#and someone who has me on their DNI for one reason or another follows and I'm like.

[tommyssupercoolblog]

Getting silly on mainnnnn !!!!

[natsarrownecklacx]

New Friend Of Mine

Natasha Romanoff x Reader Venom Natasha Romanoff x Reader

Word count: 2,557

Summary: Natasha goes for a walk to cool down after a conversation with you doesn’t go the way she way she wants it to, while out she makes a new friend.

Warnings: Smut, minors DNI, venom Natasha, degrading kink, oral, fingering, forced breeding, heaving breeding kink, choking, dub con.

2K Follower Celebration

ⴵ <3 ⴵ <3 ⴵ <3 ⴵ <3 ⴵ <3 ⴵ <3 ⴵ <3 ⴵ <3

Natasha sits in front of you, a heartbroken look on her face as she tries to take in your words.

She’d come into your shared apartment only moments ago, nearly bouncing off the walls in excitement, telling you that Tony had finally found a way to make it so you could carry Natasha and your biological child.

She was ecstatic, hopeful, damn near on the verge of tears with overwhelming joy. Now tears well in her eyes for another reason, one that has her feeling betrayed. 

You’d both made this plan together, had this dream together. The both of you, parents. Having your own little family to love and care for. Natasha wanted that with you more than anything. More than she thought she was even capable of wanting. She thought you wanted that too, you made her believe you wanted that to.

“It’s just not the right time.” You tell her, gently, as though talking to someone going through their first brush with grief or heartbreak. 

“I don’t understand.” Natasha sniffs, her teary eyes looking into yours and pleading with you for an explanation. “You said you wanted this. You- it was your idea to go to Tony with this. For us to have a child of our own. Do you not want kids anymore? Or do you just not want them with me?” 

Your eyes widen in shock, worry and guilt. She shouldn’t have to be upset because of your fears, you love her way too much for that. “No, baby. That’s not it at all.” You say, moving to straddle her and hold her face in your hands, knowing she needs your body close to hers for her to truly believe you in your next words.

“Natasha, I want nothing more than to have your babies. To spend the rest of my life with you. To raise and love our children together.” You say, hoping she can hear the sincerity in your voice. 

“Then why are you doing this? Why can’t we have our baby now, like we planned?” She asks, running her hands up and down your hips and holding you against her as if she’s afraid you’ll get up and leave. 

“I’m afraid.” You admit quietly, tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear. “I’m so afraid that if we have our baby now something terrible will happen and we won’t be able to protect them.” Your bottom lip threatens to tremble, a sure sign that tears are not far behind, but you bite down on it and will the tears to stay hidden. 

“I can protect you Detka.” Natasha pleads, barring her heart to you through her eyes and the way she wraps her arms around you so tightly, pulling you flush against her. “I would- I will protect you both with my life.” 

“And I would do the same for you, Nat.” You say honestly, hoping she can sense the truth in your voice. “But that might not be enough, from either of us and I just can’t- I can’t bear the thought of having a baby, our baby who we will both love with our whole hearts and then have them taken away from us.”

You can see the tears in Natassha’s eyes about to spill over, the sight making you want to cry with her. “I’m so sorry, baby.” You whisper, running the pad of your thumbs over the swell of her cheeks. “I just need time.” 

Natasha nods despondently. She’s trying to be understanding, she knows where you’re coming from and how you feel, she feels the same way herself. She just wants this so badly. “I understand, sweetheart.” She says, trying to put on a brave face but her voice still comes out dejected. 

“Nat, I-“ You try to explain yourself further, to comfort the woman in some way, but what else could you do, you’ve said everything you need to say and nothing she says will change how you feel. “I’m okay, Detka. You’ve not done anything wrong, I just need a minute.” She says, gently pushing on your  hips, signaling you to get up. You do and she moves towards the door, missing the look of panic on your face. “I’m going for a walk, I’ll be back soon.” 

She leaves. She just walks out the door. She doesn’t even look at you before she goes. You can’t help but feel hurt. Neither of you are in the wrong. You didn’t have a fight. But you can’t help but feel slightly abandoned, left sitting alone in your shared apartment. 

All the lights on, noise from the movie you’d abandoned when Natasha came in still playing in the living room, giving the impression of the place being full. 

The second you turn it off the silence is defining. You're alone. She left. She said she’d be back, but god only knows when that would be. So you go to bed, move one foot in front of the other on autopilot until you’re dressed in one of Nats big T-shirts and buried under a comfortable blanket. 

Natasha makes it about half an hour into her walk before she comes to her senses and decides she needs to go back home to her wife. She turns on her heel mid step, intent on making her way back home, when a russell in the bush beside her catches her attention. Just as the black widow would be, she was on guard straight away, ready for whatever would jump out at her

Something does, a mess of back and gray and so fast she can’t stop it before it goes right into her chest. 

—------------------------------------

It doesn’t take long for you to fall asleep, silent, slow tears leaking down your cheeks and Natasha’s pillow held tightly to your chest and between your legs, trying to trick your brain into thinking she’s still there with you. 

It’s not until three hours later that you're woken to the sound of the front door opening and closing, the noise barely rouses you from your sleep, knowing it’s Natasha by the way she locks the door right behind her and walks toward the room with a barely audible footstep.

You groan quietly into the dark room and coil tighter around the pillow in your arms, you just want to sleep. Natasha opens the bedroom door quietly, stepping in and making her way over to the bed. She doesn’t say anything as she peels the blanket off your body, nor does she say anything as she takes in the sight of you beneath her. 

It takes no time at all for her enhanced eyes to adjust to the darkness, her green orbs drinking in the sight of you wearing nothing but her black oversized T-shirt. The pool of inky black in her orbs grows, spreading like the hunger, the need, she feels for you.

“Nat.” You complain, turning away from her and burying your face against the pillow beneath you. “It’s cold, gimme back the blanket.” She takes in a deep, greedy inhale through her nose, her heightened senses allowing her to smell the result of you rubbing your bare pussy against her pillow in your sleep. 

The lack of response from her frustrates you, the feeling of her bone chilling cold hands sliding up your warm thighs shocks you, the icy feeling making you jump and turn toward her with wide eyes. 

“Natasha!” You gasp exasperatedly. Usually you’d be all for a late night fuck with your wife but right now is not the time. Not when she just walked out and left. Not when ye haven’t talked at all and NOT when she’s so damn cold. 

Natasha’s body drops onto yours faster than you can perceive the movement. Her hand is covering your mouth, her thighs tight on either side of yours, tapping you against her as she pulls off your shirt. She’s so cold. 

Your eyes widen at her, confused by her actions. You can’t see her, the darkness of the room prevents you from doing so. Her free hand trails up the outside of your thigh, moving up ward slowly until and across until she’s cupping your wet folds. You moan against her hand, your hips squirming against her.

She lowers her head to be aligned with yours, her lips grazing your ear as she finally speaks to you, her voice coming out somewhat strained, deeper. “I’m so cold, Detka.” She whispers, moving her body between your legs, preventing you from closing them. “But you’ll help me warm up won’t you, sweetheart.” 

Your words are muffled against her hand as you try to ask what the actual fuck is going in, what’s gotten into her. But she cuts off your mumbles by sliding her, somehow seemingly longer and thicker fingers, into your wet heat. 

Your head slams back against your pillow, your back arching off the bed and into her body. It feels as if you’re burning, the one and only source of heat in this whole universe and she needs you. Needs to claim you, claim that heat, to keep her from freezing to death. 

“I need you, baby.” She groans against your ear. “I need you to thaw me out.” 

She moves her hand from your mouth, bringing it down to rest on your hips, using it to guide you to fuck yourself on her fingers. 

Her words confuse you beyond belief, but they all but go unheard as she slides her fingers in and out of you, moving her mouth to place open mouth kisses to your neck, down the valley of your chest and down your stomach until she’s taking your clit into her mouth. 

“Jesus C-Christ, Natasha- fuck.” You all but scream out, the added stimulation from her tongue swirling expertly around your clit driving you to a fuzzy headspace. 

One of your hands scrambles to grasp at the sheets as the other winds its way into Natasha’s hair, pulling on the stands in an effort to keep yourself grounded. 

The red head groans at the action and something’s about it sounds more primal, more animalistic then normal. 

“Natasha?” You pant, confusion and arousal clouding your brain, along with the remnants of sleep. 

“Shh detka.” She answers, pulling away from your clit as she nuzzles against your tummy. “I just need you to be good and let me fuck you.” She says firmly, yet somehow softly. 

Her actions along with her words sends your brain into a frenzy, a flood of arousal pouring onto her fingers and she moves her mouth back down, removing her fingers and allowing her tongue to slide its way inside you. 

The stretch is unlike anything you’ve ever felt before, it’s long and wet and feels so, so good. You scream out at the intrusion, feeling more full then you thought could ever be possible just from her mouth. 

“Oh god.” You cry out, your hands gripping desperately at her shoulders, trying to find something solid to ground you. 

Natasha only pulls you closer to her, her hands gripping your ass and holding you against her as if she's afraid someone will come take her last meal from her. She fucks you with her long tongue, thrusting it in and out of you and alternatings to suck on your clit until you cum with an arch of your back and a scream. 

Natasha pulls away and trails kisses feverishly up your abdomen, nuzzling her head against you. “Now you're all ready for me.” She says, lifting your legs under the knees to stand them, your ankles resting only a few inches from the back of your thighs. 

“What?” You ask, panting, still out of breath from your previous orgasm. 

When Natasha doesn’t answer you furrow your brows, tilting your head up to look at her, your slightly adjusted eyes allowing you to see her outline as she unbuttons and unzips her pants. Before she slides them down her attention snaps to your face, her hand coming to wrap around your jaw and force your head back against the pillow. 

“Natasha!” You gasp, never having seen this side of her before. 

She brings her mouth to your ear, her hot breath hitting the side of your face, her hand still firmly around your jaw. “Stay down.” She orders and it's all you can do to nod in response as you hear her remove her pants and boxers. 

You feel her bare thighs press into the sides of your own, her fully naked body now positioned between your forcibly spread legs. You flick your eyes toward her, trying to catch a glimpse of what she's doing, only for your eyes to roll to the back of your head when you feel her push inside you. 

She's big, bigger than she's ever given you and so cold. The contrast of her cold cock sliding into your warm core sets your nerves alight, a whorish moan falling past your lips. 

“That's right.” Natasha says, pulling out and thrusting inside you again with more force this time. “Just take whatever I give you, like a good little whore.” She says, but it doesn’t fully sound like her, her voice different, deeper. 

You feel your stomach tighten at her words nevertheless, she's never spoken to you like that before and you didn’t think you’d like it, but you do. Your legs move from their standing position to around her body, the cold of her skin still shocking you a bit. 

Natasha quickens her thrusts, moving her hand on your jaw down to your neck, her movements stuttering when you moan and clench around her. “Fuck. I'm gonna fill you up, put a baby in you.” 

You don’t have a second to process her words before a hot thick spurt of cum shoots inside you, Natasha moving her free hand to your hip to hold you down as she uses you to ride out her high. 

It's not even seconds later that your own height crashes over you, sending your body through too many loops, your vision fades to back and your body goes limp on the bed. 

Natasha pulls out of you and stares down at the mess between your legs, using her fingers to push her seed back inside of you, not wanting to waste a single drop of it. 

She looks up and notices your unconscious state, a smile sliding over her face at the view. 

“Will it work?” Natasha speaks into the room, a black slimy, tendril creature emerging from her shoulder and materializing into a head next to her; venom. 

“I will work.” Venom confirms, nodding to the red headed woman before moving his gaze over to your sleeping form. “She’s so pretty when she’s asleep.” 

Natasha hums and nods in agreement. “I should have told her.” She mumbles, half ashamedly. 

“No.” Venom says, sliding back into Natasha’s body then taking his full form to hover over you. His big slimy hands run over your bare stomach, gently, hopefully. “She doesn’t need that kind of stress right now. We can tell her after the baby is born.” 

Natasha hums in agreement again, watching through venom's eyes as he tucks you into bed, one thought on her mind as she does so. 

Now nothing can stop her from protecting you and your child.

ⴵ <3 ⴵ <3 ⴵ <3 ⴵ <3 ⴵ <3 ⴵ <3 ⴵ <3 ⴵ <3

A/n- I’ll be honest it’s not my favourite thing I’ve ever written but venom Nat is HOTTT so imma forgive

[sadesluvr]

Beautiful Liar

After you boyfriend Randy is tragically murdered, Billy is determined to be the shoulder you cry on.

A/N: Been sitting on this idea for a while. Please read the tags, and minors DNI!

Word count: 3.6K

Tags: SMUT / DUB-CON / Dacryphilia / Manipulation / Grief / Unprotected sex / Creampies / Loss of virginity / Corruption kink / Gaslighting / Misogyny / Reader has a vagina / Fingering

Randy Meeks was dead, and there was no way to change that.  

He’d been murdered, brutally; his body in tatters, bloody mess left on the stockroom floor of the video store he’d worked at. Police had said it was a homicide, just another in a series of attacks by the infamous masked ‘Ghostface’ killer that had been running around Woodsboro. The whole town, your friend group included, had been speculating the person – or people’s - identity, wondering if they were male or female, old or young, insider or outsider...either way, the sole question was why. Why Woodsboro? Why now? Why your friends?  

The simple answer – in Randy’s case at least – was that you were living in a classic horror movie, in which none of you would get out of alive unless you followed the rules, (which was the sole reason why you hadn’t slept with him during your relationship) but that particular answer was far from satisfying to you. First Sidney’s mother had disappeared, next was Casey and her boyfriend, soon followed by Sidney’s father, Tatum, Randy and Sidney herself, leaving only you to remain. You were, as Randy would dub it, ‘the final girl’. 

And you hated it. Randy painted these women as strong, brave, heroic, even, but you were far from it; instead worn down and shattered by the massacre of those closest to you over the past six months. There was a reason that the term was only reserved for the movies; it was too difficult, maybe even downright impossible to be able to fight back in real life, especially when it had happened so constantly and so close to home. There were few words you had to speak anymore, and when you did you found that they were only able to materialise around Billy Loomis. 

Billy, and his friend Stu Macher were the only of those that remained. Randy would’ve chalked it down to it being intentional, but the only pattern you could see was that they were killing ‘boy-girl-boy-girl’, which meant either of the two could’ve been next. 

So, imagine your shock – and horror – when Stu had gone missing, leaving nothing but a bloodied shoe in his wake. It was the only death of your friends that you hadn’t been to; no morgue visits or ceremonies, with Billy choosing to spend the day with you after he claimed that the Macher’s had just wanted family at his funeral. You would’ve been hurt, but considering you’d spent the past few months feeling like a curse, you were rather happy to keep your distance. 

“Thanks for staying with me…” you sighed, rubbing your red eyes. You’d been crying over Randy again, and although Billy wasn’t someone who liked dealing with emotions, he’d been a shoulder to cry on – literally – his silence giving you space to vent. “I’m sorry, I’m such a mess…” 

“I think you’re taking this too hard,” he said simply, watching you intently as you tried to compose yourself. “None of this is your fault. There are psychos everywhere.” 

“Yeah, but why us? How am I still here?” you gasped, the question blatantly rhetorical.  

“Luck. And skill. You’ve been in the right place at the right time,” he sniffed. “Maybe the killer doesn’t want you dead...” 

“Oh, that’s comforting.” You scoffed, dabbing at your nose with a tissue. He didn’t reply, but he tapped his finger impatiently along the edge of the sofa as his eyes roamed your body.  

You used to be such a sweet little thing; always dolled up in your signature clothes and makeup, but now you were timid, a recluse, even, walking around in Randy’s old shirts and running on two hours of sleep (if that). He couldn’t argue – solely because he’d been the one to cause this - but in time he’d get you back to the way you were. In fact, he might’ve even enjoyed this broken version of you even more; with swollen lips, a melancholy glow, and a psyche that was desperate for affection that only your former boyfriend could’ve given to you. 

Killing Randy had been exhilarating. It’d been all too easy, the boy practically boasted about his job (and therefore his schedule), and then it had been down to hiding in the stock room on his late shift, only to lunge at him from the shadows, pointed blade digging in and ravaging his pale flesh, all the while he screamed – even cried – your name. That was your knight in shining armour, a guy who’d failed to follow the rules he swore to live by. Pathetic. 

He’d shown him his face right before he died, remembering the way his eyes, though dull and rubber like a fish, had seemingly shone with recognition. He’d put the pieces together, simply far too late. 

“Don’t worry, Randy,” he’d said. “I’ll take good care of your little girlfriend.” 

Even in his moribund state, the nerd had known what he’d meant, his eyes flickering with worry just as the life had snapped out of him, the whole situation comically cinematic. All that was next was to kill Sidney, the girl that Randy adored before you’d even transferred to Woodsboro. It was simple; Sidney was collateral, and you were a spoil of war. And there was no one left to save you. 

“I think you should go outside,” Billy said bluntly. “Being inside all day isn’t good for your head.” 

You sighed and wiped your face, glancing around your living room. Truthfully, you couldn’t remember the last time you’d opened the curtains; much less when was the last time you’d gotten off the couch. The television was always on, and you’d done nothing but aimlessly flick through the channels, both avoiding yet drawing yourself to the news, hoping there’d be an update on the killer. It struck you as odd that it had all gone silent. 

“Like...Where?” you said incredulously, and Billy resisted the urge to sigh. 

“We could go to the movies,” he suggested. “It’ll be on me. I’ll even let you watch those terrible romance ones with the sappy endings.” 

You seemed to perk up at this, glancing over at the time on the clock across the room. It was 6:15, and if you showered quick enough (and found some clean, unwrinkled clothes) you could make it to a random seven o’clock screening. It was kind enough that Billy was here with you, but offering to take you to a romance film took selfishness out of the question – he was a true friend, treating you in the same way he had Sidney.

You, like many others, had joked about how perfect he was, often wishing that Randy had been the same way. He’d been nice, without a doubt, but sometimes he was erratic and clingy (some would say annoying), whereas Billy was far more level-headed and relaxed, evident through his constant support. It was time for you to smile, even if it would be temporary. 

“Okay...” You whispered with a weak smile, standing to your feet. “Give me a minute, I’m just gonna freshen up.”   

Billy’s deep brown eyes followed your figure as you walked past him and disappeared up the stairs. Sitting for a moment, he stared at the blaring screen of the television before shutting it off. Considering your state, he’d been surprised that it had been that easy, but apparently all it took for a girl to come around was the promise of a free outing and cliche love stories. The silence was telling – your parents weren’t around – and he pondered your reaction to his arrival in your bedroom...for company, of course. 

Pushing himself up from the couch, he followed you, his shoes barely making a noise as he made his way up the steps before stopping at your bedroom door, being a gentleman and taking his shoes off before he entered. A crack of light from the doorway of the bathroom told him that it was occupied, and so he took it as a signal to enter your threshold, wasting no time in rummaging through your drawers.  

He ran his lithe fingers over the outlines of your bra, following the soft cotton and curved shape as he imagined holding your tits in his hands, groping and tugging on them as you rode his cock, screaming and moaning his name so loudly that you forgot all about your idiot boyfriend.

It was the same with your panties, except he wanted to cut them off you, to watch as your legs trembled from trying to avoid the blade; only to get nipped, ruby rivulets trickling down your thighs. He’d rub it, smear the substance across your skin as he tried to soothe you, your fluids coating his skin and fingernails, only to been mixed with the translucent l cream of your orgasm – over and over and over again.  

Sitting down on the edge of your bed, he waited for you to come in, raising his brows at your squeal upon seeing him. You were only in a dressing gown, with your bra peeking out of the sides of the fluffy material. If he wasn’t already hard, he certainly was now. 

“Billy!” You gasped. “I told you to wait downstairs!” 

“I got bored,” he shrugged. “I wanted to see more of you.” 

You gave him a pointed look as you scraped your earrings off the dresser, clipping them on as you paced around the room in search of an outfit.  

“You know me,” you chuckled. “We’ve been friends for a year.” 

“Yeah, but do you ever really know someone?” He said softly, his gaze locked on your own as he cocked his head, blinking slowly at your confused expression. There was something unsettling about his tone, and you couldn’t help but think back to one of Randy’s many pained rants: “Never trust anyone. Everyone’s a suspect, even the love interest!” Did he know something you didn’t, or was he just being his typical, elusive self?

“I mean, come on now, Y/N. Look around. There’s no one left…just us. I think it’s time we got to know each-other.” 

Pulling on some pants under your gown, you frowned. 

“What’re you saying?” 

“We should be closer than we are,” he said softly, reaching out a hand to fiddle with the strap of your gown leisurely, his eye contact fleeting, but coy. “How else are we going to get through this?” 

Your eyes widened, and you gave Billy a once over as you contemplated the implications of his words. He’d never really been that much of the touchy type up until now, and it couldn’t be coincidental that all of a sudden he’d become so close to you. Perhaps it was the stress; the trauma of losing his friends that made him feel like he needed to fill the void. Or maybe it was genuine, that he wanted to stick through this real-life tragedy with you. Why else would he stay the long nights and weekends, watching TV with you or offering you his snacks?  

“Y-You’re a good friend,” you stammered. “Really. But I just don’t know if I can let anyone close to me anymore. What if you get killed!?” You choked, and Billy pulled you to the side of him, pressing your head into the crook of his neck as you sobbed. Tracing small circles on your back, he let you fix yourself before he pulled away, staring into your eyes as he spoke. 

“I’m not going anywhere,” he said softly. “I promise. And you know why?” 

You shook your head. 

“I spoke to Randy a few days before he died. He was  paranoid – you know how he was – I guess you could say that he had a sense he was going to die…” Billy paused, eyes flickering with recognition before he swallowed and continued. “…He said that if anything were to happen to him, that I should be the one to take care of you. He knew how close you were with Sidney, and she’d have wanted the same.” 

Shakily, your lips parted as you took a breath. Sidney, like many others, had always gushed about how sweet Billy was – particularly how patient he’d been when it’d come to having sex. It would only be logical for them to say that, given the fact that Stu was the only other candidate. No one else would’ve stuck beside you, putting up with your weeks of moping and incessant crying. It was only right that you started giving him some thanks. After all, he was all you had left. 

“O-okay,” you smiled softly before wrinkling your nose. You were so close to Billy that strands of his hair was grazing against your face, and you could smell the faint scent of his cologne – icy, yet comforting. “I’m sorry,” you sighed. “I guess I got so wrapped up in thinking about Randy that I haven’t really been grateful to you. Come on, let’s go out —“ 

“This isn’t about the movies.” Billy interjected, his brows slightly  wrinkled. “This is about you. You’re a girl, and you have needs.”  

You froze, always worried it would come to this.  

“I can’t let you do that,” you said affirmatively. “You were with Sidney, she was my friend —“ 

“She’s gone now,” he said, zero inklings of emotion detected within his voice. “Just like Randy’s gone. I have needs too, you know. You’re not really being a good friend by ignoring them.” 

“Billy…” 

“You mean a lot to me,” he continued, placing a hand on your thigh, rubbing it in a slow but enticing manner. “I think about you a lot. I want to do more to help you…but you’re not letting me.” 

You knew it was wrong to go there, but part of you knew that he had a point. There was no use in festering in misery; Randy, Sidney and the rest of your friends were gone for good, and there was ultimately nothing that would change that. All you could do was focus on what you had now, and that was Billy; patient, willing, and ready to carry out the wishes of your deceased friends. You just had to let him in. 

Silently, you nodded, and he took that as confirmation to kiss you. His lips were warm and wanting, but certainly felt unfamiliar, and you found that it took you a while to find a suitable rhythm. Billy wasted no time in pushing you back onto the bed, kissing down your neck as he straddled you, the faint outline of his hardening cock brushing against your covered leg. His hands lingered on the tie of your robe, glancing down at it with a smirk before pulling it undone, exposing your semi-nude torso to the cool air of the bedroom. 

Your heart leapt out of your chest; not because what you were doing was taboo, but because you’d never done it before. You were about to lose your virginity to your dead friend’s boyfriend – something that your cloudy mind couldn’t comprehend.  

“You’re beautiful,” he whispered, leaving love bits on your chest as his fingers slipped under your bra and pinching and rubbing at the surrounding skin and sensitive nipples. “Randy didn’t know what he had…” 

Letting out a moan, you allowed yourself to be consumed by him, pushing off his open button-up so that he was left in his white shirt. He didn’t look much, but his arms were surprisingly muscular, and you found yourself tracing along the outlines of his skin, inadvertently pulling him closer.  

Billy pulled away, a smirk visible on his face as he unzipped his pants, sliding his trousers to his ankles before readjusting himself on the bed. Taking your hand, he guided you off the bed and brought you to your feet. 

“Strip for me,” he lulled, watching you intently for a reaction. “I want to see how pretty you are…” 

Nervously, you peeled the robe off your body, dropping it to the floor at the edge of your bed before undoing your pants, all under the watchful, jaded eyes of Billy Loomis. As cliched as it sounded, you felt like a bride on her wedding night, nerves released by Billy’s soothing coos and gentle touch. He patted the bed – yours, which you seemed to forget – and you laid down, taking laboured breaths as his brown locks disappeared between your thighs, skin breaking into goosebumps as he slid your panties down your legs. 

“You’re wet...” he hummed, placing his index and middle together before rubbing your hood in small, deliberate circles. “I think you wanted me more than you let on.” 

“B-Billy...” you gasped, shutting your eyes at the pleasurable sensation. “I-I’ve never...” 

“Shh, I know, I know...” he whispered, his touch becoming rougher as he prodded and spread your lips apart, admiring your insides like some sort of fucked-up doctor. “ ‘M gonna make you feel good, but you need a little practise first...” 

Billy began to finger you, withdrawing his digits every so often to admire the way the slickness of your arousal coated his skin, glossy and translucent, the feeling second only to the blood of his victims on his skin. As he curled his fingers within you, he found that you began to shake and clench; your orgasm abruptly evident.

As much as he wanted to indulge in it, he wanted to savour you – and so pulled his fingers out, earning a breathy whine from you. Hastily, he lowered his boxers, his erect cock jutting out like a weapon as he stalked you, pushing your body deep into the pillows as he straddled you. 

“D-Do you have protection...?” you whispered meekly, and Billy could’ve came right there and then at the sight of you, lips parted and begging to be kissed as you gazed at him through your lashes.  

“No...” he replied, watching the fear wash over your face. “But it’s ok. I was safe with Sidney, and you’ve never had sex, right? That means you’re good.” 

Biting your lip, you debated protesting, but found it wasn't worth it. You wanted him – needed this – and you were already sinning by fucking your dead friends’ boyfriend. What did unprotected sex have on that? 

“You’re right,” you said with a small smile, puffing your cheeks as you prepared for him to enter you. “Be gentle...” 

“I wouldn’t dream of hurting you,” he said firmly, eyes unblinking as he adjusted himself at your entrance, the edge of his cock grazing against your folds. “We’re in this together, remember?” 

You knew he meant it when he kissed you upon his penetration, his lips swallowing your whine as he entered you. He wasn’t by any means a stallion – simply averaged sized – but he filled you almost instantly, a dull ache forming around your walls as he began to thrust his hips up into you. If this was what sex was like; rhythmic, passionate, if not a little sharp-edged, then you were partially sad that you hadn’t got to experience it with Randy...the remaining deeply selfish part of you glad that it was with Billy. 

He seemed to know every part of you, where to kiss, where to rub, where to hold – when to slow down and when to quicken, all adorned with his sweet nothings that he spoke into your neck, ever so occasionally peering up at you through his lashes, his exact thoughts elusive to you. He cared, right? Why else would he hold you so close to him, kiss your collarbone, rub and soothe your thighs as he rolled his hips deeper, your pelvises slapping against each other in the heat of the moment? 

“You’re so tight,” he moaned as your lips gripped his bare shaft. “So good to me...Taking me so well...” 

You whined, the sound getting lost under the slight creaking of the bed and the rustle of your bedsheets, tightening your arms around his neck as you drew him closer into you and running a hand through his hair. Billy was thankful, thankful that you couldn’t see his shit-eating smirk from this position onto of you, but much more for Randy; as if he hadn’t had been such a paranoid nerd, he wouldn’t have had the opportunity to imprint himself on you forever. 

His strokes were deep and fulfilling, the head of his cock beginning to buck up into your g-spot, pleasure made more overwhelming as he reached down again to rub at your clit. It was dark, somewhat twisted, but it was perfect; and you could actually feel your anxieties disappear entirely. Who was Randy? Had you ever really loved him? 

Even amongst your white haze as you got closer to the heat of your orgasm, you were able to make out the sound of a lock opening. Your eyes shot open, trying to piece together footsteps and visible signs of entry – Billy had been the only one to come in, perhaps he’d forgotten to lock the door? Or maybe it was your parents, home early from their outing? Worse, maybe it was the killer, dead on arrival like the Grim Reaper as soon as you’d gone against the rules and had sex. 

“Billy —“ you gasped, squeezing your eyes shut as his cock hit your sensitive spot. “The door…I-I think someone’s here…” 

“Shh, you’re okay…” he murmured into your ear. “I didn’t hear anything…” 

A plunging, shaking feeling consumed you as you came, half-lidded eyes making out the shape of a gloved hand and knife creeping from behind the door. Instinctively, you opened your mouth to scream, but nothing came from it. All you could do was lie there, throat parched and the air knocked out of your lungs as you watched the figure enter the room; not hooded, masked or even bloody – but taking the shape and form of a tall, lanky boy with blonde hair. 

Stu was alive, and Billy had lied to you. 

[targaryen-dynasty]

COMFORT.

Daemon Targaryen x valyrian!Reader

You understand the Rogue Prince like no other, and so it's your task to put his mind at ease again when he stumbles into the brothel.

WORDS: 1.5 K

WARNINGS: SEXUAL CONTENT-MINORS DNI; DUB-CON, ass eating, handjob, balls worship, size kink, squint and you'll miss the breeding kink, valyrian!Reader (has pale skin, silver hair), bastard Valyrian/High Valyrian

NOTES: I KNOW I said I’d leave for some while, and I’m not really active on here besides setting up a queue but I just couldn‘t let go of the thoughts of some good ol‘ ass eating with our uncle-daddy. This work is not meant for educational purposes, but please wash yourself before doing sth like this.

It was a lacklustre affair.

Daemon had been thrusting and thrusting for quite some time with little effort or enthusiasm, arousing nothing but awkwardness and deep desire for it to be over. 

Perhaps it was your faked moans of pleasure or perhaps the disheveled state he was in when he stormed into Chataya’s, nevertheless, he was disgruntled as he pulled out of you, clearly frustrated by his poor performance. 

As he sat down on the sill, quilt wrapped around his hanging shoulders, you were quickly reminded that the usually confident, self-assured and strong Rogue Prince that didn’t much care what anybody thought of him actually very much cared, and was nothing more than a tender man who was wracked with doubt. 

Getting on your feet, you prowled toward him, standing between his parted legs. You cupped his face with one hand, forcing him to look up at you. 

“It is possible the Queen will give birth to yet another girl,” you tried to cheer him up, grabbing both his large hands and caressing them with your thumbs. Alas, the attempt did not bear fruit, the dragon in front of you merely scoffing. It seemed there were a few more layers you had to peel off tonight to figure out what truly plagued him, though you suspected something–or someone–particularly to bother his mind. 

You squeezed his hands before pulling him onto his feet, despite him seeming rather reluctant. “Allow me to put your mind at ease, my Prince,” you hummed, and guided him back toward the bed. 

When he lay down on his back, you tsked, “va ao iemny.” On your stomach. It was your Lysene origin that granted you the ability to speak a version of bastard Valyrian, and was one of the main reasons the Prince had chosen you a few moons ago. That, and your pale skin and silver hair. 

His lilac eyes widened ever so slightly at your bold command, but he complied. The bed barely dipped beneath your knees as crawled between his parted legs. You sat back on your haunches and trailed your ring clad fingers over his sides, starting at the top. A few of the scars were traced by your fingertips, and you relished in the way he shivered under the gentle and teasing touch. 

Keeping a close eye on him allowed you to spot the way his upper body moved in sync with his heavy breathing. What surprised you the most was that he held his eyes closed, visibly enjoying your ministrations despite them being barely there. 

“Bisa iksis daor mirre,” you said, the smirk on your lips reflecting in your tone, “iksan daor gaomagon.” This isn’t all. I am not done. 

Reaching for one of the more firmer pillows, you grabbed his hip to raise it a bit before shoving it underneath his lower stomach, angling his hips and giving you the best possible access to his rear and cock. Daemon was open-minded and had ample experience up his sleeve, and it wasn't the first time you paid attention to anything other than his cock. 

You bowed forward, your lips finding the sensitive spot in the nape of his neck that always had him purring like a cat and bending to your every wish. Lingering there for a few moments with your teeth nibbling on his skin, you eventually licked over the faint mark that followed in your teeth’s wake, before departing down. 

While open-mouthed kisses were pressed to his spine, both of your hands began to tease his buttocks. At first, it was only gentle caressing, but as your mouth traveled lower, the bolder your hands got. You squeezed his flesh, and gently parted his buttocks to expose his arsehole to the warm breath you exhaled. 

Your eyes flickered up to gauge Daemon’s reaction for a split second before you gathered some saliva and spat it onto his unprepared hole. His muscles tensed slightly with the sudden wetness, but when your index finger circled around the rim, he relaxed just as quick. 

A faint hum was audible, coming from the Prince in front of you, and when you pushed the first digit in, it was replaced by a groan. 

“Fuck–” 

“How does that feel, my Prince?” you purred.

“Good,” he rasped. 

That was encouragement enough for you to spit into your other hand, coating his cock in it and using the slickness to tug on it with ease. Being penetrated on both ends had him releasing wanton moans in no time, only increasing in volume as you bowed forward and replaced your finger at his arsehole by your lips and tongue. 

If it wasn’t for your mouth and tongue being occupied by sucking and lapping at his hole, you would’ve chuckled as he desperately pushed his hips back against your face. You dragged your tongue over the rim, and kept your blue-lilacish eyes on the Prince beneath, watching carefully what worked best and what not. 

One of your hands spread his buttocks, allowing you to keep your lips against his ass as your tongue pushed in. You stilled briefly, but were spurred on when you heared the strained groan he released. 

“Sīr sȳz, gaomagon jāre,” he panted, “... kostilus.” Hearing him beg was new, but you couldn’t deny that you found a certain liking in it. So good, keep going. Please. 

As you felt his cock twitch in your hand, indicating that he was on the verge of peaking, you released it and instead processed to fondle the sac of his stones, squeezing it. 

The whine that escaped his throat as you pulled back to spit into your hand was the epitome of pathetic, and he obviously had your teasing coming. “Skoros massitas naejot se nēdenka dārilaros, mh?” What happened to the fierce Prince, mh?

“Jorrāelagon nyke naejot–” The threat died on his tongue as yours dove back into his arsehole, returning to its task with vigor. Need me to–

Just like his cock, his stones were coated in your saliva, making it easier to fondle and squeeze them. Daemon started to rut his hips, and it was clear what he was doing or rather chasing. With his hard cock rutting against the pillow, your hand fondling his stones and your tongue fucking in and out of his hole, he felt his peak slowly building at the base of his shaft. 

If it would’ve been any other patron, you would’ve stopped your ministrations and thought about a punishment to put him back in his place, but it was no normal patron lying in front of you. It was a Prince, and a dragon in flesh at that. 

Your tongue and hand were tireless in their motions, determined to push the rogue over the edge, and judging by the way he was writhing and rutting as if his life depended on it, he was close to toppling over.

The strained groan he wanted to release, the one that always came whenever he spent himself, was replaced by a gasp, caught off guard by the way your tongue curled up on its way out, tugging at the rim in a way that drove him insane. 

“Seven hells,” he grunted, and was quick to wrap one hand around his twitching member, tugging on it to embrace the approaching release that threatened to undo him. 

“I–I’m–” the words cut off as his peak crashed over him. His other hand fisted the covers tight enough for his knuckles to blanch, while his hips and hand worked in tandem with your own and your tongue to coax him through the pleasure.

His orgasm tingled at the spot where his sac met his cock, and it was almost ridiculous how much of his spent squirted out and coated the sheets and the pillow below. It was such a shame it went to waste, because you knew at least one spot of your body where you would’ve preferred it. 

You had withdrawn your mouth from his hole not long after the peak subsided, and crawled up and hovered over his tall frame. Collapsing on top of him, he merely scoffed at the added weight, but was quick to hum as your lips pressed a sloppy kiss to his cheek. A tired smile was adorning his features, and his lilac eyes were closed again, relishing in the bliss he felt. 

“How do you feel?” you asked, and though your blueish eyes twinkled with mischief, the genuine concern seeped through your words regardless. Daemon kept on smiling, reaching up to gently cradle your face before he grabbed your body, keeping you steady on top as he turned to lie on his back. His head was propped up on a pillow and yours was resting on his chest, his heartbeat lulling you into calmness. 

“Iksi henujagon syt Zaldrīzesdōron isse se ñāqatubis,” he mused. We are leaving for Dragonstone in the morning. 

And when you looked at him with utter confusion written all over your face, he elaborated further. “You are foolish if you think I would go into exile without you.”

[moonluvin]

obsession (part 1) - spencer reid

pairing: unsub dark!spencer reid x female reader

summary: in which y/n finds herself in the middle of the obsession and desire that a seemingly normal man has for her.

warnings: angst and fluff (don't worry, theres eventual smut)

a/n: happy reading! it's going to be a maximum of 5 parts.

word count: 1.4k

minors/ageless blogs dni.

masterlist

It’s so easy to be inserted into a person’s life when you make the right observations. Especially someone as unsuspecting as you.

For a while you wandered about your life mostly without worry, except for the usual bump in the road here and there. That’s just how life was for you, until it wasn’t.

Observant brown eyes had been on you the moment they caught sight of you walking across the street. You’d think a task such as crossing a road would be easy, but no, for you it was like an exciting little adventure - which is what brought you into the world of a man who had seen more bad in his life than he’d care to acknowledge.

Call it a fixation, interest, maybe even obsession? He didn’t know what it was about you, but he needed you. Desperately.

He didn’t have a lot going on in his life, which is the reason he found it so easy to pick up on your daily habits, routines, likes, dislikes and even certain gestures that indicated what thoughts may have been circulating around that pretty head of yours.

What he would do to be able to know what goes on in your mind-

Following someone who was so unaware of their surroundings made it easy for him to know more about you than anything. What was his motive? Did he really need one when all he wanted was you?

You walked freely with no worries to your favorite store that sold a variety of items such as vinyl’s, books, clothes and basically anything you could think of. You were a regular, so it was no surprise for the owner to get a random visit from you.

Browsing through the book aisles was your favorite pastime. Who else would find joy in finding a book they previously read and experiencing the nostalgia of finding it for the first time, not knowing just how much a small book would change your perspective on life itself.

Funny what silly words on pages can do to the human mind.

Your eyes darted between the different titles of books presented to you, when out of the corner of your eye, a tall figure came into view. You turned slightly in curiosity and saw the individual reaching for a book you read before.

His curly hair was falling in line with his eyes – which is the one feature of his that gained most of your attention.

What pretty eyes.

“That’s a good choice,” you say without thinking.

He didn’t expect you to speak to him, but then again, with you he learnt to expect the unexpected.

“What makes you say that?” he said, maintaining a soft curious tone.

“I’ve had the pleasure of reading it and fell into a world of literature I would experience all over again in a heartbeat,” you say in honesty.

He half smiled at your explanation and glanced back down to the book.

“You’ve influenced me to read it then,” he says with a nod.

You smile at his words and go back to your browsing; however, he stood there watching you.

It was a pleasure for him to see you this close and intimate. For you it may have been a normal exchange, but for him, it sealed the deal that he had to make you his. One way or another.

Weeks passed by and you were living your life as normal. Going to work, coming home, doing your usual routine and repeating your day all over again.

The one thing he realized about you was that you liked to stick to a schedule on doing things, thus making it easy for him to keep tabs on you.

When you finally got a free day, you found yourself at a park, one of the many places you frequented when you had free time. This was when he decided to make his second appearance in your life. He was sat on a bench you usually passed by on your way to your designated spot in the park.

The book in his hand immediately caught his attention and instantly you remembered where you’d seen him from.

“I remember you!”

He tried to hide his smile when you said those words. What a good girl you are for remembering who he was, that alone told him that his plan of making an impression on you worked.

His eyes gently darted up from the book to meet your eyes.

“Hi. You’re from that store with the books, right?” it was a simple sentence to not make it seem like he definitely knew who you were, let alone him knowing what he knew you were going to be having for dinner that same night.

The perks of having an eidetic memory.

“Right! I’m glad to see you reading the book,” your eyes move to the copy of ‘The Picture of Dorian Grey’ in his hand.

“It’s a really good book,” he admits and bookmarks the page he is on before setting it down beside him.

“Is it living up to the way I described the experience?” you asked with hopeful eyes.

“It certainly is, I’ve even taken to annotating my favorite lines,’ he says with a smile.

Those words alone left your heart jumping for joy. You loved sharing your interests with people, and you also loved when they’d share your interest.

“You’ve just become my favorite human for the day,” you say to him.

He quirks a brow at you but doesn’t say anything.

“See you around then,” you wave at him with a smile and walk away.

His eyes are fixed on you with intense curiosity, as if you're something from another world. He enjoys the peculiarity of your existence.

He looked back to the book in his hand. He was being truthful about annotating his favorite lines, he already has the book memorized and know what your favorite line from the book is.

With his experience in life, and the resources he had to his disposal, it was easy for him to monitor your online presence.

Your friends thought signing you up for a dating app would be a good idea to get you out there. He clicked his tongue as he saw the men who were messaging you. He dealt with people like them in his work life.

He couldn’t let his sunshine go through that, especially when he puts men like that behind bars.

And so, he knew how to make you his.

Like a predatory taunting its prey, he followed you in the shadows as you walked home from a night out with your friends. You had a few drinks, but assured your friends you were okay enough to make it home.

How silly can you be? Maybe it was the rose-tinted glasses you saw the world through or maybe it was the drinks confusing your thoughts, but you wouldn’t have to worry about things like that anymore.

The cap he was wearing did little to hide him, even under the glow of the moonlight.

You stumbled and giggled as you almost fell over, a small smile made its way to his face. You made it too easy.

He acted quickly as he made his way to you and steadied you from stumbling once again.

“Who are- OH… you’re the man with the pretty eyes from the park. How are you!?” you said with the biggest smile on your face.

Spencer had to stop himself from throwing you over his shoulder and taking you back to his place. His control slipped the moment he laid his hands on you.

“Hello sunshine,” was all you heard before feeling a prick of pain on your arm, and soon everything started to fade away – the last thing you saw were those pretty brown eyes.

[bunnyboysrus]

Of Monsters and Omegas

I read this a/b/o thing a while ago, I don't even know who the original was by I can't find it again y-y

but it had a thing I'd never seen in a/b/o before, with an idea of an alpha, claim biting another alpha and turning them into an omega (talked to a friend and it turns out this is a thing that has been written about more than once, im just out of touch and its not even friday) and it was an amazing story, super well written, I just personally didn't like the ending cause I'm the #1 advocate for brat readers and not the biggest fan of crybabies or the total pheromone brainwashing that people write for omegas that make them do the complete opposite of what they would normally do, I'd like to think they have more resistance to the chemicals than that albeit at the cost of some physical and psychological pain. so im writing my own, thingy, with a different ending.

18+ Minors DNI - 6.3k words Content Warnings: stalking, obsession, death, fighting, violence, blood, torture(?), kidnapping, noncon touching, suggestive, gangs, some degradation, reader is referred to as 'princess' gender neutrally (im new to this so if theres anything i forgot pls let me know)

The heavy sounds of flesh hitting flesh echoed against the stone walls of the alleyway concealing the battered figures of the people fighting within it. One person lay dazed and immobile on the ground already, followed shortly by a second body, this one out cold before he even hit the ground. The last two fighters standing were locked in a desperate grapple, and despite having been beset upon by three assholes at once, the would-be victim who had been pulled into the alley on their way home from a long day of college classes gains the upper hand for the third and final time. Your muscles burn as you grunt and send the last assailant flying into the hard brick wall, one final crack ringing through the tight, dark space as they slide down the wall onto the dirty ground, right into an unfortunately placed puddle of dumpster juice. They leave a splatter of blood on the stone where the back of their head split on the stained grit.

Blood drips from the knuckles of the hand you run through the sweaty hair slicked to your forehead as you stoop and pick up your backpack from where it had been tossed to the side. You spot a wallet on the ground, knocked out of someone's pocket at some point during the fight, and pocket the cash from that too, for the inconvenience. These scumbags were lucky they weren't dead, yet, anyway. For this? They'd probably be killed within the week once you gave their ID's to your older sister.

You continue on your way back home, wiping the blood off your knuckles and face with the sleeve of your coat as you go.

Why those grunts had seemingly staked you out was beyond you, other than the obvious reason of being a member of their gang's most vicious and historied rival. Your family was a notorious one, a family business dealing mostly in drugs but with a few spare hands in money laundering and data gathering. You were fully aware that what your family did was illegal in a dozen different ways, but it was what you had grown up in, it was what paid for your lavish lifestyle, so who were you to be judgmental? Besides, to compromise within a morally gray area, you know your family prefers to keep things as bloodless as possible, less clean up and attention that way. As a fresh adult who was only in your second year of college however, you were ignorant to most of those details, and chose to be so. You understood why your family didn't want to involve you just yet, and you didn't care to dig into it, the longer you could go with less responsibilities, the better. So, for now, you were content to stay in the dark and live your carefree, well-funded life.

Of course, that didn't mean you were naive or anything. You know very well that you were in constant danger of being attacked or killed, even as you lived a perfectly normal college life. So, as any self-respecting alpha would, you worked out intensely and routinely, to the point of being intimidating even to other alphas. Running into a few punks here and there was nothing to you, even when they came in groups like they had today.

The remaining smears of blood on your knuckles have dried into a crust by the time you get home. Once you've kicked off your shoes at the door, you hide the gory evidence of your altercation in your coat pockets as you step into the living room of your family's manor. Your sisters, Nina, the youngest, and Esme, older than you but younger than your brothers, Leon and Silas, are sitting on the couch closest to the TV, a drama of some sort playing as they shared a bowl of strawberries. Nina beams at you from the couch.

"Hey! How was your day?"

Nina was still in high school, which in your opinion was way worse than college, so the fact that she still had the spunk and energy to greet you so enthusiastically warmed your heart. You smile back at her as you head for the stairs.

"It was pretty good, I finally finished that project so now I don't have to stay late at the library anymore."

"That's great! That means you'll be home early enough to watch Cats of Heaven with me!"

"I should have enough time for that, sure." You chuckle. You had no clue what that was, but if you had to guess, knowing your sister it was the newest silly cartoon that she had become infatuated with. At least she wasn't trying to get you to watch the insufferable dramas that she liked to watch with Leon and Esme, like what was on now, but you would never admit to your siblings how corny you thought those kinds of shows were. You could only hope Cats of Heaven was something more entertaining than the standard soap operas you'd observed.

"There's pizza in the kitchen." Esme calls to you as you start up the stairs.

Ah, so Leon isn't home yet. The oldest of your siblings was the one who normally cooked, more often than even your mother. You call back an acknowledgement before jogging up the stairs to your room. After cleaning yourself of the day's grime, and the blood of course, you change clothes and trot back downstairs, heading for the kitchen to obtain some of the aforementioned pizza. Getting past the group project you'd been working on for the past three months meant more free time after school for the immediate future, and you were all too keen to relax with your family, even if it meant slogging through a show that was potentially horrendous.

You pad back into the living room, already halfway through one of the five slices of cheesy divinity on your plate. You were just sitting down between Esme and Nina when the sound of keys in the front foyer made you all perk up.

"I thought they weren't coming back for another few days?" Esme voices the question on all of your minds, 'they' being your parents and oldest brother, who had left on a business trip a little under a week ago.

"Maybe they finished work early and wanted it to be a surprise." Nina suggests happily, as the sound of footsteps in the hallway grows closer. You're hit with a sudden wave of apprehension at the same time as Esme, both of you standing abruptly to move in front of your youngest sister as a crowd of strangers step into the room with shameless casualness. Leading them, is an imposing alpha man with ink black hair tied at the nape of his neck and burning red eyes so piercing it almost made you shiver to be caught in their gaze. Almost.

The only thing that overpowered the rising fear was anger.

You sprint directly for the leader, arm pulled back for a haymaker, but some beta grunt gets in your way and takes the blow. It's clear from the confidence with which he steps in that he was unprepared for the force behind the fist, and ends up on his face on the floor, dead to the world. The first swing immediately spurs the others into action, and they surge around their leader to subdue you. It turns out to be a much harder endeavor than any of them anticipate, even when one lackey throws themself onto your back to weigh down your movement, you move as though the weight wasn't there at all, ramming backwards and crushing the brave idiot and one other against the wall. You're about to make another lunge for the leader, who has so far been lounging in an insufferably smug manner against the wall, watching the fight but not bothering to get involved, when you hear a shrill scream behind you that stops you cold.

You turn back to see Nina trapped in the arms of a muscly thug, and Esme thrashing on the ground at her feet, held down by two others. Your rage surges and you move to attack their captors, but the momentary distraction caused by your little sister's distress is all the time that's needed for three more men to jump on you and drag you to the ground. It takes 5 people altogether to hold you down as you curse and struggle against their hold trying to reach your sisters.

The leader of the home invasion chuckles condescendingly as he finally moves from his spot against the wall and walks closer, kneeling down by your face, a tight smile on his face that holds no amusement.

"You're just as feisty as ever, second youngest. I've heard all about your track record in fights, your unbroken win streak was so intimidating that I thought for sure it'd take more than that to subdue you. I'm a little disappointed."

"Fuck you!!!" It's all you can manage to spit out amongst your fury and exhaustion; normally you'd be able to throw off even five people, at least enough to get an arm free to strike out, but you were already worn out from your earlier fight. That, and a literal glob of spit that lands splat dab against the side of the assault leader's nose; damn, so close to hitting him in the eye.

The room goes cold and still, the thugs surrounding you and your siblings seem to take in a collective breath of anxiety, looking nervously to their leader for his reaction. To their surprise, he simply stares down intensely at the struggling alpha on the floor as he wipes the spit off his cheek... and licks it off his thumb.

"Oh, are you sure that's smart? You might not care about your own compromised position... but you care about theirs, right?" He glances over to the men holding down your sisters and in response to an unspoken signal, they draw knives and hold them menacingly against their throats. Esme growls furiously, but Nina screams again in fear as tears pour down her cheeks.

"Stop! Stop it, don't terrorize them! You're here for me, right?! Then just take me outside and beat me to death if that's what you want but leave them alone!!!" You still sound enraged, but even you are aware of the fear that leaks into your voice.

"Aww, worried for your sisters? Me too." The faux amusement in the alpha leader's voice is gone now, replaced with a cold fury chilling enough to send a zing of worry into your spine. The leader grabs a fistful of your hair in a painfully tight grip as he pulls your head up, his other hand spinning a set of keys around his finger. Your blood runs cold when you zero in on the plastic pink dolphin hanging on the ring.

Those are your mother's keys.

"You seem to think I'm here because you put a few grunts into the hospital. You're mistaken." The alpha tilts his head as his eyes pierce into yours, searching, but for what, you don't know. "You aren't aware of what your brother's been up to, are you?"

"You'll have to be more specific; I have two." You huff, trying not to stare too obviously at the dolphin, trying desperately not to think of what it might mean of your mother's fate for this asshole to be holding those keys.

"Silas." The alpha says icily, speaking the name like a curse.

Warily, you shake your head, the clawed grip on your head barely allowing the movement. "No, I'm not aware of anything my brothers and parents are involved in."

"That's unfortunate... But I'm already aware of that. It's cute, honestly, did they think leaving you out of the loop would keep you safe and uninvolved?" He gives your hair a sharp tug, eliciting a hiss from the fuming alpha. "All it did was make you the perfect tool for revenge."

"What the fuck are you even talking about you piece of shi-" The leader slams your face into the ground, and although the floor is carpeted, it only buffers the brunt force so much. When the leader lifts your head back up, your nose is dripping blood.

"I'm talking now. Unless you want me to kill your sisters in front of you, you'll shut the fuck up and listen like a good little bitch."

A growl rumbles through you which is met with another face first kiss into the floor, but the alpha doesn't signal anything to the thugs holding your sisters.

"Listen well, as I won't repeat myself. Silas kidnapped my sister, and I can only assume he claimed her. That, or he killed her, but I doubt it. Your mother was helping him to keep them both hidden, and to her credit she refused to sell him out, no matter how much we hurt her." The spinning of the keys stops abruptly as the leader catches them in his palm before dangling them in front of you. "I guess she didn't stop to think about what that choice might mean for her other children, left so innocent and unaware at home, alone. Maybe she had a favorite?"

Your blood runs cold as you take in the intruder's words. You had never been particularly close with Silas, hell, none of your siblings were. He had always been very distant with his siblings, while the rest of you went on to be incredibly close with one another, leaving Silas as the odd one out. That wasn't to say you hadn't all at some point tried to get closer with him, he had simply always made it clear he had no interest. This was probably also fueled by the coddling you had all observed from your mother; Silas had always been her golden boy, incapable of wrongdoing.

"I had no idea... None of us did." You can only hope the sincerity is clear in your voice and face; you genuinely had no idea your brother had done such a thing or was even capable of doing such. If the kidnapping was fueled by anything other than the feud between your families... The thought made you sick.

The leader considers your words, his chilling gaze never wavering in the slightest from yours.

"I believe you. From what I gather, based on what we were able to discern from the phone we took from your mother, she and he were the only ones in on it."

Your relief is short lived when a cruel, mirthless smirk creeps over the leader's face. There's a sudden sting in the side of your neck, you barely have time to register the pinch of pain before darkness rushes into your vision from all sides.

"However... That doesn't alleviate you of the consequences."

A sudden splash of cold drags you unwillingly out of the darkness. You open your eyes, gasping, taking in the dirty, gray stone, the puddle surrounding you; you're no longer in your living room. You now find yourself somewhere dark and cemented on all sides, the cold dampness pervading the space the kind that only comes from being underground. The only illumination comes from a single bare bulb swinging on a frayed wire over your head, the light it casts only making the space feel more unnerving.

Looming over you, face cast eerily in the darkness clumping up around the edges of the bulb's dingy light, is the leader of the home invasion. His red eyes are black in the shadow, but still alight with something cruel and mocking. He has a bucket in his hand, empty save for the last few drops of water clinging to the lip, the rest of it covering you.

"Good morning, princess. Sleep well?"

It's just the two of you, alone. No guards, no thugs, no sign of your sisters. You process this information a split second before you register the weight clamped down around your arms and waist, metal rattling loudly through the small space when you try to lunge for him, only to be stopped short by a chain attached to the wall behind you. You twist your arms violently, feeling the bite of handcuffs digging into your wrists, chains pulling taught where they're wrapped around your waist. Your captor laughs at your efforts.

It's when you growl in response to the taunting laughter that you feel more metal on your face. A muzzle. You can't suppress the fury thrashing around in your chest like a wild animal, growing more and more violent the more humiliation is piled on. The abduction, the laughter, the restraints, the muzzle. You kick and pull and yank and spit and snarl, don't stop even when the metal bites and blood makes your skin slippery against the cuffs.

"Aww, throwing a tantrum now? Cute." The words are barely enough warning before you're shoved onto your back, arms grinding painfully between the restrains and the dirty floor.

Your captor straddles you, his weight keeping your body pressed flat to the ground while one hand settles into the curve of your throat and squeezes. His palm presses lightly into your airway at the same time that his thumb rubs slow, pensive circles in the dip between your neck and collar. You shiver apprehensively when it brushes over the scent gland in your neck.

"I already told you I don't know where your sister is. Fucking kill me already so you can get even, just don't hurt my sisters. They're not involved!"

"Second time you've asked me to kill you... you seem quite keen on it." He smirks. "Unfortunately, you're all involved by virtue of simply being a part of that family. I know none of you are stupid enough to be completely ignorant to your family's doings."

Another growl bubbles up in your throat, only to be choked into silence when your captor tightens his grip around your neck.

"You know, I've thought for a while now that the older you've gotten, the less happy you've looked. The worst time, was right after your high school graduation, it was like the last of your light had left your eyes." His smile softens into something pitying, bordering on sympathetic even, but all you feel is chills running up and down your spine. "You always used to be so carefree, and spirited, it was crushing to see you looking so worn down and sad. It took me a while to realize what was killing the happy you I love so much."

The hands around your neck loosen as the leader leans down, hips shifting against your crotch as he moves, completely unbothered by the water soaking into his pants. He brings his face to your ear, lips grazing against the shell of it.

"Don't you think trying so hard to posture around like a big tough alpha is exhausting? I know it is, I know intimately the sort of shit we go through to come out on top as the strongest, the worthiest... But that struggle never suited you, did it? You've always seemed too sweet for it to me, more like an omega than an alpha."

You can't help but take the opportunity to thrust your head forward and slam it into your captor's face, forcing him back into his upright position. Ignoring the stalker shit this guy was just babbling was difficult, but you decided to skip it for now since honestly you didn't really wanna hear the details...

"You've gotta be shitting me, I've sent hundreds of you losers to the hospital and the grave since I was a middle schooler. If you're seriously trying to compare me to an omega, then I know you're full of it and just trying to piss me off."

He raises an eyebrow, surprisingly not retaliating against the bonk to his head, not yet at least.

"So, what would you call the manicures you get monthly with your sister?"

"I call that self-care and spending time with my sister. Fighting off all your fuckin' grunts wears my hands out and I'm not fond of scars. I deserve a relaxing hand massage for the trouble of beating your thugs up every week."

"And the mall trips where you spend hundreds on clothes which you follow up with a trip to that quaint little bakery where you always get a strawberry cream cake? That doesn't strike you as omega-ish?"

"Go to hell. For one thing, it's insanely creepy that you know all that, and for another, you're stereotyping like a motherfucker. Alphas aren't all meatheads that do nothing but eat raw steak, jerk off and work out, and all omegas aren't valley preps that do nothing but shop and primp. People who think like you are what's wrong with society."

The leader's deep red eyes stare intensely into your face for an eerily long moment before the corners of his lips twitch. At first its imperceptible, and while he clearly fights to keep a straight face, he can't keep down the chuckles bubbling out of his throat for long. He throws his head back in a burst of full body laughter, the least cruel sound he's made since you met him. When he finally manages to calm himself, the leader beams down at you as he wipes a tear out of his eye.

"My god... You're so fucking cute. Do you even hear yourself? You're only proving my point. You're meant to be pampered and taken care of, sheltered and safe from petty street fights and laborious expectations of strength and intimidation. You look so much cuter and happier getting your nails done than you do working out and swaggering around trying to be impressive and domineering."

This conversation had already been creepy since it started, but this was starting to genuinely unnerve you. You try to lean your head further away from the alpha on top of you, but he grabs the front of your muzzle, dragging you closer.

"Don't run away now tough guy. I thought a big bad alpha like you wasn't scared. How's it feel to be the one on bottom? Feeling threatened by the idea of someone putting you in your place? Scared?" He drags his tongue across the thin bars of the muzzle, his breath ghosting over your lips.

"What do you want from me?" You finally manage to ask, despite the tightness in your throat. As much as you expect to dread the answer, you can't stand any more of the back and forth while you wait in suspense for torture, for death, for something. Something other than whatever it is about this whole exchange that is making this guy so rock hard. You're trying to ignore it but, you've been feeling the unmistakable prod of this weirdo's boner against your crotch for almost the whole time you've been speaking.

"Still waiting on me to kill you? Knowing how proud you are, I bet you'd prefer death over what I have planned for you." The freak on top of you chuckles, his voice lowering to a husk as he leans down and nuzzles his nose into the crook between your neck and shoulder, inhaling deeply. "You smell so sweet even now, for an alpha...~ You'll smell even better soon."

Before you can ask what the hell he's talking about, you feel a kitten lick against your neck that makes you freeze. It's light at first, but quickly turns into broad strokes of his tongue and open mouth kisses from shoulder to jaw, wet and insistent.

No way. Nowaynowaynowaynoway. Obviously, no one is incapable of being sexually assaulted but it rarely ever happened to alphas, they weren't exactly the cute, easy targets creeps normally went for. It had never even been a passing concern for you up until now.

"Hey! Are you fucking-gh...!" You choke on your words when a sharp sting pulses through your neck. A heartbeat later, a deep and agonizing burning sensation starts to spread through your veins, up into your head where the white-hot burn is so blaring that it clouds your vision with spots, and down into your chest where your heart starts pounding against your ribs like it's trying to claw its way out. You can only gasp soundlessly as pain like you've never experienced rips through you, tearing screams from your lungs that die before they can even leave your throat, coming out only as gasping whimpers. It's after you feel a second bite and the pain is redoubled that you finally manage to shriek out loud, a sound so visceral and so unlike any sound or scream you've ever made that it doesn't even sound like you.

When he bites into your scent gland for a third time, the pressure building behind your eyes from the pain and the lightheadedness of screaming without pause for breath snaps. You can feel yourself losing consciousness again, and this time you couldn't be more grateful for it.

Your return to the waking world is much slower this time. Whereas before you were yanked out of the darkness with a splash of cold water, this time you find yourself wading through it, a lake of sludge thicker than cold syrup, and it was just as sticky and unpleasant as you imagine such a thing would be. Despite what feels like physical pounds of exhaustion weighing them down, you manage to drag your eyes open.

You feel cold and damp all over, a fresh drop of sweat rolling down your neck. A full body ache that sinks deep into your bones covers you; you feel like you're made of glass, fragile, weak and sore.

A strip of dim, greyed light is shining on the ceiling over your head; its all you can focus on as your awareness swims to the surface and clambers out of the heavy lake still trying to drag it down. You shift and lift one of your arms out from under the thick blanket covering you and notice gauze wrapped around your wrist. A small, delicate gasp to your side makes you turn your head. Nina is sitting in a chair by your bedside, clutching your other hand tightly between hers.

"You're awake! Y-You were sleeping so long I thought you'd never..." She sniffles, holding your hand to her cheek as hot tears drip onto your wrist. You slowly turn your hand to press your palm against her cheek, smiling softly.

"It's okay Nina, I'm alive, it's alright." Your voice is barely more than a croak, scratching painfully out of your throat. Nina grabs a cup of water from a bedside table and gently helps you take a few sips. When you've managed to drain the whole cup, you lay back in the bed with a wearied sigh.

"What happened? I thought for sure I was dying, I..." You trail off, thinking back to the odd conversation you'd had with the alpha who had led your home's invasion. Your head is pounding, and you feel so weak, like you're just waking up from the worst part of a flu, still feeling traces of a fever in the heat trapped in your blankets and the sweat clinging to your skin. A growl from the window pulls your attention away from your condition.

"That motherfucker... He did something to you." Esme is leaning against the frame of the large window casting the gray light over the ceiling a few feet away from where you and Nina are sitting, a cigarette crushed in half in her hand. You can't help but be faintly alarmed at the sight of it; Nina had expressly forbidden Esme from smoking, and she hadn't been caught with a cigarette in over a year. To see her with one in front of Nina, and for Nina to not be making any fuss over it, means something is seriously wrong. A distant rumble punctuates the tense silence that falls over you all, and you notice that the slim strip of sky visible through the partially parted curtains over the window is blotted out with storm gray.

"Did what to me?" You press. Your sisters exchange a look that is far too loaded to discern anything from other than Nina's palpable concern and Esme's frustration. You quickly get tired of waiting for one of them to tell you what is going on.

"Will one of you please tell me what is making you both look at me like I've caught some kind of fatal disease?" You huff, anxiety bleeding into your words. Nina glances one more time to Esme, who adamantly refuses to look away from the window as she throws down her ruined cigarette and retrieves a new one.

"You... Er, well you were... claimed. By Emil." Nina says quietly, staring down at her hands in her lap rather than you.

You stare at her blankly. What she's saying makes sense objectively, but you can't make sense of what it could have to do with you. Claiming was something exclusively done between alphas and omegas. You almost want to laugh and call it absurd, when you remember the sharp, burning pain of something piercing your neck. You shiver as you recall that the pain had been sourced in the same area as your scent gland. Your hand slowly, shakily, reaches up to press two probing fingers to your neck. Pain pulses faintly through you again when the tips of your fingers find gauze wrapped around it.

The weakness pervading your entire body, the nervousness underlying all of the other emotions swirling in your gut, the foreign sensation settled in your lower abdomen... Somehow, you know instinctively what it all means before your sister even says it.

"He bitched you. You're an omega now." Esme's voice has dropped to a low, hard to hear octave. You almost want to believe you imagined what you just heard, but you know deep down that what she says is true. The despair must show on your face, as Nina grabs your hand again, squeezing it tightly between both of hers.

"I-It'll be okay...! Emil is actually very nice, and he's genuinely-" She's cut off by the sharp slam of Esme's fist against the wall.

"Bullshit! Don't even start Nina. He bitched you and he expects you to roll over and be happy about it, but I say fuck that!" She snarls, her new cigarette meeting the same fate as its predecessor as she crushes it in her fist and throws it to the ground. "He's gone on and on at us trying to prove that this is all somehow what's best for you, but he just sounds deranged! He's a sick, obsessive freak, and he wants you to-!"

The sound of a door opening stops her short, and all three siblings jerk around to look at the newcomer entering through the door on the far side of the room from the bed. A woman in scrub pants and a sweater glowers down at all three siblings, looking supremely exhausted.

"You two, you were told you would only be allowed in if you didn't cause trouble. Are you distressing the patient right after they wake up?" She asks in a cold, droning voice.

Nina and Esme exchange defeated, worried glances before Nina speaks up.

"N-No ma'am, we weren't trying to be disruptive we were just-"

"Overwhelming someone coming out of a physically taxing ordeal that left them comatose for almost two weeks." She interjects dryly. "Come on, visitation's over, both of you out."

You expect your sisters to argue, to tell her off for expecting them to leave you alone and insist on staying with you, but to your shock your sisters resignedly stand up and head for the door. Once they've both shuffled out, the nurse (?) shuts the door behind them and trudges over to you. You flinch away from her touch, but she grabs you in firm but gentle hands, holding you still as she looks you over.

"I expected you to stay out for a few more days, but you're one tough little cookie. How are you feeling?"

Bewildered but too shell shocked to question, you answer the questions she asks you as she goes about taking your temperature and blood pressure. One impromptu physical later, she steps away from your bed with a satisfied nod.

"Alright, it looks like your recovery is progressing better than expected. You'll probably be up and about like nothing happened within a few days." You listen to her ramble about your condition before you can bring yourself to ask.

"What happened to me? Is... Is what my sister said true? Am I an omega?"

The nurse goes silent. The pitying look she gives you is all the confirmation you need.

"You should go back to sleep for now. Your body probably still feels very weak. Food will be brought to you shortly but try not to stress yourself out in the meantime." It's all she says before she hurries to the door, shutting your questions down with a firm slam. You scramble to your feet, swaying violently as soon as you try to stand. You power through it, holding down a lurching sensation akin to being on the verge of throwing up as you stagger to the door and wrench at the knob. Locked.

Fear and worry overtake you as you start slamming your hands and body into the door, though what you're trying to accomplish, not even you know. You're too weak to even stand, let alone break down a door, and before long, cold rushes into your limbs and you find yourself sliding down onto the floor, trembling and barely keeping down the bile crawling up your throat. You curl up into a ball and close your eyes.

When you awake for the third time, you don't feel nearly as ill. The ache in your limbs is still there, a mild constant, but it doesn't feel as debilitating as it did before. As you are in the middle of waking, you feel a cool hand brushing through your hair, and smell a sweet scent around you that puts you at ease. You can't help but lean your face into the hand petting you as your eyes slowly open. Snuggled against you, both arms wrapped securely around you... is that fucking freak.

You jerk away from the home invasion leader's hand, pulling him out of what looks like a deep reverie as you scramble to the side of the bed farthest from him. He smiles at you in amusement as he sits up, leaning his cheek against a fist propped on his knee.

"Good morning, princess. How are you feeling?"

You rub your hand over your neck, now free of gauze, feeling the bite marks in your skin in hyper-detail.

"You fucking... y-you, what did you do...?!" You demand, your voice a slightly higher pitch than you recall it being and shaking.

He chuckles like this was exactly what he was expecting, looking at you with a coy condescension that makes your skin crawl.

"I helped you; the first step to setting up our beautiful romance was making you an omega so I could care for you without any power struggles getting in the way. I'm not saying I look down on alphas having relationships with other alphas, but it just wasn't for me." His grin broadens as he crawls closer to you, closing the distance you'd put between you. You try to back up further, but he corners you against the headboard, arms caging you in on either side. He leans his head down, you shrink into yourself as he does but its not far enough, and his cheek brushes yours as he licks up the side of your neck. When his tongue glides over the bites on your neck, a shudder runs through you unbidden. A sudden rush of wetness between your legs shocks you to a frozen standstill. The freak looming over you takes a deep inhale, shuddering in ecstasy.

"I was right... You smell so much sweeter like this!" He presses against you, one knee parting your legs as one of his hands rubs the burning heat between your thighs. You reach to grab his wrist and pull it away, but his free hand catches yours and holds it down. The uncomfortable wetness gets worse as a heat purrs through your core, goaded by his touching.

You feel a foreign sensation crawling through your brain, sickeningly warm and disorienting. It urges you to pull your hands away, spread yourself open willingly before the alpha in front of you. It promises bliss in submission, ecstasy in relinquishing control to someone bigger and stronger than you, someone who could protect and ravish you-

A jolt runs through you as your captor's hand drifts up to dip underneath the waistband of your pants, his face lifting up from your neck to direct his affections to your lips. His attempt to take a kiss is stopped short violently by a fist slamming into his nose. He falls backwards off the side of the bed with an undignified yelp, curling up on the floor for an agonizing moment to hold his face as blood rushes between his fingers.

"W-What the hell... Aren't you...?"

"GO TO HELL YOU UGLY FREAK!!!" The panic you feel is pushed down, rage swallowing it entirely. The alpha on the floor quickly backs up as you get to your feet, fists clenched and shaking in fury.

"But I claimed you...! You can't-"

"I don't give a shit what you did! Did you seriously think I'd tolerate you touching me?! Get the hell OUT!!!!!" You scream loud enough to make your voice hoarse in your already aching throat, grabbing anything you can to hurl at him. Pillows and plastic cups chase him out as he scrambles back to the door, muttering a promise to visit again once you're in a better mood. A pillow smacks into the door with alarming force in the spot where his head had been just a split second earlier. As for the idea of you ever being in any mood that would make you tolerate being in his presence...

Fat chance of that.

[brights-place]

Clay x sassy fem! Reader Nsfw and sfw headcannons?

When I say sassy I mean she’s bold, straight forward, annoyed easily and other stuff. She’s strong headed and doesn’t take no for a answer type of sassy, and maybe bratty during sex too👀…

Clay with an sassy S/O

Pairings: Clay X Reader

Warnings: Fluff, Smut and NSFW content MDNI! A/N: These are for those freaky people and clay simps I'm talking about me aswell yall... I love clay so much AHEM! Anyways I'm not gonna be on tumblr for alot cause yk Im prepping for some stuff for the next couple of weeks!

SFW

- You being sassy is so entertaining for him

- You being straight forward and bland makes him snicker especially when Viva tries to do something dumb with the two of you when hanging out You'd be most of the time voice of reason and clay also being an voice of reason for an slight amount before giving in so you are one who has to take control

- Loves how you can be bratty and rude towards people but can melt in his hands easily if he praises you for the smallest things

- When you get annoyed he soothes you easily by placing an hand on your arm or shoulder

- You two would be an power duo for work situations and just for your personal life - he tangles your and his hair and tail together as he tries to hold you back from going to insult or punch someone cause they talked smack about Clay and Viva (I headcannon they have tails, claws, fangs and paws cause its so cute)

- He loves when seeing you stand up for other trolls when needed and was so determined to make all putt putt trolls safe!

-he pretends that he hates when you act out and get pissed but secretly he loves when you're a brat and enjoys the sight

- He loves how bold and straight forward yet sassy you are but you are so different in bed (NEHEHHEHEHEHE *gremlin noises*)

NSFW

- OHOHOHOHO I'M SO EXCITED FOR THIS

- He could be rough some days and soft on others it depends how you act but since your sassy and bratty he snickers. - When he was trying to work once you kept touching him groaning and whining about wanting him - When he said no to not letting in cause he was busy with work you literally left for an moment before appearing under his desk smirking up at him

- Clay wouldn’t admit it but when your bratty he enjoys it so much cause he can make you submit to him later on after he fucks the brains out of you

- When your being bratty and whine he likes to put you in your place

- biting hard and leaving hickeys as he grips onto your waist and thighs a bunch of times, whispering praises and degrading words against your ear

- Loves how he makes you whine after you kept trying to fight back for dominance but failing and you end up hiccuping in pleasure

- Overstimulates you so much

- Teases you he would just slowly thrust in and out of you or tease the tip of your member as you beg for him for more and cling to him sobbing

- When you continue being sassy he enjoys it so much and likes to place you in different positions while tugging your hair back

- decided to Mirror fuck you to show how he makes you feel this good and that you should obey him more while your drooling and he leaves marks on your skin

- He loves having control when you are doing it so he likes stopping his movements on purpose just to hear you whine and beg for him to go back to railing you

- He can be very cold, teasing you just to rile you up to see if you don't follow the rules and try be more straight forward and bratty.

- Uses overstimulation as punishment will force orgasm after orgasm until you are crying, begging for him to stop obviously you still wanna continue it though.

- Loved how he made you switch up so fast from being an bratty sassy troll to an drooling submissive person with how easily he man handles you

- Amazing at aftercare and make sure you feel special

reblogs + comments are appreciated ⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝♡

©brights-place 2024 — do not repost on another platform, copy, translate or edit my works! if you fit my DNI list please don't interact!

[mieczyslawsravenclaw]

Best Friends, Is That All? - Stiles Stilinski

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

•Pairing - Stiles Stilinski x Fem!Reader

•Rating - 18+, Minors DNI - Smut - NSFW!!!

•Summary/Prompt - Just a regular ride in Stilesʼ jeep…Or it would be, if the love-struck fool could stop asking you how you feel about him. Guess someone's got a different kind of ride in mind...

•Warnings/Content - Pretty much all bases covered, they definitely fuck, tons of begging and mentions of markings and scratching, they use a condom bc SAFETY, oral oral lots of oral, TONS of petnames sorry its cheesy ik but I canʼt help it, lots of praise too bc thatʼs tasty, oh yeah and boys whimpering bc thatʼs just hot asf, they're in love so it's a little fluffier but still VERY spicy

•Word Count - 4.5k

•Authorʼs Note(s) - As always, just want to write about the spicy ideas I get from having spicy dreams, I feel like this oneʼs a little better than the last one but who knows? >_< /// (YA'LL I EXPECTED LIKE 4 LIKES ON MY SPENCER BLURB AND I GOT OVER 200 TY????? WTF???? )

•Additional Tags - they fuck in the jeep!, stiles is a whore for begging, theyʼre obsessed with eachother ffs, Switch!Stiles but mostly Sub!Stiles, he talks her through it UGH YES, CONSENT IS KEY, heʼs okay with whatever even if that means he doesnʼt get laid, Stiles is one cocky SOB with BDE and just a big dick oops, theyʼre for sure gonna fuck again before the night is over hehehe

“Do you get nervous?ˮ

The question takes me by surprise - Up until now, it had been a normal, routine drive with Stiles, albeit more fidgety than usual from his side. But once the question has left his lips, heʼs even more so, if thatʼs possible.

“Do I…yeah, definitely. Of course I do.ˮ I quirk my eyebrow at him; Heʼs avoiding my eyeline, focused far too much on the road ahead.

Something else, another question maybe, passes his lips, but itʼs far too quiet for me to catch. The poor thing is redder than a tomato, tapping his hands on the wheel as he starts to drive just a little faster unknowingly.

“Huh?ˮ

“A-About…M-mmmmm.ˮ Stiles stutters, dragging out his thought. The jeep seems to follow its driver, stuttering a bit on the road as he pushes the pedal down further.

“Sti, are you okay?ˮ

“Nervous.ˮ He repeats the word like heʼs reading it from a dictionary, not like heʼs using it as a self description. Weʼre getting further into the back roads now, and if I didnʼt know any better, Iʼd think he was bringing me out here to kill me or something.

“Pull over a sec, yeah?ˮ

He nods, bringing the jeep to a crawl along a forest road that could more accurately be called a trail, if anything. The silence is filled only by the bumping of the tires on the gravel, until we reach a stopping point, surrounded by nothing but trees for miles.

“Whatʼs eating at you, Stilinski?ˮ I turn in my seat, eyeing him in the mid-day light. Filtered through the jeepʼs dusty windows, he looks like a modern god, and my heart can hardly take it. Iʼve loved this poor boy a long time, but Iʼve never been brave enough to say it. And now, weʼre all alone in the woods for who knows what reason, and Iʼm more nervous than ever.

“Dʼyou ever get nervous…about me?ˮ He manages, his eyes squeezing shut and his fists clenching tight. He lets out a huge breath, then continues in a ramble, “God, I canʼt believe I even just asked that. Holy shit. I mean, you make me so nervous. Dʼyou know that? Youʼre my best friend, and you make me so nervous I feel like I canʼt even breathe, I want you to just reach over and break the distance between us and give in and just take me. God-ˮ

“Sti.ˮ It comes out half-choked. The lump in my throat swells - oh, my god, he likes me too? - as I scoot ever closer to him.

“Oh, of course not,ˮ He sighs, eyes still closed. He doesnʼt see me shift again, within touching distance, he just keeps on with his nervous blabber. “I mean, someone as beautiful as you with a guy like me? Come on, Stiles, get real.ˮ

“Stiles. Look at me, damn it.ˮ Hands shaking, Iʼm reaching over to touch him when he listens to me, turning and looking all in one motion.

“Oh, hi there.ˮ He blurts, flushing crimson.

“Yes, I get nervous about you, too.ˮ I can hardly believe Iʼm uttering the words. But my fear is trumped by the desperate need for him, right here and right now. I canʼt believe of all times and places, this is where itʼs gonna happen, but I donʼt quite care at the same point, either.

“You do?ˮ

“Stiles, I can barely contain myself around you. These past few months especially, I just-ˮ My reaching hands are still hanging near him, and he notices, finally, taking them in his own. I let out a shaking breath, closing my own eyes in desperate need to escape his searching gaze that sends my pulse skyrocketing. “You-Youʼre everything, do you know that? Iʼve wanted to tell you for so long, but I didnʼt think youʼd even look at me like that, I just thought-ˮ

“Best friends, nothing more?ˮ He chuckles softly, and I can sense the way his lips curl, not even needing to see it to know it. “Yeah, sounds familiar. Hey, look at me. I like you, you idiot.ˮ

My eyes open at the last few words, and seeing it straight from his mouth makes me lose myself for a moment. All I can do is blankly stare, my stomach doing flips. He likes me, he likes me, he likes me!

“Can you say something?ˮ He groans, eyes flicking between my own and down to my mouth. “Like, maybe confirm to me that you like me back? I mean, you kinda said as much, but I just really wanna hear you say it. Can you say it? Is that okay? Youʼre killing me, here-ˮ

“I like you too. Of course I do, who wouldnʼt?ˮ

“You do. For sure? Not just tryna pity me, are you?ˮ He quips, but itʼs clearly halfhearted.

“I really like you, dumbass.ˮ I move closer, dying for something to happen. Anything.

“Are you gonna kiss me now? Or am I gonna kiss you? Somebodyʼs gotta kiss somebody here, or Iʼm gonna lose it. Please, Iʼm begging you.ˮ

“Oh, youʼre begging me now?ˮ I smirk.

“Absolutely I am. If we were outside Iʼd be on my knees for you. Please, just fucking-ˮ He lets go of my hands, reaching for my waist as I grab at his collar.

We meld like itʼs second nature, lips forming together with a satisfied groan from Stiles that makes my legs weak. Somehow, I climb onto him in this cramped little jeep, bumping the steering wheel with my ass. He laughs, almost immediately going back to kissing me, a bit harder now. Itʼs clear in the way I grind my hips down to him with what I feel rising back to meet me that this is gonna take up a lot of our time together today.

I wonder for a moment if anyone will assume what weʼve gotten up to. Of course, Allison knows how I feel about Stiles, Iʼve told her a million times. I wonder if heʼs told Scott. Iʼm sure he has.

“Youʼre thinking too much,ˮ He growls, biting my lip. I moan back. “Thatʼs a lot coming from me,ˮ Another kiss, coming down my jaw now as I catch my breath. “I know. But…what can I do to get your mind back to me, hmm?ˮ

“That. Keep doing that.ˮ My hands tangle in the back of his hair, the tousled sort-of-waves that have grown out as of late being tugged as he nips at my neck.

“You want me to keep begging for you too?ˮ He teases, his lips coming up to my ear. “Cause I can do that all day, baby.ˮ

I nod, unable to grasp words with his breath against me.

“You gonna let me take you here, right now? Itʼs killing me to feel you on me like this and not have you. Please, let me have you, I canʼt stand it.ˮ

“T-tell me what you want me to do.ˮ I grasp harder at his hair, and he lets out a whimper. Oh, my god, that.

“I want you to fuckinʼ destroy me, and Iʼll beg until you do. God, Iʼm shameless, I donʼt even care if weʼre out here all alone or not, just please for the love of fuck, ride me like nothing else matters.ˮ

I pull his lips back to mine, silencing him for a time as we continue to make our own rhythm, learning one another with moans and laughs and tension unparalleled. Itʼs great, too great-I smack my head against the jeepʼs roof, letting out a yelp.

“Oh, shit-ˮ Stiles pulls me down against him, biting his lip when I land.

“Iʼm okay. Ow.ˮ

“How about we move this to the back?ˮ He pops the door open, letting me out first. Despite his words, heʼs back on my neck the moment weʼre outside, making it hard for me to push the seat down to get into the back.

“Stiles…ˮ I sigh, fumbling with the latch.

“Sorry, just want you-god, just want you so bad.ˮ He pulls back, reaching forward and sending the seat down with a practiced grasp.

I clamber inside, watching him hyperfocus on giving us as much room as possible. Front seats pushed down and forward, clutter thrown into the front, then heʼs back on me, kissing me and tugging at my shorts.

“Can I…?ˮ He motions, and I nod, letting him pull them down. His lips come back to mine, his fingers playing at the edge of my panties.

“Please-ˮ

“Youʼre begging now?ˮ He chuckles, his voice lower and throatier. Gods, Iʼm wet as fuck just from that.

“Shamelessly.ˮ I echo his earlier words, earning another small laugh.

“You want me, baby? How bad?ˮ He teases, hand grasping at my hip.

“Real-Really bad. Want you so bad, want you to-ˮ I canʼt even finish the thought, as he presses against my clit with his thumb. I moan, bucking up against him.

“Sorry, Iʼm impatient, you know that.ˮ He amends, kissing down my jaw and pulling back. He sits me up against the door, pulling my legs up and pressing a deep kiss against my opening. “Youʼre soaking, I can tell even through these little things.ˮ

I shudder, eyeing him in between my legs. Itʼs a sight to behold, and he isnʼt even getting started yet.

“Howʼs about we take em off, huh? Donʼt need these where weʼre going.ˮ He discards the fabric, and when his eyes meet the heat pooling below my belly, his jaw goes slack. I could almost swear he was drooling.

For a moment, Iʼm self conscious, folding in on my body under his gaze. But he holds my thighs back down, shaking his head.

“Uh-uh. No shame, right, princess?ˮ He hovers over me, eyes flicking back and forth between his focus and my face. “Now, you just let me know what feels good and what doesnʼt, okay? Wanna make sure you enjoy yourself.ˮ

“Stiles, Iʼm dying here, please just touch me already.ˮ

He smirks, another shake of the head, this one with a cocky air to it.

“If you insist, sweetheart.ˮ He brings his lips down to meet my opening, licking a stripe up that sends my hands grasping at the jeepʼs seat.

“Sti-ˮ

He hums against me, his grip on my thighs tightening. A few more precise licks, and heʼs delving into my core, filling the jeep with my desperate cries. Fuck, heʼs good, and Iʼm already closer by the minute.

“Taste so good, baby…ˮ He murmurs, getting lost in the task as my hands tug at his hair. When he shifts up to suck at my clit, the noise it brings from me is almost inhuman. “Feel good?ˮ

“Yes- oh my god, yes-ˮ

“Want more? How does this feel, hmm?ˮ He presses a finger to my opening, and I push against him, wordlessly begging. He chuckles, pushing it in fluidly. One, a few motions, and clearly Iʼm still desperate so he adds in another. “Talk to me, baby. Use your words.ˮ

“You want me to talk right now?ˮ I moan, my mind spinning in the pleasure-filled void heʼs trapped me in.

“I know, itʼs just too good, huh? You donʼt have to talk, your noises are more than enough.ˮ He curls his fingers, pulling against a sweet spot that has me crying out.

“Stiles!ˮ

Back down to me with his lips now, too, I can feel the smirk that starts up hearing me say his name like that. He knows exactly where he has me, and heʼs gonna relish in it. Not only are his fingers working magic now, but along with his tongue? Iʼm gonna break, and he knows it.

“Iʼm-Oh, donʼt stop-ˮ

A hummed approval is all I get from the usually chatty lips of Stiles Stilinski, his beard that heʼs let grow in recently brushing over me while he brings me to the edge. Iʼm practically drowning in the pleasure, and heʼs the air I need. One more fluid motion, just the right one, and Iʼm spilling curses from my mouth and wetness from my heat. He laps it up heartily, a satisfied groan from the recess of his throat vibrating against me.

“You…I just…wow.ˮ He pauses for a moment to look over me with a smile beginning to tug at the corner of his lips. I flush, back to being nervous under his eye.

“Stunned you into silence, eh, Stilinski?ˮ

“Oh, Iʼm far from done. Just figured Iʼd give you a break.ˮ He quips with a smirk.

“I donʼt need one.ˮ I blurt, the words faster than my brain.

“No?ˮ He laughs. “Okay, then. Well, if thatʼs the case, Iʼm begging you to get back to being all over me.ˮ

“In what way?ˮ I smirk, looking at his coated fingers.

He snorts, rolling his eyes.

“Funny.ˮ Keeping up eye contact, he licks his fingers clean. He seems to enjoy the groan it elicits from me. “Like that, huh? Iʼm looking forward to finding out what else you like.ˮ

I sit up, pressing to him once again. He tastes like me, and chuckles against my kiss. The clink of undoing his belt buckle becomes the sounds of rustling fabrics, my shirt tossed, his gone. His chest to mine, warm and inviting, and his pants kicked to the side. I fumble with my bra, my cheeks red.

“I…ˮ

“Yʼknow we can stop anytime, yeah?ˮ He amends, sensing my hesitation. “Like, of course Iʼm okay with whatever, I want you in all the ways. But only if youʼre comfortable. Consentʼs important.ˮ

“Oh, I want you. I want all of you, of course I do.ˮ I sigh. “Just…real nervous about how I look.ˮ

“You?ˮ Heʼs incredulous, pulling back and sweeping my body with his gaze. “Holy shit, no way. Nuh uh. You, youʼre…God, youʼre gorgeous, are you kidding me? Every part of you fits just right with the other, promise. You donʼt have to do anything you donʼt wanna do, but you gotta know that. You gotta know Iʼm gonna love how you look. I donʼt even need to have seen it yet to know. You just…are.ˮ

Iʼve been rendered speechless, and all I can do is take it off while he rambles.

“Not to say that you gotta just cause Iʼm saying all this. You get that, right? Iʼm not saying it just to get you to-ˮ He stops cold when Iʼve tossed the bra, my hands still hiding the majority of my chest. With a gentle grasp, he reaches to uncover me. “Can I…?ˮ

“Yeah, Iʼm just nervous.ˮ

“Thatʼs okay. Me, too. Youʼre beautiful though.ˮ He lifts my cover away softly, eyeing me with precision and adoration. He pokes at the moles and freckles that adorn my upper body, smiling as his eyes meet mine again. “See? Perfect. Nothing to worry about.ˮ

“Stiles, I adore you.ˮ I blurt, tears starting to form.

“Oh, sweetie.ˮ He pulls me closer, kissing my nose. “We can stop if youʼre really too nervous. I donʼt mind. Iʼll just jack off later or something, no big.ˮ

I snort at his words. “As much as Iʼd love to watch that. No, Iʼm okay. Just needed a moment, I guess. Trust me, Iʼm still dying for you.ˮ

His face goes red. “Youʼd- huh? Wow, thatʼs an image. Maybe another time, yeah? No shortage of things to think about for that, especially now Iʼve seen you and itʼs not just my imagination spurring me on.ˮ

“Youʼll have more to go on soon, too.ˮ I pull him back down onto me, kissing him.

“Fuck, youʼre hot.ˮ He moans. “Youʼre killing me.ˮ

“Destroying you,ˮ I correct him. “Thatʼs what you wanted, isnʼt it?ˮ

“Still want it,ˮ He grasps at me, nothing but his boxers to hide that want now. “Very much still want it.ˮ

More kissing ensues, and weʼre groping at eachother like weʼre high-schoolers again. Somehow, at some point, heʼs as bare as I am now and the way weʼre pressed to one another is the most tempting thing Iʼve ever experienced in my entire life.

“Hey, so, uh- not to seem like a copycat or anything, but…ˮ He breathes against my lips, his voice catching. “Yʼknow, nervous about how I look, now that Iʼm thinking about it. Not really very manly of me, I know, whatever.ˮ

“Fuck manliness,ˮ I amend, letting him pull back. “Youʼre perfect, you…oh, how could you not be?ˮ

What a sight he is to behold, in all his naked glory. Goosebumps pepper my skin as I look him over, from the moles that adorn him across his body the same way they do across his face, to the burning red that sits underneath his pale skin…to of course what heʼs referencing concern over the most. And thereʼs certainly none needed, in my opinion. No concerns, except how Iʼm gonna need to stretch out around that. Oh, my.

“Stiles…ˮ My voice, my gaze, softens. His shoulders drop. “Youʼre stunning.ˮ

“Not just saying that, are you?ˮ He brushes non-existent dirt from his shoulder. “My ego will be sorely bruised.ˮ

“Should I tell you or should I show you?ˮ I lick my lips, gaze going between his legs and back to his face. The noise he makes would be comical in any other circumstance.

“Fuck, definitely show me.ˮ

Now, itʼs his turn to lie back, and Iʼm in control. I must have absolutely stunned him, because heʼs got nothing to say, just watching me as I lower over him. Once I begin to kiss at and lick stripes over him, though, heʼs got plenty to say - I donʼt recognize half the curses he lets fly, they must be Polish or something. But fly they do, and his hand is at my hair when I start to take him in my mouth, grasp tight.

“Oh, my god-ˮ

I keep it up until he stops me a few moments later, a funny little quirk to his brows.

“God, I donʼt ever wanna stop this, but if you keep going like that Iʼm gonna fuckinʼ bust, and I gotta know what you feel like riding me first, please?ˮ He reaches blindly around, cursing. “Fuckinʼ - just need my wallet, whereʼd my jeans go?ˮ

I laugh, pulling back to help his search. When he comes up with the item in question, I understand- protection, no shit.

“Yeah, okay, now Iʼm ready.ˮ He nods after heʼs prepared himself, sitting up against the seat. He helps position me over him, eyes locked. “Oh, my god, is this actually real? I feel like Iʼm in some kinda magical dream.ˮ

“Very real. I remember what I had for breakfast and everything.ˮ I quip, trying to ease the nerves. They wonʼt go, though, and the knot in my stomach is ever-tighter as he brushes against my opening. “Fuck, I want you inside me, now.ˮ

“Kinda up to you, there.ˮ He holds me tight around the waist, eyes pleading. “Iʼm ready when you are, though, rock my fuckinʼ world sweetheart.ˮ

“Fuuuuuck, youʼre tight.ˮ He groans. “So thatʼs how you feel. No imagination or anything my hands can do compares to that.ˮ

The need is too great to put it off any longer; I let myself push down to meet him, the entering gasps we let out mingling in the short bit of air between us. His head falls back, his hands only guides as I bring myself further down, slowly, slowly, slowly. I take a moment around the first few inches to breathe; as ridiculous as it sounds, Iʼve never had someone quite as…gifted as him.

“Iʼm only getting started,ˮ I reply. “Genuinely, in all honesty, not a joke or anything. Youʼre…a lot to take.ˮ

“Having fun strokinʼ my ego?ˮ He chuckles.

“Tilʼ you give me something else to stroke.ˮ

“Fuck, thatʼs a promise.ˮ He ruts up against me, bringing a cry from my lips. “Shit, sorry, reflex. You feel so good, I just want more of you. Did I hurt you?ˮ

“No, it felt too good.ˮ I admit. “Just taking it slow cause Iʼm not really used to anything this…ˮ

“Big?ˮ Heʼs got the widest smirk on his face now.

“Howʼs that for your precious ego?ˮ I flirt, pushing down another bit with a sharp breath. The stretching pain is worth it for the look on his face.

“My ego is just fine. Big, just like my- Oh, my god-ˮ He stutters out, his bravado going out the window when I start to rock my hips back and forth. And was that a whimper? “Oh, please donʼt stop, keep going. Oh, god-ˮ

“Long as you keep begging.ˮ

The more I move, the easier it gets to take him, until Iʼm fairly close to bottoming out. Heʼs holding me closer than ever, kissing me whenever he gets the chance to, and the noises and whimpers havenʼt stopped. It spurs me, the collision of our bodies growing ever-faster as he cries my name and begs me not to stop. I wonʼt, I canʼt, itʼs all too good and Iʼm chasing a high that I find myself soon riding out onto him. Now, Iʼll be the one saying his name, his real name.

“God, that sounds so good coming from you,ˮ He moans, “Iʼve never heard it sound so good.ˮ

“Hereʼs to many more.ˮ I stutter out between the motions weʼre making and the sounds accompanying. Heʼs less in control now, thrusting up to meet me and pushing me down to him. Heʼs made plenty of marks on me, from the hickeys littering my skin to the surefire bruising my hips will have from his grasp. I can only hope to either hide whatʼs visible or risk the teasing the pack will no doubt give us later.

“Please, take me all the way, Iʼll help you through it.ˮ He begs, kissing me again once Iʼve come down far enough. “Youʼve got this, baby, please?ˮ

No words, just a resolute nod, and his response is a repeated thanks. I push further, to the very end of him, my nails digging into his shoulders.

“Good, baby- fuck , youʼre doing good, pretty girl. So good, so good for me. There you go.ˮ He kisses my burning skin, the devouring fire weʼve made together consuming us both as I shift around under his grasp. He doesnʼt force, only guides, and makes a rhythm for me to follow with sputtered curses abounding. “God, you feel so good. Does it feel good for you? Hurt?ˮ

“Only enough to make me want it more,ˮ I moan, letting my head drop to his shoulder. “F-fuck me.ˮ

“Is that a statement or a request?ˮ He doesnʼt wait for an answer as I slow, taking the lead and snapping up into me. Once, twice, I lose count. He seems to get lost, too, senseless mumbles and moans filling the jeep as my hand streaks the fogged window. Heʼs entirely filled me up, and I want for nothing more than to go until I canʼt anymore.

He guards my head when I raise back up, making sure I wonʼt hit the roof again, and when it starts to rain in the secluded forest weʼve hidden ourselves in, itʼs not the only thing sending waves crashing down around us. Another thing I lose count of - heʼs far too good at this, and I tell him so.

“Been thinkinʼ about this for a while, so that counts as practice, yeah?ˮ The sweat sticks a bit of his hair to his forehead, and he looks about ready to tire out.

“You losing steam on me?ˮ I tease, brushing his hair back.

“Hell, no!ˮ He groans when I move my hips, sat bottomed out but doing nothing else. “Iʼm pretty close, thatʼs all. But when Iʼm done with you here Iʼm not done with you for the night, if youʼre willing.ˮ

“Well, if youʼre close…ˮ My lips curl deviously, and I bring myself back to the pace and movement that had had him howling earlier. Heʼs back to it in an instant, but his whines are more pronounced, drug out.

“Fuck, please, please donʼt stop-ˮ

“Gonna cum for me?ˮ

“Y-yes, yes-ˮ

“Good.ˮ Itʼs like a growl from me, and his cries only grow from it, until Iʼm sure at least anyone with supernatural hearing can catch onto us if theyʼre anywhere near.

“Oh- Oh, my god, Iʼm gonna-ˮ Stiles holds me tight, the most animalistic noise of it all loosing from his lips as he loads the condom full inside me. Weʼre hot, sweaty, and as close together as we possibly can be, but he still pulls me closer, taking a deep, heavy breath.

“So…how was I?ˮ

His laugh is quick, choked.

“Are you serious? Fuck, that was amazing. Iʼd just as soon do it again, but Iʼm…a little depleted at the moment.ˮ He eyes where we meet with an eyebrow wiggle. “Hey, we just had sex.ˮ

“That we did.ˮ I laugh.

“You and me, best friends. Just had sex. Well, we might wanna rethink that whole just best friends idea, huh?ˮ He kisses my cheek, letting out a content sigh. “No rush on that, Iʼm just talking. You know how I get. Just…excited that this happened. That it is happening. And…Iʼd be okay with calling you something more than my best friend. If youʼre into that.ˮ

“Very much into that.ˮ

“So…girlfriend?ˮ

“Shit, I was gonna say fiancee or wife. Or soulmate.ˮ

His eyes bug for a moment, then he starts to laugh.

“Youʼre fuckinʼ with me. Youʼre hilarious. Alright, girlfriend-future-fiancee-wife-soulmate-whatever-you-want, howʼs that sound?ˮ

“A little long, if Iʼm being honest.ˮ

“Long didnʼt seem to bother you just a moment ago.ˮ

“Mieczyslaw!ˮ

“Still sounds beautiful cominʼ from you. Like…ˮ He catches my glare, and smirks. “Nevermind. Letʼs get this cleaned up and head back, huh? Thereʼs a pizza about to be made with our names on it.ˮ

[alexsoenomel]

The Reveries Of My Mind (Dean Winchester x Reader fluff/smut)

Summary: What happens when you discover you can feel someone's torment and struggles through an unexplainable bond?

"Your struggles are mine. Your sadness is mine. You're mine."

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Warnings: 18+ MINORS DNI , vanilla sex, dreams about the reader dying --not too graphic , first person fic

Word count: 6.7k

Note: I took my time with this one. I really like it. I've been struggling to write for so long it feels good to be back. Enjoy!

Like/ reblog or both if you like it :)

And a huge thank you to my wonderful beautiful best friend @ambergoddess444​ for being the best beta reader <3

I’m gonna kill him. 

I heard Sam’s voice echo in my mind as I was eating my pancakes. I looked at Dean who was stuffing his face with eggs and bacon, not really paying attention to Sam’s resting bitch face. 

STOP CHEWING SO LOUD FOR THE LOVE OF CHUCK!

I heard him again and almost choked on my milk. 

“What?” Sam asked. 

“Oh, nothing,” I answered. 

Dean just glanced at me and continued eating his breakfast. 

It was Sunday and luck was on our side because we couldn't find a case. This would happen once in a blue moon so we were quite content with having a day off. Monsters sometimes sleep.

After breakfast Sam said he was going to go and catch up on some reading while Dean and I were left alone. 

“Can I borrow Baby?” I asked, since it was July and summer was in full swing in Kansas. I wanted to forget about my job – about hunting – I wanted to go outside and feel the summer breeze in my hair in his beautiful Impala. I already knew his answer as soon as I saw his brow arch. He was very protective over his Baby; only allowed me to drive once after I begged him for my birthday. 

Absolutely not. 

“Why?” 

I crossed my arms, my lips thinned. 

“Why ask when you already gave me your answer?” 

Dean raised his eyebrows, eyes widened as we were sitting at the table opposite of each other. 

“I keep forgetting you can do that,” he said, looking away from me. 

“You keep forgetting about your mental shield,” I told him as I went to the kitchen to get myself some coffee. 

I didn't realize Dean was following me until I heard his voice. 

“I can't just sit in silence and breathe while I think about nothing.” 

“You mean to meditate?” I chuckled.

“Yeah…that.” 

I took a sip of hot coffee Sam made after breakfast and turned around to face him. 

“You have to strengthen your shield, Dean.” 

“There has to be another way,” he said desperately as he poured coffee into his black mug. 

“No there isn't, I told you. Everyone has a mental shield, but the reason why I can hear people's thoughts 99% of the time is because their shield is not strong enough. And how do you strengthen your shield? You shut up and meditate. Focus on it and build it.” 

Dean wasn't pleased as he took another sip of his coffee. 

“Sam meditates, can you still hear his thoughts?” 

“I can, because it takes years to actually strengthen the damn shield and he started meditating six months ago.” 

He just rolled his eyes as we went back to the library. 

“I don't want you in my head,” he stated. 

“I cannot help it, dumbass. Can I take the car or not?” 

Dean took the keys out of his pocket and dangled them in front of my face. I tried to take them but he refused to give them to me. 

Typical.

“I'm driving,” he told me with a smirk. 

***

“Where do you want to go?” He asked me as I closed the car door. 

“I don't have any particular destination in mind. I just wanted to drive around and listen to music.” 

Dean gave me a soft smile before starting the engine. Baby was purring – I could never get tired of that sound; it was smooth and powerful – no wonder he was so protective of her. The car held memories, sacred moments and was filled with stories – good and bad. 

“Sounds like a plan,” and with those words we were off. 

We were on the main highway, heading to God knows where. Dean, of course being the driver, was controlling the music as well. 

Dream On by Aerosmith was playing. I loved that song, but I was in the mood for Van Halen. 

Driver picks the music. Shot-

“Shotgun what?” I smirked, glancing at him. I saw he gripped the wheel tighter and licked his lips.

“God, I hate when you do that,” he said. I chuckled. 

Front windows were down, summer breeze in my face and hair gently caressing me as Crazy Train started playing. Ozzy was too chaotic for this drive. As much as I loved his songs I wanted something to ease my mind and not encourage my body to produce adrenaline. I dared to change the song. 

Don't Fear The Reaper by Blue Öyster Cult. 

Much better.

“Hey, I was listening to that,” Dean of course complained. 

“Well not anymore,” I told him as I showed him a middle finger.  

A chuckle left his lips before he spoke.

“Wanna grab a few drinks?” 

“Dean I don't wanna get drunk at” – I looked at my phone to check the time – “11am.”

“You don't have to do anything you don’t wanna do. We can buy a few beers and go to our favorite hiding spot. If I get too drunk maybe, maybe I'll let you drive.” 

I couldn't believe what I just heard. My heart was racing from excitement. Sam was always the designated driver; Dean would sometimes drive drunk without us noticing. I know that because he admitted that…while we were drinking after a successful hunt. 

“Really?” I played skeptical; part of me was. “You're not afraid I'll crash your beloved car?”

“If you do, I'll kill you,” he looked at me and gave me a flat smile. 

Fair enough.

“Well okay.” 

She won't crash my car.

Well I think she won’t. 

I hope she won’t.

I didn't say anything, just stared at the trees blurred on my right side as we passed by; absorbing the warmth and sunshine in my face. 

It's My Life By Bon Jovi started playing. 

Perfect.  

Dean bought a couple of beers and some Slim Jims at the first gas station just before his favorite hiding spot. 

The hiding spot was an abandoned house we found a few months ago when we were hunting a vampire nest. It was an old cabin in the middle of nowhere, a few miles away from the main road. After exterminating the nest, we started coming there every once in a while to relax and get away from everything that made us hunters. Sam completely forgot about that place but Dean and I would occasionally go, mainly at night to get away from the bunker’s haunting reminder of the life we were living. There we were just regular folk, drinking and having fun. The house was dusty and old, but dear to us, like a portal to a regular life and what we desperately wanted, but could never have. 

As we were approaching the house I couldn’t ignore the strong sense of serenity coming from Dean. His mind was at ease, no racing thoughts, no sorrow he would usually carry within himself – he was happy. I’ve never told him about that; I know he would probably freak out – yell even – so I kept my mouth shut. I would be lying if I said it didn't freak me out as well. Every emotion he would feel, I would feel too and sometimes even twice as strong. It was like a bond of some sort; an invisible string connecting us and letting me see and feel every inch of his mind. I would wake up whenever he couldn’t sleep, I’d laugh whenever he’d laughed and I would get angry whenever he’d get angry…I felt everything and it was driving me insane not being able to talk to him about it, because it was only him I’d felt connected to.

I smiled at him when he turned off the engine, feeling the warmth in his soul. I got out of the car and stretched my legs, inhaling fresh summer air and soaking in the sunshine on my skin. 

“Let’s have a picnic,” I suggested, “I don’t wanna go inside. The weather is beautiful.” 

“A picnic? Here?” He asked, looking around. Nothing but endless grass fields around us; the highway was peeking through the greenery but we could barely see it anymore.

“You will be fine, princess,” I chuckled, “Besides it’s good to connect with mother nature every once and a while.” 

Forest nymph. 

He started calling me that when I told him about my love and admiration for nature and my passion for hiking and exploring woods. He told me no sane person loves hiking, but his younger brother understood. Now, occasionally I’d go hiking with Sam. 

I ignored his thought, even though I wanted to tell him we weren’t in a forest, and found a perfect spot next to the house and sat down. He rolled his eyes and joined me. 

Dean cracked two bottles and I opened one of my favorite honey BBQ Slim Jims and took a first bite. I loved the smooth texture and a light honey flavor mixed with BBQ aroma in my mouth. 

“Cheers!” He said lifting his bottle for a toast. 

“Cheers, for not dying!” 

He chuckled. 

“For not dying!”

One beer…

Two beers later we were both feeling the consequences of our own actions. I was tipsy due to my low alcohol tolerance while Dean seemed sober but was far from it. He had a strange gift – being able to fake sobriety. He had been doing it for years and now seeing him behaving like a drunken fool looked strange and unfamiliar. 

He was looking at me; green eyes sparkling under the sun making me wonder if he and I were ever meant for something more. I was in love with the idea of being in love with him but it scared me more than death which I had experienced a couple of times. He was my best friend, my annoying best friend with a heart of gold and a shadow he wanted to remain hidden.

We stayed for hours, soaking in the sunshine and summer heat while reliving old memories and wondering if this life we had was worth it. We soon realized, it was. 

“We still get to experience this,” I stated, showing him a butterfly that flew in that moment right in front of me.

“Butterflies?” He wondered, tilting his head a little in confusion.

“Nature, dumbass,” I smiled, “And other small pleasures, music, alcohol, food…and also knowing the world is less shitty because of us.”

He nodded in a silent agreement before hearing him call me forest nymph again. His warm green eyes fixed on me, making me a bit nervous. He didn't say a word.

“What?” I finally asked him. 

His right hand went into the pocket of his jeans and he pulled out his car keys.

“You can drive,” he told me and gave me the keys. 

***

When we came back home safely, since I didn’t crash his precious car, Sam was still in his room, probably reading and Dean decided to take a nap since naps weren’t a regular occurrence in our household. 

I decided to continue the book I started a couple of weeks ago. I missed being able to read books I wanted, and not just ones for research purposes. I could still feel him. He was content. I smiled and opened my book. 

An hour into the book and a picture flashed right in front of my eyes. I saw blood, so much blood on the sidewalk. Hairs on my arms rose as another frame appeared: it was a girl lying face down, head bludgeoned. A wave of fear rushed over me as I closed my book, not being able to simply ignore it. I knew exactly what this was – Dean’s nightmares – I knew exactly who this was. 

Another flash. His hands, covered in blood. He was trying to wake me up. He was calling my name over and over again like a prayer of despair, but I didn’t wake up; I didn’t move an inch.

Usually I would ignore his nightmares; I was too afraid to say anything, afraid of his reaction and not being able to give him a good explanation, but my silence was killing me. Something told me – maybe it was intuition or my impulsiveness, or both –  I had to wake him up.

Quickly I got out of my bed and rushed to his room. His jaw was clenched, his body seemed stiff under the white sheet that covered him just below his chin. I could hear quiet moans coming from him as another picture appeared right in front of me – he was on his knees, holding me tight, eyes bloodshot red and filled with tears…My heart broke in a second before I closed my eyes, trying to make it go away. As I approached him I could see his eyes fluttering rapidly beneath his closed eyelids, his forehead glistening with a faint sheen of sweat…I had to wake him up.

“Dean?” I whispered and sat next to him. A whimper escaped his lips. 

“Dean?” I called his name again, this time a little bit louder and with a hand on his cheek. He was warm. 

“Dean, wake up!” I could feel his shock as he shot his eyes open, taking a deep breath like he forgot how to breathe, shivers running through him – I could feel them all over my skin. 

He took in his familiar surroundings before he looked at me. 

“You had a nightmare,” I told him. 

“Yeah, a really bad one,” he simply added, pinching the bridge of his nose. A headache started to settle as he got up and went to the bathroom to splash himself with cold water. He was only wearing black boxers and it wasn’t like I have never seen him shirtless, it was the fact that every time I did, I had to tell myself not to stare like a Victorian man seeing ankles for the first time. 

I swallowed thickly without saying a word.

I have to tell him. I repeated that sentence over and over again. I have to tell him he deserves to know. 

When he came back my eyes registered his bulge for a second before looking up. I was praying he didn’t notice. 

“Are you okay?” I asked. 

“Yeah, so much for napping,” he lied and started putting on his blue jeans. I knew he was lying, he would always lie and repress his emotions and needs. I knew he was exhausted. Those nightmares had been happening for a week straight; the exhaustion showing on his face in a form of dark circles; the once lively features now appeared subdued; eyes dimmed. 

“I saw it,” I utter these three words without much thought. 

“What?” He was about to button his red flannel, stopping mid through.  

“I saw your nightmare, you have been having the same nightmare for a week now.” 

I refused to look at him, but I could feel his eyes on me as he took my words in. I could feel a slight sting in my chest coming from him – shock.

“You can read minds AND see people’s nightmares?”

“Not people’s; yours. It only happens with you, I wake up every time you have a nightmare, I feel every emotion you feel,” – I took a deep breath before I continued; I knew him well enough to know he hated secrets, even though he was a damn hypocrite and had his own – “I didn’t want to say anything because I didn’t want to freak you out. I cannot control it, trust me I tried, but I can’t. It has been happening for a while and-” 

His eyes once trusting shited and now held a hint of disappointment, his jaw clenched. Anger.

Anger and disappointment. 

“For how long?” His deep voice echoed in my ears as he cut my frantic explanation short.

I froze. I knew this question was coming. I knew right there that keeping this thing a secret was a mistake. I couldn’t answer it. I couldn’t…

“For how long (Y/N)?” He demanded crossing his arms. I didn’t like the sound of my name when he was angry.

I stood up, barely feeling my legs before I answered: “A year.” 

“Does Sam know?” The next question came out less angrily, his voice softer than seconds ago. 

“No.”

“How?”

“I don’t know. It started as just me feeling whenever you were happy, it was hard to recognise it at first, I thought it was my happiness and then it progressed to other emotions like fear, anger and sadness and after that I started seeing your dreams. I didn’t tell Sam because I wasn’t sure what was happening.” 

“And you didn’t tell me because…?” He asked like I hadn’t given him the answer. 

“I told you I didn’t want to freak you out. It feels like I’m invading your privacy.”

He scoffed.

“No shit Sherlock!” 

His eyes widened before he spoke again: “Wait, so that means you can feel whenever I get horny?” 

I chuckled. “No, because being horny isn’t an emotion, Dean. It’s a state.”

“Oh thank God,” he expressed his relief. 

“I do feel the sudden rush of endorphins and happy hormones every time you come though,” at this point I had nothing to hide, especially when I could feel his anger subsiding. It wasn’t like him to just ignore something that made him angry, but for whatever reason he was over it. Now he was mortified. 

“Oh God!” He said and opened the door of his room. “SAMMY! GET YOUR ASS OVER HERE WE HAVE SOME RESEARCH TO DO!” 

I swallowed a laugh before he turned around. 

“We're gonna get to the bottom of this!” 

***

Sam was genuinely surprised when I told him about the bond. He would usually try to find an explanation or guess what it was; this time he was silent. No logical explanation, no guessing, no nothing…

“Well that’s something I have never heard off,” he just told you and went to the library to try and find some books about…

Mind reading?

Bonds?

“I don’t even know what I’m looking for,” he said, looking at the spines of old books on the shelves. 

“You’re telling me,” Dean agreed. 

“It’s not like I’m a monster with abilities.” 

My statement was enough to light a bulb in Sam’s head: “Yes but…” – he went to the second shelf behind you, like he knew what he was looking for – “You’re something else.” 

Dean and I looked at each other in confusion before Sam pulled a book from the shelf. 

“Indigo children?” I read the covers. 

“Huh?” Of course Dean had no idea. 

“I mean it makes sense, you said you were always highly empathetic, ever since you were a kid right?” 

“Yes,” I nodded as he was flipping the pages trying to find a specific chapter. The book was annotated but it wasn’t his handwriting. 

“Also you started reading minds when you were 7?”

“Well kinda.”

“Before that it was like a guessing game, you just knew?”

“Sort of.” 

Chapter 54. Abilities. 

Indigo children are children who are believed to possess special, unusual, and sometimes supernatural traits or abilities. 

“I have been on this Earth for how long and I’ve never connected the dots,” I said, admiring my own stupidity and inability to dig deeper. I was never curious enough to find an explanation for my ability; never cared enough to think about it too deeply; when I started living with Sam and Dean five years ago I told them right away what I could do. They first thought I was Azazel’s long lost special kid, the one that was lucky enough to somehow hide in the shadows back when Azazel was still alive, but that wasn’t the case. My parents were killed by a vampire and I’d never met Azazel; I didn’t even know he existed until they told me. I only knew regular black eyed demons. 

“So, you were a gifted kid? That still doesn’t explain your ability to do what you have been doing for a year,” Dean scoffed. 

Who names gifted kids indigo kids? Seriously?!

You chuckled. 

“Wait, you have been able to do that for a year?” You heard Sam, your eyes still on the book, trying to find something, anything that would indicate the existence of the said bond. 

“Yes, why?” 

“Go to chapter 55,” he told me. I flipped a few pages until I saw: Chapter 55, Soulmate bonds.

An Indigo child can stumble upon an unprecedented neural synchronization when encountering their soulmate. This synchronization extends beyond telepathic communication, as it involves the transmission and reception of emotional states and dream imagery, resulting in an intimate sharing of thoughts, feelings, and subconscious experiences. Although very rare, it is possible for an Indigo child’s soulmate to be mortal, with no supernatural abilities. If an Indigo child does encounter their soulmate the bond can snap into place usually after 4 or 5 years (one case showed it can also happen after six months). 

“I read this book before we met so it never crossed my mind,” I heard Sam say as I was absorbing the information. I’d known him for five years…

Five years…

It made sense.

As I was reading the first chapter out loud Dean’s wave of shock made my heart beat faster as Sam went to the kitchen to get some booze. It was like he read my mind. I have never heard of his bond. As much as I loved the idea of Dean being mine, I knew he came with tons of baggage, untreated alcoholism, and rage so immense it made my stomach turn. I was no better though just with less intensity and alcoholism. 

That’s bullshit. 

My heart broke hearing these words, but I finally got the courage to look at him, and for the first time his face was unreadable. He was silent. And then he just left.

Sam came back with a bottle of whiskey in one hand and three classes in the other. 

“Where’s Dean?” 

“He left…to process, I guess,” I said before hearing Dean slamming the front door. 

Sam, knowing me too well, didn’t say anything and just poured me a glass of Dean’s fine whiskey. I took a sip feeling a sweet burn down my throat. We were silent for a while, my words buried deep in my mind; struggling to articulate my thoughts as if I had any at that moment. 

“How do you feel about all of this?” Sam finally spoke, breaking the pleasant silence. 

A lump formed in my throat as I tried to blink back tears. I cleared my throat and took another sip. 

“I think…I’m scared to tell him he already has me wrapped around his finger with or without the stupid bond,” my answer was honest. I was scared – terrified of crossing the boundary; breaking the only rule I had: no long term relationships. Anything more than a friendship with Dean would end catastrophically; I was aware of that and yet I still secretly hoped. I wanted him to want me, I wanted him to look at me and see a safe space; I wanted him so painfully to see me and think: “She’s worth it.” 

“Oh he knows, he's just being a dick about it,” Sam’s bluntness surfaced as he drank his glass of whiskey. 

“What do you mean?” I asked, not really following him. 

He knows?

“You two have something I’ve only experienced once in my life and yet you refuse to acknowledge it.” 

My forehead creased as I subtly tilted my head in confusion. Then I heard Sam’s voice in my head as he looked at me with a soft smile on his face.

Jessica…

“Oh…” was all I could say.

“Yeah, he was scared before, now he’s probably terrified. Talk to him when he gets back.” 

“So he can reject me? And probably tell me to move out? Even if he feels the same, I know Dean, and he would rather give up alcohol for the rest of his life than talk about his feelings.”

Sam snorted and nodded silently agreeing with me. 

“Trust me. He won’t reject you. He’s my brother, I know him a little bit better than you do.” 

***

Dean was gone for hours it seemed. I couldn’t stop thinking about him, about the bond, so I did what any sane hunter would do – I repressed my thoughts with more whiskey and drowned myself in more research with Sam. The more I drank it felt like I became more sober. 

I wanted to know more about this soulmate bond. I wanted to know if there was any other way for people to block me from entering their minds besides strengthening the mental shield. 

“I’ve never asked you, how did you find out about the shield anyway?” Sam asked me behind his laptop while I was trying to find books about telepathy. 

“A witch told me,” I stated behind bookshelves, “When my parents died I let it control me, I couldn’t stand it, I could hear every single person I came in contact with and it was driving me nuts. So, I found a witch, a good one, and she helped me control it and told me about the shield since she was the first person I couldn’t tap into.” 

I remember her fondly. Her white crow would sometimes appear, to let me know she was alive and I would visit her every year on her birthday in winter. I would tell the Winchesters I was seeing an old friend; without adding too much detail, since I knew Dean’s hatred of witches far too well. 

“Good witches exist?”

“Oh yeah, she’s wonderful.” 

There wasn’t any other way for other people to shield their minds from me, sadly.

“Oh but I think I found something,” Sam told me and turned his laptop towards me. I read the short paragraph and looked at him.

“I can do that?” 

“You can try.” 

***

 Dean was still gone by the time we decided to take a break from research. Sam decided to go for a walk before bed while I went to my room to try and contact Dean through the bond. The article Sam found stated it was possible to contact your soulmate if you focused all of your energy on them. 

I have no idea what I’m doing. 

I laid on my bed and closed my eyes, picturing Dean standing right in front of me. Even in my mind he made me nervous. His aura was so captivating and stoic; you couldn’t forget him even if you tried. His name escaped my lips a few times, eyes still closed, but all I could hear was dead silence.His face still engraved in my mind, I studied his features: his smile lines, beautiful kissable lips, his perfect nose, freckles…

Dean? I called. 

(Y/N), what the hell?

He heard me. I could feel my feet going cold as my body went numb. My heart was in my throat. 

I’ll explain later! Please come home, I wanna talk to you.

In a second, my mind lost focus as I became more aware of my nervousness and he was gone. I couldn’t see him anymore. 

“Crap!” I uttered in frustration and decided to text him. 

Please come home.

***

I heard his footsteps thirty minutes later. I was ready for the worst; I was ready for Dean to tell me to leave; I was ready for all of it to end. 

I heard him knock seconds later.

“You there?”

“Come in!” 

He closed the door behind him. I was in the middle of trying to read my book, emphasis on trying, since the nervousness turned into full blown anxiety and I couldn’t focus on anything but him. I put the book down as he sat on the bed. I was hit with a sudden smell of cigarettes and alcohol in my nostrils. He probably went to a bar. 

“How did you do that?” He asked, this time looking me dead in the eyes. His gaze wasn’t soft – I couldn’t help but feel a little intimidated – his eyes bore into mine with such seriousness I’d only seen a handful of times. 

“I did some research with Sam. The bond allows us to communicate telepathically.” 

“I-I can also do that?” 

“If you concentrate hard enough, yeah.” 

An astounded chuckle was all I heard. And then:

This is crazy.

I know.

His lips parted slightly once he realized he could hear me. I on the other hand didn’t want him to hear me, but looking at him, seeing the evident worry and fear in his green eyes, I couldn’t control it. It became natural.

“Where were you?” I asked and boldly decided to sit next to him. 

“Went to our favorite hiding spot to think. When thinking became too much, I went to a bar and had a couple of drinks.” 

“And? What are your thoughts?” 

His hand gently found mine, intertwining his fingers with mine. I wasn’t sure if I was breathing at that moment. I could feel my cheeks burning as he pressed a gentle kiss on my forehead. 

“I feel like ignoring how I feel about you just made everything worse.”

I’m terrified. 

I ignored it and focused on his actual voice. “And I feel like this bond slapped me in the face.” 

“You and me both,” I smiled. 

Sam was right after all. I didn’t know what else to say but all I could think about was pressing my lips against his. I wanted to kiss him so badly, but my body refused to cooperate with my mind. 

I didn’t need to kiss him first, because his lips found mine in a matter of seconds. The kiss was gentle, warm; his lips perfectly pressed against mine. I opened my mouth letting him know he could explore it with his tongue and he was happy to do so. A whine escaped my lips when he broke the kiss. 

“I heard you,” he smirked. 

Please stay with me. My mind yelled. 

“I will,” he heard me. Again. 

***

Dean went to get ready for bed and so did I. It was already 11pm, Sam was long gone, snoring in his room after a long walk and I went to take a shower. 

It will probably happen.

Maybe it won’t?

Maybe we will just cuddle and sleep?

Yeah right.

Why am I so nervous?

I’m nervous because the last time I was in love with someone he left me for a girl named Karen. 

In high school.

Crap. 

My thoughts were racing as I was washing myself and getting ready to spend the night with him. I put on my shirt and a pair of clean underwear before brushing my teeth. I turned off the lights and went under the covers. Somehow it was always cold in my room, no matter the season. I focused on my soft pillow and how it felt against my cheek as I turned on my side. That lasted maybe two seconds as my mind kept drifting and wondering what was coming next. The thought of him pressed against me made me excited; his lips on my neck, hands on my hips…

I didn’t even realize I was rubbing my thighs together, desperately seeking some form of release. Thank God I was tired, a few moments later I could feel my eyelids getting heavier and my body finally relaxing. I wondered where Dean was as I started drifting and soon enough I got my answer. 

He would always take long showers; so I wasn’t surprised when he came 15 minutes later. He found me peacefully drifting between realms of reality and dreams, and with his hands wrapped around me pulled me back to reality – to him. My back pressed against him; we stayed like this, as my patience was running low and I could feel myself getting wet. 

He was melting any sense of restraint I had and even with nervousness practically suffocating me, I turned around and snuggled against him, his chin resting on top of my head. He was warm; skin soft as I took a deep breath to breathe in his scent – forest after rain and him. 

“Did you know?” I whispered into him.

“Huh? What?” His deep raspy voice so close to ears made me shiver. 

“Did you know that I have feelings for you?” 

Sam said he did, but I wanted to hear from him. 

“I suspected it, but refused to believe it. Until Sam confirmed it.” 

“How did Sam know? I’ve never told him.” I said and lifted my head to look at him. It was dark, but I could still see the outlines of his face – he smiled at me. 

“He told me you get smiling eyes when we are together. I didn’t really know what he meant until we took down that vampire nest back in Austin. I told you, you were an idiot for trying to take down a whole damn nest by yourself and you kept looking at me with those dove lookin’ eyes.” 

I smiled. I remembered that. It was a few months ago and I was indeed an idiot. He and Sam almost died and I had to do something. I was reckless and instead of coming up with a plan I let my machete go wild. 

“Well it’s not my fault you’re hot when you’re angry.” 

I could feel his smirk before I kissed him, this time cupping his cheek with my hand. He immediately kissed back, pulling me closer to him like that was even possible. This time, one kiss turned into another and another. We both didn't want to pull away; his hands hesitantly started roaming under my shirt, instantaneously sending shivers all over my body. I took his hands, breaking the kiss.

“Touch me. I'm yours,” I whispered before kissing him again, not being able to get enough. I could feel his little smirk against my lips as he tugged on my shirt trying to take it off. I took it off and in seconds he took his. My mind was focused on him and only him as I felt his soft skin under my fingertips. 

You're going to be the death of me. 

Likewise, sweetheart.

This time I smiled between kisses. I liked that nickname, I couldn’t wait to actually hear it out loud. He wasted no time before he pushed me onto the bed and straddle me; his lips not leaving mine. We were like two addicts; we couldn't stop; we didn't want to stop. He pressed his hips on mine and I could feel him, pressed against my wet center. A soft moan escaped my lips as my fingers tugged on his damp hair. He moved his lips on my neck, while his hand found my center. A light brush was enough to make me moan his name. I was so sensitive, so vulnerable underneath him; he was consuming every reverie of my mind. 

I was growing impatient, but he knew that, and now I couldn't hide anything from him anymore. The bond was stronger now, we didn't even have to try to communicate with one another; it was like breathing. 

I lowered his boxers as much as I could and wrapped my hand around his hard dick, earning a groan from him. I pumped him a few times, as my impatience became his. He kissed me before standing on his knees and took my panties off. He stopped for a second.

Adoration – I could feel it through the bond. He was making me blush in the dark; my cheeks growing warm. 

You're so beautiful.

Before I could answer him, he positioned himself between my legs and slowly entered me, stretching me nice and slow; his lips found mine again as he swallowed my gasp and slowly started to move. My legs wrapped around his hips, wanting more, more and more…

I was about to get drunk and see stars. My hands were around his neck before I cupped his face. He broke the kiss when we both couldn't breathe, biting my shoulder lightly, his pace becoming faster. 

My mind only knew his name as I was chanting it over and over again, like a sweet prayer. He nuzzled his head in my neck, kissing it sloppily. 

“You feel so good, sweetheart,” he whispered in my ear. 

I was in a complete haze, unable to muster anything but his name. 

His nose resting on my cheek, he placed a soft kiss only to swallow my moans once more, as we both started to fall apart. 

“Dean, I-,” I wasn't able to speak, I could feel it in the pit of my stomach and I could tell, feel, he wasn't going to last much longer. 

“I know, baby. I know. I can feel it,” he said and I wasn't sure if he could feel it through the bond or if my body was telling him – or both. 

My moans became desperate; with that voice Dean could make me do whatever his little heart desired. 

We came in sync, eyes locked and growing breathless. He couldn't keep my name out of his mouth and I didn't want him to. When he pulled out and laid next to me we were both panting and growing sleepier. I lazily moved closer to him, kissing his shoulder as he immediately wrapped his hand around my torso and pulled me close. 

“And you thought we'd just cuddle,” he chuckled. 

I raised my head to look at him.

“You heard me?” 

“Yeah, we have to figure out how to not hear each other's thoughts all the time.”

“Well…” I started and he just shot me a death glare.

“I ain't meditating.”

I cupped his face, squeezing his cheeks lightly making his lips pout. 

“Fine,” I said and gave him a pack on the lips, “we will find another way.”

“Thank you.” 

I stayed in his arms until we both fell asleep. He played with my hair and I drew small circles on his chest. He asked me about the research – what I found, what I didn't – asked me about us.

“If it's meant to be it's meant to be,” my eyelids grew heavy as I mumbled the words and drifted to sleep. 

Dean kissed my forehead and closed his eyes.

***

I could feel Dean’s hands pulling me closer to him, his fingers digging into my flesh as my ears heard him say my name in a form of whisper. I lazily opened my eyes not knowing if he was awake or not. His fingers dug into my stomach as he repeatedly called me in a frantic tone. 

He’s dreaming.

“Dean?” I turned around and even in complete darkness my eyes registered his clenched jaw, while my body felt the stiffness of his. 

“Dean?” I repeated again and nuzzled my head under his chin and placed a gentle kiss on his neck. I knew what he was dreaming about – I was dying again and he was trying to save me. 

Dean, baby wake up!

I told him through the bond as I stroked his soft hedgehog-like hair. I could sense the fear lingering within him as his eyes shot open, his breathing came in uneven gasps and his chest was rising and falling frantically. I wrapped my hand around his torso and embraced him in a tight hug as the weight of the nightmare still lingered. 

“I’m here,” I repeated a couple of times, giving him the reassurance I knew he needed. 

“It’s just a dream, Dean.”

His breathing became stable again. 

“You died,” eventually he told me. The fear was gone and replaced with sadness – sadness so somber and heavy I only felt once when Charlie died. 

“No, I didn’t. I’m here,” I told him and placed his hand on my chest. 

“I’m right here,” I said before kissing him. A sigh of relief left his lips. 

“I feel like I’m gonna lose it…the same dream over and over.”

He was desperate, so desperate for answers it made my soul ache, but I knew this wasn’t the time. 

“I know, and we will figure it out. Sleep baby, I’m not going anywhere,” I whispered before kissing him lovingly. His hand found my cheek as I broke the kiss resting my forehead against his.

“Your struggles are mine. Your sadness is mine. You're mine,” I told him as my legs intertwined with his. My hand was on his chest, feeling his heart beating faster. Something was traveling through the bond, something lovely and warm I could only describe it as love. Suddenly I heard it; a whisper traveling through the bond: I love you, before he kissed me again.

I love you too.

Tagged: @lacilou , @littlemadamred , @girls-alias , @captainannatheweirdo , @nancymcl

[deliverusfromevillll]

A Sticky Situation [Mammon/F!Reader]

❝ What fuckin' nonsense have ya' been telling y'reself this entire time? ❞

warnings ⨾ blood, descriptions of gore, guns, gunshot wound, choking, swearing, arachnophobia (the irony), established prior connection, soft mammon, sexual content, unresolved sexual tension, resolved angst

terms ⨾ ❝ Drakon ❞ the Latin word meaning "dragon." ❝ Bogan ❞ Australian slang meaning (in negative connotation) someone who's a bit of a nerd or geek, holds no dress sense and/or has poor social skills.

notes  ⨾ I am very much not Australian so when I looked up slang and could not find ANY concrete definitions for anything: I was in major pain. Anyways quick thing because [F/n]'s lore might seem confusing. I created an entirely different race of "humanoid" dragons that acted as the knight/official guards for the Ars Goetia incase of extermination/assassination attempts. [F/n] retired from her position as knight for an unnamed Goetia. This entire chapter was originally 13K words but I felt as though the plot arc with the Goetia drifted way too far from the original point of this fic since it was so, so needlessly lore heavy for a reader insert and made this 100x more angsty like you have no idea. Especially since this is only meant to be two chapters. This chapter was cut down for your reading pleasure! If you would like to be part of the process in between me brainstorming and posting ( as I am currently looking for beta readers ) and/or generally would like to see WIPs feel free to join my discord ( NgT88bybyY ).

[02]

As always minors DNI.| 6.3K words

[F/n] and Mammon's relationship is unique.

He was her boss, and she was his secretary.

Running the errands, info graphing, and scheduling his business appointments when due. But it wasn't so simple.

With his artificially friendly attitude in public, behind the scenes he was nothing but cynical— snarky and demanding. Hardly surprising for the king of greed.

[F/n] was no fan, she made it clear.

Despite the lethal glares and threats she managed to shoot a quip or a snark in return each time. It initially prompted a warning hiss or a growl, an insult or a threat.

Then he resorted to shredding through his confined costume to intimidate her one time after they both seriously got into it. Neither party was satisfied in not having the last word.

Despite however many threats were hurled nothing ever came about them.

[F/n] desired the experience the job gave her and Mammon found her too entertaining to simply let go.

[F/n] and Mammon's relationship is undeniably unique.

But damn, there was no shying away from the fact [F/n] did her job exceptionally well. The best in all of Hell. And that's another one of the handful of reasons why he tolerated her.

"Y'er getting on my nerves lizard." Mammon seethes with a false smile.

He sulks leaning away, poisonous puff of green air seeping though his teeth.

[F/n] raises a brow at him, eye roll following. "I need you to work with me here, asshole." [F/n] adjusted herself, turning towards him.

"If you wanna reduce the immediate damage Asmodeus and his little lapdog made we need to start advertising the twins asap. What's bothering you right now?"

Mammon huffed. "The leftover Fizz merch— sales are declining incase ya' haven't seen mate. I'm losin' money."

[F/n] clicked her tongue.

"Whatever doesn't sell now we can resell in a few weeks as vintage or some other bullshit with a higher price tag. You have any idea how much these loser collectors will pay to get their hands on discontinued merchandise?"

That's all it took for Mammon to light up, snatching [F/n] with his top hands in excitement.

"Y'er a bloody GENIOUS!" He shakes her, dropping her instantaneously. "We could double —no— TRIPLE our profits thanks to these degenerates! Ahh I taught ya' so bloody well!"

Mammon splays his hands towards the imaginary dollar signs in the air, clapping eagerly.

"And that's why I love ya' doll!" He shouts with a hefty grin, giving her a final charmed glance as he turned to make way towards the awaiting camera crew. Robo-Fizzies chasing after him with lighting sticks and microphones.

[F/n] catches herself after his stare, the spines on her tail rattling flustered. Her posture eases before anyone else can see as she flicks her tail in response.

Damn did she hate whenever he said things like that.

It's almost as if he knew the effect he had on her, doing and saying things that would purposefully rile her up. [F/n] refused to acknowledge any part of it, counteractive to the very obvious blush on her completion.

Through the commotion, Mammon smiled charismatically in [F/n]'s direction as their eyes met again. This was going to be a long shoot.

"That went better than I expected." [F/n] mumbles. Mammon appearing in a green cloud next to her. Bells chiming happily.

"Why'dya say that? Doubted me?" He rung.

"Well for all the years I've known you— Accepting you got fucked is definitely not something you're known for... You're taking losing your star clown better than I thought."

Mammon chuckles in amusement.

"Star clown? I am the star clown. With or without him I'll still make a fuck ton o' money." He nudges her. "With y'er— uh, our ideas and my reinforcement I don't see any issue mate."

[F/n] looked very, very, unconvinced. Mammon thinks for a moment before shrugging.

"At the end of the day you are my most valuable asset after all."

"What a way to make a girl feel special Ammo." Her eyes roll.

Mammon only giggled for a moment, attention immediately stolen upon taking in a familiar scent.

The smell of coffee meets his nose as they walk before the café in his estate. It takes him no time to decide he's in the mood for another cup of coffee.

[F/n] could already tell by the expression on his face. However unconvinced about giving the bug even more caffeine after his last.

Mammon playfully puts on a puppy-eyed expression as he bends town to her level.

He shoves his face in front of hers, frowning, the green glow of his pupils becoming brighter. "C'mon doll, ya'd say no to my lil 'ol face?"

His smaller spider eyes make a show as he frowns with an exaggerated pointed lip.

She sighs, gently pushing his face away. "Enough with the eyes. I'll be right back... Not like you'd let me say no anyways asshole."

Like a cat that ate the canary, Mammon smiles triumphantly as he took a moment to get seated on one of the empty tables outside the shop.

He enjoys the smell of coffee beans while searching in her direction through the large glass windows. He watches her make some hand motions towards the menu.

Letting out a big yawn, he blinks blearily. He could use a nap after all this.

Exploiting his employees was hard work after all.

Mammon observes her pull out her wallet, swiping her card. His smile becomes gentler, enamored at the idea of her willingness to spend her own money on him.

He became increasingly aware the expression he wore, quickly clearing his throat to look more serious.

It takes the café worker a second to hand her the single cup of coffee alongside a paper bag. He waves her goodbye with a bold wink, [F/n] unable to hold her laugh.

Mammon gritted his teeth. He conditioned his employees not to unnecessarily pester him, or her, especially when they were out together. Seems like one of them hadn't learned this yet. He took a mental note.

He was about to get up from his seat until [F/n] audibly shut the door behind her with a small jingle. She takes a seat across from him as he leaned forward and snatched the drink from her hand.

"'Bout fuckin' time cunt." He grumbles.

Mammon takes a sip of the cold coffee, ignoring his irritation as the sweet contents hit his tongue.

Or at least he tried to, the sweetness of it tasting rather dull part in due to his thoughts.

"Was this made by that fuckin' bogan?" He wonders.

His hand tenses, squeezing the drink at his palm slightly.

"I got you this." [F/n] mumbled, scooting the bag towards him.

Mammon snaps his attention towards back towards her, pausing to glance between her then the baggie before fishing through it. He pulls out a small box, opening it to reveal a cream colored pastry.

It takes him a moment to collect his thought.

Confused, he asks, "Why the cake, doll? Ya' know all I wanted was my coffee."

"You were feeling like shit earlier." She puts it simply.

Mammon shifted from the cake to her in his peripheral vision.

She was worried about him. Had him in her mind. Considerate about how he felt, albeit she wouldn't admit it out loud.

He couldn't help but grow a fat smile, genuine smile, as he scoots closer towards her.

"I'm starting to think ya' actually care about me, love." [F/n]'s eyes widen for a second.

She looks away from him, scoffing.

"Don't overthink it. I don't want to deal with you when you're in a mood."

Mammon takes a small bite, savoring the even sweeter taste. Humming with delight, he takes another portion of it with the plastic spoon, leaning forward to bring it to her mouth.

[F/n] glances between the cake and Mammon, who's unashamedly eagerly watching her.

"I-I don't—"

"Ahh don't fuckin' be like that mate. It's good, try it!"

The dragon takes a bite, flushed, as she ate the piece in silent agreement. Her tail sticking to her leg somewhat embarrassed.

He was right, the pastry was fluffy and flavorful. Not that she expected any different, that was the reason why she bought it for him. She would've never anticipated this however.

Another spoonful reaches her lips, she accepts it without complaint this time. Expression easing. Her tail wags behind her in satisfaction.

Mammon carefully scoops more, bringing it to her face once again.

[F/n] quickly swallows the bit already in her mouth, shaking her head this time.

"I bought it for you, I'm eating more of it than you are. You're being a little bit too charitable."

"Yeah but who's to say I'm not getting anythin' out of feeding ya', love?" He dotes.

[F/n] felt the tips of her ears warm, tail flicking.

Mammon soaks in her flush, turning to take another sip of his coffee. His eyes follow the direction of his lips for a glance before returning at her image.

He freezes for a moment, brows furrowing. Mammon checks the cup again to ensure he saw it correctly. [F/n] immediately notices his expression drop and leans over to see the source.

A phone number was written just under her name with a heart.

"Aw how cute!"

Mammon gags. "Cute?!"

"Yeah, first time someone has done that for me. It's kinda sweet!" [F/n] reaches for the cup, Mammon hisses as he holds it further away.

"Doll, there's no bloody way you're actually interested in this cunt. He's some fuckin' nobody workin' below minimum wage!"

"Oh please, you sound jealous, he was really n—!"

Mammon immediately crushes the cup in his grip, indifferent feeling the coffee spill onto his glove and trickle to the table. He reaches over to grab [F/n]'s extended hand to move it away as he leans towards her features.

His face was centimeters away from hers, sharp breath tickling her features.

"I ain't the sharing type." Mammon growled.

The cup gets engulfed in a green cloud, vanishing as the smoke dissipated. [F/n] glared at the spider, brows furrowed in uncertainty.

He was acting like this again.

"Fucking hell, I didn't want any of your coffee. I just wanted to see the goddamn number."

Mammon blinks, head tilting. He mutters something under his breath as he stands, breaking eye contact.

She thought he was upset over sharing a drink? Far from it, but he wasn't going to clarify if that's the conclusion she came to.

Still holding onto her hand, he strings her up as he gets out of his seat.

"Better ya' don't. This cunt wouldn't even be able to take care of ya'." [F/n] rolls her eyes. Though it didn't go unnoticed, as Mammon grimaced.

"It's impossible to find anyone at all when you scare everyone off." She growls lowly.

"Don't fuckin' hiss at me doll. I'm savin' ya from the embarrassment."

"The embarrassment of what exactly?"

"Of goin' out with the lower class, hells y're considered a knight for the Goetia ain't ya'? Y're not gonna get anythin' worthwhile in some random mutt."

[F/n] swats her tail very irritably, yanking her wrist back forcefully.

A loud tear following in the process.

"I can be with whoever the fuck I want and feel like, I'm not some goddamn princess."

Mammon looks at his glove, seeing as the motion of her pull had tore through the material. It was a reminder of how sharp her scales were.

It wasn't deep enough to cut his actual skin. But the damage on his glove was done. A rush of anger at her defiance. 

He sneers, looking between the café and her short figure. A cloud of green exits through his teeth as he grips her by the neck, lifting her effortlessly to his face.

[F/n] grabs his wrists, squeezing equally as hard, as her wings flutter behind her to give herself some leverage and room to breathe.

She looks genuinely shocked for a moment, though it only took a second for her to regain composure to glare at the sin with bared teeth. Scales began to form on her complexion. 

Mammon stares deeply into her eyes with a menacing smile. His miniature eyes emitting a soft glow.

"REMEMBER Y'R PLACE BENEATH ME BEFORE I REMIND YA'."

He let's her go, watching as she wobbly lands on her feet.

I gust of wind hits his face as she flapped her wings to soften the fall. The scales that covered her face immediately erase as the tension breaks with a longer sharp inhale of air.

They had instantly gained the attention of everyone around them if they hadn't already, silence deafening.

[F/n] felt humiliated. Hurt. Used.

Defeated, for once.

"I don't fuckin' pay ya to run 'round with y'r bitch hormones. I hired ya' to serve me and me only."

[F/n] bites her lower lip, her claw reaching up to feel where his met her throat.

That was the first time he'd ever grabbed her like that. Sure he'd scream and threaten her before, even swung at her at times however each time he did so slow enough to miss.

He'd chuck random items in reach sometimes knowing she could just dodge or fly out of the way.

It never crossed further than that.

Now to be grabbed by the neck? That was new.

The trace of his hand lingered warningly as she tried to sooth over her bruised skin.

She looked up at him, tail tucked in between her legs.

He would only ever harm people he saw replaceable. His subordinates. The realization came crashing down on her incredibly hard.

He could've just as easily killed her in that moment, snapped her neck and that would've been it.

Did their history mean nothing to him? 

What changed?

"Fuck you..." It came as a whisper.

Unsure of whether he heard that or not, he chose to ignore it either way in favor of her tail.

He pointed at it, releasing a laugh as if it was the most amusing thing he'd seen.

It felt nauseating. One moment he was warm: the next, cruel.

Despite all the time spent, she concluded he never saw her as anything further than another form of entertainment.

An animal he can poke and prod for a reaction. Even in her state of shock all he did was laugh. The sound echoed in her head.

A familiar tone rings, buzzing. And Mammon instantly snaps out of his laughter.

He fishes through his pocket to pick up his phone.

His alarm was going off.

"Ahh fuckin' bitch— meeting is about to start." He groans, recovering quickly.

"C'mere." He demands, forgiving the glare she shot at him as he pulled her arm so forcefully she knew she'd bruise.

Mammon teleports the two of them into his office.

The jiggles of coins chime as he lands into his web, [F/n] perched beside him.

Her eyes widen slightly, trying to adjust herself in a better position. She tugs on one of her wings stuck into the webbing with an irritated scowl. He quickly removed the damaged glove and snaps a new one in its place out of thin air.

Mammon, who's busy with a drumstick he seemingly pulled from nowhere, nonchalantly untangles her wing in a simple swipe.

He stops chewing for a second to give her a toothy smirk: [F/n] returning a huff.

"Oh come off it will ya', ya' bitch?"

"We need to talk."

Mammon, who doesn't give it any thought, takes another bite of his food.

"More bitchin'." He imagines.

"Some other time."

[F/n] looks away from him, curling her tail around her leg to try and provide some sort of self comfort. She felt disappointed.

Despite all the breakthroughs made in their partnership, he still treated her like an object. His object. Something he was free to do whatever he wanted to. Truth be told, it stung deeply.

It was the only thing she could think about lately.

There was no denying Mammon grew incredibly on her, she only wished he felt the same in return. Maybe then he wouldn't be so needlessly mean.

Was it something she did? Something she didn't do?

There was no point in even thinking about it, [F/n] didn't want to be embarrassed again. She refused.

Security open the doors of his office, and in come a small group of incubi.

The one leading the group takes a quick bow before the two, tipping his hat while smiling on his way up.

Both watch as they fill the room, trotting with some briefcases in hand. The thumps of their boots semi-absorbed into the carpet they walked on.

"What an honor to see Mammon and his little butterfly, even more so present our wonderful idea to." He starts, slowly pacing left and right.

"We all know about the massive, massive, slaughter that came of the drakon specie during the first war with heaven. Terrible thing really." He smirks.

[F/n] raises her brow, crossing her arms further.

"A bigger shame would be to allow the fun of them go." The incubus pulls out his phone to project a screen before them.

[F/n] and Mammon look less than impressed.

"I present to you the dragon dildo, made with real dragon scales! The synthetic crap can't compare to this." He chuckles, arms extended either way.

The incubi look impressed by their own work. "Dragon scales are the hardest material in all of hell. This thing would be fucking indestructible! It's every horny sinner's dream!"

Mammon yawns, waving a finger.

"And how exactly are ya' going to farm real scales? There's hardly a handful of drakons in all o' hell left mate n' the survivors are all considered royalty."

"Well my good sir, that's where we were hoping you would come in. Seeing as you already possess one of them. I'm sure the king of greed wouldn't mind parting with it in turn for a greater profit."

[F/n] leans out of her seat, seething at the disrespectful implication. "Are you stupid or suicidal?"

The incubus hands one of his partners the briefcase, who held it sideways.

"Oh but my dear, you are very valuable. Your title as knight is only a benefit you see. You can be a brand on its own with how infamous your status was."

He starts unclipping the handles of the case.

"My title was granted to me because of how efficient I was in fighting angels. You— I'd MOP the floor with you."

Mammon tugs her back onto his side. His expression doesn't say much, however, the hand planted around her thigh possessively said it all.

"Y're gonna die for wastin' my time." He snarls, grinning wildly.

Mammon snaps his fingers and in rushes his security of robot Fizzarollis.

[F/n] felt him squeeze her thigh as he presses her deeper into his side. Her initial anger melting as her heart beats faster in reaction. [F/n] stares up at him, his image burning into her mind.

Her hand rested on his chest— able to feel his warmth, his breathing, it felt too intimate.

She felt his heartbeat at her fingertips, beating a tad bit faster than usual.

Then, she remembered. She thought his claim over her was nothing more than superficial, for looks, all this to keep her obedient and lull her back into his claws until the next time she slightly agitated him.

She looks back at the group, frowning.

"Shame, really. I was hoping you'd cooperate for your sake." The incubi frowns.

He opens his briefcase, incubi's devilish smile doesn't go unnoticed.

[F/n], unable to say anything in time, connects two and two as a familiar glint reflects off the metal brandished.

Breaking out of Mammon's grasp, she straddles him and extends her wings— covering as much of him as she possibly could.

A glowing bullet hits [F/n] directly the bend of her wing, the jolt of pain sucking the wind out of her as she slips onto Mammon's stomach.

The incubi's angelic revolver smokes at the barrel.

Security tackles the gunman.

They struggle to get each of his henchmen into cuffs, but with increasing numbers it quickly becomes apparent the gunman along with his goons has no chance.

Mammon immediately moves to shield [F/n] with his body, placing her onto the web. They both look at wound, [F/n] hissing as she tries to stretch her injured wing.

"Fuck— A-Are ya' alright? I didn't think..."

"I'm fine Ammo, he just nailed my joint. That's it." She interrupted, groaning.

His face turns between her injury and her expression several times. He looked worried. His eyes glossed. 

[F/n] frowns.

Electricity flies off of Mammon, turning to look at the commotion behind him. Panic quickly turns into rage as he bursts out of his confined costume with a deafening yell.

The room fills with green.

Sounds of screaming immediately follow.

Mammon smashes some of the incubi into the floor, completely crushed under his weight. He makes sure to smear them in, grinning like a Cheshire cat as he does so.

Those unfortunate enough not to cease on impact were left wailing in agony: taking a fistful of the carpet in a hopeless attempt to pull themselves away with a gaping hole going through their back to their stomach..

It was messy.

The blood from their bodies popped similarly to that of water-balloons. It was a gross, alleviating sight. [F/n] could take comfort knowing sinners like these wouldn't be able to come after her again.

After having his fun, Mammon darts his head towards the remaining incubus.

His mini spider eyes radiated a toxic green as he slinked over. The two robo-fizzies who had captured him meekly raised him towards Mammon: who instantly snatches the man and brings him towards his eye level.

"PLEASE N—"

"B̴͍͚̀E̴̯̘̊G̴͈͍͝ ̸̯̩̌F̸͖̗̈́Ò̸͉́Ṛ̶̪͆ ̶͓̑͒Y̷̥͌͂Ŏ̴̖̩̒U̷̲̳͆͌Ṙ̶̟̂ ̸̦͓͂L̶͍̺̈́Ḯ̸̬F̶̨͓͋̅E̵̩̦̋."

Before even giving him the chance, his please come strangled into whispers as Mammon squeezes him in his fist.

He exhales a large green cloud onto his pitiful expression as he attempts to gasp for air, coughing violently in response. A crack erupts.

Mammon drops him to the floor, watching as he contorted with a deafening scream. Observing him cry for a moment: he does the same as he dealt with the ones previously, popping him like an unwanted pimple.

His breathing labored, the high coming down upon realizing he was the last of the group.

Mammon raises one of his bloodied spider legs out of a fresh carcass, inspecting it, grumbling something under his breath.

The security group of robo-fizzies seem unsure on how to proceed, each of them timidly watching awaiting orders.

"The fuck are ya' looking at? Get this cleaned up NOW!" He roared.

The robots scrambled, tumbling over each other as they struggled to organize themselves.

Mammon slinks back towards [F/n], expression instantly softening.

She lets out a whine, yanking out the glowing particle as the pain of it courses through her back. "Gods fuck that hurt..." [F/n] bit her tongue, aimlessly tossing the bullet at the floor.

"Shit, let's go get ya' patched up beautiful." He mumbles, taking her carefully into his arms as if she'd shatter entirely at the slightest bump.

"Fucking— OW!"

"Ahh can ya' fuckin' hold still for a minute mate!?"

Mammon quickly wraps a thick webbing around her wing, using a splint to keep it straight in place.

[F/n] squirms, suppressing the acid-ball forming at her throat. Mammon makes his final wrap as he sticks the web onto itself, hands gently caressing her wing.

He sighs.

Neither of them say anything for a moment. The silence deafening as the reality of the situation sinks in.

He frowns, gently letting go of his work.

Moving to cup her cheek as he turns her expression towards him even gentler, afraid he would somehow shatter her.

"Why the face? What's the matter beautiful?"

There it was, again, the rapid beating of her heart over his artificial pet names.

"Nothing. Just... I can't fucking believe I got shot right in the elbow." She mumbles, sparing a glance at his handiwork on her wing.

"Normally my scales are able to tank angelic bullets... Maybe I'm becoming weak." [F/n] sighed.

"I, uh, well ya'know... That bullet would'a sent me to the bloody hospital. Cunt aimed for my head." Mammon swallows.

He drags a finger under the fabric of his neck, pulling on it momentarily.

"And honestly... I think y're the only bloody demon crazy enough who'd ever do anything like that for me."

He strokes the webbing gingerly, feeling the material brush against the rest of her scales. He paused.

Mammon tenses slightly as he rehearsed his next sentence in his mind dozens of times, feeling awkward as the very unfamiliar phrase leaves his tongue.

"So —uh— I appreciate ya' more than ya' think..."

It falls silent as her face hues.

Though it doesn't bother him remotely, continuing to massage around the bend of her wing.

If only he were consistently like this. Then it would make the signs so much more visible.

Visible he actually wanted her.

[F/n] swallows thickly, doing her best to calm the trot in her chest. She knew despite everything if she could go back in time she wouldn't change the outcome of it.

Even in the chaos of it all she cared too deeply about him to imagine him hurt. With that, the wave of knowing she completely lost to him finally came crashing down on her.

Their game of chess was finally concluded, he won, and that's why she needed to get out.

"Mammon we really need to talk."

Her wing pulls away from his petting, curling back into its usual space. He seemed disappointed as the warmth of her injured limb left his grasp.

"What about?"

Her lips quiver, the frown on her expression breaking through the poker face she tried to maintain. Her eyes water, tail curling.

She thinks of all of their mishaps together. To when she first agreed to work with him, their first banter, their first success together, how they progressively got more and more comfortable with each other.

She went from someone behind the scenes to being his only companion. He was a hothead, but so was she. But their differences felt too great: the hot and cold treatment was driving her crazy.

"We need to end our contract."

Mammon blinked. Frozen.

He slowly clenches his fists impossibly hard.

"Why? Was it because o' that fuckin' incubus? Y-Ya' watched me kill 'em. I promise next time I—"

"It's not that. None of that."

"Then what is it? Fuck changed?"

"Mammon as much as I love being here with you and working alongside you, I just can't be around you anymore."

It was obvious he didn't understand, his pause with unsure searching eyes sought to try and read the static expression she did her best to maintain. 

"I'm sorry."

Mammon felt himself burn. He felt his insides ignite with such intense desperation with a feeling he didn't entirely recognize.

Even knowing her more basic tasks could be given to someone else to fill just as easily did nothing to reassure him.

Hells he didn't feel this lost when Fizz quit his position. He got over that so insanely fast. It was deeper than that.

This was the only person he remotely cared about in all of hell resigning.

The idea felt so unreal.

"I'm so sorry." [F/n] repeated.

The click of her boots echo as she walked towards the double doors of his bedroom. Like a whisper, she faded.

Mammon watches as her tail hovers just above the ground. Immediately noting how she didn't just drag it as she normally would. The low rattle it'd make was erased, as if she wanted to create the least bit of noise possible.

Why? Did he scare her?

Nonsense. She was the only one who wouldn't cave to his ridiculous disrespect despite his threats. And though it did get in his nerves initially, it grew on him and made everything in his life new again.

He enjoyed hearing her voice.

Hearing her talk about frivolous, nonsensical, shit. Enjoyed observing the smallest things about her.

Like the way she would hide the joy in her expression but unable to maintain the same façade in her eagerly wagging tail.

Or the way her wings would flutter for a second whenever she was blushing.

Or when she would get too excited her hair would pulse the color of her element. And how whenever she's extremely upset her clear complexion starts forming scales as if she were ready to morph.

Or how she sometimes has difficulty not tearing clothes due to the sharpness of her claws. She would always let out a loud groan and a few swears before deciding if it were salvageable.

He felt electricity course through his body. His eyelid twitching.

[F/n] hugged herself, shutting the door behind her as she power walked through his manor.

She used her sleeve to wipe away the tears before they could spill. Quietly whimpering to herself to alleviate the ache in her chest.

She doesn't get very far however, before snapping out of her emotions as a loud bang interrupts her.

[F/n] points her gaze backwards, watching the doors fly open while cracking at the force of his push.

"OUR CONVO AIN'T OVER!"

She backs up hesitantly as Mammon runs at her. The thumping of his soles grew louder, seemingly indifferent at the idea he may trample her.

Clouds of swamp green smoke exit through his teeth. He halts just before her, punching a hole through the wall next to them to release his rage. Chips of brick and dust recoil along with his fist.

"You— YA' THINK YA' CAN JUST JOG OFF?" He growled, leaning down as he stared at her.

"Whatever idea ya got in that pretty lil' head o' yours, toss it. I won't break our contract. You are MINE."

[F/n] sighed, eyebrows furrowed as she shook her head at him.

"You don't get it." Her disbelief erases as her head comes to point towards his.

She snaps her fingers and out manifests a golden sheet between them with both their signatures held within the bottom. 

"It's written agreement in our contact that only requires the consent of one party to break it."

Mammon felt a drop of sweat come down his neck.

He froze. The pain grew.

And she was right, the section she was referring to glowed faintly among the rest of the text as she highlighted it. Demanifesting as she withdrew her hand.

"A rule you imposed since you were initially skeptical about my performance in your estate."

"I- I... Fuckin'..."

It goes silent.

The rush of anger evaporated from his body with the sparks. Feeling at a loss on what to say, Mammon swallows thickly as he blinks.

He reaches a hand to clutch the material over his chest, squeezing it.

His gaze eventually trails back to hers.

His mind returns to the thought of massive their height difference was. She was so small compared to him. It made his heart chirp. His hand comes up to erase the flustered look looming on his features.

Mammon recollects himself as best he can in a pathetic attempt. He brushes his hat shakily, the bells chiming as the material bounced back.

"So then tell me why—?"

[F/n] growls, pressing her claws into her palm.

"STOP!" She shouts at him, quickly wiping away at the corner of her eyes. "D-Don't make this needlessly complicated."

Again with the tears, only this time she couldn't prevent them.

Mammon frowned, reaching out to her. He wanted to console her, wipe away those tears. It pained him knowing he was the source.

The tip of his index finger brushed against her cheek unable to get far.

[F/n] swatted away his hand. And that hurt him.

"You fucking... g-goddamnit you fucking dumbass... Can't you see what's going on?" She hissed stomping a few steps away from him.

"I fell so hard for you, and it fucking blows because I can't just have you." She turned towards him.

[F/n] gestures to herself angrily through her cries. "Do you fucking get it now?! I'm in LOVE with you— that's why I need to get the hell away from you. I want to be something more to you but you'll only ever see me as your subordinate."

She shouted, adrenaline coursing through only heighted by her emotional outburst.

Mammon grabs her despite her struggling with his lower pair of hands, leaning over and forcing her to allow him to clean her face.

He absorbs her tears through the material of his upper pair of gloves with gentle strokes.

She grips his wrists with enough force that'd dislocate them if he were any other sinner. He felt her tremble against him.

How could he not notice her pain before?

How long ago did she start feeling this way?

There was a pool of regrets swimming in his chest and among them the biggest was not erasing her doubts sooner.

"What fuckin' nonsense have ya' been telling y'reself this entire time? I'm smitten with ya' dollface."

"You're a king sin— hell you outed Asmodeus for dating someone beneath him, how am I any different from that? People would think you're a hypocrite."

"Ya' think I give a remote fuck about what these cunts think? I'm the richest fucker in all o' hell, I didn't get here caring about what some bitch thinks o' me. I don't really give a flying shit about Asmodeus fuckin' some circus imp."

[F/n] immediately becomes less resistant to his advance. [E/c] eyes staring up at him in disbelief.

She searched desperately for any indication he was lying.

Mammon cups her jawline.

"I dunno how ya' haven't realized how obsessed I am with ya'... Thought it was reaaal obvious: I mean for fuck's sake I don't wanna be anywhere without ya'. Everything I do is with you." Mammon sighed nervously.

He lifted her in her arms, bringing down his face to gently set his forehead onto hers.

He didn't entirely recognize it before, but now that the cat was out of the bag it was so painfully apparent.

Everything he did was by her, to her, and for her. He found himself more temperamental and bored in the situations he had to exist without her. The cogs in his head finally spun, blushing for a mere moment as he finally admitted it out loud. 

"I'm obsessed with ya princess. I'm fuckin' crazy over you."

If her heart pounded any faster she was sure she'd pass out.

Her eyes glued to the tiny white slits in the sea of bright green within his eyes.

They both glance down at each other's lips then back at their gaze.

Immediately realizing what the other was doing, they both smash into each other desperately. Mammon felt a firework go off in his head. She was putty in his hands. A little butterfly caught in his web.

He growled.

[F/n] caresses his features, brushing her thumbs over his cheeks and pulling him closer.

A surge of electricity runs through his expression and tickles hers affectionately. It courses her hands and down her arms eagerly. 

Mammon drags his bicolored tongue across her lips, pushing himself in at the slightest gap.

Their tongues dance and with no protest Mammon explores his new territory. Their teeth clatter, Mammon doing his best not to pierce her.

The taste of coffee and pastries still lingered strongly on his saliva. Their tongues dance, aching. It's as if they couldn't get close enough to one another, both feverishly pushing into each other craving every bit of contact the other could provide.

Pleased with her submission, he makes way back into his room.

Massaging her ass with his upper pair of hands and grabbing onto her heels with the other. [F/n] releases a muffled moan.

Mammon breaks the kiss first, glancing at the spirit trail that still connected them. He licks the drool from his lips, savoring their long overdue tension-breaker.

He steals a few more pecks before taking a seat on his bed, holding onto her. He brushed a strand of her [h/c] hair out of her face.

Mammon chuckled softly, enamored with the bright hue on her complexion: gaze hungry.

Mammon stares at her. Unmoving. As his breathing very audibly becomes heavier.

It takes him a painful few seconds to snap out of his own trance.

"As much as I wanna fold ya' in my bed and have ya' take care of my stiffy— y're injured and need to rest princess."

"Oh come the fuck on Ammo, I'm fine!" [F/n] pouts, huffing while trying to feel him up through his clothes.

She slinks downwards to attempt and grind against the growing tent underneath his layers of clothes to entice him.

Mammon with every bit of self control in his body, has none of it, interwinding her hands into his instead with force as he pulls her back up to steal another peck.

"I love y're excitement but I will hurt you."

"You're no fun."

"You'll fuckin' get what you want later... Needy whore."

He scoots closer into bed.

Mammon snaps his fingers. A puff of green surround both of them, clearing quickly to reveal he had changed them into their sleepwear. He smiles softly.

His blanket flies over them as he adjusts more comfortably, plopping [F/n] on his chest.

[F/n] coils into a ball, purring happily while nuzzling herself into the crook of his neck. She quickly settles. His hand reaches to pet her hair lovingly, listening patiently as her purring gradually became more distant overtime until she drifted off entirely. 

Mammon sighed with satisfaction, captivated, only then closing his eyes. "Y're gonna stay mine forever." 

[chackyxyooj]

Your Grace

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Description: You are the Queen and Laurance is one of your several consorts. However, he is less than amused over the fact that you have yet to spend a night with him. || ONESHOT, SMUT HURT/COMFORT(?)

Pairing: Consort!Laurance X Queen!Reader

WC: ~3k

CW: Strong Sexual Themes | NSFW

╰─..★.──────────╯

Sexual Content Ahead: If uncomfortable with this type of content, DNI! - Minors & Ageless Blogs DNI!

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

It’s not uncommon for Kings or Queens to establish a royal consort when they become the primary ruler of their kingdom. In fact, it’s often encouraged for the ruler of a kingdom to have multiple consorts as a means to ensure the strength of their next of kin. You were no exception to this. Thus, as you ascended to your place on the throne you were expected to have a set of consorts established as soon as possible.

Being a man of great notoriety, Laurance Zvahl had never intended to join your consort. A rogue like him never humoured the idea of living his life at the hands of royalty, but things were different when they came to you.

Laurance’s first meeting with you proved how witty a crown princess could act in the face of danger - his second meeting with you only doubling down on that idea. Despite your wits, Laurance had never really thought you a very interesting monarch until the day he received commission from none other than your very own mouth. To think that a princess such as yourself would risk your position, much less your life, to ensure the prosperity of your kingdom… uncommon would be an understatement.

Much has happened between then and now but your commitment to your kingdom and its people never waivered. For that, Laurance respected you. It might be the only reason why he didn’t immediately kill the guard who came to inform him that you had extended an invitation to become an official figure in your consort.

It’s been over a month since Laurance Zvahl was officially situated in Your Grace’s harem. He’s heard talk amongst the other consorts that you’ve already visited many of your chosen lovers but Laurance has yet to share anything more than simple pleasantries with you. He assumes that a ruler such as yourself would be a busy one, but too busy to even spend a night or two with him? Surly not, right?

For what feels like the thousandth time, Laurance paces from one side of his room to the other. You’d think that a castle as large as this one would grant one privacy but that couldn’t be farther from the truth. Laurance feels like he might go mad if another servant arrives at his chambers to ask what he wants for dinner, or when he wants his bath to be drawn, or… or for anything really!

Just as the thought crosses his mind, the incessant sound of knocking fills the room.

Without so much as a by your leave, the door to Laurance’s room creaks open. The boy practically flies over to confront whoever might have the gull to enter his room unannounced but he’s surprised to find that it’s you who stands before him.

“Your Grace!” The boy dips down in greeting without a moment’s hesitation. “For what do I owe the honor of your unexpected visit?”

Your eyes scan the interior of Laurance’s room before they gently land on the brunette. “I sent word to your personal retainer that I would be visiting your chambers tonight, but I see that your retainer is nowhere in sight. Why might that be the case?”

“Oh, them?” Laurance resists the urge to display any signs of contempt at the thought of his retainer. “I sent them away.”

“Again I ask: why might that be the case?”

“I don’t need someone to take care of me. I can take care of myself.”

“Is that so?” Your eyes scan the interior of Laurance’s room a second time before stepping into his chambers and closing the door behind you. After walking a few paces and noticing that Laurance does not follow you, your gaze shifts back to the brunette. Even with just a slight shift in your gaze, Laurance can tell that you do not find any humour in his actions. “I did not assign you a retainer because I thought you needed to be watched or taken care of. I assigned you a retainer because a castle this large can get lonely. Having someone by your side can help alleviate that loneliness.”

“Is that so?” An involuntary huff escapes Laurance. Of course a queen like yourself would delegate the task of keeping him company to a mere servant. “Well I wouldn’t get lonely if you actually came to visit me.”

“Ah… I take it that you’re upset with me?” You attempt to hold Laurance’s hand but the boy sharply pulls away from you.

“How could I not be upset with you?!” Laurance scoffs, his pent up resentment slowly and surely bubbling up to the surface. “After the whole dinner fiasco, you left me behind without so much as a goodbye. Then after weeks of no contact your guard is the one to hunt me down and offer me a place in your consort. It’s bad enough to be treated like an outsider by everyone in your court, but the fact that you treat me this way too? It makes me wonder why you even brought me here in the first place.”

Laurance watches with a heavy gaze as you slowly reach forward and grasp his hands. They’re gentle and delicate compared to Laurance’s hands, but compared to that of a regular noble there’s no doubt that your hands are rough and calloused.

As if afraid to make any sudden movements, you gently pull yourself closer to Laurance until the boy can feel the heat of your body against his own. Have you always been this warm?

“I truly apologise for any hardships I’ve caused you by asking you here. If you truly do not desire to be my consort I will not hold you here. However, that is not to say that I do not want you here, because I do. I want you, Laurance.”

Laurance doesn’t realise that he’s turned his eyes away from you until you’re gently pulling his attention back. Your grasp on the boy’s jaw is so soft but your demand for the boy’s attention is anything but. If not a remarkable queen, you are most certainly a remarkable temptress - always knowing exactly what to do or say to get what you need out of the boy.

“Do you really think a few pretty words are enough to make me forgive you?”

“Of course not…” You chuckle softly to yourself. Your voice becomes softer as you gently lean in toward Laurance, moving forward until your lips just barely hover the shell of his ear. “Tell me, Laurance, what can I do to win back your favour?”

Laurance Zvahl had never intended to join your consort - a rogue like him never humoured the idea of living his life at the hands of royalty, but things were different when they came to you.

You always made things more difficult than they had to be.

“I…” Laurance’s breath catches in his throat as your breath trails down his neck. It makes Laurance shiver from both the feeling and the proximity, his heart thumping in his chest as a testament to his own desires. He'd have the nerve to call it irritating if it wasn’t so intoxicatingly addictive. “I want you, Your Grace.”

“What was that?” You gently press your lips against Laurance's jaw with an amused hum.

“Don’t-” Laurance swallows and shivers at the feeling of your lips on his jaw. A quiet, shaky exhale escapes from his lips. He can feel heat rising to his cheeks as he realises he’s already starting to lose this battle of wills. “Don’t play ignorant. You know exactly what you’re doing.”

Pulling away from Laurance’s neck, the boy is able to catch the expression on your face. There’s hints of satisfaction in the way your lips curl into a pleasant smile, but your eyes hold nothing but affection. A sound of amusement bubbles up from your lips when you notice just how deeply Laurance stares at you, but you relent all the same.

“Come now, Laurance.” You whisper, trailing your hands up Laurance’s torso and coming to rest on his shoulders. “Wouldn’t you like to experience the full extent of being a consort in my court?”

“You’re playing dirty, Your Grace.”

“Is that too much for a rogue like you to handle?”

Laurance closes his eyes. He refuses to give in and insists on trying to ignore the heat that's spreading down his neck and across his chest. Though he is neither a noble nor a knight of high status, Laurance is not some helpless little doll to be teased and played with like this. Even as his hands find their way to your hips to grip them just a little too tight, Laurance can feel his stubborn resolve melting away.

”…Shut up, Your Grace.”

“If you insist, My Love.” Without another word you lean in toward Laurance and close the distance, your lips gently pressing against his.

Laurance can’t stop the small gasp that escapes him at the feeling of your lips against his own. He’d fantasised of this moment; of having you close and holding you to himself. He was losing his strength to keep up this tough-guy facade when all he had wanted for so long was for a moment like this.

The boy pulls you even closer to him, his grip on your hips becoming even more firm. His heart was practically racing in his chest as he returned your kiss.

In a heartbeat Laurance deepens the kiss, his tongue brushing over your bottom lip before nipping at the skin. He felt like he’d been starving for this - for you, for your touch. He was so wrapped up in this singular moment that he hadn’t even realised that you were slowly guiding the boy toward his bed. By the time he realises what you’ve done he’s already flush against his bedsheets.

The bed is cool against Laurance’s back, but it’s nothing compared to the feeling of your hands against his torso. Everywhere you touch leaves a fire of desire in its wake.

As you slowly use your fingers to push his shirt up, you continue to kiss him. Laurance can’t help the sound of pleasure that slips past his lips and he lets go of your hips to help you remove his shirt. He wants to feel the warmth of your skin and to have you as close as possible.

Once the fabric of Laurance’s shirt is removed, you take a moment to admire the sight of his now bared chest. His breathing is slightly ragged but it’s not nearly as obvious as the flushed look on his face. The heat across his cheeks and across his torso was hard for Laurance to ignore as well - especially with how easily flustered he is because of you.

Though his mind is slowly becoming hazy with thoughts of you, Laurance shivers under the weight of your gaze. “Stop staring…”

You can’t help the short laugh that pushes past your lips. Though at first the action serves to make Laurance feel more conscious of himself, his worries fade away as you swiftly pull your robe off your shoulders and discard it somewhere on the floor.

He’s seen you this way once before, but that was nothing compared to now.

Laurance’s breath hitches in his throat at the sight of you half-naked on top of him and he can’t hold back the small, sharp gasp at the feeling of your bare skin against his own. Every inch of his skin feels like it’s burning and it’s hard to get words out when his mind is so focused on you.

“You-” He swallows, his hands shakily gripping your hips as though the moment he lets go you would disappear. The boy’s eyes dart across your form, trying to commit every inch to memory.

“Who’s the one staring now?” Your voice comes out playful, snapping Laurance out of his daze. For a moment your gaze bears into Laurance’s own desperate expression, making you realise the exact effect you have on the boy.

With a smile you lean down and kiss Laurance once more. Rather than allowing Laurance to kiss you in the feverish way he had before, you prolong the kiss. Your movements, your touch, heck, even the very breaths you take have become gentle. Everything about you has seemingly softened in all but a moment, yet you’re just as intoxicating as ever.

“Your Grace… Fuck…” Laurance moans out against your lips. He can hardly hold back his voice as you grind down against his hips. He can only imagine the kind of expression he might be making right now - how you might revel in evoking such a reaction in the first place - but he doesn’t have the time to worry about such things. Right now, all Laurance wants is you.

Laurance wants, no, needs you. He needs you more than he’s ever needed someone before. How do things always end up this way with you?

“I’m your consort, aren’t I?” Questions Laurance, earning a slight hum from you. With as much charm as the boy can muster, Laurance cups your face and gently rests your forehead against his own. “Then please, won’t you take me?”

With a quiet laugh you utter your response. “Of course.”

What little clothes remained between you and Laurance quickly come off in a mess of hurried hands and sweet nothings. Every word you whisper sends adrenaline pumping through Laurance’s body. He can only hope that his roaming hands might be doing the same to you.

His eyes watch your face intently as you slowly lower yourself onto the boy’s now hardened arousal. He takes pleasure in the way your head tilts back and how your sounds of pleasure freely fall from your lips. The feeling of being wrapped in you; it’s euphoric, but it’s not enough. Laurance wants more.

As you continue to shift against Laurance he begins to move in time with your movements, his hips jerking upward as he attempts to drive himself deeper into you.

He wants to feel your touch; to hear his name fall from your lips and to see your pleasured expression every time he shifts his hips in time with your own. It’s not enough to simply feel good at your hands. He wants you to feel good, too.

With whatever strength hasn’t been sapped away at the sight of you, Laurance sits up and holds you close against his chest. In an instant his lips are against yours, stealing kisses as if this is the only time he’ll ever get to kiss you again. You, on the other hand, feed into every single one of the brunette’s greedy impulses.

“Can I call you by your name? Please?” Laurance mutters against your lips. He knows he shouldn’t ask such a thing of you, especially since he’s nothing but a rogue, but when his mind is already swirling in thoughts of you and you alone he’s bound to make impossible requests.

Laurance’s chases after your lips in a desperate manner as you pull away. He hardly even registers that you’re contemplating his question as his lips latch onto your neck and leave behind barely visible marks all the way down. In your attempts to get him to look at you, you have to pry the boy from your body.

Has Laurance ever told you how pretty your eyes are? Or how beautiful you look when your hair is undone like this? Hell, does he even have enough of himself left to tell you how good you’re making him feel? Do you feel good, too?

“Laurance.”

The boy’s attention snaps right to you the moment you call his name. “What?”

“You may address me by my name.”

“R-really?”

Your lips curl into an amused smile as you admire the boy’s drunken state, using your hand to brush back loose strands of the boy’s hair. “Yes, really.”

And that’s it. You have him hooked.

With every thrust of his hips, your name all but falls from Laurance’s lips. It feels so foreign, yet so very right. Like it was always your name that he was meant to call. That it was only ever your name that he wished to speak. Laurance is not here with some royalty figure he’s bound to, he’s here with you.

Laurance can feel himself coming to his wit’s end, but it seems that you’re one step ahead of him. Your body convulses slightly against Laurance’s, the walls of your pussy taking him in oh so greedily. But that’s not to say that Laurance isn’t being greedy, either.

The brunette savours as much of your reaction as he possibly can. The smell of your hair, the sound of your voice, the feeling of your body pressed against his; everything. It’s all for him to have, so he’ll remember it as thoroughly as he can. But fuck, it’s hard to stay focused when you’re holding onto him this tightly.

As Laurance can feel himself coming undone beneath you, he attempts to hide his expression from you by tucking his face into the crook of your neck. You’ll have none of this though, and you pull back to hold Laurance’s face in your hands.

“Don’t hide away now, Laurance.” Despite coming out between shallow breaths, your voice is as firm as ever.

Laurance can’t help but want to shy away under the subtle amusement in your expression. “I can’t help it. You feel too damn good. I’m gonna- fuck.” Laurance’s words are cut short as a wave of euphoria washes over his entire body. That feeling is only heightened when you lean forward and steal a kiss of your own.

Your lips are firm yet gentle at the same time. You truly are something of a temptress, but right now that’s hardly a bad thing.

When Laurance can finally feel himself coming down from his high, he rests his forehead against your shoulder in bliss. For a moment, the world is quiet. The only thing that matters is the warmth of your body pressed against his, and the feeling of your gently rising and falling chest. It’s perfect. 

You’re perfect.

Laurance slowly opens his eyes and looks up at you, drinking in all that you have to offer. You’ve always been really pretty, but right now Laurance thinks that you are enchanting. And when you finally peek open your eyes to meet Laurance’s gaze, he all but knows that you’re his.

Even if it’s just for this moment in time, you’re his.

[miniwheat77]

Sweet. (Captain Price x Reader)

!NSFW, Smut, Fingering, Roofies, Oral Sex (fem recieving), unprotected p in v sex !MINORS DNI! Edited!

*added p in v sex part*

When you were recommended for 141, nobody really seen why.

Captain Price didn't think you were all that special, none of the others did either. But nonetheless, he decided to give you a chance. He was a little hard on you for awhile, pushing you during training, being a little rough when it came to talking to you, and his punishments were even worse. He was very difficult and you didn’t understand why he seemed so passive to everyone except for you.

You hated being apart of 141, it was the worst thing Laswell had ever recommended. You thought maybe Captain Price hated you because you were young. He seemed to have the mentality that the military wasn't meant for young adults. Which, truth be told. It probably wasn't. But it was the only means of escape you had.

"This mission is different." Captain Price makes his way inside the conference room. Stacks of papers in his hands. "And I think this is the perfect time, we see what Y/N's got." he smirks. This clearly wasn't an important mission. Otherwise he wouldn't have you on it. Because for some reason, he hated you. "This is a capture only mission. Y/N will lead the way." He smiles.

—

A sigh falls from your lips. "You know. I'm a little annoyed that I got roped into this. I had intentions of someone else doing it." You complain. Captain Price chuckles. Sitting next to you in the limousine. "Well, sweetheart. You happen to be the only female around. Besides, you never said how you'll get him to tell you anything or how you'll capture him." He smirks. "I have a plan. Just trust me." He nods his head. He's wearing a suit and you have on the tightest black dress known to man. Tall black heels and your hair and makeup is done to the best of your ability. Something Captain Price hadn't ever seen before.

"Follow my lead." You mutter. He follows you up through the front doors of the penthouse, very similar to the one you'd captured Valeria in. It's full of people dressed to perfection. There's a huge dance floor surrounded by tables. The both of you make your way inside, sitting at the bar.

For the next hour, it's the both of you trying to blend into this party, even going as far to dance with one another on the dance floor.

"I have eyes." You whisper to John on the dance floor. He spins you around, your back pressed up against him, his mouth right next to your ear. "I see him too, you ready for this ah?" he smirks. "Oh yeah." His hips brush up against yours and he closes his eyes for a second.

It doesn't take much for you to get your targets attention. Sitting a few stools down from him at the bar. "Whatever you do, do not let me be in a room alone with him for too long. No more than 5 minutes if you have no eyes." You mumble into the radio.

"Copy." John says, he's a little confused by how crucial you've made it sound. The man sits down in the stool next to you and begins talking to you. It doesn't take long until he's wanting to get into a room upstairs with you. You sweet talk him the entire time. You get into the elevator with him, nervous the entire time. "Eyes." Ghost says into the radio, a sense of relief going over John. He had seen you enter the elevator.

Once he has you alone upstairs. He puts a hand on your side. "I know who you are. American Military ah?" He whispers, the hair on your body stands up. "Yes." He wraps a hand around your throat and Ghost lines up a shot. "I came here to warn you. They planned to attack tonight. I'm on your side, I want to join you." You plead with him.

John narrows his eyes, he's still sitting at a bar on the first floor. The radio is oddly silent. "Look now!" you plead, just as soon as Soap makes his way up the stairs, the man draws his weapon. Soap lets out a yell as the man shoots at him. "Falling back Captain!" Your radio goes off.

The man narrows his eyes at you. "Why should I trust you?" he asks. "She knew he was going to shoot and didn't tell me. We need to leave, regroup, and find a new plan." Soap says into the radio. "The hell?" John shakes his head. "I'll tell you anything you wanna hear." You breathe out. He nods his head. He grasps your wrist, dragging you along. "Is she working for him?" Soap asks. "Don't know. Whatever you do Ghost, do not lose sight of her." John says into the radio, attempting to make his way up the elevator but it was taking forever. "Yes sir."

"That cheeky little minx!" Ghost exclaims into the radio. "What? What's going on?"

"She's just roofied him!" He laughs. "What? How?" Soap asks. "She must've convinced him it was acid. Put it on her tongue and than swapped it to him." He laughs. "Gross, like... she kissed him?" Ghost rolls his eyes as soap says it. "Shit, he's pulling her into a room. Get to her now, I have no eyes." Ghost says frantically.

Price hears it and gives up on the elevator, trying to make his way up the stairs.

He pushes passed everyone, reaching the second floor where you were.

He opens the front door. Seeing there’s nothing but random stuff laying around the room. He quickly moves to look through the rooms, opening a door to a bathroom. The other must be the bedroom. He kicks it open.

The man is on top of you, he's delirious but he's pulling your dress up. You're trying to fight him off, but he's got your hands pinned with his knees. John pulls him off of you and he passes out as soon as he hits the floor.

"Y/N?" He asks. You look far more scared than he’s ever seen you. "Captain." You hug him quickly. "What happened darling? Are you hurt?" He pulls away, looking you up and down. "He.. He tried to.." John shakes his head. "Did he?" He asks. You shake your head. "It's alright. You did amazing Y/N." He breathes. Pulling you into his side. Soap pushes into the door, seeing the room is a little messy and the man is on the floor. "Why were you so adamant on 5 minutes?" Soap asks.

"She's a virgin." Ghost says, he's on the windowsill. He startles all of you. He'd used a tool to get across to the building. "What?" Soap asks.

He laughs. "You wouldn't notice at first glance. But around him she was a little awkward. Maybe a bad idea to throw her out there as bait." Ghost starts to tie up the man. "I had no idea." John says. You look at the ground, cheeks lighting up. "I... Yeah." John nods his head. "Come on, lets get him back to HQ."

—

"Hey." John says, tapping on your door that was already open just a crack. "Hey." You say back, turning toward the mirror. You were pulling all of the bobby pins from your hair. He closes your door behind himself.

He pulls his hat off, sitting down next to you on the edge of your cot. "I owe you an apology." He says, grasping your hand in his to get your attention. You turn to look at him, your eyes were stunning to him, complimented perfectly by the eyeshadow you had put on.

"I should not have sent you in there like that. I know how bad people like him could be to women and I didn't think about your well being. For that, I'm very sorry."

You smile, looking down. "I should have been up front. I should have told you I was uncomfortable. I let him intimidate me in there. I didn't like it at all." You look down at your free hand, the other pulling out the final bobby pin. You almost take Johns breath away when your hair falls out around your face, something he hadn't ever seen before. "I just.. you're kinda hard on me. I wanted to prove to you that I could handle it, but having him stare me down like he did. Touch me like that. Just made my skin crawl." You mumble.

He places his hand on your bare thigh. "I know love. I am a little rough on you, but I have to be. I want you to understand that if you let your guard down even just a little, you'll die. I care about you and I don't wanna see you hurt. Ever. If something happened to you, I'd never forgive myself." He sighs. "You really proved yourself today, you did great. And by the way, you're a great dancer." He smiles. "You had me fooled, ya did. I would've never guessed you were a virgin." Your cheeks heat up. You laugh.

"How the hell did you convince him to take the roofie ah?" You smile, looking down. "I'm very sneaky and manipulative, Captain. It was easy." He laughs. "Try it on me." he turns. "Okay." You look forward, taking a deep breath. "You know, this dress is a little tight." You spin around, pretending to be uncomfortable, moving closer to him. “You mind helping me?” You mumble. He thinks it’s bait, unraveling the back of it where it’s tied. Once he’s got it taken off, you pull it down slightly. Revealing your cleavage.

You turn to look at him. Staring into his eyes. You swallow hard feigning innocence.

You lean into him, pressing your lips to his.

He's got a tight grip on the blanket, and you keep his interest for quite some time. Even going as far to wrap your arms around his neck.

When you finally pull away, his eyes are closed and when he opens them again, you look at him, a smile on your face. "Okay. I don't see how that's manipulative in any way." He looks confused. You tilt your head. "Maybe not manipulative but sneaky.” You smirk. "Check your pockets."

He narrows his eyes, feeling around his pockets, but they're all empty.

He looks confused.

You bring your hand from behind your back, holding a cigar and a dog tag in your hand.

His eyes widen, a grin covering his lips. "You are a cheeky little thing aren't you?" He laughs. "That kiss even felt real." He laughs. Your smile falters a little bit. His eyes widening. "Oh, because it was, wasn't it?" He laughs. You blush at his teasing and turn away from him. He smiles, grasping your chin and pulling your face to look at him. "Look at me, lass.”

He presses his lips to yours again and you smile into his lips when you feel him reaching for his cigar. You push his hand away, sliding it into his pocket, not taking your lips away from his for even a second.

He starts to lean back and he pulls you with him, lifting your hips up so you could straddle him as he lays back on your bed. Your lips stay on his and he needs to stop you, but he can't. "Y/N, you gotta stop me sweetheart. I can't stop myself." He pants.

"I.. I don't want to stop you." You’re breathless. He pushes you back slightly and he stares into your eyes. They glimmer in the light from your small lamp and he needs to stop. Before he goes too far and gets you both into trouble.

In a way, he feels like he's taking advantage of you. But he can't stop himself. "Lay on your back." He mumbles. Once you do, he pushes himself between your legs. He leans down, kissing you again. This time with a little more desperation than the last. He pulls away, planting a kiss right onto your chin, than again on your neck. He trails them down, tugging your dress down along with him. Sucking love bites into your chest where your breasts were nearly exposed to him.

"Do you want me to stop?" He pulls away for a second, hands gripping the top of your dress. You shake your head. “No..” you whine.

He pulls the top down, revealing your breasts to him entirely. You suck in a sharp breath. How someone could go from hating you to touching you like this so quickly was beyond you.

He plants a kiss to your nipple, maintaining eye contact as he does so, parting his lips just slightly to run his tongue along it. Sucking it between his lips gently. A whimper falls from your lips, you start to squirm underneath him. His facial hair scratches your skin perfectly, creating a burn that feels so good, you couldn't quite describe it.

He moves to the other side, doing it once again to your other nipple until you're starting to whimper a little too loud. You were waiting in anticipation, wanting nothing more than to feel that burn between your legs from his facial hair. The thought alone making arousal pool between your legs. He kisses down your stomach, tongue running along your skin as he moves, lower and lower. He pushes your dress up and over your hips, fingers wrapping around your panties and pulling them off. Your dress bunches up over your stomach. Revealing you to him completely. He looks up at you again, eyes meeting yours. As he lowers himself into you, he keeps eye contact.

Licking the first stripe up your slit, swirling his tongue around your clit, having to hold back a grin when your eyes screw shut. Watching you fall apart beneath him. He's gentle, flicking his tongue against you, gripping your hands tight in his. He draws one of them back, gathering up the wetness from you and his saliva, pulling away for just a second to rub his finger up against your opening, gathering the wetness on his finger.

You whine out, bucking your hips into him. Clutching a handful of his hair.

He lines his finger up with your entrance, you take a deep breath as he slides it in.

You feel full immediately.

He flicks his tongue slow and steady over your clit, pumping his finger inside of you until he could get you wet enough to handle 2. Once he slides the second finger in, you practically melt beneath him.

You cover your mouth with both of your hands, trying so hard to stay quiet. He wants nothing more than to hear you call out for him. Moan his name. He’d put money on it that ‘John’ would roll perfectly off that sweet tongue of yours.

He starts to flick his tongue a little faster, sucking lightly on your clit when his tongue would get tired and you couldn’t help but buck your hips into him. He tries to hold you steady with his one hand, but you’re struggling. Moaning and whimpering but it’s muffled by your hand. Squirming and bucking your hips into him. At this point, he wonders if you’ve ever even been touched at all. He circles over your clit, the wet sounds he makes is lewd as it fills the room.

“John… I- I’m gonna cum.” You whimper. It’s so low it’s almost inaudible. He almost misses it. But he doesn’t, he pumps his fingers into you, scissoring them and curling them up into you, watching the way your body reacts so perfect to him, flicking his tongue against your clit. It’s so much for you, and finally.

Your hips buck into him, a whimper escapes you as you reach your climax. John keeps flicking his tongue and pumping his fingers to ride out your high until you close your thighs around his head, whimpering as you grasp his hand to keep him still. He smiles up at you, lips and beard glossy with your juices. Your face is flushed, you’ve got love bites all over you Mr skin, artwork. Your hair is a little messy now. He takes a deep breath, sitting up as he palms himself through his jeans.

“You taste fuckin sweet darling.”

Your cheeks burn.

It was intense, but you can’t help but want more.

“We’ll get you used to me. We’ll move slow, yeah?” He nibbles at his lip. You nod your head at him.

“Good girl.” He breathes. “Maybe we should wait to go any further-“ he goes to stand up. You reach out for his hand, stopping him. “Wait-“ You breathe. “I.. I want more.” You bite your lip. He looks confused. “Please-“

He sits down. “You.. you want me to-“ he freezes up. You sit up, taking the lead and pressing your lips to his. You move yourself on top of him, hearing him sigh into your lips. You pull away for just a second to unzip his pants, tugging his cock from his boxers and pulling them through the zipper in his pants. You line him up with your entrance, sinking down onto him. Between his saliva, your arousal, and his fingers stretching you out. You’re ready for him.

His fat tip parts your folds, you shake slightly. He’s big. Stretching you.

You slide down onto him, mewling out as he reaches depths nobody has ever before. Your thighs give out when he bottoms out. “Fuck!” He gasps. He looks between the both of you. Watching you raise yourself up and slide back down onto him. Starting to bounce your hips on him. Riding him.

He hisses out, lifting his shirt up and pulling it over his head. You soak the jeans that wrap around his shaft. Reaching down to unbutton them. You’re whining out. The soreness of losing your virginity has subsided. Now, you just rock into him. He reaches up, taking your nipples between his thumbs and pointer fingers, rolling them between his fingers. You cry out, tipping your head back. Rocking into him back and forth until you can feel something building in your stomach. “John-“ you mewl. Hearing his name come from you in such a filthy way has him desperate. “Can’t take it baby.” He groans. He forces you over, flipping you until he’s on top of you.

He’s rough, the cot creaks beneath you as he fucks you hard. Hips hammering into you as he approaches his high. He’s sweaty and horny. Desperate for his high. You’re tight around him, the sound of him sliding into you eggs him on further. He’s trying hard to keep himself from cumming so soon, but it’s been so long. You pull him into you, kissing him to silence the both of you. He keeps his steady pace, hard, deep thrusts. He pulls away to attack your neck with his mouth. Not caring if he leaves marks on you.

“I’m gonna cum baby.” He gasps.

You look up at him. Moaning out. “Me too.” You breathe. “Cum with me sweetheart.” He breathes. “Look at me.”

He keeps your eye contact, hips moving with yours.

When you reach your climax, feeling him twitch inside of you. It’s pure bliss. Something you’ve never felt.

Something you can already tell you’ll be desperate to feel again.

He whines when he cums, riding out his high and sliding out of you. Moving to lay next to you.

It’s silent aside from the both of you panting. Coming down from your highs.

It’s him who finally breaks the silence. “I’m sorry I’ve been such an ass to you.” He mumbles. “It’s alright.” You giggle. “It’s not. I’ll be nicer I swear.” He laughs. He trails his fingers over your bare stomach. “I hope this isn’t the only time I see you like this.” He mumbles.

“I was hoping for the same thing, Captain.”

[preyseisgone]

Hi ! This is a callout post on @gloomylace also known as @clingyidol. Before I start , I hate doing these kind of things and it took me alot of effort (+ encouragement from friends ) to do this. Also please do not go and harass Lolita. Cher is a minor and I just overall do not condone harassment. I was originally going to stay quiet .

tw for , abuse , r//pe , violence suicide and more .

Before I start , “weren’t you two just friends ?” Yes but that is until this popped up in my feed. Lolita and another friend are the only two people that know about a situation that roughly happened 2 ~ ish days ago. I was insanely panicked and anxious being accused of stuff like this. I know this is Lolita on anon due to being my ONLY friend in the editblr community and the only one who knows this situation. (besides Avery, Avery isn’t on editblr or the same scenes as me) You know how deeply this affected me. So yeah kinda your fatal flaw assuming I tell my life story to more then 2 people 🤷 also STOP using fucking freyr on me. 🤍 massively appreciated. “An Ex friend” I have only one long term friend and that is Avery 🤍 I am not a fucking freak and copy people , even if I do have identity issues I know it’s weird to copy someone! This is really fucking low of you Lolita and I genuinely trusted you with information and my thoughts and feelings! But no you went behind my back for no reason. It seems like you wanted a reason to turn on me. 🤍

First of all , Lolita said this ! At the time , I did not know anything about oyasumi punpun . I don’t willfully consume media with the following topics

I am massively triggered by almost ALL of those topics . I felt like I was being essentially compared to an abuser , which overall made me feel very, very icky. When confronted about this - ( as seen in the images below )

Lolita ignored me . Cher has done this to another friend of cher’s , making an uncomfortable joke and then when confronted went on a dni and days later replied with something random . Lolita cannot take responsibility for cher’s actions. Che just ignores you essentially and then replies with something random! I am just sick of this behaviour and I will not be surprised if che or someone else will spread rumours about me JUST because I came out about this. I originally thought this wasn’t serious enough to be a call-out post and I felt like I was being overdramatic.

these two screenshots ^ .

multiple people (including me) have had their mental health DRAINED due to your actions. You have lied multiple times. It’s also such a coincidence that hate anons seem to follow you around and when asked you blame it on your exes ? In reality you probably sent them and you sent someone into a really bad episode! You make baseless claims off of little to no proof, broke SEVERAL boundaries of one of your ex partners. You also compared one of your bfs to someone who abused you which is just! plain! fucking wrong. You claim to have high empathy / sympathy and yet when someone who is also mentally ill did not react well over small things you went to shittalk them to their boyfriend.

props to you if you defend a liar and someone who makes nazi jokes xx lying about your exes stalking and harassing you is fucking crazy! Also sent my personal messages to someone and talked shit about me so yeah !

@artistrydoll + @magnoliawriter please reblog if you see this . ^_^

[xxdrowninglessonsxx]

DNI IF ANGRY AT WHAT I HAVE TO SAY OR YOU WILL BE BLOCKED. SICK OF THE HARASSMENT.

Two months ago people would have been hyping me up for criticizing the two-party system, but now I just get comments telling me how I’m the reason trans people don’t have rights or why other minorities don’t have rights. I’m trans, 22 years old, and live in Appalachia. I can promise you I’m not the reason trans people don’t have rights. We don’t have rights because society is rigged against us. We don’t have rights because we never have. We don’t have rights because the candidates we vote for to give us rights, never do what is promised. They rarely fulfill their campaign promises, so why would I want to support someone who has no intention of actually helping me or the other people they claim to want to help? Just so we can be “comfortable” for another 4 years until we get to the 4th year and wonder why no change was made and why we have to pick between 2 evils again?

Just because I question the system we live in and actually stand up for what I believe in, doesn’t make me complicit in my own suffering. Actually, it’s quite the opposite. Get a life and stop harassing trans people and other minorities for not following blindly to whatever bullshit you spew while simultaneously using them to prop up your stance. It’s actually kind of fucked up. I vote in my local elections and the primaries. Never have I once said I wasn’t going to vote, and the people insinuating that don’t know me as a person in real life. You sit behind a computer screen arguing for the sake of arguing. Just because I don’t know who I’m voting for for sure, doesn’t make me the devil, and trying to force and harass other people into going along with “VOTE BLUE NO MATTER WHO” only makes you look worse. You’re allowed to vote for whoever you want for, just as much as I am. It’s almost like that’s the point of voting. You’re allowed to announce who you’re voting for or what your stances are; it’s almost like that’s in the 1st amendment. You’re fed up. I’m fed up. We have the same goals but different ways of going about it.

I’ve held the exact stance that the two-party system is shit for years, and never have I ever been more attacked than by Harris supporters. I haven’t ever had a republican come on my page to guilt trip me about my own identity and tell me I’m the reason that my community is in jeopardy, but you democrats sure love to attack minorities who want change just as bad as you when they don’t fully agree with you. Or you use trans rights to make a lame point, despite the fact you’re literally using someone’s identity against them in order to make them feel bad for not following your specific pick for president who literally supports genocide just as much as the other one does. Please spare me the bullshit on how Trump is worse and plans to take our rights away. We as a collective know. I voted for Biden in the previous election. What’s to stop Trump from running again in the next one if he loses this one? It’s clear his age won’t stop him.

Some people need time to grapple with what’s at stake in this election, and it’s not fair to bombarde them with hate in order to convince them to make a choice when both parties go against their morals and have gone against their morals. Hate and the “better than thou” attitude is the exact reason they don’t like your cause.

I’m sick of people acting like voting blue for President will prevent the end of the world or whatever the fuck you think. Other elections matter as well, not just presidential. Democrats love to sit comfortably while their President is in office, so comfortably that they forget that organizing for change matters. They forget that we should be lobbying for ranked choice voting. They forget that we should be lobbying against the electoral college.

Have you taken a look at your candidate’s benefactors recently? Do you know any response other than, “Well, what do you suppose we do about it?” when asked about Palestine’s plight? How should I know? I’m a lower-class person who makes about $10,000 a year with no voice but my vote. I’ve emailed and called my representatives. I’ve done all I can do. I’ve donated what little money I can to causes I believe in. It’s not my job to step up. I have been stepping up. It’s our politicians job to step up. It’s the billionaires who fund our politicians who need to step up.

It’s not anyone but your candidate’s fault if they lose in the election. Quit blaming the innocent people who do nothing but work their asses off just to scrape by into being complicit with you and your corporate-controlled parties who only want to pass whatever agenda will make them the most money. The parties who allow the rich to get richer while the poor get poorer. Y’all loved saying Palestine was your red line when Biden was running, but suddenly everything is different now? It doesn’t make sense to me, and it must be fun being privileged enough to jump from one cause to the next as trends cycle because you don’t live in Palestine, and it doesn’t effect you. You are not immune to propaganda just as much as I am not immune.

“A man who stands for nothing will fall for anything.” - Malcom X

That being said, I understand the appeal of voting for Kamala and why you would. I understand the fear. I experience the fear every single day. So go out, vote, and use your voice. Stop making others feel bad. Going after the people who relatively agree with you is not helping your cause, it is hurting it, and it will be what causes you to lose the election.

[fortheloveofwonderland]

Rusty | Chapter 2 | S.R

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

Chapter Summary - As you arrive at Spencer’s ranch, an intrusive look around his home offers some insight into the stranger. Meanwhile Spencer has his injuries seen to whilst taking a nostalgic glance down memory lane.

Paring - Spencer Reid / Fem! Reader

Category - strangers to friends to lovers | angst | smut minors DNI

Warnings - antidepressant medication, smoking, hospitals, mentions of Spencer’s past canon injuries, pain relief, bisexual Spencer and talk of sexuality, a rundown of Spencer’s past sexual encounters, brief mention of past drug addiction and Maeve, mentions of casual sex, talk of prison, broken bones.

WC - 6.5k

Chapter 2 - Take Me Home, Country Road

As promised the large creature led you to the strangers ranch, but at her slow gait it had taken almost an hour to travel four miles. It was a pain to drive so slowly, feeding her slices of apple and carrot out of the car window every five or so minutes. 

By the time she led you off the main road and up a dirt path, your hand was almost black from feeding her. 

You travelled a little further up the path until you came to what you assumed was the lodge Spencer had told you about. 

You slowed the car to a stop and cut the engine, opening the door and sliding out before giving Willow the final piece of fruit from the bag. 

“I have to say, I’m impressed.” You nodded at her, tentatively reaching up and patting the side of her face. 

She mewled and nuzzled against your hand in appreciation. It might have been the first time you let your guard slip a little. 

She was huge and imposing, terrifying from the offset to someone who had never spent any time around horses. But now as you looked at her, really looked at her, you saw her beauty.

She was a stunning greyish blue, with slight dappling in her coat. Her mane was nearly black, long and sleek. Her large eyes were a deep brown, almost as intense and alluring at her owners.

She was broad and tall, intimidating yet graceful. She made a soft snuffling sound as she slowly turned around and started trotting in the direction of the lodge. 

You quickly followed her, making a grab for one of her reins in case she wandered off somewhere she shouldn’t. She led you passed the old lodge and further up a slight incline to where the ground levelled out again and you caught sight of where she was heading. 

Up ahead was the stable Spencer had told you about and she took you right to it. Upon reaching it you unlatched the large barn doors and heaved one opened, Willow already making a move inside. 

As told there were two more horses inside, one brown and one jet black and both slightly smaller in size than Willow. They eyed you up as you passed by and you tried to keep your head down. 

There were three empty paddocks, two of which you could tell weren’t in use. Willow knew where to go and led you to her own. 

She was content in being motioned inside and once her whole body was in, you closed the fence behind her, latching it like the others. 

She headed straight for the trough of food - despite the snacks you’d bestowed on her - and happily started munching away at her dinner. 

The black horse was near his own fence, eyes boring into you as you offered Willow another pat on the side of her back. 

The darker horse seemed wary of you, making little grunts of disapproval at your presence. The auburn horse didn’t pay you too much attention.

“Trust me, I don’t want to be here just as much as you don’t want me to be here.” You held your hands up in surrender. “I’m leaving, don’t worry.” 

You backed out of the stable, keeping your eyes on the dark stallion as you went. Once outside you were quick to close the doors and fix the latch in place. 

Spinning around, it was too dark to make out the extent of his land. Given that he had at least two lodges, a stable and he’d mentioned cattle you assumed had must have a reasonable amount of acreage. 

You padded back toward the lodge you’d passed earlier and fished out the keys. You really should hit the road, you could drive down to Mexico before Spencer was even released from hospital. When they inevitably rang you, asking after the fake name you’d given, you could tell them they had the wrong number.

Or simply ignore the call. 

Staying in one place for too long could be dangerous. However Spencer’s ranch was certainly secluded, no other buildings or claimed land for miles you would ascertain. So if you had to lay low somewhere for the night, this was probably the best place to do so. 

You climbed the creaky wooden stairs to his lodge and located the largest key on the loop before slipping it in the lock. You pushed the door open and fumbled for a light switch. 

Finding one and flicking it, the room was suddenly awash with light and you had to blink a few times at the onslaught. 

Adjusting to the light you glanced around the small quarters. The floor and the walls were all the same wood as the outside and it was furnished minimally. 

There was a single leather couch beneath the back window and a small coffee table in front of it stained with coffee rings. A newspaper sat folded neatly on the corner, upon closer inspection you frowned curiously at the copy of The Washington Post dated today. 

Next to the couch was a large bookshelf that spanned from floor to ceiling and books were packed in so tightly it looked fit to burst. Another stack of books was on the floor next to it, unable to stuff a single extra hardback on the shelves.

You run your fingers along old, cracked spines. His collection covered everything from War and Peace in its original Russian, an extremely old and battered copy of a book titled The Log of a Cowboy, to poetry anthologies and books on behavioural profiling. 

Eclectic and diverse, neither things you expected from a cowboy. 

The key to his second lodge hung by the door like he said and you should take it and leave. But you’d always been a little too curious, couldn’t stop yourself from continuing around the small abode.

To the right of the door was a kitchen, if you could really call it that. It was essentially a small breakfast bar separating it from the living space and another counter that held a microwave and an stove top that looked as though it had never been used. 

On the breakfast bar was an empty mug of what you presumed had once held coffee judging by the smell and an extremely outdated cell phone. There was a book next to it, closed with a sliver of paper sticking out you presumed to mark his page. There was a fridge which you couldn’t help but peer into - he did tell you to help yourself - but it was mostly baron. 

It held a half empty glass bottle of milk, a small tub of butter, two sad and lonely looking microwave meals and a couple of half eaten tubs of Chinese take out. 

Closing the fridge you dared breach beyond, stepping past the fridge towards a closed door. You opened it and stepped into his bedroom, switching on another light. 

His king sized bed took up most of the space and was made with near military precision with an olive green bedspread. The pillows were neatly fluffed and the sheet tucked crisply over the top. 

The bed on one side was pushed up against the large window with its blinds tilted almost fully closed. Without opening them, you peered between the slats but given the darkness outside you couldn’t see much of anything. 

The side of the bed that wasn’t cast against the wall had a nightstand next to it with another six or seven books piled up on it, almost entirely obscuring an old alarm clock. 

There was a wardrobe in one corner which you pushed forward to and swung open its double doors. 

Most of the clothes were reminiscent of what you’d seen him wear today: various cuts of jeans in different washes, multiple plain t-shirts in a variety of colours, several more denim shirts in both blue and black and an array of flannel shirts in all kinds of colours. 

Rifling through them a little, you did come across something more curious. 

At the back of the closet hung several knitted sweater vests, a couple of crisp button downs and two pairs of black slacks. You found them to be out of place in this man’s closet, and given their proximity, hidden away at the back you found it a little strange.

There was something soft and plush on the floor, kicked towards the back but you ignored it. Shaking your head you closed the closet and turned back into the room. 

On the other wall was a desk with a small stool tucked underneath. On the desk was yet another stack of books - you didn’t peg a cowboy to be as big of a reader - and two framed photographs.

The photographs were the only personal touch in the place. You picked up the first one and studied it. The man in the image was most certainly the injured cowboy but he looked to be at least ten years younger you would surmise. 

His hair was a little shorter, still messy and curly. He had his arms wrapped around an older woman with short white hair you could only hazard to guess was his mother. It was just a head and shoulders shot but you could vaguely make out he seemed to be wearing a sweater vest similar to one in his closet.

The other photograph was of a group of eight people, four men and four women. Spencer was in the middle, one arm slung around the shoulders of a blonde woman dressed in bright, garish colours with thick rimmed glasses and his other around the shoulders of an older man with grey hair and a grey beard. 

Aside from the grey haired man, they all looked to be around a similar age, and they were all smiling brightly at the camera. In this picture you could see Spencer was wearing a pale pink button down, tie and black slacks. It looked to be fairly recently, maybe no more than a few years old. 

You scanned the faces and your eyes narrowed on the man on the end who had a large goofy smile on his face and an arm slung around the shoulder of a woman with raven hair. 

He was latino, with jet black hair swept off of his face. His large dark eyes were expressive and his smile reached all the way to them. You rolled your bottom lip between your teeth, brow furrowing as you took in the details of his face. 

There was something about him that caused a knot to form in your stomach but you couldn’t place it, couldn’t put a name to what you were feeling. 

Shaking your head again and replacing the photo on the desk you glanced around again. 

It was clear he lived here alone. There were no feminine touches, nothing to point to the idea that he shared his home with someone else, woman or man. The bed even dipped a little on one side, a clear indicator that it was only slept in by one person. 

You carried on through to the bathroom but it wasn’t until you started going through his medicine cabinet that you realised what an invasion of privacy this was. 

This man had been nice enough to give you a place to stay for the night when you’d been belligerent. He’d offered you his home while he was in hospital and you were repaying him by snooping in his life. 

And now you stood in his bathroom with a half empty orange pill bottle, the label of which read Paroxetine.

Returning it to the cabinet and closing it, you couldn’t ignore the curiosity that was pulsing through you and without really meaning to, you pulled out your phone and googled it. 

Paroxetine - Brand Name: Seroxat - is a type of antidepressant known as a selective serotonin reuptake inhibitor (SSRI). It’s often used to treat depression, and sometimes obsessive compulsive disorder (OCD), panic attacks, anxiety or post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD). 

You read the words in your head, hand gripping the phone tightening. Now you felt guilty. You should not have been rummaging through his things like this, unearthing secrets about a man you barely knew. 

But now you did know he suffered from some kind of mental health issue and you would have to see him again and pretend you knew nothing of it. You couldn’t imagine living out here on his own like this was helpful to his mental health. But it wasn’t your problem, not your concern. 

You forced yourself to leave after that, the guilt clutching at your chest for snooping in the first place. You grabbed the keys to the spare lodge, switched the lights off and exited this stranger's home. 

You stepped out onto the porch but before you could get too far you lowered yourself to the top step. Your firearm which was still tucked into the back of your pants shifted a little as you did so. 

You pulled out a packet of cigarettes from inside of your jacket. You weren’t a regular smoker but on occasion you enjoyed the relief that came with having one. 

You lit one and took a long drag on it, staring out at the quiet expanse of land rolling out into the darkness. 

This was so far removed from anything you’d ever known, this way of living was so out of the realms of normal to you. 

You’d been born and raised in the city, surrounded by people and tall buildings and a constant swell of traffic on the roads. Your life was always bright and loud, chaotic in a sense. But this place brought about a certain peace. 

You watched the smoke dance up into the still air and as you followed it, your eyes landed on the sky. Out here, away from all the light pollution of the big city, you had an uninhibited view of the stars. 

You felt your chest tighten in a kind of whimsy. You’d never experienced the sky in such a way, unhindered, uncensored. You’d never had a chance to just sit and watch the sky, take in the beautiful pin pricks of light that decorated the dark blanket above you. 

It was so quiet. The only sounds you could discern were the tiny crackle of the cigarette paper as you took a drag and the occasional snuffle coming from one of the horses in the stable. 

In a sense, you could understand why people choose to live like this. It was tranquil, soothing. You almost felt yourself cleansed as you sat there. 

Maybe you could put Mexico on the back burner. Perhaps this place was the perfect haven for you to remain hidden away and maybe you’d even get some clarity and peace of mind while you did so. 

That was to say, if Spencer was okay with you hanging around. He seemed to be a loner type, living out here alone with his horses and cattle. Maybe he wouldn’t appreciate an uninvited guest. 

But you had saved his life in a sense, didn’t he owe you? 

Being out here in this sleepy sanctuary, the quiet and the pull of nature were only part of the appeal. The injured cowboy who had opened his home to you was not at all hard on the eyes, quite the opposite in fact. 

And on top of that he intrigued you. There was something in his eyes when he looked at you that told you he’d seen some things. There was a slight crack in his foundation, a chink in his armour which was further proven looking around his home. 

There was a reason someone had such few personal items, causes for a person to live so far off the grid like this. 

You dragged on the cigarette as your brows furrowed in contemplation. Perhaps he was running from something just as you were. Maybe the two of you weren’t so different. 

He most certainly had a story to tell and for some reason, unbeknownst to you, you wanted to hear it. You wanted to bury yourself deep in the tale of this lonely cowboy by the name of Spencer Reid. 

You finished the cigarette and dropped it to the floor before descending the stairs and stamping it out with the heel of your sneaker. Returning to your car you popped the trunk and grabbed out the small duffel bag before heading back up past the stable to the other near identical lodge. 

Somehow this one was even more sparsely decorated than his own. There was a single couch, no coffee table and no bookshelves bursting at the seams. The kitchen layout was identical minus the microwave and upon further inspection the fridge was empty and unplugged from the wall. 

The bedroom had a small double bed, but much like his own it was made with precision. This one wasn’t pushed up against the window like his own but in the centre of the room. There were no nightstands, no desk, just a small chest of drawers in the corner. 

You dumped your duffle bag on the bed and kicked off your sneakers before padding through to the bathroom. As he said there were clean towels hanging on the back of the door. It only occurred to you then that you’d been driving for days and hadn’t showered since the day you jumped in a car and left everything behind. 

Making quick work of stripping out of your clothes, setting your gun down next to the sink and switching on the shower, you were soon standing under the flow of warm water. You inhaled deeply before slowly exhaling the breath through your nose as the water coursed around you.

The water pressure left a lot to be desired but it was a decent temperature and it would at least clean you. There were little bottles of what appeared to be hotel shampoos and body wash lining the bathtub which you helped yourself to.

You washed your hair before turning your attention to your body and cleaning yourself thoroughly after days spent inside your car. You massaged the aching muscles of your neck and shoulders, lathering up the body wash as you did so. You stretched your back and your limbs, only really now taking heed of how sore you were from being confined to your vehicle for so many hours. 

You supposed you couldn’t complain, imagining what Spencer was going through in the hospital. 

You finished your shower and got dried before changing into a pair of shorts and tank top from your duffel bag. You carefully untucked the sheet from one side of the bed and slid beneath it. 

Your eyes closed as soon as your head hit the soft pillow. You sunk into the mattress, the smell of clean linen wafting around you. 

You were asleep within minutes of crawling into the strange bed. 

***

Given the late hour in which he’d been admitted, as Spencer suspected he was required to spend the night in the hospital. 

He was taken for x-rays of his knee, back and arm and pumped with fluids via an IV to combat his dehydration. 

It had grown awkward rather quickly when a nurse tried to offer him something for his pain and he’d had to explain that he didn’t take opioids without actually having to explain why. 

The pain was manageable at least in comparison to some other times he’d landed himself in hospital. But if he could refuse morphine after being shot in the neck, shot in the knee and whilst suffering from anthrax poisoning, he could go without now. 

He accepted a couple of Tylenol to help him rest while he awaited the results of the x-rays and honestly it did help. It eased the aching in his back and the pain in his extremities enough for him to close his eyes and drift a little, although he didn’t quite reach the allusive REM stages sleep. 

With his mind more at ease he was consumed by thoughts of you, the stranger that had saved him from being eaten alive by desert critters and potentially his own animal companion. 

It was only really now he allowed himself to dwell on just how breathtaking you were. He’d told you he thought you were pretty, but that was doing you a disservice. 

It had been more years than Spencer could count since he’d last been so taken by another person. His history when it came to physicality or matters of the heart was painfully thin, more a pamphlet than book. 

Ethan had been the first person he’d ever had romantic feelings towards when he was just a teenager. It was also with Ethan that he’d first explored sexually. 

Up until his kiss with Lila Archer in her pool he’d assumed himself to be only interested in men. She was the first woman he’d ever been attracted to and their kiss had certainly sparked something within him. 

Years later, after Gideon left, after his battle with dilaudid, somewhere between accusing his father of murder and getting shot in the knee, he reconnected with her during the course of another case in LA. After a few drinks and some not-so-subtle flirting on her part, he found himself in her bed. 

She was the first woman he’d been with sexually and still to this day there was only one other woman he’d been with in that way. After Maeve’s death he’d been in a bad way and had ended up in the bed of a woman he met in a bar. It was nice, maybe more perfunctory than anything, but then again he’d felt the same with Lila. 

He was certainly attracted to both of the women and had been towards other women over the years - he’d thought Elle Greenaway to be beautiful and as much as he hated to admit it Cat Adams had a certain allure. And of course there had been Maeve, who he’d been consumed by without even seeing her face.

He often wondered if they’d had a chance to meet if their intimacy would have been different, perhaps because they had a deeper attachment with one another. But in his limited experience he’d never quite connected to a woman the same way he did with men. 

Again, it wasn’t to say he had a wealth of experience with the same sex either. After Ethan there was a long gap in Spencer’s sexual history, the next time he was with another man was long after Lila. It was a casual thing, he supposed it was a booty call kind of arrangement that never really did sit right with Spencer, yet he continued it for almost half a year. 

And then more recently he’d been involved in something more serious with a man for the first time. They’d started dating prior to his arrest and the relationship had continued after his release. 

However, Spencer’s time spent on the inside had driven him into the dark recesses of the human mind. What he’d experienced in prison caused him to view sex and intimacy in a different light. 

Even after months of therapy and medication being prescribed, Spencer was unable to allow himself to be intimate with his boyfriend and as such the relationship had ultimately ended. They managed to remain friends, more out of necessity than a true desire to do so, but things had never been the same. 

Since his incarceration, the idea of relationships of a physical or emotional variety, regardless of gender, had been off the table for Spencer. Part of the appeal of moving out to Bandera in the middle of nowhere was the social isolation. 

For years he’d been content on his own, not happy but honestly he wasn't sure he’d ever really been happy per se. But it was entirely probable, if he allowed himself to dwell on it, that he was incredibly lonely. 

Since moving to Bandera two years ago he’d barely had any interaction with anyone, let alone anything meaningful. He went to the store once a week for groceries and exchanged pleasantries with the kindly elderly lady that worked the check out line. He had encounters with other ranchers in town when he saw them, mostly conversations pertaining to cattle rearing and farming.  

He spoke to the old members of his team on the phone from time to time although the longer he was gone, they calls became few and far between. Penelope called him more than the others, usually once every few weeks and they would spend a good amount of time talking about everything and anything. Jennifer called once a month, sometimes there was longer between the calls and Emily and Rossi phoned him once in a blue moon.

He had the rare text exchange with Matt and Tara and, even less frequently Luke, but it had been a long time since he’d heard any of their voices. 

So for the most part, he was alone, his horses and cattle his only company. But that had been by design, Spencer intentionally shut himself off from the world to save any further disappointment in his life or the having to explain why he was such a damn basket case to anyone. 

And then you appeared on the side of that abandoned stretch of road and saved him from uncertain death. You had ignited something in Spencer he thought had long ago been burned out. And now maybe the idea of being alone didn’t appeal to him quite so much anymore. 

But of course he inevitably would be. You’d made it clear that you were in a hurry to get somewhere and certainly wouldn’t be sticking around longer than you had to. Perhaps it was for the best, he wasn’t exactly keen on the idea of sharing his neuroticism with you. 

He was awoken from his drifting by a young doctor with friendly eyes. She introduced herself as Doctor Rhodes and offered Spencer a cup of water which he gratefully took despite his IV fluid intake earlier. 

She had a folder under her arm which she opened now, he could see the x-rays peeking out from within. 

“You should consider yourself very lucky, Mister Reid.” She began.

There was a time when Spencer would have corrected her misuse of his title but since relocating to Texas he’d left his honorific behind in an attempt to feel more normal.

Internally he was screaming, Doctor Reid, it’s Doctor Reid, not Mister! Externally he remained silent. 

“The swelling in your knee is already subsiding and it doesn’t appear that you’ve done any muscle or tissue damage. It may be sore for a few days, but it should get better over time. Your spinal x-rays didn’t show any damage either, the radiologist did note some bruising on your lower back but again the pain should ease up.” She informed him with a smile.

“Thanks, it’s easing up already a little.” He nodded stiffly.

“As for your arm, you have a hairline fracture in both your ulna and radius at the farthest distal end of the bones.” She held up an x-ray of his left arm and Spencer squinted, making out the small area in which his arm had broken thanks to the wild horse. “Again, this is a very favourable outcome, I see a lot of injuries of this nature due to the number of rodeos and ranches nearby and I have to say this is very minor in comparison to what could have happened.” 

“Okay, that’s good.” He nodded again. “So, what, I need a cast or something?” 

“Had it been more severe you may have needed surgery to fix the brake but in this instance a cast should suffice. I imagine six weeks in a cast at most and you should be good to go, Mister Reid.” 

Doctor, Doctor Reid.

“Can I still ride? I don’t have any other form of transport other than my horses.” He rolled his lip between his teeth.

“That would really depend on how competent of a rider you are. If you think you’re safe to ride one handed then that’s really your call. I would suggest, given the fall and the residual pain you might be feeling in your patella and lumbar, to give it at least a few days before you attempt to get back in the saddle, literally.” She chuckled at her own bad pun. 

Spencer’s own lip quirked a little at the corner. 

“Okay super.” Spencer nodded. 

“I’ll send in a nurse to get your arm set and then I don’t foresee any reason you can’t be discharged. I’ll write you a script for some more Tylenol,” she glanced at her notes with a small brow furrow. “I understand you turned down anything stronger?”

“I, uh, I have a history with opioids. I’d rather not go into it.” He shrunk down a little in the bed. He didn’t need to go further into detail, it was clear what he meant. 

Doctor Rhodes offered him a slightly melancholy smile and a nod of her head, closing the folder and slotting it back under her arm. 

“Say no more. I’ll send a nurse in as soon as possible and then barring any complications you should be able to go home.” 

“What time is it?” He frowned. He’d lost all sense of time, had no idea how long he’d been drifting on the cusp of sleep for. 

Doctor Rhodes raised her left arm, shirked her lab coat out of the way and checked her watch. 

“A little after six am.” She spoke as she glanced back at him. 

“Oh man,” Spencer pulled a face feeling suddenly disorientated. “I had no idea I closed my eyes for so long.” 

“Dehydration can have that effect. You should be feeling much better now we’ve pumped you full of fluids.” Rhodes smiled once more, giving a brisk nod of her head before turning on her heels. “I don’t want to see you back here after another botched animal rescue okay?” 

Spencer chuckled lightly to himself, nestling his head back against the pillows. 

“I make no promises.” He yawned as he spoke. 

A small titter met his ears and seconds later Doctor Rhodes was gone. 

***

You were rudely awoken from an extremely peaceful night’s sleep in a ridiculously comfy bed by the sound of your phone ringing. 

You had to drag yourself out from between the soft sheets to locate your jeans where your phone was cradled in the pocket. 

You pulled your legs under your body on the cool hardwood floor and blinked a few times at the device before answering the call. 

“H-hello?” You croaked, eyes heavy with sleep and your head spinning in unfamiliarity. 

“Miss Parker?” A female voice assaulted your ears. 

You frowned, closing one eye and inhaling deeply. 

“Uh…sorry I think you have the wrong number.” You grumbled, rubbing at your forehead to ease the confusion. 

Light swarmed the room through open blinds and you took in the neutral decor trying to ascertain where you were. The last few days had been a blur, you couldn’t quite bring to memory where you’d ended up. 

“Oh…” the confusion was evident down the phone. “My apologies. I have you listed as an emergency contact on a patient discharge form.” 

Emergency contact? Discharge form? What was she…oh…oh! 

“Oh right, sorry, yes!” Your brain started to lift from the fog that was surrounding it. “Cowboy dude, uh, Sp…Spencer?” 

“You do know Mister Reid?” The voice sounded even more befuddled.

“Yes, yes, good friend of mine.” You lied. “Sorry I just woke up, I’m a little disoriented. Has he been discharged?” 

“He’s just filling out his discharge papers and said you would be collecting him.” 

“Yes, of course.” You nodded sleepily. “Uh…what hospital is he in?” 

There was a short stretch of silence, you ran your free hand through your hair while you waited for confirmation.

“University Health in San Antonio.” The voice replied.

Right, no help at all.

“I’ll, uh, be there as soon as I can.” You nodded again, mostly to yourself. 

“Very well.” The clipped female voice replied. “I will have him wait in the main lobby once he’s completed his paperwork, Miss Parker.” 

Soon after the woman hung up and you dropped your cell phone to your lap. You rubbed your eyes and stretched out your legs. 

Signing a fake name on the patient form last night had been a force of habit. You were trying to run away, trying to fly under the radar and it would have been a potentially disastrous oversight had you given the EMT’s your real name. Giving over your phone number had been risky enough, but hopefully not damning. 

You picked the phone back up and almost googled the hospital for its address before cursing under your breath. You couldn’t risk leaving an internet paper trail, even though you doubted it would put you in harm's way, it wasn’t worth it. Hopefully you could find the route the good old fashioned way, with the use of the paper map in your car.

Pushing yourself back up to your feet you remembered Spencer mentioning the nearest hospital being about forty five miles away and you groaned to yourself. You’d appreciated the decent night’s sleep you’d gotten but at what cost? 

You found your duffle bag and dressed in clean underwear, the same black jeans you’d been wearing yesterday, a clean tank top under an oversized blue and black checked sweatshirt. You collected up your belongings, firearm and Spencer’s keys included, before padding your way to the door. 

You grabbed a quick glass of water before leaving the lodge, wondering if you may entertain the idea of staying another night in this safe haven or if you would never step foot inside that cabin again. You locked the door behind you and took the steps down, bag slung over your arm. 

You exchanged his keys for your car key and drew a cigarette from its packet as you walked. You opened the car and dumped the bag on the backseat, returning your firearm to the glove compartment and starting the engine. 

You lit the cigarette cradled between your lips whilst rolling down the window, picking up the map from the passenger's seat and scrutinising it. Holding the cigarette out the open window, your other hand drew a path on the map towards your destination.

It was a good job you had a decent sense of direction otherwise this would have been made impossible without a GPS system. 

You tossed the map aside and took a drag on the cigarette as you cranked up the radio. You slid the car into reverse and turned around until you were facing the dirt road that led out of Spencer’s ranch.

Once you hit the road you slammed your foot on the accelerator and sped along through the isolated desert with your hand out the window and the breeze ruffling your hair. 

***

Spencer limped almost comically towards the open car door whilst you leant against the side of the vehicle offering no help whatsoever. His purple casted arm was cradled against his dirty t-shirt. 

“Probably should have asked you to bring me some clean clothes.” He grumbled, noticing you eyeing his dusty attire. 

“Hmm so you could further exploit the kindness of a stranger?” Your lip twitched into a small smirk. 

“Oh I’m sorry, did you not enjoy spending a free night at my ranch?” He scoffed, hobbling closer and wincing a little as he did so. 

“Eh, it was okay.” You held open the door for him. 

Spencer rolled his eyes and slowly lowered himself into the passenger seat, trying to avoid putting any unnecessary weight on his sore knee. He groaned as he swung his legs inside. 

You closed the door behind him before rounding the car to the driver’s side and quickly starting the engine. Spencer removed his stetson and laid it in his lap, cradling his arm closer to his chest. 

Soon you were pulling away from the front of the hospital and heading back towards the memorised route. 

“So, broken arm, huh?” You asked as you drove, sending him a sidelong glance. 

“Apparently I was lucky. Don’t feel very lucky if I’m honest.” He grumbled again. 

“You’ll be fine, big tough cowboy, like you.” You smirked to yourself. 

“Big and tough?” He turned his head to face you. “I can categorically say no one has ever referred to me as big and tough.” 

“I thought it kinda went with the territory. Rangling cattle, riding horses.” You teased in a fake southern drawl. 

“Hmm.” He simply responded, clearly unamused. “So you’re names Elizabeth? Elizabeth Parker? I saw it on the intake form.” 

“Indeed.” You nodded, keeping your eyes focused on the road. 

“Huh.” He mused, narrowing his eyes on you. 

“What?” Your forehead pinched into a frown. 

“Nothing,” he shook his head. “Just heard that name before.” 

“I’m sure it's a very common name.” You shrugged. 

His gaze on the side of your face was making you feel a little uncomfortable and you tried to ignore it but his eyes bore into you heavily. You gripped the wheel tightly, hearing him shift slightly in his seat. 

“You know where I think I‘ve heard it?” His tone held a thinly veiled hint of amusement. 

“Where?” You sighed in frustration. 

“Clyde Barrow and Bonnie Elizabeth Parker of Bonnie and Clyde fame.” He noticed the way your back straightened in your chair, how your grip tightened on the wheel. 

You huffed out a breath and rolled your eyes.

“Fine, you caught me. My name is not Elizabeth Parker.” You confessed in a slightly irked tone. 

“So what is it?” 

“Does it really matter?” You grumbled.

“Well, seeing as you know my name and you’ve stayed at my ranch, it would be nice to know your name.” He shrugged, shifting again in his seat and struggling to find a position that didn’t ache his back. 

“Y/N.” You spoke under your breath, half hoping he wouldn’t hear you over the radio. 

He did.

“Y/N…?” 

“Just Y/N. Consider me like Cher or Madonna. No last name.” You murmured. 

To your surprise, Spencer chuckled, shaking his head in amusement. He brushed his hair back off of his face with his good hand and sat back against the chair. 

“Okay, Y/N. I guess it’s nice to meet you. And I suppose a thank you is in order, seeing how you kinda sorta saved my life.” His laughter subsided and he glanced at you seriously. 

You offered him a brief look before focusing back out the windshield, your lip tugging a little at the corner. 

“Kinda sorta?” You cocked an eyebrow. “Dude, I totally saved your life. You’re forever indebted to me now.” 

Spencer smiled to himself, the sound of your laugh alleviating his pain momentarily. He turned his attention out of the window as you sped down the road. He wouldn’t at all mind the idea of that, he’d take any excuse to keep you close. 

@andiebeaword @muffin-cup @measure-in-pain @dreatine @matthew-gray-gubler-lover @people-whatabunchofbastards @spencer-reid-wonderland @thebloomingeagle @kalulakunundrum @small-and-violent @voledart

[ohforficsakelibrary]

Woodsmoke

masterlist

Pairing: Frankie Morales x Gender Neutral Reader. No physical descriptions of reader beyond having hair. Reader has a cat. Established but new-ish, implied long-distance-ish relationship.

Summary: Life has been running you ragged lately, but someone is waiting for you when you get home. For a moment, you don't have to be strong.

Trigger Warnings: Mentions of difficult family life, attending therapy, absent parents, wounded inner child, loneliness as a general theme. If I've missed anything, please do tell me.

Word Count: ~1.6K

Rating: General? Two curse words and some kissin'. The remainder of my work is 18+ / minors DNI.

A/N: I do not know about y'all but I have been going through it lately. And Frankie Morales is my comfort character. This is not along the lines of my usual writing, and for that reason, I haven't tagged anyone. But I'm sharing it on the off chance that you, like me, just need a hug. I know this time of year isn't the easiest for a lot of us, and I hope maybe this gives you a little comfort. Comfort!Frankie, if you will. Please heed the warnings and read with care.

You are worthy of love.

You don’t have time to cry.

Not right now, on this highway, snowflakes flying towards you like crystalline stars at a speed twenty miles per hour slower than the speed you’d be moving at if they weren’t.

You can’t see the lines on the road even without tears in your eyes.

One thing at a time.

Like everything lately.

Just follow the tracks of the car in front of you until it gets you home.

Home to your house that’s empty save for a grumpy tabby cat.

Most days you swear your existence hinges on his.

He’s been your thing to look forward to for the last fifteen years.

Well, and Frankie is visiting this week. 

Provided that this storm doesn’t shut the airport down.

Fuck.

It’s not that you hadn’t been doing well without him. 

It’s that you hadn’t been doing well.

Too long without a mental break. Exhaustion that seeps with the cold into your bones.

Too many things on a to-do list that you can’t bring yourself to do on the weekends because it’s too long and your own time is so short.

Maybe it’s some malefic arrangement of stars and planets, perhaps.

You haven’t even started buying holiday gifts. 

And it sends you face-first into the dread of making a trip back home.

The place that was supposed to be your home.

And dread is the correct word, even if your therapist says you're making real progress. 

See, the thing is, your therapist doesn’t have to sit in the contents of the box of shit you dug out from the corner of your brain and emptied all over the floor of your mind.

She only helps you sort through it every other Tuesday.

It was in the box for a reason.

It was easier to carry that way.

_____

When finally you pull into your driveway and step out into fresh snow, it’s the smell that hits you first.

Woodsmoke.

Someone has started up the wood stove so that you don’t go cold, but you hadn’t been expecting company. You figure it’s your best friend who has a key and a standing invitation, and you’re not necessarily opposed to them being here. 

Sharing a bottle of wine would probably do you some good.

You stomp snow from your shoes and step inside to offer your layers to the hooks on the wall of the mudroom before you catch sight of the boots in the tray as you toe yours off.

“Frankie?!”

“One sec, babe!”

Frankie.

You wrench open the door that leads through to the kitchen and catch sight of him in front of the sink where he’s draining steaming water from a pot of pasta.

He looks up at you across the kitchen and winks.

“Frankie,” you breathe and he quickly pops the pot back onto a dead burner, slinging oven mitts off a fraction of a second before you collide with his chest.

“Baby,” he whispers, locking you in with an arm around the small of your back and the other at the nape of your neck. 

He smells of woodsmoke and cedar and Frankie.

Smells like home.

“You weren’t supposed to be here for another two days,” you pull back and look up into brown eyes framed by mirth-filled creases.

“I was keeping an eye on the weather,” he urges you against him again to nuzzle into your hair, “didn’t want to wait. There’s another front coming behind this one. Took an Uber from the airport. Got in about an hour ago.”

Pilots and their forecasts.

“I’m glad you didn’t wait.”

“So am I,” he tilts your chin up and presses his lips to yours. Soft and sweet. Perfect.

“I made pasta, thought you’d be hungry when you got in.” He grins against your mouth before turning back to the stove to stir tomato sauce. “There wasn’t much in the fridge, but there’s plenty for tonight.” Frankie turns off the burner.

And it’s so new, having a man in your kitchen. 

Making you dinner.

“Yeah, I’m sorry, I haven’t had the chance to go to the store,” you rake a hand through your hair as he winds a corkscrew into a bottle of wine.

So new, having arms to fall into.

“Don't apologize, babe. We’ll go tomorrow,” he sneaks another kiss as he fills your glass, one hand absently rubbing your back as he does. “Oh, I also fed the cat,” he points to stacked tins of cat food near the fridge, “from that, hope that was okay,” he fills his own glass. “He was hungry and he was insisting on spaghetti but I figured that’s not…”

“Thank you.”

It’s not more than a trembling whisper.

Because you’re fighting back tears.

This man warmed your house and poured you wine and fed your cat and made you a meal.

Because he cares.

Someone cares.

For you.

“Oh, hey no no no, cariño, what’s wrong?” He replaces his glass on the counter and cups your face in one massive palm.

Soothing with a gentle thumb over your cheekbone.

“This is so nice,” you breathe and the tears finally blur his face. “I just—no one has ever done this for me before.” 

It leaves your mouth slowly, like you're not even sure if you can say it.

If you're allowed.

Your view is quickly replaced by the grey and red of his sweater.

“There’s nothing I’d rather do, baby.”

And it makes your chest heave with the sobs you can’t hold in any longer as you wrap your arms around his waist, sinking into the way he presses you tighter against his heart.

The wool of his jumper eager to collect all of the tears you haven’t had time to cry. 

Because time stands still here, wrapped tight in his embrace.

And Francisco isn’t afraid of your mess.

“It’s okay, baby. You’re okay.”

He doesn’t ask.

Instead, he tiptoes around the debris of that box to where you weep in the center of the chaos.

To where the child sits with hot tears streaming down their face.

And he looks straight into the heart of you with eyes as soft as the toy you clutch to your chest for comfort.

And offers himself instead.

He offers the breadth of his chest and the strong panes of his back. The vice grip of his arms and the gentle soothing of a palm.

He offers his whole self.

In the stead of the affection you were never given and so learned too well to do without.

In the stead of the wire-framed mother.

In the stead of the shell that should have been a father.

In the stead of all of the unkind words you clung to in the belief that they must be true.

For why else would they not love a child in the way that a child needs love?

For why else were you left lonely for so long?

And the back of your throat goes sore with the burn of his kindness.

Kindness that you still don’t believe you deserve.

“Put it down, baby. Let it go.”

Where Life asked you to soothe yourself.

“I’m here.”

Life offers him to you now. 

For Life, it seems, has taken pity on you.

Or perhaps It grew weary of how your grief made It ache.

“I’m here now.”

And so It proffered this apology.

One that you accept in the form of skin and muscle. Bones and blood.

A soft-hearted one with big kind eyes.

And Frankie holds you until the sobbing eases.

And thumbs the tears from your lashes.

Plush lips soften into a crooked smile.

"Are you hungry, cariño?" Whispered softly.

"Yeah," you murmur because you suppose you are.

"Can we sit by the wood stove?" He turns you towards the living room and lays a kiss at the crown of your head.

"Yeah, yeah of course."

"Good, because it's fucking freezing." And that finally pulls a laugh from your throat. "Go on," he smacks you lightly on the bum, "I'll bring you a plate."

You grab both glasses of wine and toss a few throw pillows on the floor before Frankie settles next to you with two shallow bowls heaped with pasta.

_____

When you've finished dinner, plates stacked on the coffee table, cat napping on a throw pillow near the pair of you, Frankie sits back against the sofa and pulls you to sit at his side.

"I'm sorry that I..."

"No," Frankie cuts you off and wraps an arm around your shoulders. "Don't ever apologize to me for feeling, baby."

And you stare down into the dregs of your wine.

"Promise," he prompts with a nudge of his arm.

You look up at him through tired, but grateful eyes. "I promise, Frankie."

"Good," and he kisses you slowly, all warm lips and soft moans.

He regales you with stories from his latest trip until you settle in against him, head tucked under his chin. Lulled by the rise and fall of his breath.

You let him hold you here, with one arm wrapped around your shoulders.

Safe by the gentle heat of a dying fire.

You'll be yourself again tomorrow.

But tonight you allow yourself this.

Frankie kisses into your hairline as you drift between this word and sleep. Your weight against him is soothing as he finishes the last of the wine, eyes trained on the windows beyond, tracking the path of snowflakes on their way to meet the earth again.

"Te comprendo, cariño," he murmurs, resting his cheek against your crown.

"Y creo que te amo."