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aureatelys · 26 days ago

Text

she lives in daydreams with me

pairing: aaron hotchner/fem!bau!reader rating: explicit w.c.: 7k.......

content warnings: 18+ please MDNI, fluff and smut, service kink sorta, mild d/s undertones, oral (f) receiving, vaginal fingering, semi public sex, age gap duh, employee/boss relationship duh, an excuse to write hotch eating pussy ngl

It all started with a cup of coffee. Or: You've had a crush on your boss for a long time, but you've recently started noticing him going out of his way to do things for you without you asking. Or or: Aaron Hotchner likes to do things for people. And by people, he means you.

read on ao3 or below <3

It all started with a cup of coffee.

You had just walked through the glass doors and into the bullpen, still waking up and desperately needing a cup of coffee, when JJ walks by you with a stack of folders in her arms. She gives you that look and motions towards the conference room.

You sigh and follow her, not even bothering to put your bag down at your desk. “That bad, huh?”

JJ grimaces. “Isn’t it always?”

You choose not to say anything, because she’s right. Lately, the cases have been getting more gruesome, more violent, and you’re wondering if it’s starting to affect you at all.

You pass by Hotch as he’s leaving his office and down the stairs, most likely going to make a coffee. You nod at him, giving him a small smile. “Good morning.”

“Morning,” Hotch says, curt as always. He makes eye contact with you briefly, silently telling you that he is still waking up as well and that he’s not being curt on purpose, before looking away.

Thankfully, it’s been a couple of months since you’ve joined the team, so now you know that Hotch doesn’t actually hate you like you suspected. In fact, he seems to have taken a liking to you based on the number of dry jokes and banter he’s participated in just this week. It definitely doesn’t help the tiny, miniscule crush you have on him.

You don’t know where it came from. Hotch has always been an objectively attractive man, but it’s not often you have a crush on a man who is your boss who is more than 20 years older than you.

Maybe it happened last month, when you were on the jet and he was placing files onto the table to run through theories, and you noticed just how large his hands were. Or maybe, it started when you had knocked before entering his office and he hadn’t noticed you because he was on the phone with who you assumed was Jack based on the excited whispers and soft smile on his face. Or, to your horror, maybe it started when you walked in for your interview, and you felt something stir in the pit of your stomach when he looked you up and down, his eyes lingering on the form-fitting pencil skirt you had worn.

A very tiny crush, you think to yourself as you situate yourself in the conference room, throwing your bag underneath the table.

It’s still dark outside, barely 6 in the morning, and the entire floor was quiet while JJ set up the files and photos. You yawn and you’re just about to get up and make your cup of coffee since there was still some time left before everyone showed up, when a mug is placed in front of you.

You stare at it, halfway out of your chair, before the wonderful smell of that bad yet addicting office coffee hits you and you sit down.

You look up to find Hotch sitting down at the head of the table with his own steaming mug. He looks at you, not smiling, but his eyes are soft. “I hope I got it right.”

You look back at your coffee. It’s the perfect color. He even used your designated mug you brought from home, plain and pink, and the image of him carrying it through the office makes you want to giggle.

You don’t giggle, and instead carefully pick it up and bring it to your lips to take a sip. It’s warm and absolutely delicious, sweetened the way you like, which is a lot. How does he know, you blink, a bit shocked that Hotch was able to make your coffee perfectly, more perfectly than you’re able to make sometimes.

So you tell him. “This is better than when I make it. Thank you,” you say sincerely, and chalk up the warmth sparking in your stomach to be from the coffee.

“Don’t mention it,” Hotch says, the corner of his mouth quirking up before turning back to his own mug and taking a sip.

You feel pleased that he thought of you, and then a little anxious because why is he thinking of you? He’s never made you coffee before and you wonder how he knew you like your coffee tasting more like sugar than the actual coffee. You blame it on the fact that he probably saw how tired you looked and knew you needed a little caffeine to start the day.

“Morning ladies,” Derek announces, striding in with too much energy this early in the morning, and making you jump a bit. He laughs at your reaction and then notices the man sitting at the table, looking up at him wordlessly. “And Hotch.”

“Morning,” he says flatly, raising his eyebrows at him.

Derek laughs and chooses to situate himself between you and Hotch. You silently try not to be annoyed by that as you take another gulp from your coffee, and then internally beat yourself up because why would you be annoyed, he’s doing you a favor.

You start reading up on the file that JJ placed in front of you when Morgan asks “Hey, where’s my cup of coffee?”

You glance at him, still holding onto your mug like a lifeline, to find him looking at you almost offended. You shrug. “I didn’t make it.”

Morgan whips his head around to look at Hotch, who acts as if he didn’t hear him. “Where’s my specially made Hotch coffee?”

He doesn’t even look up. “I only have two hands.”

You snort, almost choking, while JJ laughs and Morgan scoffs before he gets up to go downstairs to the break room.

You glance at Hotch to find him smiling to himself, mirth in his eyes, and feel the warmth in your chest again despite how tired you feel.

It’s probably the caffeine.

The next time it happens, it’s after you had gotten shot.

To be fair, you’ve been shot a handful of times already since being on the team, but still. You hate being shot at.

Luckily, this time it was your leg and not your stomach like last time, which absolutely fucking sucked. You had been on bedrest for weeks and was going crazy in your apartment despite Penelope visiting you every day, bringing takeout or a steamy romance novel.

You’re currently in a hospital in Texas, leg in a cast, and starting to get antsy. They told you you’re going to be able to discharge later today, but you’re ready now.

“Relax,” Hotch says where he’s sitting at your bedside, not even looking up. He’s finishing up some reports from the case they just finished, laptop on the bed providing a warm presence against your thigh. You try not to ogle at his hands. How is he even able to work with hands that big?

“I’m just ready to go home,” you say through gritted teeth. “I don’t know why we can’t just leave now, I’m fine.”

“You’re lucky the bullet didn’t hit a nerve,” Hotch says, now looking up at you. There’s a frown on his face and his eyes are tired. The bags underneath his are deeper, darker, and you ignore the pang in your chest when you remember the frantic shouts of him calling for an ambulance after you got shot, the warmth of his hands on your calf to press against the wound.

“I’m fine,” you say, rolling your eyes. “What I’m worried about is what I’m going to do the next case we get.”

If possible, his frown deepens. “You’re not coming with us on the next one.”

Something like irritability rises up your throat. “Yes, I am. I can still work in this stupid cast.”

“Yes, but the doctor said you need rest,” Hotch states, sitting up a little straighter after seeing the look on your face. He knows how stubborn you can get, and this time is no different.

“I can rest on the jet, at the precincts.” You cross your arms, raising an eyebrow defiantly at him. “I can still be helpful. I’m not useless.” Like hell you were going to go crazy in your apartment again, living off of frozen pizza and reality TV.

Hotch sighs, and whatever he’s about to say is interrupted by a nurse coming in to check your vitals one more time, your pain level, and then giving you the rundown to be careful, get some rest, blah blah blah.

Somehow Hotch is the one who is tasked with driving you to the airport after you get discharged, the rest of the team already on the jet. You hobble awkwardly through the parking lot with your crutches, and Hotch is right next to you with his hand on the small of your back in case you fall. His hand is warm, nearly setting your whole back on fire, and you shake that thought away as you stumble a bit into the passenger side of his car.

“Are you okay?” Hotch asks as he puts your crutches in the backseat. His eyebrows are furrowed as he looks at you with concern, his hands already out to catch you just in case.

You fight a blush and sit down with a grunt. “Yep, I got it.”

The drive to the jet is quiet besides the low hum of the radio. You stare out the window the whole time, just happy to finally feel the warmth of the sun on your face.

“Do you need me to stop for anything?” You turn your head to look at Hotch. He has some stubble forming on his cheeks, hair mussed, and he’s wearing that brown quarter zip-up you like. He has his eyes on the road and turns to look at you, eyebrow cocked. His lips are chapped.

You are struck with the thought of how insanely handsome he is.

You clear your throat. “Nothing I can think of.”

Hotch hums. “Let me know if there’s anything you’re needing.”

You nod silently, and five minutes later, you’re on the tarmac and stumbling up into the jet. Hotch’s hand is at your back again, barely grazing you, and making sure you don’t fall down the stairs. He’s holding onto your crutches despite your protests, and you try not to feel a little indignant.

“There she is,” Morgan singsongs as you plop down into a seat with a sigh. “How’re you feeling?”

“Ready to go home to my bed,” you say, immediately slouching down to get comfortable.

“I feel that,” Emily laughs, nodding, and then she’s patting you on the shoulder before she sits behind you.

Hotch sits across from you, and you try not to think about how this seating chart has become a normal occurrence. He doesn’t seem to mind, however, based on the small smile he gives you.

He’s setting up his laptop and takes out a couple of files from the bag. He then reaches in and places something on the table in front of you. A water bottle and a small bag of trail mix.

“Oh,” you say, caught off guard and not knowing what else to say.

Hotch clears his throat, averting his gaze. “I know you don’t really like hospital food. So.”

You’re suddenly reminded of the coffee incident, where he somehow knew how to make your coffee exactly the way you liked it and continued to do so almost every day since. You can feel Reid staring a hole into the side of your face from where he’s lying on the couch across the aisle.

Your stomach grumbles then, loudly, and you hear Emily laugh behind you. Hotch glances up at you from where he already has a file open. The corners of his mouth just barely quirk up, almost smug. As if he knew that was going to happen.

You wonder when he had the time to get you a snack. It didn’t come from the kitchenette in the jet, having been out of stock of snacks for weeks, and he hadn’t really left your side while you were in the hospital.

“Thanks,” you finally say. You reach forward to open the bag of trail mix. “You didn’t have to.”

Hotch’s eyes soften, his eyebrows relaxed, and there’s concern and something else in his eyes when he says “I wanted to.”

You smile before you can help yourself, ducking your head, and hoping no one else can hear how fast your heart was racing.

You’re hit with the fact that Hotch was thinking of you, planning ahead to get you a snack and make sure you were fed before you guys made it home. You notice the lack of snacks for the rest of the team and try to ignore the thrill that goes through you. It’s like he knows what you want before you know yourself.

Like he’s taking care of you.

You nearly choke on a cashew when the thought occurs to you. Hotch’s head shoots up at the sound, looking alarmed, and it looks like he’s about to get up and hit you on the back when you wave him off. He doesn’t look satisfied until you take a swig from your water bottle and give him a thumbs up. He goes back to tapping away at his laptop, but you can tell he’s still watching you out of the corner of his eye.

It makes sense now that you think about it. He’s made a habit of checking in with you at the end of the day, offering to drive you home if you stay at the office too late. Whenever you check out a location while on a case, he always goes first. He makes sure you’re getting enough sleep, reminding you that you can take time off whenever you want.

You’re not sure if you’re imagining it, but ever since The Coffee Incident, you feel another pair of eyes on you more often than usual. Sometimes you would look up and see Hotch staring fixatedly on a particular file or his phone, but you can’t deny the prickling feeling you get on the back of your neck. You’ve noticed your fingertips touching more, sharing looks when the rest of the team argue, knees and feet knocking together underneath tables.

You’ve noticed that not only is Aaron Hotchner, your boss, very handsome but extremely and undeniably hot.

His broad shoulders, his tall stature. His cologne, the way he fills out his suits. His deep voice that’s able to dominate and control an entire room and make you weak in the knees.

“Interesting,” you mumble to yourself. Hotch glances at you with that same concern etched in his face, a question forming on his lips. You smile at him innocently and knock your knees against his underneath the table. It’s easy to find him with the annoying cast on your leg.

He knocks his knees back, gentler than he needs to, and a corner of his mouth just barely lifts.

You are absolutely sure now that Aaron Hotchner has a… thing.

You don’t know what to call the… thing, but there is undoubtedly a thing.

It’s late and you’re the last one in the office. Well, besides Hotch of course, because he practically lives at the office.

“Are you sure you don’t want us to stay?” Emily asks, JJ on her arm. “I’m sure we can find something for us to do.”

You wave them away. “I’m almost done. Just got at least 2 more reports I need to finish my notes. Promise.”

Emily frowns, but you can see she’s slowly walking backwards to the exit. JJ looks like she’s trying not to tug at Emily’s arm to walk faster. “If you’re sure…”

You roll your eyes. “Go on and have fun with… whatever you guys are going to do. I don’t want to know.”

JJ gives you a wink over her shoulder and you watch as they head into the elevator, a skip in her step. And then they’re gone.

Even though you had just gotten back from the case, it takes you awhile to finish your notes hunching over your desk. It’s quiet in the building, silent besides the faint hum of the air conditioner and your pen scratching at the paper. Your hand cramps a bit and you seriously wonder why this has to be handwritten rather than being in the current century and use a laptop. You’re motivated by the thought of sleeping in tomorrow morning though, which means getting up at 9 instead of your normal 6.

You lean back into your chair, staring at your completed notes. You hear paper rustling from the office upstairs and look up to see Hotch’s door slightly ajar. You suddenly feel nervous being alone with him, as if you haven’ t been alone with him countless of times before. Recently, however, it’s been happening more, and you’re not quite sure how to feel.

You get up from your desk and stretch your back, groaning when you hear a pop. You take a deep breath, imagine your soft bed, gather your reports for the final signature, and head upstairs.

You knock, hear a faint “Come in,” and step inside Hotch’s office, closing the door behind you.

He has his desk lamp on, washing his office and his face with a warm golden glow. He hasn’t even looked up from where he’s writing his own reports, so you take the brief chance to stare.

He’s surrounded by piles of papers; messier than how he usually keeps his desk. His tie is loosened from around his neck and the top two buttons are undone. His sleeves are rolled up and you try not to stare at his thick forearms, the veins in his hands. He grabs a nearby mug to take a sip of coffee, no doubt already cold. Your eyes follow his mouth when he takes a drink, watch the way his tongue flicks out to lick his lips, and then to his face. Where he is watching you with a faint smirk tugging at his aforementioned mouth.

You clear your throat, fighting the blush that’s starting to crawl up your neck. You go to stand in front of his desk, files in hand. “I have the rest of my notes from the Florida case.”

Hotch’s face easily morphs back into his stern and professional look, but you can still see something dance around in his eyes. He takes the files wordlessly, opens one, and reads your notes for not even 5 seconds before he says “You have the names of the sisters mixed up.”

You blink, still trying to fight the nervousness you feel and the warmth pooling slowly at the pit of your stomach as you watch his hands. “Huh?”

Hotch points at the crooked paragraph you scribbled out. “The older sister is named Amanda, the younger sister is Cynthia. You have them mixed up.”

And suddenly the nervousness you felt from being in the same room as your boss, alone and in the middle of the night, is overtaken by sheer embarrassment. You must have been more tired than you thought. “I’m sorry.” You put your hand out for the file. “I can go fix it real quick.”

“It’s fine,” Hotch says, and somehow, you’re not surprised. “I got it.”

You think about the past couple of months and the small gestures he’s been doing for you. Even though you’ve known Hotch for a couple of months now, you can’t quite get a read on him. It’s confusing, he’s confusing. You hate to say that it feels like he’s giving you mixed signals. One second, he’s opening the car door for you when you’re on a case, the next he won’t even look at you when the team is at a bar for an evening. Now this? Offering to fix a mistake you made at work? Something indescribable crawls up your throat and you suddenly feel irritated, upset, and something else.

“No,” you say as professionally as you can despite the rush of blood you can hear in your ears. “I can fix it, Hotch.”

He looks at you then, something like surprise on his face. “It’s just a quick fix, I can do it.”

It’s just a little typo, why won’t he let you fix it, you think to yourself. Maybe it’s the stress from the case you just got back from, how late it was, or something else entirely, but you find yourself unable to stop yourself from saying “Why do you keep doing things for me?”

This time, it’s Hotch who blinks back at you. He puts his pen down and clasps his hands together, looking like he’s ready for a talk. “What do you mean?”

“This!” You wave your hand at him, now not sure exactly what to say. “You keep… doing things for me. Things that I am perfectly capable to do myself, you know.”

Now you realize what that nagging feeling in your throat was— anger. Has Hotch been doing this because of how old you were? Because you were a young and new agent, naïve and innocent and can’t do anything herself?

Hotch just looks at you blankly. You quickly try to read his face; he’s clenching his jaw, his hands where they were clasped are now clenched into almost fists, and his eyes are dark.

“You are perfectly capable,” Hotch says, slowly. “I do know that.”

You huff a bit. “That doesn’t really answer my question.”

Hotch is silent again before letting out a deep sigh. He closes his eyes, runs his hand over his face, and you’re starting to wonder if you’ve just ruined your friendship/professional relationship with your boss. You can almost see the wheels spinning in his head as he figures out what to say.

He smoothly gets up from his desk and is now standing in front of you, leaning against his desk. He’s close, nearly towering over you, and you can almost feel the heat of his body like this.

The close proximity makes you nervous, because this is different than sitting next to each other on the jet or in the car. It’s different because the entire floor of the building is empty and you’re alone in your boss’s office.

He finally opens his eyes, making sure to make eye contact with you. His hands open and then close, like he doesn’t know what to do with them. “I do these things because I like doing them. For you.”

You stare at him, not sure what to say and feeling overwhelmed at the onslaught of emotions you’re feeling. You feel pleased, shy, giddy, anxious, and overwhelmed.

It makes sense that Hotch likes to take care of people. He’s a leader, a father, and his whole life is about helping those who are in need. You’ve seen it in the way he checks in with everyone, the way he humors Reid with his ramblings or lending an ear to Rossi. You’ve seen it in the way he talks to children and the way he tries to make himself appear softer, almost smaller.

You see it in him now. If it was anyone, Hotch would look stoic or cold, however you can tell he’s just as nervous as you are with the way he’s clearly biting at the inside of his cheek, the tense jaw, and the concerned furrow of his brow.

You’re still not sure what to say, but you know what you want to do.

So, you close the several inches between you and him with one step, grabbing the collar of his pristine button-up, and kiss him.

You’ve clearly taken him by surprise, but he pretends to act otherwise as he gingerly places his hands on your hips and kisses you back.

His lips are soft, addictingly so, and he tastes like coffee when he swipes his tongue along your bottom lip. The feeling makes your knees weak and you think you let out a soft moan, but you’re unable to hear anything over the sound of blood in your ears. His hands, large and hot, roam from your hips and up your back, giving you shivers.

Hotch is the first one to pull away and you instinctively chase after him with your lips before he stops you with a hand on your shoulder. “Are you sure?”

You look up at him, not realizing you had to crane your neck so much to do so and feel that all-too-familiar feeling between your legs that makes you clench your thighs. His lips are already swollen, pretty and pink, the collar of his shirt wrinkled from where you were pawing at him, and his eyes boring into you like he’s going to eat you alive.

“Yes,” you breathe, looping your arms around his shoulders to pull him back in. Hotch goes willingly, almost eagerly.

Hotch kisses like he works—meticulous and focused, however his hands are needy with the way he runs them over your ass, your back again, and your breasts through your sweater. He still seems like he’s being careful, like he’s worried about breaking you. You weave your fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck and pull out of pure curiosity, marveling at the way Hotch lets out a groan deep in the back of his throat.

That seems to set him off because now he’s groping you a bit harder, mouth trailing down your neck and peppering kisses in a way that makes you breathless. You can tell he’s refraining from biting and leaving marks, instead making sure to pay extra attention to the spot underneath your ear that makes you gasp and grab at the back of his shirt. “Hotch…”

“Aaron,” he mumbles against your neck before bringing his face back up to yours, noses nearly touching. “Please call me Aaron.”

He’s looking at you like you hung the moon, like he can’t believe you’re in front of him. His face is relaxed, void of any stress, a faint redness on his face, and his hair is so effortlessly messy in a way it makes him look so young and devastatingly handsome.

You nod and move your hands up the nape of his neck again to touch his face, feeling the rough stubble on your palms. “What are you going to do to me, Aaron?”

He groans again and the sound goes straight between your thighs. He suddenly spins you both around until you have your back pressed up against the desk, nearly digging into you. Your breath is knocked out of you, from surprise or desire you don’t know, but then Aaron has his hands at the hem of your sweater. He looks at you, silently asking, and then quickly taking it off when you nod.

His hands immediately gravitate to your breasts, kneading them through the plain black bra you’re wearing. You’re almost embarrassed that it’s so plain, but clearly Aaron doesn’t mind from the way he’s staring at them, thumbs pressing with the lightest pressure against your nipples through the fabric. You feel them tighten, sighing at the soft beginnings of pleasure, and think surely he’s able to feel them even through your bra.

“Fuck,” Aaron curses, and you have never heard him curse and definitely not like this. For some reason, it makes you hotter, and you scramble to bring your hands behind you to unclasp your bra.

And then his mouth is immediately pressing hot open-mouthed kisses down your chest, between your breasts, and then onto your right nipple. You gasp and involuntarily arch your back to press closer to him, chasing his warm and wet mouth.

Aaron takes his time with you. He alternates between sucking hard to little kitten licks while his hand is rolling the other nipple between his fingers. You bite your lip in an effort to suppress your moans, trying to keep in mind that both of you are still technically at work. The thought of being caught during sex has never appealed to you, but for some reason, tonight it sends lightning down your spine. You could tell that you were already incredibly wet, probably soaking through your panties, and you spread your legs a bit to relieve some of the pressure. Aaron immediately steps in closer.

You suddenly feel the hot line of his hard cock against your leg through the several layers of clothing and it makes you moan even louder. “Please,” you gasp, nearly clawing at his back.

His mouth lets go of your nipple with an obscene noise and he’s back to pressing kisses against your neck now, soft and slow, as if giving you a second to catch your breath. “What do you want?” He murmurs, voice deep, and going straight to your wet pussy.

And there it is again— Aaron’s need to take of people. To take care of you.

You spread your legs more at the thought, feeling like you can’t breathe.

Aaron hums, stroking his hand along your thigh, and it feels like you’re burning through your slacks. “Is that you want?” The deep timbre of his voice makes you dizzy, especially when he talks to you like that; teasing, like he’s playing with you.

You nod, your words stuck in your throat. You feel the sweat start to gather at your forehead, your chest, and you can feel him staring while you’re trying to catch your breath.

“I want you to say it,” Aaron says before he’s lifting your hips up so you’re sitting at the edge of his desk. He then tucks his fingers in the waistband of your pants but makes no move to tug them down.

You glance helplessly at the door, thanking past you and the thought to close the door. You know there is a low chance of being heard since it’s almost midnight on a Friday, but again, the thought of being caught with your pants around your ankles and your bra off sends a shiver through you.

“Look at me.” And there’s a hand on your chin, pulling your attention back to the older man in front of you.

He looks absolutely wrecked despite all of his clothes being on. You didn’t notice his tie was gone, thrown somewhere in the office. Aaron is looking at you intently, eyes dark from how dilated his pupils were, and you can tell he’s just as affected by the way his chest is heaving up and down underneath his button-up.

“Tell me what you want,” Aaron whispers, his free hand running up and down your thighs. “And I’ll give it to you.”

Your throat clicks when you swallow, licking your lips, and you watch as Aaron’s eyes follow the movement. “Please eat me out,” you say breathlessly, and it almost feels stupid to say until Aaron is surging into you to press his hungry mouth against yours.

“That’s a good girl,” Aaron mumbles against your mouth and you want to melt into a puddle.

He finally pulls down your pants, helping you lift your hips up to take them off. He’s helping you take off your shoes and then suddenly, he’s kneeling on the floor in between your thighs.

You almost want to close them, suddenly feeling shy, until he has his hands on your knees to keep them apart. You can’t see his expressions from this angle, but you squirm when you feel his eyes and warm breath on your core, probably having soaked your panties right through. You wouldn’t be surprised if you soaked through your pants.

He lets go of your knee to trace your slit through your panties and you jump a bit in surprise, moaning nonetheless and grinding your hips up into his touch. You’re sensitive and have been teased for who knows how long, and secretly you’ve always liked getting dirty with some clothes being on. Blame Aaron and his penchant for suits.

And then he’s leaning in and pressing his hot hot mouth against your cunt through your panties.

You gasp, loudly, and your hands fly to the top of his head. That’s all the permission Aaron needs, it seems, as he begins by swiping his flat tongue up you before dissolving into slow languid licks. He’s not exactly touching you where you need him most, but it’s enough for now. He’s messy and you’re starting to wonder if a mix of his spit and your wetness is dripping onto his desk, onto the floor, and the thought makes your thighs shake. You know he’s doing this on purpose to make your panties wetter, and it’s so hot in a way you didn’t know was possible.

You feel him hum against you and you squirm against his hands, mewling when you feel them tighten on your thighs. You secretly hope he leaves bruises.

“Please,” you whisper. As much as you love the thought of him so desperate to get a taste of you, him willing to take what he can get through the fabric, you need more. “Aaron, please…”

He groans, something masculine and guttural, and then he’s moving your panties aside from your wet pussy and delving back in again.

His mouth feels infinitely better like this, and you can feel his tongue swiping into your opening, gathering the wetness and completely avoiding your clit. You whine, grasping at his hair a little harder, and wonder if that’s his smile you can feel against your pussy. You grind against his face, almost involuntarily, and he lets you, even enjoying it based on how he moans and moves his tongue faster, exploring.

He finally moves his tongue to your clit and your eyes nearly roll back at the pleasure wracking your body. You gasp and tighten your hold on his hair. It feels so so good, and again the thought of Aaron being so hungry for you he’s willing to do this in the office, his office. Stern and cold, highly esteemed SSA Aaron Hotchner. Your boss.

“Fuck, Aaron,” you whimper and look down at him on his knees between your thighs. His eyes are closed, eyebrows furrowed in concentration, as if he’s just at his desk filling out paperwork or working on a case. Instead, he’s focused on eating you out so intensely, on making you feel so good, he’s so hot.

He opens his eyes at that, as if he could feel you watching him, and they’re a warm golden brown, pupils blown. His hands on your thighs tighten and he shifts from where’s kneeling on the floor. You could see he’s genuinely enjoying making you come apart with his pretty mouth as he flicks your clit ever so gently. You distantly wonder if he’s hard and leaving a stain through his own dress pants.

He gives a soft suck on your clit and your hips stutter, your breath catching in your chest as you feel that familiar pressure start building at the pit of your stomach. And it’s like he can immediately tell, because of course he can, and you suddenly feel one of his thick and long fingers enter you.

“Oh,” you gasp in surprise, eyes rolling back at the primal feeling of being filled. You wish it was his cock, God do you wish, but this is enough for now.

Aaron is still looking up at you and you can tell he’s about to move away to ask if this was okay, if you’re okay, but before he can, you put your leg on top of his shoulder and pull him in. You hope that that answers his question.

And because Aaron is Aaron and can somehow read your mind, he almost imperceptibly nods and puts his mouth on your clit again. His finger starts slow, despite how wet and open you are, as if he’s still teasing you. It’s almost enough for you; the steady sucking of your clit and something thick in your pussy, if he would only move a little faster.

“Harder, please, please,” you beg, unable to stop yourself, nearly babbling. It would be embarrassing if Aaron clearly didn’t like it based on the way he pushes his finger in deeper and harder, his sucking moving into hard licks to your clit.

It was good, so so good, and so intense that you wish you could swipe all of his files and folders off the desk and lay on your back to savor it. Instead, Aaron moves his tongue faster and that tidal wave is getting stronger. You instinctively push at Aaron’s head so you could catch your breath for at least a second because you don’t want this to be over just yet.

Aaron grunts and moves his free hand to your hip, grabbing you hard to keep you in your place. He inserts another finger, and it’s almost too much but it’s also just the right amount of fullness you want at the same time. He’s pumping them in and out of your wet pussy so fast, the lewd noises filling the office, maybe even carrying downstairs.

And then he’s curling his fingers just so, flicking your clit just so, and looking at you with eyes so dark and intense that you finally, finally come.

The shout of his name dies in your throat as you throw your head back, squeezing your eyes shut, and feeling that blissful white-hot pleasure all over. Your pussy clenches around Aaron’s fingers as he keeps his fingers curled inside you. You can feel your hips stuttering, unable to make your mind up on whether to chase the feeling with his mouth or away, but Aaron makes that decision for you as his hand grips impossibly tighter and laps at your clit gently to help you ride out your orgasm.

You’re trying to catch your breath when you feel Aaron give a whisper of a kiss on your cunt, making you jump. He chuckles quietly and you blearily open your eyes to see him slowly standing up, hearing him groan when his knees pop. You don’t even have the mental capacity to make fun of him for it, especially when you see the look on his face as he steps closer between your shaking legs.

His hair is absolutely ruined thanks to your fingers and his eyes are soft with a touch of concern. There’s a near triumphant smug grin on his face, sweet dimples poking out, and the bottom half of his face is unquestionably glistening. He flicks a tongue out to lick his lips and you want him so bad.

You glance down and feel a shiver of pride and hunger when you see the line of his hard cock through his slacks, a wet spot barely visible.

“Are you okay?” he asks, and you nearly swoon at how low and deep his voice sounds. He uses his clean hand to swipe a strand of hair that’s fallen in front of your face and tuck it behind your ear. You can’t even imagine what a mess you look right now, face probably flushed and naked on his desk.

You nod, swallowing the dryness in your throat. His smile gets wider at that, if possible.

He leans in and gives you a gentle kiss and hums when you part your lips to taste yourself. The hand that’s migrated to cradle the back of your head trails down to the nape of your neck, gripping you in a way that was almost possessive. It’s hypnotizing and you feel breathless again at the thought of his hand around your throat.

You feel his cock pressing against your inner thigh, so close to where you need him the most, and you reach to fiddle with his loosened tie before trailing it down his chest. You can feel his muscles flexing, his stomach tensing, before passing his belt and pressing your palm against him. “Can I…?”

He groans against your mouth before pulling away, leaning his forehead against yours. You can imagine the veins in his throat popping as he tries not to cant his hips against you.

You’re marveling at the size of him as you run your hand up and down his length. You had a feeling he was going to be big but not this big. Your mouth waters at the thought of him between your lips, hot and heavy, or pulsating in your pussy as he comes inside of you, filling you up. You can imagine his biceps tensing, the veins in his forearms showing, and the way his eyes would close as he chased his own orgasm.

So, you’re shocked and maybe a little offended when you feel Aaron’s fingers circling your wrist to pull your hand away.

“It’s okay,” he whispers against your lips before you could say anything.

“But I want to—”

“Not here,” he says, now rubbing your wrist like an afterthought. “I wanted to take care of you first.”

You huff a laugh, starting to understand now. Something warm unfurls in your chest at that. Aaron Hotchner had always seemed like the type to want to make the woman come first, maybe even multiple times before his own release.

He steps away, adjusting himself in his pants and fixing the collar of his shirt. Your eyes follow the motions, fixated on his hands, and for some reason you’re feeling hot again.

You must have made a noise because Aaron’s head whips up at you, that smug grin that he’s not even trying to hide anymore getting wider. He leans down to pick up your pants and helps you wriggle your panties back up your legs and to your hips. His hands linger on your inner thighs as if he can’t help himself and you notice his breath getting deeper, his mouth parted.

You’re just about to slide them off again, maybe even using your arm to finally slide all the papers on his desk off when he steps away again.

“My place?” He asks lowly. His gaze lingers on your thighs, your chest, and then back up to your face. The desire and want is plain as day on his face.

As if on cue, you hear the familiar sound of a custodial cart next door in Rossi’s office. Your heart leaps in your throat and you push off the desk to scramble and put your pants and sweater back on.

Aaron laughs at that, quietly again, as if they don’t work here and they’re about to get caught doing something they’re not supposed to be doing. Which, you guess, is somewhat true.

But then Aaron is on his knees again, your shoe in one hand and his fingers circling your ankle to lift up with the other as he looks up at you. His eyes are so sincere, sweet, as if he just didn’t give you the most mind-blowing orgasm of your life here in his office.

You smile at him, feeling the fondness grow impossibly larger in your chest, and let him help you put your shoes back.

You can return the favor in his bed.

#god forgive me please im so sorry #i havent written anything in forever and then i write this in a week lol like aight...#aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner fic #aaron hotchner fanfiction #criminal minds #criminal minds fic #aaron hotchner smut #mine #aaron hotch imagine #aaron hotchner x you #aaron hotchner imagine

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pathologicalreid · 1 year ago

Note

could you do a third part to buried alive where the reader finally gets a bit better and goes out into the field for the first time and then the team goes and gets drinks after bc they are so proud of her :) -🌱

back again | S.R.

part one | part two

in which you go back into the field (and kick ass)

who? spencer reid x fem!BAU!reader

category? angst and then fluff

content warnings: established relationship. PTSD undertones. guns and physical fighting. reader is paired with morgan and kicks ass. usual cm case stuff. going to a bar and alcohol consumption. use of 'ass'. reader is referred to as a girl.

word count: 1.8k

a/n: hey anon i love you!!! i never expected people to like this story so much, but im so grateful i hope you enjoy!! thanks for reading <3 don't forget to like and reblog <3333333333

It felt good. Standing outside of a suspect's house with Morgan felt normal to you, having your firearm holstered, felt right.

He was trying to get ahold of the team, but the two of you were far from the town and, apparently, cell service. “The call keeps dropping, but they know where we are. They should be on their way,” he told you, getting out of the car. “If you’re uncomfortable going in, you don’t have to.”

You rolled your eyes and got out of the SUV. “I’ve got your back,” you responded self-assuredly. It was your first case back in the field, and besides, you weren’t about to let Derek walk into the lion's den alone.

Despite your attempt at confidence, you hadn’t planned on going to a suspect's house. The two of you had been on your way back from talking to a victim’s family, meaning you didn’t have vests. “I know you do,” Morgan confirmed, removing his sunglasses and snapping the temples down. “Go around back, I’ll take the front,” he said.

Nodding, you unholstered your weapon and kept it pointed toward the ground, you took a deep breath before wrapping around the white farmhouse.

Paranoid thoughts pelted your brain. Did you remember to shut off your phone’s ringer? What if the suspect had a gun? What if the information you were given was wrong and you didn’t have probable cause?

You shook your head, peeking in through the open blinds, you saw the kitchen. The town you were in was on the smaller side, and the only thing that surrounded you was farmland. You saw movement out of the corner of your eye and wished you had been given more time to prepare, having comms right now would be remarkably helpful.

Approaching the back door, you leaned against the siding before reaching over and turning the doorknob. It was already unlocked, which could either be a good thing or a bad thing. You swung the door open and stepped inside the house, pointing your Glock around the kitchen, you saw Morgan entering the living room in your peripheral vision. “Clear!” You called out, and shortly after, Morgan called the same.

Once you had cleared the main floor, Morgan moved upstairs and you moved downstairs, pulling your flashlight from your belt, you pointed it down the steps.

“Jackson Fike this is the FBI,” you called, making yourself known. You reached the bottom of the stairs, just to see another door, wide open. “Damn it,” you cursed, “Morgan, he’s running!” You shouted, hoping your voice would be able to carry up two flights of stairs.

You pocketed your flashlight and took off running out the door. Distantly, you saw a man fitting the suspect's description sprinting towards the woods. Without a second thought, you followed, expecting Derek to be not far behind you.

Thankfully, it was still light outside, the scent of the damp earth filled your senses, but it didn’t overwhelm you. You wouldn’t let it.

You skidded to a halt in the forest, keeping your back to a tree so you could be attacked from behind, “Jackson Fike, you can’t keep running like this. You know as well as I do that the road ends here.” You spoke loudly, hoping he heard you from wherever he had disappeared into the woods.

His choices here boiled down to giving himself up or being on the run for the rest of his life. Based on the profile the team had put together, he would never be able to leave this town. Not by choice, at least.

The snap of a twig gave his location away, you twisted your body in the direction of the noise. Your ears perked up like a bloodhound. “Jackson, if you come with me and tell me where the girls are, maybe I could see about keeping you close to home. Close to your house, that’s what’s important, right?” You tried to negotiate with him. You didn’t know if he was armed, but you did know that suicide by cop wasn’t in his profile. It was also less paperwork if you cuffed him without a fight.

“You can’t make me that promise, agent,” he responded. His voice was gravelly despite only being in his late thirties. “Why would I negotiate with a fed when I could just kill one instead?” He asked.

His question sent a chill down your spine all the way down to where your handcuffs rested on your back. “You’re right,” you ceded, “You’d be worshipped in prison for killing a fed, but why take that chance?”

In a flash, the UnSub smacked your wrist, causing a misfire into the trees, and making your weapon hit the ground.

That was fine, your marksmanship was good enough to pass your qualifications, but hand-to-hand was where you really excelled. He charged at you, but you jumped out of the way.

Closer to the farmhouse you heard voices, but you didn’t let yourself get distracted. Instead, you used your one boxing lesson with JJ and kicked. The inside of your foot provided enough surface to daze your opponent, he stumbled around, and you made sure to keep both of your feet firmly planted to the ground.

He swung back, but you ducked just in time to feel the breeze of his swing against your face. In response, you swung back, hitting him across the face.

Jackson retaliated, using both hands to push you into a tree, crushing your shoulder but not doing anything to stop you from throwing another hit, striking him on the head, and causing him to fall to the ground. He groaned as you crouched down and pulled your cuffs out, fastening them around his wrists.

As you read him his rights, the local police and the rest of your team approached you. Emily looked at you warily, Spencer was searching for injuries, but Morgan was grinning. He was like a giddy little kid who had heard the ice cream truck turn on his street.

Handing off the UnSub to a local, you eyed Morgan suspiciously, “What are you smiling at?” You asked, rotating your shoulder in a failed attempt to make it feel better.

“You took that guy down,” Derek said, gesturing to where the police officer was now taking the UnSub.

Confused, you shrugged, “Yeah, and?”

He laughed again, “Oh, you are so back, pretty girl.”

A flight later, you were hunched over takedown paperwork, something you certainly hadn’t missed during your time away from the field. At the desk adjacent to yours, Spencer was flipping through a book, waiting for you so you could go home.

After initialing each page and signing the last one, you placed the papers into the confidential file. Going up the stairs to Hotch’s office, you knocked on the door, “Come in.”

You stepped into the office and reached over to hand him the file, “My takedown paperwork for Jackson Fike.”

He nodded, the stern look on his face fading as he looked at you, “You did impressive work today, Y/L/N. By taking the initiative to arrest Fike, you saved the three girls he had captive.”

Shrugging, you fiddled with his nameplate, “I just did what felt right.”

“Other agents would’ve shot him, and it would’ve been justified, but you didn’t,” Hotch said, raising his eyebrows. “It’s good to see you out in the field again,” he told you in that fatherly, parental tone of his.

You looked out the window of his office, “It’s good to be back out, sir.” Watching as the rest of the team gathered back into the bullpen, “I thought everyone had already left?”

Hotch set your file down and stood from his desk, “I believe they were all waiting for you in Garcia’s office.”

Confused, you walked outside of the office and down the steps, “Hey?” You said cautiously, looking around at everyone, “What’s going on?” You looked at Spencer, but he just shrugged like he didn’t know any more than you did.

“We,” Derek said, “are going to O’Keefe’s,” he said, grinning as you reached over your desk to grab your bag and your coat.

Shoving your arms through the sleeves of your coat, you looked at the team curiously, “I’m getting the sense that I don’t have much of a choice in this outing.”

Grinning, Penelope excitedly walked towards you, looping her arm through yours and leading you out of the bullpen, “you don’t!”

You laughed, looking back at Spencer, who was just smiling at you. It wasn’t in your nature to turn down what Emily called ‘team bonding’, so the lot of you went to the familiar bar, a place you hadn’t been in nearly four months.

At the same table as always, standing room only with the eight of you, Rossi paid for all of your preferred drinks. Something you had learned to not protest over the years, as long as he was there, he’d never let you pay for your drinks.

Casually, Spencer had his arm around your waist, the two of you were more affectionate outside of the office. “How’s your shoulder?” He asked, gently skimming the pad of his thumb over the sensitive skin. Naturally, Spencer didn’t say anything in front of the team when you mentioned being shoved into a tree, but behind closed doors, he had asked to take a look at it.

You hummed in response, leaning into his touch, “Better, just bruised a bit.”

He dropped his hand back down to your waist, “good,” he whispered, ducking his head, and pressing a kiss to your cheek, causing you to smile.

Grabbing your attention, Derek cleared his throat and raised his glass in your general direction. “Tonight is about you, pretty girl,” he said, causing everyone else to turn to you. Your cheeks burned, “not only did you kick some UnSub ass, but you threw yourself back into the field after months on the sidelines.”

At your side, Spencer squeezed your hip, you were grinning like a fool.

“It has been an honor to be able to watch you reclaim yourself. I, for one, am proud of that accomplishment,” Morgan continued. “I hope you’re proud of yourself, too.”

You nodded enthusiastically, “Thank you. All of you, really.” You reached forward where everyone was clinking their glasses before taking a sip. Setting your glass down, you turned and looked at Spencer, “I love you,” you whispered to him.

He dropped a kiss to your lips, earning a whoop from Garcia. When he pulled away, he smiled at you softly, “I love you too.”

#criminal minds #spencer reid #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds fanfiction #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid whump #spencer reid hurt/comfort #spencer reid angst #david rossi #derek morgan #aaron hotchner #emily prentiss #jennifer jareau #written by margot #margot's asks #criminal minds angst

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kingkatsuki · 10 months ago

Text

— when it’s raining outside

Masterlist.

I know it’s been a while, but I’m falling back in love with this Bakugou specifically.

Warnings: none.

Pairing: Bakugou Katsuki x f!reader.

Word Count: 1.1k.

Regardless of Pro-Hero Dynamight being one of the most successful fire quirk users in Japan, his agency isn’t exempt from Health and Safety. Some may argue that his team are far more strict compared to the likes of Shouto’s building which is only a few blocks away, and it’s definitely not because the Number Two Hero almost set fire to an entire floor when testing out new grenade designs.

But since that incident, there have been consistent fire drills weekly to ensure that the building and its staff are protected. Along with new fire safety robots that have been deployed to ensure that each individual makes it out safely.

“Another dumb fuckin’ tick box exercise.” Bakugou would always say, and he was probably right. The Pro-Hero alone could probably rescue each person trapped inside the building if something did happen, but it’s always good to be precautious right?

Or so you would say, until the fire alarms were blaring on a particularly bleary Monday while you were trying to unjam the photocopier. Groaning at the abrasive noise as you debated running back to your desk for your coat (and coffee) before being forced out of the warmth of the agency into the torrential downpour outside.

“Do not panic! We are here for your safety.” You scrunched your nose at the voice that was arguably worse than the alarm as you turned to face the fire Marshall robots which were now skimming the floor. The red flashing lights swirling angrily as the computerised smile on the machine that was surely there to calm you did the exact opposite.

“Stop. In case of emergency do not take the elevator.” The robot continued to blare. The designated fire drills always happened on a Friday afternoon (conveniently when Dynamight left for his evening patrol), so you wondered whether this may be a real incident as you made your way towards the stairs.

You had further to go compared to anyone else, working on the top floor alone with Dynamight so the lower you descended you began to see other employees— some lucky enough to be carrying coats and umbrellas as you followed them further. The noise from the alarm echoed in the hall as it mixed with the chatter, wondering what had happened and if they were safe. But at that moment you were more irritated that you’d be going outside in nothing but a thin cotton shirt and trousers.

The cold was bitter as you finally made it to the bottom floor of the sky scraper, thankful you wouldn’t have to ascend them after as you stepped into the heavy rain. Wrapping your arms around yourself to try and provide some comfort as you tried to look for any space under the shelter surrounding the building. The majority which was already taken by the employees that worked on the lower floors, huddled together and squeezed under umbrellas to shield themselves from the wet. Although, there were plenty like you who had not been fortunate enough to grab something on their way down and were just as exposed to the elements.

Resigning to defeat you huddled as close to a neighbouring building as you could, thankful it at least shielded you enough from the wild tunnel Dynamight’s Agency created to prevent being pelted with rain.

But it was still freezing.

Shimmying from toe to toe as you tried to keep yourself warm, watching as Backdraft turned up with the local fire service to scout the building.

“What’s goin’ on?” You heard a voice behind you as you turned to face your boss standing there, gym bag slung over his shoulder and a black hoodie pulled over his messy blond spikes.

“Shouldn’t you be saving us from the fire?” You laughed.

“Shut up, dumbass.” He scoffed, before his voice softened, “Where’s your coat?”

“In there.” You nodded towards his agency as he shook his head.

“Why didn’t you grab it?”

“Those stupid robots wouldn’t let me,” You pouted, now so wet you could no longer feel the rain dampening your skin.

Bakugou’s lip curled into the faintest hint of a smile at this, unbothered about the rain as he dumped his gym bag to the ground in favour of reaching back to tug his hoodie up and over his head. The movement pulled his black shirt up along with it, and you shamelessly ogled the exposed skin as you followed the wispy hairs of his happy trail disappear beneath black sweatpants. The hem of his boxers peeking out from under them as you felt a heat rise to your cheeks and flurry through you all the way down between your thighs.

Turning your head just in time as he pulled his shirt back down over his stomach before holding the hoodie out to you, pushing it into your side.

“What are you doing?” You looked down at the hoodie before glancing up at him.

“Put it on.” He replied bluntly.

“But you’ll get wet—”

“Put it on.” He ignored your objection, reaching up to ruffle his messy hair as the rain now began to dampen it.

“Thank you.” You murmured, instantly feeling the relief as you tugged it over your head.

The heat that radiated from Bakugou’s body now encapsulating you as you pulled your arms through the sleeves, burying your nose in the fabric as you inhaled the scent of him. A mixture of sweat and cologne as you almost forgot that you were standing outside in the pouring rain. No longer in a rush to get back inside the warm building as you let yourself be surrounded by him.

“Is it a drill?” You asked as he pulled his phone out of his pocket to begin calling a number.

“No idea.” He rasped while holding it up to his ear.

You tried to listen in on the conversation but the mixture of wind, chatter and the alarms in the distance made it difficult to decipher what was being said on the other line.

“It’s a false alarm.” Bakugou scoffed as he hung up, “Someone triggered the alarm in the canteen.”

“See what happens when you’re not around,” You smiled to yourself as Bakugou pushed his wet spikes back, exposing his forehead as he smirked back, “All hell breaks loose.”

“Yeah, can’t leave you alone for five fuckin’ minutes, can I?” He scoffed.

When you were finally let back inside the building, you offered to take Bakugou’s hoodie home to wash it before giving it back to him but he wouldn’t allow it. Telling you it was just an old hoodie and it didn’t matter— but the real reason he wanted to take it back like it was because after wearing it outside the scent of your perfume still lingered on the fabric.

#bakugou x reader #soft bakugou

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mama2bears · 2 months ago

Text

Unspoken Words -Part 2 (Final)

Warnings: Angst, injury, pregancy

Pairings: Tyler Owens/F Reader

Part 2 of a request recieved. Hope I captured what you were looking for. I did my best on it. Enjoy! *Part 1 here*

You slowly opened your eyes. Your head was pounding. You heard water dripping. Fighting against the blurry vision you tried to remember what happened. Slowly the memories came back. You tried to call Tyler, then the tornado siren went off and you ran down to the basement. “Tyler?” You called out. Why wasn't he here? Surely he knew about the tornado. He would have came for you or at least called you to make sure you were okay.

Searching around you found your phone and grabbed it up. No calls received, and no service...which was normal after a large tornado. Your mind flashed back to when Tyler tried calling you and left voice mails...which you didn't care to answer or even check at the time. He was trying to call you. He was trying to warn you and you were too stubborn to let go of your hurt and anger and answer...or maybe he was calling you because something happened. Did he get caught in the tornado? Is that why he isn't here now searching for you?

“I need you, Ty.” you whisper and put a hand on your stomach, “I need you and our unborn baby needs you. We love you.” tears streamed down you face as you slowly sat up and checked yourself for any injuries. Other then your throbbing head, you didn't feel pain anywhere else.

Around you though, was total destruction. A broken pipe from the ceiling was spraying water. Things were blown around the room, part of the ceiling was collapsed and you could hear people calling for each other.

You carefully stood up, having just enough space. The stairs you came down were now gone. You were surrounded by concrete and splinted wood.

From somewhere beyond where you were trapped, you could hear someone calling your name...and Tyler's” Quickly, you recognized the voices of Dexter, Lily, Dani, and Boone. They were here looking for you...but where was Tyler? Why wasn't he here? Why were they calling his name too? Fear gripped you as the realization sank in. Something had happened. Your body shook with sobs as you cried out 'I am here.' to the team, hoping they'd hear you. You had to get out of here and find out what happened to Tyler. You had to find him. “Please be okay, Ty. Please.” you mumbled though the tears.

“Y/N? Can you hear us?” Boone was calling. It sounded like he was right on top of you.

“Here! I am here!” You called.

“We hear you. We're coming.” the team worked quickly tossing debris off to the side. “Are you okay? You hurt?”

“Tyler...where is Tyler?” you cried, afraid of the answer you'd hear.

You heard the work stop and there was a long silence. “He isn't with you?” Boone asked.

“No. He left last night to go chasing today.” you were now shaking, hugging your legs to yourself. “ I am okay, but I need Tyler. Find him.”

“We will, honey.” Dani said, “But we gotta get you out of here first.”

“Boone, did you see Tyler at all?” you asked, a new fear rising. Maybe Tyler just left town. Left you. Maybe he was done, just like you said you were. Maybe, he no longer loved you or cared what happened. You hoped this was the case, rather then he was out there hurt or worse.

“Yeah, he crashed on my sofa last night.” Boone said. “Then went chasing with us today, until we realized the storm was going to develop here, and not to the north like expected. Tyler kicked me out of the truck and floored it. We were about a half hour from here, but he was trying to beat the storm. He wanted to get to you and make sure you were safe. No weather stations were reporting it. We were trying to alert the stations from the van and Tyler was racing to get to you. We agreed to meet here.

You heard the worry in the teams voices as they kept working to remove debris to free you. “Is...is his truck out there?” your voice strained against the tears.

“No...it's total destruction out here, but I am not seeing his truck anywhere.” Boone said just as they flew a board to the side, opening up a space. You could see the sunset sky...and nothing else. The house was completely flattened.

“I am going now to report him missing,” Dexter said, “I am sure they are overwhelmed right now, but at least they will have him listed and more people can be looking.”

Boone helped you out and hugged you close, seeing your red swollen eyes. “You got a nasty gash on your head, let's go get it checked out.” he said softly.

“No. I want to find Ty first.” you were shaking.

“I know sweetie.” Lily took you head, “And we are going to start looking. We know the road he most likely was on. Maybe he's just broke down or got stuck. There's no cell service right now so he wouldn't be able to call. We gotta get you checked out though.”

“I want to go look for him.” your voice was filled with determination.

“We've been here for two hours. It took us almost an hour to get into town. The roads are completely covered.” Boone said. “It's getting dark and we can't see. Let's get you checked out. Lily, Dani, and Dexter will keep checking the area for any signs of Tyler or his truck. We'll ask everyone around. Once you are clear, we'll go drive the roads and look, okay?”

You nod softly and wait until Boone leads you away from the others, “I don't want the other's to know yet.” you say softly, “Actually I wanted Ty to be the first to know, but if something happens...I need someone else to know.”

“Know what?” Boone asked.

“I am pregnant. 8 weeks. Today I wanted to tell Ty since it was Father's Day. That's why we fought last night. That's why he went to your house.”

“Congratulations.” Boone pulled you into a hug, “We will have to tell the medics, let them check on the baby. I won't say anything to anyone else though. T is going to be so happy.”

You nod as the tears start falling again, “I didn't tell him I loved him yesterday. I told him I didn't care if he came back. I told him to leave.”

“Shh, it's okay.” he whispered, rubbing your shoulders, “T understands. He knew you were mad and he was hurt, but I know he forgave you. You were the first thing he thought of when that storm changed.”

You reach the ambulance and Boone explains what happened and that you were pregnant. They take you in and sit you on a stretcher and begin asking a number of questions. Finally, what seemed like hours, they put a bandage on your head and told you all looked just fine.

“Let's go find Tyler.” You almost ran from the ambulance. If the team had been there for three hours before finding you, and then you spent about an hour getting checked out..that was at least four hours that Tyler had been out there somewhere.

“Any word?” Boone asked Dexter.

“No. They've checked the hospital lists and accident reports. There is no sign of Tyler nor the truck. He's officially listed as a missing person, along with about a hundred other people. There's not much they can do now. Phones are still down so we can't be calling around checking our self.”

“I want to go look for him. See if we can find the truck or anything.”

“Let's go.” Boone said, running to the van. “I'll come too.” Lily said, “The drone mainly collects data, but we just recently put a camera and night vision on it. We'll put it up and get a bigger picture.”

“Thank you.” you whisper.

* * * * *

“Y/N...” your name was the first thing Tyler muttered, fighting against the blackness. His vision was blurry, pain coursed though his body. He slowly became aware that he was hanging upside down and it was increasingly hard to breathe. His chest was filled with pain as he gasped for air.

He couldn't remember exactly what happened, he knew there was a tornado headed for the house and he had to get to you..did he make it? “Y/N...” he called your name again. Slowly he remembered the phone ringing, then the truck flipping.

Tyler's body shook from the cold or the loss of blood. He didn't know which one anymore. If he remembered right it was middle of June, so his guess was that it wasn't that cold, even for night.

His eyes scanned the truck, trying to locate his phone. 'Gotta get out of here.' he felt like a weight was pressing against his chest, crushing his heart and lungs together. He knew it was going to kill him if he kept hanging upside down. First thing was first. He had to free the seat belt.

“Come on dammit.” he muttered, his vision going blurry and blackness fighting to take over again. Finding the buckle for the seat belt he pulled, but couldn't loosen it.

“I am so sorry baby...” Tyler muttered, wondering what you were going though right now. Were you safe? Were you missing him? Did you even know he was missing? Fighting against the unconscious threatening to over take him and gasping for air, he closed his eyes against the pain and tried one last time to get free from the seat belt.. As he gave the seat belt another hard pull, his hand brushed against a sharp object and pain shot though his stomach. The sharp object was stuck in stomach, he was guessing it was glass. He touched it for a moment, his breathing now coming in slow raspy gasps.

He could pull the glass out of him and maybe cut the seat belt before losing conscious again...but risk bleeding to death within minutes. Or he could leave the glass be and slowly suffocate from the pressure of his organs pressing against his heart and lungs. Tears streamed down his face as he slowly came to realize he was dying. Either way, he would never see you again. His thoughts shot to the box that he hoped was still in his pocket. He wondered what you would think when someone found it and handed it to you. Would the golden engagement ring that he has held on for the past two months, trying to find the right time to ask you to be his wife, be enough to make you realize how deeply he loved you. Or would he die here, and you would go on about your life and never truly understand the depth of his love. He just always thought he had more time. Tyler left his hand fall loosely, hitting against the roof of the truck as he gasped again for air. It was getting harder and harder to breath. His last thought was a prayer that you were safe, that you got to the basement in time. He knew the team would take care of you and he prayed you would find happiness with someone who loved you at least half as much as he did.

* * * * *

“I'm not seeing anything.” Lily sighed, flying her drone over the destroyed homes and along the road. “Really, he could be anywhere between here and sixty miles from here.”

“Wait!” You scream and Boone slammed on the breaks.

“What is it?”

“Skid marks.” You point to the road, where black skid marks ran from one side of the road to the other and then into the grass and...nothing.”

“Could have been there for a while.” Boone stated.

“Checking it out.” Lily moved the drone over the the forested area the tire tracks disappeared into.

“Oh my God, there's something down there!” She gasped, “It's a vehicle that's upside down. I don't know what kind or anything.”

“Call 911, it should go though even without service.” Boone yelled taking off and running.

“I am coming with you...what if it's him..” you cried.

“No Y/N. Stay. It's too risky.” Boone yelled and slid down the embankment.

“911 what is your emergency.” the operator answered.

“We need ambulance. Truck upside down over embankment.” you said, giving the road and nearest location.

“It's him! It's Tyler!” Boone yelled up and you heard the tears in his voice.

“How many occupants?” The operator asked in a monotone.

“Ty! NO!” You screamed, breaking from the hug Lily had you in and slide down the hill.

“Miss...how many people are in the truck.” the operator said.

“One.”

“Y/N no...stay back.” Boone was pulling a knife from his pocket.

“How is he?” you asked trembling. “Send help now!” you screamed at the operator on the phone.

“Miss, help is on the way. I need you to stay calm.”

“He's trapped upside down.” Boone shook his head, “I am cutting the seat belts.”

“Miss, is the person breathing?”

Boone got the belts cut and was pulling Tyler's limp body from the truck.

“Miss...I need you to answer me.” the operator's voice filled with impatience.

Not saying a word, Boone started doing compressions and you fell at Tyler's side. “No...no he's not.” you whisper into the phone.

“Do you know how to perfo....”

“Yes CPR is in progress. Just send help!” You scream at her, hearing sirens in the distance.

“Help is on the way miss. Stay on the phone with me until they arrive.”

You breathe two breaths into Tyler's lungs when Boone nods at you and he starts compressions again.

“We've got it from here. We've got it from here.” Medics were sliding down the embankment and pushing you and Boone out of the way.

They started up the AED machine and placed a bag over his face forcing air into his lungs. “Clear!” one medic yelled, and you saw Tyler's body jump with the electric shock.

You crumbled to the ground in uncontrollable sobs and Boone sits next to you, holding you tightly, tears streaming down his own face.

“Clear....” you hear them shout again.

“We got a pulse. Go Go Go.” The medics were yelling.

“I am coming.” you yell following them.

“Me too.” Boone stated.

“Sorry, only one person.” The medic called.

“Sir, she's pregnant and this is the baby's father. I need to be there for her.” Boone stated.

The medic nodded. “Get in.”

“I'll go get Dexter and Dani and will meet you there.” Lily called.

Boone nodded and sat next to you in the ambulance. You took Ty's hand in yours, noticing how limp, cold and lifeless it felt. “I love baby. I need you...our baby needs you.” you whisper though your tears.

You sat there holding Tyler's hand in yours, “I am here. I am not going anywhere.” you kept whispering. You listened to the uneven beeps of the various monitors they had hooked up. You didn't know what they meant, but the medics were talking about oxygen levels being dangerously low, irregular heartbeats, and dropping body temp.

It seemed to be hours, but you knew it was only minutes before the ambulance pulled into the emergency room entrance to the hospital.

“He's crashing again!” one of the medics yelled, “Code Blue! Code Blue.” they rushed Tyler away from you and into the hospital.

A nurse came up, wrapping an arm around your waist and leading you to a waiting room. “Is there anyone we can call for you?” she asked tenderly.

You shook your head, “No, our friends are on their way.”

“The doctor will be out just as soon as they know anything. If you need anything just let us know, sweetie.”

You sink down into a sofa, pulling your knees up to your chest, you wrap your arms around your legs and break down in sobs. Boone sits next to you, holding you in a hug, “You got to calm down, remember the baby. This can't be good for the baby.”

“Who's here for Tyler Owens?” A nurse called.

“Here.” You stand up on wobbly legs and would have feel back down if it weren't for Boone.

“Here's his things. They're taking him back for surgery.” She handed you a small bag with a wallet and a small black box in it along with a larger bag with his clothes.

You clutch the bag to your chest and sink back into the sofa taking deep gasping breaths. For the first time the true reality of actually losing Tyler hit your chest like a ton of bricks.

“Can I have some help here?” Boone called, trying to get a nurses attention without leaving your side.

“You got to calm down.” Boone was whispered, “Remember the baby. Please calm down.”

A nurse runs up to you and takes your hand, “Miss, you're having a panic attack, come with me.”

You keep the bag clutched in your figures as the nurse leads you back to a room.

Boone buries his face in his hands and breaks down in sobs. This should have been a joyous occasion and now two of his best friends were in the hospital.

“Hey, where's Y/N?” Lilly asked as the team ran up to Boone.

“They've admitted her. Gave her a sedative to calm her down. She was having panic attacks.” He sighed.

“Any word on Tyler?” Dani asked.

Boone shook his head, “They brought out his things, said he's in surgery but that's all I know.”

“Was the ring in there?” Lily asked.

Boone nodded, “I am not sure Y/N realized what it was yet though.”

They knew about Tyler's plans to propose to you. He had showed them the ring on the first day and he had talked almost non stop about how he wanted to propose. He just couldn't settle on the perfect moment.

The four friends leaned back on the waiting room sofa with a heavy sigh. Waiting was the worst part.

* * * *

You awoke to Boone and Lily sitting by your bedside. Your eyes were still heavy with sleep as you struggled to remember what exactly had happened. Then, it all came rushing back to you at once and you cried out, “Tyler! Is he okay?” You looked desperately between Boone and Lily for some answers “Is the baby okay?”

Lily shot you a confused look, then looked over at Boone, “What baby?”

“We are still awaiting word on Tyler. It's been several hours, but last we checked he was still in surgery. We don't know anything else yet.” Boone took your hand, “Your baby is fine. They just gave you something to calm you down and help you rest a little.” Then he turned to Lily, “I wasn't suppose to tell you, but since Y/N let the cat out of the bag...Her and Tyler are expecting. He doesn't know...that's why she got upset when he went on a chase with us. It was suppose to be a special night.”

Tears rolled down your eyes, “I should never have gotten mad at him. I normally wouldn't have been so mad. I would have been hurt, but not that mad. Not to do what I did. I couldn't even say I love you. I told him I didn't care if he never came back...what if...what if those were the last words he ever hears from me?”

Lily squeezed your hand, “Hey now...you have to calm down and stop thinking like that. Hormones make you do things like that. You might be laughing one minute, crying the next and then be madder then hell...and never know why.”

Just at that moment the doctor walked in, “Well good to see your awake. How are you feeling?” he asked softly.

“I am worried about my boyfriend, the baby's father.” you sob.

“I see. Well, as far as I know there's no update on him yet. You on the other hand, I am going to go ahead an release. I don't want to give you anything over the counter because too much sedatives could harm the baby. I would suggest using things like a weighted blanket, hot tea, good friends, music, or reading a book to help calm your nerves. If you have another panic attack though and are unable to calm down, you'll need to come back here.”

You nod, “Thank you doctor.”

Boone steps out of the room and Lily helps you to get up and dressed while you wait for the doctor to come back with your release papers. Once you're dressed, you pick up the bags that had Tyler's things in it, and for the first time, notice the small black box.

“What's this?” you ask, opening up the bag.

“That..” Lily whispered softly, “Is something Tyler has kept in his pocket for the last two months. He was so excited, but he just didn't know the right time or place.”

You opened up the box and saw a beautiful gold band and a sparkling diamond.

“Look at the inside of it.” Lily whispered, trying to hold back her tears.

You turn it over and read the inscription “You are my anchor in the storm”

Tears roll down your cheeks as you put the ring back in the box with shaky hands. “I can't lose him, Lily. I just can't.”

She pulls you into a hug, “It'll be okay. Ty is tough, he'll be okay.”

* * * * *

It was well into morning the next day when finally someone stepped into the waiting room. “Who's here for Tyler Owens?”

You stand up on shaky legs. The team stands with you.

“Come with me.” he motioned and the five of you step behind the swinging doors.

“He's out of surgery and in recovery. He hasn't woken up yet, but I expect him to make a full recovery. He had a collapsed lung and bleeding on the brain, both of those I believe is from him being upside down for so long. The glass that stabbed him in the stomach had caused internal bleeding and his lower left leg was broken. We've got everything repaired. He's looking at a long recovery and at least six weeks of non weight baring on the leg, but I do believe he is going to be okay.”

“Thank you doctor.” you cry. “Can I see him?”

“One of you can sit with him in recovery. Once he wakes up we'll move him to a normal room and then we can allow three at a time.”

“Go...be with him. Let us know if you need anything. We'll be right out in the waiting room.” Lily urged.

You nervously follow the doctor down the long hallway and he opens a door. Slowly you walk in, “Ty...” you whisper softly, taking a seat next to his bed and holding his hand in yours. This time his hand felt warm, tender, and strong. You allowed yourself to smile slightly. It might be a hard road ahead, but things were going to be okay. “I love you.” you whisper, kissing his hand.

“Love you too Darling.” his voice was weak, low and raspy, but he was opening those gorgeous green eyes and looking at you. “I am sorry I wasn't there. I tried.”

“Shh, it's okay. I am sorry for all the terrible things I said...”

“I forgive you. Actually, I deserved it.” he took a few deep breaths, fighting off the urge to go back to sleep. “Y/N...I need you in my life. I need you by my side. You are my world. You are...”

“your anchor in the storm?” you finish, holding up the ring box.

He smiled the biggest smile ever, “You found it!” then he frowned, “But you aren't wearing it? Does that mean...does that mean the answer is no?”

“I don't know. You haven't asked me the question yet.” you grin.

“Y/N...will you marry me?” he asked, his eyes searching yours.

“Yes, Tyler Owens. Yes I will marry you.” You lean over, kissing his lips softly.

“Give me that.” he takes the ring from you and slips it on your figure. “I love you with all my heart.”

“That's good to hear, because I have something I need to tell you too.”

“What's that?”

You smile, taking his hand and placing it on your stomach, “In about 7 months there's going to be a little tornado coming into this world.”

Tyler was crying, but this time it was tears of happiness as he pulled you down into a hug. “I am the happiest man on earth right now.” he sobbed. “Together, we can weather any storm. “

* * * *

The End

* * * *

#twisters fanfic #tyler owens fic #tyler owens x reader #twisters fic #twisters x reader #tyler owens x you #twisters fanfiction

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sadesluvr · 5 months ago

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The Bride — PART ONE.

A routine assassination for turns into a domestic drama when the Twins meet you, a housewife looking to seek revenge on her cheating husband.

A/N: It's been a while, but here's a new Tangerine fic! It's planned to be 3 parts, and is a slow burn. The title is a reference to Uma Thurman's character in Kill Bill, and the fic has the same vibes. Read the tags, and I hope you enjoy :)

Word count: 1.9K

Tags: Dysfunctional + abusive relationships (non-physical) / ONE instance of abuse / Eventual romance / Canon-typical violence + language / Reader and The Twins are sociopaths / Dark humour / Murder + revenge / Allusions to mental illness / Jealousy / Eventual smut / Women's wrongs / Friendship

The mission had been poised as one of The Twins’ easiest. There were no guns, no swords, no car chases - just a bit of deception and a drink laced with arsenic handed to some socialite in a golden chalice. Lemon, posing as a bartender, had made the drink, and Tangerine was tasked with delivering it as part of room service. An easy death paired with a quick getaway meant even easier money, which, in their specific case, was to the tune of $10K split between them.

The Hotel Saratoga was one of the most gorgeous in Havana. It was small, but glamorous, boasting an airy lobby with high cieilings; accented with rich whites, brown furniture and blues and greens, and sky-high views of the surrounding city. As assassins, they’d travelled extensively across the globe, and even though the job sometimes felt oddly glamorous, it was always a haven to be in a place with fresh linens and a working shower. Interacting with some of the biggest scum of the earth, it was far too often they weren’t afforded such a luxury.

“Mate, I’m gonna need you to be quick with that, yeah?” Lemon whispered, a strained look in his eye as he handed the drink to his brother. “People keep asking me for weird stuff, like an ‘Old Fashioned’ or a ‘Cosmopolitan’…I’ve just be lying ‘n saying that we’re out, but I’m gettin’ through this bottle real quick.” He finished, shaking a half-empty bottle of champagne in the man’s face.

Tangerine deadpanned, rubbing his chin before looking around cautiously.

“I’ll deal with it, alright? Just clock off or somethin’ - pass it to the geezer over there.” He said, nodding at an elderly, somewhat ditzy looking gentleman and placing the glass onto a tray. Given Lemon’s affinity for children’s shows and aversion to alcohol, he probably should’ve taken the bartending role, but selfishly wanted to roam the halls of a hotel such as this. They reminded him of all the classic novels he’d read.

“I can’t,” Lemon said sincerely, and the man furrowed his brows in disbelief. There’s an old woman here…I think she’s taken a fancy for me. Can’t disappoint her, she promised me a tip…”

There was a silence as the two men stared at each-other, with Lemon’s face wholly genuine and Tangerine’s in utter shock, as if the man were a complete loon.

“Yeah, well, call me when you’re done, innit?” He said cooly, fixing himself before picking up the tray. “And don’t do nothin’ I wouldn’t do.” He chided.

“That’s not exactly saying a lot…”

“Don’t piss me off, Lemon,” he sighed, giving his brother a once over. “I’d rather not act like a madman in a place like this.”

“We’re assassins, mate. It’s a bit too late for that.”

Tangerine rolled his eyes, tutting as he left the bar in the direction of the stairs, skilfully navigating himself through the long, seemingly endless corridors, trying desperately not to trip on the patterned antique carpets that lined the floors.

The ever-changing lights of the building illuminated his face as he strode in search of room 237; bright white, to soft orange to wine red, streaking in the background as if he were going through a tunnel. Considering the nature of his work, it was likely a tunnel to hell.

The room was second to the end on the top floor. Placing the tray on a small hallway table, he knocked twice, calling out to the individual inside the building. The briefing hadn’t told them much, only that the target was a female, aged 28 but could pass between 26 and 30. Sure enough, someone who fit the description answered.

Tangerine gave you a once over. You seemed to be a perfect fit; dressed in an elegant white sundress, with shiny jewellery dangling off your ears, wrist and neck. Barefooted, he watched as your feet wriggled, perhaps uncomfortable with the fact that a strange man was at your door bearing a single drink.

Objectively, you were attractive. But that didn’t mean anything. He wasn’t responsible for caring about you alive, and certainly not when you were dead. He was simply here to do his job, collect his money, and leave.

“I didn’t order room service…” you spoke, your voice soft as you cocked your head.

“It was on the house,” he quickly replied. “Some geezer at the bar was handin’ them out. Thought you were a right looker or somethin’…”

“How did he know where I was staying?”

“Slid the receptionist some pesos.”

You didn’t respond, merely humming as he watched you try to figure him out, eventually stepping to the side to let him in. He followed you in with a small nod, giving the room a quick once over as he did.

Bed, adjoining bathroom, a small kitchen and a balcony...no signs of any intruders. As he looked more carefully, he took note of the items on the various surfaces; half opened make up - the usual - alongside some questionable items, like pair of rubber kitchen gloves and a wad of cash, sticking out from an envelope.

The whole ordeal was somewhat unnerving, even to a man like Tangerine, simply because you didn’t speak; instead watched him like a hawk from the corner of the room, wringing your hands together as your eyes roamed his body. Unlike what he was used to, it certainly wasn’t lustful; no, yours were impenetrable, wide and somewhat glossy, almost as if you knew you were about to die.

Cutting the tension, he cleared his throat before he spoke.

“Enjoy your evening, darlin’.” He said before turning to leave, stopping in his tracks as you called out to him.

“Wait --” you said, rushing over to pick up the glass and downing it in the sink before handing it back to him pointedly. “Take this with you!”

The man winced at the sound of liquid seeping down the drain – 250mg of arsenic nonetheless – but kept his composure, shaking his head at you in disbelief.

“Fucking ungrateful twat, you are,” he snarled. “Some geezer spends money on you, and this is how you repay him? It’s a shocker ‘yer married.” He finished, gesturing his head towards your left ring finger where a diamond wedding band sat. As if the curtain had been lifted, you rolled your eyes and shovelled the glass into his arms, excess liquid spilling onto his suit.

“I could have you fired and on the streets in no time,” you spat. “Luckily for you, I know you don’t actually work here.”

Tangerine scoffed, pacing in a small circle before he placed his hands on his hips, ready to sweep out his gun from the holster attached to his waist. Somehow, you knew something was up, and it was clear that as the poisoning plan had been compromised, he was left with two options – a gunshot to the head, or strangulation.

“If you think I’d fucking waste my time goin’ around and serving drinks to brats like you for fun, you must be daft --”

“I’ll have you know I stay here three times a year,” you interjected. “I’ve been sleeping with the conciergerie for two years...I would’ve recognised such a face...” you said, fearless as you walked up to him, arms folded across your chest with a snarl wiped across your coloured lips.

“Who you spread your legs for is not my business, sweetheart,” Tangerine said, voice gravelly as he rolled his eyes, whipping his gun out in the process, the barrel aimed right between your eyes. “Why did ‘yer have to make things so hard?”

“...I guess my husband didn’t know that then, huh?” you chuckled. “Sorry to ruin your little plan. How much did he offer you?”

Tangerine paused, gnawing down on the insides of his mouth as he pursed his lips. This just happened to be the type of situation every assassin feared; which was why the general code was to always get in and out as soon as possible. He wasn’t always the best at thinking straight when it came to the thrill of a kill, which was why he ended up lowering the gun, letting out a frustrated sigh in the process.

It wasn’t all over - he still had the upper hand and could shoot you if he wanted – but that could compromise the mission entirely. The client – your husband, apparently – had requested that it was to be as clean as possible, with your death to look like a bad case of food poisoning rather than a home invasion.

The man paced again.

“Alright,” he sniffed. “Humour me, then. How’d you know I was here to off ya?”

You sucked in your cheeks and shrugged.

“Let’s just say this isn’t my first time,” you began, walking over the kitchen table as you lit a cigarette, taking a long drag. “He’s a conniving son of a bitch, you know? I’ve been looking over my shoulder ever since I said, ‘I do’.”

Tangerine shook his head in disbelief. “I ain’t got the foggiest idea what you’re on about love, and if you don’t start talking soon, you’re really gonna piss me off.”

You huffed, and he watched you drop your cig into an ashtray, putting on the rubber gloves and slamming a wad of cash in-front of him.

“How much did he offer?”

“Ten grand,” he replied, hesitantly walking over to you. “Split between me and my brother.”

“Fucking bastard, am I only worth 5K?” you scoffed, bringing the stick back to your lips and puffing it frustratedly, your narcissism earning an eye roll from the man himself. “Where’s your brother?”

“Don’t worry,” Tangerine said protectively. He wasn’t about to bring Lemon into a situation that he wasn’t entirely sure wasn’t compromised. Something about you was twisted, devilish, and certainly endearing hiding under a layer of pretty summer dresses, jewellery and a soft voice that could change at an instant. “What’re you saying?”

“I can double his offer. Ten grand each if you kill him for me...but I need to have a say in what goes.”

He glanced down at the stack of money before him. Ten grand was a far more enticing offer, but he knew better than to make a deal with the devil – in this case someone he’d just met. How could he be so sure you’d deliver your promise, only to turn him in at the last minute? Even worse, what if you were some kind of spy trying to see how far men like him would go?

The risks seemed to outweigh the benefits, but he wouldn't completely write you off without talking to Lemon first – for as annoying as his Thomas talk could be, he was undeniably one of the best at reading people.

Rasping his knuckles on the table, he squared his shoulders.

“— Alright. I don’t know what the fuck is going on, but clearly there’s some trouble in paradise, and I ain’t sure if I want a part of it, quite frankly. I’m gonna make a call, and when my brother gets here you’re gonna tell us everything you know, got it?”

You nodded.

“On mute, are we?” he spat. “This ain’t a bloody game. If we think – or find – that you’re lying, we won’t hesitate to whack you and ‘yer measly little husband, okay?”

“I understand.” You nodded; eyes wide as you dabbed at the cigarette with your fingertips. The two of you stared at each other for a moment before Tangerine walked away, placing his gun back in the holster before taking out his phone.

“Right, Lemon...There’s been a bit of a change of plan. I’m gonna need you to come up here, like right the fuck now. There’s a new offer on the table.”

PART TWO

Comment if you’d like to be tagged in future parts! 🫶🏽

#florence writes!!#tangerine x reader #bullet train x reader #bullet train 2022 #tangerine bullet train x reader #aaron taylor johnson x reader #bullet train smut #tangerine x reader smut #tangerine bullet train #atj x reader #atj smut

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squirting-sub · 1 year ago

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Gentle aftercare

The session was heavily s/m and involved constant pain for me without any breaks. It was a lot on my body, including being tied in the same position for way over an hour, a very big butt plug, wax play, impact play, knife play, clothespins, and degrading. On top of that, the play room was too cold to be naked in for this amount of time. Nonetheless, I ended up flying.

We have a deal that if butt plugs are involved, we each want to remove and clean it ourselves. Despite that, she removes the plug from my ass toward the end of the session, knowing I won't be able to do it. She ends the session by making me cum. We're on the floor and while I don't feel the cold yet, she can see I desperately need warmth. She covers me in a blanket and hugs me, telling me I can't stay on the floor and that she'll draw me a hot bath. After I agree, she lifts me up, holding me tight in case my legs give out. She makes me put on slippers, then holds my hand leading the way. On the way down the circular stair case she walks backwards, still holding my hand, to make sure she can catch me if I fall. When we make it to the bathroom she tells me to get in the tub and sit.

At this point I can feel the cold. I sit, wrapping my arms around my legs and start shivering, teeth clattering. My dom makes sure the water is warm before taking the shower head and working her way around my body with it. The warm water slowly makes me stop shivering and once the tub is filled almost halfway I try to stretch my legs to get them submerged. I'm weak and they're shaking, so I use my hands to help. My dom asks me if I'm ok and if there's anything I want or need. I tell her no and while the tub keeps filling up, she adds bath salts. When the tub is almost full she asks me if the temperature is good or if I want it hotter. I say it's alright, but knowing I take my showers extremely hot, she turns the water hotter. Once the tub is full, she asks again if I need anything and then decides I need to drink. A moment later she's back with a bottle of water and makes me drink, checking the amount I drank when I hand the bottle back. We talk and when I lean forward to kiss her she tells me to stay still, gently pushing me back again with her hand on my chest. Instead, she leans over me and kisses me. She sits next to the tub, her hand still on my chest and I decide to hold it while we talk, giving her arm and hand gentle kisses. Eventually she asks if I'll be ok on my own for a moment because she's officially still working (home office). I tell her yes and right on time her phone rings. She leaves the bathroom to take the call. I feel so exhausted and tired, I turn on my side and close my eyes, enjoying the warmth. When the door opens a few minutes later, I look up at my dom. "You're not fainting on me, are you?" "Sleepy.." "Then you have to get out of the tub. I can't have you falling asleep in there." I tell her I want to wash my hair and body. When she asks if I'm strong enough to do it I say sure, but she stays anyway. She helps me up while the water drains from the tub and once I'm standing, I get dizzy, holding onto her. She asks if it's bad, to which I say no. After I manage to shower, washing myself, she hands me a towel for my hair, then wraps me in a big towel. While I dry myself, she gets me a fluffy bathrobe and puts it on me when she returns. She has me lay on the sofa and gets a warm blanket from the bedroom, wrapping me in it. She even tucks it under my feet. I smile and say "great service". She kisses me, "Well, I was really rough with you after all.". I kiss her more, "I wanted that.". She gets me tea, but I'm already half asleep. I hear her moving around the room, staying close by. The whole time, she kept asking me if I'm ok and if there's anything else I need or she can do. She was so gentle and it was a whole 180 from how she was during the session.

#perfect aftercare for me #moments that will probably make me fall for her #sub original #lesbian nsft #dyke nsft #wlw bd/sm #sapphic nsft #lesbian bd/sm #lesbian d/s #wlw d/s #sapphic bd/sm #wlw nsft #sapphic d/s #aftercare

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johnwickb1tsch · 7 months ago

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bittersweet ~ a yandere!John Wick x fem!reader sunshine/grump coffee shop AU... Part 33 all chapters

WARNING: NSFW, SEXUAL CONTENT, YANDERE SH!T. Plz take care. I luv u all. 😘

As it turns out, the Underworld provides a whole slew of services designed to deal with circumstances just like this. Medical care, emergency home repair–and body disposal, all for the price of a handful of gold coins.

You sit with John as a man your lover so descriptively calls Doc sews up Wick’s wounds. There is blood on your face, and your silk pjs. Dog sits on your foot, clearly anxious about letting either one of you out of his sight. In the same spirit, John’s good hand is clasped in yours, or yours in his–neither of you have been able to let go.

Another man known simply as Charlie orchestrates the removal of the collection of corpses through the house. Yet more tattooed tradesmen work on boarding up the blown out window in the kitchen with a big piece of plywood.

It’s a miracle, really, the house didn’t burn down.

“Thought you’d left all this behind you, John?” asks Doc, making a neat knot in the former assassin’s side.

“So did I.”

“What will you do?”

“The same thing I always do when I’m lost. Talk to Winston.”

The two men share a snort of laughter you don’t entirely understand.

When Doc finishes with John he gives you a bottle of pain meds, and a bottle of what are, as far as you can tell, pharmacy grade amphetamines. “In case he has to work again.” You take them with wide eyes and a nod, praying to whatever devil might be listening that that won’t be necessary.

You’re fairly certain that no one up above is interested in any of you anymore.

You killed a man.

You killed a man with a gun to save John, and you do not feel sorry at all.

Numb, perhaps, but not sorry.

John groans as he adjusts himself on the couch. You reach out to steady him, helping him best you can. He is heavy, and you look at the stairs with doubt. “Maybe we should sleep down here tonight?”

He blinks at you, undoubtedly thinking you incredibly naïve. “We can’t stay here, baby. It’s not safe.”

“Where will we go?”

“We’re going to the city,” says John, sounding weary as a man twice his age. “I know a place. Can you drive?”

You have to admit you’re a little dizzy from the whiplash. In the span of a few hours, you’ve gone from being locked up like a princess in the castle, to murdering a man, and now John is going to let you drive?

He must read the blatant surprise on your face. He doesn’t like it, his grip tightening on your hand. “These are bad, bad men who would eat you for breakfast. You’ve got to stick with me.”

You bristle at this, because even though you absolutely should be thinking about escape? You’re not. You were thinking about how you were going to manage taking care of him in this state, and it pisses you off that he’s still so fucking worried about controlling you that he can’t see the writing written in blood on the wall.

Or at least, written in blood, on the kitchen floor.

“You asshole,” you say for the second time tonight. It wins you a lordly scowl that for some fucked up reason thrills you to the tips of your toes. But it’s too late to turn back now. “Were you there, when I fucking shot a man for you? Maybe this is just business as usual for you, but it’s fucking new to me.”

He clenches his other fist on his knee, seeming to count to ten with his eyes closed. “I’m sorry,” he finally grinds out. “I know…Are you alright?”

You guess that you put up a good enough front that he forgot that maybe he should ask. Good on you. Maybe.

“No, not really,” you answer truthfully. “But I don’t have any choice, do I?”

He actually has the grace to cast his eyes down, seeming to really think on what you’re saying. “You had a choice,” he muses quietly, his thumb sliding over your knuckles. “In the kitchen.”

You stroke Dog’s head for something to do with your other hand, which is shaking. Your thundering heart beats painfully in your chest. From the corner of your eye you take in this anomaly of a man. This man, who kidnapped you, who has been playing mental games with you for months, who has kept you prisoner, who has taken your body to heights you never even knew were possible, who has spoiled you, who has adored you and degraded you all in the same breath–this man, who somehow, you know you love with your whole heart.

“John…” He tilts his head to look at you, his eyes glazed with pain. You’re not sure if it’s physical or mental at this point. “Did you really think I could shoot you?”

Perhaps he did, because in his mind, the only acceptable answer to a wrong against you is murder.

Perhaps in the brutal world he’s occupied since he was just a child, it is.

Suddenly he can’t meet your eyes. “Maybe I would deserve it, y/n.”

The fact that he knows that is definitely a good sign.

But the tricky truth is–it wasn’t all bad. And the good? The good was almost worth the bad, you dare to think now that you’ve survived it. You know better than to say that, because you know you are in the midst of a negotiation right now.

“I love our life together, when you’re sweet to me, John. I only want to murder you when you boss me around. And I only mean that figuratively.”

A huff of laughter escapes him; there is a glimmer of hope in his miserable dark eyes. You know it’s insane, after everything he’s done, but you feel sorry for this man.

“If you would just treat me as an equal, instead of constantly trying to control me…” I’ll be your ride or die. You can’t bring yourself to say it aloud yet. He already has enough power over you. “Do you think…that’s something we can work on?”

He could have pushed you over with a feather, when slowly he nods, bringing your knuckles to his lips to kiss them. “If you don’t want to murder me after everything I’ve done to you…maybe anything is possible.”

You on the other hand, can only blink. Did you just hear what you think you heard?

That blood-pressure induced ringing has returned to your ears again. The explosion and gunfire surely didn’t help, but somehow this is far more momentous to you. Your surprise for the magnitude of this admission surprises you, and you must show it in the lift of your brows. It makes him smile ruefully; you’re not sure why the sight of it squeezes your heart so.

You are not so stupid as to think this traumatic event has healed him miraculously, knocked some loose screw back into place. The mind doesn’t work like that. But just maybe, it did put some things into perspective. You are allies now against a mutual cause, rather than enemies of each other. And just maybe, when you tell him that you don’t want to leave him, he will actually believe you from now on.

“Anyway…I can drive the Rover…” you say with confidence, even though you are still utterly flabbergasted he’d even give you the opportunity. “I don’t know about the ‘Stang.” The Mustang you think you could manage in an emergency, but it’s been a long time since you had to drive a stick, and being responsible for his baby doesn’t sit well with you.

“That will do.” He grumbles, mostly to himself, “I’ve got to teach you to drive. There is so much I need to teach you.”

You’re not sure what he means by that. You are too tired to hash it out completely right now, but you sense that something, a whole lot of something, has changed in the past few hours between you.

He makes to get to his feet with a groan–and can’t quite. “Maybe I am too old for this shit,” he grouses.

“John, you got shot, stabbed, and fought off ten heavily armed assassins. I think you can count tonight as a win.”

Again, that bitter huff of laughter escapes him. You help John to his feet, trying to steady him as best you can. If he’d injured one of his legs badly you would be so fucked; there was no way you could carry him.

“Um…who were they?” You realize you haven’t even talked about who was just trying to kill him. You suppose you already think you know the answer, but then again you could be wrong.

“Camorra goons, I’m pretty sure,” hisses John, clearly in pain. “Guess I should have kept someone alive for questioning…I’ve always been bad at that.”

You press your lips, because it shouldn’t be funny…but if you don’t laugh about it, you might cry. Your life has been so weird lately, it almost just seems par for the course in a way.

“John…” you chortle and sigh. “Surely the d’Antonio kid gets the picture now? You’ve killed everyone he’s sent after you? Why can’t these assholes just leave you alone?” Why the prince of the Camorra would court such trouble is beyond you.

“Good question.” He groans as he takes a step, his good arm slung over your shoulder. “The young ones, especially the second or third generation, think they have to prove themselves. Or maybe…he loved his mother and wants me dead. It’s a faint possibility.”

“Italian boys and their mothers.”

John chuckles a little, then winces. “Please, sweetheart,” he entreats you. “Don’t make me laugh.”

Maybe you are a silly creature, but hearing the endearment for you warms something in your heart that had been left out in the cold for too long. “Fine,” you agree, even though humor is absolutely your biggest coping mechanism. “Tell me what we need to do next?”

“We need to pack.”

“Ok. What?”

“Suits, and guns.”

You guess in a nutshell, that was the essential distillation of his world, once upon a time. Now, quite against your will, you both are being kicked back into it. By the look in John’s dark eyes, for some reason you have a feeling it’s the Camorra who are going to regret it.

#john wick #john wick x reader #john wick x y/n #john wick x you #keanu reeves #john wick fic #keanu reeves x reader #yandere john wick #bittersweet john wick imagine

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angelsberrymilk · 6 months ago

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AU where Sam and Dean find out they have an 11 month old half brother a year after John Winchester's death. And worst of all, his mum is just about 20.

I need the angst, the anger and the fucked up situation of it all.

When they first meet the girl, she's a waitress at a shitty dinner in a random town, serving Dean his greasy burger and Sam his salad. She looks so terribly young and exhausted despite the polite customer service smile and laughs she lets out.

She's pretty and Dean throws one of his charming grins her way and flirts with her, watching her trying to keep it professional and scribble aggressively their orders in her little notepad. Sam kicks him under the table, feeling bad for the girl. And then she leaves, but without Dean's eyes following her until she disappears to the back.

Then her manager gets brutally mauled in the diner by the monster of the week after closing hours and Dean and Sam investigate the scene. They spend a night after the other following each of her co-workers back to their homes, watching over them and for the beast to strike. Nothing happened, not a single peep from the monster. And so the next night was her turn to be stalked by the brothers in the dead of night, parked not far away from the filthy and run-down apparently she calls home.

They wait, and wait, taking turns walking around the building in case anything pops up. Until a screams makes them run up the stairs with weapons in hand, breaking the door without a second thought. Bullets fly and sobs gets louder and louder from the poor waitress, curled on the floor against the wall. When the thing's dead and it's all over, Dean tries to get her to stop crying, until he realises it wasn't her sobbing but a little baby boy clutched to her chest and he gets hit with hauntingly familiar eyes and dark hair.

Sam helps the girl up when Dean is all but frozen, still dripping with sweat and hair stuck in every direction and smelling of the impala and shitty coffee.

The girl shushes her babyboy, trying to stop her body from trembling and trying to rip her eyes away from the disgusting sight in the middle of her flat, blood soaking most of the wooden floorboard at their feet.

It takes them a while to all calm down, sitting in the other side of the flat, on her bed with her babyboy still in her arms. Her eyes look foogy, they have that far away look in them, her hair sticking in all directions and her thin t-shirt falling of one shoulder, blood drops drying on her barefeet from the chaos.

"Who are you? You're not FBI.." She whispers, looking up at Sam and Dean with a sad and scared face, a face that only begs to be hugged and protected from all dangers of the world.

"We're hunters, we help get rid of-- monsters." Sam explains, trying and failing to give her a reassuring smile, unable to look at her in the eyes for too long.

"How old are you?" Dean suddenly asks and she feels scared, his tone empty of any comfort.

Sam doesn't say anything but looks at Dean, frustration, anger and fear swimming behind his tired eyes.

"Why?" She asks, eyes flitting between the two in fear.

"Answer the question." Dean repeats.

"Dean," Sam says, unsure what he's even trying to do. He wants to know too, this couldn't be a coincidence at all, the little boy looks a lot like their father and them for that matter.

"I'm," She clears her throat, "I'm 20."

"Fuck," Dean says and all but collapses on her bed, sitting with his elbows on his knees, Gun still in hand while his hands covered his face.

"What?" She says, eyes wide. "What does that have to do with anything?" She quickly asks, defensive and scared at the same time, looking at Sam, eyes begging for answers.

"Who's his dad?.." Sam asks and gulps, watching her while Dean has a breakdown next to her on the bed.

"Uhm... It was a one night stand and I didn't bother looking for his dad-- But I don't understand-"

"Just answer the question." Sam cuts her off, making her flinch. He grimaces at her reaction and adds a, "Please..." Just for good measure.

She looks down at her babyboy sleeping against her chest, and back up at Sam, "He said his name was John."

And Sam throws up right then and there.

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thetravelingtyper · 7 months ago

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On The Same Page pt 6(Simon 'Ghost' Riley x Reader Bookshop! AU)

Stuck in by the rain, you, Simon, and Sam receive important news over dinner...

Part 5, Part 7, Masterlist

Image from GIF by tana-the-dreamchaser

Simon followed you up the stairs like a shadow, his steps even but quiet. If not for his hand seeking yours you would have thought him a ghost. He seems to seek you like a moth to starlight and you find yourself relaxing with his close presence. You reach the door at the top of the stairs and push it open to be met with the smell of a simmering spice. You perk up instantly and call out for Sam. His curls pop out of the kitchen and seeing your entwined hands he smiles.

“Are you making what I think you are making?” You ask hopefully, eyes softened towards your friend. You step into the living area and release your hand from Simon’s. He abides by it but lingers close to you, choosing to take in his surroundings.

The vibes of the apartment are, well, eclectic. Amongst the thriving house plants, SImon can see little bits of you and Sam. The worn love seat a dappled plum color, a plush leather couch, and, he looks at the floor and chuckles, a fox in a sweater welcome mat. You move to the kitchen after asking Simon to make himself comfortable. He nods and moves to the loveseat, taking your backpack off and setting it to the side before taking a seat. He observes further as you step into the kitchen to talk to Sam.

On the coffee table, there is a vase of sunflowers, the TV stand is an old steamer trunk, and lining the far walls across from the door are books. Upon four shelves is a library’s worth of books and Simon stands and approaches them. Upon further expectation he cracks a smile, the inner panel of the bookshelves are painted the same as the ceiling of the bookstore. A rough hand comes up and he traces the spines of some of the leather-bound books. There are books of all kinds roughly categorized by genre. Littered amongst the shelves are other things, among them, Simon finds things like a cow teapot, a Union Jack mug holding pens, leather-bound notebooks, a dragon beanie baby, and something else that pauses his searching.

On a desk in the middle of the two sets of shelves is a collection of mechanical parts. The smell of gun oil and steel pulls memories from service and he leans down, turning on the desk lamp to examine it closer. In the middle of the desk is a typewriter. The carriage is set aside from the body of the typewriter and the smell of oil gets stronger. He looks around the table and finds a myriad of cases, some big and others small, mostly belonging to what he assumes to be typewriters.

You pop your head out of the kitchen to call for SImon but you find him engrossed in his examination. You smile, unsurprised at his curiosity, most visitors are drawn in by the book before stumbling upon your workstation. You step out of the kitchen and call to him. He looks up and turns to you in question.

“Dinner is ready.”

You say it with a growing grin as Sam had made enchiladas in a Tex-Mex style you missed. Simon looks back to the disassembled typewriter once more before he approaches you and follows you into the kitchen. If the living area was eclectic the kitchen was more so. Along the walls of the modest space hung pictures of every kind. Along the side wall, under a window was an old dresser or antique buffet that held a beaten-up record player. Along the wall were art prints, old diagrams, and book posters. On the buffet, next to the kitchen table was a collection of tabletop books, big glossy things meant as eye candy. He huffs a laugh at the selection: fox photo collections, Jules Verne releases, and typewriters.

He turns his attention to Sam who is already sitting at the table, three places set for you guys to eat. Even the cutlery and plates are a mix of wild colors and subtle finery. You move to the stove where a baking dish holds something excellent smelling. Grabbing some oven mitts (fox chefs of course) you take the dish and set it on some ceramic pot holders on the table.

“I hope you like enchiladas.” You say it with a pleased expression before shooting Sam a nostalgic smile. You motion for Simon to sit and he does before you take the seat next to him.

You all begin to eat without much fuss, conversation passing in softer words between you and Sam while Simon chimes in every once in a while. However, after about 15 minutes in, Sam pauses as if remembering something.

You see a look pass over his face before he reaches behind him and picks up a letter off of the counter behind him. He offers it to you and you recognize the handwriting.

“Sofia was here earlier, she looked urgent and dropped this off mentioning for you to read it. Something about a collaboration of some kind for a release over here. She wouldn’t give me more details than that before she was rushing off to her next appointment.”

“Huh,” You work on prying the envelope open gently, “she would normally call.”

Sam shrugs but watches with curiosity as you pull out a typed document. The paper at first touch is heavy, almost a thin cardstock, and the smell of ink and paper is crisp. There is even a wax seal holding the paper close and you want to roll your eyes. The sneaking familiarity seeps into your bones as you swipe a finger under the seal breaking it and unfolding the paper. When you read the heading your stomach clenches. It was from your old company. Something in your demeanor must have changed as you lean back in your chair feeling suddenly winded. Sharp eyes turn to you and Simon and Sam both stop eating.

“What is it? Sam asks with concern, leaning forward in his chair. Simon next to you frowns as your eyes skim the letter, your shoulders getting tenser and tenser. At the end of the letter, you bite your lip before slowly closing the letter and handing it across the table to Sam without a word. He about tears it open and reads it himself.

“This is bullshit.” These are the first words out of his mouth and he tosses the letter onto the table. You don't reply, instead pushing your almost empty plate aside and putting your head in your hands with a sigh. Simon’s hand finds your knee under the table instantly and you eye him through your hands. There is exhaustion in your eyes, one that is familiar to him. You move to lay your head down with a sigh, leaning towards Simon naturally for comfort.

“What is it, Dove?” He asks, voice low.

“Read for yourself.” Is all you offer and he does so, reaching a long arm for the letter before reading.

The letter begins with a ‘greetings’ in a faceless text. Following are niceties and a “wish you are well’. One that you wanted to scoff at, given your last encounter with your previous publisher. He continues over the unnecessary and gets to the meat of the letter.

… due to the raving success of your last book under our services, we have decided to do a release tour and event of James’s new book under your direction. We have already reached out to Sofia for contact with you. Given both books' American popularity, we expect such a collaboration to benefit not only you but also White Owl Publishing. We expect James’s arrival in London this Sunday. If you have any questions please reach us at…

Simon frowns and looks at you.

“When the hell did James start writing?” Sam asks you but you just groan and pull yourself up, a hand reaching under the table to squeeze Simon’s in silent thanks. Something serious settles over you,

“I don’t know. Maybe when he started sleeping with the CEO’s daughter.”

You bite it, voice sharp as a knife. The woman was an accomplished author under her fathers' direction and specialized in YA and new adult romance novels. You used to hold a lot of respect for her when you first joined the company but she soon, after learning of your specialization in children's literature, became downright dismissive. That dismission partnered with a giggly fascination with James, turned you away from her and towards the more quiet of the other authors and editors. However, given her status as the CEO's daughter, there was no escaping her influence, thankfully Sofia was always with you, and due to your focus on children, you didn't have to interact with her much. Other than events like the Publisher’s Gala, and well you know how the last one turned out.

After the gala, you had learned from one loyal person, a fellow children's author named Sarah that the affair had been going strong for months. She hadn’t known until a drunk Sabrina had bragged on his arm at an after-party that faithful night. She called the moment she discovered your plans to leave and wanted you to know.

Back in the moment, you debate your options. Given the publication’s no doubt about you after the Gala, you couldn’t risk saying no to this. Why they wanted to associate with a ‘failure and second rate nobody’ you didn't know. You look to Sam, his family's business was now connected with one of the largest publishers in America, and you weren't going to risk their skins because of disgust and fear. A silent resolution lit up your face, Sam, seeing this, grins.

“You're going to go with this.” It's not a question out of his mouth. A shaky smile hits your face at that. Simon just looks to you, something about your determination makes him want to smile. His hand turns to entangle with yours under the table and you look at him, taking this as his support.

“Johnny will want to knock some heads” His voice surprises you and laughter bubbles out of your chest. It quiets down to giggles a moment later and you pull your plate back to you. He wasn't wrong. A few tea times after meeting the man you had told the Scot the story of why you ended up in London. His brows furrowed and looking at you he cursed.

“Cheat? On a prize like you lass? Need me to do him in?”

You mention this to Simon in a giggle. He smiles.

“Good man, Johnny is.”

He runs his thumb over your knuckles and you breathe out as your heart skips a beat, tension draining from your form as you take another bite before nodding in agreement. Simon gives you a small smile before he turns back to his food with a hum, but his hand remains in yours through the rest of dinner.

---

After dinner, you stand up to collect the dishes. Sam gives you a look before shooting up to race you to the sink. You beat him by a foot before splashing him with cool water. He chuckles at you, eyes brightening at your mirthful expression. You hear the sound of a chair and Simon stands. Sam looks at you with a grin and a raised brow before he pulls himself into a stretch.

He looks at Simon and then back to himself.

“I may have a shirt and some sweats if you’d like to change Simon.”

The taller man moves around the table and pauses, looks down at his jeans, and gives a nod. With the confirmation, Sam winks at you and leaves the kitchen for his room. You shake your head fondly before going to wash the dishes, but a hand stops you. Simon is next to you then, the proximity quickening your heart once again.

“I’ll do ‘em,”

is a statement and he nudges you aside gently with his large frame. You realize then just how big he is. While you were by no means tiny, Simon was tall. Sam was easily 6’ but you had to tilt your head to look up at Simon. He started dutifully washing plates without any more comments so you studied the side profile of his face. With a strong jawline cut with a few scars, your eyes focus on his eyes, focused and quiet as he works. The action, so domestic, calms something in you. While you loved being with Sam, you missed being with a partner sometimes, the attraction and the comfort. You loved Sam like a brother and that came with the typical roommate squabbles sometimes, you laugh mentally. You missed James some though despite everything. Having another person to hold was a human element absent in your life.

But, your heart murmured, there is Simon.

You sigh inwardly, your heart skipping a beat as you envision his smiles. They lit up his face in a way that took the weight of his service, the exhaustion, off his shoulders for even a brief moment. He had seemingly been open, but respectful about some sort of feelings towards you, and you cherished his careful support.

Your hand on his arm pauses Simon, and his eyes flicker down to yours in question. Without much thought your hand traces what is exposed of his forearm, fingers swirling around the inked skin, you linger a moment. Then, with a steady exhalation from Simon, your hands follow up his arm and over the sleeve, feeling the strength of his bicep Simon stills. His other hand reaches for the hand towel and setting the plate down he pulls back from the sink and turns his attention fully to you.

You look engrossed in your study of him, like a jeweler over a diamond or precious stone. You lift for a moment seeing the towel and step back, allowing the man to dry his hands before he takes the next step to follow you. Your eyes widen in realization when your back hits the side counter and Simon steps comfortably, naturally even, into your space.

Your breath catches in your throat when he raises a hand to your face, it ghosts over your cheek before, heart pounding, you lean into his palm. It is rough, worn from years of work, but it's warm, and something deep in you preens at the touch. Honey eyes find yours, widening a moment as you lean in, before lowering in reverence. Here you were, he thought,

“Sweet thing.”

It comes out in a whisper and your heart clenches. You close your eyes, raising a hand against his, cherishing the feel of the touch. His heart stutters then when you reopen your eyes and give him a sweet smile. Your hand runs down his arm and the other wraps around his abdomen and you close the space between the both of you with an embrace. His arms drop in surprise, but as your head comes to rest against his chest, they soon engulf you in the scent of leather and smoke.

With your ear against his sturdy chest, you can hear his heart pick up, you smile to yourself then, happy the effect is mutual. Simon inhales the scent of old books and baked goods and hums, the sound reverberating through you. He chuckles before setting his head on yours just enjoying the feeling of you in his arms. You mutter something and he questions you with another hum. You repeat it a bit louder.

“Want dessert?” The question incites a chuckle from him and his arms loose to look down at you. Something swirls in his eyes, warm like syrup, and his lips quirked up in a smile.

“Sure, Honey.” The two syllables of endearment are languid and you bask in them like a noon sun. His eyes flicker down to your lips a moment and your breath catches, but the sound of footsteps alerts you to Sam. You know him well enough, he doesn't want to interrupt so you smile at Simon and run your hands up his arms before stepping out of his grasp. Sam enters a second later with a bundle of clothes. His eyes are lit up and after glancing at you he grins at Simon.

“Here you are, Mate.” He gives a mock British accent and hands the bundle to Simon. You then pat the taller man's arm.

“Guest room is down the hall, Sam will show you. There's a bathroom too. I hope you eat cheesecake?”

You ask him and he just nods before Sam motions to him to follow. Simon gives you one last glance then heads after Sam. Once both men are out of the kitchen you grasp at your pounding heart as your stomach flutters. You felt giddy, a childish wonder in your heart at the affection. Simon was so warm and you felt safe in his arms. You hum to yourself as you pass to the fridge, opening it and examining the inside.

Beside produce and leftovers sat your quarry, made a day or so ago. There sat a glorious strawberry shortcake cheesecake, made by you. Albeit there was a slice missing courtesy of Sam but the cake was an absolute unit. You pull the covered dish out carefully as Sam pads into the kitchen alone. He leans against the counter as you work and regards you.

You hum more as you work, relaxing further in his presence, reaching to grab three plates. You then cut modest slices for each of you before sticking the rest of the cake back in the fridge.

“You’re thinking too loud Sammy.”

You then turn to him, a knowing look on your face. What surprises you is the serious look on his, Sam’s arms are crossed as he leans. You set the plates on the table before approaching your friend.

“What’s wrong?”

Green eyes turn to you, dark as English ivy, and they flicker down to you.

“I think James means trouble.”

It is all he offers. You sigh, taking a seat at the table. You think a moment. You wondered why your manager, Sofia wouldn't have called you, but this seemed like such a sudden onset by your old publisher. Given her sudden rush to leave you wondered where this put Sam’s family. Hearing your story the small publisher was happy to take both you and Sofia under their wing. White Owl Publishing was small, but they had cherished new classics under them. Your eyes flick up to meet Sam’s.

“We can’t risk your family’s reputation. Not after everything they've done for me and Sofia.”

Sam’s jaw clenches and you are taken aback a moment when his muscles tense. Sam had always been the most level-headed person you know.

“I don’t give a shit after what he’s done to you.” It is firm, Sam stands taller at the statement. You think back to the firm grip on your neck. Showing up at Sam’s door with tears streaming down your face, the choked sobs. It was the first but not the last time the man had laid hands on you. Weeks before the gala was marked with a possession like no other by James. In hindsight making up for his affair but you didn’t and still don’t understand why Sam triggered it.

“I should have knocked his teeth in the first time he touched you.”

Sam’s voice is even but you can sense the rage simmering. You get up and go to him seeking to comfort him but you jump when you see the form of Simon at the entrance of the kitchen. Your surprise has Sam turning as well, the simmer broken.

“He grabbed you, Dove?” Simon’s voice is ice. If you thought Sam was simmering rage, Simon has the look of a soldier. His eyes are dark and his lips are up in a snarl, but he is collected, with a refined rage, trained to kill. You gulp. You nod slowly.

“In the past month or so before the gala, when I found out he was cheating. James got possessive.” You say it calmly but there is a bubble of anxiety, black and vile, in your stomach. You try to shake it off, but the shadow of the experience hangs over you. Simon, fresh from the shower steps into the kitchen, hands open in an offering. Sam watches as you glance at Simon before stepping into the man’s embrace, something in his chest settling with firm contentment.

Simon on the other hand wraps you in one arm and uses his hand to smooth down your hair. He rocks you slowly and you melt in his arms. You calm in his arms, staying a quiet moment before running a hand over his shoulder and reluctantly pulling back. You look up to Simon with a shy smile,

“The cake will get warm.”

He lets you go slowly and follows you and Sam to the table. He takes the same seat and is met with a heavenly smell. The smell of vanilla and strawberry draws his eyes to the masterpiece in front of him. Sam offers him a smile before taking a large bite out of the cake that makes you giggle. You look at Simon before taking your own, albeit more modest bite. Simon follows and is met with heaven. Strawberry bursts on his tongue as the combination of heavy cheesecake and fluffy shortcake mix into a powerful combination.

“Fucking hell Love.” Is all he offers and you laugh, not expecting such a reaction from the stoic man. Your laughter is music to his ears,

“Glad you like it, Simon.”

He could get used to the sound of his name rolling off your tongue.

End Chapter 6

Taglist!

@ghostlythots, @tapioca-milktea1978, @cmbghost, @nexthyperfix

#cod mw2 2022 fanfic #simon riley x reader #ghost x reader #soap and reader #simon riley fluff #fanfiction #simon 'ghost' riley x reader #simon ghost riley #simon ghost x reader #simon riley x you #on the same page #Simon riley x you #Simon riley #cod mw2 2022 #john soap mactavish #Protective ghost #Protect

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kekaki-cupcakes · 6 months ago

Note

Hey !

Hope ure doing good

I like AU and I wondered if u could please do a leo valdez x reader fic

Like...They live in the same apartment at the same floor and they see each other frequently in the corridors, and with the time they create an affinity

I have emerged from my cave. hello world. <3.

Leo Valdez x Reader--- Mortal/Apartment AU

»»————-　★　————-««

“...Hi?” You said, hitching your tote bag, the Kiki’s delivery service-patterned one, back onto your shoulder. It always fell down when you were walking down the front steps, past the skinny stray cat who slept underneath the mailboxes. Everyone in the building had named her Stick Insect.

It was in a loving way. You hoped.

Leo made an odd wheezing sound that sounded a lot like a beached whale taking its last breath as he dragged one of those old-fashioned red waggons behind him. He wiped his hands on his green army jacket, the one with all the jangly badges you could hear coming from a mile off.

Your favourite was the Minecraft TNT one, underneath the trans flag pin, and one that just simply said ‘BBS’. You didn’t quite know what that meant.

He grinned at you brightly, despite his shaky arms, and lugged the wagon of cardboard boxes and what seemed to be an entire chunk of golden sheet metal along the pavement.

»»————-　★　————-««

“Hi,” you said, holding the door open a second longer than necessary so that Leo could lug his giant cardboard box through. You still hadn’t figured out what he kept in all those boxes and bags.

“Hey!” he said, and bumped straight into a doorway with a red face. Then he scurried up the stairs and left you in the liminal space that was the empty apartment complex hallway after ten p.m.

You stood there for a moment, and then realised you were still smiling.

»»————-　★　————-««

Shit. Shit.

You were running so late. I mean, technically, it wasn’t your fault you were going to miss the start of your favourite classes ever. Your alarm clock, one of those old-fashioned red ones [it was also missing one of the bubble things on top and only rang on one side until it vibrated itself off your bedside table], hadn’t gone off in time this morning and began ringing loudly at nine thirty instead of seven thirty.

You tossed your apple core into the little waste paper basket by the big hallway windows, and searched your pockets for your keys. Shit.

“Hey,” Leo said, from where he was unlocking his door. He was room 7. He also had massive bags under his eyes, you noticed. You also noticed that his eyes were the prettiest glowing brown when the morning sun shone through the windows.

You blinked, forgetting why your hands were in your pockets. You probably looked like an idiot. “Uh, hi.”

He looked away, scratching the back of his neck. “Sorry… if your power went out at some point last night…? That might’ve been me.”

“Can you, like, control electricity or something?” You asked with a laugh.

This was the first time you’d exchanged more than a few words since you’d asked for his name when you watched a very loud girl dressed solely in Olivia Rodrigo merch yell at a confused white guy to ‘pivot’, as he carried a complicated looking egg chair up the stairs.

Leo shook his head. “Nah, I wish. ‘Was just... working on a project... And I may have blown up my power sockets. And the street lamp.”

“What are you building in there?” You asked, “A moving castle?”

»»————-　★　————-««

Your friend burped in your ear—in quite a disgusting way, may you add—and stumbled forward, arm slung over your shoulders. You roll your eyes at their inability to walk like a normal person after only three shots and pull your phone out of your pocket. After a few tries at putting your password in, 1989, you manage to unlock it. You’ve got charms hanging off the clear case—little soot sprites that swirl in your vision as you blink forcefully.

The Uber’s on the street now, so you heaved your door shut behind you, room 4, and began to trudge down the staircase. There’s a new scorch mark on the third from the bottom step, and you picture a dragon stomping up after his 9-5.

You tried to hold in a laugh, only to fail. Your friend giggled loudly, the laughter contagious, and faceplanted.

“Fuck, dude,” you heard, and then turned to see Leo standing by his door, three raspberry slushies in his arms. It was the first time he hadn’t been lugging canvas bags or wooden crates in a while.

He nodded. “Metal.”

“Shut up!” you chuckle, wiping your brow. You reach down and pick up your friends floppy arms as they begin to snooze diagonally. The taste of vodka and pineapples rose in your throat. “Come on, get up!”

Leo peeked over the stair bannister.

Nosy little bugger. Cute, nosy little bugger, you corrected yourself. Then you frowned, watching him blink owlishly and blush from the roots. You didn’t say that out loud, right?

“Uh, yes,” Leo squeaked, “you did.”

»»————-　★　————-««

You carried the coffee cups as you walked up the stairs, eyes on your phone while you texted your friend to stop watching reruns of Brooklyn Nine Nine and get onto the word doc.

The group project was due tonight, and the lazy bugger was stress-obsessing over Gina Lenetti, the human form of the one hundred emoji.

You slid your phone into the back pocket of your jeans, soot sprites catching on the denim, and fished out your keys once you reached your door. Another one banged shut further down the hall. You stuck your keys into the lock. “Hi.”

“Hey!” Leo panted, still in his pyjamas, and raced out of the building.

You rolled your eyes and grinned.

»»————-　★　————-««

“You’re gonna have to tell me what you’re doing with all of this junk,” you said cheerfully, moving your eyes in sync with the black and white cat clock hanging on the wall.

You turned away when you got dizzy, taking in the piles of things balanced precariously around you like a steampunk library. Vintage machines like typewriters, telephones with the spinning number circles, and record players—the ones that have that big tuba shape sticking out the top—.

Drills and hammers were scattered on the layers of cute little rugs, posters from animes you hadn’t seen yet stuck to the walls, and a lot of Polaroid pictures. You picked one up.

The two people you’d seen helping Leo move in a few months ago were grinning at the camera with Mickey Mouse hats on.

“It’s not junk!” Leo looked up from the pile of jackets—black and white chequered ones, a giant purple hoodie, and one with flames up the sleeves—that he was hastily shoving off a mustard-coloured armchair.

“Sorry,” you apologised with a laugh. “You’ll have to tell me what you’re doing with all those bits and bobs.”

He ran a hand through his dark, curly hair. “Okay, okay, but you can’t dob me into the landlord.”

“I would never,” you said, completely serious. Leo stared at you for a moment, his eyes all weird-looking. They made your chest feel like Ponyo, floating around and grinning.

Then he looked away nervously. You smile and look away too. Leo’s kitchen, in the same spot as yours, with the same apartment layout, could not look any more different from yours.

There were coloured magnets moved into swear words on the fridge and golden, oily instant coffee machines in parts on the bench.

Your kitchen had jam jars of little flowers and chocolate-covered almonds scattered around the collection of salt and pepper shakers you’d inherited from some badass old aunt. You had matching sets of penguins, mushrooms, and creepy baby dolls, all filled with salt and pepper.

“Sure…” Leo shoved some empty take-out boxes into his bin.

He looked at you with a wide smirk. He led you through to what you’d made into a spare room for your friends, and opened the door triumphantly. “Come on through... to Leo Land!”

You stepped around the door, even though you could’ve looked through the wide hole in it if you really wanted to. A hulking metal form was hanging from a wooden stand in the centre of the room, with wires and coils hanging out of it.

More collections of scrap metal folded up into shapes that could be claws or grabber machines, maybe, were sitting on benches between spray cans of gold paint.

Welding material, or at least that’s what they looked like, took up a corner, sparks flying.

You narrowed your eyes at Leo, finally realising why he had so many tears in his cargo pants and paper clips in his jacket sleeves. “Leo…”

“Yah?”

“Are you perhaps building a bomb?”

“No!” Leo scoffed, literally hugging a giant metal boot to his chest like it was his baby. Except the boot had green eyes. “This is Festus!”

“A foetus?” you asked, wondering how deranged this pretty boy was, despite his cool old-fashioned toys, big jackets, and need for multiple slushies at a time. “Are you feeling okay?”

Leo rolled his brown eyes at you. “Festus is a dragon! Well, he's not a dragon yet; he’s just a torso, a half-done head, and a bunch of feet. He’s got nine feet right now, cause I haven’t been able to replicate a working one more than once.”

“You’re building a giant metal dragon in your spare room?”

“Well, it sounds stupid when you say it like that.”

“You’re so cool.”

»»————-　★　————-««

“Hey querida,” Leo said, kissing you on the cheek before you grabbed your mail from the boxes outside the building, waved to Stick Insect the skinny cat, and ran to your car.

Stupid broken alarm clock.

“...Heyyy.”

»»————-　★　————-««

“Mi amor!”

You turned around on the couch, putting down your takeout box of noodles [from the good place near the park where the old dude who plays chess against anyone who walks past lives]. “Yah?”

Leo came trudging into the lounge, slash kitchen, with your bright red alarm clock in his arms, all parts attached. “Fixed!”

He plopped down on the couch next to you, squashing the lion squishmellow that had been ripped open in the back, and showed you the now shiny metal and matching bits on the top, with that stupid little grin of his.

You kissed the top of his nose and took the clock from his greasy, scarred [incredibly nice-looking] hands. “Thank you.”

The TV crackled in front of you both, balancing on the stack of old record players Leo was repairing for the second-hand store full of goths and old ladies down the street. You put the little alarm clock down near your feet and pulled out the strawberry-patterned blanket Piper’s girlfriend crocheted you both for Christmas.

Leo leant over and curled his arm around your waist, laying half across you like a cat in the sun. You sat up a little, as he fiddled with the remote he’d added far too many buttons to for no reason at all. "Here, stick insect, kitty! Stick insect, here, kitty!”

Little padding sounds came from the hallway, and then the chubby, spotted cat launched herself over the back of the couch and onto Leo’s shoulder.

He shreiked and headbutted you as Stick Insect hopped over and sat between you both, plopped down in loaf position, fluffy feet hidden. Leo sniffed haughtily and sank into the hug you gave him. Stick Insect began chewing on the necklace around your neck, the blue teardrop one Leo had made you a while ago. You kissed his forehead, stroking the cat's soft forehead gently.

He turned the TV on, looking up at you with sparkling eyes. “Howl, or Kiki?”

»»————-　★　————-««

I HAVE A PJO EVENT GOING ON RIGHT PLEASE GO INTERACT YOU CAN REQUEST ANYTHING JUST CHECK THE POST <3 <3

#pjo fandom #Leo valdez x reader #Leo valdez x you #leovaldez #leo valdez fanfic #Leo valdez pjo #pjo #percy jackson #heroes of olympus #percy jackon and the olympians #leo valdez #leo valdez x y/n #hoo

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p1nk-b1tes · 8 months ago

Text

chérie amour

[ rolan x fem!tav smut ]

summary: rolan leaves his spellbook and his lunch at home, so tav decides to pay him a visit at work to return them.

warnings: blowjobs, semi-public sex, risky sex

words: 3200

find part one here

click here to read on ao3 or read below:

A leather-bound spellbook and a sandwich wrapped in paper, left uncharacteristically atop the kitchen table. Presumably forgotten.

Tav rubs her eyes of the lingering hold of sleep, her brow furrowing at the sight in front of her. Rolan isn’t usually the forgetful type but he’s also far from perfect, no matter how perfect he appears to be through her own eyes. Tav picks up the sandwich and the book and peers around the corner towards their front door and finds that the pack he usually takes with him to work is missing. With the weight of both of the items in her hands she wonders how he didn’t notice he was leaving them behind.

She knows right then what she has to do. It’s no question.

She’ll visit him at Sorcerous Sundries for lunch.

—

The mid-morning sun is warm and the clouds are sparse as she walks the streets of the lower city. It’s a busy day–the first of the month always is–and vendors line the streets in their colorful tents, selling wares of all kinds and doing whatever they can to entice her to stop by and take a look.

A fruit stand catches her eye first. It’s obviously been popular - if the half-filled crates are any indication - and the brillant shapes and colors of the perfectly ripe fruit make her want to buy it all just to sink her teeth into it and feel the sticky juice run down her arm. She looks around at everything while the skinny gnome man behind the stall asks her about her morning and her plans for the rest of the day. She’s more than happy to entertain him and before she leaves she promises to return to him on her way home. The man laughs and tells her he can’t promise anything remaining past mid-day. She buys a pear just in case.

There’s also a man selling fish, and another selling polished pearl buttons, and a woman offering quick tailoring services offers her a toothless smile as she passes by. She passes a florist and decides to buy a small bouquet on a whim before stopping at a sweet mother and daughter selling pastries. The fruit-filled one calls her name and she swaps some gold pieces for it, adding a couple extra simply because she can. When the mother calls after her to tell her she overpaid, Tav waves goodbye and wishes her a happy afternoon.

By the time she reaches Sorcerous Sundries her smallpack is a little heavier, her coin purse lighter, and her heart warmer.

The roar of elementals and the tingle of magic tickling the hairs on her arms act as a pleasant and familiar welcome as she walks through the doors of the grand building. Lively as ever, the controlled chaos of magic and the constant pursuit of knowledge feel like a second home to her. She wouldn’t have it any other way.

Tav makes her way to the second floor of Sundries, careful as she steps around a twinkling projection of a tomcat, fast asleep in the center of a step, and making sure to wave to Lia as she goes, promising to come back later to properly say hello when she’s not busied with a patron. Finally, she cheesily blows a kiss to Rolan’s projection at the top of the stairs and promptly vanishes into a portal.

Navigating through the many corridors and staircases of Sundries’ private sector is easy despite something being different, moved, or aggressively renovated each time she visits, and it’s not long until she finds herself where she knows Rolan is most likely to be found. She peeks her head into the library first. It’s empty. So is his private study. With that knowledge in mind she turns on her heels and skips down the red carpeted hall until she reaches the end and raps her knuckles on the ornate wooden frame of the archive library’s grand mahogany door. She peeks in hesitantly, carefully inching the door open in case someone else is inside.

The only person she finds inside is that pretty tiefling with his hair tied back as he always has it and his spade-tipped tail waving back and forth behind him in a slow, even pattern – the way it does when he’s concentrating on something.

She tucks the hand holding the flowers behind her back and silently slips inside the threshold. It smells of parchment and ink. One of her favorite smells. It smells like his study back at their home.

“Hello, handsome,” she sings.

Rolan stands at the foot of a sprawling bookcase and is surrounded by piles and piles of scrolls. In his hand is another, yet it appears to be of the non-magical type, and he looks over it with great detail. She spies the fluffy end of a quill feather and assumes he’s holding the thing between his teeth. He must be cataloging.

At the sound of her voice he startles slightly and turns at the waist, an annoyed look etched onto his features at whoever had the gall to call him handsome. That look dissipates the second he realizes who it is and his sour features soften and warp into something much nicer. Much warmer. Fondness.

He pulls the quill from between his teeth and smiles, baring those pointy teeth.

“Hello, my love. What are you doing here?”

Both the scroll and quill get placed down on a nearby table and he moves in long strides to meet her at the door. Just before he’s able to close the gap between them a hand is pulled from behind Tav’s back and the tiefling is faced with a bouquet of flowers. Once again that look of confusion flits back, but there’s a little smirk on the corner of his mouth that tells Tav he’s more than a little surprised.

“What’re these?”

“Just a little something I picked up on the way here,” Tav says and thrusts them into his hands. He takes them, eyeing them carefully. “Thought they reminded me of you.”

They’re small flowers with delicate petals that begin a brilliant red and fade to a pale yellow at the tips. On the stem there are tiny needle-like barbs, and she tells him to be careful followed by a quick kiss to his freckled cheek.

“You’re adorable, but I find it difficult to believe you came all the way here to bring me flowers.”

Tav huffs in feigned disbelief but ends up laughing anyway. He can never simply enjoy a nice moment. Always one to ask ‘but why?’

“You’d be correct,” she says and reaches into her smallpack that's draped over her shoulder, pulling out his spellbook and the sandwich he’d forgotten. His brows shoot upwards towards his horns. “Get a little distracted this morning?”

The spellbook is taken from her first and tucked under his arm, the sandwich next. He laughs at his own forgetfulness.

“Must've slipped my mind. I swear I misplaced it somewhere…” He looks down at the sandwich in his hand and worries his lip for a second, considering his options. “I’ll admit I’ve been too caught up in the archives to even think about lunch, but now that you’re here I wouldn’t mind taking a break.”

That sounds like music to Tav’s ears.

They settle down at a small table in the archives library, surrounded by tomes and books and scrolls, and look out over the city through doors Rolan had opened up to reveal a quaint balcony. Tav eats the pastry she’d purchased along with the little bits of meat that fall out of the end of Rolan’s sandwich. The flowers she’d given him sit between them in a cup; he’ll have to search out a proper vessel to hold them after she leaves.

They talk about various topics while they enjoy the other’s company. They chat about the tower and the renovations being done to it, they chat about Tav’s progress on her painting, and they chat about how close Rolan is to finally being done with the entire scroll debacle (the piles on the floor say otherwise, but Tav is inclined to believe him anyway). And after a lovely hour has passed and Rolan announces that he must get back to work soon, he’s leading her towards the exit with a hand on the small of her back when she announces that she would like to give him one more thing before she goes.

“What is it?” He asks, and her eyes dart down the empty hall before she sinks down to her knees.

Rolan nearly chokes on his saliva.

“Tav- this isn’t necessarily a private floor, you know. The staff -”

She looks up at him from where she’s settled back on her calves, her hands already coming up to rest on the front of his thighs under his robes, “ I haven’t seen a single person come through here since I arrived. Plus, I never forgot about returning that favor you did for me.”

“Returning it isn’t necessary, I wanted to do that. I needed it. But Tav, just because they haven’t come up here doesn’t mean they won’t -”

His words come out rushed. She can hear the anxiety building in his voice about what he wants to say and what he knows he should say. Tav cuts him off again and squeezes the flesh under her palms.

“And I want to do this.”

He swallows thickly, his adam's apple bobbing in his throat, and then he makes a noise that is almost weak, nearly a whimper, and Tav’s fingers migrate upwards for the pretty pearl button on his trousers.

It takes a minute to get him hard - from the anxiety gnawing at his nerves, she presumes - but eventually he begins to stiffen up under her palm, and finally, when he’s hot and heavy in her grip, she leans forward to lick at the underside of it and nose at that pretty, pulsing vein on the side.

The first touch of her hot tongue against his skin makes him groan and slightly bow inwards at the waist, as if trying to hide himself away. The more she licks the more he attempts to disappear.

The ridges stiffen up on the sides of his cock, the space between them expanding as he swells to full hardness, and Tav worships each of them with her mouth. She has always loved the way they feel in her mouth - along her tongue and against her lips. If she could stay on her knees mouthing at every hard line and ridge she would. Just mapping out which parts of his cock pull different noises from his throat… Finding what makes him whine - what makes him groan. Those uneven lines and the soft, spongy head. She drops her chin to lick a long line from root to tip and one of Rolan’s hands weaves its way into the back of her hair when she pays special attention to his sensitive frenulum.

She takes the tip into her mouth and sucks, flicking the tip of her tongue over it in quick movements, and Rolan’s golden eyes dart around wildly, as if he’s worried that someone will pop out of the shadows and catch them. The portal at the end of the hall whips and whorls, threatening with every ripple to send someone through. The idea is terrifying. It’s also exhilarating.

The rest of him that her mouth doesn’t reach gets jerked by her hand and slowly she begins to take him deeper. The tiefling makes a sound that resembles a low growl as she takes him further into her mouth, his legs bowing slightly and the hand on her head petting at her hair in an encouraging manner. She takes him until he twitches and her jaw begins to ache with the uncomfortable stretch.

When Tav pulls off to take a breather she can’t help but chuckle when she looks up. The poor tiefling is already breathing harder than usual and his freckled cheeks are so beautifully flushed. She wishes they were home so she could tear his clothes from his chest to see how his skin blooms with the same hue. She’d love to find out how that heated skin tastes under her tongue.

“Is it okay?” She asks after a brief moment of silence, her dominant hand still working diligently over his shaft.

He nods and cradles her cheek sweetly, voice breathless already. “Yes. Gods, yes.”

What they’re doing is anything but sweet but she leans into his touch anyways.

“You look nervous, is all.”

This time he huffs in something resembling amusement and shakes his head at her.

“Of course I am. I’m still working in case you forgot.”

“I haven’t been on my knees for that long,” she playfully retorts, returning his token sass right back at him. His brows pinch together when she tightens her grip and presses the pad of her thumb up the underside of his shaft. “I haven’t gone brainless from your dick just yet, my love.” He twitches in her hand at that. “Just relax. If someone comes in I’ll be on my feet before they finish opening the door.”

“Fine, just -“ he guides her back in gently and she takes him into her mouth, allowing him to sit nice and heavy on her tongue for a moment. The moment gets ruined when he experimentally decides to punch his hips forward.

Tav chokes.

The sudden, ugly noise that she makes makes him cringe and he spits something in infernal through his teeth. She furrows her brow, he translates: “we are going to get caught…”

Tav blinks away the wetness from her eyes and pulls off, tugging at his tip while she recovers.

“Just surprised me. I’ll be quiet, I promise.”

She looks gorgeous on her knees. She always does.

Rolan presses his thumb claw to her bottom lip and pulls it down, exposing her bottom teeth. “I find that hard to believe.”

Instead of trying to convince him she’ll be quiet, Tav decides to show him.

She guides his cock back between her lips and sucks lightly, running her tongue along all of the ridges and smooth underside and he moans a beautiful, sweet sound that makes her core ache for him. She bobs her head slightly, taking him the way she knows he likes, and his knees threaten to buckle from beneath him when she ascends to suckle at his head again. For a while she takes him just like that.

“Tav-“ he hisses, and a sharp canine peeks out to dig into his lip,” -I’m close”

She sits back on her heels and his cock slips past her lips with a slick pop. She’s quick to press the flat of her tongue against the bead of pre that leaks from the tip and hums pleasantly at the taste of him on her tongue. His taste is unique. Spice and something so uniquely him.

Outside the balcony’s doors, a flock of birds takes flight, the quick flapping of their wings startling the pair inside, and instead of pushing her away, his reflexes pull her closer, effectively burying himself into her throat. Luckily this time she’s able to adjust. Her nose get buried in the thick fabric of his robes and she tries to focus on the familiar scent of her lover woven between the threads and not on how impossibly full her throat is. She flexes around him and threatens to gag with every impossibly long second that passes until he’s choking on his own breath, simply caught up at at the sight of her.

Tav works over him with her mouth, sucking around what she can fit in her mouth and jerking off what she can’t, all while Rolan tries not to lose his mind. He’s more than surprised how long he’s managed to hold out thus far. There’s something about the idea of a risky blowjob at work that lights a fire in his belly and makes his balls tighten up at the thought.

It’s dangerous. It’s delicious.

He can’t wait to blow his load down her throat and promptly get back to his tedious, boring tasks. The image and memory of this moment will be burned into the back of his eyelids until he gets a chance to have her again. He already knows it’ll be a torturous next few hours.

He tosses his head back and guides her mouth over him with a loose hold on her hair, gently encouraging her as she does all the work and praising her with mumbled words that tumble past his lips like a mantra.

A thick glob of pre meets Tav’s tongue and she moans loud and rich, the vibrations going straight to Rolan’s groin and making his balls tighten up. He gasps and throbs against her tongue. It only urges her to continue.

A few more bobs of her head and perfect twists of her wrist are all it takes to send him over the edge. He cums across her tongue in ropes, groaning behind his teeth dug harshly into his lip, a hand flexing in her hair as he does. She already knows she’ll have to fix her appearance before she heads back out on the town but that’s the least of her worries. There are much better things to focus on, like the richness of his scent flooding her senses, and the sound of his moans in her ears, and the fact that the hand on her head is so large…

She takes everything he gives her until he’s pulling out of her mouth from overstimulation and carefully tucking himself back into his trousers, fixing the button with haste. Then, ever the gentleman he is, he offers Tav his hand and helps her from the floor.

Her knees ache and she brushes the dust from her clothes.

“You’re dangerous, you know that?” He asks, a little breathless, and pulls the woman in by the small of her waist to press up against his chest. They breathe together as they come down from the highs of it all. The halls and the archive library are as silent as they were before they began. It’s a blessing now. A miracle before.

Tav chuckles and pulls back slightly to smooth out the wrinkles in his robe and comb a piece of hair back behind his ear. He’s gracious enough to help smooth out the bumps in her hair that he messed up.

His question hangs in the air between them still. There’s suggestiveness in his tone, and even more in how his dick refuses to deflate against her thigh. If she doesn’t choose her words carefully she could be leaving at a much later time than right now.

“Until later, Master Rolan,” she says and picks up her smallpack, slinging it over her shoulder and leaning up to give him a kiss. The smirk on her lips is undeniable. Woven between her words is a promise.

Rolan digs his hands into her clothing and leans down to nose at her temple.

Then she’s gone, and Rolan is forced to turn back to his scrolls. Red-faced and still a little hard in his trousers… Those damned scrolls.

He isn’t sure which of them will be the death of him…

#bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #rolan bg3 #rolan fanfiction #rolan x tav #bg3 rolan #rolan #rolan x reader

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vi-trying-to-survive · 2 years ago

Text

We Can Share

Anthony Lockwood x f!Reader

Warnings: None this pretty much fluff only :) 💖💖💖

Summary: Lockwood and Y/N have to stay overnight in a hotel for a case, which is not the biggest problem until the room only has one bed

A/N: I hope you guys like it :) 💖💖💖 I wasn't sure how to feel about it and it is a little cliche but I couldn't get it out of my mind also :') 💖💖💖 Also sorry if updates are slow :') 💖💖💖 Hope you have a great day :) 💖💖💖

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

"So you're telling me they didn't have a cheaper room", she frowned, chasing after him.

He didn't look back, crumpling the receipt into his pocket, "Yes".

The straps of her bag weighed down on her shoulders, pulling her down close to the ground, as they walked up yet another flight of stairs. Her feet ached. If this hotel was so brilliant why were all the elevators broken ? It was probably because the location of their next job was far out of London, next to the middle of nowhere. She probably should have seen it coming when the train station was just a misshapen shack that was barely standing. George and Lucy had rather conveniently decided to sit this one out, something about providing assistance remotely. She rolled her eyes.

"Remind me again why we took this case", she groaned, finally catching up to him.

He chuckled, shaking his head, "They are paying us highly for our services".

"Mmhm", she closed her eyes, leaning against the wall. Money. It was the denominator of every fraction in their lives. She longed for a time when they wouldn’t be so dependent on it, to the point where they put their lives on the line just for it. It was a harsh reality, one they were used to, but if anything she could at least thank it for the people that had come into her life, for him.

"Oh come on it's not that bad", he grinned widely, readjusting the bag on his shoulder before handing her a dull looking iron key.

She gave him a pointed look, “That's what you always say"

"But is it ever a lie", he raised a brow. She couldn’t help but smile. It was never awful, not even subpar, not if she was with him. He just knew all the right buttons to press with her, granted he also knew the wrong ones but it didn’t happen often enough to be a concern. He was reckless and overconfident, but he was also sweet and funny. It was hard for her to not have a good time when they were together.

"No, but I am allowed to miss the comfort of home", she grinned. She twisted the key through the lock, swinging the door open.

"Well, you'll be there soon enough", he laughed.

"Oh", her smile faltered. The room itself was relatively normal, no expensive sheets or fantastic views. It was clean and tidy, the covers folded in neatly under the mattress. The only problem was that there was only one bed. She thought this only happened in books, but the universe decided to prove her wrong this one time and of course it had to be with him. She chewed her thumbnail. It was already too late for them to request another room. She wondered what to say. Who would even know what to say ? No one, because no one ever ends up in these kinds of situations, except her apparently.

"Right, this is fine, you take the bed, I'll take the floor", he dumped the bags haphazardly at the foot of the bed. He was already gathering some pillows off the bed.

She felt a twinge of sympathy and maybe something more. Call it a careless decision. In the moment she felt brave, or maybe she was just desperate, she wasn’t sure. Yet she was aware of the consequences, even as the words spilled out, “Don't be ridiculous, we can share".

"I- Only if you're alright with it", he was surprised. She couldn’t tell if it was a good or bad one. If she was being honest she was surprised too. It would have been easier to let him stay on the floor, kept a solid barrier between them. What had she gotten herself into ?

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

It was dark when all the lights were turned out. Fortunately, she was quite accustomed to the dark. It didn't scare her. What scared her was the fact that she was lying in a bed with a boy next to her, a boy that she hasn't been able to stop thinking about for the past 6 months. It was not the most ideal situation, but she figured they'd been stuck in more compromising positions. Yet, her heart was still pounding like she'd run a marathon and she was working a little too hard to keep her breathing quiet. They had always been close, even from when she had first joined the agency. She had always summed it up to them being a good team. That was until it developed into something more elaborate. When had things changed ? When had they become complicated ?

"Are you comfortable ?", he turned towards her, whispering.

"Very", she hoped she sounded confident. Her hands were clasped together tightly over her chest as she stared at the ceiling. She refused to look at him. She just might explode from anticipation alone.

"You're practically falling off the mattress", he scoffed. So maybe she had forced herself to be at as close to the edge as she could without falling off. It was only to put a respectable amount of distance between them, so she could manage the night with some semblance of relaxation. She had been hoping that he would be ignorant enough for her plan to work, but he seemed to be the exact opposite. She sighed. This was going to be one of those long nights.

He wrapped an arm around her waist, "Come on".

"No I-", she pressed her lips together. Her body went rigid as he tugged her closer to the middle of the bed, closer to him. She felt overtly self-conscious, choosing to concentrate on breathing in and out, instead of the fact that her back was pressed tightly against his chest. It was a more difficult task than what she had anticipated, especially when the warmth from his body spread to her. Her confidence faltered, and she felt herself relax into him, “This is nice, actually".

"Surprising isn't it ?", his tone was sarcastic, but his hand still rested comfortably over hers.

She was confused to say the least. They were always close, but sharing near-death experiences could do that to a person. Still, the last few months had been different. His touch would linger a little longer before he pulled away hurriedly. She would feel his stare in a crowded room, but he never met her eyes. Maybe it would have been simpler if she had been more forward with him, but she hadn't, and it put her in a vulnerable position. She could have gone to sleep, but she didn't, "Lockwood ?".

"Yes ?", his hot breath left the hairs on the back her neck standing.

She pushed herself to sit up, "I can't keep doing this".

"Doing what ?", he mimicked her position. His brows were furrowed and he sounded unconvinced.

"This", she groaned, throwing her head onto her knees. Why was this so hard for him to understand ? Why was it so hard for her to tell him ? Why wouldn't her heart stop pounding ?

She took a breath in, "We always act like a couple but somehow we're just friends, I just- I need- I-". He watched her closely, eyes dropping to her lips, before pressing his against them. He tasted faintly of honey and tea. She was quick to respond, grabbing a fistful of his shirt and tugging him closer to her. Her racing heart finally seemed to slow. She felt relieved and desperate all at once. She hoped he felt the same too, and to some extent he must be, seeing as he was kissing her like she might disappear if he didn't.

"Was that a good enough answer for you ?", he chuckled, pulling away.

She was breathless, but stood by a nonchalant facade, "Well you didn't really say anything".

"What? I was trying to make a romantic gesture?", he pressed his lips together, falling back onto the bed. The springs creaked under the sudden weight.

She giggled, smoothing his hair and patting down the stray strands that were sticking out, “Just kidding".

She lay down on the bed, settling into his side. She wondered if this was just a dream, and that she would eventually wake to a version of him that was unaware. The thought alone made her eyes grow wide. Well, it wouldn't hurt to check she thought. She poked him harshly in the side, "Just so you know, I really like you".

He only grinned, "Thanks, I really like me too".

She hit him across the chest, "I hate you". Only Anthony Lockwood could be that big-headed. At least she could be sure that this was reality. Where he had gotten his ego, she would never know, but at least she could go to sleep in peace.

"Don't worry I really like you too", he laughed, softly pressing a kiss against her temple. Though, she thought, when he wanted to, he could also be sweet.

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library-ghoulette · 14 days ago

Text

day 21 // somno & feral/primal

Prompt list thanks to @kroas-adtam 💜

Pairing: Phantom x reader

Rating: Explicit, minors DNI

Words: 2323

Tags: noncon/extremely dubious consent, female reader, masturbation, somnophilia, heat/breeding cycles, feral ghouls, rough sex, demon sex, coming inside

Summary: A new Sister of Sin, you learn the hard way why you're supposed to keep your window locked tight during ghoul mating season.

A/N: Please note the updated tags and warnings for this one! I feel like Phantom frequently gets the cinnamon roll treatment, so I wanted to write him being not so sweet.

You can also read this--and all my other fics--on ao3!

You expected that there might be a learning curve, when you ran away from your old life to begin a new one in the service of Satan. But you hadn't expected there to be so goddamn many rules.

You were expected to follow orders immediately and without question. Make your bed and say your morning prayers. Report for your duties precisely on time. Maintain perfect attendance at your religious education classes. The Abbey ran like clockwork under the meticulous care of its prioress, the intimidating Sister Imperator, and her word was law, not to be questioned.

Even when the rules seemed overbearing or nonsensical, you were expected to bite back anything other than, "Yes, Sister."

Luckily you had your fallen angel—the older, more experienced Sister assigned to guide your transition from your old life to your new one—and you could grill her all you wanted. Much to her occasional chagrin.

Like now, as you troop up the stairs to your cells after dinner, and in the midst of her almost daily reiterations of the rules, she adds a new one: "Make sure that you keep your door and window locked after curfew, starting tonight."

It's annoying enough that you're subjected to a curfew—you're not a child, and when are all of these supposed Sisters of Sin supposed to be sinning?—but the window thing really annoys you. The rooms are musty and old, and you've gotten into the habit, now that the Spring weather has turned warmer, of sleeping with your window open to let in some fresh air.

"Why do we have to keep our windows locked?" you ask. "We live on the third floor. No one's going to get in without a ladder… or wings."

Your fallen angel regards you seriously. "It's mating season."

"Well, I don't think any wild animals are making it up to our rooms, either—"

"For ghouls," she cuts you off. "They go into rut every Spring. And when they do, they're dangerous. Territorial, unpredictable… and horny. Well, hornier."

"…oh."

You haven't had many interactions with the ghouls. You haven't been at the Abbey that long, and the ghouls are… Well, they're a bit insular, a bit set apart from most of the humans who live and work here. They tend to run as a pack, their bond to one another so strong that they seemingly communicate without words.

They're a strange mix of unnerving and captivating, but you suppose that's true of any group of preternaturally attractive people with a better than you vibe. Even if they are demons, they don't seem particularly dangerous.

Especially not the one you've seen in the halls a few times now, with his slight stature and tumble of dark hair that always seems to be hanging in front of one violet eye. The one who caught you looking and gave you a small, shy wave in return. Phantom, you think his name is? In any case, you can't imagine him being dangerous.

Your fallen angel seems to read your thoughts, or perhaps just the disbelief written across your face. With the weary air of someone who's had to explain this exact thing to many dumb postulants before you, she says, "You haven't seen them in their true form. They're different when they're in rut. Even the older ones have trouble maintaining control over themselves, and the younger ones are downright volatile."

You've reached your twin doors—your cells connect with a shared bathroom in the middle—and she pauses with a sigh, searching for the right words.

"People have been injured before," she says, holding your gaze and wringing her hands. "Just… don't risk it, okay?"

"Okay," you agree.

"Good. Now, lock your window, and sleep tight. I'll be right here if you need me."

The soreness and exhaustion hit you as soon as you're alone in your cell. Your body is as unaccustomed to the grueling pace of the called life as is your mind, and by the end of each day, all you want to do is to fall face-first into bed and sleep for a week.

You shower, letting the hot water soothe both your mental and physical pains. When you emerge from the bathroom, waving steam out of the air as you go, your eyes fall on your window. Surely it can't hurt to open it for just a little while…

There, that feels immediately better. The breeze is warm and fills your plain little room with the freshness of Spring, the verdant scent of growing things and the world waking up. You stand in front of the window, breathing in the delicate perfume of the cherry trees that have only this week burst into full bloom, toweling you hair dry.

It's not exactly curfew yet—at least, you don't think it is—so you leave the window open as you cross to your dresser and pull out your favorite silky little nightgown. The fabric skims deliciously over your bare skin as you slip it over your head.

You lie back on your bed without bothering to pull back the comforter. You haven't forgotten about your fallen angel's warning—if anything, it keeps playing over and over in your mind. You keep thinking about her description of the ghouls, of how they become territorial, unpredictable, horny.

You try to imagine what Phantom, who seems so sweet, would be like, transformed into an insatiable… fuckbeast, you guess. The word makes you giggle at yourself, but the image it conjures unspools warmth low in your belly.

You trail your hands down your body, skimming over your hardened nipples under the silky fabric, and part your own thighs to slide your fingers between your folds. You find yourself slick with arousal, and it doesn't take much work, rubbing your clit in just the way you like, to get yourself off. As you come you imagine Phantom, skilled hands gripping your hips as he drives into you, peering down at you with pleasure and amusement as you fall apart around his cock.

You're sleepy when you come down from your orgasm, and in the haze of tiredness and dreamy afterglow, you pull the covers up over yourself and drift away, forgetting your open window completely…

You wake to the unmistakable pressure of an unfamiliar weight at the foot of your bed. Even without opening your eyes, you know you are being watched—you can feel the rake of some inhuman gaze on your skin. You feel it as surely as you hear the panting, each rough exhalation of breath as whatever this is… What is it doing?

You risk cracking your eyes open just a bit, just enough to peer from between your lashes at the intruder. At first you think you're hallucinating, imagining that a dark shadow is something solid. But as you wake up more fully and your eyes adjust, you discern form. You notice the swirling purple energy, the pinpricks of light that twinkle like distant stars all along the humanoid form.

You discern the cords of lean, strong muscle that run down its arms—and you follow that working line of muscle down, to where the creature is stroking itself with one hand, frantically pumping its fist up and down over its— oh God, over its cock. You can't make out the details in the gloom, but you can tell that it's huge.

You let out an involuntary whimper, and at the sound, the creature's eyes latch onto yours in a flash of violet eyeshine. You squeeze your lids shut again and bite your lip to silence yourself, even as you feel the creature grab your comforter in a clawed fist and the bedsheets begin to slowly but inexorably creep down your body, exposing your bare shoulders, your breasts…

Your fear screams at you to run, but another voice inside of you tells you to lie still, whispers that running is pointless. How far do you even think you would get, because the monster catches you and does whatever it wants to you?

You struggle to keep your breathing even, to remain calm, even as the protection of the covers is stripped away, even as the creature bends down low over your leg and you feel the crackle of energy along your bare calf as it… as it sniffs you, inhaling your scent.

Apparently it likes what it smells, because sharp claws grip your thighs, digging into the soft skin, and the creature presses its face against your center, breathing you in through the thin fabric of your nightgown.

Its touch is electric, its breath hot against your flesh, and in spite of your terror—or because of it?—you feel your cunt clench with arousal. You're even wetter than you were earlier, imagining Phantom creeping into your room, desperate with need…

Wait. You crack open your eyelids again, enough to take in the snuffling form crouched over your body. Despite the horns and the claws—and the skin made out of space, you guess?—there is something familiar in the creature. Something about that flash of purple in its eyes… Yes. Even though it seems unbelievable, you know with absolute certainty that this monster, this demon, is the same boy from the hall, the one who waved at you, with that sweet, self-conscious half-smile before turning away.

He's not shy now, not turning away, as he wrenches your thighs apart and licks a broad stripe up your cunt with his long, forked tongue. It's animalistic, less concerned with your pleasure than with wallowing in your pheromones, but nonetheless a whiplash of pleasure cracks through you. It's hard to hold still, to keep from moaning aloud as he licks you again and again, rutting against the mattress with each stroke of his tongue.

Finally he wrenches away from your pussy and crawls up your body, pawing at you with careless claws that sting deliciously as they draw blood. He brings his face to the side of your neck, almost like a human lover would to kiss you in the midst of passion, but he only grazes his fangs against your skin and breathes in your scent.

For a panic-stricken moment you fear he might tear out your throat, but he only emits a low, rumbling growl before wrenching away from you. And then, with shocking strength, he flips you over onto your stomach and tears away your nightgown, leaving you exposed.

If you had any questions about what would happen next, they're answered swiftly when he presses the head of his cock against your entrance. Even as wet as you are, dripping both with your own arousal and his thick saliva, the size is intimidating. Helpless to escape—and, you admit shamefully, no longer that interested in trying—you angle your hips up to accommodate him as best you can.

Somehow, the bulbous crown of his cock breaches your body's resistance and he fills you. You let out a gasp at the stretch, more than you've ever taken before, and try to adjust to the overwhelming pressure of him inside you.

But he isn't finished. You realize with horror that you've only taken his tip, as he works more of his length into you. There is nothing human about his cock, and your body thrills at the alien sensation of each ridge and bulb that drags along your inner walls, hitting spots you barely knew you had.

Finally, he bottoms out with a grunt, and you have a moment of relief that there is no more to take.

That moment ends when he begins to move.

He sets a relentless pace, pounding into you with a ferocity you've never felt before. He holds you down and presses you into the mattress as he uses your body. You can no longer remain quiet, helpless to keep in your cries, but the creature, the nightmare, atop you is oblivious, lost in his own pleasure and in his desperate need to mate.

You teeter at the razor-thin edge between pleasure and pain, barely knowing which one you're feeling until he hits something inside of you just right and everything comes together as you begin to fall apart, your pussy spasming around him and driving him over the edge of his own orgasm. He growls and digs his claws into your hips even harder, and his cock kicks inside of you, his spend filling and overfilling you. You can feel it, thick and warm, spilling out of you and coating your thighs, just before the full crest of your orgasm overtakes you, and everything fades to gray…

When you wake up again, it's to the morning sunlight filling your room and the sound of birdsong streaming in through the window. The open window.

You curse, and for a split second you remember the intense dream you had the night before. But as soon as you move and feel the spasm of soreness throughout your lower body, you know it wasn't a dream. You roll over carefully and reach down, investigating your swollen pussy with tentative fingers. You're still slicked with cum—you say a little prayer of thanks that you take your birth control religiously—and it's dried all along your inner thighs, which are also covered in scratches. As is—fuck—the rest of your body.

You flop back onto your pillow with a disbelieving little laugh. Well. You guess your fallen angel wasn't exaggerating the threat after all. You're a complete mess.

And it was the best sex you've ever had in your life.

You stumble toward the bathroom, stopping on the way to slide your window shut and lock it carefully. Even now you know that last night won't be the last time you conveniently forget to close it before bed.

But… maybe not every night, not until summer has come and mating season is over. You have to get some rest, after all.

#lib ghoulette writes #my writing #ghostober 2024 #kinktober 2024 #ghost band fanfic

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