#I have mounted much higher
Explore tagged Tumblr posts
Text
I do not hope for anything. I do not fear anything, I have freed myself from both the mind and the heart, I have mounted much higher, I am free.
#I do not hope for anything. I do not fear anything#I have freed myself from both the mind and the heart#I have mounted much higher#I am free.#The Saviors of God#motivation#quotes#poetry#literature#relationship quotes#writing#original#words#love#relationship#thoughts#lit#prose#spilled ink#inspiring quotes#life quotes#quoteoftheday#love quotes#poem#aesthetic#spilled thoughts#relatable quotes#reading#art#romance quotes
40 notes
·
View notes
Text
One more, im in a mood
look i need people to draw plum blossom sword saint as an old man oK?? OK??? HE IS 80 SMTH CAN HE HAVE WRINKLES PLEASE
#return of the blossoming blade#return of the mount hua sect#화산귀환#art#fanart#alp fanart#alp art#grabbing this man and throwing him down the stairs#i understand in murim if youre skilled enough with cultivation you will look decades younger etc etc#however. my counterpoint is that (in the manhwa) there are a lot of old looking people.#why cant he be one of them#like he doesn't even need to look that old i certainly did not draw him very old at all#just give him wrinkles.... something to make him have age#i want cool grandpa ok#also it took like my third reread of the manhwa to realize that he had a white antenna#it made me laugh so much#how to show age: white hair antenna#um. im so used to drawing hanbok i realized the right one has a much higher waistband than it should be looool oops#also i think it would be really funny if another indicator of age is simply how long his antenna is#like its his fukin lifeline or someshit
120 notes
·
View notes
Text
Never thought Id see an anime pull off "me and the baddie I pulled by being autistic" but they truly did
#wouldnt recommend for the faint of heart since children do in fact violently die alonside so many others#but yeah ill finish watching it tomorrow#kinda obsessed with the cop and his you lay a hand on him and ill kill you partner#that assassin and her neet gf that only talks autisticly about sharks#and boy with autism that dabbles in necromancy and his only flaw is loving the people he cares about so much he goes idgaf mode#and makes it his enemies problem#anime is dead mount death play#stupid ass title they are running out of names#soon its gonna be asian girl names for titles like we do white women for horror movies#idk maybe the title has some word play in it i dont know about but damn its still stupid ass#my stuff#also been weirdly into reincarnation animes lately because oddly enough from what ive seen myself they have a higher female protag count#its weird but good on these girls becoming god lesbians
3 notes
·
View notes
Text
So I've been pulled into some Mechwarrior shenanigans and I truly forgot how much I liked the concept of 'its a fancy walking tank and it's unwieldy but can take a hit and is incredibly effective in the hands of a good pilot' over the 'i get in and become superman' style. Both are good, I just like one better. Also probably why I enjoyed the MSG: The 8th MS Team more than a lot of other MSG's...also early Code Geass fights
#the vulnerability makes the stakes higher and the actions more meaningful to me#some of these its like cool youre untouchable now#and thats all well and good#but also my giant fancy tank can trip because i got cocky and my actions have consequences#rip a robot arm off with your other robot arm and smack someone with it because shit hit the fan and thats what youve got#eject out the back/top after taking too much damage because what matters is the pilot#the concept of extreme modification also appeals to me and i like it better when its very visual#like yes i do want to see that you upgraded your shoulder mounted cannon with an artillery-style barrel thay shoots AP rounds#dont just say 'oh its 30% faster' like no show me give me a cool doodad#add frontal armor plating and extra jump rockets and cockpits full of big switches and levers and displays and buttons to use it all#otherwise it feels like such a disconnect to me and boy i sure am rambling whoops
4 notes
·
View notes
Text
CW: 18+ MDNI, loan shark!price x reader part 1, fem!reader, afab!reader, noncon elements, manipulative price, implied violence (not reader), petting, almost(?) fingering - 3K words - dividers -> @/cafekitsune massive thank you to @pricetagged for keeping me sane writing this
“Mr. Price-” you spoke up, fingers massaging into your temples.
“Said you can call me John, Sweetheart.” the man interjected with a serious look.
He was currently hanging your entire life over your head and he knew it, you most certainly were not going to call him by his first name. Noticing your reluctance, he shrugged and leaned back into your dining room chair.
“Look, I’ve been as kind as a man like me ought to be. Don’t know how much longer I can shoulder the loss, and I don't know how much longer you-” He sent a condescending look of concern your way, a hand fishing into his pocket. “-can take the fees. I’m playing the good guy here, y’gotta pay up, lovie.”
“No smoking inside.” you warned, voice less confident than you would have liked it to be.
His hand paused in his coat before slipping out and up in a sign of surrender.
There was a buzzing silence between the two of you, only interrupted by the occasional tick of your kitchen clock. It was hard to meet his gaze, eyes rooted downwards towards your table under the weight of your rising debt to one of the most notorious men in the city.
“Right then.” he huffed, palms coming down to rest on the table before twitching upwards. “So?”
“Give me another month to pull something together.” you spoke, wincing when you caught the way his eyebrows quirked in surprise. “-Please?”
There was no telling a man like John Price what would be happening. He was the shot caller, the unequivocal card dealer, it was only by some higher grace that he let your ill manners slip.
He grumbled for a moment before looking up. “I respect what you’ve got going on in the shop, I do. Lovely place, good atmosphere—we’re both the entrepreneurial type, so to say I’ve got a bit of a soft spot for you-” the thought that he’d lump your small shop in with his exploitative business made your stomach turn. “-but this is a bit much, yeah? Let’s give it up, sweetheart.”
Your face twisted into a sharp grimace, but that was all you could do—what right did you have to tell the man whose money you were living off of to get out of your house? Even worse, you hated that he had a point; you were so tired of your lackluster sales and mounting bills, but-
“I’m not the only owner, I-I can’t just make decisions like that.” you reasoned.
He looked incredibly unimpressed, nostrils flaring with a dissatisfied huff. “Right, your business partner.”
“H-he-”
“If it’s what you want, m’sure he’ll understand,” Mr. Price hummed, eyes narrowing. “I think you’ll find my men and I can be quite persuasive.”
Registering your cautious demeanor, his lips curled upwards.
“Where is the bloke anyway?” John asked in faux-disinterest, disapproval blooming from his tone. “Always sends you to talk to the big mean lender. S’not right.”
He shook his head and sighed.
“-Seen this play out before, love. He’s throwing you under the bus.”
Your mouth shut, hard set into a frown—you knew he was right. Your business partner was most likely enjoying his morning in peace knowing it was your apartment above the building—your life about to be uprooted if it all went tits-up. It was hard not to feel played.
Mr. Price’s gaze glimmered in recognition, and slowly, like a languid predator, he was leaning across the table with a large hand over your own.
You studied the sparse dusting of translucent hair on his fingers, the trimmed nails at the ends of his stocky fingers, his nice, expensive-looking watch—anything not to meet his eyes.
“S’not worth it,” he urged softly. “spreading yourself thin like this.” he paused to think. “My advice? Liquidate, I'm sure you and I can work something out in the long term.”
You swallowed, throat feeling impossibly dry as you focused on the twitch of his thumb.
“I’ll think about it.”
“I don’t want to be the bad guy, but business is business, sweetheart—I’m offering you a hand, it’s in your best interest to take it.” he spoke, palm patting over your digits before withdrawing into his pocket. There was a deep breath drawn in through his lips. “Right, I’ll be off then—Unless you want me over for lunch?”
He chuckled deeply in solus as he stood, reminding you of a proud and awful beast. “Maybe another time then, love.”
Ideally not.
-
The shop had closed on another unnoteworthy day, only serving to further hammer in Mr. Price’s point. With defeated footfall on the stairs up to your flat, you nearly slipped, shocked by a fist beating on the front door frantically. You slowly turned around, heart pounding from the sound.
“-Christ! Let me in!” Ewan, your business partner cried out from the other side of the threshold.
You hurried to the door; pushed aside as soon as the lock had released.
“Do you have any idea what time it is?” you scolded over the shop door’s welcome chime. You were met without response while the man darted for the till. “What are you-”
“Not now,” he growled. “we need to get out of here.”
Studying him closer, you realized one of his arms had been held up by a makeshift sling, tucked neatly beneath his quilted coat.
“W-what are you talking about?”
He paused, looking up.
Your eyes widened when the light from the street outside washed over his face.
“What happened to you?”
“Doesn’t matter.” he snarled, freshly dried blood crusting at the movement. His head dipped down as he popped open the till. “Price and his dogs want our heads.”
“I just spoke to him this morning-”
“Things change—may have pushed our luck a little too far. We’ve got to get out of town.”
You frowned “I-I can’t just-”
“Suit yourself.” he snapped, voice dropping to a mumble while his fingers grabbed at whatever they could, stuffing it into his coat pocket haphazardly. “-Sitting duck.”
“Wait—that's our money.” you balked, watching the empty register drawer shut. He offered you a bloody, tight-lipped smile as he sped past you towards the door; in and out like a typhoon.
“Good luck.”
You were stuck where you stood when the door swung shut, absolutely beside yourself in shock as you watched his figure disappear from view into the night. Looking around your shop, it was just as it had been when you closed up, but the knowledge that you were sitting on an empty till, all alone with the looming threat of a less-than-savory money lender finding out you were back to square one for your upcoming payment was not kind as it crashed into you.
After a sobering moment, you hobbled over to the point of sales, turning the drawer’s lock tentatively. Of course, the tray was as empty as the day you had bought it, save for a spare coin roll shoved into the side. You stared down at the dark plastic, hand clumsily digging into your pocket for your phone. Swiping at the device, you paused, debating for a moment over whether or not to open the banking app; you already knew what you’d see if you did.
Confirming your fears, the log showed a hefty transaction at the branch earlier that day. The account had been emptied right before the banks closed.
You had nothing to give John Price.
It was all gone.
You stared at your feet while it sunk in. Slowly, you regained the ability to move, making your way over to the shop door and locking it back up before spinning on your heels. The trip upstairs was eerily silent as you slipped into your flat, legs wobbling as you ambled into your washroom and stepped under the hot stream from your showerhead. You let the water run over you for far longer than necessary, only stepping out onto the frigid tile once your fingers had pruned.
The dinner prep that followed had gone surprisingly smooth, serving as a vessel to pretend the foundation of your life wasn't crumbling away. You replayed comforting thoughts, words passing through your mind like a liferaft just out of reach– you knew Mr. Price, he always spoke gently to you, he would understand, he-
A fat tear fell onto the hand that braced you over the stove, watching the bubbling pasta through bleary eyes. With a shaking grip, you drained the water and slipped the noodles into your saucepan, stirring and sniffling lamely.
You made too much—you had nothing to give and you had made too much. Typical.
Sitting at your table, you ate in near-silence, listening to your clock’s soft ticking as you tried to ignore the afterburn image of Mr. Price across from you where he had sat that morning.
Your fork paused mid-air when the downstairs shop chime rang out.
Had Ewan come to his senses?
You closed your eyes and waited for him to call up to you.
The stark sound of heavy footfall bustling around the lower level was the first thing to alert you to the intrusion—too much noise for one man. Setting down your fork, you stared owlishly at the door to your flat as if it was the last line of defense between you and whatever was happening down there. Through the muffled commotion, you could faintly make out the creak of your stairs getting louder—closer, you watched helplessly as the knob slowly turned.
The door opened a fraction, a thick hand curling around the side to brace it against the three thunderous knocks that echoed throughout the room.
“Come in.” you spoke up once your heartbeat had evened out, blinking as Mr. Price emerged from the dark stairway.
“Mmh, you’re here.” he stared down at you, a pleased rumble rolling around in his chest. “‘Course you didn’t skip town, smart. Good girl.”
He kicked his boots off and drifted through your kitchen; cabinets and drawers clattering behind you while he whistled breathily, dishing up some pasta as if you had made it for him—you do suppose he had every right to, though.
Your whole body tensed as a palm ghosted across your back. The plate was set down, and the chair beside you was tugged out from beneath the table.
Your eyes darted to his dish where it sat, steam trailing fragrantly. Mr. Price tucked in, humming lowly despite his tense demeanor.
“S’good, Love. eat up.”
You swallowed the lump in your throat and grabbed your fork, gaze falling back to your dish as you picked at the food, appetite long gone. Once again, it was you, Mr. Price, and the sounds of your kitchen—an unwelcome sense of Deja Vu creeping in.
“Your money’s gone.” you whispered, unable to stand the silence.
He reached towards you, grabbing your napkin, and patting his mouth. “I know.” he scratched at his beard idly. “My boys are dealing with that.”
You paled, trying not to think about what would happen to your business partner as you watched Mr.Price fuss with his fork, leaning in to take another large bite; a nauseated feeling washing over you.
“What's going to happen to me?” you murmured, eyes downcast.
His fork clattered quietly against his plate as his hand came to rest on the back of your neck, thumb petting at your nape. “That’s what I'm here to sort out, sweetheart.”
Sort out. It was ugly, spoken as if you were just one of his assets. You nodded; compliance met with a soft, affirming squeeze.
“We can work something out.” his hand traveled downwards, grazing your arm before landing on the meat of your thigh. “I don’t have to be the bad guy.”
“Mr. Price..” you spoke after a sharp breath, tears threatening to well up.
You missed the way his eyes crinkled at your weepy tone, thumb brushing your thigh in comfort.
“I’ve had my eye on you, love—Would have never lent you as much as I did if I wasn't sweet on you. Thought maybe I’d be able to charm my way into your life but it seems like I only see you when you’re late on a payment.” he laughed hoarsely. A knee knocked into yours as he stood; his chair scraping beneath him. The floor creaked under bulk, two large hands coming to rub at your arms with hot breath and trimmed beard tickling at your ear. “-I’m a hopeless romantic, y’see.”
“Price!” a voice hollered up, causing the man to straighten with a low growl.
“What?” he barked, voice aimed downstairs.
“Trucks loaded up, gonna head back to the office, yeah? See if Simon needs any help retrieving the cash.”
His hands flexed around your shoulders. “Good, lock up behind yourself. I’ll be a bit.”
You froze, looking up to see the looming shadow of a man; profile distinct in the low light. He turned to you, offering a tight grin while a wayward hand trailed from your arm to your neck, caressing the skin as he exhaled deeply behind you, resting your head against his abdomen.
“It’s okay to give in, love.” he cooed. “Let me take care of it all.”
You had nearly folded when that little prey animal in your brain stiffened, hackles raising. You stood carefully, sidestepping his grasp.
“No, I-I… I couldn’t impose… It’s alright.” you silently begged for him to understand your polite refusal.
“S’not imposing,” he challenged, glaring down at you. “imposing would be the number of zeroes on the sum you owe me—now you care about my burden?”
“That’s-”
“That’s not how this works, sweetheart.” he laughed. “Now, sit back down.”
You complied, lowering back into the seat shamefully.
“Good.” he exhaled, crouching beside you with hands knotted together. “I always collect what’s owed, that’s one thing you need to understand.”
You nodded.
“-But I’m not opposed to shouldering burdens where personal interest is involved.” His eyes searched your own desperately, palms unfurling to rest back on your legs. “You understand what I'm saying, yeah? You’ll never pay it off alone, let me help. I could take care of you.”
Overwhelmed, you turned away; the grip on your thighs tightening in response as he braced himself, standing up. A warm hand cradled your cheek as he drew your gaze upwards, free hand looping around your back and lifting you to stand against him like a marionette.
“I don’t know what to do…” you sniffled as his big palm had begun to rub circles into your back.
He shushed you. “-It’s okay, love. I can handle it, It’ll be okay.”
You nodded, turning and rubbing your face into his shirt as he comforted you. The entire situation was a disorienting experience. Had you done something so wrong to get here?– had it been a crime to want to live a gentle and quiet life in your shop?
It was hard to care much for your sense of conviction when the root of your problem looked more like a finely woven cradle; what did it matter if you were to bend the knee to your devil’s appeal at this point?
Still, it felt as if you were teetering on the edge of a cliff.
“I’m scared.” your lips settled for, hiccuping the words into his chest.
He hummed thoughtfully, the noise buzzing around the walls of your head as his thick arms hooked around your neck, pulling you in deeper—a trap set without any fuss.
“It’s okay for you to be scared,” he pressed a kiss to your crown. “There’s no way anyone was getting out of those rates you agreed to, love. Let me help you.”
You stiffened, head raising slowly to look at him. He smiled down at you.
“You definitely won’t be taking care of our finances, yeah?” John joked, letting out a deep, phlegmy laugh before he pecked your nose, pulling you back into his chest and rumbling against your head. “Enough nonsense. You’re tired, aren’t you, sweetheart?”
It was all so domestic—like he hadn’t just shown you his rows of jagged, shark-like teeth.
His grip relented as he patted your bum. “Go on and get into bed, let me clean up dinner.”
-
So you did, brushing your teeth and feeling incredibly confused as to why you were readily complying. What truly got to you was how tender it felt—had you been so oblivious to his vying interest? You had just assumed he was a rare good-natured lender; though, you suppose neither of these had been true.
John Price was not a good man; although it was a recent revelation in the grand scheme of things, you knew this as a fact now. The other fact of the matter was that it seemed you were most likely the real collateral in the vulturine deal. Had he been playing the long game?
You could hear John floating around in the other room as you pulled an old shirt over your head to sleep in—the kitchen faucet running as you slipped into your bed. It all felt so wrong.
Your eyes shot open when the bedroom’s aged floor creaked, deer-like paralysis keeping you snapshot-still as the ring of his belt buckle filled the static air. Was he—The rickety bed dipped behind you under John’s added weight, bedframe crying out with every shift of his body that came with tucking himself against you; achy grunts blowing out from his lips.
“Not as limber as I used to be.” he laughed modestly. “Still gets the job done though, I reckon.”
He breathed for a moment before his nose dipped into the hair at your nape, sniffling around.
“-Better than I imagined.” he grumbled contently.
Thick hands dipped under your shirt, massaging at the skin momentarily before slipping into your panties, tugging them out of the way.
“Mr. Price.” you winced, feeling his cold hand on the sensitive skin.
his hands paused as the large man thought for a moment.
“Mrs. Price…” he chuckled after a beat, the hairs on your neck standing up in response. “-See? You don’t like it much, either. Now, what’s my name, love?”
“John.” you mumbled quietly, eyes darting around through the dark of your room.
“Mmh. good girl.” he hummed, hand cupping your cunt and thumbing at it absentmindedly. “Sleep, love. Big day tomorrow, yeah?”
#fuck it we baaaaallllll#john price x reader#price#x reader#cloth writes#afab reader#fem reader#tw noncon
4K notes
·
View notes
Text
NNN Hcs with the Dc Batboys
🥀A/n: exactly what is sounds like‼️ i love writing no nut november hcs sm-
🥀Character(s): Dick Grayson x reader, Jason Todd x reader, Bruce Wayne x reader,
🥀Cw: smut, teasing, switch!reader, use of the term(s) prince/ss in Bruce's pt, dirty talk
🥀divider: @chachachannah <3
🥀minors dni
Dick Grayson:
bringing up NNN to Dick definitely raises a brow- at first he's a little confused, you don't want to have sex for an entire month? who would ever want that?
once you explain it though, i think he'd be really into it. he's definitely a little pouty that he can't even masturbate, and would probably complain if you were abstaining from sex without telling him why. once you convince him to join you though, he starts taking it very seriously
Dick has a bit of a competitive streak, so i definitely think he's in it to "beat you". he's teasing you endlessly, trying to get you to give in before the month ends (and theres definitely a high chance of him outlasting you)
actually suuuuuch an unfair tease, like genuinely he's soo annoying throughout the month. you walk by him wearing shorts? he's kneading your ass and giving it an appreciative slap. you don't have a shirt on for any reason whatsoever? he's coming up behind you and groping your chest, whether you have boobs or not, and whispering filthy things in your ear.
he's also big on teasing you in your sleep- you can't tell me Dick wouldn't have the biggest somnophilia kink ever so he's absolutely trying to get you worked up while your asleep, in hopes of you waking up and giving in
i honestly see two outcomes: he either makes it to the end of the month, or he gives up about 3/4 through. i feel like Dick has a pretty high libido, but i also think he has really good self control and can resist temptation so there's definitely some internal conflict on his end.
it gets to a point where, at the end of the month, because his libido is so high and he's been untouched for so long, he's like tweaking out over every touch and is becoming veeerrryyy needy and sensitive. this is probably the time period where he's most likely to give in as he's just soooo sensitive and can't even touch himself to get off! you have a much higher chance of getting Dick to give in once he reaches this threshold, and if you play your cards right he'll be squirming.
if he does make it through the month, expect to be woken up at 12:01 on the first of december with Dick humping your thigh and whining in your ear. he's NOT in control right now, he's way too needy and sensitive, and he's definitely okay with letting you use him to get off- he needs to cum just as bad as you do
gives you the most AMAZING orgasms after waiting a month, he's mounting you like an incubus and rutting into you like his life depends on it until your both whimpering and overstimulated ♥️
he's probably gonna be a little mean too, considering you made him wait soooo long <\\3
"hnhah- ffuck." Dick's soft breath tickles your ear as he nips at the lobe, his hips rocking heavily against yours. "c'mon, baby, you can give me another, please.." his cock twitches against your tummy, tip sticky and wet from previous orgasms.
"Dickie, i just came-" you whine, yet your body betrays you as your hips roll up to meet his. he chuckles breathlessly against the soft column of your neck, pressing open-mouthed kisses into your sweat-soaked skin. "please, baby? jus' one more, f'me?" his tone is teasing, but you can tell he's desperate as you feel his cockhead twitch again. with a soft giggle, you nod, and Dick wastes no time in aligning himself with your hole. "you ready, hun?"
"mhm," you hum, and he slides in. your hole is already wet from previous orgasms, it had felt too good for Dick to not cum inside, and that only aided his sloppy thrusts as he rutted against you. your eyes flutter closed as the sound of skin slapping against skin fills the room, and Dick ducks back down to whisper in your ear as your orgasm draws closer. "so pretty, s'good for me, made me wait so long for this... ffucck- y'gonna cum for me, honey? gonna take it all?"
Jason Todd:
Jason is honestly a wild card, i think it could go a multitude of ways honestly depending on how you feel
when you suggest the idea to him, i either see him being a tiny bit petty and lowkey deciding to fuck you every day of november OR take it as a challenge and being determined to make it through the month with no screw ups.
if it ends up being the latter, than i feel as though Jason has a higher chance of succeeding then losing. i don't think his sex drive is super high, and he's also pretty stubborn, HOWEVER, you are his weak point, and if you end up teasing him or begging him, i can picture him snapping and fucking you
either way, he's at least making it through half the month if not longer.
the only way you'll get him to give in is if your REALLY desperate, because he could never see you needy- so teasing him or pleading with him to fuck you is probably how you can get him to break
i also see him teasing you, but only subtly. he'll wear those low rise sweatpants he knows you like around the house, he's shirtless more often than not, and somehow his hands always seem to find place on your thighs... what lovely coincidences!
Jason struggles more with not fucking you than not being able to masturbate. i honestly don't think he does so very often, so it wouldn't be much of an issue, but not being able to fuck you? not even being able to give you head? drives him insane.
all in all, Jason cares more about your satisfaction than his own. could probably go the whole month without your interference, but is probably pent up by the end of the month
speaking of pent up, he's going to be insane at the end of the month because you made him wait. probably going to be more dominant than usual, BUT he's still really gentle and sweet because he knows your sensitive,,, so its a win!
the first time he cums after no nut november he swears he sees stars, probably praises you to the moon and back over how perfect you are
i think he'd wait until the next day to ravish you, he'd let you both get your sleep, but encourages you both to take the day off and spend the day in bed catching up on lost time. december first is going to be a LOVELY day for you,,,,
"s'that feel good, baby?"
"ffuck- yes Jay, fucking me so good-" you whine into the pillows, drool soaking the fabric as Jason pounds into you from behind. strong arms frame your form as he fucks you, his dick just perfectly touching your g spot/prostate with each thrust.
"aren't you- hnghh- glad you took the day off? relaxed a bit?" Jason huffed, his breath tickling your ear as he tightened his one handed grip on your ass. "y'should let me take care of you more often, especially after waiting so long..." he coos, and you let out a strangled moan as the knot in your stomach begins to tighten faster and faster.
"y'gonna cum for me, pretty?"
"y-es, please, Jay-"
"shh, s'ok, me too, we'll cum together, okay honey?" he soothes, rocking against you as the bed frame quakes.
"gonna fill you up so nice," he murmurs under his breath, white curls plastered to his sweat-slick forehead. "gonna make you cum for every day i couldnt..."
Bruce Wayne:
Bruce is making it through the month, no questions asked. it does not matter how deeply and truly he loves you, this man is IN IT TO WIN IT. he is absolutely making it through the month and will not budge i fear
theres a few nights where he's pent up and irritated after batman-ing and considers giving in, but he never does
when you first suggested NNN to him, he's probably a bit lukewarm to the idea, but whatever makes you happy 🤷 ngl he probably thought you were mad at him and this was a punishment or something at first😭
he honestly didn't think you'd end up actually going through with it, and if you end up giving in at some point in the month he'll definitely feign disappointment
"such a shame, i thought you were challenging me to this...game."
he's absolutely evil when it comes to teasing. he'll come up behind you and press gentle kisses on your neck, his large hands holding a firm grip on your waist, only to pull away with a practiced, professional smile as you begin to curl into his touch <\\3 he also plays up the Brucie Wayne persona, and is a lot more subtly seductive in an attempt to get you to break
keeping a firm hand on your lower back in public, giving you gifts (specifically lingerie, with a note attached that states, "for the end of the month"), and overall being a bit more possessive
when the month is over??? PREPARE. it's late, almost 2AM on december first, and the second he returns from patrolling he's finding you. doesn't even take the batsuit off, hell, he probably fucks you right there in the batcave, bent over the batcomputer. he's a little harsher than usual, and definitely more needy. he also tells you to take the day off, so he can.. spoil you for the entire day <3
let me just say, after so long of abstaining, he FUCKS, and he fucks you hard. you swear your seeing stars with each thrust, and he's genuinely insatiable. probably wants to breed you too... doesn't matter if you can get pregnant or not, he's fucking you full of his cum
the desk beneath you rattles with each thrust, and your thighs tremble as large, gloved hands find purchase on your soft skin. the rough, cold temperature of the leather provides delicious contrast to your lust-warmed skin, and you let out a wanton moan as Bruce thrusts heavy and deep inside.
"you like that, doll? like making me wait?" he practically growls in your ear, and you let out a stuttering moan.
"n-no, please, s'too much-"
"aw, poor thing. can't even take my cock... guess it has been a month after all, you'll need some time to get used to it i suppose." you roll your eyes at his cockiness, but just as you go to spit back a retort, he rolls his hips against your again. you shudder, clenching around him as his pace speeds up.
"so good f'me," he coos, almost cruel in his ministrations as he rubs harsh circles into the soft flesh of your thighs. Bruce's thrusts increase in pace, his tip rearranging your guts as the coil in your stomach begins to tighten.
"o-oh! 'm gonna-"
"fuuck, i know, prince/ss. cum for me," he whispers, moving one hand to the small of your back, pushing you down more firmly against the desk. "you can take it."
#dc x reader#dc smut#dc x you#dc comics x reader#dc imagine#jason todd#dick grayson#bruce wayne#dick grayson x reader#dick grayson smut#dick grayson imagine#nightwing x reader#nightwing#nightwing smut#nightwing imagine#jason todd smut#jason todd x reader#jason todd imagine#red hood x reader#red hood imagine#red hood smut#red hood#bruce wayne x reader#bruce wayne smut#bruce wayne imagine#batman#batman x reader#batman smut#batman imagine
3K notes
·
View notes
Text
The Ride (Benny Cross x Shy!Reader Pt 2)
Wow, I truly didn't expect all the love for the last post! Thank you so so much! Here's a part two baked fresh just for you lovelies! ;)
( Also! I'm going to work on putting together a masterlist for my fics for him since I have so many ideas)
Ps. please send me requests for this man i'm going feral over here from all the possibilities
Part 1 here
Benny x Bunny Masterlist
Word Count- 1.9k
-Minor NSFW Content-
Summary- You thought getting on the bike would be the hardest part. Having to unwrap your legs from his waist and get off at the end of the night was significantly more difficult.
*******
Despite the fact that you knew there were multiple people surrounding you, all cheering, your eyes were glued to Benny’s form as he swung a leg over top of his bike. He kickstarted the motorcycle, the muscles in his thigh flexing through the faded pair of jeans he wore. The engine roared to life and it took everything in you not to jump back. Benny glanced over his shoulder, and the look in his eyes all but dared you to run away, to take it back and return to the safety of the car.
But some underlying competitive streak in you flared and you clenched your fists tightly. You approached his bike and he took your purse and Tupperware bowl, tucking them away in his back compartment. He leaned forward and awkwardly swung a leg over his bike, attempting to repeat his action as you mounted, but the movement caused your dress to slide up to reveal a generous view of your upper thigh. Blushing, you glanced at the onlookers who cheered and whistled at the sight, but Benny seemed to ignore them. Without looking, he reached back, his hand enveloping your thigh, sliding it higher so that your foot found the footrest. Heat instantly blossomed from the contact and you physically resisted clenching your knees tighter around him.
“Hang on tight, Little Bunny,” he murmured as he moved his hand to grab your arm, gently guiding it forward to wrap around his waist. He revved the engine and you tighten your grasp over his waist, eyes closed as the bike began to slowly roll forward over the grassy field. The cheers subsided into the wind that tugged gently at your hair. You’re going on an adventure, it seemed to say, but you refused to open your eyes.
Heart drumming in your chest, you hoped to spend the entire ride with your eyes screwed shut, pretending to be anywhere else, anywhere safer. But then the bumpy and uneven field soon turned to smooth blacktop as he maneuvered the two of you onto the backroad. You felt the bike increase in speed slightly and you dared to peek an eye open. Corn fields blurred as you sped by, the setting sun seeming to light the horizon with a brilliant show of deep oranges and purples. A gasp escaped your lips and you pressed yourself closer to him in a desperate measure to not fall off, hands flush against the curve of his abdomen.
He rode with one hand, you realized, and it painted a picture of a cowboy in your mind. Had this been the 1860s, Benny would have ridden his horse like this, a model of a true outlaw with his dangerous persona and ruggedly handsome appearance.
The world sped by, or rather you sped by the world as Benny drove down the center of the yellow lines. You couldn’t stop the squeal that escaped you as he leaned the bike to go around a turn. He took you down roads you’ve never been before, pointed out interesting things and places you’ve never seen. True to his word, he didn’t go very fast, never faster than the speed limit at least. But regardless, it was an adventure – both frightening and fun and your heart never seemed to return to its slower rhythm. Despite the fact that you've never ridden on a motorcycle before and the uncertainty of your next destination, there was strange sense of safety that invoked you as you breathed in Benny's scent, hands clasped tightly to him. As the sun completely dipped below the horizon and the temperature dropped, he finally asked you where you lived.
When he did eventually pull up to your house (hours later), the rumble of the motorcycle seemed to echo off the houses, disturbing the peaceful silence of your quiet neighborhood. He cut the engine and the toe of his boot kicked out the kickstand, shifting your combined weights to the side slightly and the air was once again filled with silence. The muscles in his back flexed as he leaned back ever so slightly, his head turning to glance back at you over his shoulder.
He held an arm out for you as you awkwardly dismounted, heart pounding again. A strange sense of disappointment panged in your gut as the bottom of your heels made contact with the blacktop. You stood there before him, eyes now level with his as he remained seated casually on his bike. Keep driving, you wanted to tell him. Keep driving and let's find our way to the end of the world together. You wanted to hop back on the back and wrap your arms around his waist. You wanted to ride with him till the sun came up over the horizon, just this once, just because you’ve never stayed out till the sun came up. Your family would worry, your father would be pacing up and down the hallway just inside, but something in you longed to throw caution to the wind, to do something naughty.
You bit your lip as you broke eye contact with him and looked down to your feet. What were you thinking? You played life by the rules. You were a good girl, that’s what your parents called you. That’s what your teachers called you. That’s what you were raised to be. That’s all you knew how to be, what you were comfortable with. Benny . . . he made you uncomfortable. He filled your belly with butterflies, made your heart pump harder than normal, made the spot between your legs tingle. All things that dangerously threatened to upend the perfectly planned life you had. Trouble, plain and simple.
You got what you wanted – a ride home and a bit of excitement. You got close enough to the fire without getting burned, got to play a risky game for the evening. Now it was time for you to go back to your routine life. That perfectly . . . boring life.
“Thank you . . . for the ride,” you said softly, the adrenaline of the adventure smothering into ashes.
He nodded and you watched as his cyan gaze moved from you to your house behind you. “You still live with your family?”
“Yeah,” you replied, heat touching your face. “Why?”
He looked back at you. “Just gotta know what kind of house you want after we’re married.”
“What?” you balked at him, stomach dropping like you just took a plunge off a bridge.
He smiled and leaned an arm forward, resting casually on his bike as if he didn’t just say something shockingly direct. He offered no help, just watched as you attempted to sputter a response.
“M–married? We . . . I don’t . . . even know you.” You breathed out a nervous laugh. You went for one ride with him! You had only had a handful of sentences exchanged between you, the majority of those spoken with a crowd cheering around you. Who did this guy think he was?
He shrugged as he slid his hands into the front pocket of his jacket and retrieved his pack of cigarettes. “We have the rest of our lives to get to know each other.”
Your eyes widened at his audacity. “I’m not marrying you!”
“Yeah? Why’s that?” He looked amused as he flipped open his lighter, the flame casting his face in an orange glow as he lit one of his cigarettes. Your protests wavered slightly as you watched his hands cup around the flame in an effort to protect from the wind and his brow furrowed slightly in concentration, the cigarette tucked between his lips. A phantasm of his hands cupping your breasts, his tall frame hovering above you, lips pressing softly against your collarbone tainted your mind and you took a step back to put physical distance between you and this man.
Swallowing thickly, you continued, “Well, I don’t even know your last name–”
“Cross.”
“–And I don’t even know if I like you!”
“I think you like me,” he said confidently and you snapped your jaw shut at the accusation. “Why else would you let me drive you home?”
“W–what if I just used you to get me home?” you countered quickly.
“Did you use me, Bunny?” he drew out the sentence with an almost painfully seductive smile. You furrowed your brow, irritation flooding your veins. He was quick, you’d give him that.
Benny studied the way your lips pursed and he wondered if that was something you did while you were angry or if it was your way of finding another excuse. He wanted to spend the rest of his life finding the answers to your facial expressions, the meaning behind your almost undetectable quirks he was discovering with each minute spent in your company. And my god, those those lips . . . his eyes fell down to those soft lips of yours, fascinated by how he wanted to feel them wrapped around his—
“Thank you for the ride, Mr. Cross,” your voice brought him back to reality as you reached forward and grabbed your purse and empty Tupperware bowl from his bike. “But I–I have no intentions on marrying you. In fact, I doubt I’ll ever see you again.”
“Hmm, okay,” he feigned being hurt by your words. “Whatever you say, kid.”
You shot him a frustrated look. “What’s with all the nicknames?”
He held up his arms in mock surrender. “You don’t like ‘em?”
"I don't think they're very accurate."
He raised his brows at you, unconvinced.
“Yeah? Well, I got a nickname for you.” you retorted.
“And what’s that?” He played along to your game.
“Trouble.”
“Trouble?”
“Mh-hm.” You nodded and lifted your free hand to brush the wind-whipped hair from your eyes.
He shrugged and spoke around the cigarette in his mouth. “It wouldn’t be the first time I’ve been called that. You think I’m trouble, Bunny?”
An exasperated sigh left your lips and Benny felt a swell of pride at the reaction. This was fun, teasing you like this. The blush tainting your face, a clear sign of your flustered reaction, made his heartbeat quicken.
“Goodnight, Benny,” you said a little firmer as you turned and walked up the sidewalk to your house.
“Goodnight, Bunny,” Benny called out as he watched the sway of your hips as you climbed the front steps. You shot him one last look over the curve of your shoulder before you opened the front door and slipped inside. Benny sat on his bike outside your house, his mind reeling as he finished his cigarette. He hadn’t felt this excited in a long time and hadn't felt this kind of adrenaline since his first ride. This was a new kind of ride, Benny realized. Something exhilarating and arousing gripped his heart when he looked at you in your pretty little dress with your innocently wide eyes and pouty lip. The primal instinct of taking you in his arms and laying you down onto your shared bed, his body shielding you from the rest of the world played in his mind the movie. He wanted to grab your hand and show you just how exciting life could be with him. Not to change you, he’d make sure your integrity was protected, but to broaden your horizon.
And maybe it made him selfish, but Benny's never had anything as good as you in his life and because of that, he wanted to be your guide throughout every adventure going forward.
#I have no clue how motorcycles work#let’s pretend it makes sense#the bikeriders#Benny x Bunny#benny x reader#benny cross x reader#benny cross x you#austin butler#austin butler x reader#x reader#imagine#fluff#tom hardy#the bikeriders x you
2K notes
·
View notes
Text
“unbelievable,” OLIVER WOOD mutters as he spots you and the whole ravenclaw quidditch team already flying around the pitch.
the sun is only about to rise, the fog surrounding the place is just starting to clear, and he’s becoming more annoyed at the fact that not only are your team stealing their time, but even managed to be here earlier than they are.
what makes it worse is that he knows that he’s the first one who reserved it for training since the match between gryffindor and ravenclaw is fast approaching.
not to mention that he does particularly remember reminding you that you better not take over any of the days he intends to let his team practice when he (stupidly) showed you his timetable for classes and quidditch sessions.
“____!” he shouts your name, and upon hearing it from below, you look at him, a smirk automatically making its way on your lips.
“let’s take a short break, everyone!” you instruct your team, flying down then and dropping down right in front of oliver. “good morning, captain wood. fancy seeing you here.”
the formality triggers oliver’s annoyance even more, but for the rest of the gryffindor team who remain standing behind him, it brings them to hide their snickers and amused expressions.
after all, they—and pretty much the whole student body—are quite aware that you and oliver have been dating for almost two years now, and this thing happening right here is just one of your schemes to playfully get on your competitive boyfriend’s nerves.
“____,” oliver says your name again with a sigh this time, voice not daring to go a volume higher now that you’re near despite the situation, “please tell me why the bloody hell are you and your team on this pitch this morning?”
you put on your best innocent expression. “well, we’re training, of course.”
“yes, but i can specifically recall that i booked this pitch for the whole day. so, it’s a great wonder to me why i’m seeing you ravenclaws here.”
“hm, but are you sure you booked it the whole day though? from the schedule that you showed me, it says there that it starts at 9am, which is…” you glance at your wristwatch, “two hours from now. meaning until then—”
“you have the freedom to use the pitch,” oliver deadpans.
you grin. “exactly, my love. you and your team can certainly wait, right? though i’d appreciate it if you don’t hang around here while we’re playing. i might accuse you of stealing our strategy.”
“strategy? didn’t know you had one when we take into account the way you play.”
“well, considering i’ve already won two games against you, maybe apparently not having a strategy might work on gryffindor too.”
“one game was won by default.”
“and the other one?”
“pure luck, of course.”
you laugh, and oliver’s lips twitch, like he’s suppressing to do the same just to commit to the act he’s doing.
“can we head to the great hall first for breakfast, wood?” a weasley twin pipes in amidst your impromptu staring contest with your boyfriend.
oliver glances behind him and nods reluctantly. “fine. the rest of you can go get breakfast. but we meet here at exactly 9am. got it?”
the team says a chorus of yes and proceeds on walking back to the direction of the castle. oliver, however, stays in his spot and raises his eyebrows at you, the mask of annoyance seen on his face a while ago seemingly gone now.
“what?” you ask, still with that teasing grin of yours.
“you promised.”
��i didn’t promise anything.”
“you told me you weren’t going to steal any of my days for quidditch practices.”
“technically, i’m not stealing as it is not your time yet.”
“always such a smartass.”
“that’s what you get for dating a ravenclaw,” you say, mounting your broom before giving him a quick kiss on the mouth and dashing back upwards where your other members are already zooming around.
oliver shakes his head in disbelief. it’s unfair how you can get away with shenanigans that he typically would curse another team for. “i expect the pitch to be empty by 8:55, alright?” he bellows, just so you can hear him from where you’re situated.
“aye, aye, captain!”
gentle reminder: this author loves feedback! let her know your thoughts if you enjoyed reading this fic and you’ll add 100+ points in her writing motivation meter ♡
୭ৎ ࣪ ׅ ⊹ reposted from my other account !
#oliver wood#oliver wood x reader#oliver wood imagines#oliver wood drabbles#oliver wood fanfiction#harry potter imagines#harry potter fanfiction#harry potter drabbles
350 notes
·
View notes
Note
How bout a human woman saves a yautja after he got hurt pretty bad or something. Over time they get to know one another…one thing leads to another and the bang. But the male leaves not long after to return home, unknowingly leaving a bun in the oven…only that out possibly years after…
-🥤
Left Behind
Character: Dai'stbaen (Male Yautja) x AFAB!Reader
Word Count: 8895
Summary: A night that changed your life forever. You had to fight for survival and live to tell the tale. Ahtaal is saved only because of you. That leaves him in your debt. He heals you from wounds that will leave lasting scars. But he too leaves something else behind.
Author Note: I love the fact you call it 'bun in the oven'! Imagine saving a Yautja and then get the biggest dick down ever. Wish come true~.
Part 2
Masterlist
Ao3
Blood burned through the skin on your arm. The pain a distant thought as you shoved the long spear into the chest of sickly, black monster. Black tendrils poured from its head. Four weirdly shaped mandibles. A long rigidly tail with a sharpened end made for stabbing. One that looked like it had crawled out of the depths of hell to come after anyone vulnerable. A demon in the flesh.
It almost looked like the beast you had protected a deadly blow from. But this thing… it was ten times worse.
The pain nearly grew to a point you couldn’t hold onto the spear for much longer. It slipped from your blood drenched hands. But, the point was still lodged deep into the chest of the screeching beast. You panted and backed away until the back of your foot met resistance. The creature you had just saved still lay on the ground, hopefully not dead. Or all of this would’ve been for naught.
Your arms stung with each passing moment, the pain mounting higher and higher. The adrenaline that once filled your system began to slowly deflate. You swallowed back the thick saliva in the back of your throat. Yet, not once did your eyes leave the beast as it backed away and clawed at the spear. Thankfully, it was barbed and refused to move from deep within it.
As if the life that once filled its body vanished in a second, it crumpled to the ground in a pile. A few twitches was all it gave before finally coming to still. Dead.
Everything hurt. Your chest heaved for air. Your mind tried to reel in every thought you had. Your heart thundered loud and clear in its bony cage. It took everything you had not to let your knees collapsed under your own weight. You slowly glanced at the down creature at your feet. His shoulder slowly rose and fell with each breath. A deep sigh of relief sounded from you.
Now, came a new problem. To move him. This place wasn’t safe. Other people would soon come. The government would easily snatch the two of you up in a heartbeat. One to silence you. He would become an experiment for whatever they wanted. You couldn’t have that. Not when he looks so sad in the state that he was in. You turned around and squatted at his side. A poke to his uninjured gave no results. Not even the next five. He was out cold.
This was unfortunately circumstances. He was at least seven feet tall and three times your weight easily. Deadweight was harder to move than someone giving some assistance.
With might and will, you used a tarp you had randomly found to hook under his arms. It was just strong enough to help you pull him through the foliage of the forest. After a hundred yards, you could no longer move. The exhaustion in your muscles, in your soul was far too deep. This all started this morning and it was deep into the night. The full moon shing ominously above the land. You collapsed harshly onto bruised knees and cut up palms. There was nothing more you could give to save him or yourself. You did what you could before the darkness consumed your vision and took away your conscious.
The gentle sway is the first thing you awoke to with a groggy groan. The crust in your eyes made it uncomfortable to open them. You rubbed it away with a shaky, weak arm before opening them.
Bright light blinded you from the first thing you saw. A groan tumbling out of your throat. Pain met you that same moment, racing up from your forearms. The rest of you throbbed with an ache that would take ten hot baths to finally chip away at it. You squinted through the sunlight and noticed a familiar red. Your hand reached up timidly and touched at the thick scales you could feel under your fingertips.
Big Red. The creature you had saved. You tilted your head back. He was facing forward, eyes hidden by the mandibles that covered half of his face. But the missing one was a familiar sight.
“Y-you’re al-ive,” you croaked out, voice harsh to even your own foggy ears. Your hand dropped down to your stomach, unable to hold up its own weight anymore. The grunt he made you felt it rather than heard it from his own mouth.
Your face cracked with a tiny grin. At least you hadn’t failed on that front while fighting something you didn’t know existed. A demon in the flesh. Your wrecked body trembled. A sight you hoped to never be face to face with again.
Through your blurry vision, he was marching quickly through the forest despite a noticeable limp to his gait. A table had been thrown at him, striking him direction on his shin when he jumped to block it. There wasn’t a loud crack of bone but it was possible it had only been fractured. You hummed and lazily drew patterns on his midriff, mind still foggy.
A rumbled vibrated through his chest and drew your attention to stop. That’s when the lightbulb above your head finally sprouted to life. Your lips pressed together while you looked away from him, eyes nearly bulging out. Heat flashed to life upon your cheeks.
Big Red moved across the forest, rarely taking breaks during the whole day. Only to stop at a creek and scoop water into his strangely constructed mouth. He would set you down and let you finally move around. It was hard at first, trying to get the blood flowing back in your limbs. Nor did your muscles want to listen. But, you did what you could and drank from the fresh creek. Anything to quench the dryness in your throat.
It was back to him carrying you in the bridle position and marching away. At points, you would take naps, needing the extra energy to recuperate from the days events.
At dusk, Big Red stopped and set you down. There was no creek or source of water. You had to lean heavily against the base of a tree with a shoulder. Your forearms were covered with scorch marks from the acidic blood that had landed on them. The pain from them was the only thing that kept you on your feet, giving you enough adrenaline to stay alert.
He limped away from you, leaving you behind. Fear gripped your heart that had taken you further into the forest only to abandoned you. After all you had- he stopped and pressed a button on the metal band that covered half of his forearm. You heard a hiss echo through the air and furrowed your brows.
Like a in a sci-fi movie, a large object revealed itself to your very eyes. Your jaw dropped when it came to mind it was a spacecraft. From Star Wars!
The creature came back over to you and easily scooped your weakened form up. Big Red carried you over where a ramp had come down. White steam came from the hydraulics in a dramatic manner. You tried to take everything. The information overload caused the pressure in your skull to tenfold. You groaned and curled up against his chest as if he’ll protect you from inward pain.
With your eyes closed, you missed all the important, interesting details no one has probably seen before. You whined and scrunched up your face as if that’ll push the pain away.
Warmth touched at your rear and brought you back to the present. You squinted and find yourself in a different room you couldn’t find a name for. Big Red had set you down on a table with many tools already on it. To which he was pushing off of the side to give you more room. He reached to the side and grabbed hold a box and set it down next to you. You watched as the box was open to reveal different items. None of them you could really figure out were for.
A moment of trust. It wasn’t like you could fight him in your circumstances. He could easily overpower you and subject you to whatever he wanted.
Instead, he grabbed some sort of gun with a need. You gulped at the size of the needle and strange blue liquid that filled the containment hanging off of the back. Either he didn’t notice or just ignored the fear gripping your heart. Big Red plunged the needle without hesitation into your shoulder. You grimaced at the slight pinched but otherwise, stayed still.
The needle was pulled free from your muscles and set off to the side. Next, he grabbed a white jar and untwisted the top. A sulfuric smell poured out of the jar. You gagged and used your shirt to cover your nose. “Oh my god, what is-is that?” you croaked out with disgust written all over your face.
Red stopped and tilted his head up. The golden mask on his features prevented you from seeing his true feelings.
“It is hurt,” he grumbled out, shocking you from hearing his voice for the first time. It wasn’t as deep as you thought but enough to send a tremble up the length of your spine. Your thoughts got you caught up in the moment before you shook them free. You cocked your head to the side. Hurt? Of course your arms hurt. They’ve been burned with acid.
White paste coated his fingertips before he slathered the burns in it.
The scream that curdled from your throat shocked him too. You jerked away and nearly slid off of the table before he caught you. Big Red forced you back onto the table and held you down. “Ooman! Calm! Calm. At ease,” his voice cut through the pain that burned through your veins. It was just enough to get you to finally focus on him again.
“I say it hurt,” he muttered then slowly let go of you when your muscles relaxed. Your body didn’t have the energy to fight anymore. Not even enough adrenaline could keep you going.
A fiery glare was set ablaze on the big, dark red alien. “I thought you were saying if I was hurting!” you yelled at him, arms drawn up to your chest. In case he may go for a second round without asking first.
A huff came from underneath the metal mask. “Paste heals but… hurts.” The words didn’t come naturally to him. He struggled to find them but you understood what he was getting to.
“Well, do you have something that doesn’t hurt like a bitch?” you snarked at him, in hopes to find a nice soothing paste. Not the one that made you feel like you were stepping on hot coals.
“No. Just this.” Ah, he didn’t get the sarcasm that was thick in your voice. You sighed, face scrunched up again from the pain this caused you. “Let me?” Big Red held out a waiting hand, letting you have the choice to either get an infection or deal with more pain. A groan sounded from your tired form before you roughly set one forearm in his palm.
“Better warning next time,” you mumbled and tensed up. An agony you didn’t want to experience but it meant for your life to survive. Then, so be it.
It was a pain you’ve never felt before.
The healing process took half as long as you thought. A couple of months turned into only a month until Dai’stbaen, the big, red alien, deemed you healed enough. Even letting you stay longer just to make sure you had no lasting injuries.
Today would be your last night with him. Dai’stbaen said he would fly you back to your home before setting off home bound. The last time you would see the towering beast in all of his glory. And you felt heartbroken to see him leave. You wish for him to take you but couldn’t go through with the idea of leaving everything behind. Not your friends or family who had to be worried sick about you at this point.
Countless times, he had made you promise and even created a mark on your skin to ensure you wouldn’t tell his secret. To let the whole world know that aliens, the Yautjas, exist. Dai told you it was against his code to let you live but you had saved him. That was a higher offense to kill someone who had saved his life. So, he had to slip out of your bed that night and back into his ship. Where he flew off into the stars, to never be seen again.
The ache he left you made it difficult to walk the next few days. All the marks he left on you a remind of what he could make you feel. A distance feeling after the days go by without him there with you.
After the first week back home, you had lost your job, finally calmed down your family and friends, and was barely able to skim on past in your lonely apartment. It felt better when Dai’stbaen was there with you, even if it was just for that night.
Things for first month was difficult, even after you were able to pick up a job that was remote work. It paid well enough to keep a roof over your head and food in your stomach.
Well until you missed your period. That’s when your heart dropped down into the apartment below you.
You raced to the nearest Walgreens and picked up a test. The cashier gave you a certain expression at the distant look in your eyes. All of your thoughts were running rampant through your mind. It had to be impossible. Truly, it really had to be. He wasn’t human!
The first place you went to back home was in your bathroom, tearing open the package. Then, you stopped just shy of sitting down on the toilet. Your eyes looked at yourself in the mirror. The distraught in your features from the horror of the situation. It had to be from the stressfulness of the situation you had just survived from. That what it had to be. But… even while in his care on his spacecraft, you had been hit by your period. God, that freaked him out when he smelt the fresh blood. Which… in turn freaked you out learning he could smell it. Like a dog.
Your hands lowered the unopened test to the counter. No. You shook your head. No, this wasn’t real. This was happening because of stress. It finally caught up to you. Your head nodded. Yeah, that’s what it had to be. You placed the unopened pregnancy test back into the box and shoved it into a random drawer. That would be needed at a different time. Not now. Because it was impossible.
Until you missed a second period. Even then, you tried to push off that feeling that there was something wrong with you. It was from stress. New job, new duties, new scars, new life. Everything to create a hell storm to recuperate from. Of course your uterus wouldn’t want to put you through anymore stress than needed.
At the same time of the next month, going into the wintery months, not a drop of blood.
That night, after work, you stood in the bathroom, hands holding the unopened test again. Your hands shook while looking down at the package. Every part of your mind tried to reason with all the other excuses you’ve given before. Stress. Job. Nearly being killed. Scars. Each one circling through the turn style until they fell away.
Just get it over with.
In front of the mirror, you turned to the side and lifted up the front of shirt. Your brows furrowed. There was a little weight loss when you first returned, eating practically just meat and little greens. Now… was that a slight bulge in your stomach? You could feel yourself on the verge of crying.
A child. There couldn’t be a chance you were pregnant with the alien you had a one-night stand with. He wasn’t coming back. You would be left alone to take care of the child. Then, there’s the fact it would half alien! How would they look? More like you or Dai’stbaen. There would be no way for them to live a normal life of going to school or having friends. And yourself. A child who could never step out into the light.
For the first time in the last three months, you plopped down on the toilet and took the test.
Each passing second, each passing heartbeat worsened everything feeling swirling inside of you. Every thought ran wild.
There were two sides to the coin. The more logical side. A hybrid alien baby couldn’t be possible. Let alone on the only time you were with him. It didn’t matter the three or four times he knotted you. That was a surprise. Very pleasant. Yet, there was also the fact you weren’t having your period the last three months. Surely, your body should’ve figured itself out at this point.
As the test did its process, you paced through the tiny bathroom squeezed into your one bedroom apartment. One of your hands ran through your locks, messing up the strands. It was all you could do to stop looking at the test every two seconds.
Two minutes passed until you took another glance and stopped in your tracks. Plus. A plus sign. You covered your mouth and backed into the nearest wall. Tears welled in your eyes.
Fear gripped your heartstrings. This was to be your life now. A mother with a hybrid child who couldn’t be normal. God, why did he have to leave!? Why did you have to fall for the alien?!
That night, you cried hard, curled up into a ball on the bathroom floor.
One good thing in your life was the fact your job just required you to sit in a chair and play customer service. There was no going out of your house and being heavily pregnant. To people wanting to know every single detail about the pregnancy and the child.
After the sixth month, you truly picked yourself up by your big pants and made a plan. It had to a home birth. No one could know. Not unless they take your child away. Over your dead body.
Supplies had been purchased, for the most part. Only a couple of onesies, a crib, some toys, and lots and lots diapers. You weren’t sure what to expect besides the normal stuff you researched for a human child. This would be a new experience for you and the whole world. A world that will never know what you possess deep within your belly.
This was all new territory to you. Of course it was. Who else has had an alien baby before?! Shit, calm down. You gripped the desk’s edge breathed through the unease in your stomach. From there, you were able to slow your pounding heart once more. Everything will turn out okay. It had to be.
By the beginning of the ninth month, you couldn’t go out. None of your family was allowed to see you, but that stemmed from the end of the seventh month. Where your bump was pronounced at that point. The questions and integration you would go through all for them to find out there’s no father in the picture. You could see the color drain from your parents face if you had to tell them.
The new job went well so far. An up in your unsteady life. You have yet to tell them about an unplanned trip that was coming up soon. Whenever your child decided to pop out. You didn’t even know if that was going to happen on time. Who knows if the alien genes have altered the time frame of the pregnancy. God, you didn’t know how any of this worked.
So far, the idea was when your water broke, you would use your vacation and sick leave to give a home birth. Hopefully from there, you can figure out a way to take care of the child while at home. All you prayed for was the delivery went smooth.
Two weeks later, while working away, a rush of water soaked the apex of your thighs. You were in the middle of call, pausing mid sentence at the feeling. A hand slapped over your mouth to stop any noises from escaping. There wasn’t any pain, just a feeling you had just wetted your pants. The person on the other end asked for you to repeat what you said. You swallowed down the lump in your throat and continued onward, barely paying attention.
It was about to happen.
When the work day ended, you threw down your headset and rushed to the bathroom. Supplies had been laid out in preparation for when the time came.
A blow up pool to lay in your living room was pulled out. A hose that could attach to the bathtub’s facet was connected then dragged out to the pool. An air mattress blowup machine was set down next to the deflated pool. The small hose was connect to the necessary hole before you turned it on.
The noise it created was uncomfortable to listen to. A headache began to form. Pressure created inside your skull and pressed against your eyes. You wanted to take some pain killers but was afraid on if that was the right thing to do. People get medicine at the hospitals but how much was too much. Would anything you’ve taken affect the baby? Oh god, you hadn’t thought about that! You wanted to smack yourself silly for not thinking about such a thing. Had you put the child in danger now?!
When the machine changed its tone, you looked down to see the blow up pool had been finished. It only took a single disconnected hose to seal it off. Instead of putting it away, you decided to keep the device nearby just in case. You wanted it be prepared at all costs since you’ll be doing this alone. Without anyone. No one to hold your hand. No one to make sure you’re okay.
Tears welled up in my eyes at those thoughts. All alone to give birth an alien baby. A mistake you had partially regretted. The night of throes was one you could never forget about. Your hand subconsciously rubbed against the lingering scar on your neck. A mark that he left in reminder of himself. Not the only thing he had left behind in his wake.
After all the supplies had been dragged out, you texted your boss you had an emergency and couldn’t be there for work. You were using the next three days to recoup from this. You wished for more but didn’t want to anger your new boss about the sudden leave. All you had to do was fake it until you make it. Pretend you knew everything about giving birth. It’s natural. Your body should know what to do and how to do it.
For the rest of the day, you simply walked around your small apartment. A sharp pain began over time to throb in your nether regions. It only eased up when you continued to walk around. Thankfully, it was manageable for the most part. No drugs. Just walking your way through it.
The night came. Your ankles were swollen beyond belief. The lower portion of your back ached. The throbbing never went away completely. It receded to the back of your mind then waned back into existence. You constantly gnawed on your bottom lip and tried to put on the T.V on something random to distract you. It helped little to draw your mind away from the different pains you were experiencing.
One look at the clock had you groaning. It was two in the morning. The contractions you were having only grew worse and closer together. That left you with no time to get any shut eye besides a five minute Power Nap every once in a while. You could only endure the aches as you rested in bed.
Night progressed onward until the rosy fingers of morning cascaded across the lightening sky. Any other day, you may have taken a picture at a sight so pretty. Instead, you scoffed at it and rolled out of bed.
Not once did you get more than five minutes of a nap.
The contractions had grown to a point where it made it hard to stand. Yet, you bear your weight against a chair in the small dining room. Standing it meant to help. Let gravity do its thing. Yet, with the lack of sleep made it hard to use what energy you did have to stay standing.
Then, the need to push hit you like a semi truck. You had to rush to fill up the pool with hot water. It was all you had left to do before everything would be ready.
All of your clothing had been strewn across the living room. All the towels you owned were set around in arms length near you. You sunk into the steaming water and groaned at the relaxing prosperities it offered.
It was time to push.
A day you knew you would never forget despite what you’ve read. The hormones in the brain could cause you to forget that any of it happen. The pain. The agony. Nearly shitting yourself. All variables to when your bundle of joy was freed from your body. Just a little thing that didn’t… look to weird.
He was so ugly he was cute in a way that only a mother would understand. He had the features of his father. Yet with a humanness to him you could see. Yet, your son could never step out into the world like you are able to. Unless he will be ripped away from you as you are dragged deep underground. Never to see or hear from your family again.
His face had only two mandibles. Bottom ones that were only nubs at this point with no sharp, deadly fang to taint the tip. He had no hair. That left you to wonder if he who’s hair he may take after. You hoped not the alien’s. Who knows if they have a routine. Not like you could have the supplies or knowledge to take care of such thing.
Thankfully, his skin mostly matched your own. There were hints of that dark red of scales that pebbled the tops of his forearms. You flinched at the sight and picked at the scales. But they didn’t come off. Your brows pushed up together as you worried the scales wouldn’t come off. They had to.
His first cry snapped you out of your stupor.
Since that day, living with a child you didn’t know how to take care of was beyond exhausting and nerve wracking. There was no time to yourself. Let alone, going out to see friends and family. You just used the excuse of work. It was always about work.
Your son, Austin, was different then research told you. From his ability to sit up only weeks after birth. He was able to speak at six months; crawl at eight before standing at eleven months. He pushed past each milestone with ease. You were proud of him, astonished he could perform each feat.
Days turned into months. Those milestone months turned into years. Before you knew it, your little Austin had turned five. A year he would have been starting kindergarten if he was normal.
One thing that changed about him was his hair. It easily came to you his hair was thin but like the rubbery dreads of Dai’stbaen. His scales multiplied across the tops of his forearms, growing up to his shoulders. Some peeked out on his chest and down his belly. The red was stark across otherwise smooth skin. He looked… not human. Only a mother could love. As harsh as that sounded, it was the truth. But, if anyone took him away from you, they would meet a mother’s fury.
During the night, you were curled around Austin. A protective shield to hide him away from the dangers of the real world outside the safety of your apartment. That was his one rule. All windows must stay shuttered and sealed off. No one could see in. No one could know he existed.
The time dragged on. Every second feeling like going over a pile of sharp rocks on the bottom of your feet. Nothing quelled the unease that sat in the pit of your stomach. The years may have passed well but you weren’t sure you were doing this right. This is a hybrid baby where the father isn’t in the picture. You didn’t even know if Dai’stbaen was still alive. All the dangerous things he lives to hunt for a passion, for a living. You shuttered at the reminder of all the skulls he possesses. Dangerous and lethal.
When sleep finally decided to drag you into its depths, you jerked up. Something in the back of your mind screaming to get up. Austin whined when you slid off the bed and rushed towards the bat you had close to the bed.
By the time your fingers curled around the bat, your bedroom door creaked open. Fear pulsed through your body like a powerful drug. Your hands trembled while holding onto the weapon. The darkness made it next impossible to see the figure standing in your doorway. That didn’t stop you from rushing forward and bringing the metal bat down with all of your strength.
Only for the bat to be caught mid swing.
It was tugged out of your grip and tossed behind the figure. The lights were flickered on, blinding you. You squinted through the pain the best you could only to see a darkly dressed figure there. More piled in. You stumbled backwards until your back hit the wall.
Harsh hands snatched at your wrists and smashed you nearly face first into the ground. Both of your arms are wrenched behind your back and locked into place with handcuffs.
Finally, at this point, your brain has finally caught up. But, it was too late to struggle. One person held down your legs. Other held various points of your body so it was impossible to move more than an inch.
The shrill scream of Austin had the fight in you restored to full power. A war cry thundered into the room, causing the people on you to tense. Your arms were already restrained with metal cuffs. Yet, your legs struck out and hit something soft underneath your foot. The tall tale sound of pain cut through the tense air. Someone fell down with a thud. You didn’t stop. Your legs continued to thrash until both of your wrists were being bent in a way that felt like they had snapped.
A scream of pain rang throughout the small bedroom before someone used some sort of cloth to tie around your mouth. It effectively quieted all of your screams. You looked up the best you could towards a masked face and swore you were going to hurt them all for hurting your son.
Austin had been pulled out first before they had painfully dragged you out of your own apartment. The entire time, you fought them. Each time, they either kneed at your ribs and tugged harder on your shoulders.
Then, you received a knee to the head.
.
Word spreads like wildfire. Nothing like this is common. The council is immediately called upon to set forth who shall proceed with the task at hand. But, when it comes down the finer details, Dai’stbaen is the one traveling through time and space. Back to a planet he has not seen in years. Where he wished to return for his own pleasure and time. To a ooman that… captured his attention.
This return trip wasn’t meant for time away from the hunt. A job had been handed to him. A very important job that needed to be completed before Cetanu could be released.
A hybrid had been spoken about on the rail. A ooman/Yautja hybrid. Dangerous beyond belief to let such a thing be in the hands of the oomans. Some call for it to killed. An abomination in many minds. It all came down to Dai’stbaen in the end. If he deems it mercy or an act upon the code, it shall be killed.
The ship softly shuttered when it came to rest on earth’s ground. All the engines slowly whirled down, powering off with a couple switches. Dai’stbaen unbuckled from the seat and stood up. His weapons soon adorned his frame before he headed out the hatch.
Pine and morning dew filtered into his mask. He took in the lungful, shoulders rising and falling. Then, he was off. Only a flash of dark red in the sea of green and brown.
Before arriving here, the Yautja had done his fair share of research. Many known places for ooman government settlements are pinpointed on a map. A map that Dai’stbaen currently was using to show him the right direction. Yautjas have been here for a long, long time.
His silent feet led him straight to building that wasn’t well hidden just deep in the forest. A helipad was the only way in and out of here. Whoever was here was all there could be. Backup, if he had been spotted, would take too much time to capture him.
A cloak covered him from sight. Dai’stbaen took roost up in a tree, eyes scanning over the decently sized building. Just enough to hold a small team. For whatever they were doing to the hybrid. The Yautja scowled at the thought of the nasty oomans. He only knew of one that was worth a blooding mark. One well deserved after saving his life. Death almost came to the ooman as well after the fight had finished. Wounds that one should’ve never survived from. Without him, the ooman would’ve passed. A strong, mighty soul lost to Cetanu. Dai will not allow for that to happen.
Weak entry points were easy to locate and mark mentally in his mind. No patrols wondered the outside perimeter. Oomans and their cockiness. No wonder they die so easily to his own kind.
With the other modes on his bio mask, he determined the easiest way to get into the complex. His feet were silent as he dropped back down to the forest floor and moved inward.
Despite the place being lack with its security, Dai’stbaen never once let his guard fall. Not all shall seem to meet the eye. Plenty of life experiences and past hunts have told him otherwise. The hunt may seem easy but may turn for the worse at a moments notice. Dai rather not be caught in trap so avoidable. Not like some past Yautjas have. A shame and board line dishonor.
To get inside the complex took little pressure. A certain wire cut had the door failing. It opened up and revealed an empty hallway. The cloak was still activated as he moved forward. He used his mask to look at patches possibly taken. Yet, the signs helped him the most.
Dai’stbaen stood in front of a door strong enough to hold back a Yautja at full strength. A grumble fell from his throat as he looked over the exterior. This wasn’t something he could strong arm the rest of the way. He was forced to look over the outside well, finding any weakness. Yet, it had been designed specifically to hold a Yautja.
Noise to his right had been side stepping the door and looking down the hall. A trip of oomans rounded a corner, deep in talk. White lab coats hung off of one of them. Others were dressed in pastel color of clothing. A brow arched from underneath his mask as he watched the three of them walk towards him. But, he wasn’t alert to them finding him.
All of them stopped at the door he once stood at.
“We’ve only been able to recently touch him with the mother nearby. Or else he’ll claw and bite everyone,” one said and rubbed a wrapped up portion of his arm. “I don’t know about either of you, but I’d rather not take another swing from the little twit.”
Mother? Was the hybrid young? And these oomans had taken a child and its mother.
Fire raced through his veins. A growl threatening to alert the oomans right in front of him.
One of them raised a plastic card up to the key pad. It beeped at the touch before the door opened up. The angle didn’t allow him to see inside the room.
But the smell. A smell he’d thought to never scent again hit him hard. Idiotic of him, he froze up long enough for the door to shut after the oomans entered. He had to close off his throat to stop a deep growl from erupting. It was his duty to get into that room.
It felt like he was a unblooded all over again, patient worn out long ago. The muscle of his jaw so tight it felt like it was cramping. His eyes never left the doorway, ears trying to listen in but found the walls too thick for him to hear through. Everything in him wanted to bust down the door to get inside. Who knows what those scum of oomans were doing.
The tension in his muscles turned complete rigid when the door slid back open. His body acted before his mind could complete a thought. Dai rushed forward and snatched the lab coat ooman up by the neck. She tried to scream for her life but he pinched off any access to air. Her face already turning to a shade of red he loved oomans to wear.
He entered the space still holding onto the soft meat. She squirmed and kicked at him, anything to get free from his grasp. The door shut behind him and locked him into the room that was filled with the scent of terror.
And yours.
A mixture that reeked. The Yautja growled lowly in his chest before plucking the ID card off of her. She could barely make a noise, face beet red. Dai’stbaen dropped the defenseless ooman back down onto the ground. She crumbled to the floor and choked and gasped for air. He barely gave her a glance and strode over to your trembling, slacken jaw form.
You never once thought to see this beautiful creature again. Not a single moment in your life. But, here stands Dai’stbaen in all of his glory. Biomask covering his features but you could feel the heat of his eyes on you. He marched over to you and ate up the space between the two of you. He fell to a knee and reached out to your chained form.
Metal wrapped painfully around your throat and hands. They attached to a bolt in the concrete wall. No ooman could break out of something with pure strength alone. Dai’stbaen lifted up the chain and felt its weight. Nothing to him but to you, red marks had been rubbed raw into your soft skin. A scowl hidden by his mask.
As if you saw a god, you reached up and brushed your fingers against the coolness of the metal of his face covering. A face you desperately wanted to see.
“Dai?” you croaked out in voice devoid of water for so long. You looked so lost, long without hope to fill your fierce eyes. The male himself was speechless. Why in the stars were you here? In a facility he was looking for a hybrid. He cupped your jaw in a massive hand, fingers curling around the back of your head. His thumb graced over your pronounced cheek bone. Your eyes had sunken in. The skin dark and lifeless underneath him.
This wasn’t the vision of how he left you. You had been curled up against him, soft, gentle features at peace. The marks that marred your skin. His eyes darted down to the bite mark he left in the heat of the moment. Had these scums taken you all because of a bite? Surely, they wouldn’t notice anything off with such a bite?
Clattering of metal skirting across the concrete floor snapped him back into his hunter mode. His head whipped around. One of the other oomans had discovered him, coming around a partition. Before the man had time to react, Dai was a red blur across the room. His hand curled around his throat and brought the person to him. You watched as Dai choked the unsuspecting man out until he no longer moved. He was released and flopped down onto the ground. His chest slowly rose and fall.
The person in the lab coat was able to regain her composer, head tilted up. Her dark eyes were trained on Dai. An accusing finger pointed at him. “You-“ she coughed “-can’t hurt me. Can’t hurt any of us,” she bit out in a nasty tone that twisted your gut. There was nothing you could do, still chained up to the wall. Your face morphed with anger. You pulled on the chain but it only rattled at the move.
Dai’stbaen didn’t stop marching towards her on the ground. She scrambled backwards and even kicked his shin. Yet, he didn’t even flinch at the strike. He bent at the waist and picked up the struggling woman with a single arm. Your jaw slackened again at the remind of how strong he is. The memories of the last night with him resurfacing at the wrong moment.
Not a word or sound utters from his vocal cords. One arm wraps around her neck and hold strong. Blood and air is restricted to her brain. It doesn’t take long for her to drop to the ground, chest slowly rising and falling.
Once the issue is solved, he strides across the limited space again. They weren’t dead. You were thankful he hadn’t killed them in front of you, knowing he could pull such a thing. Dai’stbaen returns to his position in front of you. A claw hooks into the unforgiving chain wrapped around your wrists. For a government facility, they didn’t have good restraints. Maybe… they weren’t thinking about capturing prisoners.
Not like yourself, at least.
His mask stares at the chains for a moment. Then, with both of his hands, he grips it at two different sections and pulls. The metal groans under his pure strength before easily giving way with a snap. The end hangs from your neck and pulled on the tender areas. Next, Dai’stbaen worked on your wrists in the same manner. He had left a tail end, unable to get so close to you.
Your legs strained to lift yourself off of the unforgiving, dull grey floors. The muscles have gone weak after the lack of use and proper food.
Before you could make it, Dai’stbaen easily scooped you up into his arms. His warmth easily washed over your numb frame. The air in the room was cool. It kept you shaking nearly all the time. They never offered a blanket or something.
He was able to transfer you to one arm holding you to him. His free hand grabbed the ID card he had snatched earlier. The male walked over to the closed door.
“Wa-it!” you hissed when he attempted to leave. Your body squirmed in his hold. Dai’stbaen grunted and pinned you to his warm body. “We can’t le-ave!” Austin. Tears were brought to your eyes at the thought of your son. You used a hand to pull on one of Dai’s tresses and directed him over to the partition.
Dai could smell another ooman and something else.
Your feet touched the cool concrete again. The strength in your legs was long gone and forced you to sit down. His gaze was set on what he could see around the partition’s edge. He stalked over then froze for a moment. In another flash, he lunged forward. You decided to stay where you were when you heard a thud smack. Another person choked out. Alive.
Soft, nearly silent footsteps alerted to Dai coming back. When he appeared around the corner, you scrambled to get to your weak legs.
In his arms was the limp body of Austin. “No!” you cried but unable to find the strength. After so long of fighting, you had lost the will. Even at the sight of your son limp in front of you. Tears brimmed the edges of your eyes as you clawed at Dai’stbaen. As if you could climb him to get to Austin. “Please, no.” Your whimper cracked at his own heart.
What had they done to him?
It was your reaction that had the dots clicking inside of his head. You… Oh, by Paya’s will! His eyes widened underneath the mask, muscles turning taunt. The hybrid… it was his. The red scales, mandibles, the tresses. Dai’stbaen could’ve smacked himself for how stupid he had been. How could’ve he not even thought of the possibility?! But… the idea was next to impossible.
Here it was though. In his arms. Softly breathing. The mother clawing at him, eyes balling with tears. Dai’stbaen knelt down in front of the ooman he’s come to know. You instantly tried to tug him out of his arms but it was nothing compared to his strength.
“Austin, honey. Oh god, no. Anything but him!” you sobbed and rushed your hands all over him. He was still warm. The first thing you notice; slightly taking you out of your panic. Then, your finger pads found a gentle pulse. Your saneness slowly coming back as you realized Austin was alive. You gave another sob. This time of relief. Your arms wrapped around him the best you could then slowly looked up at the Yautja.
The mask may hide all of his features… but you felt the heat of his stare. You pulled away and straightened your back, eyes casting downward. Not once did one of your hands leave Austin.
“Yeah,” you choked out and buried yourself into your shoulders. You didn’t know how he was going to react to all of this. Even yourself didn’t want to believe the pregnancy for the first six months.
His arm underneath Austin’s knees snatched the forearm closest to him. Dai leaned in close to you that your foreheads nearly touched. Your heart began to thunder loudly.
“Child? We have… child?” Words so unsure of the reality of everything. A feeling you felt so long ago in the beginning of all of this. You had been alone, terrified. To this day, you still are. Even before they had found out about Austin and yourself.
More tears stained your cheeks. “Yeah,” you sniffled with a nod. His hand twitched for a moment before letting you go. Instead, you carded your fingers through his, nails biting the back of his hand. “We do. I-I didn’t k-now how to-to tell you. You were… gone.” Words so important to you unaffected him. For the most part.
A huff left the alien. His head turned towards the door. The weight of the situation slammed down on you once again. Escape. This was your chance for escape. You couldn’t walk though. The battle had long left you after a lesson well learned. His hands were full with Austin.
You let go of his hand pushed at him. If one must be saved, it had to be Austin. Your son over yourself. “Go! Bef-ore they find out. T-take him to-to safety, please,” you pleaded with the male, face wet and sticky from the constant tears.
Dai snorted and scooted Austin more onto one shoulder. With his other arm, he wrapped it around your torso. One show of strength had you tossed over onto the other shoulder. A pained grunt surge past your lips when you landed harshly on your stomach. The birth had always left you scarred permanently. Then, the Yautja was on his feet and quickly stalking towards the door.
The stolen keycard was used to open the door and revealed an empty hallway. He peered out to look both ways before stepping out. Years of training aided him. His feet light despite the added weight of two people on him. Yet, he had noticed how much lighter you were compared to when he last held you up. Something twisted in the pit of his stomach. A need to end the lives for those caused harm to you.
There were more important things to worry about for now. Safety for one.
Like a skilled hunter, Dai’stbaen was able to slip out of the complex with little difficulty. The cloak had been rendered useless. He was forced to rely on strict listening and awareness of his surroundings.
Fresh air on your skin was heaven sent. You lifted yourself up with just enough strength to prop yourself up on his shoulder. The outside world was something you hadn’t seen in a long time. You could cry at the sight. For so long.
The Yautja carried you a long way. Not once did he stop for a break or rest. Like a freight train, he continued to move. The sway of his gait nearly had you passing out, ready to succumb to a sleep you weren’t petrified to never wake up again.
A familiar sight peered through the trees. The ship. Oh god, you were really free. Dai’stbaen had come for you to save the two of you.
How did he know? Words you wanted to ask him but your energy was dwindling faster than you could stop it. The realization of safety had you finally drifting in and out of light sleep.
The feeling of scales against your belly had your eyes flickering open. You groaned and found yourself on your back, looking up at the familiar face of Dai’stbaen. His biomask long gone at this point. The only upper mandible twitched when his bright yellow eyes found yours. A hand cupped at your cheek, thumb running over your pronounced cheek bone.
“Thank you,” you whispered in a hoarse voice. Water was instantly brought to your lips in the form of a waterskin. Every drop you took then licked at your cracked lips.
Something akin to anger swirled bright in his fierce eyes. His mandibles tightened over his mouth, nails creating divots in your skin. “You stay. With me,” he demanded.
Free from the mask, his voice was clear and crisp in the protection of his room. A space you had shared with him for that month.
Your brows jumped up towards the ceiling. How was that going to work? Humans… they don’t survive outside of earth’s atmosphere. And the creatures he hunts. They would think of you as a snack. Easy pickings. A full bottom shiver wrecked your poor frame.
“How’s… that going to work?” you asked, not opposed to leaving your life behind. All of your friends and family had been pushed away when Austin had been born. Your job must of fired you. Your apartment was probably been cleaned out. Everything you once knew was gone. All besides your child and his father.
His next words were thought over carefully. “You are ooman, weak and frail. Yes. But, I protect you. Like you protected me. We have child. He learn Yautja ways. Be hunter,” he explained to the best of his knowledge in English. Your eyes widened. He wants Austin to be like him.
Austin. Your head whipped about before Dai’stbaen caught it and directed your attention to your side. There laid your sleeping kid. He had curled up on his side, facing you. At peace.
You licked at your cracked lips and gaze back towards Dai’stbaen. “I named him Austin,” you said to him. Something flashed in his eyes, but he kept silent.
Everything he said though, you couldn’t completely disagree on. From the fact your life was ruined, to the fact Austin was different. It took so much to reel him in from going out the front door. Or, he loved to climb up on to of the cupboards. Even when he very young.
A hunter at his core.
“He’s got you heart.” You smiled at him, stars sparkling in your eyes. Then, you bowed your head and played with your hands on the blankets. “I… I agree with you. I can’t go back. And, I don’t know what I’m doing. I feel terrible that I’m probably not taking care of him right.” You peered at Dai from underneath your lashes. “I need your help.”
With his hands on your cheeks, he tugs you in a little closer. His forehead presses to yours in a soft gesture. “I help. We raise together.” Your eyes closed. You embraced the warmth blooming in your chest.
The tension in your chest loosen. You could finally breath normally again.
#yautja#predator#yautja x reader#yautja x you#alien vs predator#yautja x human#predator x reader#predator x human#predator x you#x reader
1K notes
·
View notes
Text
Peach Part 2 of 2 (Rafe Cameron Two Shot) +18
+18 Minor DNI
CollegeStudent!Rafe x Ward'sSugarBaby!Reader
⭐️ republished ⭐️
+18 Minor DNI
📖 Rafe has a thing for his dad's sugar baby (reader)
🪄 warning (contains spoilers): somnophilia, cheating, swearing, degradation, name-calling, pet names, oral (fem. receiving), eral (male receiving), ownership kink, reader’s a sugar baby, rough sex, nipple play, ehoking, creampie, & cum play, no use of y/a but everyone refers to her as the pet name Peach, softish rafe but he’s kinda mean here and there, breeding kink, brief smut (kisses and pushing fingers in) with Ward
✨ You walk a few paces, just two doors down from the locker room. Rafe steps out from behind the door, adjusting his tie dramatically before running his fingers through his romp-tousled hair. He looks over at you, giving you a little wink before shuffling away. ✨
2K
Reader’s POV:
Rafe chuckles darkly, rolling his eyes to yours, giving you a look that speaks volumes. “Why don’t you let me know in two minutes? Huh? I’m sure that’s how long he’ll last.” He reaches down, snagging your little panties off the floor, stuffing them in his powder blue suit pocket.
Rafe reaches out his hand, helping you off the couch. Your knees wobble as you continue to come down from your high off his fingers and lips alone.
Everything with Ward was ruined the moment you and Rafe were alone. Was I hoping for this all along? Was a part of me just trying to get closer to Rafe from the beginning? I mean, it seems like it. All I know is I made a mess for myself and fast.
Rafe opens the door for you, hanging back as his hand continues to hold yours, lingering until the last moment before pressing a soft kiss on top. “You know where to find me. Yeah?” You look up at Rafe, the dark room matching his darkened eyes. He smiles smugly as you give him a timid nod. “Good girl.” Rafe releases your hand; the door fanning shut, closing off the two of you from each other.
You walk a few paces, just two doors down from the locker room. Rafe steps out from behind the door, adjusting his tie dramatically before running his fingers through his romp-tousled hair. He looks over at you, giving you a little wink before shuffling away.
Fuck me.
“Ward!” You gasp. Your stomach turns, déjà vu hitting you like you’d pressed rewind. Ward slams his lips against yours, taking your breath away. You pinch your eyes shut, praying silently that he doesn’t smell his son’s rich cologne lingering on your skin.
Your long nails scratch through his hair, making him moan and you shudder into your kiss as he pulls you deeper into the room; your guilt mounting by the second. The shame feels heavy, a suffocating weight pressing down on your chest.
“Where were you, baby girl? You were gone too long,” he whispers against your mouth as he lays you back on the smooth top of the billiards table.
“I ran into one of the wives,” you pant, your heart racing with your thoughts. “M’sorry.”
“It’s alright. As long as I have you with me it doesn’t matter, Peach.” His rough fingers meet the inside of your thighs, moving higher and higher. No. No. Fuck. My panties- “No panties. Huh? Such a needy thing for Daddy. You couldn’t even bother wearing that little set I bought you. Could you?”
You clear your throat in an attempt to clear your mind. “No – no. I need you. Please,” you whimper. Your nerves and unease, muddled for sheer unadulterated want. You swallow thickly as Ward’s fingers push inside you.
“Fuck, princess… Have you been thinkin’ about me? You’re so wet,” he lauds. “Why didn’t you tell me?“
“Hurry. Please. C’mon, Daddy-”
“Gotta be real quiet, Peach. I’d hate for the other guys to know just how good Ward Cameron takes care of his girl. You’re drippin’ just thinking about it, Sugar-” You grab him by the root of his hair, silencing his ignorance with your drenched pussy.
Goddamnit, Rafe.
Rafe was right… As much as I hate to admit it. Ward didn’t stand a chance. Yet another fake orgasm for the books. After we got back to the event all I wanted was Rafe’s attention. / craved it. I craved him. I wanted his eyes on me and his lips on mine. / wanted to finish what we started. Rafe acted like it was nothing at all… ignoring me which made me fight for his focus even more. Ward’s son going as far as flirting with other women. Just taunting me further.
I couldn’t take it any longer, my mind stuck on Rafe, Rafe, Rafe while I listened to Ward snore. I weighed my options for a moment. Sure, I feel guilty. I know what I did was wrong. But, I can’t take the risk.
I need to do something fast. I need Rafe.
You look down at him, his large toned body tangled in sheets. Your manicured finger traces his rosy bottom lip as you study his features – the man, just as beautiful when he sleeps. You grab the bow at your waist, loosening the satin strap, letting it fall to your feet leaving you bare just like him.
Your pussy throbs with anticipation, thinking about Rafe’s words just a few hours before, hearing just how bad he wanted you for himself. Your fingers brush over his gold chain, to his strong chest, following the divet of his abs; flexing under your touch to his slight happy trail.
Rafe rolls to his back, pitching the linen sheet eversoslighty as his dick starts to respond to your touch. You let out a needy moan as you pull back the sheet, his long, thick cock just begging to be licked, sucked, and fucked. You reach down, gliding your fingers through your pussy, gathering your wetness as you climb on top of him.
You take hold of the base of his dick, tracing up slowly, feeling him get heavier in your hand the harder he gets. His fat pink tip, shift to a deeper hue as you watch a little pearl of precum gather at his slit growing larger with each stroke. He’s so fucking big… Your mouth waters at the sight of him.
Your tongue traces along a vein, catching his precum as it drips down slowly down the side. You lick a few fat stripes up his shaft, kissing wetly as his dick twitches in your palm. You groan onto his cock as your warm wet mouth wraps around his swollen tip. A sleepy moan follows from Rafe as you suckle on his head, flicking your tongue to tease.
You caress his balls as you take him to the back of your throat. “Fuck,” Rafe gasps, “Oh. Oh, Fuckkk.” His surprise pivots to pleasure in an instant. “Goddamn, princess… Took you long enough,” He hums as he gathers your hair in his hand, pushing it out of the way to get a better look. “I knew you’d flip, baby doll. You were mine the moment I saw you.”
Rafe pushes you a little further, releasing a needy moan at your gag reflex. Tears roll down your cheeks as you take almost all of him, pulling off slowly, swirling to the tip making his eyelashes flutter. “Jesus fuckin’ Christ,” he moans as he throws his head back on the pillow. “Gonna bust my load already… You have any idea how good this feels? Such a fuckin’ slut, ma… You already know how to suck me just like I like,” he sighs blissfully, catching the mess of saliva dripping from the corner of your lips before sucking it clean.
Rafe blows out a breath as you start to stroke him with your mouth, rolling his heavy balls in your small hand. You release his cock with a pop, causing him to let out a grunt for more, almost instantly eased by your fist, jerking him off.
You can feel your wetness, trickling from your pussy, seeping down your inner thigh. “I can’t wait to fuck you, princess. I already fucked my fist twice since we got back, just dreamin’ about that sweet pussy of yours.”
Twisting your hand at the base you bob up and down. Rafe follows your strokes, pressing you lower as he mumbles more words of praise. “He doesn’t deserve this. You’re perfect. This fuckin’ mouth, baby. You can get anything you want from me. Wanna breed this perfect pussy. Really make you mine.” You hollow your cheeks, milking his cock, making him groan and shift on the mattress, cutting off his babbling. “Gonna cum… let me have it, baby. Let me fuck it deep in your cunt. Yeah? I won’t stop. I’ll keep going. Just let me fill you up.”
You come off his dick, crawling toward his lips as Rafe grips himself. You moan in unison as you take every inch. Rafe’s balls squish against your ass as his eyes roll to the back of his skull. You feel his cock twitch, throbbing inside your sensitive cunt as he fills whatever space is left, stuffing you to the brim with his load.
“Fuckk, baby. Holy shit. I… Mmm… I’ll take care of you. Alright?” He pants as his eyes lift open on yours. “Say somethin’, princess.”
“Okay, daddy-”
”Daddy?“ He echoes, his pleading tone turning smug as he gets exactly what he wanted.
Rafe captures your lips in a heated kiss, deepening it in a moment. Your mouth moves with Rafe’s, exploring and savoring the taste of his soft lips and tongue. Your hands roam his body, pulling him closer and closer. You grind and swivel your hips nice and slow, moaning and whining against his mouth as his cock hits all the right spots.
Rafe’s lips separate from yours, making you chase his kiss. He rest his large palms on your hips, lifting you slightly to hover you over his still rock-hard cock. You feel Rafe’s cum drip from your pussy, catching the head of his pulsing dick before rolling down his shaft.
His dark eyes lift to yours, making chills fall down your spine. ”Don’t worry, princess. Gonna fuck it all back in you I promise.“ He mumbles through raspy whisper as he drags you to his lips. His hand weaves through your hair, wrapping the other around your waist before pulling you down to the mattress.
Rafe lays you out, eyeing your slick slit making you whimper as he traces his digits through the mess, lifting it to your lips. You taste the both of you on your tongue; Rafe, letting you suck on his fingers for a moment. You swirl your tongue as your eyes stay locked on his.
“You’re such a filthy whore, baby. Just perfect for me-”
”Please, Rafe…“ You whimper the second he pulls them out, frantic and aching for him to plug you just like before.
”What was that, princess?“ He asks, cocking an eyebrow in your direction as he clutches your legs, curling them over his broad shoulders.
”Please, daddy.“
”Mmm… Mhmm. There it is. There’s my girl,” he sighs as pushes into you once more. Your mouth hangs open as he bottoms you out; Rafe making you squeal in pain and pleasure as he plows himself flush with you, pressing his body weight down on you to fold you in half.
“So big, daddy,” you weep.
Rafe pecks a soft kiss on your quivering lips. “You alright, baby?” He whispers as he drags himself out.
“So fucking good. I wanna cum on your cock. I need it-”
He sucks his teeth and chuckles malevolently. ”How long has it been, Peach?“ His tone almost guised for genuine concern.
“Rafe…” you plead.
”No shit? Fuck. That’s so embarrassing for him… You poor little thing. M’gonna make you cum again and again until the only man you remember owning this perfect pussy is me.“ You bite your lip and nod as Rafe throws his hips into you.
His lips locks with yours, moaning and blissful cries exchanged. Rafe’s hips slap against the back of your thighs; his dewy forehead, nestled against yours, stealing glances from time to time to watch his cum-covered cock dip in and out.
He picks up speed, feeling your walls drawn in around him. His large wooden bed frame knocks against the wall, making your eyes widen. ”Rafe s-stop… Just – just slow down.“
“I ain’t stoppin’,” he grunts, snapping his hips a little more. The rhythmic banging surely heard from rooms away. “I told you I’m gonna take care of you. That means takin’ care of him. Aight? Don’t worry, baby. Daddy’s got you. Now c’mon, princess, don’t hold out on me. Let him hear how it sounds when his little doll cums… My little doll.”
His strong hands grip your hips, using them as leverage to drill into you, making you scream. You throw your head back, eyes shut tight as you feel yourself about to fall apart. Your mouth draws open as a string of curses and praise flows freely. “Rafe. Fuck!” You moan as your pleasure releases, pussy pulsing around his big cock as you cum hard. Rafe fucks you through it as stars dance in your eyes, his stamina unmatched as he continues to rut into you.
“Holy shit, da-”
“Peach?” You hear Ward call.
Your heads snap toward the door, Rafe not missing a beat. “Oops. Think someone’s lookin’ for you, Peach.”
“OPEN THE GODDAMN DOOR!”
“Uh yeah, Pops. We’re kinda busy in here,“ Rafe drones; his voice hoarse and worn with pleasure. ”Ain’t that right, baby?”
Ward starts to bang on the door as Rafe starts to thrust quicker, keeping time with the rapid pounding of Ward’s fists. The door handle jiggles as he fights with the locked handle.
“Rafe…” You sniffle as tears of pleasure leak from your eyes.
“Me too, princess. Fuck. Me too,” he coos. Rafe slips his hand low; his adept fingers brushing fast.
“Yes, daddy. Just – Just like that.”
“I need it baby… Cum for me one more time,” he grunts.
You cry out as your orgasm spills over, soaking his cock, and wetting the sheets below. ”That’s it… Good fuckin’ girl.“ Rafe leans in close, caging your body in. His lips brush against the shell of your ear, breathing rapidly. ”Squirtin’ on my cock, angel? I’m such a fuckin’ showin’ off. Told you. didn’t I? No one’s gonna take care of you like me.”
“Ugh, shit. I’m yours. M’yours, Daddy.”
“Yeah you are… Fuckin’ right. All mine.” His hips snap into you one last time, filling you with his warmth, toppling down on top of you. You can feel everything at this moment, his release and your own, the two of you glazed with sweat. Rafe’s lips press against your just as you hear the door force open.
#rafe#rafe smut#rafe cameron x reader#⋆.°🧸๋ྀི࣭⭑ peach#my library ᝰ.ᐟ#rafe one shot 𖤐ᝰ.ᐟ𖦹₊⊹#frat!rafe ִ ࣪𖤐.ᐟ#college!rafe ִ ࣪𖤐.ᐟ
494 notes
·
View notes
Note
i would absolutely love a Hotch and stripper reader, him taking care of her after some kind of incident at her club or something? maybe a bit of angry hotch at the beginning, some angst? 💗💗💗
Your throat burns by the time his car pulls up.
You take the butt of the cigarette from between your lips and ash it next to the first. Your hand is sore between the index finger and thumb from a bad stretch, aching as you press into your pocket for your stolen box of Marlboro golds. You’ll apologise for taking them some other time.
You press the third between your lips and flick the lighter. You’re not good at lighting them, worse at the first inhale, your throat an agony that rivals the sting of your battered cheek.
Shoes on the sidewalk, a scratch of loose gravel. Your eyes well with another line of tears that you work hard to hold in, taking another quick, cruel drag. They don’t make cigarettes long enough, in your opinion. They don’t last.
He stops in front of you. Quiet, Agent Hotchner looks down at you where you’re sitting on the low wall, expression as steely as ever. You meet his eyes, worried your wobbly lip is giving you away, not sure calling him was the right thing to do after all.
When he raises his hand to the cigarette you let him take it. His fingers wrap carefully around the butt of it, the side of his thumb brushing your lips.
He flicks it to the ground and steps on it flat.
You don’t say hello. It’s obvious you’ll cry, he can tell too, and he doesn’t make you. You wince as he raises his hand again, your eyes squinting closed, but he isn’t going to hurt you. His palm is warm where it cups your cheek, turning your face to the light emanating off of the club neons.
“Do you know his name?” he asks.
“No.”
He raises your chin higher still. His frown turns to a glare, the brunt of which is directed elsewhere but intimidating all the same. His touching is gentle at least.
“What happened?”
“I told him no.”
His jaw ticks. “Can I take you home?”
You sniffle, turning your face out of his hand and down to your lap. He’s kissed you, he’s done more than that, but he knows you’d felt like you had no choice and so he’s giving it to you now. It’s exactly why you’d called him. It’s the man he is, and he should never have ended up looking after you.
“Sorry I called you,” you say, hiding your face in one hand. Pain flickers behind your eyes as tears mount for the tenth time tonight.
Hotch gives a sigh, sitting on the wall beside you. He wraps his arm behind your back and with a familiarity you need desperately. You press yourself into his side, sew your arm hesitantly over his stomach, the starch of a pressed shirt crisp on your clammy skin.
“It’s cold out here,” he murmurs, bringing both hands to your arm, one to hold you tight, the other to rub your cool skin.
“I think I want to quit.”
He nods into the side of your head. “I think you should,” he says, “if that’s what you want… honey, you can do whatever you want.”
“I don’t think I can. I’m trapped and it’s my fault.”
“It’s not your fault.” He encourages your head under his, your face to his neck. When he talks, it’s a quiet, lulling promise. “You’re not trapped. I’ll do anything you need me to do. If you want an apartment, I’ll get it for you. If you want to shut this place down, I will. The last thing either of us want is for you to work here when you don’t want to.”
“You don’t have to say work here like I’m not a glorified prostitute,” you say hotly, anger turned in rather than out.
“You don’t really think that.”
Being a sex worker is complicated. You don’t know how you feel about it, and you can’t ever understand why Hotch would bother with you. You’d worried at first that your vulnerability is what attracted him, like a kid with a broken bird, but he’s proved a hundred times that your job is pretty much separate from why he likes you. He thinks you're pretty. He loves your voice. You make each other laugh, and somehow inexplicably he’s the first person you call when things go wrong.
“Quit your job,” he says. “Even if it’s just to dance somewhere else.”
“You can say strip.”
He nods. “You shouldn’t have to worry whether your ‘no’ will be met with a backhand. You know that breaks my heart?”
You blink and pull away from him. He isn’t unemotional, but it’s a surprise nonetheless to hear him talk like this. “Aaron–”
“Please,” he says. “I shouldn’t ask you to. But there are better places for you. You deserve more.”
If it were anyone else you might get defensive. Only people who do your job could understand why you do it, it’s a hundred different things to you, but you do deserve more. You’re sick of leery men, sick of wolf whistles and bad tips and other people's hands. Hotch has never asked you to stop, but now he is, it’s to keep you safe.
You can’t begrudge him.
“I’m sorry,” you say.
“No.” He rubs your arm. “I’m sorry. You didn’t deserve that. And I’ll make it right.”
“It’s not your fault.”
“I’ll make it right,” he promises. “No matter what. No one gets to hurt you.”
You could quit. You want to. Even if it’s just for a couple of weeks, just so you don’t have to pretend you know what you’re doing. You’ll think about it in the morning. “Could I stay with you for a bit?” you whisper. “Just tonight. Please.”
Hotch taps your back for you to stand. He stands with you, brushing down your coat, his eyes impassive where they look over your face, your purpling bruise.
“You can wait in the car,” he says quietly. “I’m going to ask a few questions inside before we leave.”
#aaron hotchner x reader#aaron hotchner x you#aaron hotchner x y/n#aaron hotchner#aaron hotchner fic#aaron hotchner blurb#aaron hotchner drabble#aaron hotchner imagine#aaron hotchner fanfic#aaron hotchner fanfiction#hotch x reader#hotch#hotch x you#hotch blurb#hotch drabble
991 notes
·
View notes
Text
➺ zoro x gn!reader
zoros hands are so rough.
the skin broken and half healed and then broken again countless times over. his touch is heavy, grip tight an steady. he's a swordsman, it's to be expected.
it's dark out, the sunny swaying gently in the water, lulling you sweetly. the rest of the crew sound asleep in their quarters, not a single other person is awake for miles; you and him and the stars and the moon and the open seas.
you drop the persistent facade, and zoro does too.
the bickering and arguing set aside, instead opting for having you on his lap. neither of you speak, a knowing silence in the air. those three deadly though precious swords of his set aside and forgotten, still in arms reach should he need them but abandoned in favour of holding you.
there is a bottle of that nice liquor he'd gotten from the last island that rests next to the swords, unattended and forgettable; a glass half full of the too strong liquid sits waiting. it would be convenient to pretend this is all just a spur of false courage from the deep gold liquid.
his thick hands slide up the planes of your back, almost trembling a little as they do. as if something sacred lies beneath his fingertips, something he can long for but knows better than to dare pursue.
your skin is so much smoother, your flesh tender; soft buttery by comparison. you move your hands, feather light, over the jagged scarred skin of his chest and his arms, feeling the warmth of him radiate in waves and feeing the tight corded muscles ripple and twitch beneath your fingertips.
the ship is swaying still, steady and consistent, "i'm yours." whispered into the curve between your shoulder and neck, low and hoarse. the words unfamiliar on his tongue but they come out so naturally, so certain. he means them.
i'm yours.
yours in his entirety. it's not much, but he's never known you to be acquisitive. it's funny thing to say about a pirate, but you aren't greedy, never in a rush or impatient, never like that with him.
you'll have him as he is, all the fractured bits he has to offer, you collect carefully in your powerful delicate hand.
zoro knows this — and he won't ever ask for more.
broad rough hands caressing your skin. adoring you. worshipping you like he, a demon, deserves that privilege. your faces are so close to each others now. and the only ones getting witness your shared breaths: the stars, and the moon, and the seas. the sunny as well, but it's nothing new.
i am yours, but you will never be his.
he has so much already. too much. too much weight and duty. too many burdens and battles. to be his, to be zoros meant becoming that to him, it would only be adding onto it all. mounting higher and higher until the lot of it consumes him whole.
you would rather die. instead, you'll just hold him like the waiting will make a difference one day.
your lips brush, it's delicate and brief, hardly a kiss at all. but it's enough. it's sweet and it's kind. you somehow feel breathless.
his hands are twitching again, ever so subtly at the base of your neck, gliding over the skin with only the softest touches and cupping your jaw.
short, fleeting, innocent.
" 'm yours" he whispers again, so close you feel the soft vibrations of the sound on your skin. zoro says it like he needs it; needs it to be true to both himself and to you.
" you're mine"
and i am yours, you only wish you could add to your response.
#one piece#roronoa zoro#one piece zoro#pirate hunter zoro#zoro x reader#zoro x you#zoro x y/n#one piece x you#one piece x y/n#one piece x reader#ayyyy first time writing zoro#do we fw this#&. knightt writes ''─ .⟢
272 notes
·
View notes
Text
IF I STAY - Epilogue
Pairing: Dean Winchester x Plus-Sized!Reader
Summary: Your dream is to work with kids as an elementary school teacher. Dean is well on his way to becoming a firefighter, keeping things light and “strings unattached” as he goes. After a one-night stand you never saw coming, you and Dean are forced to deal with the consequences…and figure out if the connection between you is worth fighting for.
AN: By popular demand, I wanted to come back to these two for a hot minute, clear up some loose ends, and answer some questions Part 2 might have left behind for you. 😘
Song Inspo: “I Can’t Help Falling in Love” and “It’s Now or Never” by Elvis
Word Count: 6.4K
Tags/Warnings: 18+ only. Major fluff, some spice, angst, hurt/comfort, family feels
❤️🔥 If I Stay Masterlist
Epilogue: Soul Surrender
The low familiarity of Arrested Development playing on the TV is the only sound filling your bedroom…other than your giggles. They come out in short bursts even though your body doesn’t stop shaking, twisting away from nimble fingers.
“Dean,” you plead. Your cheeks hurt from laughing but no matter how you try to escape, he follows you. His broad frame and strong arms curl around your waist from behind. His face buries into your neck, and you feel the shape of his smirk there while his fingers slip higher under your shirt and map a constellation across your ribs.
Well, it’s actually his shirt, the white buttoned-down hanging loosely from your frame. It barely covers your ass, and he likes it that way. All the better to tease you with a playful smack of a nice round cheek when the fabric rides up.
Your squeal morphs into more peals of laughter. Involuntary tears well up in your eyes, and one slides down into the pillow underneath your cheek.
“Baby, please—can’t fucking breathe,” you manage to say, panting and wheezing all squeaky-voice.
Finally, his long fingers fall still against your skin. His head perks up, and his smirk softens into a grin.
“Baby?” Dean repeats, quirking a brow at you.
You pause. While you catch your breath, your gaze lowers in an uncertain shade. You shift onto your back, where Dean is only better able to loom above you. Staring up at his handsome face like this still feels a little unreal. Just a couple of hours ago, you were a crying mess in this very bed.
Then there was a knock on your door. When you found Dean standing there looking stressed and desperate, you just couldn’t turn him away; nor could you deny what your heart had been trying to tell you for far too long.
“Uh, sorry, it just came out,” you say with a chuckle.
Before you can ask if it’s too soon for cute pet names, Dean leans down to capture you in a kiss. It’s slow and thorough, sparking a tendril of heat down your spine as his hand slides along your neck, framing your jaw. He thumbs at your chin after he pulls away.
“I like it,” he says. His eyes hold a cheeky gleam.
Your smile gradually reaches beaming proportions. He moves his hand down to your waist, and you squirm a little. You’re still sensitive from how much he teased you before. You grab his hand and bring it back up to your cheek instead.
“You’re more ticklish than Robbie,” Dean remarks. His smirk is back.
“He probably gets it from me,” you confess. Though your hands do some wandering of their own, slipping under the man’s arms and prodding a tuneless sonata along his sides. “But I’m thinking you’re just as bad, tough guy.”
Just as you suspected, Dean flinches and laughs on reflex. “H-Hey! Foul move!”
His deep voice runs higher, full of censure, but it just makes you grin harder. Seeing this big man crumple like a wad of wet paper has you mounting a full-scale attack of revenge. You manage to get Dean twisting over and onto his back, where you take full advantage of his weakness and straddle his lap.
He grabs you by the wrists and pins them together while he pants for breath. You grin down at him victoriously. He chuckles just at that look on your face.
“Think you’ve caught me, huh?” he says.
“I hope so,” you reply.
You soften at your own admission. Dean does too, releasing your wrists so he can get a comfortable hold of your thighs wrapped snug around his hips. You dip down to kiss him just as nice and slow as he treated you, sweet even.
You soon find yourself tumbled down to the bed, rolling to his left side. You huff a laugh at his manhandling, but you let him hold you close and savor the feeling of being here with him. It all happened. It’s still happening. He’s yours.
But…
“What do you think Robbie’s gonna say when we tell him?” Dean asks.
You pull back far enough to see his face, and you stroke his cheek. It’s a little prickly with stubble, but you don’t mind. Actually, the rasp of it against your fingers reminds you of other places it had tingled against your sensitive skin. Your cheeks begin to warm up.
You try to break out of those thoughts, concentrating on answering his question.
“Aw, he’s gonna be happy,” you say. The kid had already been asking the hard questions.
Why aren’t you and Daddy married? Why can’t we all live together? Is Benny gonna move in with us instead?
You do sigh though. “We have to think about how we’re going to tell him. Benny’s been in his life since he was born.”
Dean breathes deeply through his nose, and he nods. He brushes your cheek with the back of his hand, a touch that returns the softer smile to your face.
“Dean, we need to do better,” you say. “From now on, we need to be honest with each other, or we’re not going to get through what comes next. We’re going to keep hurting the people we love, including each other.”
After a beat, he nods solemnly in agreement.
“Yeah, you’re right.”
“So,” you grasp his hand in both of yours. You draw enough courage to ask the question that’s been burning in your mind, ever since the haze of fraught emotions, lust, love, and passion began to ebb from the forefront of your mind, calming into a resting state of happiness and content. You stare up into Dean’s eyes.
“You said that you’ve loved me for a long time,” you say. “If that’s true, why were you with Lisa so long? Why didn’t you ever talk to me about this sooner?”
Dean hums low in contemplation, almost a rumble. He squeezes your hand, and he sighs.
“Aw, sweetheart. I was so fuckin’ stupid,” he chuckles half-heartedly. Your lips twitch.
“I was, what, twenty-six when we met?” he says. “You were even younger.”
“Twenty-two,” you supply knowingly. You and Sam had just graduated from college with Eileen and a couple of your friends. Sam had been about to start law school, with you starting at your first elementary school as a first-grade teacher.
“Yeah. In my case, young and dumb,” Dean says, with a shake of his head. He pauses in contemplation. Finally, he finds the courage to meet your eyes.
“All right, here it is,” he says. “After I thought you turned me down the first time, I met Lisa. Sam had mentioned some things that started to turn my head around on how I was living, all the hookups, the boozing, that kind of thing. I knew I’d screwed up with you, not calling you after we had our thing. So, I wanted to see if I could try something steady with someone, you know?”
He takes in a deep breath. “But after you told me you were pregnant, it all just fucking hit me, the way I’d totally changed your life, and mine. I was reckless. It made me want to grow the fuck up, I guess.”
You begin to rub his arm in comfort. “I was there too, you know. It wasn’t all on you.”
He smiles at you a little. You know he sees your point, even if he still feels responsible for knocking you up.
“The more I tried to make it work with Lisa, the harder it was.” He chuckles humorlessly. “Well, that part you know. Looking back, it was probably because I still wanted you. But every time Lisa and I broke up for some stupid shit, I felt like more of a fuckup. And every time I thought of you and me, and what that could be like, I uh…I guess I was afraid of being turned down again. Or worse, afraid of fucking up your life even more.”
Your frown trembles, with the sting of fresh tears in your eyes. Dean gives you a rueful smile.
“Vicious cycle, huh?” he says. “When you got with Benny, I thought I lost my chance for sure. So I guess I just…gave up. Settled for where I was.”
Another sigh falls from your lips, along with a couple of tears that bubble over and slip down your cheeks. You sit up in bed and take Dean’s face into your hands, a gentle hold, but a meaningful one.
“Well, first of all, I want you to understand something right now. I’ve said it before, and I’m going to say it one more time so you don’t forget it.” You look deep into his eyes. “You didn’t screw up my life. I’ve never looked at it that way, and I never will. Our son is best thing that could’ve happened to me, and I’m thinking to you too.”
After a moment, he nods. “Yeah.”
You nod as well. Glad to have that settled, you let go of his face so you can wipe the tear from your cheek.
“The last few years haven’t been perfect for me either,” you say. “But I love you, Dean. I want this to be the real deal, more than anything.”
Dean grabs your hand and gives it a squeeze. He’s tempted to drag you down for a heated kiss and a hell of a lot more—maybe a nice sequel for what you guys did on the couch, and two more times in your bed an hour ago. However, something you said strikes a small bell in his mind.
“You mean to tell me it wasn’t all Brady Bunch with Mr. Rogers?” Dean says, only half joking.
You give him a censuring look. “Hey, Benny doesn’t deserve that. He doesn’t deserve…any of this.”
Dean sobers. He knows you’re right, even if he has to stamp out a stab of jealousy. He feels sorry for his friend too…even if part of him selfishly can’t feel that sorry about getting to be with you.
But you rub at your forehead, a fresh load of guilt dumping over your shoulders. You know you’ll have to talk to Benny too. As incredibly happy as you are right now, you still feel horrible for how this all shook out. You never meant to hurt him or lead him on. From the beginning, you had really appreciated his help so much after Robbie was born.
“In so many ways, he was the kind of man I wanted. Kind, reliable, honest,” you say. Dean sits up with you now against the headboard. He listens intently, no matter how his stomach twists.
It takes you time to find your words, but you begin to explain.
You had loved Benny. You still do. But you realize now, only much too late, that you hadn’t been in love with him.
While your relationship with him had always been supportive and perfectly pleasant, a secret part of you had craved more. He wasn’t one to open up so easily about his day or his work, no matter how much you tried to coax it out of him. In fairness, you know he sees a lot of things on the job that aren't meant for civilian ears, but there are only so many monosyllabic answers you can deal with.
You, on the other hand, are a talker. You always have been. You just got the feeling, sometimes, that Benny was zoning out on you when you tried to connect with him. He even admitted once that you were a bit "too much" for him.
So you talked less. You bottled most of your thoughts inside…until they eventually spilled out with Dean. It’s always been easy to talk to him. On the whole, he’s seemed interested in your stories, even the ones from school. You feel comfortable sharing all the little things about your students that have made him smile, or laugh, or furrow his brows when you admitted your concerns or your fears for them, and especially for Robbie. Even if he was fixing your leaky sink or patching up a hole from when your son attempted some indoor practice with a slingshot made out of Lego and a tube sock, Dean listened.
He understands you. You appreciate that about him.
However, you know that you’ve been unconsciously comparing him and Benny in your mind.
No relationship is perfect, you often tried reminding yourself over the past three years, even through some of the tougher moments.
…Like in the bedroom. Benny was a patient man, and a generous lover. Of course there had been sparks between you two, certainly in the beginning.
However cliché it is though, you’d just never felt…fireworks. Electricity under your skin. The Godfather Thunderbolt kind of sexual connection that sunk into your blood and made your insides quiver.
Kind of like now. You’re blushing down to your neck trying to explain this part of it to Dean. He has a hand resting casually on your thigh, but once he works past his jealousy of even the thought of you and Benny between the sheets, the reality of what you’re saying finally hits him. A smirk slowly grows across his lips.
The way he brushes a thumb back and forth across your sensitive skin—it makes the hair on your arms raise and elicits another tingle down your spine.
“So what you’re saying is,” Dean says, his voice deepening like black velvet as he draws closer. “No one makes you come like I do.”
You snort, biting your lip in blushing embarrassment, as well as the prickle of arousal trembling in your core. Wetness blooms between your legs just at the sound of his voice. You can’t quite bring yourself to answer him, but it doesn’t matter. Your eyes give him all the confirmation he needs.
Dean lures you back into his arms, and into his kiss. He guides you onto your back and blazes a sensuous trail down your body, mapping every lush curve all over again with his mouth, tongue, and fingers, until you’re a writhing mess beneath him.
The next day, Robbie is confused when you and Dean go together to pick him up from your parents’ house. You called them ahead of time for a very important reason.
You sit Robbie down in the living room there in front of your parents, who are trying not to give away the punchline with their smiles (your mom stifling her tears). You take the spot beside him on the couch.
“What’s wrong?” Robbie asks, looking from you to Dean. There’s wariness and confusion in the boy’s eyes, just a couple shades of green off from his father’s. You and Dean share an amused look. The kid is so intuitive.
“Nothing’s wrong,” Dean says. He kneels down in front of him so that he’s eye-level with his son. “You know that your mom and I care about each other, right?”
Robbie quirks his head, but he nods. “Yeah. You’re friends.”
“Well, turns out…” Dean shares another look with you, this time a gentler smile as he takes your hand in his. “We realized that we want to be more than just friends.”
Robbie blinks a few times. He takes the information in faster than you would expect for a six-year-old, giving you his furrowed brows of confusion, suspicion…and hope?
“O-Oh. Really? Buuuut what about Benny?” he asks.
Again, smart kid. Dean looks over to you for guidance on this one.
You proverbially step in with a hand on Robbie’s shoulder. You take a steadying breath, but you explain in terms you know he’ll understand.
“I know how much you love Benny. I care about him too. I care about him a lot, actually…but he just wasn’t the guy for me,” you admit. You glance over at Dean, squeezing his hand. “Your dad is the guy.”
Robbie sits with his hands in his lap and visibly processes, his little face scrunched in thought. You don’t blame him for being confused, but you remain patient, softly smiling while you rub his back. You give Dean a guiding look, warning him with your eyes to wait for Robbie to ask whatever question he has next. You can see it brewing.
“Wait, so you guys like each other?” Robbie asks. “Like, like boyfriend and girlfriend?”
Dean chuckles. “To start with. I’m thinkin’ more like husband and wife.”
Your face falls into shock. Dean bites the inside of his lip. He hadn’t meant to say it out loud, but it’s already out of his mouth. Can’t put that toothpaste back in the tube, can I?
Robbie gapes at his dad, and then his mom. He looks at your joined hands.
Uh oh, Dean thinks. Did we break him?
Suddenly, Robbie’s lower lip wobbles, and he starts to cry. Your eyes widen further in surprise, and now dismay along with Dean.
…Until Robbie surges forward into his dad’s arms. Dean immediately wraps his arms around his son and soothes a hand over his head.
“What’s the matter, buddy? What’s wrong?” he asks.
Robbie sniffs. “Does this mean you’re gonna come live with us?”
Dean’s worry breaks—into abject relief. He smiles. When he looks up, he finds you smiling in relief as well, albeit with tears in your eyes. He holds Robbie closer and presses a kiss on the top of his head.
“You want that, huh?” Dean asks. “Want me to come live with you guys?”
Robbie nods, burying his face in Dean’s shirt. But there’s no hiding the way his little body shakes with quiet sobs. Dean’s own eyes are suspiciously glassy, even though he smirks at the way your lower lip wobbles too. He beckons you over with a hand.
You slip off the couch and kneel on the floor too, allowing yourself to get pulled under Dean’s arm. You rest your cheek against his shoulder and bury your weeping face into his neck. This moment is everything—everything you could’ve asked for.
Your parents come around the couch as well, with your mom lovingly squeezing your shoulders and your dad resting a fatherly hand on Dean’s.
Dean can’t help but smile, so hard that it nearly cracks his face. He didn’t think his heart could ever be this full.
Well. For once, that went better than I thought.
You tap your fingers around the wide cappuccino mug nervously. You sit in what you think is the most secluded corner of the café, a strategic choice. Your eyes flit to the door again when it jingles open, but it’s just a young blonde woman with a little Pomeranian tucked under her arm. She makes her way to the barista and places her order of a lavender matcha latte and an unglazed donut.
An unglazed donut? What’s the point? you think.
You shake your head and force yourself to expel a deep breath. You wish you could’ve done this over a week ago, but you respected Benny’s wishes. He’d needed more time, and really, that was the least you could do.
A few minutes later, the little bell above the door chimes again. The familiar footfalls of heavy boots alert you to the even more familiar black jacket and jeans combo. Benny comes into view, his eyes finding you across the room in mere seconds. His face remains stoic as he approaches you.
Even now, you have no idea what he’s thinking. Is he going to be icy toward you and not say a word? Is he going to shout at you, berate you, accuse you of wasting three whole years of his life? You would probably just sit here and take it, whatever it would be. You feel like you deserve it.
Instead, he just lowers into the chair opposite you at the table. He takes a breath and rests his elbows on the table. For a moment, he just stares back at you and takes you in, from your face, lightly done with makeup, to your pretty blouse, jeans, and ankle boots.
“You look good,” he says, his tone rueful. “You don’t gotta be scared though. Not like I’m gonna start cussin’ you out in front God and everybody.”
Your lips hint at a smile. His dry brand of humor briefly lightens you.
“You know me. Overthinking is my thing,” you say. Biting your lip, your gaze lowers to the way you toy with your fingers in your lap. “Look, Benny. I wouldn’t blame you for being angry with me. You can even hate me if you want.”
Benny crosses his arms on the table, contemplating. He eventually gives you a wry, melancholy sort of smile. “Part of me’s still mad at you, I won’t lie…but there’s no use in it. Not even hating you.”
He shakes his head, and he sighs.
“Truth is, Dean and I think a lot alike,” he says. His blue-eyed gaze meets yours. “Because the moment I met you, I liked what I saw. I just had the bad luck of him getting to you first.”
Your face burns with a blush. Once again, you bite your lip.
Benny huffs a wry chuckle. “This week, I’ve been thinking…maybe I shoulda seen this coming.”
Your brows furrow. “What do you mean?”
“Believe it or not, I noticed things. Things, I didn’t want to at the time,” he says. His eyes fall away from you after a moment. “You remember when you were pregnant with Robbie, and you came to the firehouse with some cookies for everybody?”
You blink at that. “Yeah, sure.”
That was the day you thought that…well, you got a hint that Benny might like you. You’d dismissed it at the time because you were so damn pregnant, waddling and sliding around like a parade float. You had wanted to test out your latest recipe of chocolate chip cookies on Dean, and the rest of the guys at the firehouse.
“Well, I knew you went there looking for Dean,” Benny says. “I saw the way your eyes lit up when he finally came by. And I saw the look on his face when he saw it was you and me together, laughin’, havin’ a good time.”
He shakes his head. “I saw that look again when I went to visit you at the hospital, the day Robbie was born… Come to think of it, this all could’ve ended that day.”
You leaned forward in your seat, now hooked on his every word. A frown pulls at your lips, while a wry one tugs at his.
“If a man wants something, he fights for it. That’s something I’ve learned, what I’ve always known to be true,” Benny says. “I thought I’d lost my chance with you before then. But when you told me you were afraid of being alone, and I saw the way Dean was all wrapped up with Lisa…I thought, shit, I could be the man you leaned on. Why not me?”
The man pauses, as if sorting back through the catalogue of memories, feelings, thoughts. He meets your sad gaze.
“But I was selfish,” he admits. “I should’ve gone to my friend and knocked some goddamn sense into him, tell him to talk to you if he really wanted you. To be the man you needed him to be. To truly be there for his family. Now, here we are.”
You fold your hands in front of your lips as you process all of this, trying to figure out what to think, let alone what to say. You do know that this is the most you’ve ever seen Benny open up.
“So if I blame you, ‘cher, I gotta blame myself just as much. At this point, all we can do is move on,” Benny says. He becomes contemplative, rubbing his bearded chin. “I gotta ask though. How’s Robbie doin’ with all of this?”
You brush a couple of tears away from your cheeks, swiping under your eyes for good measure. God, when will I be done with all this damn crying? But you take a sip of your coffee just for something to delay your answer. You knew the question would come eventually, but it still hurts you, knowing it’ll probably hurt the man in front of you.
“He misses you,” you say.
And it’s true. Your son loves Benny too—a strong, solid presence in his life since the beginning.
“You’ve told him…everything?” Benny asks. “About you and Dean too?”
You nod. “We told him last weekend.”
Benny snorts. “Y’all didn’t waste no time.”
“We didn’t want to keep it a secret. I think that would’ve been worse.”
“Nah, I get it,” he says. He drums his fingers on the table in contemplation. After a while, his blue eyes meet yours. “The kid’s happy though, isn’t he?”
You nod, giving him an honest answer. Dean is already living with you. He’s just in the process of moving his stuff out of his and Lisa’s apartment. She’s going to finish off the lease in a few months, then move out of there herself.
However, through all of the adult chaos and logistics, Robbie is all beaming smiles and excited chatter when his dad comes home. The three of you eat dinner as a family. You and Dean get to tuck in your son together at night, and wake up together the next day, sharing more than just a bed and a morning cup of coffee.
“He is,” you say. “But look, you can come by and see him, if you want to.”
“I’d like that,” Benny nods. “Just to say goodbye.”
“It doesn’t have to be forever,” you say. Once again, guilt threatens to eat you alive. “You and Dean were friends long before I came into the picture.”
Benny’s lips hint at a smile, but it doesn’t reach his eyes.
“That might well be,” he says, “but there are some things that are best left put to rest.”
You know then that he means more than just your relationship.
After a beat, he stands from the table. You attempt to take in a steadying breath as you get to your feet along with him.
“I’m sorry,” you say again.
“Me too, sweetheart,” Benny says. He takes your hand and gives it one final squeeze. Neither of you say goodbye.
It may not be the last time you see each other. It’s a small town, after all. But there’s a good chance that this will be the last time you and Benny will speak for a good long while.
A few weeks later, Benny’s cart crashes into something solid in the spirits aisle of the grocery store—another cart.
That bumps into a young woman’s ass, making her yelp as she loses her balance. The merlot she was considering slips out of her hand and shatters in a plummy spill across the linoleum.
“Aw shit,” she grouses. Her head swivels over her shoulder to find a wide-eyed Benny with a glare. “Bro! Are you serious?”
He snaps out of his reverie and immediately goes over to try and help. He pushes his own cart away goes over to her, mindful of the glass under his boots.
“I’m sorry, 'cher. My bad,” he says, reaching out a hand to her. Shards of glass surrounds her in her heeled wedges. They go nicely with her blue slacks and crème-colored blazer…which is now flecked with wine.
She accepts his helping hand, albeit with a raised brow. “Cher? What, the 'do believe in life after love' lady?”
Benny pauses, but embarrassment isn’t the only thing that makes him falter. He can’t help but notice her smooth, bronze skin, her hazel eyes, her shiny brown hair coiled in a soft wave. She’s beautiful. Her clothes are expensive. She’s entirely out of his league.
“Uh, no, ma'am. Just a token of where I’m from,” Benny says. He gestures to the spill at their feet while she manages to step away from it. “Here, I’ll pay for that bottle, plus another one for you.”
Her lips twitch upward. Cocking her head, she turns and points at the price tag under the bottle she’d grabbed up.
“You wanna buy me a $50 bottle of wine?” she says. Plus the one he spilled.
Benny smiles. “And dinner to go along with it, if you want.”
She blinks, her mouth parting in surprise. But he finally wins her smile too. She takes a $15 bottle off the shelf instead.
“Believe me, this one’s better,” she says. “Where are you from, exactly?”
“Louisiana,” Benny replies.
“Hmm, interesting,” she says.
He arches a curious brow. “You?”
Her eyes take on a playful gleam. “Greece. Yes, I’m new in town. Yes, there’s a semi-interesting story behind it. We’ll save that for dinner though.”
Benny chuckles. “Well, all right.”
When a grocery store employee comes over to assess the damage, Benny promises that he’ll cover it. He and the young woman make their way to the checkout together with their carts.
“So, uh, what’s your name?” Benny asks.
She glances at him with a smile. “Andréa.”
Six months later, Eileen tearfully accepts being your Maid of Honor. You go about asking her cautiously, knowing Lisa is still her best friend. Eileen is gracious though. She admits to you that she advised Lisa to break things off with Dean more than once in their “five-year rollercoaster.”
“She just had an idea of what she wanted for her life, you know? And she’s stubborn about it. She thought Dean was the One,” Eileen tells you that afternoon. You two sip from your wine glasses on her sofa while Robbie and his three-year-old cousin are with Sam and Dean, out at a baseball game.
“I told her that Dean seemed…well, divided. At least when it came to her,” she says. “But Lisa swore that he just needed time. Time to get the hang of balancing his job, Robbie, and his relationship with her. As much as I love Lisa, I just think she didn’t want to see the signs that he wasn’t in love with her. Not enough to make him stay.”
You feel conflicted for more than one reason. On one hand, you do feel sorry for Lisa. On the other hand, you wish she would’ve just let Dean go after the first time they had that blowout argument that got them kicked out of the local Denny’s.
You hesitate before you ask, “How is she doing?”
Eileen smiles, and she signs as she speaks, knowing you’ve been practicing your ASL.
“She’s good actually. She met a guy at a yoga retreat out in Sacramento. She’s moving there in the fall. Not really for him, but because she wants a fresh start.”
“I could see that,” you nod. It’s hard to move on with your life in a small town like Lawrence, Kansas, where everybody knows your business. You’re honest when you say, “I hope she finds what she’s looking for.”
Eileen nods in agreement. Then, her eyes shift with a conspiring gleam.
“So, did you hear about Benny?”
Your eyes widen. “No, what? Is he okay?”
“Oh, I can’t believe you don’t know.”
“Girl, what?!”
“He eloped with that girl from Greece. Sam told me. They’re on a plane right now, headed to meet her family in Kalamata!”
You gasp, covering your mouth with both hands. You laugh, mostly out of shock. Eileen laughs just at the look on your face. The two of you giggle and finish your gossip along with a bottle of wine.
You’ve never met Benny’s girlfriend…excuse you, wife. Your shock turns into concern, just for a hot minute. But the more you think about it, you know that the man isn’t impulsive. It’s not in his blood. So you also have to believe that he hasn’t made this decision lightly.
From the bottom of your heart, you’re happy for him.
You almost choke on a laugh when Dean doesn’t quite get the whole chunk of complimentary chocolate into your mouth.
“Come on, baby. I know you can open wider than that,” he teases.
You laugh harder, covering your mouth so you don’t drop anything. You have to set down your champagne glass on the edge of the tub, however precarious that might be.
“Babe, if you make me get anything on this dress, I may just have to kill you,” you say. Though your threat doesn’t have much effect with your shoulders shaking with laughter.
You wiggle your toes in the hot water that’s risen up to your ankles in the tub while you and Dean sit on the edge. You’re severely regretting having a winter wedding, or at least just the part where you had to trudge through the snow on the way to your husband’s ’67 Chevy. Thank God it had just been a few minutes to the hotel.
For the sake of unfreezing your feet, the white satin and lace of your dress is bunched up high on your thighs, since you’re not quite ready to take it off yet. Dean has his slacks rolled up halfway to his knees while his feet warm up beside yours.
He looks edible himself. His suit jacket lies strewn across the edge of the king-sized bed, leaving his white dress shirt rolled up to the elbows. His tie is gone too, leaving quite a few buttons by his collar left open, and a tantalizing strip of tanned skin visible to your wandering eyes.
“What does it matter? Are you really ever gonna wear this again?” he says as he fingers the soft hem of your skirt. He then brushes the back of his hand against your arm, your shoulder, your cheek. You smile and lean into his hand.
“’Course I am. Whenever I wanna feel all pretty and bride-like,” you say.
Dean’s smile crinkles the corner of his eyes. He cups your cheek and brings you closer, but he stops just shy of your lips.
“Well, for one thing, you’re already beautiful. Two, you’re always gonna be my bride.” He punctuates that uncharacteristic cheesiness with a kiss that warms you down to your toes. You grab ahold of his collar and breathe into it, humming softly.
You part from him, just to tell him something that’s been burning on your heart.
“Can you promise me something?”
His thumb brushes against your lower lip, flashing you a little smirk. “Depends.”
Your lips press together, but you can’t help the smile trying to break through. You catch each button on his shirt with your nails to undo the rest of them, one by one.
“No matter what comes next, whatever arguments, fights, drama, all of it, promise me that you’ll remember right now. Tonight,” you say. “Remember that you’re my best friend. My love. The father of my kid. None of that ever changes.”
Dean pulls you in even closer by your waist. His long fingers run along the small round buttons lacing down your spine. Already he’s calculating how he’s going to pop every one of them open without ruining your pretty dress.
“It’s a promise, sweetheart,” he says. And just like the vows he made in that chapel, he means these words with every conviction. “None of it ever changes.”
Well, there are some things that change. They have to, after all.
One of the biggest ones happens almost a year to the day after your winter wedding. Your daughter is born on January 25th at exactly 12:05 A.M.
Dean calls her the best belated birthday present he’s ever gotten.
He wipes at his watery eyes when his brother steps into the hospital room, where only Dean and your mom had been allowed in during the delivery. (He wanted to avoid the clusterfuck of commotion that happened the first time you were in labor. You had wholeheartedly agreed.)
While Eileen stays behind for now with their son, Sam guides Robbie inside by his shoulders. The kid had been ambivalent about the new arrival when you and Dean first told him you were going to have another baby, but in the nine-ish months since, the eight-year-old has begun to come around to the idea of having a little sister. He approaches your bedside, encouraged by your tired smile.
“Hey, baby. Meet the baby,” you joke.
Dean welcomes Robbie over with a hand on his shoulder, squeezing warmly. Robbie hesitates, but he leans up on his toes to peer at the bundle wrapped in your arms. He considers her little face peeking out of the downy crème blanket. She wears a little pink cap to keep her newborn head warm.
“She’s beautiful,” Sam says, giving you a kiss on the cheek.
“She’s so tiny,” Robbie says.
“You were just like that,” Dean says, “’til you sprouted up outta the ground like a stalk a’ wheat.”
Robbie gives his father an indignant look. “I didn’t pop outta the ground!”
You shush him softly, despite your shoulders shaking with laughter. Sam thumps his older brother’s back. The two share a look that’s suspiciously shiny, full of nostalgia.
Dean soothes a hand over Robbie’s head.
“You’re a big brother now, son,” he says. “It’s a big responsibility. Think you can handle it?”
Robbie looks a little uncertain. His gaze leaves his dad and falls on the baby. The more he stares at her peaceful sleeping face, the more she looks kinda cute to him. He smiles.
“Yeah,” he says.
He reaches out and gently touches her cheek. Her skin is soft and delicate. His fingertips are slow and careful.
You and Dean glance at one another. Your eyes blur over with tears, but your husband is there to lean in and press a kiss to your forehead.
“We still gotta decide on a name,” he whispers.
That, you know. It hasn’t been any easier picking your daughter’s name than it was your son. Sue you if you refuse to name your child after another rocker, no matter how badass Stevie Nicks is.
You bite your lip, leaning your head on Dean’s shoulder as a giddy laugh pours out of you.
“Game on, baby.”
AN: And there we have it! We went a little deeper into some things that were implied and touched on in Part 2, but hopefully it feels like a more complete ending to this version of Dean and the reader's story, along with everyone else in between! ❤️❤️🔥❤️
In a couple of weeks, for those of you who read Smoke Eater, there will be a little sequel drabble that sees that version of firefighter!Dean getting another big piece of his dream...
Join My Patreon 🌟 Get early access to new stories, bonus content, and first looks at upcoming stories, send me requests, and more!
Series Masterlist
Dean Winchester Series List
Dean Winchester Masterlist
Main Masterlist
Dean Winchester Tag List (Part 1):
@luci-in-trenchcoats @lamentationsofalonelypotato @winchestergirl2 @deans-spinster-witch @roseblue373
@hobby27 @kazsrm67 @foxyjwls007 @mostlymarvelgirl @kaleldobrev
@globetrotter28 @midnightmadwoman @chevroletdean @lyarr24 @ladysparkles78
@waywardxwords @waynes-multiverse @twinkleinadiamondsky @my-stories-vault @0ccvltism
@rizlowwritessortof @k-slla @jackles010378 @alwaystiredandconfused @nancymcl
@this-is-me19 @spnwoman @illicithallways @pieandmonsters @deansbbyx
@mimaria420 @stoneyggirl2 @fics-pics-andotherthings-i-like @cheynovak @jollyhunter
@deanwinchestersgirl87 @rachiem4-blog @leigh70 @aylacavebear @jessjad
@kmc1989 @siampie @rubyvhs @masked-lost-girl @spnbabe67
@deanbrainrotwritings @alwaystiredandconfused @supernotnatural2005 @redhoodieone
#If I Stay#Epilogue - Soul Surrender#dean winchester x reader#dean winchester fanfiction#dean winchester x plus size!reader#dean winchester x plus sized!reader#dean winchester x you#dean winchester fic#dean winchester smut#spn#supernatural#sam winchester#jensen ackles#dean winchester#dean winchester au#firefighter!dean winchester#firefighter!dean#firefighter!au#dean winchester imagine#dean x reader#dean x you#spn fanfic#supernatural fanfiction#supernatural imagine#dean#supernatural fandom#jackles#lisa braeden#benny lafitte#zepskies writes
174 notes
·
View notes
Note
I headcanon the mounting spring MC using some sexual terms not knowing they're, well, sexual due to her upbringing, and just casually using them with Levi while he's just flabbergasted. Example 1:
"Can you give me backshots?"
"...what?!"
"Back massage? I have a terrible ache from riding in the cart."
"..."
Example 2:
"Stop being so stubborn and let me give you head!"
"Excuse me?!"
"Head? You know, like advice or opinion?"
"What the actual fuck are you talking about? Don't say that to anyone else."
Example 3:
"Oh, I'm really craving a good creampie right now. Can you arrange for it?"
Levi, trying not to smirk, "I'll give you as many as you want next spring."
"???"
And maybe she heard something about husbands giving their wives "facials" or "pearl necklaces" and asks him about it? And another joke that you added in Holy ground about "eating out" and "making out", yeah that was really good as well XD I absolutely love "miscommunication" and "misunderstandings" like these hehe
HAHAHAHAHA You know... great minds think alike because THIS IS AN SCENE OF THE UPCOMING CHAPTER HAHA:
Levi shoved the itchy gray blanket higher over his shoulder with a decisive tug, like he was drawing a line—marking the end of whatever pushy conversation she thought she could keep going. His bare legs stuck out the bottom—he’d long given up on staying fully dressed in this godforsaken heat, modesty has lost the battle—but ditching the blanket altogether felt like surrendering to the cold. That was too much. Some things just made sense, even if they didn’t.
One arm folded beneath his head, his face turned away from her, eyes squeezed shut with deliberate force, his brows deeply furrowed. He wasn’t asleep—anyone could tell—but he was clearly committed to faking it. Or at least, forcing the night to end by sheer will. Mostly, he was hoping she’d get the message.
“Levi…” she called out again.
“Go to sleep,” he muttered, each word bitten off and heavy with exhaustion. Her persistence was wearing him down, strand by strand, like a fraying rope.
“But I need to ask you something…” She shifted upright slightly. Her voice had that unmistakable pouty tone—he could practically hear the lip quivering.
“Ask me in the morning.”
“But—” she protested, voice smaller now, embarrassed.
He groaned into the blanket. “For the love of—what could possibly be so important that it can’t wait till sunrise?”
Her voice dipped into a sheepish murmur. “It’s something I’ve been meaning to ask you…”
His brow twitched. Levi let out a longer breath, then scoffed. “And it just had to be asked at three in the damn morning? In a tent?”
“…Kinda.”
The awkward silence that followed was laced with too much emotion to ignore. He cracked one eye open and glanced over his shoulder. She was sitting up now, fiddling with her fingers and looking away.
‘…She’s kinda cute like that,’ he thought grimly, and instantly regretted it.
“I wanted to ask you in private,” she murmured.
Levi propped himself up on an elbow, gaze sharpening. Whatever this was, she clearly wasn’t going to drop it.
“What?” he asked, already annoyed, but clearly listening.
“Well, since you're my husband now and all… I guess it should be you who teaches me.” She was dancing around the words like they were hot coals, and that irritated him even more. He clicked his tongue. “I want to ride.”
His brain shut off.
“…What?”
“It was Hange idea!”
It’s just that his brain had already gone places. Dangerous, sweaty, deeply inappropriate places.
“I want you, as my husband, to teach me how to ride. I don’t really know how to do it, and I’m kinda ashamed, but I thought if I felt a little bit in control, I might be willing to try new things—”
Her awkward stammering was cut off by his sharp interruption, voice rough and suddenly tight.
“Riding what?” he cut in, voice suddenly dry and a little panicked, because his brain was already passing down all the decisions and thinking to his other head.
‘She’s that ready? I mean… I do prefer to be on top, but—shit, for a virgin, she’s eager but I guess it's easier for a virgin to see how much deep they want to go? And here? In a tent? I mean, I won’t be the first to do it like this, but… damn, I thought she'd want a bed at least.’
‘Not that I’m complaining, though.’
“A horse,” she said flatly, frowning at him like he was the idiot. What else is there to ride?”
All the tingling heat rushing down his spine screeched to a stop. His body had been seconds away from betraying him—his scent, his posture, everything had been more than ready to jump the gun. He was even ashamed of how quickly his own body betrayed him giving away a “I’m more than ready,” scent.
“Well,” he muttered under his breath, “I could think of a few things…”
She sniffed. “Wait. Why do you smell like that?”
“Go to bed, for fuck’s sake,” he growled, flipping back over and yanking the blanket high enough to bury half his face.
“Are you going to teach me or not?” A muffled thud followed, along with her yelp: “Don’t hit me with a pillow!”
“Shut up!” Levi hissed. “You’re gonna wake the whole damn camp!”
I AM 100% taking your ideas into consideration and they will be debated with the council (me).
#aot#attack on titan#aot levi#attack on titans#captain levi#captain levi ackerman x y/n#mounting spring#levi ackerman#levi x reader#lucy answers#omegaverse
158 notes
·
View notes
Note
CONSTANT CONCUSSIONS ARE. NOT GOOD. D:
(In reference to this educational post about Killie the Jockey and the common injuries experienced by racing jockeys.)
Concussions really aren’t good. They kill people. And racing pressures jockeys to normalise them, and punishes them for failing to.
In this 2024 article, a journalist for The Irish Field writing about racing jockeys and concussions begins with an opener that should have people biting their desks in half:
Reported rates of concussion or traumatic brain injuries [in racing jockeys] are higher than those in boxing, rugby and American football.
Before going on to note that jockeys try not to report concussions, with a sporting culture of lying like bastards not showing weakness:
It’s generally accepted that jockeys are extremely resilient and stoic when it comes to injuries, which ironically puts them in more danger and poses serious challenges to their doctors and raceday medical staff trying to help with concussion management. (…)
a study in 2020 showed that 32.4% of Irish amateur jockeys and 19.6% of professional jockeys participating in the study suspected that they had sustained a concussion that was never medically diagnosed, not through a lack of effort on the doctor’s side, but because the jockeys didn’t report their symptoms. (…)
One in two jockeys even said that they would continue to ride out if they had a suspected concussion. Their main reasons being that they didn’t consider a concussion serious (87.5%), not wanting to let anyone down (77.8%) and many even considered it a sign of weakness (74.1%).
Jockeys are almost all freelancers, and contracted ones who are injured on the job don’t receive loyalty from their owners. Winning jockeys are offered the best mounts, but everyone else has to scrounge and scrape for any work available - including taking on dangerous mounts, which creates a downward spiral. Desperate, hungry, anxious, tired, and broke jockeys taking on bad/losing/dangerous/injured mounts are more likely to perform badly, hurt themselves, lose more often, have accidents to themselves and the animals, continue to spiral… and conceal injury.
Jockeys don’t have worker’s unions, and if unable to work (temporarily or permanently) are sometimes supported by Injured Jockeys Funds - small independent charities that they pay into when they can. There’s perceived stigma about leaning on your people too much, though, and they wouldn’t turn to these funds for something “small” like a concussion that only requires a little time off, when the funds also have to stretch to jockeys who are permanently paralysed.
Jockeys are responsible for buying their own safety gear (which comes out of their body weight allowance) meaning that, as the article reports, they often ride in unsuitable equipment. (Remembering that their safety equipment is a lightweight helmet and a lightly padded vest.) the Irish Injured Jockeys Fund offers €100 to buy back broken helmets, but a good helmet costs about €150 and it doesn’t seem to be enough incentive to stop jockeys riding in broken helmets.
Addressing the worry about losing work might help.
There are no binding contracts in racing that guarantee a jockey will still have a career, once he or she has recovered from an injury…
I believe that if jockeys had some security that they wouldn’t effectively be punished by owners and trainers for reporting a head injury then the jockeys would be more comfortable with being honest in reporting symptoms.
As for Killie - he is an idiot. But he has someone on his side!
Even if his boyfriend is only able to say: this is where you stop.
243 notes
·
View notes
Text
Some fluffy bucktommy 🫶🏻
Some positive and fluffy bucktommy to fight the nasty anons. Once again, thanks @fuselsstuff for helping me fine tune this and cheering me on ❤️✨ Lol also, this was supposed to be so much shorter 😭
“Evan, sweetheart, what are you doing?’’ Tommy finally asked, his voice both sounding exasperated and amused. The words broke the tranquil quiet that had settled over the room for the past 40 minutes, save for the occasional contented hum from Evan.
“Hmm?” Evan replied distractedly, as his hand slid over Tommy’s chest, pausing to gently squeeze one of his pecs. He sighed blissfully, then moved his hand to the other side, giving it the same reverent attention.
Tommy raised an eyebrow, his confusion mounting. “Are you…going somewhere with this?” He tried not to sound impatient, but come on—Evan had been sticking to his side, leaning on one elbow, trailing his hands across Tommy’s chest and stomach as if he were trying to memorize every inch of him through his hands alone.
Tommy, hadn’t minded, at least not at first. He loved the way Evan touched him—always so deliberate and sure, like he couldn't believe Tommy was real and couldn't get enough of him. When he’d started touching Tommy earlier this afternoon, the attention had sent heat pooling low in his stomach. His cock slowly plumping up as Evan’s sure hands squeezed, rubbed and massaged him. He’d tried to tug Evan closer, deepen the kisses they’d shared, only for Evan to pull away after a couple of seconds and bat his hands away with a pout and softly murmured, “Stop moving.”
And Tommy, the completely smitten fool that he was, had stilled, letting Evan do as he pleased. But now? Almost 50 minutes in, Tommy felt like he was going to crawl out of his own skin if Evan didn't give him some relief. He had thought Evan had been edging him, but the longer this went on, the more bewildered he became. Evans' attention hadn’t seemed sexual.
Especially now, with Evan’s hands framing his stomach. The younger man gave an almost dreamy sigh, one of his palms moving to splay wide over Tommy’s skin as he murmured something so impossibly soft to hear.
“Evan,” Tommy prompted again, trying and failing to hold back a laugh. “Seriously, baby, what are you doing?”
Evan finally looked up at him, his blue eyes warm and sparkling mischievously. “I am appreciating you,” he stated, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.
“Appreciating me?” Tommy echoed dubiously, huffing out a laugh. “Like prime beef? Should I be concerned?” Tommy asked, running his hands through Evan’s curls.
Evan laughed, the sound always warming Tommy and filling him with an insurmountable amount of love. “No,” briefly running his fingers up his sides, making him squirm. Tommy gave Evan a don't you dare look.
“Trust me, I'd love to eat you—just not like that,” Evan winked at him, and instead of tickling Tommy like he’d feared. He just went back to stroking his chest again, almost lingering like he was trying to commit the shape of him to memory. “Do you know how lucky I am to have you?”
Tommy scoffed in disbelief. He’d always known he was the lucky one here. “Ev—”
“No, I'm serious,” Evan said, lifting himself up higher so he could look Tommy in the eyes. “Just look at you. You're…perfect. So sexy and just…” Evan’s voice trails off, seemingly overwhelmed.
Tommy blinked, caught off guard by the sincerity and intensity in Evan’s tone.
“I mean it,” Evan said, his voice softening. “You’re so solid and warm, and I love how you feel under my hands. It’s like…” He trailed off, his gaze far away for a moment before he grinned sheepishly at him. “It's like your favorite blanket, the one you would always use when you were a kid. Y’know?” Evan shrugged, before looking away again, his cheeks flushing red. “Safe. Comfortable. The best place to be.”
Tommy stared at him, his heart doing a funny little flip in his chest. “So I'm a blanket now?” he teased, though he somehow perfectly understood what Evan meant.
“Toooommy,” Evan whined, feeling embarrassed he hid from him, laying his head on Tommy’s stomach.
“Sorry, you're just so adorable,” Tommy said warmly, looking down at the ridiculously endearing sight of his boyfriend rubbing his head on his stomach like a cat, murmuring something that sounded suspiciously like, mine.
“So, are you going to be done soon?” Tommy asked, trying to get back to the issue at hand, his cock still begging for some attention, though his heart was feeling incredibly warm and full at the moment. “You know, appreciating me?.
“Never,” Evan grumbled. “I'm gonna appreciate you forever if i have any say in it” he looked up at Tommy, daring him to disagree with him.
Tommy shook his head, he’d gladly let Evan win this one. His heart raced at the thought of forever. Of more afternoons like these, feeling safe, warm and happy in each other's arms.
“I love you,” Tommy said, his voice full of meaning as he gazed down at Evan, his hand stroking gently though his curls again.
Evan stilled for a moment, breath hitching like it always did when Tommy told him he loved him, like he still couldn't believe it—before a wide smile bloomed on his face. “I love you too,” Evan whispered. He leaned up and kissed Tommy, slow and sweet, as if pouring every ounce of that love into his kiss.
Tommy’s chest ached in the best way as he pulled Evan closer, wrapping his arms around him.
Their love settled around them, filling every crevice of the room, an unshakeable, unmovable force.
#completely inspired by wanting to worship Lou’s body#thank you photo shoot#of course Buck is obsessed#have you seen tommy#bucktommy#tommy kinard#evan buckley#a lil silly#fluff#my writing
205 notes
·
View notes