience doing things the human way, do you?” he asked, throwing a grin back.

“Well,” Aziraphale finally seemed a bit flustered at that. “You know how much I enjoy the comforts of earth. I figured, if I’m going to be living here, I’ll need to be familiar with the experience. That was the excuse I prepared for Head Office anyway. After a while, it was just because I enjoyed it.”

“Angel!” Crowley laughed in mock astonishment. “An angel of the lord inciting lust amongst men! The scandal of it all!” This was good. Crowley could do banter, and his heart had stopped slipping down hills

“I don’t know how much ‘inciting’ I was doing, they seemed to have it all worked out on their own.”

A wide grin stretched Crowley’s face as something occurred to him. “So you did fuck Wilde then!”

“I…” “Well Crowley I never…” “A gentleman does not kiss and tell!” was what Aziraphale finally settled on.

“I always thought it was odd that you had three signed copies of The Importance of Being Earnest. You were the Jack to his Algernon, only you actually got to fuck.”

“Crowley really,” he said, but he was grinning. “This is hardly the time to talk about what Oscar and I may or may not have been up to. I was asking about you!”

Aziraphale’s perfect fingers began tracing the crease in Crowley’s jeans where his thigh met his hips. Right next to where his cock would be, if he had managed to make the effort. His heart stumbled another few feet, and had trouble finding solid ground again.

“What about me, angel?” he asked with a teasing grin. He was sure he could manage it if he just had a moment, just another moment.

“What do you like, dear? What would you like to do?” Aziraphale’s voice was lower and a bit rumbly, and any other moment Crowley would be thrilled. “Or what would you like me to do to you?”

His fingers were creeping closer to Crowley’s zipper, nails dragging against the weave to send tiny vibrations through the denim. He was going to feel it, the lack of it, any moment now, and Crowley will have really fucked things up.

“I… I don’t,”

“Crowley, my dear?” And there it was, because Aziraphale’s voice was back to normal, maybe even a bit higher, and his eyebrows were drawn together. “Is everything alright, dear boy?”

The pet name nearly broke him. He felt his eyes grow hot and his lip tremble and honestly considered praying for deliverance.

“Oh my sweet boy, what’s wrong?” Aziraphale was pulling away now, putting space between them, and Crowley should have seen this coming but it still hurt to have lost him.

“Crowley my dear, please talk to me. You know I can’t read your mind.”

And wasn’t Crowley grateful for that, it was a mess in there at the moment.

“I don’t think…,” he managed eventually. “Would you believe me if I told you this was a bit fast for me?”

“Oh my dear, of course I’d believe you!” Aziraphale face seemed to break open, partly from relief at getting a full sentence out of Crowley, and partly in dread. Would he believe…?

Crowley drew back further, as much as he didn’t want to, and Aziraphale set to making him a comfortable spot next to him on the loveseat. He settled there gratefully, pulling his feet up and resting his chin on his knees. He nearly reached for his glasses, but Aziraphale had miracled them away earlier, and he didn’t know where they’d gone.

“My boy,” Aziraphale said eventually, turning to face Crowley on the couch. “You’ve been patient for however many centuries, I can be patient too. We can do this at whatever pace you’d like.” He reached out and gently stroked Crowley’s hand where it rested on his ankle. “I can wait as long as you’d like.”

Crowley should have been relieved, he wanted to be relieved, but the courage that he’d mustered up shriveled in his chest. Aziraphale seemed to notice, because his eyebrows pinched again, and he leaned forward.

“My dear, will you tell me what’s the matter?”

Crowley couldn’t meet his eyes. Aziraphale’s gaze nearly burned on him, but he didn’t seem angry, so maybe he could salvage this.

He moved to rest his head on Aziraphale’s shoulder instead, and felt the angel wrap a warm arm around his body, felt the other come to rest on his knee. “You ever get tired of blessing priests, or whatever it is that Heaven sends you to do?”

Aziraphale took a moment before he spoke. For all his faith was sometimes naïve, he really was quite clever. “I suppose they got a bit tedious at times, but I don’t think I ever got tired of the blessings themselves,” he said quietly, carefully. “Especially the ones that I got to choose. The seventeenth order to bless this or that bishop or monastery definitely got repetitive, but once I got there, got to know people, it was always rewarding. And then I could usually afford to bless a few people on the street, because Upstairs was already expecting to process a few miracles.”

“And now, after everything, do you still…?”

“I still bless the occasional stranger,” he said gently. “Even more now that Heaven won’t come chasing me down.”

“Oh.”

Crowley could feel Aziraphale watching him out the corner of his eye, but his angel didn’t ask. Just sat there and held him. He waited. That more than anything is what prompted Crowley to talk.

“For us,” he started, a bit roughly. “For demons, you know, a lot of the jobs are Deadly Sins. Most sins you can trace back to a Deadly Sin if you’re generous. Corruption is really just Sloth. Bribes are really just Greed. Even the M25, I called that Wrath on the report.”

He felt Aziraphale smile and press a kiss to his hair. He pushed on.

“’Course, some of them are more specific. ‘Convince this person to kill this person at this place and time’, ‘Attend this party and cozy up to this or that noble’, ‘Join this queen’s harem and whisper these ideas in her ear’.”

Aziraphale’s hand (the one not resting gently on Crowley’s arm) was picking at the fabric of his trousers, deep in thought. Crowley carefully moved his own hand so that it just brushed Aziraphale’s leg.

“And, you know, ‘sex sells’. I’m pretty sure that was one of ours, that whole strategy, but it was hell’s policy long before it hit advertising. Lust’s the quickest, easiest way to cause trouble, usually, and it comes wrapped up with Greed, Envy, Wrath, and Sloth too. Somebody’s husband gets angry, somebody else wants to be fucking whoever you’re fucking, somebody abandons their duties in favor of ravishing the new toy. Nobody’s going to trust some weird new guy in the odd glasses with government secrets. But get the weird guy in your bed, wait to see if he kills you, after that you can probably trust him. And even if you can’t you at least want to keep him around.”

With the utmost care, Aziraphale brushed his free hand over Crowley’s, and when he didn’t pull away, held it gently but firmly.

“Y’know, for a long time, I didn’t know it was called ‘love making’. I thought people were talking about something else, I dunno. It was a tool for me, I figured it was a tool for everybody else.”

Aziraphale hummed quietly. Crowley gripped his hand a little tighter.

“Did you enjoy it?” he asked. “With Oscar, or whoever?”

“I did,” Aziraphale said quietly after a moment.

“Huh.”

They were both quiet for a long time before the angel spoke.

“Did you not? Enjoy it, I mean.”

“I dunno.” Crowley thought for a long moment before he managed to put it into words. “It was never for me to enjoy, y’know? It wasn’t about me, it was about the temptation. And you know humans, they’re so transparent. Five minutes and I knew everything they had ever wanted, every fantasy they had ever had. It was easy to just do that and not think about it. It got the job done. And at least when I got to be somebody else for a bit, it was less… I dunno. ‘Scary’ makes me sound like a toddler. ‘Painful’, maybe.” He was quiet again, but this time the hand not in Aziraphale’s started picking at the couch.

“I kind of figured that angels and demons weren’t like that,” he said at last. “We haven’t even got the bits unless we make them, I figured nobody really wanted it, and everybody else was just better at sucking it up and doing the job, y’know?”

Aziraphale sucked in a deep breath. It only shook a little.

“I didn’t know,” he said after a moment.

“I mean, neither did I, I can’t blame you for that.”

Aziraphale finally turned to look him in the eyes. His angel looked heartbroken, and oh, he did that.

“Oh no,” he said, pulling him into a hug. “No it’s fine, angel it’s fine, it’s nothing. What’s that face for, get rid of that face. I’m sorry, love, I didn’t mean to upset you, I’m sorry. I can fix it, I promise.”

Aziraphale started at that, and pulled away, though not far enough to let go of Crowley.

“My dear, sweet boy, you will do no such thing,” he said with the most force he had used all night. “There’s absolutely nothing to fix. Except perhaps having a stern word with your superiors. My boy, I never would have asked if I’d known.”

“Oh G-S-whatever, angel, believe me, a stern word won’t do much down there. And it’s fine, I’ll get over it. I just need a bit of time and it’ll be fine. Humans do it constantly, I’ll figure it out.”

Aziraphale had that look again, and Crowley scrambled for something else to say before he cut him off.

“Crowley, that night, after the trials, you said that you’d wanted to kiss me for thousands of years, do you remember that?”

Crowley was blushing furiously, but he managed to nod.

“In all that time, have you ever imagined having sex with me?”

Crowley’s stomach dropped, and he went cold all over. He refused to meet Aziraphale’s eyes.

“My dear, I don’t mean to upset you. It’s not a trick, I just want to know.”

“Once,” he whispered.

“Once?”

“Yeah.”

“And what was that like?”

Crowley’s brain ground to a halt. What had it been like? It hadn’t been like much of anything because he couldn’t get his brain to go past taking off his angel’s waistcoat. It all just stopped.

“’t was after I woke up. When I figured out you and Wilde had been a thing,” he said after a while, still not making eye contact.

“You really are hung up on Oscar, aren’t you?” Aziraphale chuckled.

“Yeah, I was.” That was angrier than he had meant it to be but, well.…

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

“Whatever for?” Aziraphale asked eventually.

“Well you never shut up about him. Kept talking about his bloody plays, and his book, and that damn cigar lounge. And he’d had quite a reputation.”

“I know gossip is a sin, but I thought you were better than to go around judging people-”

“Not like that, angel, just…. I think that was the first time I wondered if I was meant to enjoy it. You seemed to have liked him so much, and he had that reputation so it wasn’t unreasonable to assume that you and he might have…. And it couldn’t have been a job for you, so you must have enjoyed it. And anyway, I thought, well, maybe I could enjoy it. If I tried. So I tried. And I couldn’t. It wouldn’t work.”

“What wouldn’t work, my dear?”

“My blessed brain couldn’t even imagine it properly! Completely bloody imaginary and I still can’t get it right.” Crowley was tense all over, nearly shaking from anger, or frustration, or whoever knew what.

“Dear boy,” Aziraphale said, gently pulling Crowley back to rest on his shoulder. “I don’t think it’s something that you get ‘right’ or ‘wrong’. I think it just is. If thinking about it upsets you, then it’s not right for you to think about it. It’s meant to be a thing of love, it’s not supposed to upset you.”

“Yeah, that’s what I’m figuring out,” he mumbled into Aziraphale’s neck. He was still strung tight, but the atom bomb in his chest felt a little less like it was going to explode when he was being held like that. “If that’s it though, then it’s just me, right? Like, you enjoy it, which means that other angels and demons probably like it, which means it’s just me.”

“I wouldn’t say it’s just you, my love.” The pet name made him go warm, but he didn’t dare interrupt. “And even if it was, it would hardly matter. There is nothing on this earth nor beyond it that could make me willingly upset you. It doesn’t matter how much I might enjoy it, it’s nothing if you’re not enjoying it too.”

“I can figure it out,” Crowley mumbled, but he was losing steam. He didn’t know how a punch to the gut like Aziraphale’s could feel so good, but it did, and he wasn’t about to argue.

“That’s just it though, there isn’t anything to figure out, is there?” Aziraphale nudged Crowley enough to meet his eyes. “This isn’t something that you should have to ‘figure out’. I’ve enjoyed sex in the past, but it’s certainly not a requirement. I also enjoy sushi, and I collect misprinted bibles. But I don’t expect you to eat things you don’t like, and I certainly don’t expect you to help me repair books that will hurt you.”

“You don’t need a partner to eat sushi.”

“No, but it’s nice. And to be honest, you don’t really need a partner to get off either, do you?”

“Angel!” he chuckled quietly. “Surely you’re not advocating for the deadly sin of lust!”

“Hush, you.” Aziraphale pulled at one of Crowley’s hands and laced their fingers together. “I have loved you for centuries. I have wanted to kiss you for decades at least. I may have been a bit slow on the uptake, but I know that for sure. There are thousands of things I want to do with you that don’t involve sex. There are no conditions on loving you. If all I ever do is kiss you and hold your hand, it will be more than I ever thought I could have, and more than enough to keep me happy.”

Crowley fought back tears that really shouldn’t have been possible with snake eyes, but fuck it.

“Angel?”

“Yes, my dear?”

Crowley managed a deep breath and a shaky exhale. He just needed one more thing.

“What if I never figure it out?”

“My love, then I will continue to be the happiest I have ever been.”

Crowley lost to the tears then and did his best to press them into Aziraphale’s shirt instead of letting them run down his face.

“Oh, Crowley,” Aziraphale said softly, pulling him into a tight hug and easing them both down to lay on the loveseat. “There is nothing in Heaven or Hell that could stop me loving you, least of all this. God Herself could come into this shop and tell me to be rid of you, and I would have no problem disposing of Her like I do every other impolite customer. There is nothing wrong with you, and so there is nothing to be ‘figured out’. If you want to try having sex someday, let me know and we can try. But if that day never comes, I won’t be any less for it, and neither will you.”

The bright bubbly feeling was back. The bubbling was slower, and his chest was stuffed up from crying, but warmth radiated from every inch he touched his angel, and he had this figured out, at the very least.

“I love you, angel.”

“I love you too, my dear, sweet boy. Unconditionally.”

#good omens #Ineffable Husbands #fanfiction #asexuality #nonsexual intimacy #cardboard post #cardboard fic

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nerdieforpedro · 2 months

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Maria's Tea

Part of the Post Apocalyptic Fluff and Stuff Collection

Joel Miller and Celeste (plus size OFC)

This fic and my blog overall is for readers 18+ MDNI

Word Count: about 1.2k

Summary: Joel sees Celeste while he's on his way and it turns out he's too early. They kill time together and Joel wonders if someone is trying to harm him. Maria's tea is called into question.

Warnings: attempted murder (Joel's perception), Nerdie's bad jokes again, talk of family, talk of children, discussions of possible futures, mentioning a past incident (if you read "Scarlet Stains and their Echoes" mind the bolded warnings), longing, some fluff (finally!)

Notes: I was finally able to give these two a bit of fluff. I'm proud of myself. I think they're good now.

Main Masterlist/ Joel Miller Masterlist/ Post Apocalyptic Fluff and Stuff Collection

“So you’ve never had her tea?”

“No, why would I drink anything she gives me without my brother around? She hates me and barely tolerates me.”

“Following your logic, if Maria is trying to kill you, and even if she’s trying to kill you slowly, she would need to hide her guilt from your brother.”

Miller rolled his eyes as he stopped in the middle of the street. He’d been on his way to pick up Elle from classes and Celeste had spotted him after finishing up a cup of Maria’s brewed tea. She thanked Maria and headed out to say hello. Joel stopped and returned her little wave. Within the month since taking her back to her house, it had been a fine balance in their interactions. Friendly but still at a distance.

“She reminds me of a woman I once knew. Maria could manage it. Not bat an eye and even place flowers on my grave like she didn’t put me there.”

Celeste shook her head and laughed. “Joel, that’s your sister-in-law. If she gets rid of you, who’s going to care for Elle?” She stands two feet away from Joel as they stand in front of makeshift school. Joel laughs and listens out for the bell. It was a large cowbell they used to signal when school let out.

“Between you and Tommy, Elle will be fine.” He stated without batting an eye. Celeste looked up at Joel, he seemed sure she would. Her hands were on her hips, flabbergasted at his response.

“Joel, I’ve never had kids. Only babysat and I didn’t even like that. How would I handle a teenager?” She was curious what his answer would be to that. His partner clapped her palm on his back. “Elle and I are going to fight like two hungry cats over a can over tuna.” Joel placed his large hand on her forearm and grinned. Shaking her head again. “You know what you’re implying right? Who the hell else am I going to patrol with?”

“If it happens anytime soon, I’m sure your dear Maria will partner you with someone less prickly.” Celeste rolled her eyes hard on that one, looking forward to the school building. No opening of doors at the moment. “But what I’m talking about is at least ten years if not twenty years down the line. She’ll need someone who doesn’t poison people’s tea. And who knows how to survive and someone I can trust to watch my back without question. You’d do the same for her.” Joel placed a tuff of hair behind Celeste’s ear. She didn’t move, the look on his face…it had her wondering if she could honor his supposed wish for her to look after Elle.

“Hey! School doesn’t let out for another couple of hours. You two good?” The younger Miller brother was on his way home after helping to repair a fence for the sheep in Jackson. It was a good thing that his older brother had a patrol partner he could trust. Rotating him and having piss off so many of the patrol members didn’t help encourage people to sign up for it. Though Tommy wasn’t sure at his wife’s suggestion of matching them up at first, he was quickly proven wrong. Maria had mentioned to him that old man Jinkins had seen Celeste outside in her sleep clothes and Joel taking her inside during a heavy rain last month. He’d kept it in the back of his mind, how she came to Jackson. Maybe something about them both being haunted grounded them together.

“Just fine little brother. Where ya comin’ from? I haven’t done much today, ‘cept be somewhere at the wrong time.” Joel shrugged his shoulders and gave his brother a quick hug. Tommy patted Celeste’s head and she swatted at his arm.

“Ugh…Millers. You headed home Tommy?” Smoothing down her hair, she shook her head and looked toward the school again. Looked like he was right, and school was not letting out. She was considering heading home as well. “Tell Maria to make some tea for Joel when you get in.” She smirks and steps away, but Joel grabs the sleeve of her jacket.

“If you’re going to be setting me up like that, you’re coming too.” Joel tugged and Tommy laughed.

“You’re still convinced my wife is still trying to kill you? Joel, it’s been two years.” The younger Miller brother sighs and walks ahead of them to his home. “I mean, she’s okay with you now. It was just at first.”

Joel walks while still holding the edge of Celeste’s jacket. “She’s playing the long game brother. Mark my words.”

Rubbing his temples before opening the front door, Tommy groaned. “You’re a paranoid old man.”

“I’ve been alive this long and made it this far.” Joel defended himself. Celeste laughed at the two brothers. It was heart-warming to see a brotherly connection as strong as theirs. She watched as Tommy greeted Maria with a kiss and she started heating some water on the stove. She stood in the doorway as Joel said hello and so did Maria, their faces neutral toward one another. The Miller trio’s gazes fell on Celeste, Joel patted the seat next to him while Tommy got down four mugs.

Maria got out a jar half full of honey, and poured the boiling water in the mugs, from some herbs she’d placed in the bottom of the pot. Tommy and Celeste added honey to their mugs while Joel tapped his fingers on the side of his. Tommy laughed softly as he watched his brother fidget. Celeste sat down next to Joel and slowly sipped her tea, looking directly at Maria. Mrs. Miller sipped from her mug and put her arm around her husband.

“Joel. I would have gotten rid of you a long time ago if I was really going to. The tea’s fine.” Maria scoffed and Joel tightened his lips.

“Alright. Fine.” Sipping the hot liquid quells his thirst and warms him from the inside. Tommy and Maria start talking about their respective days and Joel feels a hand on his back. He turns to his left where Celeste sits, always on his good side.

“Good isn’t it? Told you.” She continues to smirk. Joel gives her a small smile and lightly touches his shoulder to hers. It’s a small gesture but he appreciates a welcome place - maybe it was foolish to think that his sister-in-law would harm him.

Joel maybe shouldn’t be that suspicious of her after all. Family is what he has now: Tommy, Elle, and Maria. The school bell finally goes off and the indistinct chatter of children is heard. Elle pops in to say hello, surprised that Joel and Celeste were here. Maria put on another pot to make more tea.

It all seems so normal. To be here with everyone.

Celeste touches the back of her hand to Joel’s and their gazes meet. Their hands don’t move and stay in contact with each other.

It’s nice. It’s warm. It’s life right now.

#pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal #joel miller #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller fanfic #joel miller imagine #Joel Miller x OFC

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sallysellsseashellssundays · 2 years

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Disclaimer: This post is going to be Anti Moffat for anyone who’s reading and is a fan you’ve been warned.

So...I watched A Christmas Carol and I managed to suspend my disbelief for the first half but then the second half was me just being more and more frustrated by how the concept didn’t seem to be well thought out. I obviously know what the source material is, but the only things I knew about the episode going in was the scenes that people use to reference Rose which I’ll do a separate post about!

The Good: The first half was setting up an interesting premise and it showed promise. My only eye roll was how convenient that the Doctor found footage of little Kazran filming himself talking about the fish and his father hitting him but I could forgive it. The visuals were absolutely gorgeous, and I really liked the portrayal the young and old Kazran actors did (Mr. Dumbledore hello!). Abigail’s voice was hauntingly beautiful! The Doctor desperately wanting to save Kazran instead of just saving the 4003 people with the Tardis himself was actually really sweet, I’m sure he would have figured something out anyway but he kept giving him the chance to change his ways.

The Bad: I had 2 major problems with how this episode went

1.) The Doctor really just went and changed an entire man’s life? I was even more horrified when Amy didn’t see anything wrong with that when Kazran complained about it. This wasn’t Kazran being presented with how vile of a human he had become or getting a chance to see how his actions affected others but he was getting a new life with new memories! Not to mention Kazran interacted with himself, I thought that was a huge time travel no-no.

2.) I felt an uncomfortable twinge when a young Kazran looked at Abigail like THAT, and I thought “Oh dear please please don’t let this be a Reinette/Amy repeat”...cue to Abigail saying “You’ve grown and now you’re blushing” 😢. Abigail told her sister that Kazran was different from his father when they had spent I believe 5 Christmas Eve’s together, and I immediately flashbacked to Reinette and Amy apparently being a Doctor expert after spending little time with him. It’s just *sigh* super frustrating that it’s like I’m seeing the same story over and over again.

The Unresolved: I guess I’m feeling a little confused as to why Abigail absolutely has to go back to the ice box before Xmas Day and why she can’t spend more time with her family instead of Kazran. And it seems like they fit in so many trips she and Kazran might as well be full time companions at that point lol leading me to the fact that we hardly see Rory and Amy which was a bit disappointing. I really psyched myself up to see them and they barely had any screen time. The controls suddenly not working because Kazran had changed was odd I guess they weren’t set to Kazran himself but to a rude Kazran only. The Doctor pointing out the number 8 and then never looking at it again was a little too obvious, they should have just left it at the camera panning down to show 8 going to 7 and we would have understood as the audience.

Honorable mention to what I think might have been a joke about Amy and Rory roleplaying with their costumes lol??? And the horrifying loan situation they glossed over with actual people being kept in the ice boxes, what if your great-grandson paid off your debt and you were suddenly out in a new world/generation?

Overall it looked really pretty and I’m excited to see Eleven, Amy and Rory on new adventures but I feel like this episode could have been polished up a bit and thought through a bit more. I really did like the first half so it was disappointing to see how it ended. I’m still staying optimistic for the series in general!!! Looks like The Impossible Astronaut is up next and that’s one I’ve literally never heard anything about so it will all be new to me...

#doctor who #anti moffat #anti amy pond #anti reinette #anti gitf #moffat salt #my ramblings #dw watch #a christmas carol #trying to be safe with these tags lol

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kinetic-elaboration · 8 months

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October 31: Halloween

I had quite a good Halloween today, everything considered, though I am now absolutely exhausted and a little overwhelmed. And my feet hurt a lot.

I went into work in the morning: very cloudy, rainy/drizzly, cold, atmosphere. Extremely Halloween-like weather, I’ll be honest. I got my backlog of work done, and I stopped in at the registrar for warm apple cider and cookies. I mentioned this event to the library and got some, like, insulted responses, like, how dare they hone in on our event but I have to say… chill out. If they were also doing hot dogs, or even another lunch food, I’d say that’s insulting, but their event really didn’t compete. Also since the event email was nuked because it’s too expensive or whatever, no one knows anything about what’s happening, and I barely even heard this was a thing. They were not our competition. So. I don’t know, the cookie and cider were good and the office was made up in a very spooky manner and all I needed was to engage in some awkward conversation.

There were some nice costumes and make up, people in holiday sweaters or with cute earrings, one co-worker with Halloween makeup and one in a full Halloween get-up, with makeup, and a matching clown mask that she did not wear but kept at the desk to disturb people. She didn’t know where it was from, just found it in her closet, so… I presume it’s cursed. There were also some dressed up students, including, most notably, Sexy Pennywise with some red balloons. One of the housekeepers is afraid of clowns and I felt bad: dude was not having a good time.

Then there was Halloweenies itself. It was drizzly and cold, so we had to separate our grill from our actual food stations: grill outside, stations under the overhang. It actually was not too chilly in my little, dark corner lol. Much more lowkey than other years, not a lot of people just hanging out outside with their food, but we were still very popular and saw a lot of people come by. We ran out of ready beef hotdogs pretty fast, within my shift, and we kept having to tell people we didn’t have any, which kind of sucked. One kid, I felt bad for him, he said he’d be back in 15 minutes, and in that time we got another batch out and then every single one was taken, and then just as the last one was given away, he came back and we still had none. I hope he got one eventually. Anyway, it’s always an enjoyable event. We had a couple medium sized inflated ducks and a large cardboard duck that was positioned to be staring right at me, in honor of the whole duck thing that’s still limping along.

I had a 45 minute shift but stayed a little longer because I didn’t want to have to do any more work before I went home and also I wanted one of the hot dogs. I got one eventually, found a ring pop in the candy bowl. Talked a bit to A about the situation at Circ, still not resolving itself, possibly heading for disaster. Then I left at around quarter to 1.

My plan had been to get some lunch, sit outside, write a little in my notebook but it was too cold and everything was covered in water from the rain. So I took an impulse walk into the historic area instead. There weren’t many people, and it was overcast and rainy and leaf-strewn, so even though they’ve totally given up on Halloween decorations (a big L, in my opinion), the area itself was done up in a spooky way by nature itself. I felt like I kept seeing haunted places, in some way that’s hard to describe. I took a lot of photos.

I walked way longer and farther than I had I intended to, and then I was exhausted and cold. So I went to a coffee shop, which wasn’t crowded for once because it was the middle of the day, got a brown sugar pecan latte, and sat inside for a little bit, writing up notes. Not very useful notes, but that’s okay. Then I headed home.

I had a quick lunch, posted my ficlet, stuff like that, and then I roused myself to make an apple crisp, which I’ve been meaning to do for ages, and also change the sheets on my bed and do some other chores. I also watched Halloweentown because even though it was not part of my childhood, I thought it looked adorable and like something in-season that wasn’t yet more horror. It was good background noise. Then I got a quick dinner. At this point I’m very tired and my feet hurt terribly. Whenever I’m productive, I always end up becoming very anxious in the evening: thinking about what I didn’t do and what I need to do next and what I need to do in the coming days, weeks, months, aaaaah! And of course it’s not a good feeling, so then I feel later like it’s not even worth being productive, because all I get is anxiety. I’m trying, as I head into the end of the year hoping to build better habits, to manage this feeling, to learn, as I think I was once able to do, to shut off the anxiety and just rest in the accomplishment. I did a lot today. I did essentially everything I had set out to do. Now if I hope to do anything tomorrow—starting with a full work day—I need to rest and get some good sleep.

So, overall, I am ready to transition out of the Halloween era, but I do think the day was successful!

#the year 2023 #2023: rl

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journalofsorts2 · 1 year

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i've always worn my injuries like a badge of honor. i've always had a bit of a high pain tolerance (i think at least) and so any time i got injured i always put on a brave face and showed it off to gain sympathy. saying that sounds narcissistic and shit but i don't mean it like that, i didn't do it in a like 'oh everybody needs to pay attention to me, boo hoo me' kind of way it was more of a 'everyone always looks right through me or treats me poorly and now i have an excuse to have positive interactions with my peers' kind of way. i've always wished to break a bone because to me, the ultimate way of gaining this kind of attention is with a cast. i was always so jealous anytime someone came to school with a brand new cast oh my god. but whenever i got injured i would always walk it off while mentioning to anyone that i got hurt. when i was first learning to ride a bike i remember crashing into a mailbox and of course i wasn't wearing a helmet or pads or anything (still don't) because i thought they were dumb. but i crashed and i was like 'wow that hurt less than expected' and i walked it off, i had a huge gash on both my knees because the mailbox was in rocks next to pavement, but it didn't hurt. and so my dad walked me inside and got me some ice and i was like 'this is dumb' but then after sitting there for like ten minutes i remember the pain starting to form and the adrenaline wearing off and i remember fighting back tears, fighting back the urge to start bawling (it hurt rlly bad) and i kept my cool because my parents were talking about something important and eventually i was like 'hey dad? can i have a bandaid?' in the wobbliest voice you ever heard and i don't really remember the rest of it but what i remember most about that is the desire to be strong. anytime i get hurt, i tough it out. fuck, i almost went blind from toughing it out (story for another day). and i don't know why i do this. maybe because i'm always rewarded with praise whenever i'm "strong". maybe because it gets me more cool points to not be affected by it. i don't know. but i think this either stemmed from or seeped over into my view of my emotional problems. idk i remember being told to shut up whenever i cried as a toddler and so growing up i always cried by myself as quiet as i could. the only time i don't hold back while crying is when i'm having a panic attack, and even then i do it to an extent. but i think i have a 'tough it out' mentality when it comes to emotional problems too. it's just easier to push aside my emotions and deal with them later. the problem is later never comes. i'm always a problem to someone when i don't tough it out and so i guess with my chronic people pleasing, it was just easier to tough it out. it's always just been easier to be "strong". i remember one time in eighth grade i was walking to my last class of the day and i was walking through the grass and i tripped on a root right as i was getting to the pavement and i bashed my knee really hard where the pavement meets dirt, but again it barely hurt so i walked it off and went to robotics. but then again the pain starts slowly seeping in while the adrenaline wears off, and again i feel like crying. so i pull up my pant leg and i'm like 'wow i'm bleeding a lot' so i go to the teacher and ask for a bandaid and if i can go to the bathroom, and she's like 'yeah sure' and damn it hurt, i was literally limping to the buses. and i remember while it was healing and i was changing the bandaid (it was like a huge gash), i remember peeling back the bandaid and the sting of the scab starting to form peeling along with it because it formed with the cotton of the bandaid, and i remember the pain that came when i had to wash it off because pus was forming, oh my god it hurt so bad. one of my top 10 most painful experiences, but no one knows that cause i toughed it out. no one had any idea how much pain i was in back then.

i think my number 1 most painful experience is tied between two different occasions. the first it when i went to urgent care because i had a pilonidal cyst (look it up) but the people there thought it was an abscess because it can be mistaken for that and also i've had two abscesses in that area before in the past. and so they were like 'we're going to attempt to drain it to relieve your symptoms' and like okay whatever i've had that done before and like yeah it hurt but it wasn't anything i couldn't handle. but this time they gave me the local anesthetic and then were like 'we're gonna give that time to set it' and it did but then they didn't come back for like an hour so it wore off and when they finally came back in i basically had none of it left in me and so i could feel everything when they cut it and tried to drain it and it hurt like a motherfucker, they told me later that people could hear me crying from the waiting room. if you've ever had an abscess drained imagine that but like 15x worse. it was hell. and it went on for like a half hour because they couldn't drain it properly because it was a cyst not an abscess. and so later down the line i had surgery on it yada yada ya the painful part was that initial draining. the experience thats tied with that for number one is when i was in the hospital and i was sleeping after having a spinal tap, and the spinal tap went great, my opening pressure may have been 43 when it was supposed to be like 14 or 15 but i didn't feel a damn thing, i got some high quality anesthesia when i was awake during that. but the painful part was when i woke up, it was like the middle of the night and all of a sudden this like burning searing pane is shooting up my spine and i cry out because it hurt so bad. and eventually i press the nurse button because i can't be strong this time, it hurts too bad. and eventually i get some pain meds, and eventually the pain goes away enough where i can sleep. but that time in between, where i was in pain? that was some of the worst pain i've ever experienced. it was absolutely awful and i've never felt anything like it. idk i think that's all i wanted to talk about, rant over

#journalofsorts rants

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jackrrabbit · 4 years

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Spoiled Rotten /// Overhaul x f!Reader (18+)

Request: What if Overhaul fucks spoiled rich reader because her dad owes the yakuza money and in exchange Kai takes the daughter as a form of payment using her as his personal stress doll whenever and wherever he wants making her into his perfect little doll

A/N: While I was writing this my roommate asked if I was okay bc cause I kept stopping to fan myself and blush lmaooooo god I’m such a brat. I did change the concept up a bit, hope that’s fine!

This is dedicated not only to the OG requester but also to everyone who read the excerpt I posted a while back and told me they couldn’t wait to see the finished product!! Love you guys ❤️

Tags/warnings: threats, dubcon/coercion, dom/sub, brat taming, degradation, exhibitionism, restraints, mentions of forced prostitution, verbal & physical harassment, kidnapping, kinda breath play?, long

The first thing you notice when you come to are voices. Multiple people talking to each other, speech overlapping in patterns you can’t make out. They’re quiet—not whispering for your sake, but quiet because you’re still half knocked-out and you can barely hear.

The second thing you notice is the pounding in your head and the lingering smell of something sweet spread over your nose and mouth.

The third thing you notice is the fact that when you try to blink your eyes open, your lashes brush against something soft and dark. You’re blindfolded…and gagged, and your hands feel like they’re cuffed behind your back. From what you can sense around you, it seems like you’re hunched in a kneeling position with your cheek flattened against the floor and your bare feet tucked under your backside.

At least you’re still in your nightgown. You can feel the frilly silk of it, a useless barrier between your skin and the cool air, and it reminds you of how you got here in the first place.

A loud noise in the night. Your father’s voice pleading. A heavy thump. The door to your bedroom banging open and a strange man holding you down to your bed…lifting a sweet-smelling rag to your mouth…telling you to “take a deeeeep breath, princess.”

“Hey, I think she’s waking up.”

An invisible hand fists itself in your hair and you whine in pain as your upper body is lifted off the floor. Once you’re properly upright, you hear squeaking, shoes against concrete, and the heat and breath and presence of someone behind you. Something rustles at the back of your head—you’re too scared to move so you stay still—and then the blindfold is being lifted off your face.

Once it’s gone, you have to blink for a moment even despite the low light of the dingy room where you’ve…apparently…been kidnapped. By the freaking yakuza. And for some reason, they’re all wearing bird-beak masks.

You close your eyes, almost wishing they hadn’t taken the blindfold off. You’d prefer to live in blissful ignorance of how decidedly unclean the floor is. How dare they let your face touch it? What happened to honor among thieves?

“Do you know why you’re here?”

Against your will, your eyes flick up to the speaker. He’s the only one sitting, and somehow that gives him a position of power among the others. The leader?

Unsettling golden eyes rest on yours, and you realize he’s waiting for your answer, so you slowly move your head from side to side.

“Didn’t know about daddy’s bad habits, huh?” This time the person speaking is behind you, the one who untied your blindfold, a thin man with lank, greasy blond hair. He’s the one who drugged me, you remember in a surge of panic, and you try to stand up away from him only for him to step on the chain that connects your handcuffs, jerking you back and pinning you—painfully—to the floor.

“Careful, Setsuno. I told you not to leave marks. Let her talk.”

“Got it, boss.” The blond—Setsuno—fumbles at the back of your head and then he’s pulling the gag out of your mouth.

You open and close your mouth a few times to stretch out the stiff muscles. “Oh. My. God. Was that polyester you just took out of my mouth? Do you have any idea how bad synthetics are for sensitive skin? I’m totally going to break out.”

A hush falls over the little room. You could hear a pin drop.

“…Are you complaining about the quality of the fabric we gagged you with?” the leader asks after a second.

“You may be yakuza, but you don’t have to act like savages,” you reply primly, aligning your knees together and sending a proud look off to the side.

“Ohh…little princess deserves better, does she?” Setsuno coos. He edges closer to rub his cheek against yours and laughs when you cringe away from him. “Boss, you shoulda seen her bedroom. All pink and frilly, looked like royalty lived there. Bet they treat you like a real princess at home, huh? No wonder your daddy’s in debt.”

“Daddy isn’t—“

“Your father…took out loans from my gang. My men came last night to collect,” the leader says, drumming his fingers over the armrest of his chair impatiently.

He’s wearing plastic gloves. Why is he wearing plastic gloves? Immediately your mind is spinning, imagining all the different gruesome possibilities of what they’re going to do to you. “That’s ridiculous. My daddy doesn’t need to borrow money—“

“Clearly he does, because it looks like he pissed it all away on his daughter.” The leader’s eyes are cold enough to make you shiver—although maybe that’s just the icy temperature of the floor soaking through your nightgown.

“He had a couple payments overdue, so we stopped by to ask nicely for him to pay up,” Setsuno says, resting his chin on your shoulder. “Didn’t find too many valuables in your house, but then we got our hands on a real treasure.”

“Don’t touch me—“

“You don’t seem to understand the position you’re in,” the leader says. “When I made my contract with your father, he understood that obligations like these are inherited. Since he can’t pay his debt, you’re going to be working it off in his place.”

Working it off? You swallow. Somehow you don’t think he’s talking about your little part-time job as a receptionist at your daddy’s company. “You can’t make me do that.”

“I’m not sure you’re getting the gist, princess,” Setsuno hums. “What we’re gonna do is we’re gonna put you in a room, and then men are gonna give us money, and then we’ll let those men fuck you. All that money’s gonna go toward paying what your daddy borrowed. Sound good?”

For the first time since you can remember, you’re shocked speechless. They’re going to…what? But you’re a quick thinker, and instead of letting these filthy, awful gangters boss you around, you raise your chin haughtily to look directly into the leader’s eyes. “I don’t think so. If Daddy’s the one who got himself in debt, you can make him whore himself out to pay it back. You can’t hold me responsible for something he’s done.”

Another brief silence, and then you hear a whistle echo out from the corner of the room (and you try not to look toward it, reminding yourself that this can only get worse if they know how scared you are). “She’s got a mouth on her, Overhaul,” someone says.

Overhaul. So the leader’s name is Overhaul. How ridiculous; it sounds like a villain’s name.

“Aww, princess,” Setsuno says, and once again his voice is too close for your comfort. “Little spoiled princess doesn’t know how to shut her mouth and suck it up when things don’t go her way? Well…you’ll learn.”

You don’t want to know what he’s talking about, although if you thought about it for more than a second it’d be obvious. You suck in a harsh breath and the cool, damp air stings against your dry throat. “You can’t just make me—“

“Ohh, I think we can. See, if your daddy’s been spending all of the Shie Hassaikai’s money on his precious daughter, don’t you think you owe a little too? Like, this dress—“ you jump as Setsuno’s hand tugs on the thin, floaty silk— “was bought with Overhaul’s money, so it belongs to him, right?”

You keep quiet, not wanting to prompt him to go further, but when his hands stroke up over your waist to grope your breasts in full view of everyone else in the room, you don’t really have to guess.

“And, y’know, your daddy’s been keeping you nice and healthy with Overhaul’s cash, making sure you grow up into such a pretty girl…” Setsuno’s voice is a purr in your ear as his hands squeeze your tits almost lovingly, then pinch your nipples through the fabric. “So hey—if you think about it, this tight little body…belongs to Overhaul too. Isn’t that right, sir?”

You squirm in place as best you can but with the metal cuffs digging into your wrists, there’s nothing you can do to get away from his touch. You’re desperate enough to shoot a terrified glance up at the leader—surely there are rules about treating an innocent girl like this, even for the yakuza—but he looks as unmoved as before. “Get her out of my sight. We’ll give her a rest for the next few days, and then…”

“No!” you yelp, too panicked to keep up the pretense of confidence. “I won’t, I can’t do that, please don’t make me—“

“Shhh. You’ll get used to it, princess. And if you don’t…” Setsuno’s hand combs though your hair and then trails down your neck, tracing the path of your spine between your shoulder blades. “…well, you won’t really have much of a choice, will you?”

And then he’s tugging on your cuffed hands, pulling you to a standing position, but you wriggle away from him and do everything you can to stay planted on the ground so they can’t take you away from here, away from the only man who is capable of stopping this. Overhaul. “Please! I’m— I can work it off another way! I’ll be useful— I’ll—“

Overhaul leans forward a fraction in his chair, and you wonder if you’ve caught his interest. “What, exactly? How do you think you can be useful to me?”

You bite your lip and wrack your brains, not knowing whether the question is rhetorical. What skills do you have that would be valuable to them? Suddenly all the knowledge you’ve gained in your short life seems so meaningless. You’re a decent receptionist (well, decent is a stretch), but if Overhaul wanted someone to answer calls for him you’re pretty sure he would’ve asked.

Why did you spend your life learning such impractical skills? The four-year weekend course you took on horseback riding jumps to mind and you want to hit your head against the wall. Why didn’t you ask your father to sponsor a class in something that would actually matter in the long run? And what would even be useful to these people? Accounting? Bookkeeping? Extortion?

There’s nothing valuable you can offer. You’ve wasted your life, and now you’re going to pay for it. Seriously, the only thing you’re actually good at is keeping your boyfriends (or, rather, the men you cycle through once a month) happy until the novelty wears off and you get bored and move on to the next lovesick target—

—wait. Keeping your boyfriends happy. That’s a skill, isn’t it?

Once, a little bit after you turned eighteen, you’d had a rather illicit conversation with one of your more sexually adventurous friends about being a sugar baby. Your friend had just secured a very generous benefactor, and you’d been so intrigued by all the designer purses and vacations to Cabo that you’d almost considered trying it for yourself. She’d even helped you set up a profile on Seeking Arrangements that listed your physical features and interests, but you’d blanched when it came time to post photos.

“But why do men even like this?” you'd asked your friend after your picture-less profile received its dozenth unsolicited offer. “Rich, successful guys shouldn’t have so much trouble finding girlfriends that they have to resort to paying for sex.”

“It’s a power trip,” she’d replied. “Most men never get the chance to have a woman who’s willing to do and be whatever he wants, whenever he wants it. You’re his ideal girlfriend, his therapist, his wife, and his stress relief all in one.”

At the time, you’d decided against it, deleting your profile and telling your friend you’d rather just keep taking advantage of your real father doting on you than have to fake orgasms for rich men in their 50’s. But back then, you’d had a choice; now that you’ve been kidnapped by a gang who wants you to get fucked by a bevy of strangers to pay off a debt you’ve never even heard of, you no longer have the privilege of a way out. Or, at least, the options are a lot less appealing than before.

You tilt your head back to Overhaul, eyeing him for the first time with real scrutiny instead of prideful disgust. Judging from what you can see of his face under the ornate bird mask (and again, what is with the freaking bird masks?), he’s fairly young, mid-twenties at the oldest. Short, sort of wavy dark hair (you’ve always had a thing for dark hair), a trim suit and tie, and those eyes. Like he can read your mind just looking at you.

He’s…handsome enough, you have to admit to yourself. But it’s not just that. There’s something pristine about him, something untouchable that commands discipline. He’s clean. You and him are probably the only clean things in this hovel of a room.

“Well? I’m waiting,” Overhaul says.

And now that you’ve got the idea in your head, it’s almost too embarrassing to meet his gaze. But you can do this; you have to do this. At least it’ll be your choice, and—you’re hoping—it’ll be better than the alternative.

“I could be yours,” you tell him, taking pride in the fact that your voice isn’t breaking.

His eyes narrow and you think god, his eyelashes are long. It’s not fair. Men never appreciate having long eyelashes. What is he thinking? Is he going to kill you for even suggesting it? But it’s too late now…you have to dig yourself a little deeper if you don’t want to go through with their original plan for debt fulfillment.

You force your muscles to relax, knowing this’ll be impossible to pull off if you’re tense and biting down on the words like they’re going to choke you. If you’re going to make him believe it, you have to make yourself believe it too. “You… This job must be hard. Even for a—a powerful man like you, it has to be stressful, right? Always looking out for the interests of the gang instead of your own…needs.”

Overhaul doesn’t move, but you’re so focused on him it would be impossible for you to miss the way a single muscle in his neck flexes. You’ve hit a nerve.

You take a cautious step toward him, trying to channel the sexually-liberated vixen you consider yourself when you’re not in your nightgown surrounded by men who could murder you with their bare hands and not miss a minute of sleep. “You’re always giving, aren’t you? Looking toward the future of the gang? Doesn’t it get frustrating when—when a pretty thing is in front of you and you don’t even get…a little taste of her?”

Oh god, you can feel the humiliated heat rushing to your cheeks. How can you be saying this? You’ve played the role of seductress plenty of times before, but never in such a risky situation. You just have to keep moving toward him and hope it feels authentic enough to convince him.

“You’ve worked hard. And…like he said, my—my body belongs to you.” Now you’re close enough to Overhaul and he hasn’t stopped you, so you lower yourself onto the floor, knees bumping softly into the cold surface. Kneeling between his legs.

Overhaul stares down at you, gaze as sharp and cold as before—and you’re sick with anxiety, so scared you can feel your hairs raising up on end—but if he wanted you to stop, he would have said something, right? So you shuffle a little closer and nuzzle your cheek over the inside of his clothed thigh like a kitten, then raise your head up to him to give him your best bedroom look, the one that says, I want you. I need you. No one but you. The look no man has ever been able to resist.

“…You deserve something to yourself, sir,” you murmur.

There’s a collective intake of breath as every person in the room simultaneously realizes what you’re offering. Overhaul’s expression doesn’t change, but once again, a tendon jumps out white under the skin of his throat and there’s a creak of latex on leather as his grip on the arm of the chair tightens.

“Damn,” Setsuno says under his breath from behind you. Someone whistles. You’re pretty sure you hear the word ‘slut’ being tossed around, but there’s reverence behind it.

“And what makes you think you’re so valuable?” Overhaul asks.

You close your eyes to ground yourself for a second. He’s interested, you know that much. You’ve never really had to convince someone to want you, but there’s a first time for everything. Besides, you only have to look at him for a second to know he does want you, which isn’t a surprise. Who wouldn’t?

“I’ll do anything you want, be anything you want,” you tell him, echoing your conversation with your friend back then. “Take out your anger on me if that’s what you’re into. When you’re tired of me, you can consider my debt paid and let me go.”

“And?” he prompts.

‘And’? And what? You’re offering yourself to him, your body and your mind—what more can he possibly ask from you? You cast your thoughts around, wondering what else you have to give him. “And…and I’ll do it willingly. You, um—you look like a man who appreciates obedience.”

And that’s it. Your last shred of pride is gone. Not only are you offering yourself up to a man to use as his personal stress doll, you’re saying you’ll be compliant every step of the way. Knowing yourself, you’re pretty sure that’s impossible, but you just need to make him believe it long enough for you to find a way out of here. You can pretend to enjoy getting fucked by a gangster a few times. You’ll live.

But you’re naive. And with the stream of thoughts pushing through your head, you never really consider one thing, one essential thing: how you look pleading up at him in that pale pink nightdress—soft, pure, immaculate against the filth of the underworld, the only clean body that Overhaul’s seen in a long time.

And you’re right. He is a man who appreciates obedience.

“Willingly…so you’d be willing to prove it.”

Your head jerks up and down in response. Yes! He’s taking the bait, now I just have to get him alone and—

“Then demonstrate.”

When a moment passes and you don’t move, Overhaul tips his head to the side, gaze still locked on you, and gestures vaguely at his lap. You blink and then shy back, shrinking under the hungry gazes of the onlookers. “You can’t mean—in front of them?”

“And here I thought you were going to be obedient.” There’s no mercy, no amusement in his voice. No hint of humanity.

So he’s serious. He wants you to give him a blowjob in front of—how many? one, two three, four—four other men!? Your first instinct is to jump back away from him and your next is to slap him for even suggesting it; you can actually hear the jingle of your cuffs as you attempt to raise your hand. You’ve gotten a little kinky before—blindfolds, vibrators, maybe a hand tied to the bedpost with a Hermès scarf once or twice, but this is a whole different level. And the way they’re all looking at you…like they’re itching to see you brought down. How absolutely disgusting.

But Overhaul’s waiting for your answer, and you know full well that you’re not going to deny him.

“O-Of course.” You lean forward over the seat of the chair so your face is just inches from his lap. “Um. My hands...?”

They’re still cuffed behind you, but it seems like they’re going to stay that way when Overhaul gives a curt shake of his head. “Use your mouth.”

Once again, you’re stunned into silence. How are you supposed to—? Without your hands? It doesn’t even seem like he’s going to undo his pants for you. It’s like he wants to humiliate you…oh, wait. As soon as the thought crosses your mind, it’s clear that’s exactly what he’s trying to do.

You give him another doe-eyed glance, bidding him to at least undo his belt, but he remains unmoved. Bastard.

After aiming another glare at him (because as obedient as you’re attempting to be, you’ve never been good at concealing your emotions) you lean deeper in and take the stiff leather of his belt between your teeth, gently easing it out of the buckle and trying to ignore the mixture of earthy and metallic tastes it leaves on your tongue. It takes a few tries, but eventually you’ve got the tail of the belt out of the buckle and you pull your head back to guide the metal down until the belt is hanging open from its loops.

A rush of accomplishment surges through you when you get it open, and then you want to slap yourself. Accomplishment? From doing this with your mouth like an animal—like a dog? You can hear laughter and mocking encouragement from the men watching, but you steel yourself and dip back in to get Overhaul’s pants undone. The button is tricky, especially with your face nudging into the hard muscle of his abdomen through his shirt, but somehow you manage to tug the fabric slit over the button and then—delicately, delicately—clamp the zipper between your teeth and peel it downward.

“Oh, she’s good,” someone says from the background. Setsuno. You look up warily, but Overhaul’s eyes haven’t moved from you.

Now that you’ve got his pants open, you’re face to face (literally) with what you’re going to have to deal with. The outline of his cock is bulging the fabric of his boxers outward, and he’s not even half erect. You snatch a look back up at him—and damn it, you have to stop doing that, because every time you look into those golden eyes and that stupid bird mask you feel like a lamb looking at a bird of prey right before it snatches you from your safe little lamb-house in the meadow and—fuck, you just have to get on with it.

So you dip down and mouth over him through the fabric, spreading the flat of your tongue over the length of his thick cock. Your mouth feels like you’ve been eating cotton (probably because they drugged you earlier) but you force yourself to salivate, letting drool spill over your tongue and dampen his boxers. When you duck and spread your lips down on the place you can feel the tip stretching out, you know the friction must feel good, because despite the lack of even so much of a deep breath from the man above you, his cock is getting harder.

You nudge your mouth over the tent between Overhaul’s legs again, letting the heat of your breath wash over him—but when he doesn’t do anything, you pull back and blink up at his face. Does he expect you to get him off through his underwear? You could, but most of your moves depend on skin-to-skin contact. There’s no way you can get his cock out with your mouth like you undid his pants, so…what? “Are—are you going to take it out?”

Overhaul brings a gloved hand to his face to rub absently at one of the straps on his mask. “…Beg,” he tells you.

Your mouth drops open and you reel back from his lap like he asked you to lick the dirt off the floor. What!? He can’t seriously expect you to—to beg him to put his dick in your mouth when you’re clearly disgusted at the whole situation. When he doesn’t give any indication of retracting the statement, you can’t help the mocking sneer that forms over your face. “Please, sir,” you spit, and a deaf man could hear the spite in your voice.

Now, that gets a reaction. Overhaul’s eyes flash and you take a certain degree of pride back at the anger you’ve clearly inspired in him. But it’s extinguished as soon as you see it, and then he’s reaching down to cup your chin, tilting your head back and rubbing his thumb over your lower lip.

“I think you can do better than that, princess,” he says, and you can hear your own mocking tone reflected back in his voice. “Unless you’d like me to give my men a turn?”

This, more than anything, scares you. He must be able to feel the way your spine goes stiff, adrenaline rushing, your fight-or-flight instinct kicking in at the prospect of what he’s threatening.

“Each of them, one by one. Between the four of them, I think they could cure that smart mouth…although they might just break you in the process,” he continues, and then his thumb is pressing into your lip, into your mouth, and you loosen your jaw to let him in. You can taste the rubbery latex of his gloves and the other men mutter agreement, encouraging their leader to turn you over to them, and you want to cry.

But you hold the tears back. “Please, sir! Please, please may I s-suck your cock sir? Please!” Your voice is more terrified than obedient, but that’s probably what he’s into anyway. When he doesn’t say anything, you babble on, unwilling to let yourself get gangbanged by a group of men who could probably wreck your pussy in a single round. “Please, please, Mr.—Mr. Overhaul, um, boss? M-Master?”

“Sir will do just fine,” Overhaul says, apparently satisfied, and he pulls his hand away from your face to free his cock from his boxers.

You let out a hot sigh of relief and angle yourself back toward his lap so you can zero in on his cock (and, hopefully, do a little to block out how sickeningly degrading all of this is: how easy it is for him to threaten you; how he has all the power and you have none; how the men around you are goading you, taunting you and calling you things that should get their mouths washed out with soap). You can focus on this, and this, at least, you’re good at. You’ve always been good with your mouth.

It’s a nice dick, too, you have to admit to yourself as you stare at it. Perfect length, girth, and a thick, cut head that you know just by looking that you’re going to have to stretch your jaw to get around. All his hair is neatly trimmed and groomed, and he even smells good, clean and fresh like soap. You’ve never been in front of a dick that didn’t smell like day-old ball sweat, so this is a first. It’s got a nice upward curve, too, and there’s a bead of pearly precum oozing out of the tip. The kind of cock that’s made for penetrative orgasms—

No. Fuck. You cannot be thinking this. You cannot allow yourself to lust after a gang leader who thinks of you as little more than an interactive sex doll. A tingle of blood rushes to your cheeks as you feel wetness pool in your panties and you adjust your stance, shuffling your thighs apart under the pretense of getting closer and hoping Overhaul doesn’t notice.

If he notices, he does the merciful thing and keeps quiet (which makes you think he has no idea you’re feeling the way you’re feeling, because he’s probably never chosen to do the merciful thing in his life). He does, however, shift one of his knees farther apart to accommodate you as you crawl close enough to him to get your head all the way between his legs.

So now you’re staring up at that unfairly pretty cock and wondering how the fuck this is supposed to start, but—best just get on with it. Pretend it’s not him, pretend it’s…no, wait, pretend it is him, it is Overhaul, the same bastard who’s looking down at you like you’re trash, except pretend you’re in control. Because no matter how many orders he gives, once you’ve got his cock in his mouth he’ll have to be the weak one. Right?

Lightly, slowly, you trace the tip of your tongue in a wet path up the underside of his cock, sliding up from the hilt to caress every bulging vein with all the delicacy and accuracy of a surgeon. When you reach the tip, you flatten your tongue to curve it around that bulbous head and then slip it off, the suction providing a wet smacking sound as your skin leaves his.

The breath of his barely-heavier exhale ruffles your hair and you relish the knowledge that he’s getting impatient. Yes. The bastard can wait.

You kiss the tip of his cock, barely moving your lips around the slit, only enough to let your tongue flick out against the precum and gather the bitter liquid up in your mouth. And then—right when he’s getting annoyed, when you can tell by the tension in his body that he’s five seconds away from shoving your head down to fuck your face—you duck closer, relax your throat, and swallow.

Like a fucking python. Or so you’ve been told.

The exhale that escapes him isn’t light this time. You can almost hear the barest hint of a groan under his breath, but you’re more focused on holding down your gag reflex as you let that heavy cock hit the back of your throat. Once he’s all the way down (or at least as far as you can get him), you rock yourself back an inch and then take him deeper, forcing yourself to hold still so he can feel the walls of your throat convulse around him, sucking him in, dry-gagging on the mass that’s filling you up.

“Fuuuuck,” you hear someone whine, and it’s not even Overhaul. It’s one of the men watching, and you feel a perverse mixture of hatred and arrogance rise up in you.

Overhaul’s cock is too big for you to properly moan around it, but you give it a go anyway so he can feel the vibration of your voice through his skin. You’re rewarded with a tangible twitch with it sitting on your tongue, and—oh—your mouth is watering out of where you’re clenching down on him at the back of your throat.

Spittle slips out over your lower lip and onto your chin, but you ignore it in favor of jerking your head up and down in fractional strokes, trying your absolute best to get yourself down to his base but knowing that he probably doesn’t give a shit anyway, not with how good your throat feels around what you’re capable of stuffing in.

What were you saying about ‘valuable’, sir? you think, and then you pull your head off his cock, so slow it’s almost cruel, sucking your cheeks in and hollowing out so those wet walls are rubbing up on every millimeter of his skin. When you reach the tip, you savor it, letting your tongue do the dirty work and looking up at him through your lash extensions before you release him with a nasty wet pop.

“Holy fuck, can I have her next?” one of the other men says, but you and Overhaul are too focused on each other to even look and see who’s talking.

His gaze is trained firmly down at you, and—no way, damn it—he looks bored, like he could be waiting in line at the DMV instead of getting sucked off by you, a girl who’s been complimented by every man she’s ever been with (including her first) on her bj technique. You know he’s feeling it—he can fake calm, but he can’t fake the way his cock’s throbbing under your tongue as you lick up the shaft. Still, now that you’ve got it in your head that Overhaul’s not going to make a sound, all you can think about is forcing him to moan. Let him look weak in front of all his little lackeys.

With renewed vigor, you lap up the length of Overhaul’s cock in sloppy dabs, leaving strings of saliva dripping off your mouth and his cock only to slurp them up, audibly, wiggling your tongue over the tip when you reach it. And that, that gets him, because you feel more than see the buck of his hips into your face as he hisses out a curse.

And—oh dear, maybe you shouldn’t have done that—because the next thing you feel is Overhaul looming forward over you, hand gripping the back of your head, and is he going to force you down? You hate that—so you take the initiative, tilting forward to take him into your mouth again, head bobbing up and down so quickly that your hair is falling all over your face, but it’s okay, because he’s got you, he’s got you, got his hands combed through your hair holding it out of your face, pulling so lightly it barely even hurts, but it does hurt, and he’s guiding you up and down on his cock and it’s hitting the back of your throat every time, and—and it hurts.

You really shouldn’t have done that.

“Take it deeper,” Overhaul instructs, almost encouraging, although you’re not given the option to pull off because he’s holding you down, pushing you firmly toward the base of his cock. You sputter around it, gagging, and you’re almost fucking choking, and he won’t let you up.

God, you’re not—not breathing, you can feel your throat choking down on him—“breathe through your nose,” he says, and this man, this villain has no idea what he’s fucking talking about, because you’re trying, eyes stinging and then you can feel tears down your cheeks. You try to squirm back on your knees, but somehow the combined force of every muscle in your body is outmatched by his single hand on the back of your head—and—and—you squeeze your eyes shut, relax, open your throat as much as you can and—

Overhaul forces your mouth down to the hilt.

Fuck, is he going to keep you there? You can’t, you can’t—if you could move, you’d be shaking your head and begging him to let you stop and as it is you’re whimpering around his cock. Your throat is making gagging noises and you’re crying, actually crying, actually fucking crying on a man’s dick. So this is what it feels like to be used?

“Good.” There’s something lower and darker in Overhaul’s voice, a husky undertone from the growl he’s trying to suppress. “Hold still…remember, you asked for this.”

You did. You asked for it. Begged for it. Pleaded.

“Want me to forgive your father’s debt…? You’re going to have to earn it.” He pulls out an inch just to ram himself back in. You make a weak attempt to move your tongue around his shaft and you can feel the shudder all the way through him, his cock twitching where it’s locked in your throat. “Mm…good girl. Just a little—little longer—“

His fingers are tightening in your hair, curling around the strands and tugging instead of just applying pressure to your head. He’s close, you think, and then you struggle back, not wanting him to cum down your throat, what if you choke on it? Like, really choke? You don’t want it, don’t want his cum in your stomach, but then he sighs and tells you again that you’re a good girl, and ohfuckohfuck you must be so scared you’re desperate for praise because you feel heat rush into your cheeks and your cunt when he says it and you try to move your tongue like you did earlier and his hips jerk forward and—he cums. In your mouth.

It’s salty, you think. The next thing you think is that you want to gag, because you’ve never had cum in your mouth before. For all your sexual experimentation, you’ve never let a man cum down your throat like this, always telling them it shoot it on your tits or whatever because you are not a person who should have semen in her mouth, much less ingest it.

But right now, with Overhaul lazily dragging your head up and down for a last couple pumps on his softening dick, your choice isn’t spit or swallow. It’s swallow or choke.

Hot. Thick. The texture is slimy, so viscous you can feel it going down your throat in strings. Part of you wants to throw up. It’s repulsive. Filthy. You hate this.

Part of you has to shift your position again so you don’t have to feel your own wetness slicking up the insides of your thighs.

How. Is. This. Possible. You may have just had to swallow your pride (and not just that), but what about your dignity? You’re a good person…okay, well, even if you’re not a ‘good person’ per se, you don’t hurt anyone with your selfishness. You don’t deserve to be kept as a pet by a sadistic bastard who gets off on watching you almost pass out on his cock, and you certainly don’t deserve the humiliation of finding that you’re turned on by it.

And yet. Here you are. Still held securely in place until Overhaul slides you off him. As soon as your mouth is free you suck in a dizzyingly deep breath, but even that is too much for your battered throat and the breath turns into a cough; you instinctively fold down away from Overhaul so the mixed saliva and cum you’re hacking out spatters in cloudy white flecks across the floor instead of on his clothing.

“Stop that,” Overhaul scolds, hauling you back up by your hair and forcing your mouth closed with a hand on your jaw. “If you make a mess, you’ll be cleaning it up.”

Considering what he just made you do to him, there’s no doubt in your mind that he’s implying you’ll have to lick it off the floor. You clench your jaw, holding back the convulsions of your throat as best you can, and hope he doesn’t press the issue.

Now that you’ve got your coughing under control, you can start to sense things that you had been tuning out before: the men hooting and wolf-whistling and applauding your performance, the traitorously persistent throb of your clit pulsing under your panties, and Overhaul’s hand releasing your chin to pet down your neck. “Now. What do you say when someone gives you a meal?”

Just you wait, bastard. I’m going to tie you to your bed and set fire to it. But you’ve got the sense that that answer won’t go over well, so you take a deep breath and look up at him again, meeting those piercing gold eyes with your own. “Thank you, sir,” you say in a soft whisper because it’s all your abused throat can manage.

“That’s right.” His hands feel colder than the concrete under your legs as he spreads his hand down your neck, only to toy with one of the lacy pink straps of your nightdress. “Stand up.”

You stand shakily, too cowed to even consider stepping back from him. Without warning (much less permission), Overhaul lifts the hem of your stupidly short dress up past your thighs, exposing your panties and lower belly to view.

“Hold this in your mouth,” he says, and after only a few seconds of hesitation you open up and bite down on the fabric so you’re effectively holding up the skirt for him. Overhaul skims gloved hands down the sides of your hips and comes to a rest when he reaches your panties—and why did you have to wear these today? Shiny red satin in the front; the back is just flowers worked in crimson lace. You know exactly how good you look in these panties, and judging by the things Overhaul’s men are saying, they’re more than appreciative of the view.

But Overhaul ignores them in favor of hooking his fingers under the elastic and pulling the panties down until they’re resting stretched between your upper thighs. You don’t have to see them to know there’s a string of slick connecting the lips of your cunt to the fabric, betraying in full technicolor detail how turned on you’ve gotten just from sucking him off. He gazes down at your pussy and then up to you as if waiting for you to admit it, but you stay silent.

“Well, well. What a nicely-trained slut I’ve found myself.” He gracelessly pulls the panties the rest of the way down your legs and lets them fall to the ground. “Do you always get this wet when you let your boyfriends fuck that smart mouth?”

It takes you a second to comprehend that he’s expecting an answer. “N-No, sir,” you reply, voice muffled by the fabric you’re still holding between your teeth.

“I suppose I can’t leave you like this, not after you took me so nicely.”

Does he mean he’s going to get you off? No freaking way. You drop the hem of your dress, let it flutter down over your thighs, try to scramble back, but his hand on your waist keeps you from moving. “I— It’s okay, I don’t need—“

“No, I think you do. I think I’m going to reward my pet for a job well done.” He leans back, eyeing you without sympathy. “I’d have you touch yourself, but—“

The mere possibility that he might remove the handcuffs has you straining against them again, and the sound of metal against metal rings out from behind you.

“—but, I think it’s best to keep the cuffs on for a few days…until you’ve settled down.”

Days? He can’t leave you in chains for days, helpless and powerless, so easy to take advantage of. “You can’t,” you whimper, and even though you mean for it to be a decisive statement, with your throat ravaged and hoarse it’s downright pathetic. Overhaul doesn’t even bother reprimanding you for talking back.

“My men have been patient,” he muses, and an enthusiastic wave of agreement wells up from the others. “Any of them would be happy to do it.”

You may have been through a lot in the past hour alone, but there is no way you’re going to let those rowdy criminals have their way with you. You send a nervous glance around the room and as predicted, not a single one of them looks like they have the slightest shred of control over themselves.

None of them…except Overhaul.

Still eased back in his chair, he looks just as relaxed and unaffected as he did when he was explaining your father’s debts to you. But there’s something flickering in his eyes, something he isn’t going to say to you, isn’t going to say out loud. A challenge.

Maybe, once again, he’s waiting for you to ask for it yourself. And if it’s a choice between him and one of the grimy ruffians who’ve been looking at you like dogs look at meat, you know what you’d prefer. Well—really, you’d prefer option C: none of the above (your current state might be uncomfortable, but you’re not so wanton that you’d rather cum in front of strangers than keep your legs together). Unfortunately, you’re starting to come to terms with the fact that ‘no’ is no longer an option.

Overhaul’s stare flicks from you to an unseen figure behind you, and you can tell he’s about to summon one of them over so you force yourself to move, lurching forward and climbing into his lap to straddle one of his thighs with all the grace you’re capable of. You feel the stir in the air when he inhales sharply, surprised, and his masked face is so close to your neck that you wonder if he can smell the lotion you put on before you went to bed last night.

It’s one of your favorite scents: vanilla, lilac, orange blossoms. You bought it because it smelled pure.

“Please, sir, I don’t want them,” you breathe next to his ear, injecting every ounce of sexual frustration you’re feeling into the needy tones of your voice. “I’m yours. I belong to you, just you. No one else—please, sir…Overhaul.”

He’s quiet for a long, tense moment, and you think he’s going to hit you, or maybe even kill you for your disobedience. Push you off his lap at least. But just when you’re teetering on the edge of jumping back from him and begging for forgiveness for talking out of turn, you feel it—a low rumble of laughter from deep in his chest.

Big, cold hands wrap around the sides of your ribcage under your breasts and his fingernails dig into you through the layers of latex and fabric. He tilts forward, forcing you to arch away and all you can think about is how horribly weak you are compared to him. Are you trembling? Will he be angry if you feels how afraid you are?

“You know, I guess I’ll keep you after all,” he hums, stroking his fingers through your hair and down your neck. “How does that sound, princess? I think you’d like that very much, wouldn’t you?”

“Yes, sir.” The response comes all too easily, even if the words taste bitter in your mouth. You’ve never said the word ‘sir’ so much in your life…but as he repositions you on his lap and slides a single hand up the inside of your thigh under your dress, you bite your lip and decide to hold back your protest.

If you’re going to have to learn manners, you’d better do it sooner rather than later. Something tells you Overhaul’s not going to accept any less than your best behavior if you want to pay off your debt.

#overhaul x reader #chisaki kai x reader #bnha x reader #bnha imagines #overhaul #chisaki kai #bnha #boku no hero academia #mha #my hero academia #boku no hero academia x reader #boku no hero academia imagines #mha x reader #mha imagines #boku no hero x reader #boku no hero imagines #boku no hero fanfic #smut #tw dubcon

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bizarrebaby · 3 years

Text

Untouched

Pairing: Pero Tovar/Virgin!Reader

Work Count: 3.2k

Summary: You and Pero spend your first night together, which is your first night with anyone.

Warnings: you guys have penis in vagina sex. Some descriptions/mentions of violence, reference to painful loss of virginity, but we all know Pero’s too good to do that to you

You were a walking contradiction. Nothing was more confusing or intriguing to Pero Tovar than how you managed to exist in these times.

When he’d been introduced to you (it was generous to call it an introduction, seeing as Tovar more or less refused to acknowledge you at the time) he saw you the way he saw most everyone: an annoyance at best, a punishment from god at worst. When he glanced at you, he saw just a little thing, a girl who ought to be at home, out of her depths.

He first beheld your beauty through a veil of bloodshed. On the battlefield you had no equal. People throughout his travels often equated grace to beauty, but in observing you, Pero found that simply wasn’t so. You did not dance with the blade, like twirled silk. What you did was not akin to dancing. It was heavy and destructive, you took to you enemies with the crushing force of a mortar and pestle. You wielded the heavy and challenging kanabo, the force of which caved armor and shattered bones, man and beast alike. When you swung the heavy bat, you looked as a healer pounding medicine. The force itself was destructive, but it was delivered with the righteousness of someone who was preserving life.

You could not always use the kanabo, and you most certainly could not spar with it, for your opponents would be crippled by even a sporting blow. So Tovar sometimes saw your prowess with the sword, the staff, anything nearby. You made many an arrogant man eat their words.

Now, when he was to imagine a beautiful woman, he did not think of flowing locks and fair skin wrapped in silks. He saw sword-cut hair, an oversized tunic, the loosening laces on leather armor.

And beyond the fighting, you did not often make with revelry. Tense in the company of most others in your band of mercenaries, you kept away when they became excited. When you approached him, scowling as he wolfed down his food alone, he dreaded having to endure niceties, persuasions, and prattel from you, and had already decided to be as disagreeable as possible. To his utter surprise, you said nothing to him at all as you kept a couple of meters distance and ate your own meal. You did so day after day, and at first he had been paranoid that this was some plot at inching your way closer, that one day you would ruin this silence and reveal your true intentions. Until one night, Tovar found himself doing something unthinkable: initiating conversation. Or at least, speaking unprompted.

“You do not chatter like the others,” he stated almost mindlessly, not knowing what he was expecting by saying so.

“I try not to talk when I have nothing to say,” you admitted. You looked towards him, half illuminated by the distant, flickering fire.

He found himself studying every detail of your face from the corner of his eye. It was terrifying, for once wanting to observe and actually caring if he was noticed doing so.

“And,” you continued quietly, “they say you do not like to be disturbed.” That was a very kind way of rephrasing how he was often spoken of. In all likelihood, what you were actually told was probably more along the lines of ‘he’s a mean, miserable bastard who doesn’t like anyone’. Tovar didn’t know how he felt about your twisting such words into something that sounded… reasonable.

Understood.

“I don’t like being disturbed either.”

Now, when he was to imagine a beautiful woman, he did not think of lip rouge and silent, unnoticed steps, or curled, dark lashes, of coquettish smirks. He thought of a split lip, and the uneven pace of worn leather kicking at stray pebbles, of tired eyes rubbed with the back of the hand after looking into the fire too long, of the struggle to hold back a wide-mouthed yawn.

Through a few well placed miracles and the incessant meddling of others (William) the two of you had ended up together. And this was when Pero discovered what a contradiction you were.

You knew death in every facet… except for la petite mort.

While other girls snuck off with their paramours in experimental forays of intimacy, you were studying the blade, the staff, the bow, the kusarigama. Raised by a father and uncles who loved you, but did not know how to raise a young lady. Only how to raise a fighter.

When you didn’t scare off any potential suitors, they certainly did.

While younger than Pero, you were still fully grown, and had yet to even kiss a man until Pero had claimed your lips in a passionate fury on the night of his confession.

Pero did not fancy himself a teacher, he saw himself as a taker, one with no patience for uncertainties and incompetence. But for you, he would be anything. And regardless of what he was, what you deserved was a gentle touch. Subtle, comforting, patient, and understanding.

All words that had never been used to describe him.

Over time, the kisses grew deeper, the touches flirted further beneath the clothes, until the night came where he held you against him in his bed, eyes begging for more as you looked to him for guidance. Never had he been so frightened at the thought of bedding a woman. He was a scoundrel with hands only fit for killing, and he was terrified of hurting you somehow.

But he’d be damned if anyone else took this honor.

With every piece of clothing he stripped your body of, you looked at him with such trust. He felt your heart beating in his rough palms, like the flutter of a bird’s wings. Never before had he been responsible for something so pure, so delicate. His relations before you were intimacies he had paid for in coin, encounters that didn’t require any gentleness on his part, where he cared little about any pleasure or pain besides his own. If he were to do one thing in his life with tact and delicacy, it would be this, he promised himself.

“Tell me again, hermosa, how many before me have seen this beautiful body?”

“N-none. You’re the first, Pero.”

He hums in satisfaction, running his hands up your stomach to cup your breasts. His thumbs stroke over the hardening peaks, causing a hitch in your breath as you shudder.

“Oh, mi conejita, so sensitive,” he descends, taking a nipple in his mouth and sucking almost harshly for just a moment before pulling away, admiring how your breast shines with his spit. You squeak out a shaking moan. “I wonder if you’re this sensitive everywhere else? Don’t tell me. I’ll find out myself.”

You feel your cheeks heat at his words, feeling the urge to curl in on yourself and hide. But Pero keeps you bare to him as he lavishes eager attention on your breasts, enjoying the whines half-caught in your throat. By the time your nipples are perked and wet from Pero’s hot mouth, your blush has spread down to your collar. He pulls away slightly, gently guiding you to lay down. He takes your thighs in his strong hands and spreads them further apart. His thumbs spread your lips so get a good look at your pink, silky hole twitching with a need you’ve never known before.

Your breath hitches as one of his fingers traces along your sensitive lips, brushing against your clit briefly before beginning to sink into you slowly. He rocks it back and forth gently while admiring the rise and fall of your chest, the way your eyelids flutter as you go between wanting to watch and being too bashful to. His thumb gently strokes your clit as he works to ease in another finger, and you tense harshly at the new intrusion. He leans down to press a few reassuring kisses against your neck.

“Relax, querida. Let me in.” He whispers, moving his lips to your mouth in an effort to distract you as he coaxes you open. His cock was heavy and hard against the laces of his trousers. You would see it soon, but Pero doesn’t want to overwhelm you. Not yet, anyways.

You breathe deeply in an attempt to relax your muscles as Pero’s fingers reach farther than yours ever could, and it feels as if he holds all of your bodily feelings in the palm of his hand. He continues to coo endearments against your neck to comfort you.

“Bueno, bueno… you’ve gotten nice and wet for me, cariño, so good for me,” a smirk spreads across his face as he feels you tighten with his words. “Oh, you like it when I talk, niña?” He teases, increasing the pace as he pumps his fingers in and out of you, the tight circles he’s rubbing into your clit on the verge of driving you mad.

He parts from your neck to take a look at your face in pleasure, and finds himself enraptured by the slight furrow of your brows and the way your eyelids flutter when he strokes the right part of your insides. Your quiet huffing and mewling, combined with the way your cunt is gripping at his fingers, has him more riled up than he’d like to admit.

“Pero, I-I I think I’m gonna cum,” you whine, looking at him with pleading eyes. He bristles with pride as your hips move to meet the palm of his hand while chasing the pleasure he gives you.

“Cum then, muñeca. Cum for me.”

The coil in your belly winds so tightly it snaps, and white hot pleasure floods your system. Pero groans as you cream on his fingers, feeling his cock throb harshly for the umpteenth time tonight. A tremor wracks your body as the mercenary continues rocking his fingers gently to help you ride out your climax. When they withdraw, he doesn’t hesitate to lick them clean, much to your embarrassment. The sight of his tongue against your slick on his hand gives you… ideas. Ideas that will have to wait until another night, maybe.

He leans down to plant a chaste kiss to your lips before bringing you to sit up. He wants to see what else you’ve never done. Wants to know how curious you are.

Pero places one of your hands (which feel so small in his) against the tent in his pants, encouraging you to explore his body the way you’ve so graciously allowed him to explore yours. His tunic is already off, but of course, you’ve seen men shirtless before. His cock feels hot and hard through his trousers, and the apprehension is probably clear on your flustered face, but Tovar finds this entire situation incredibly arousing.

He’s no stranger to sex, but most of his previous sexual encounters had been paid for and, thusly, were with experienced (and sometimes jaded) partners. Though the size of his cock may have impressed a few, it had never been the first they’d seen, touched, or taken. This was different.

His eyes never leave your face as you bite your lip, occasionally looking to him for approval as you move to undo the laces on his trousers. His eyes are lidded and dark with desire, and a smile crosses his face, a little more genuine than the usual smirks he throws in your direction.

“Go on,” he urges, more gently than he knew himself capable. You finally slip down his waistband and smallclothes, and his cock lands heavy against his stomach as he reclines just slightly. You try to contain your startled gasp, attempting to seem less like the blushing virgin you clearly are. The way your lips part ever so slightly as you examine his red, leaking cock with nervous interest sends the mercenary reeling.

Pero almost takes your hesitance as fear, which he’s determined to quell, before you finally reach your hands out to run them along the hard length, drawing a ragged groan from him.

For a moment, Pero feels the strongest compulsion to take charge of you. To guide your head down and order you to get his cock nice and wet before he takes you, to see tears prick at your eyes while you struggle to take his cock in your little mouth.

But, somewhat regrettably, he remembers his first time with a woman well. He remembers the nerves burning against his skin like a thousand needles, the fear of performing well and doing things he’d never even imagined doing. He can only imagine that fear to be tenfold for a girl. You’ve spent years in the company of brash mercenaries, uncouth enough that they brag of their rough, bruising conquests. He knows the type. And what women you do meet often speak of intimacy with dread, or reflect on the pain of their first times.

You are one of the few things in Pero Tovar’s life that he has ever really cared for. And his greatest wish is to make you feel cared for. He has never known patience. But for you, he shall have it in spades. You’ll have plenty of time to play rough later. Or never, if that’s what you want.

Not to mention, he’s just about as hard as he’s ever been in his entire life, and he doubts he would last in your mouth, not with the passionate stare you’re giving him. You have, after all, always been a quick learner when it came to the sword. The way you start experimentally moving your hands along his cock confirm this, as he sighs in pleasure from the light pressure you’re giving him.

“This the first cock you’ve seen up close, hermosa?” you nod, and that teasing smile is once again set on his face. “What do you think of it?”

Your eyes widen just slightly at the question. He takes one of your hands and spits in it before letting you continue to stroke his cock, still patiently awaiting an answer.

“Are they all… like this?” Pero has a feeling he knows what you mean, but he wants you to say it.

“Like what, preciosa?”

“Big.”

He chuckles quietly before cupping your chin in his hand and bringing you towards him for another bout of fervent kisses. In these moments, and most others, he looks at you and sees everything he’s ever wanted. He presses his forehead to yours when he finally parts from your lips.

“No, amor, not all,” he pauses in thought, somewhat uncharacteristically. “Are you worried?”

“...Yes.” The mercenary appreciates your honesty. For your entire life, you have had to be brave. He doesn’t want you to have to be brave with him. He’s never been trusted with something as precious as you. He calls your name with the same softness he feels for you.

“I will never hurt you,” he promises. “And…” his need causes him to struggle with the next part. He’s still not used to being sensitive, not used to caring so much. “We do not have to do this.”

Pero can see the fire ignite in your eyes, that same passion he sees when you get up right after being knocked down.

“I want to, Pero, I want to. Will you take care of me?” his eyes have their own fire now. He guides you down onto your back once again and leans over you. His cock leaks against the soft skin of your belly as he kisses up your neck, sucking in marks as he goes.

“Forever,” he swears.

Pero hoists himself up to look into your eyes as his cock catches at your entrance for the first time. He pushes himself in just barely, giving you a little more each time as he shallowly rocks into you. He watches, feeling lovestruck, as your breasts rise and fall with each short breath you take as he eases himself deeper into your heat.

When Pero Tovar met you, he didn’t exactly respect you, but he wouldn’t have called you soft. You proved quickly that you were a better warrior than most men he’d met, and despite the roughness and inconveniences of mercenary life, you didn’t complain. In those early days, he’d have scarcely called you a woman at all.

But here you were beneath him, soft and warm, and everything he’d never imagined he could be trusted with. Long ago you reached your hands into his hardened chest, with all of its armor, and gripped his heart with all of the hope and reverence of a devout finding comfort in a rosary. The vice of your wet cunt on his cock was an extension of that. An inescapable binding that he had no desire to leave.

“You feel so good, querida, so tight and perfect against my cock.”

And so you pant, looking cherubic against the sheets with your splayed hair and flushed cheeks, lips plumped from Pero’s incessant kissing. The wet noises coming from between the two of you are obscene, and you love it.

“So good for me, amor, taking everything I have to give you.”

He wouldn’t last long. Not waiting as long as he has, not with you looking, sounding, and feeling the way you do. His thrusts aren’t punishing, but they sure as hell aren’t gentle, as he can only restrain himself from wrecking you for so long. And from the way he’s hitting that place inside that makes you sing, you won’t last either.

“Pero, I’m gonna— mmm I’m gonna cum again!” You keen, calling him back from his animalistic fervor. Pero stares into your eyes with a fire roaring behind his gaze.

“I want you to soak my cock, hermosa. Cum. Give me your pleasure, let me make you mine!”

“God— oh, fuck, I love you—“ you pant as he feels you clench deliciously around him. Any hope he had of holding on has fled now.

“Mi amor, let me cum in you, please, querida—“

“Please, do it Pero,”

You can feel the skin of his hips slap against yours as he pistons himself in and out of you, babbling about how beautiful you are and how good you feel until he can’t stand it anymore.

“Te amo, te amo, te amo!” He growls, ceasing his hips as he fills you with everything he has. You jolt at the sensation before relaxing again, his hot cum painting your walls. His elbows stop him from collapsing right onto you, but he can feel your breasts brush against his chest with every breath the both of you take.

He basks in this moment for a while longer before pulling himself out gently, resolving to clean the both of you properly later. Pero lets himself fall beside you in bed, still breathing a little heavily.

“Come here, querida.”

Pero stares at the ceiling as your weight comes to rest against his chest, warm in ways he cannot describe. The arm around you tightens, as if he wishes to pull you further into him.

“Are you… do you feel alright, mi amor? I didn’t hurt you?”

“Never, Pero. I feel wonderful. Was it ok? For you, I mean. I know I’m… you’re probably not used to being with someone so inexperienced,” you trail off, feeling palpably insecure. He gently puts his hand beneath your chin to coax you into looking up at him from his chest.

“You don’t have to be anything more than what you are to be perfect for me, amor.”

Taglist:

Pedro Pascal: @auty-ren

From the preview post: @josepedropascal @tintinwrites @computeringturtle @kiwi-the-first

#nsft #writing #drabble #the great wall #pero tovar #pero x reader #pero tovar x reader #tovar x reader #tovar the great wall #pedro pascal #pedro pascal x reader

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fire-emblem-drabbles · 2 years

Text

Pairing: Yandere! Jonathan x reader

Prompt: “Sweetie, don’t cry... they didn’t love you as much as I do. I’ll help you over the heartbreak.”

Description: You dearly loved your brother, so much so that, when he leaves this world... you don’t know what to do with your self in the wake of him. Johnathan Joestar tries to give you a chance; if only you had stayed oblivious, you might have been able to live a normal life...

Content Warning: Yandere, delusions, abuse of hamon/power, mentions of death (nothing explicit), mentions of murder but nothing is seen

Rating: sfw

Word Count: 2446

Notes: Accidentally writes a lot, as a treat. Again I feel like this is all over the place (and it might be I kept singing to my music while wiring so apologies if some spots just... don’t make sense). Did some very minor editing to this one!

Even here, in the pouring rain, dressed in black and crying your dear heart out before his grave, you couldn’t believe it. Your brother, your elder brother, had… he had really… Even now thinking about it brought fresh tears forth to you. He was the only family you had left in this world, the only person you had ever cared for and your only hope. He was the only person you ever really trusted…

In his life, your brother had been speaking with one Jonathan Joestar; heir to the Joestar estate and of course its grand wealth. Your brother had been an entrepreneur and Jonathan was going to be one of the first men to invest in his business. Things had truly been looking up for the two of you. But now that he was… gone… how would you be able to live alone? The measly sum you made at your job alone couldn’t come close to what you needed for your shared apartment… What would you do? What could you do without him?

“Miss?” You were barely caught from your thoughts from a familiar voice. In the thick rain, you saw a somewhat familiar figure. It was Jonathan himself, surprisingly enough. You had met him a few times briefly while he spoke with your brother but you hadn’t expected him to come, or to recognize you. “Miss _____, it’s not good for you to stay out in the rain in this… we can’t have you catching a cold.” He held his own umbrella over you, forgoing keeping himself dry.

“Oh, Mr. Joestar…” You didn’t bother to try to better you appearance in front of him. “M-my apologies but… I can’t bring myself to leave.” Your eyes drifted to your brothers grave again, to the short years he had lived. It all felt wrong, far too soon… “I appreciate your concern for me, however.”

“Please, love. I know it’s hard. I’ve faced heartbreak like this myself-- but he would want you to take care of yourself.” Jonathan drew your attention once more with his words. You knew he was right, but where you would go? To your apartment, where so many memories would flood your mind and bring you down their path of despair-- to a place that soon wouldn’t be yours at all?

“I… where will I go? I… can’t go home…” You hiccup, the thought too much for you as you cry anew.

“Come with me-- stay at my estate, at least until I can see to it that you’re alight.” He pleaded.

“Y-you would do that for me? I’m honored but sir…” You went to argue but Jonathan stopped you.

“Its the least I can do. Your brother was a good man, and a good friend at that. To do this for him, and for you, is my honor.” He bowed to you, causing heat to crawl on your face. You really weren’t worthy of such good will from him.

“I-if you insist, sir…” As any gentleman would, Jonathan lead you towards the awaiting carriage, helping you in before climbing in himself.

“And miss _____?” As the carriage began to move, Jonathan caught your attention once more. “Please, while staying with me, don’t be afraid to call me by name.” He smiled softly at you, a small kindness you needed on this drear day.

“I’ll um… try my best.” You know not what the future held for you. Perhaps, with Jonathan’s help, it didn’t have to be so bleak…

~*~

It had been about a week since your brothers funeral.

For the first day or so, you didn’t leave the room Jonathan supplied to you; you hardly ate, bathing became hard… really, sleeping was all you could bring yourself to do, if only to escape your newfound reality for a few hours. You likely would have continued on like that for a good time if not for Jonathan.

Of course, he was ever the gentlemen but it was he who helped you. He would sit and stay with you until he saw you ate at least some of your meals and even help you take care of yourself; he had helped you brush your hair and had even gone out of his way to find clothing to for you to change into. He was gentle, if not persistent in his effort to help you. It was hard for you to express just how much it meant to you that he was doing this.

However… it felt odd he would go through so much for you of all people. It didn’t make sense, and you couldn't help but remember to keep your wits about you.

It was once such times; Jonathan had insisted you join him out for tea in the afternoon. In the garden, with the sweet springtime sun on you it was almost hard to be sad. Still, there was much on your mind. Though your sadness had not quite run its course, you were thinking much more clearly than the previous days.

“Jonathan…” His name, spoken aloud, still felt foreign on your tongue. He seemed to brighten up when you called him by name, turning to give you his full attention from the view of his garden. “I… have troubling news.” You admitted. “I had my own suspicions but now I know for sure.” You swallowed thickly, thumbs rubbing soothing circles into the teacup you held.

“What is it?” He was the picture of worry; brow furrowed, small frown fit on his lips. It didn’t suit him, you thought, but this had to be shared.

“When I was arranging my brothers funeral I… was given a letter by his lawyer. Only yesterday did I have the strength to read it but…” You shake your head and close your eyes, looking away. Taking a deep breath you open your eyes again and meet Jonathan’s blue gaze.

“It’s dated hardly a month ago-- he was worried, Jonathan. Not only for himself but for me.” You're trembling now, trying your best to ignore the sting of tears that rush to your face. No one was really sure how he died, that’s what made the affair all the more tragic. His autopsy showed he died of an acute heart attack but that didn’t make sense-- he was a young man, fit in every sense of the word. You didn’t want to consider it at the time but after having read his letter…

“Are you in danger?” Jonathan looked more alert than ever, looking around the two of you as if the danger was immanent now.

“I-I should be okay, I’m with you right now…” Jonathan seemed to visibly calm at that, waiting for you to continue. “In the letter he talks of how he feared our family was being targeted…” You sniffled. “He didn’t want to worry me but… things had been going missing. Important things-- his notebooks, his notes… which would make sense if someone was after his work, right? B-but not only that… my things had gone missing as well. A hairbrush I swore I merely misplaced, the make up I had gotten from our mother before she passed… all personal things.” You frowned looking to him. “He… he really thought someone wanted me. I… Jonathan, he claims he was murdered.” You whimper.

“Murdered?” He gasps. “Oh _____….” He reaches over the table, placing his larger hands over yours in comfort. “I know he was your brother… and I by no means mean to offend… but he was a little eccentric.” You yank your hands back by his words.

“Jonathan, do you hear yourself?” You sniffle. “He was the smartest man I knew-- if he thought something was amiss, so close to when he died, then I know it to be the truth.”

He has a look on his face that you can’t quite place. It makes you feel weird-- but you quash the feeling for more pressing matters. “I had hoped I could have your help in this endeavor but if you’re going to--” he cuts you off.

“Wait, wait!” He sighs and looks away a moment. “I apologize for my words. It was rude of me to say that and discount his words… if you truly believe that he was murdered, I’ll gladly help you find his killer.” He’s frowning, though. He sounds genuine but…

“Thank you for your apology…” You heave a sigh. “I’m afraid I’ll to have cut this tea time short, though. Thank you for having me.” Quite abruptly you stand from the table. Jonathan is quick to follow.

You can't help but be a little suspicious of him now.

“_____, please, don’t be like this.” He’s easily able to catch up to you due to his sheer size. Your suddenly aware of just how small you are compared to him. You quicken your pace to try and get him to leave you alone but its no use-- this is his estate after all.

“Actually, after some consideration, I don’t think I’ll be needing your help Jonathan. And while your hospitality has been generous, I think I should be returning to my own apartment now.” Your words are curt and straight to the point. You’re beginning to remember why you only ever trusted your brother. You had let yourself get too comfortable with Jonathan.

“I can’t let you do that! It’s dangerous for a woman to be alone in the world!” He’s in front of you now, handsome face all but pouting. “Please, reconsider.” He’s pleading. You’re only growing more suspicious and he can see that. “Didn’t you yourself say someone might be after you?” He adds.

“I’m beginning to think the real danger is staying here with you.” You claim boldly. “Let me ask you, Mr. Joestar…” The cold facade you’ve suddenly taken with Jonathan doesn’t sit well with him. Everything was quickly spiraling out of his control…

“Why were you so interested in my brothers work? How did you even come to know about him?” He’s frozen as you interrogate him.

“I just wanted to help…” He starts, but starts. “Do you really think I’m capable of such a thing, _____?” He speaks so softly, looks at you so earnestly, even you doubt yourself for a second. But you stay strong. You can’t be sure.

“I don’t know-- I really don’t know all that well after all, Mr. Joestar.” You move past him to the entrance of the estate. Leaving shouldn’t be a problem as you have precious few things to your name, at least here. All you need is to bring that letter with you, and begin the arduous process of finding the precious few clues that might lay in wait about your brothers killer…

You're surprised to find Jonathan leaves you alone as you head for the room you had called yours for your stay here. The first thing you do is go for the letter you had left on the bed and secured it. You hardly even care for anything else you may have here, only fueled now by revenge-- your brother didn’t just die. He was murdered, and you would have vengeance.

So caught up in those thoughts, you didn’t even hear the door open and someone slip it. It was only when you ran into them and nearly fell did you realize you were not alone. Jonathan had, once again, come to try and speak to you.

“Can I help you?” Uncaring if you sound rude now, you take a step back as you speak to him, only for Jonathan to catch your wrist.

“_____… you know, you’re a lot like your brother.” He moves in closer. He’s holding you in a crushing grip that you find you can’t escape. He either doesn’t know his own strength or he doesn’t want you to get away-- both thoughts are equally as terrifying.

“Pardon?” You still struggle in his grip, despite the bruise you know will bloom on your forearm.

“You’re awfully smart. But… sadly, the both of you underestimated me.” He has this pittying look on his face as realization washes over you.

“It was you! What did you do to him? You killed my brother!” You’re still trying to break free of his grasp, tears are blurring your eyes as you’re hitting him to no effect with your free hand. “W-what did you do to my big brother? Tell me! Tell me!” Your openly sobbing now.

“He’s… he’s dead… why? Why?” You’re growing weaker, it’s getting harder to fight back. For some reason, Jonathan is glowing, brighter than the springtime sun the two of you were basking in not even ten minutes before.

You’re so tired all the sudden but you can’t give up. But all you can do is cry, collapse on to his chest and weakly cling to his clothing. “He was my everything…”

“Sweetie, don’t cry…” Vaguely, you can feel him carding his fingers though your hair. You don’t have the energy to stop him. You thought your tears had dried with how much crying you had done in the past week but here they are, revived anew with the truth unveiled before you. “He didn’t love you as much as I do. I’ll help you over the heartbreak. I have been, haven’t I?” He coos.

“Love me? You call that love?” Even this tired, you have the energy to antagonize Jonathan. “You took the only person I cared about from me. I-I’ll never forgive you!” You take a deep breath and sniffle, trying to collect yourself. Try to get away from him. But this is just what he wanted-- for you to be trapped within his arms. This was his game from the start, wasn’t it?

“Of course I love you.” Even faced with your weak struggling, his voice remains calm. Collected-- gentle even. He’s treating you more like a toddler having a tantrum than anything. “Just give it time dear, you’ll see this is for the best.” You find its getting harder to breathe, as if the air around you is being taken. You’re so tired, you’re so angry. But you can’t do anything-- you found out the truth far, far too late.

“Why… me?” You can’t stop him as he scoops you into his strong arms. You’re hardly coherent at this point, tired from the crying and whatever Jonathan has done to you.

Why did he have to cause you all this heartbreak?

“I couldn’t tell you to be honest… I just knew, when I saw you, you were the one.” His lackluster reply doesn’t satisfy you as you fall into a restless sleep.

You knew it wouldn’t-- a madman couldn’t explain his delusions.

#jjba #jojo's bizzare adventure #jonathan joestar x reader #yandere jonathan x reader #yandere #yandere jonathan

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keanureevesisbae · 3 years

Text

sugar sugar - the wedding

Summary: It's Becky and Henry's wedding day 🥰

Sugar Daddy!Henry Cavill x Becky Kim (asian OFC)

Warnings: Daddy kink, anal play, sex, mention of squirting, overstimulation (just what they usually do lol)

Wordcount: 2.4k

Masterlist // Sugar Sugar Masterlist // Sugar Sugar the wedding Masterlist // Previous chapter //

Today is the day. Henry is gonna marry the love of his life. When he kissed her for a short goodbye this morning, he was dragged away by Gino and Peter, who were gonna help him get ready.

Since Becky couldn’t decide who she wanted to be her maid of honor, both of her friends stepped up to the task, which caused Gino and Peter to share the duties of best men as well. He is standing at the end of the aisle, waiting for her to enter. He exchanges a look with Sehun, with whom he became good friends. He loves seeing Becky and her dad reconnect and she actually calls him a lot, even for tasks Henry himself can fix.

For example helping her with building a cabinet or something else she bought from Ikea. Normally she’d turn to Henry, but now she is quick to ask her dad for help and orders Henry , in case her dad asks, to pretend he is too busy with work to help her out.

The two of them are actively working on their bond and it warms his heart to see Becky hug her dad tightly, have their own little inside jokes and simply have the father-daughter relationship she always wanted.

The music changes and Henry looks up from Sehun, only to see Becky in her wedding dress. To describe her as breathtakingly perfect is not even enough. Her long black locks are slightly curled at the bottom of the strands, the dress hugs her in all the right places and the soft smile toying on her lips is enough to make him feel all sorts of things.

To make sure Genevieve wouldn’t nag his head off, he promised her that he would be slightly emotional when Becky would walk down the aisle, however now that she actually is walking towards him, the tears burn in his eyes. He feels the hot tear rolling over his cheek and he is quick to wipe it away.

She holds out her hand and he is quick to take it, helping her up the tiny stairs. ‘Wow,’ he says, ‘you’re gorgeous.’

‘Thank you,’ she says. ‘You look so handsome.’ She places her hand on his chest and smiles. ‘I love you,’ she mouths towards him.

‘I love you too.’

The two of them (and Genevieve) decided that the speech shouldn’t be too long, mostly because Becky said that she hates long speeches that seemed to never end. Henry barely listens anyway, because he is too enthralled, looking at his soon to be wife.

He sure is lucky.

When it’s time for the vows, Becky folds open her paper. She clears her throat a few times, looking up at him.

Oh, look at that, she’s nervous. Henry nods, a simple gesture to encourage her.

‘Growing up,’ she then says, ‘I missed out on a lot and though the dreams of meeting someone, get married and start a life together were what kept me going at the time, deep down I kinda knew it would never happen to me. No love, no care, no someone who would unconditionally show me what affection exactly entailed. Never in a million years did I think I would meet a guy like you.’

Henry squeezes in her hand as he notices the tears burning in her eyes.

‘You’re everything I ever wished for and even more than that. Henry, I know I tell you this a lot, but… Thank you for barging into my life, for completely changing it, for helping me to become a better version of myself, for believing in me and for always loving me. I don’t think I could say that I would be where I am now if it weren’t for you. I love you.’

He brings her hand to his lips, pressing a kiss on it, before grabbing his own piece of paper. Shit, he shouldn’t cry, but seeing the things he wants to say to her, is making him slightly teary. ‘Sweet Becky,’ he says, ‘believe it or not, but I accepted the fact that I would die a single man, however you changed my life for the better. I think it started with that sweet smile of yours, when I realized I never ever wanted to live another day without you. The fact it took so long before the two of us finally got together, is all my fault and I totally take the blame for that one.’

She chuckles.

‘I love you, Becky and I promise you I will take good care of you, love you forever and ever and try to be the best husband I can be for you, though you deserve so much better.’

They slide on the rings and when he finally hears the words: ‘You may kiss the bride,’ he doesn’t waste a second before pressing a loving kiss on her lips. Their first kiss as husband and wife.

‘I love you,’ he whispers against her lips. ‘I love you so much, Becky.’

‘I love you too, Henry,’ she says. ‘And I’ll forever do that.’

✤ ✤ ✤

Genevieve wouldn’t be Genevieve if she wouldn’t speech at the wedding reception. ‘Okay,’ she says, ‘if I can have your attention, please.’

The seventy guests they invited are all quiet and Genevieve gracefully thanks them.

‘I have known Becky for quite a few years now and let’s just say that she was hitting rock bottom at a very tender age.’

‘Gen,’ Becky says, frowning and pouting a little.

‘I promise you, it’ll be a lovely speech.’ Genevieve clears her throat and says: ‘She was always happy, but there was always this certain… How do I say this? Emptiness to it. Like her life didn’t have the right seasoning. But then this lady met Henry and lemme tell you: I was very jealous at first. Greg, honey, no offense, but damn, I was this close of leaving you.’

‘You and me both, baby,’ Greg chuckles.

‘The thing between these two, was that there was this spark, something they had yet to discover themselves. I mean, the two of them spend Christmas and the universe what other festive days together and didn’t confess their undying love for one another. How oblivious do you want it?’

Becky places her hand on Henry’s and with his thumb of his other hand, he caresses her wedding ring.

‘So, when these two finally admitted their love for each other, they are just disgusting as you can imagine. I hate it, but love it at the same time. You know, our sweet Becky deserves the world and Henry is the only one that comes even remotely close to what she deserves.’

‘Aw, that’s so sweet,’ Becky says.

‘Mister Sehun, kind sir, please cover your ears, because I’m gonna say something about your daughter you might not like.’

‘Gen, I swear to—’ Becky starts, while Sehun covers his ears and that’s when Genevieve says: ‘These two fuck like bunnies and honestly no one can tip to their sex life. I can know, I caught them once, but that’s all I’m gonna say about the matter.’

Becky looks over to Henry, who can’t hide his smirk, because it’s kinda funny. He presses a kiss on her temple and Genevieve gestures to Sehun to uncover his ears, as the rest of the crowd starts to laugh.

‘In conclusion, these two are everything every couple wants to be, but never will be. I’m so forever grateful that Becky found herself a good man and Henry should know that this woman is a once in a life opportunity. No matter how intense and intimidating he looks, I’ll make sure Greg will try and kick your delicious looking ass.’

Becky shakes her head, as she starts to laugh. ‘I appreciate it, Gen. Thank you.’

The afternoon turns into the night and after multiple dances, the married couple stands near the side, admiring the guests dance around. After it turned out that Sehun was a wonderful dancer, Gen and Viola pried him away from Becky to dance with him as well.

Henry wraps his arms around Becky’s waist, pressing a kiss on her temple as he gently sways her on the rhythm of the music. ‘Daddy can’t wait for all those people to go,’ Henry whispers in her ear.

‘And why is that?’ she asks, placing her hands on his.

‘Because I need to show you how much I love you, especially since you’re my wife now.’

‘Your wife,’ she says in a content tone. ‘Sounds amazing, you know?’

‘I can easily get used to it,’ he says. ‘Mrs. Cavill.’

✤ ✤ ✤

The door of their hotel suite has only shut for a second, when Henry says: ‘As gorgeous as you look in your wedding dress, I need you to take it off.’

Becky bats her eyes, as if she doesn’t understand why. ‘Why?’

‘Because you are my wife now and I need you.’ He takes off his tie and throws it to the corner of the room. ‘Fuck, baby, I need you so bad.’

‘Then you need to help me out of this thing, because I can’t reach the back.’

‘My pleasure.’ He unzips the dress and he presses a kiss on her bare shoulder. ‘I love you, baby girl.’

‘I love you too,’ she whispers. ‘I really do.’

Oh, does he love that tone. He turns her around as the dress slides down her body. ‘You’re not wearing a bra, baby girl?’

‘It has cups in it,’ she explains, as Henry explores her body with his hands. ‘Don’t look at me like that,’ Becky chuckles. ‘Honey, you’ve seen me naked before.’

‘I indeed do,’ he says, ‘but I haven’t seen you naked as my wife yet.’

‘Is it different?’

He nods. ‘In such a good way. I’m so in love with you and your beautiful body. Fuck,’ he mumbles, wrapping his fingers around the waistband of her underwear and pulls it down. ‘We’re married now, baby girl.’

‘I know,’ she chuckles. ‘Daddy, please make love to me.’

‘Make love?’ he asks with a chuckle. ‘I don’t know about that.’

She bites her bottom lip, wrapping her arms around his shoulders. ‘Well, let’s get you out of that suit first, okay?’

✤ ✤ ✤

Henry cannot help but completely worship Becky’s body, even as she shivers next to him on the bed. His chest is covered in her juices, as she squirted all over him as she was riding him. As she is on her stomach, her legs a little shaky and a thin layer of sweat on her back, he opens the bedside table. ‘I brought something, sweetheart.’

‘What is it?’ he hears her ask, while he pulls her up by her hips. She rests on her knees and knows exactly how to arch her back.

Shit, and this woman is his wife now.

‘It’s your favorite,’ he whispers, spreading her ass cheeks apart, brushing the cold tip over her puckered hole. She moans out loud as he slowly pushes it in. ‘Fuck, you take it so well.’ He smacks her bottom and not wasting anymore time, he thrusts his painfully hard member deep inside of her. Her hands clench into fists, as she holds on tightly on the sheets.

‘Daddy, you feel so good,’ he hears her whine. The room is filled with her moans, the nearly obscene sounds of her wet pussy and the slapping of skin against skin.

‘You feel good too, baby girl. Fuck, you’re my wife now.’ He holds tightly onto her waist, before he pulls out and turns her over. He pushes some of her hair out of her face. ‘Mrs. Cavill,’ he says, placing his hand on her cheek.

She chuckles. ‘That’s me.’

‘You’re so beautiful.’ He spreads her legs and pushes himself back into her sensitive hole. Her velvet walls wrap around his hard member and he gives her a kiss.

The night seems endless, but definitely not in a bad way. He watches her fall apart over and over again and she takes shaky breaths, hoping to regulate a bit, as she shudders underneath him.

‘How many times have you cum, baby?’ he asks, stilling his movements, to press a kiss on her cheek. ‘Tell daddy.’

‘F- Fo- Four times.’

‘Want to make that five times,’ he starts, ‘before I fill you up?’

She lets out a dragged moan, pushing her nails in his arms. ‘Please, daddy,’ she begs.

Becky is on the verge of crying as he slowly builds up the speeds of his thrusts. He watches tears running over her cheeks, but he recognizes it. He knows she’s not in discomfort, merely being so sensitive and overstimulated. As long as she doesn’t safe word or he deems it necessary to stop, he will continue.

‘You’re doing so good for me, baby girl,’ he whispers, kissing the tears away. ‘I love you.’

‘I love you too,’ she whimpers. ‘You’re amazing.’ He pounds deep inside of her and her moans are becoming louder and more desperate. ‘I can’t anymore, daddy.’

‘Tell me the word and I’ll stop.’

She doesn’t. ‘I’m tired.’

‘That’s not the word.’

Becky wraps her arms around him and gives him a kiss. ‘Are you close, daddy?’

‘I am,’ he whispers. ‘Where do you want it? Still inside, darling?’

She nods, while her walls clench around him and that’s when he spills his seed. He buries his face in her neck, his lips salty as he kisses her sweaty skin, whilst riding out his high. He has stilled his movements and asks if she’s okay.

‘Just catching my breath,’ Becky chuckles, clinging against him.

‘Inhale through the nose, exhale through the mouth, sweetheart.’ She laughs and he gives her a kiss. ‘You did well. Daddy’s proud of you.’

✤ ✤ ✤

Genevieve: I think you two forgot I have the room below you in the hotel

Genevieve: Goodness me, how long were you at it?

Viola: Two hours and forty seven minutes

Viola: Yes, I timed, because I had a room above you and even I could hear it

Genevieve: Since we were in on the fun, you should at least give us the details

Becky: No

Genevieve: You’re no fun

Viola: I think this was just a preview of what they are gonna do on their honeymoon

Genevieve: Oh right, the honeymoon on the sex island

Becky: You guys…

Viola: The NAKED honeymoon on the sex island

✤ ✤ ✤

Becky’s wedding dress

#henry cavill #henry cavill fanfic #henry cavill fanfiction #sugar daddy!henry cavill #henry cavill x asian ofc #henry cavill x ofc #henry cavill x oc #henry cavill x becky kim #asian ofc #becky kim #sugar sugar #sugar sugar the wedding

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aggravatetheaxe · 2 years

Text

BETWEEN THE HAMMER & THE ANVIL - Chapter 2

A series of bad decisions is one thing. Pickles the Drummer is used to making those. A series of bad decisions that results in an unwanted pregnancy is quite another. It’s been almost fifteen years since Pickles terminated his parental rights, changed his name, and skipped town, hoping Dethklok’s rapid rise to fame would help him move on with his life. But not everyone has moved on—not the kid, and certainly not her other parent.

CW: MagPickles, era typical language per a trans person, stealth trans for safety reasons (era typical), Magnus having bitter little thoughts that come off as a bit transphobic, unhealthy/traumatic binding practices, canon typical alcoholism and mentions of drug use, adoption and reunion mentions, implied trans man pregnancy, fighting/verbal conflict, an old man being really sad

Words: 4,041

Soundtrack: x / x

Masterlist

Chapter 1

***

The sound of pen scratching paper was deafening in the small, dingy office. Once again, Magnus was selling a little bit of his soul away.

But the man grinning across the desk—husky, long brown hair, unkempt pencil mustache—was not quite the Devil, and he certainly didn’t offer fame or fortune. He offered 5k with room and board for a year’s worth of work stuffed into one weekend.

Rock-A-Roonie Fantasy Camp. Even the name sounded like a joke.

Magnus set the pen down. It was one of those girly pens, the ones where the stripper’s underwear faded as the ink drained. Classy way to conduct business. He was sure this grinning asshole thought it was real badass. Real cheeky, real shocking, real rock ’n’ roll.

"We are so psyched to have you as a counselor this year, Mr. Hammersmith."

"Yeah." Magnus watched the ink dry on the contract. "So you've said."

"I'm a huge fan," the guy—Brian, Bret? He hadn't been paying attention—continued. "'The Hammer' is one of my favorite Dethklok songs."

Dethklok song. "It's a good song," Magnus replied blandly, a shard of bitterness twinging his heart. A Dethklok song. "When do I get the schedule and all that?"

"We'll mail you a packet a couple months before camp starts, once everything is finalized. Shouldn't be too long."

“Fine. Anything else I need to sign?” Regardless, Magnus was already rising from his chair, and Brian (or Bret) followed suit.

“Nope, you’re all set!” he said, extending his hand. “Unless—y’know, if you’re free, we could grab a coffee, chat. Talk shop. Yeah, I’m in a band myself.”

Magnus kept the handshake brief. “Sorry, man, but I got another appointment.”

“Oh … yeah, okay! Some other time, then!”

“Yeah, yeah.” He was already half way out the office door, waving vaguely over his shoulder. “We’ll make it happen.”

Just spell my name right on the check, Brian.

Against all odds, he was able to make his way down the hall, down the stairs, and out of the nondescript office building without being accosted again. It was a nice day, the sun baking the concrete. The scent of it mingled with faint exhaust from the rush hour traffic and cigarette smoke from a nearby break area. Magnus’s gaze lingered on the sign for a moment before he shoved his hands in his pockets. He was really going to quit this time.

A walk and fresh air—somewhat fresh, anyway—were a relief after that stuffy office. He never felt right selling off parts of himself, but there was something about this particular arrangement that left him feeling dirtier than usual.

A workshop or clinic for amateur musicians was one thing, but he got the impression Rock-A-Roonie Fantasy Camp wasn’t about learning or growth. They promised to turn you into a rockstar within a weekend … give you a stage and a captive audience. It wasn’t about music. It was about vanity.

He was their main draw this year, so they said; their star counselor. They seemed to think he should be honored. But the other counselors were so washed up that seagulls were picking at their bare bones, so how flattered could he be, really?

These idiots and the idiots they were taking money from didn't know the first thing about real art. They had no idea the sweat, blood, and tears that went into creating music. Now that was a part of him. They just wanted to play pretend, to try it on like a costume—to clumsily pluck their way through some showpiece before returning to their nine-to-fives.

The fact that he’d just signed up to stand there and get gawked at and make phoneys look good made him want to vomit.

But five thousand dollars was five thousand dollars, and that covered a month’s expenses and then some. Royalties on one song didn’t pay the rent—especially not when he was sharing a songwriter’s credit with Nathan Explosion, thanks to Offdensen.

As for his other creations … who even knew. He always made ends meet, yeah. But he would always be Magnus Hammersmith, former guitarist for Dethklok.

He passed the bus stop with a glance. Better to wait an hour for the rush to slow down. Plus, he needed a few things, and may as well get something out of this trip. The nearest grocery store was only a few blocks away; soon, he was in and out, cradling a paper bag in his arms. Milk, eggs, sausage, coffee filters, cat food. Hopefully the bus would be running quick enough that the milk wouldn’t spoil.

Dethklok doesn’t have to take the bus. If it wasn’t for Dethklok, you’d still have your license. Your eye. ‘The Hammer,’ a Dethklok song. One mistake. And Nathan Explosion has the audacity to act like he’s the victim.

There was nothing wrong with taking the bus, Magnus reminded himself tersely. If taking the bus was the wages for keeping it real, for not being a hypocrite and a thief and a sell out, then he’d take the damn bus.

As he approached the bus stop, he forced thoughts of Dethklok from his mind—or tried to. It was kind of difficult when he saw them everywhere: on billboards, on buses, on T-shirts. Even the metalhead on the bench beside him was blasting "Hatredcopter" so loud he could vaguely hear the drums and vocals. He’d never admit the songs they’d written on their own were good—insipid, over-produced noise—but everyone else seemed to think so.

“Don’t listen to that shit so loud,” he mumbled. “You’ll ruin your eardrums.”

The kid didn’t hear him. None of the other commuters acknowledged his words, either. He began to wonder if he'd even spoken at all.

Ten minutes later, the bus rolled to a stop ahead of him. The rush was just coming to a close, but the seats were still relatively crowded. He ended up sandwiched between a napping woman and a man engaged in a very loud, very public video call. There wasn't much leg room, but at least he wasn't stuck standing and holding groceries this time.

Yet another asshole at the back of the bus was blaring Radiohead from his shitty cellphone speakers, but at least it was an okay album. Magnus leaned his head back, resting against the window and closing his eyes. Exhale. The sleeping woman had the right idea. In this traffic, it would be another hour and a half before they reached his stop.

The bus rumbled and roared. The guy next to him went on for much longer than seemed possible about a pair of sneakers he'd bought. The sleeping woman almost missed her stop, then left. Radiohead turned into Adele turned into Dre turned into Stone Temple Pilots, and Magnus let himself drift, measuring the ride in four minute increments.

It was a familiar voice that finally shocked him from his trance, every ounce of restfulness sapped and replaced with cold hatred.

“Well, ya know, Amy, if you’re stuck in a— in a li’l bit of a creative drought, the best thing ta do, really, is to, uh … huff some paint. Y’know? House paint, exterior—latex in a spray can. That’s the best stuff.”

Magnus opened his eyes, gaze flicking to the side. The sneakerhead had ended his call and was watching an interview now. Pickles the Drummer’s bright red hair, lime green eyes, and crooked grin were instantly recognizable—as was the slur in his voice. Drunk on national television … again?

“Orrrr sometimes what I like ta do before a show is just doooo a couple—like … two or maybe … four or five—shots of tequila, then run around in little circles till I get real dizzy.”

Well, it wasn’t the drunkest he’d ever been. The interviewer was lucky he was speaking coherent sentences. Still, the sight made Magnus’s skin prickle with anger. Pickles in particular truly had no idea how privileged he was. He’d fallen into the industry and stayed there more or less comfortably his entire adulthood. He’d caught lightning in a bottle not once but twice, with Snakes ’n’ Barrels then Dethklok, and still he skated through life like it was one big party.

The sneakerhead—and the interviewer, too—was enthralled, laughing at Pickles’s dumb jokes, listening thoughtfully to his barely lucid ruminations on the artistic process. Magnus couldn’t help the humorless wheeze that escaped him. If only they knew…

If only they knew how many times he’d scraped Pickles and the others up off the floor after nights of partying. If only they knew the lengths he'd gone to make them all successful, with no reward in the end.

If only they knew how many times he'd shared Pickles’s bed. How many times their precious drummer-god had kissed him, begged for him, held onto him like a lifeline. And that wasn’t even the biggest secret he was hiding.

How would they react?

Magnus had considered telling someone more times than he could count. Anyone who would listen, at this point. He’d had nearly fifteen years to think about how it would go down. Pickles the Drummer: EXPOSED, Lying To Us All These Years! Or maybe PICKLES’ SECRET DOUBLE LIFE - The Truth About His Sex Change. The subsequent media typhoon would swallow up Offdensen, Pickles, and the rest of Dethklok. They’d finally get a taste of the failure they deserved.

It would be so easy.

Magnus wasn’t sure what was stopping him.

He only had to endure Pickles’s voice for a few more minutes before they reached his stop. As he disembarked, he left behind a live performance of “Laser Cannon Deth Sentence,” which, despite the drunkenness, sounded album-quality. Yet another example of there being no consequences for those assholes' actions … no consequences for them, anyway.

It was another block or so before Magnus finally reached his duplex. He stopped by the mailbox and unlocked it first, then tucked the bills under his arm before entering.

Araña was waiting in her usual spot on the shelf right next to the door. She greeted Magnus with an exaggerated meowl and a surprisingly aggressive headbutt for a cat of her size.

"Hi, kid." He scratched her behind the ear briefly on his way in, and she jumped down to follow him into the kitchen. "I got something for you."

The brown and white tabby leapt onto the counter and waited patiently as Magnus put a little wet food in a dish. He slid it over to her, and she was more than happy to snack while he put away the rest of the groceries.

It was rare that a day passed where Magnus didn’t think of Dethklok … of what had happened, of what could have been. Days like this especially—the ones where he had to make do in his obscurity, sell bits of himself he wasn’t ready to part with just to continue to … exist in the music industry. He couldn’t really call it staying relevant, could he?

Would selling off his limbs and flesh feel better if it was to an international audience? Would that satisfy him?

Some days, he was certain it would. As he entered his office, he grabbed his guitar almost unconsciously, the same Les Paul Custom he’d been playing for twenty years. He had others, but this was the one he always reached for first. Sometimes he felt closer to this instrument than any person. There was a bittersweetness to that. They'd traveled a long, harsh road.

He plucked his way through an old Sabbath song, but he didn’t really listen to the strings’ muted vibrations. At least he wasn’t a sell out, not the way Dethklok was. At least he came by this honestly. At least he kept it real. At least he kept it real. At least he kept it real.

Is that what people would say about him when he was dead? Oh, at least he kept it real.

Make a joke and I will sigh and you will laugh and I will cry

Happiness I cannot feel and love to me is so unreal

“Paranoid” had come out when he was nine. That had been over forty years ago. He was getting older, and he’d blown his second, third, fourth, and a dozen other chances.

Fuck keeping it real.

It wouldn’t be so bad to be a sell out. He wanted to be a sell out. Good lord, despite it all, he wanted what they had. What he rightfully should have.

One mistake. One little mistake made in extremis and it’d been all over. They’d pulled the rug out from under him, no second chance. Every day he wondered how they had brought themselves to toss him out like garbage. They truly chewed people up and spit them out. How did they sleep at night knowing they’d ruined his life?

The notion that they didn’t think of him much at all was too painful to touch.

But he’d get even. He’d promised that years ago, and Ester Harutyunyan’s son didn’t make promises he couldn’t keep. Not anymore.

He’d get them back somehow.

Magnus had played his way through all of Paranoid and moved on to Master of Reality when his cellphone rang, dredging him from the deep end of his stream of consciousness. He leaned on the Gibson, checking the number—not one he recognized. After a moment’s hesitation, he dismissed the call.

He hadn’t even brought his pick back to the strings before the phone screen lit up again. Same number.

Again, he hesitated. Then, with a sigh, he picked up. “Yeah?”

“Hi, is this Magnus Hammersmith?” A woman’s voice.

“This is he,” he mumbled, fully expecting her to tell him about his car’s extended warranty.

“Hello, Mr. Hammersmith. My name is Genna Hoffman. I’m a licensed professional researcher located in Milwaukee…”

***

July, 1997

Seven months remaining

Pickles rested his head against the bathroom tile, gazing up and wondering when they had installed two extra shower heads.

Okay, so maybe he was a little drunker than he’d thought when he left the party. Well, as much as he could leave a party taking place in his own apartment. He could still hear the music, muffled … lower energy than at the start of the night. Depeche Mode’s “It’s No Good,” if he wasn’t mistaken. Someone must have given Nathan control of the stereo.

Pickles wasn’t sure exactly how long he’d been in the bathroom. He’d come in here to puke, but that accomplished, he’d just kind of blissed out against the wall. It’d been long enough that his cotton mouth had gotten pretty unbearable, but he hadn’t yet mustered the energy to get something to drink.

The window was open. Between the traffic, the light rain, and the muffled music, he could fall asleep right there.

It was only a sharp knock at the bathroom door that kept him from disappearing into the haze of intoxication. He started and hiccuped, staring up at the ceiling light. “Whaaaat?”

“Picklesch?” Murderface. “Are you still in there?”

“Ayyyyup, just … chillin’, my friend.”

“C’mon, man, you can’t hog the bathroom! Other people hafta puke, too. And your girlfriend keeps asking where you went.”

“Ohh,” he mused, “Jaaaaney?” He unfurled from his crouch, leaning heavily against the toilet as he rose to his feet. “Tell ’er I’ll be right out. Just gotta … gotta, gotta … get somethin’ ta drink.”

“Just hurry up!” Murderface spat, whacking the door once more before presumably going away.

“Yeah, yeah, I will,” Pickles half-sang to himself, shuffling over to the sink and turning the tap.

The cold water felt great on his skin. Clumsily, he splashed it on his face, rubbed it up and down his arms, then leaned to drink straight from the stream. His lips missed a few times, but eventually, he managed to swallow a few mouthfuls.

Pickles straightened—too fast, apparently, as most of the water came back up, along with a little extra. He loosed a frustrated yowl. He’d managed to avoid puking on his shirt all night up until now.

“And now’m thirsty again,” he mumbled. “Can’t … can’t cash a break. Pickles loses every time.” With another hiccup, he wrestled himself half way out of his shirt before remembering his ACE bandages. “Ope. Nope. Can’t let anyone see that, heh. You hafta go to your room’n getta new one, Pickles thee Drummer…”

He could endure vomit on his clothes a little longer. It certainly wouldn’t be the first time. He tugged the sleeveless shirt back into place and fumbled for the doorknob, re-emerging into the party briefly.

Things had quieted down. No surprise, since he was usually the one slinging drinks and passing out pills. Skwisgaar was occupied with a couple on one end of the couch, and Nathan and Murderface seemed to be engaged in a shotgunning contest.

Pickles perked up at that, calling over the small crowd, “Ooh! Ooh, wait for me! Guys, wait up for me, I gotta get a new shirt!”

Who even knew if they heard him, or if he’d been coherent. Either way, he hurried to his room—the first one off the living room. Even in his drunken state, he was mindful enough to attempt to lock the door, but after groping for a bit, he gave up.

He took a step in, then paused. The room was totally dark save for a desk lamp on the floor in a corner. At the small card table under the window, sat hunched over his work with a hand knotted in his curls, was Magnus.

“Oh, hey, Magnus,” Pickles said mildly.

The sight of someone huddled in the dark in his room had been enough to sober him up a little. When he received no reply, he pulled his shirt over his head, cast it aside, and began to root around on the floor for a clean-ish one. A Van Halen tee passed the sniff test—barely—and he threw it on.

“What, eh…” His gaze lingered on Magnus’s back. “What’re ya doin’ here? I didn’t notice you leavin’ the party…”

For a few seconds, all that answered was the sound of pencil scratching paper. “I’m working on the album,” Magnus eventually muttered.

Pickles paused. “You, uh, want me ta turn the overhead light on?”

“Nah, I’m fine.”

Pickles shifted, uncomfortable, and though he knew he should, he didn’t leave. It felt as though there was a bubble of tension around Magnus, dangerously close to popping. “You feelin’ okay?”

“I feel great,” Magnus replied, in a mutter again. “I’m trying to focus.”

Dread crept up Pickles’s spine. That didn’t sound like a good great, that sounded like a crazy great. One of those sleepless, obsessive episodes. Even if Magnus got shit done during those times, they were never good for anyone.

“Why don’tcha take a break, huh?” He drifted closer until he was standing just over Magnus’s shoulder. “You been workin’ a while.”

He was annotating notation of “The Hammer”—Pickles’s copy, judging by the percussion clef and hi-hats. How he could do that without a drum kit in front of him, Pickles had no clue. With something simpler, sure, but “The Hammer” wasn’t that, and Magnus wasn’t a drummer. Pickles was no amateur when it came to songwriting, but this guy was nuts.

“Magnus?” Pickles said at length.

“I can’t stop now. I don’t want to forget. Just leave me alone; let me get this done.” He was far too consumed to sound angry, but there was an obvious edge of irritation in his voice.

Pickles leaned a bit, rubbing the older man’s shoulders. “C’man, pops. Ya sure there’s nothin’ I can do to convince ya?”

To his credit, Magnus had enough good sense to relax into Pickles, hand stilling momentarily. He rolled his neck and sighed as the drummer bent to plant kisses on his neck and ear. “Pickles…”

“Hard ta resist, I know.”

“You’re drunk,” Magnus said, tone flatter.

“So?” Pickles huffed a laugh into his hair. “I’ll get ya drunk, too. Then we’ll be even.”

The sound of the doorknob turning spooked them both. Pickles shot upright, hands flying from Magnus like he was a hot stove, and squinted into the slice of light pouring in from the living room.

A girl stood there. Mid-twenties, busty, with hooded lids and a big mouth—just Pickles’s type. Janey, his brain provided, though he couldn’t be entirely certain that was her actual name.

She looked between Magnus and Pickles briefly, then beamed a pretty smile at the latter. “There you are. Are you coming back’r what?” Like Pickles, she was slurring. “You promised me y’wouldn’t keep me waiting.”

Pickles shoved his hands in his pockets, taking a step away from Magnus. “Yeah! Yeah, baby, I’ll be right there. Just, eh … talkin’ ta Mags about band stuff.”

“Okay. Hurry up! We’re doing body shots off Lela.”

Pickles couldn’t deny his dick jumped at that thought. “Uh, you’re doin’ body shots off Lela or I’m doing body shots off Lela?”

“Both, if you play your cards right.” And with a wink, she closed the door behind her.

A shiver ran through his core, and he grinned. If anything was gonna pry Magnus out of this dark room, it was licking salt off a groupie’s belly. But when he turned to suggest they both go, the guitarist was glaring daggers.

Could be worse. Could be the actual dagger he kept sheathed at his hip.

“What?” Pickles asked genuinely.

Magnus glowered for another moment before rolling his eyes and turning back to the card table. “Nothing.” His tone was light. “Go have fun with your little girls.”

“Ugh. C’man, dude … don’t be like that.”

“Jumped away from me awful fast,” Magnus fired back, in a way that suggested he’d had the comment locked and loaded.

“Well, yeah. I didn’t want ’er ta catch me kissin’ you. Like nothin’ happened, right? What’s your problem, anyway?”

“Nothing. Just leave me alone. Enjoy your body shots.”

Pickles’s nose wrinkled, indignation licking his heart. “Hey, fuck you, bud. Just ’cause you never have fun doesn’t mean the rest of us gotta be miserable.”

Magnus slammed his pencil down and stood, turning, forcing Pickles to take a step back.

All at once, he was shouting. “While you’re having fun, I’m the only one working on the album! I’m the only one taking this whole fucking thing seriously. I knew—” His jabbed a finger in Pickles’s face. “I knew you would fucking drag me down, just like you dragged down Antonio and Sammy. I knew agreeing to join a five piece with three fucking kids and a man-child would end like this.”

“End like what?” Pickles exploded back, smacking Magnus’s hand away. “This ain’t the end a’ anything, man! You need ta get a fuckin’ grip.”

“All of this”—Magnus gestured widely—“all our success so far is because of me. Who made sure you sat down and wrote? Who got everyone together for practice? Who flyered? Who negotiated pay while you dickheads got tanked? Who’s been paying for shit out of his own pocket to stretch our advance money? Who, Skwigelf? Nathan?”

“You’re a fuckin’ megla … megama … meglomantic—”

“Megalomaniac, you drunk piece of shit.”

“I was gettin’ there!” Pickles turned away, then. He had to, or else he’d end up beating the shit out of this son of a bitch, and he was sober enough now to realize conflict like that was the last thing Dethklok needed. It’d be like falling down right before the finish line.

“Get out,” Magnus snapped at his back.

“Whatever, douchebaeg. And you can forget about…” Pickles half-turned to gesture between them. “Hey, wait. This is my room! You get out!”

“With pleasure!” Magnus practically threw his Les Paul into its case, shoving notation into his folders and folders into his backpack even as he spoke. “Forget about what, Pickles? Nothing happened.”

Pickles stepped aside as the guitarist stormed to the door, but he managed to get one last word in: “Y’know what, screw you, Mister The Hammer. This is my fuckin’ band, too.”

Magnus stopped half out the room and fixed him with the most harrowing, withering stare he’d ever seen. “Just shut up and play what I tell you to, asshole.”

***

Chapter 3

Masterlist

Tip Jar

#metalocalypse #magpickles #pickles the drummer #magnus hammersmith #dethklok #metalocalypse fanfic #mtl #clover #pickles #magnus #written

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sunshineneedsaplacetokeephernsfw · 3 years

Text

Temptation (Shigaraki x reader)

Pairing: Shigaraki x gn reader Word count: 2,051 Warnings: noncon, oral (giving), somnophilia, drugging, slight yandere notes: So, this is my first ever 18+ fic. I hope it’s good, I think it is. I honestly surprised myself with how well I did. I also realized while writing it that I could make a gender neutral reader if I wanted to. Though if I were to write more in the future, it would probably be female readers.

~ ~ ~

Tomura is beautiful

you realized. Yes, he was also hot and handsome. But there was just a strange beauty about him that you couldn't deny. Was it his face? His scars somehow adding a different kind of allure? Or was it his hair? You always loved the color. Or was it his eyes? Red that felt as if they were piercing through your soul? Or his body? Or maybe it was just everything.

You actually hadn't realized this until recently. You weren't sure when it started, when you started to notice his attraction. But it was probably when you were all hanging around the bar. Everyone was doing their own thing. Shigaraki was passed out on the couch. The smell of alcohol burned your nose, increasing in intensity when you got closer.

You watched him as he lay there. He was much more relaxed like this. Every other time you had seen him, he'd been tense. Like there was always something on that back of his mind that he was wary of. But there was something odd about this. Something so... peaceful, and vulnerable, about seeing him asleep. You found yourself wishing that Father would evaporate so you could see his whole face.

Your unwavering gaze didn't go unnoticed. Toga asked you what you were doing. You said that you were thinking about drawing on Father and Toga went to go get a marker.

One night you woke up from a nightmare. You weren't sure what you were doing. You weren't sure why you did it. Maybe you had reverted back to your child-like ways, but you went to Shigaraki's room. He must had forgotten to lock the door, giving you the opportunity to slip inside. Your footsteps were quiet. You were sneaky, something Shigaraki always loved about you. Good for stealth and reconnaissance missions.

You had no idea what you were going to do there, but you hoped to find some sort of comfort. One look at his face, and you felt like you'd been sucker punched in the chest. No words could describe how you felt. How he looked. His face on its own was handsome and beautiful, completely uncovered, but the peace on his sleeping face added a whole new level to it. All you could say was that it was angelic. A stark contrast to the devil the media made him out to be.

You were mesmerized, unable to look away. The back of your mind hosted a growing anxiety of what would happen if his red eyes opened. But your wonder outweighed your fear. You so wanted to brush his hair away from his face, your skin gently grazing against his. You wanted to climb into his bed and cling onto him. But you knew better. You weren't that intoxicated by him. Not yet.

You didn't know how much longer you watched before leaving.

It wasn't your fault you kept going back. You tried to resist at first, but you couldn't. You found yourself going back every few nights. Only three times did you gain the courage to stroke his hair. And only once did you ever-so-gently touch the back of his hand. But only once you knew he was in a deep sleep.

No one else would have been able to resist, right? So there was nothing wrong in staring at his beautiful face at night. It filled you with such a calm feeling. Or maybe calm wasn't the right word. Because it filled you with a sort of excitement or joy that you couldn't identify. It melted every ounce of stress right out of you, which was like a precious medicine when you were constantly avoiding heroes. Everyone else would do the same in your situation. You weren't doing anything bad, you were just looking most of the time. No harm. No malice. No wicked intentions.

The only thing that prevented you from going every night, was the fear of getting caught. You couldn't risk being kicked out. You couldn't risk his positive opinion of you. But the feeling, the attraction towards him kept growing.

Once, you had the nerve to carefully pull the sheets off of him. It was a warm night, so he wouldn't wake from lack of warmth. You slowly lowered your hand onto his chest, while readying the other one in case one of his hands instinctively moved onto yours. Your eyes examined him, drinking in the sight. Something grabbed your attention and your breathing hitched.

You saw a bulge between his legs. You licked your lips. Your breathing caught in your throat as you stared. Your heart beat so hard, you could see it beating through your chest. Every nerve in your body seemed to be fixated on it. Your brain wove an image. It would be so easy to pull his clothes down to- no! You couldn't... at least not now. If you did that, he would surely wake up and kick you out of the league of villains. Seeing his subordinate between the legs of their leader, sucking like they hadn't drank in weeks.

You couldn’t, as long as you knew he could wake up.

One day, Toga wanted pancakes, after you had mentioned them in a conversation with her. You let it slip that you knew how to make them. And Toga convinced you to make them for the League of Villains. You learned new recipes, watched videos on cooking. It soon became a normal event for you to occasionally create meals for the league

So no one found it strange when you made dinner that night. No one raised an eyebrow when you separated the food onto each plate. No one noticed when you slipped a sleeping drug into Shigaraki's food.

It had taken a while. Making food often enough so that nothing seemed odd. Doing the research to find a drug that would do what you want. But in the end it was all worth it. Nothing filled you with more triumph than when Shigaraki began eating. None the wiser to what you had put in especially for him. You knew that soon he would start to grow tired. You knew that as soon as he fell asleep, he would sleep like a log. You knew that he would wake up in the morning, maybe feeling groggy, but otherwise feeling like he had a good, long nap.

You could barely contain your joy when he announced he would be going to sleep. Pressing your thighs together and rubbing as discreetly as you could. You waited, until most of the league had left and gone to sleep. You yawned, excused yourself, and snuck into Shigaraki's room.

It was dark, but your eyes quickly adjusted. He was laying there, asleep as he always was. It always gave you a special feeling, but this time there was excitement and anticipation mixed in. The kind that made you want to jump on top of him and kiss him all over.

Maybe you should have tapped him, checked to make sure he was truly asleep. But you had been patient far too long. Besides, after all of your research on the drug, you were sure he wouldn’t have woken up in a tsunami.

You tore the sheets off, and your eyes fell down that bulge that had tempted you so many times, but you could never have until now. You licked your lips while you cupped the lump. It felt nice. Like it was meant to be there. Your thumb caressing it faster, and faster. You hastily settled yourself between his legs.

You would have liked to feel his cock through his pants a little longer before diving in, maybe actually feel it in your hands, but you had waited too long. You hooked your finger under his waistband and pulled it down until it sprang out. You jumped back like a child scared by a jack-in-the-box. It already had some pre-cum leaking , running down his length and making your tongue instinctively stick out. Your heart skipped, knowing that you already made him this hard.

You lunged forward, your hands on either side of him to hold yourself up. You licked a long line up his cock before taking it into your mouth. It was salty, not quite the flavor you had expected, but you couldn't care less. Almost as a formality, you pulled back and kissed the red tip. Making sure to add a kitten lick before opening your mouth again, swallowing it back down again.

You slid your tongue along the ridges as you bobbed up and down. You tried to take it in as far as you could. You gagged. But you did your best. You could hear your blood pounding in your ears. You nearly forgot to breathe through your nose. And you were loving every second of it as his taste filled your mouth.

You rubbed your thighs together, desperate for some relief. Something to calm the rising need.

His hips bucked into your mouth ever so slightly, causing to sputter. You felt thrilled, honored that he was enjoying it so much, even when he was asleep. You sucked harder, determined to make him feel good. Your fingers found their way to his boxers again, pulling the elastic down even further. It was hard with the darkness, but you pulled it down far enough and moved a hand to cup and caress his balls.

You shifted your arm to rest on his leg, to free your other hand to go between your legs. You hastily and clumsily pulled down the clothes concealing your lower half. Exposing your nethers to cool air. You touched it. You were nearly dripping. Your fingers got to work, rubbing and rubbing. Faster and faster, as your body demanded more.

Your moans were muffled by the cock in your mouth. Sending vibrations down it. A small moan reverberated in his own throat. You nearly came when you looked up and saw his sleeping face twisting with pleasure.

You could feel him writhe beneath you, subconsciously thrusting into your stuffed mouth. You were reaching your end too. You were close. Not long now. Not long now. Every atom in your body screamed and begged for it.

He suddenly stilled. You could feel it. Thick ropes painting the back of your throat, spurting into your mouth. Your face felt warm. It was enough to push you over the edge. You trembled as pleasure tore through you. How good it felt was the only thing you could think about. You forgot to breathe through your nose and the lack of air made your mind go numb.

Your breath was shaky once it was over. Excess cum dripped from your mouth. You licked up any that fell on Shigaraki’s skin. You were glad that your pants and panties were still at your thighs. You hadn’t considered the mess you would make and they were catching all of it as it dribbled down your legs.

You pulled your pants back up. You still trembled from the after-tremors of your orgasm, as you forced yourself up. You didn’t want to leave, all you wanted was to curl up next to his body and fall asleep. But then he would wake up, and you didn’t want to answer why you were sleeping next to him.

But maybe if you hugged him for just a second…

You carefully lowered yourself next to him and wrapped your arms around him, nuzzling your face into his neck. It was so comforting. Like a warm blanket on a cold day. It took almost all of your willpower not to fall asleep. It was amazing. You stared back up at his sleeping face. He was beautiful.

You crawled up and kissed him. On the cheek, then on his lips. You couldn’t help it. Such a sweet gesture after doing something so naughty filled with you a strange sensation. It was only later when you realized and wondered if that was his first kiss.

With reluctance, you got up. You were satisfied. You already made him and yourself cum. The thought of impaling yourself on his length only barely crossed your mind. No, simply being able to taste him was enough. And you weren’t bold enough for that.

At least not yet.

#shigaraki x reader #shigaraki x reader smut #shigaraki smut #shigaraki tomura x reader #bnha shigaraki #mha shigaraki #bnha smut #mha smut #bnha #mha #boku no hero academia #my hero academia #smut #tw: noncon #tw: drugging #tw: somnophilia

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