#dominic x suffering | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

shotmrmiller · 6 months ago

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Big man, Big mouth

Pairing: Simon 'Ghost' Riley x F!reader (because demeaning girl usage) WC: 4.9k it's just gross smut and simon gets kinda mean sometimes nothing crazy :) ty to the brain to my pinky @xoxunhinged and precious beta @waves-against-a-cliff catching my errs

The smile you’d had on your face all morning is subsequently wiped once you’re told that you won’t, in fact, be spearheading a team meeting with air conditioning and a cup full of your favorite medium roast, but instead, you’re being sent somewhere where practical experience trumps theoretical, textbook knowledge. And alone, at that.

Guess your travel mug is about to make its big debut.

The construction site is alive with purpose— the buzzing of drills, raucous banter, and the low hum of music from a stereo. You run a hand down the back of your skirt that is more tourniquet than office attire you were forced into wearing, regretting not drawing the line at the heels pinching your toes. "Professional setting, professional appearance," your boss had said. Nothing here demands you to stand in ironed clothes with dust settling on your eyelashes and the taste of grit on your tongue.

You feel out of place, a white-collar worker surrounded by hard hats and steel-toe boots. Perhaps taking this job for a promotion was hasty on your part. But it’s too late now and the sun above you is wilting the starched collar of your blouse.

Best get this over and done with. (The bottle of barefoot wine at home will be your reward for your suffering.)

Walking to the home still in a semi-skeletal phase had been a bit uncomfortable, anxiety gnawing at your nerves and the polished shoes at the skin of your heel. But what made your shoulders tense and spine stiffen was the crew. You'd expected disgruntled workers, sure. A bit of grumbling here and there. No one likes to have someone with more authority and less experience trample all over your work, telling you what's what.

Not them eyeing you like you're a fish in a shark tank. A little minnow pulled out of her natural habitat and into the mix with dominant predators. The paper on your clipboard crinkles audibly as one of them— the leader, you gather— stops you before you can get any closer than he feels necessary. He plods over, hard hat tucked into his arm, wiping his sweaty brow with his sunbaked forearm, a few wood curls nestled into his beard.

"Ya lost?" he grunts.

There's a guy with a comb for hair and limpid blue eyes staring right at you from the back as he leans on a half-built wall with a smarmy grin on his thin lips.

"No! No, I, um—" you stammer, "I'm here as a temporary replacement for, um—"

He cuts you off with a dismissive wave, fingers thick as steel beams. "Right. Yeah, yeah." Bloody rude. "The inspector." His head tilts and spits on the cement, eyes giving you a once over, lingering on the bare skin of your calves. "John," he says then jerks his head behind him, to the shady inside of the home. "Let's get ya out this sun 'fore you melt like sugar on the driveway."

You keep your lips pressed in a line, swallowing down the retort sitting on your tongue with a hint of frustration, and follow him on swift feet. It is unforgivingly hot and at least there's a roof overhead. Most of the walls were still just wooden beams, the foundation concrete covered in dust. Rough-bristle brooms lean in corners, the stereo now sitting silently in the center of what’s to be the living room next to a man with a massive frame and a sweat-soaked wifebeater who didn't bother turning around as you made a beeline for the only fan feebly cutting through the muggy heat inside.

John from behind you grabs your attention. "So? What's the issue this time? We jus' had tha' muppet pass through a week ago." You turn around, the breeze now somewhat cooling the back of your neck.

"Just need to personally check what's left—" you clear your throat, giving the clipboard a waggle, "on this. Nothing too grand." The blonde one with shorn hair hasn't looked up once from the blue cooler between his legs.

John scratches his head. "Right." There's a drag of heavy boots behind you. "Temporary, eh?" His eyes are like cerulean rivets, pinning you in place.

Gruff Scottish cuts in, tone dripping with amusement. "Will ye look a' tha'," he mutters, accent thick and deliberate, "bosses up top sent a bonnie wee lass to keep an eye on things. Make sure ye pay good attention, aye?" The brute comes to stand in front of you, flexing one arm, bicep like a knotted tree trunk. "Would hate ye missin' the show."

Show ‘em your teeth, little fish. That promotion is already in your hands, don't let it slip through your fingers.

"Listen, you—" you snap back, cheeks burning hot but then his eyebrows raise to his hairline, the corner of his lip curling in challenge.

"It's Soap, hen."

“...Right.”

What the hell kind of name is Soap?

A third voice— crisp English just like John's— cuts through the air from the second floor. "Wipe the slobber off ya chin 'nd leave 'er alone, Soap! You still hav'ta sweep up 'ere!" A man with bronze skin and a cap adorned with the Union Jack in the center pokes his head out from over the wooden railing. His smile looks stiff.

"Miss." His eyes flash to Soap. "Move it. You can get your cock—" wow, mouth like a sailor, that one, "wet while on company's time." His gaze falls on you for a moment longer before disappearing back into the upper level.

Soap grumbles what sounds like a "fuckin' 'ell Kyle" but heads for the stairs anyway, steps creaking under his weight. "Ah'll be 'round if ye need me," he says with a wink.

Unlikely.

John absently shakes his head and turns to the grizzled, mountain of a man still hunched over that cursed cooler of his. "Simon." He suddenly moves then, rising smoothly to his feet for someone his size. He's a wall of muscle, a very clear force of nature, and he's now staring at your—

your shoes?

"Alrigh'," he gruffly says, "We'll get outta your way. The faster you can look for, whatever it is you're lookin' for, the faster you can get out o' my beard." He places his hard hat back on and gives Simon a nod. "To work, break time's over."

Simon walks past you without so much as a glance, his thick arm brushing roughly against your shoulder with enough strength to make you take a step back but then he speaks. "Don't trip on nothin', girl. I'd hate f'r our pretty mascot t'get injured on the," he emphasizes the last word, tone heavy with mockery, "job."

Your tongue is pressed firmly behind your clenched teeth as you straighten your skirt. Get this shit over with.

Their attitudes toward you had left some to be desired, but they had done their job seamlessly. Not a crack in place nor a bolt out of it meaning that ticking off the rest of the boxes on your clipboard had been a cinch, making the promotion even easier. By the time you were ready to go home— the thought of leaving behind the tangy scent of sweat and iron adding a pep to your painful step— the sun had already dipped, casting long shadows over the construction site.

Until John's unwelcome chivalrous gesture: sending one of his to accompany you to your car. "t's late out," he says, leaving no room for lip. Fine, whatever. The faster you get out of here the better. Saliva pools in your mouth at the thought of having a chilled glass of wine with chinese takeout for dinner.

Except the one waiting for you in the garage with a lit smoke between his chapped lips is Simon. He flicks it to the ground, smothering out the embers with the heel of his boot. "Move. Ain't got all day."

The last strand of your patience snaps and your mouth twists into a snarl. "Then leave off! I don't need a fucking chaperone. Believe it or not, I do know how to look both ways before crossing the street."

You'd only taken three irate, swift-footed steps away from him, clipboard trembling in your grip when the back of your shoe dug into raw skin; a sharp, sudden agony flaring out in a hot, thick wave and you stumble. The world spins for a second, colors blurring together until—

The relief is immediate. The hot needles on your raw nerves dulled down to a throb, vision blurring from the brief bite of intense pain. You breathe in a deep lungful of air, tasting salt and sawdust while you flex your feet, hissing when the blistered skin stretches. At least the damage to your toes is minimal.

But not to your pride. Tripping over your own feet, because the driveway while unfinished is still flat, now means you're being hauled over his shoulder, which is broad enough to be surprisingly comfortable, in the opposite direction of where your car is with your heels in hand. The fabric of his tank feels stiff under your sweaty palms.

"Is this kind of behavior normal for you? Or am I just lucky?" your voice is tinged with a mix of irritation and embarrassment. His arm tightens uncomfortably around the back of your bare thighs even though the office skirt you managed to squeeze into is knee-length.

"Only when I spot clumsy-footed birds like you. Can't 'ave ya splat on the concrete like a crime scene outline." A slow creeping flame spreads from your neck to the apple of your cheeks when you notice the guys staring at you from a window upstairs, Soap giving you a toothy smile. Even Kyle seems amused. Mortifying. Someone strike you down now. Actually, no. Then who'd feed your cat once you’re gone?

"'nd John would chew me out f'r lettin' ya break these," his long fingers circle your ankle, "in 'alf." You try to muster a response, but the words sit behind your teeth, your chagrin having tangled your tongue into knots.

Then he stops and the creaking of hinges reaches your ears. "Wait." Your eyes land on a black cargo bed, caked with dried mud. "Are you just going to sit me in your car?" He sets you down in the back seat anyway, tossing your shoes inside.

"Truck. I can drop ya on the patch of grass if ya like." Simon leaves you there, going to the driver's side rummaging through the middle compartment. His work truck is exactly what you'd expect from a man like him. The seats are covered in a thin layer of dust, you imagine he gives no one a ride, a well-worn visibility vest strewn about, an extra pair of work boots stained with splatters of white paint—the size difference of your shoes compared to his has you swallowing a lump the size of your fist down.

Simon pulls out a mid-sized red box and places it on the floor mat then props your leg up on his. His grip is firm but gentle as he inspects your open wounds and then sucks on his teeth. "A bit stupid, wearin' ankle breakers when out on a job." He prods around the inflamed skin, the pain making you tense.

"Don't worry about me and mi—" you hiss when he digs his thumb into the arch of your foot, "mine. Maybe I wanted to look nice." Fuck those shoes.

"'m sure ya did, though the skirt's all ya need." The warmth of his breath spreads through your toes and up your calf, raising gooseflesh.

You can't hold back a snort. "And now you're going to tell me that you prefer women in skirts and dresses?"

Simon switches legs, careful to not aggravate the blisters further. "I prefer my women with no clothes. But both of those make it f'r easier access. Like yours. Can see your knickers from 'ere." That has your heart skipping a beat, eyes widening with disbelief. Instinctively, you sit upright, back straightening with a pop.

"They're red."

You chuff out a breath. He's lying. You'd put on the only available pair you had at the time since you'd forgotten to dry your laundry the night prior. A simple, cotton grey. "You—! Fucking hell, I almost kicked you in the teeth." Simon's looking at you now, eyes dark and intense.

"Wouldn't be the first time someone's tried," he says with a smirk, voice low. "White, then."

The first aid kit still lies on the floor mat. "Stop talking." Simon ignores you, instead grabbing your other leg and pulling you closer toward the edge of the seat. Toward him.

"Green," he rumbles, his hands cupping the bottom of your feet, thumb and pointer coming to gently tug on your toes before moving his way up. You feel like a young, dewy-eyed farm girl having her first tumble in the hay and he's only now stroking the protruding bone of your ankle. The motion is slow, deliberate, a tender caress that sends a shiver up your spine. Has it truly been that long since you've had your body shape imprinted into the mattress?

"How about," you swallow thickly, "you patch me up proper and I'll be on my way?" If anyone else had heard, they'd say you're trying to convince yourself that being here isn't what you really want. But the little garble in your voice gives you away.

Simon hums, a sound that vibrates in your chest, sinks into the marrow of your bones. "Little bird wants t’go home 'nd 'ave only a throw 'nd a cat t'warm 'er bed?" You feel a different kind of ache this time, pulsing sharp and deep in your core. "Eh? Y'wanna curl up on the couch with one o’ those sex books while playin’ with your pretty cunt?"

The idea of having to use the blue bullet sitting inside the nightstand drawer sounds unappealing. And it’s probably out of battery too. Damn.

You sink your teeth into your bottom lip and shake your head. He doesn’t accept that as your answer.

"Wha's tha'? You will speak when spoken to, pet. Do you," he emphasizes the last word as he begins to open your legs by the knees, "wanna go home with an empty pussy or let me fill it 'til you're leaking cum out ya ears?"

Can't say no to him serenading you like that. You clench around nothing, hesitance crumbling like sand. "B-but what about your job? Aren't you still working?"

Simon grabs you then, dinner plate-sized hands wrapping around the softer part of your waist. "'M on a break. I'd say I deserve it after all my 'ard work." He lifts you effortlessly, the hem of your skirt rolling as you widen your legs further.

He rolls his hips once, feeling the bulge in his jeans brush against your sex, feather-light, and you bite on the thickest part of your tongue to keep from moaning like a cat in heat. "And what about us being in the open?" you ask though the question is redundant. Besides the crew's work vehicles, there's not another car in sight. If anyone else had been working nearby, they've long since left.

He seems to share your sentiment. "If tha's all? 'm tryin' t'see if I got it righ'."

No, that'll just about do it. "Okay. Alright." God knows you need this. Even if it comes from a stranger you'll probably never see again. Simon doesn't wait any longer, pushing up the rest of your skirt to pool above your thighs.

He hisses long and low through his teeth. "Tight little thing, innit?" Yeah, well. You were going to tell him that while putting on your skirt that morning had been an absolute nightmare, it wasn't that small on you until the tips of his fingers glided along your clothed slit. Oh. He's not talking about that.

"I guess grey's my new favorite colour. Especially this—" he thumbs the darkened wet spot on the fabric, "shade." When he adds more pressure, you can't help but let a gasp out as you buck your hips in want of more. "Easy. 'aven't even started with you." Simon opens the front of your blouse with a single hand, coming undone easily. He goes for the clip of your bra that's serendipitously placed on the front.

"Gotta let the girls breathe," he says. Whatever his reasoning doesn't matter because all there is, is relief. No more underwire digging into your skin, no more suffocating restraint. You only wore the blasted thing because all of your sports bras would've been visible through the blouse.

Simon rolls a hardened bud with one hand while unbuttoning the front of his jeans with the other. "Eatin' this," he gives the mound of your pussy a mean tap, "gonna 'ave t'wait. I'll get ya off though, don't worry tha' little head o' yours."

You wonder if he says that to everybody he fucks in the back of his truck. "What? Why?"

His length sits hot and heavy over your cunt. And it's big enough to kill. Death by cock. That'll be on your epitaph. "'m a big geezer," he mutters, fingers toying with the side of your panties, "lyin' down so you can sit your cunt on my face isn't gonna work righ' now."

Definitely says that to everybody. "Doesn't matter. I'll take care o'ya 'nother way." Simon pulls the dampened gusset to the side and lowers his head to— "Pretty like I thought it was." A fat glob of spit lands on the puffy lips of your pussy and he smears it around with his cock, tip sliding right along your clit. He uses his thumb to press himself down harder, more friction, more sensation, each slow roll of his hips pricking neglected nerves awake, alive, and it feels good. Surprisingly good.

The way the scar on his lip whitens as he bites it tells you it's just as good for him too. "Thought about it much, did you?" He goes lower this time, ruddy tip catching on your entrance momentarily before returning up.

"Since you walked inside a place you 'ave no business bein' in. Birds like you shouldn't be minglin' in the trenches with us grunts." The tips of your ears are hot as he stares down at you. "Should be sittin' nice 'nd pretty in a cubicle with air conditionin' 'nd an oversized mug o' watered-down coffee."

Simon cups the swell of your arse, canting your hips to glide himself better. Every bump and ridge on the underside of his cock is rubbing slowly on you and the thought of licking a slick stripe on the vein only tightens the white-hot coil below your navel.

"Or better yet, sittin' at home doin' wha'ever else while waitin' f'r a man like me to come back from work with a ribeye 'nd redskin potatoes in the oven." He lets your panties fall back into place; the sodden front almost transparent as he rubs against your swollen clit at the same time. God, he's fucking. your. panties! And you're bloody letting him.

What a way to break this year-long dry spell.

He bends your legs so that your feet are now being held flat on the thick of his chest with his hands as he picks up the pace. The suspension springs on the truck begin to groan. "I like mine medium rare."

Your back's come off the seat, spine bowed. You're close, so fucking close, you've got slick coating the inside of your thighs, dripping down to your arse, probably staining his polyester material underneath. This is torture and your pussy feels tender, raw, yet he's barely touching the focal point of your desire. If he doesn't make you come in the next minute, you're breaking that thick neck of his.

It's like he read your mind because he uses his cock to tap on your clit firmly, hard enough to hear a wet thwack and he does it once, thrice and—

And then your body gives, an intense climax that steals the breath in your very lungs, has you your blunt nails biting into the muscle of his forearms, his groan drowned out by the shrill ringing in your ears. Your face feels hot, probably is hot to the touch and there's a sting on the middle of your bottom lip and can taste iron on your tongue. Even the tips of your fingers tingle.

Through your half-lidded gaze, you see Simon holding onto the top of the truck while his breath comes in ragged gasps. Did he come? You curiously touch the expanse of your stomach. Not sticky.

"No. I didn't come. You," he takes in a deep, steadying breath then reaches to squeeze the sides of your face, cheeks plumping under the pressure. "You almost 'ad me, though. I don't remember the last time I 'ad to think tha' 'ard of London t'not finish. But I'm not done with you."

Simon hooks his thumbs into the waistband of your panties and takes them off with urgency only to stuff them in his back pocket. "Better with no clothes on, remember." You can feel his twitching cock leak onto your heated skin.

"If ya need, use this." A black bundle of fabric lands on your chest, what is— It's a mask? If he means to hide your identity from his coworkers, you're not sure this skull mask is going to work. He drags you to him roughly until your arse is hanging off the seat. And then there's a hot, dull pressure pushing against your entrance that's followed by a searing sting, and it, it's so much, it's too m-

"Tight fucking-, Ya need t-, fuck, to relax," he grunts, fingers dimpling your thighs. Simon's thrusts are jerky, short, as he wrenches your walls apart. Even with your creamy cum and his spit it's still a struggle. "'Alf way there," and a rattled breath escapes you. You're being split right down the middle and there's still some left?

For the next few moments only your squeaks and mewls can be heard as he makes room for him, your hand flat on his lower stomach— feeling the coarse, thick patch of hair on it— as if you're trying to keep him away, out, something but then he snarls and snaps his hips. You've heard of a ring of fire some women experience at some point in their life and you think this is yours. The thin skin of your entrance burns, most likely stretched to its limit, like a rubber band about to snap.

"Easy," he drawls out, "The worst's over. Took me like you're made f'r me. G'mme ya 'and." He takes your clammy hand and has you touch where the two of you meet. His eyes are glued to your fingers that are split into a v, pads feeling your cunt soaked in viscous slick.

The groan he lets out at the sight makes the world around you spin. "Stay jus' like tha'." Sure, not like you’ve got anywhere to go. Not with his hands tight around you like metal cuffs. Simon holds nothing back, not even in the very first minute. Doesn't warm you up to it, don't let you try to get used to him turning you inside out. His thrusts are long, firm, hungry— bottoming out every single time until he sits snugly at the plug of your womb. Grinds up when he meets resistance, eyeing your features in case there's discomfort.

The only ache you've got is the one he's fucking into you. (And you also might be partly lying on his tape measurer.)

But then he hitches your legs up, hands around the back of your thighs as they're pushed toward your chest and that pulls a whine out of you that you're sure John and the crew heard. "There she is, bird's got a healthy set o' lungs on 'er." He keeps the same, unforgiving angle and doubles down, using the bulk of his weight to pin you in place, forced to do nothing but take and take and take.

Until Simon's strikes the side of your arse with an open palm. "D'ya hear 'em?" Wha? What? Hear who?

And then you hear it. Him. The handsome one with the hat from upstairs. "Ghost?" he sounds right across the street and Simon hasn't stopped rocking the truck as he fucks you right through it. "Wha's tha' Kyle?" His voice is steady even though there are beads of sweat rolling down the side of his temple.

"I said good job on all your 'ard work 'nd we'll see ya tomorrow. You 'ave a good night too, Miss." There's a crude whistle followed by a pained grunt and a quick mumbled apology. Maybe if you don't respond they'll just get in their car and go home.

But then John calls out to you too.

"Simon must’ve missed you, sweetheart. “Wow. He barks out a laugh. " 'ave yourself a good night, Miss.” Then, sternly says, “Tomorrow at 6, Simon.”

Simon, though, has no intention of letting you take the easy way out. He smacks your arse again, right in the same— already tender— spot from just moments before. "Answer 'em, pet. Or 'ave I fucked all the manners outta ya?" He accentuates the last three words with thrusts so sharp that if he hadn't been holding you in place, you would've been sent sprawling back.

Whatever words you're supposed to say are snagged in your throat like hooks, only whimpers and high-pitched gasps falling past your trembling lips. He drags his thumb over your bottom one, the calloused pad of it tough. "Go on. Be good 'nd tell 'em to 'ave a good night too. And no names. Only one comin’ outta you should be mine."

When you open your mouth, he weaves a hand down to your clit, jerking it in fast little circles that have you forgetting where you even are. "Mf- g-good," he gives you just a second of respite to spit on it. "Good night-," his fingers are almost torture, and god, you're going to come in front of all of them. You warble out the words hastily, feeling your impending orgasm come at you with the speed of a freight train.

"Tha's a good bird, singin' when I tell ya to." There's no stopping this, not with all of his focus on the little bundle of nerves and every drag of his cock making your spine arch as if he were winding it. "Squeeze my cock, tha's it."

Your legs shake violently, toes curled, and you can feel a cramp begin in your calf but none of it matters, not when you're seeing bright lights behind your scrunched eyelids, not when you feel fingers in your mouth to stifle the scream that's viciously wrenched from your throat nor when Simon growls out a "Fuckin' 'ell."

"I told ya, if ya needed somethin' t'bite on, use tha'," he jerks his head toward the mask that's tight in your fist. Your soul is still floating adrift in the wind and he's already trying to make conversation. And he did not say to bite on it.

"I'm not puttin' this unwashed thing in my mouth." You languidly watch him inspect his hand, looking at the deep purple teeth imprints on his fingers. Whoops.

"But you'll 'ave me after sweatin' under the bloody sun for 'ours." His hand slides behind your nape, lifting your head a bit as he lowers his chest to meet your sweat-slick one. Your hands come to claw at the shifting muscles of his back when he begins anew, this time his pace is relentless, sharp, predatory. He's a shark that has scented blood and is now on the hunt.

The prickling bristles of his facial hair scratch against your temple. "This," the hand around your neck tightens, your rapid pulse now roaring in your ears, "is the best pussy I've ever had." His thrusts are jarring, make your teeth clack together hard enough to hurt, and after a dozen of them, he comes with a cruel bite to the junction of your shoulder, snarl animalistic.

Hopefully, the guys drove off a while ago otherwise you're re-dressing and driving home with that mask Simon tossed your way.

Your blouse is unfortunately beyond saving. Your skirt isn’t faring any better if that massive tear in the front has anything to say about it and your shoulder will require at least half a bottle of concealer plus a couple of bandaids, which the first aid kit is completely empty of. Not even the first aid guide is inside.

You sluggishly begin to button up one of Simon's spare flannel shirts when he asks you if you're hungry.

"No." Not really. Hard to feel much when most of your nerves from the ribs down are shot.

"Get in the front, I'd like t'eat my dinner soon." He's staring right at the apex of your legs, your cunt still throbbing from the abuse."'m 'ungry." There’s no tow car sign on the street, actually, there’s not even a simple stop sign here.

It better not get towed. You’re not paying a dime if it does.

(Are your feet still hurting or can he fuck those too? No? Next time, then.)

#call of duty #simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x reader #cod mw2 #simon ghost riley x you #simon ghost riley smut #simon riley smut #simon ghost riley x f!reader #cod smut

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cuppajj · 4 months ago

Text

MASTERPOST

Synopsis: Beast Ancients AU [BAAU] explores an alternate universe where the ancients corrupt into beasts. With the looming presence of the original five beasts as well, the cookies of Earthbread must grapple with the threat of ten beasts vying for power, domination, or annihilation.

This Masterpost is updated as of 1/10/2025.

GENERAL

RULES

DM rules

Save for a few exceptions, DMs are generally not allowed. Those exceptions include requests for references or help with writing a fanfiction set in the universe. The creator only engages in long and/or frequent DM conversations with mutual followers and friends.

Do NOT DM if you are under 16 years of age. This is a 16+ blog for its general tone.

NO CHARACTER AI / NO AI

Creating a Character.AI or any other chat AI of any BAAU-related character is strictly condemned and nonconsensual. This includes creating a private chat AI and feeding any BAAU related work, or the creator’s art, into any generative AI. NO AI MEANS NO AI.

Blogs who violate this rule will be blocked.

Fanart

Fanart is allowed, including art including OCs/self inserts. Shipping is also allowed, but explicit NSFW art is not. Art is including but not limited to drawings traditional and digital, comics, cosplay, 3D models, and music.

[Fanart Tag] - #beast ancients au fanart

Fanfics

Fanfiction within the BAAU universe is allowed with the same rules as fanart. X readers are also generally allowed as long as they are not NSFW.

[Fanfic Tag] - #beast ancients au fic

Please note that lore created for fanfics and fanart should not be interpreted as canon to the primary AU itself. Lore includes anything from worldbuilding to individual character ideas. All canon information and lore regarding BAAU and its world comes from the creator.

TAGS

[Main Tag] - The tag for main BAAU related posts. #beast ancients au

[Askbox Tag] - For questions asked about the world, including its story and characters. NOTE: As BAAU develops, certain information will be outdated. Older asks have a higher likelihood of this. #beast ancients au ask

NOTE: I do not answer askbox questions through DMs. Refer to the exceptions under DM rules for what will and will not pass as a DM question. If your question does not pertain to them and the askbox is closed, please wait until it is open again or else I will not answer!

THE CAST

THE BEAST ANCIENTS

Otherwise known as the Neobeasts, these once noble heroes have turned into shadows of their former selves. What was once a tight companionship has become a fragile alliance between powerful entities whose ambitions clash and contradict with each other; but they have a vested agreement that their original counterparts must be defeated. Their personal goals also spell dread for the rest of the world in their own dangerous ways.

Saint Vanilla Cookie - Beast of Penance

The king of the Vanilla Kingdom was once gentle and selfless, wishing nothing but peace, love, and healing for the world. However, his hopes would turn to despair as pain and hardship began to consume him. Deducing that only he could be the one to save the world from its endless cycle of pain and torment, the Hero of Truth formed a messiah complex that turned his caring, selfless nature into a toxic compassion for the emburdened. His self proclaimed destiny is to bring salvation to the entire world: but where he sees the liberation of souls, the unfortunate feel the agonizing pain of disintegration. For the Beast, it is all in the name of his penitent love.

A never ending stream of tears flows from his face. Some think it’s his immense empathy for the pain and suffering of cookies across Earthbread.

He purifies with his touch. It is painfully lethal, and affects anyone who has a soul. The bodies purified turn into faint white sparkles, but their souls disappear.

He can see through any vanilla orchid that has been planted by gazing into the eye of his staff.

He is next to never angered; he pities what would upset anyone else, including those who villainize him. His smile is also semi-permanent, though it can fade in serious situations or moments of deep thought.

His final goal is to ascend to that of a god: with divine power in his grasp, he could finally bring salvation to the whole of Earthbread. However, he is yet to find a means of doing so, and he’s aware that it will be a long and arduous path. However, over the timeline, his appearance changes the closer he gets to godhood.

He has a group of followers known as the Lambs of Penance. [extra information]

He was the last to corrupt.

[TAG]

Midnight Lily Cookie - Beast of Sovereignty

Awoken into a world scarred by her hands, Lily struggled to heal the wounds of both it and herself. With the death of one of her closest companions the rise of an unfathomably powerful force, and the threat her other half continued to pose behind the scenes, she forged an ironclad autonomy for herself that disregarded true morality in the name of fixing what was broken. The new guardian of the Silver Tree soon became a queen of darkened lilies, turning her entire kingdom of loyal fae into willing tools of corruption. She will not rest until she has delivered her retribution, and will scower the ends of Beast Yeast and Earthbread to find and wipe the blemishes she created; and if cookies and their civilizations are choked by her invasive vines and parasitic flora, the end simply justifies the means.

Lily is called the Silver Queen, Queen of Midnight, Guardian of the Tree, or Lady Lily. The silver fae have many affectionate names for her.

She has chlorokinesis, and uses her powers for both good and harm. She has made the forest around the kingdom a nigh-impenetrable shield, with blades of grass capable of turning into impaling skewers at the flick of her wrist. The reason for the darkened lilies may also have something to do with it.

Though the Beast of Sovereignty believes in the value of free will, she can just as easily take it away. The Silver Kingdom is a sleeping hivemind, its inhabitants capable of going from autonomous individuals to mindless drones if Lily trills it so.

Saint Vanilla visits her often. In the beginning, the Beast of Penance wanted to purify her first out of his immense care for her, but the queen convinced him to let her witness his ascension instead, the last to go if the time came. Saint agreed, and has now become her closest ally. Being with her exposes how touch starved he really is.

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Dragonberry Cookie - Beast of Pride

No greater Passion was the Queen mother’s passion for power, fueled by the desire to stand up to any and all threats that came her way. That gluttonous desire drew her attention to the power of the Red Dragon and their kind, and she soon made it her mission to become a dragon herself. With her soul jam and the legendary power of a dragon, nothing could stand in her way. Blinded by draconic obsession, she imprisoned her former ally, and turned her attention to the rest of the conquerable world. Wherever Dragons had been, her legion of researchers and soldiers would follow, their new prime objective to help their queen ascend. In the meantime, she’s happily enjoyed staying in power on the Hollyberrian throne, drinking lavishly as her family act as mere puppets under her will.

Even as a beast, she’s vey jovial.

While Royal Berry and Jungleberry Cookie are still technically the rulers of the Hollyberry Kingdom, they’re entirely in Dragonberry’s pocket. She will give them direct orders if she feels like it, and they are made to listen.

Despite this, she still has a genuine fondness and love for her family; the thing is that her pride, ambition, and the way she treats her family make it hard to tell. She’s even fond of Pitaya, but it doesn’t stop her from treating her equal like a pet half the time.

She ritually drinks doses of poison to build her immunity to it. It’s gotten to the point where assassins can’t tamper with her juice anymore.

She’s stronger and heartier tenfold, capable of tackling giants out of the sky and leveling armies by herself. She’s always eager for a good fight, which is why she holds the gladiatorial matches and combats uprisings in her tributaries.

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Frigid Cacao Cookie - Beast of Solitude

The licorice sea was once the greatest threat to the Dark Cacao Kingdom. All of that changed when its resolute king, against all odds, tamed the nightmare. It was a period of historic celebration in increasingly bleaker times, but it wouldn’t last forever. The king slowly regressed into isolation, falling silent, and one day became completely immobile on his throne. He was still aware of the world, however, aware enough to know that his entire kingdom was beginning to freeze over in dark permafrost. As fleeing Cacaoians were consumed by ice, not even the king’s closest advisers could reach him, until all but the citadel were frozen over. Ever since that day, remaining within the walls has become the new normal for everyone. Licorice creatures roam the streets, and the sea slowly expands beyond the kingdom’s borders. While his servants’ wavering loyalties to him remain, they can only live oblivious to the chaos lurking underneath Frigid Cacao’s shadowed eyes. He is solitary, but soon he will be everywhere; and everywhere will feed the abyss.

He rarely leaves his throne, and all but the First Watcher and a few of his advisors are not allowed into the throne room without summons. Even still, no cookie is allowed to touch him.

While he is stationary most of the time, he is sometimes seen in the hallway or outside in the snow. When he’s outside, on some occasions, he’s seen staring at a frozen Cacaoian, an unreadable expression on his face. Sometimes he touches it, or even kneels.

He rarely shows up to Neobeast meetings, sending the First Watcher instead. However, even those instances are rare, and thus Cacao’s seat in the council chamber is almost always left vacant.

Licorice creatures are always docile around him, and will follow his every command. Cacao’s subjects wonder how…

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Celestial Cheese Cookie - Beast of Conquest

It wasn’t enough for Golden Cheese to let go of her kingdom and those within it. No, she didn’t need to cling to desperate hopes until the day she could have her golden city back. She could start right then and there, reviving her kingdom of Abundance into an entire empire, powerful and unstoppable. Not only that, but she could keep going. If the world was her entire oyster, then why not indulge in that fact? Among the desert sands and badlands sits a new and expanding kingdom, touting itself as a safe haven from the ills of the other Beasts. Cookies are encouraged to become part of the empire, contribute to the radiant Sun’s grand design, but she’s aware she’ll have her detractors. Fortunately, they’re all taken care of: she turns them to gold and decides their fate accordingly, whether it be another golden decoration in her palace, an automaton to do her bidding, or another alloy used to forge the weapons of her conquest. And for those who aren’t in her celestial bubble, conquest is all they’ll ever taste.

Her Golden City still exists, kept in an altered state by highly protected servers. The souls still kept within them exist in an in-between state of awake and asleep.

Her appearance changes constantly, especially when presenting herself to others. It’s likely she has avatars of herself, though it’s unknown if her main appearance is her true physical self or yet another one of them.

She can summon countless arms, all with the ability to turn anything to gold. If one arm is cut off, two grow in its place.

She and Dragonberry have a fragile relationship. On some days, they antagonize the other for being a callous conqueror, but on other days, they have the tightest alliance of any beast.

Her eyes frequently shine bright rays of light, making it hard for people to look her in the eye by design. However, her eyes are normal underneath.

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THE ORIGINAL BEASTS

The first five fallen heroes, observers of the Neobeast’s rise. They see the new faction of beasts less as new allies and more as obstacles that have made their striving for their soul jam halves more complicated. In turn, the Neobeasts are still interested in defeating them and taking their soul jam halves as well.

Shadow Milk Cookie - Beast of Deceit

As the first Beast to awaken, Shadow Milk was there to see the first four ancients fall to corruption. Believing he could use the despair of Pure Vanilla to acquire his soul jam, his plans were muddled when he became a beast himself. Further still, the body being baked for him was completely destroyed, leaving him a specter in need of another vessel. With his options thin, he’s had to resort to more unconventional means of getting what he wants…

For some ulterior purpose, he’s become Strawberry Crepe Cookie’s benefactor, helping them navigate the world in ways Choco can’t. He sees a common adversary in Saint Vanilla, and claims he needs Crepe’s help in order to defeat him.

It’s unclear if he remembers their name.

Silent Salt Cookie - Beast of Silence

Information TBD. Relevant to Lily Saga

Eternal Sugar Cookie - Beast of Sloth

Information TBD. Relevant to Berry Saga

Has a connection to the protagonist of the saga, might come in after the timeskip.

Mystic Flour Cookie - Beast of Apathy

Information TBD. Relevant to Cacao Saga

What is known is that she views Cacao with more pity than disgust, interested in putting him out of his misery.

Burning Spice Cookie - Beast of Destruction

With little memory of what happened, the Beast has found himself within Celestial Cheese’s clutches. Entombed in a massive machine, he and his soul jam are used as batteries to enhance the productivity of the Celestial kingdom’s development efforts. While his consciousness is incapable of rousing, his mind is slowly at work… and it’s been forced to think a little differently than usual. (More information TBD)

A grievous, pale green scar covers his right arm like kintsugi, further inhibiting his strength.

Yellow Feather has seen him in visions.

THE PROTAGONISTS

Each Beast Ancient has affected someone in some way. The protagonists of their respective sagas grapple with their influence, whether it be to actively fight against them, avoid them at all costs, or seek to understand a deeper plot that leads them right into their hands.

Strawberry Crepe Cookie

Once a magichanical prodigy within the Vanilla Kingdom, Crepe’s sense of safety was shattered the day they became the sole witness to the Beast of Penance’s rise. They escaped with their life but at the cost of their prized headset, leaving them completely defenseless, on the run, and alone. They were eventually found and taken in by the estranged Cacaoian prince, and while they ultimately seek safety together, Crepe’s ingenuity may just carry a key to defeating the Neobeasts; and that fact has not gone unacknowledged by one Beast in particular.

When they ran, they left their headset behind. It had protected them from Saint’s touch, and was the only way they could summon their arms and wafflebots. Before Choco, Crepe had been on the run with nothing to defend themself.

Saint Vanilla is looking for them.

They struggle to stay strong amidst their trauma. They thought they didn’t need anyone, but losing two people who made them feel welcomed made them realize that they had been taking closeness for granted.

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Dark Choco Cookie

The missing prince of the Dark Cacao Kingdom, finding his personal redemption. When his father tamed the licorice sea, he was happy but insecure of whether or not his father and the much stronger kingdom truly needed him anymore. Straying far from the mountains, he didn’t know of the fate that would befall his father and the kingdom until he caught wind of the news, which shocked and unnerved him. Deep down he wants to know why his father became a Beast, but with his newfound responsibility in looking after Crepe, he has other priorities. However, the shadow of his father continues to loom over him, and one day, it may finally get to him.

Sometimes he hears the Strawberry Jam Sword calling to him.

He’s hesitant to return to his kingdom.

He’s become crepe’s new guardian of sorts, providing food and warmth for them. Choco also keeps them out of danger while they’re still without their headphones, but he and Crepe are looking for ways for them to defend themself, since he knows they can fight.

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Princess & Knight Cookie

Princess was aware of what her family was becoming after her grandmother’s corruption. Complacent, afraid, and submissive under the Beast’s influence, when they were once happy and loving. She yearned for the old days before Hollyberry turned, but she was forced to live in the present, expected to sit and look pretty as her parents were puppetted by Pride. Her tolerance of the new situation could only go so far, and on one fateful night, she donned a cloak and slipped out of the palace, escaping into the dark. Now on the run, she searches for help in taking her kingdom back. Alerted to his princess’s disappearance, Knight Cookie was quick to scramble for her. While he initially tried to convince her to return home, Princess’s headstrong nature ultimately made him choose to stay by her and protect her. At the end of the day, his job is to be her guard…

They are eventually joined by Tiger Lily.

Princess is stronger than she looks, which may have helped her escape Wildberry a couple of times.

There’s no incentive to bring Knight back safe and sound, nor is there any telling what Dragonberry would do to him if it does happen.

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Crunchy Chip & Caramel Arrow Cookie

The two had sworn an oath to stand by their king's side to the bitter end. They fought with him as he protected his kingdom from internal collapse. They watched with elation as he brought the Licorice Sea to kneel before them and never threaten the kingdom again. However, when the Beast of Solitude replaced their resolute leader, their vows were put to the test as the kingdom was soon claimed by permafrost. While Crunchy Chip cookie had seen the writing on the wall, Caramel Arrow Cookie remained steadfast even as everyone froze around her. In her desperation to get through to the king, Caramel Arrow Cookie made the mistake of stepping out of line, her arm consumed by ice the moment she reached out to him. Crunchy Chip Cookie was quick to pull her away before she could be frozen entirely, and the two fled into the mountains. Crunchy Chip Cookie has been looking for someone to help bring his confidant back to good health before the frost completely engulfs her, and not only that, but he has been questioning their duties as Cacao’s protectors ever since. If they want to find a way to return their kingdom to normal, what—or who—might they need?

Caramel Arrow Cookie is unconscious most of the time, but she experiences lapses of consciousness, especially when around a heat source. Crunchy Chip’s cream wolves will huddle around her to keep her warm.

The two are looking for someone with deep knowledge of ice, whether it be an ordinary cookie or an elemental who could hold the answer to everything.

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Yellow Feather Cookie

In the middle of a harsh golden desert, a single cookie awoke among the sands. She carried no memory of how she got there, much less who she was before. Vague memories of sprawling skylines and illustrious lights dotted behind her eyes, but she couldn’t fathom what they meant. She wandered aimlessly through the dunes until she was found by a friendly team of cookies working under the Celestial Cheese’s exploration and research collective. Given the name Yellow Feather Cookie, she was brought into their fold as a member; but even with her new name and new friends, the burning question of what happened to her still remains painfully unanswered. And when the amnesiac cookie experiences strange phenomena like glitches, digital aberrations, and foreboding visions of a cookie with burning red eyes, it only drives her further to learn the truth.

She is an iteration of Rich Cheese Cookie, a concept cookie for CRK who was ultimately scrapped. Unlike her concept version, Feather is neither a child nor Celestial Cheese’s daughter.

The few memories she has are of the Golden City, which little to none of her cohorts have heard of. They usually assume she’s referring to the kingdom itself.

She doesn’t know who or what the Beasts are, let alone the Ancients. She knows there is a world beyond the kingdom, but her knowledge comes from word of mouth and books she’s read. Perhaps it explains why she’s not alarmed by the visions she gets.

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Mercurial Knight Cookie

The captain of the Silver Tree Guard, who has remained at his queen’s side from beginning to end. More information TBA

Butter Roll Cookie

As the director of the project to give the Beasts their bodies, Butter Roll was put in a precarious situation without warning. More information TBA

SIDE CHARACTERS

These are all the known side characters. More will be added later.

SIDE PROTAGONISTS

Clotted Cream Cookie

The Consul of the Crème Republic, one of the last large safe havens present in Earthbread. With his former allies turning into adversaries, he has had to lead the resistance against the forces of darkness largely by himself. It’s caused a lot of stress for him, but he has tried to retain his strength as much as possible for the sake of his people, even as the walls slowly close in.

Gingerbrave

Has been assisting the resistance in the Crème Republic, working closely with Clotted Cream, the other councilors, and his own friends. While he nervously worries about and for the ancients, he retains his focus on helping those in need in the city, encouraging them to stay brave. He’s become a beacon of optimism among the nervous masses.

Custard Cookie III

The Nephew of Clotted Cream Cookie and close friend of Gingerbrave. After Pure Vanilla’s corruption, he questioned his aspirations to be king. He’s done everything he can to help his uncle’s people while learning about what it truly means to be a leader.

Madeleine Cookie

The Knight Commander of the Crème Republic. Despite everything that’s happened to him and his people, he’s retained his smile and his courage as best as he can. However, a tall shadow hangs over him.

Tiger Lily Cookie

A cookie who has lived in the jungle her whole life, watching from the brush as the Hollyberry Kingdom shifted under the new beast. She finds Princess and Knight while they’re on the run, and joins their party as a guide. Neither her nor her long lost sister are aware of their connection to one another.

Later joins the core cast of protagonists.

Pitaya Dragon Cookie

Chained deep underneath the Hollyberry palace, the Red Dragon is the beast’s highest profile prisoner. To further her mission to become a dragon, they are researched and experimented on day in and day out, while Dragonberry sometimes stops to play twisted games with them. Such include dragging them out to fights, sparring like old friends, or giving them the illusion that they’ll ever have a chance to escape her.

In some regards, they miss the old Hollyberry, but they know they won’t get her back.

Wind Archer Cookie

Sworn to vanquish the darkness no matter the cost, he has made it his mission to bring an end to all ten beasts who threaten Earthbread. However, some of his beliefs in how to defeat them conflict with the protagonists’, and if he sees anyone as obstacles in the way of his mission, including them, they will need to be cleared.

[Post for Princess, Pitaya, Crepe, Chip, Carrow]

SIDE ANTAGONISTS

Wildberry Cookie

Dragonberry’s right hand and loyal bodyguard, who has retained his sworn oath to be by her side since before her corruption. Where Dragonberry is bold and valorous, Wildberry is cold and lethal, dealing with the Beast’s messes lest she chooses to involve herself in them. Even though he is aware of what his kingdom has become, his loyalty to his adoptive mother keeps him at her side. He was in charge of monitoring his rambunctious niece when she was in the palace, steering her away from her grandmother’s personal matters; but on the night she ran away, he had discovered her plot far too late. Dragonberry has ordered him to track her down and retrieve her, and no matter how many times she escapes him, he will never let up until his duty is fulfilled.

First (Second) Watcher Cookie

After Caramel Arrow’s departure, the Second Watcher was appointed to the new First Watcher. When the Neobeasts hold meetings, he is sometimes sent in Cacao’s stead. More information TBA

Cream Wafer Cookie

The right hand of Saint Vanilla, bishop of the Lambs of Penance. He is in charge of all of the cult’s operations, aiding in fulfilling his lord’s wishes. Saint Vanilla himself has little involvement in the operations beyond certain rituals and appearances, as the bishop and his followers do everything for him in his stead. It gives the beast time to walk the world by himself, dedicating time to the affairs of the other Neobeasts among other personal goals. Despite preaching peace, love, and pacifism, there’s a gleefully dark glint in his eyes when pain is delivered in the name of the light.

Like Saint Vanilla, Wafer uses a vanilla orchid as a scepter. However, he can’t see through it; instead, it’s used to mark souls for purification, drawing the beast’s attention to whoever gazed into the flower.

Before Saint, he was likely from the Crème Republic.

Holy Dart Cookie

The lambs’ best marksman and surveillance operator. Once a sister of the Pastry Order, she found a new name and purpose under Cream Wafer, and serves him in the name of Saint Vanilla. Because the Beast frowns on the notion of killing, the darts she uses to snipe from the shadows merely tranquilize; it’s the only thing keeping her from being regarded as one of the most dangerous assassins to wield the bow. Her knowledge of the world around her makes her formidable; since she wears her honorary bandages, her senses are incredibly keen, and she can tell where her target is from the slightest noise or change in the air. Victims of her darts are taken back to the lambs themselves, for whatever purpose the bishop has sought for them.

When not in an operation, she serves as Wafer’s de facto bodyguard.

OTHERS

Black Raisin Cookie

Pure Vanilla’s old friend and Strawberry Crepe Cookie’s found guardian figure. She had been by the ancient’s side as he declined, doing everything she could to ensure he remained hopeful. However, not even her kindness was enough to save him. One day, she was embraced by the light, leaving nothing but her raisin crows behind. Many of them now follow Crepe around.

Espresso Cookie

Strawberry Crepe Cookie’s lab partner who entrusted an important journal for them to keep.

Silverbell Cookie

One of Midnight Lily’s closest friends and guards. Despite his loyalty to her, he’s been quietly questioning the state of his kingdom under her.

The Triple Cone Trio - TBD

The Legendaries - TBD

NOTE: As of current update, the whereabouts of the Cookies of Darkness are still TBD.

THE STORYLINE

NOTE: The official timeline of BAAU is a long way from being finalized. However, the AU takes place across a vast stretch of time, so there are plot points and elements that happen before and after a time jump. It’s unclear when BAAU properly begins, but there has been a gap in time long enough for the Neobeasts’ presences to have become the new normal for Earthbread.

The Vanilla Saga - The storyline that revolves around Saint Vanilla Cookie.

Features Strawberry Crepe and Dark Choco as the main protagonists. This is considered the “main” storyline.

The Berry Saga - The storyline that revolves around Dragonberry Cookie.

Features Princess, Knight, Tiger Lily, and later Pitaya as the protagonists. They are traveling Earthbread while evading Wildberry and the Hollyberrian guards sent after them.

The Cacao Saga - The storyline that revolves around Frigid Cacao Cookie.

Featues Crunchy Chip, Caramel Arrow, and later Dark Choco as the protagonists. They are searching for a cure for Carrow’s permafrost injury, which may also be the way to heal the entire Dark Cacao Kingdom. However, there may be someone they need to find—but who knows if he is the key to helping them, or an instrument that will make everything much, much worse.

The Cheese Saga - The storyline that revolves around Celestial Cheese Cookie.

Features Yellow Feather as the protagonist. The story follows her as she seeks to recover her lost memories and remember who she is, drawing her into the battle between the beasts of Destruction and Conquest. One of them is hiding a secret, the other is hiding a truth.

The Lily Saga - The storyline that revolves around Midnight Lily Cookie.

Features Butter Roll and Mercurial Knight in a story that will be shared in the future.

THE WORLD

The Kingdoms of the Beasts

The Vanilla Kingdom

Founded, destroyed, rebuilt, cleansed: when Penance awakened, his light awoke in every corner of his kingdom, and sparkling dust drifted through the air like a sea of stars. Now, the kingdom has become the base of operations for the Beast and his loyal followers, many of them descendants of his royal subjects. No one else but them live here anymore; in some places, it’s easy to think it’s a ghost town. However, the moment one steps through the gate, they will always have the feeling of being watched. The Council Hall is the primary room where the Neobeasts gather for meetings, but the unsettling feeling never leaves the others.

The Hollyberry Kingdom

Things about this kingdom have changed in ways ranging from subtle to drastic. Its lively culture of partying and drinking have remained, imbued with a bigger emphasis on strength and battles. No place is this more apparent than the coliseum that hosts events every week, where the strongest warriors from across the kingdom and the ones captured outside it are brought to fight each other for the amusement of the Beast and her citizens. On special occasions, the Red Dragon themself is brought out for her to show off and subsequently defeat - another one of her mind games that keeps them subservient.

The Dark Cacao Kingdom

Choked by blizzards and permafrost, it’s hard to navigate through the tundra the Beast of Solitude has made the place. Licorice creatures skulk the kingdom’s snowy plains and the frozen streets. Most Cacaoians have been frozen where they stood the day the frost consumed their homes, but those who survived live within the Citadel itself, the last haven where all the Beast’s servants and warriors remain. They are hesitantly loyal to their King, believing he will someday wake up from whatever nightmare plagues his mind; until then, they remain unaware of the darkness and hunger that lingers beneath the seams.

The Celestial Kingdom

Even those who antagonize the Beast regard her kingdom as a desert miracle. Celestial Cheese revitalized her kingdom, spreading it across the desert and beyond and welcoming anyone and everyone into its fold. Some even regard it as a safe haven in itself: it’s guarded by warriors made of gold, flanked by advanced proximity sensors. Those the Beast of Conquest doesn’t want, such as Lambs or Hollyberrian spies, are warded away before they can pass through the walls. Life feels normal, like a dream even, for all of the cookies who live there: cookies who once belonged to their own villages and settlements in the desert, now taken in by the Beast and given everything they wanted and more. It keeps them happy, it makes them believe that her conquest is just—and it keeps them oblivious to what happens to those who refuse to be conquered. Those who reject her grand design end up part of it, one way or another; and next to no trace of them or their settlement survives.

Some of the residents in Cheese’s kingdom include Cacaoians who managed to escape during the great freeze.

The Silver Kingdom

Isolated from the rest of the world. Through the hostile, deadly forest that protects its borders, and indeed much of the safest entries to Beast Yeast, lies a kingdom ever at work. Ordinary silver fae live most of their days doing what they’ve always done, caring for themselves and their kingdom in whatever duty they have. Under the Beast of Sovereignty, their individuality freedom is as valued as their devotion to her. From ordinary fae to Silver Tree knights, they are as dedicated to the kingdom’s protection as they are their queen. While she is no conqueror, her kingdom is expanding its reach through its spreading flora, kudzu-like walls that overrun and choke anything and anyone it reaches. Others living in Beast Yeast have become increasingly aware of the Silver Kingdom’s presence, but direct means to either negotiate or attack the fae have been unsuccessful. On the other side of the world, Crispians like those in the Creme Republic have failed to reach the continent, its ships struck out of the sea and sky by vines and plants. Many cookies who venture near there are never seen again.

The Safe Havens

The Crème Republic

One of the two largest safe havens in Crispia. Maintained by the Convocation of Elders, the republic’s internal differences have been mostly set aside as they unify under the need for stability and safety. In the shadow of the Beasts, there is only so much they can do to remain out of harm’s way, but the Elders and the Consul know that they will one day have to fight. Until then, the Republic has prioritized its citizens’ safety, harboring and maintaining contact with resistance groups, and researching any way to end the threat of the fallen heroes.

Parfaedia

Protected by high walls, this city has stood vigilant against outside enemies since the time of legend. However, the Beasts pose its biggest threat yet: housing ancient research and relics, Parfaedia has no doubt drawn the attention of a few of them. It remains in close contact with the Creme Republic, and the two cities share information and updates about anything related to the Beasts, their movements, or internal affairs that require assistance. Both are also aware that the third magical city, Scovilia, once part of their triple alliance, cries for help underneath its new ruler. Both cities strive to liberate it one day, but they need to prioritize keeping all citizens and refugees within their borders safe.

Others

Scovilia and Dragon’s Valley

Annexed into the Hollyberry Kingdom’s expanding territory. Dragon’s Valley in particular is the site of Hollyberrian dragon research, and the Beast has made it a pastime to frequent the place and quash any revolt before it has the chance to grow. Dragonberry is very fond of Scovilia in particular, its strongest champion added to her collection of gladiators.

The existence of the Cookie Kingdom is still being decided, as it has little importance to the game’s story.

EXTRA

MISC POSTS

The very first BAAU post [original neobeast references]

Hypothetical power scale - who’s the strongest neobeast?

Full picture of the masterpost banner

Average neobeast meeting [meme]

All I Ever Wanted [animatic]

X reader headcanons

About adding Ovenbreak exclusives + post Beast Yeast characters and lore to the AU

TAG LIST [for easier access]

Main tag

Askbox tag

Fanart tag

Fanfic tag

Old Masterlist [Includes links to more specific asks/questions]

Old FAQ

Creator’s note: Thanks for reading!! If any of the links above do not work, please let me know. -CJJ

#beast ancients au #temporary pinned #special thanks to the vanillaverse crew for proofreading!#beast ancients au masterpost #masterpost #crk au #cookie run au #cookie run kingdom au #cr au #cjj arts #cookie run #crk #cookie run kingdom

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prythiansprincess · 1 year ago

Text

azúcar.

pairing: mattheo riddle x reader.

song inspiration: baby by madison beer.

author's note: benjamin being active on tiktok is dangerous for my health. i actually feel like i'm about to crawl on the ceiling from how badly i want this man. literally tweaking. anyways, enjoy 😊

There were a lot of quidditch related superstitions you were willing to put up with.

Wearing the same socks during every match. Kissing your boyfriend good luck before every game. Even the rowdy common room parties that you and Mattheo often snuck out of to have a celebration of your own was a tradition you welcomed with open arms.

But this was not one of them.

“It’s absolutely absurd,” Pansy huffed, her sleek black hair grazing her chin as she tucked her legs underneath her on the velvet couch. “Blaise has lost his mind.”

“Sounds like you’re the one losing it, Pans.”

Pansy rolled her eyes. “You would too if your boyfriend suddenly announced a sex ban as part of some weird quidditch superstition.”

Since the start of the season, the quidditch team had taken a few hits. Usually, the boys dominated the other houses, but they barely won against Hufflepuff and came to a draw against Ravenclaw during the last game. Ending in a tie was apparently the last straw because the day after the match, Blaise told Pansy that the team had taken a pact of celibacy.

For some deranged reason, the boys believed that abstaining from sex for a week would help them secure a win for the rematch on Friday. For the next five days, they intended to sleep, breathe, and eat quidditch. Apparently, your feminine wiles would have to be set aside for the meantime. As if sex were the problem and not their constant drinking and partying, which probably contributed to their lack of focus as a whole. Not that the boys would listen to common sense at this point.

You scoffed. “Please, Mattheo wouldn’t last a day without sex let alone a whole week.”

“Don’t be so sure,” Pansy said rather bitterly, picking at the cushion in her lap. “The lot of them are taking this entirely too seriously. Blaise won’t even allow himself to be in a room alone with me.”

”Well, Zabini has a surprising amount of self-control. Mattheo, on the other hand, is perpetually horny. There’s no way that he agreed to such a ridiculous pact.”

“Lucky you,” your best friend said with a long suffering sigh.

You nudged her knee with your foot and smiled mischievously. “Don’t worry, babe. I’m more than willing to help. Blaise may be disciplined, but he’s also just a man. What do you say we pop into the village? I think I saw a lace emerald lingerie set that had your name all over it.”

Pansy perked up at that. “I knew I came to the right person.”

Your best friend smiled as you hooked your arm through her elbow. “Of course you did. Now come on, let’s bring Zabini to his knees.”

Sprawled out on Mattheo’s bed, you flicked through the pages of your novel and waited for your boyfriend to return from practice. The trip to Hogsmeade had been a complete success. Just as you suspected, the little set you glimpsed through the lingerie store window looked absolutely stunning on Pansy. Blaise didn’t stand a chance.

As a matter of fact, you’d given the two of them privacy tonight. They were due for a study session at your shared dorm tonight, but you quietly slipped out in the midst of their heated argument about the Goblin Rebellion and happily skipped off to your boyfriend’s room.

Given the late hour, Mattheo was due back any second now. As if summoning him from your thoughts alone, your boyfriend sauntered into the room, looking sweaty and sexy from running though drills all afternoon. Mattheo grinned the second he spotted you on his bed.

“Hi, princesa,” he greeted, his voice low and husky.

”Hi, Matty.” You propped yourself up on your elbows and smiled. “How was practice?”

“Absolutely fucking brutal,” Mattheo grunted as he pulled off his shoes. “Theo clobbered the fuck out of me, but I suppose it’s better him than the Ravenclaws. Mark my words, we’re going to beat those twats come Friday.”

“I don’t doubt it, babe.” You pushed off the mattress and scooted closer to him.

Mattheo licked his lips as you neared, breath hitching as you brushed his damp curls off of his forehead. You smirked and leaned in for a kiss. At the last second, Mattheo turned sharply, causing the kiss to land on his cheek instead of his lips.

“I’m all sweaty,” he explained. You quirked a brow. Sweat, dirt, and grime had never stopped the two of you before, but you brushed it off. He was probably just wound up about winning. Mattheo smiled apologetically and kissed your temple. “Let me shower first and then we can cuddle, okay?’

You made the mistake of looking into those big, brown eyes. Damn him and his chocolate eyed gaze. The twat knew it was your weakness.

“Fine,” you said as you crawled underneath the covers. “But hurry up, I’m getting tired.”

Ten minutes later, you were fully engrossed in your book again. Just as it reached a particularly steamy scene, the door swung open, revealing a half-naked Mattheo. The white towel wrapped precariously around his trim waist gave you a perfect view of his toned chest and ripped abs, beads of water clinging onto his glistening skin like rain drops. You bit your lip as he tugged on a clean pair of boxers over his legs, cocking your head to appreciate the curve of his arse before he slipped into his sweatpants.

Unaware of your ogling, Mattheo climbed into bed and wrapped his arms around you. “What are you reading, mi amor?”

“Nothing that can’t wait,” you murmured, leaning in to kiss your boyfriend.

This time, Mattheo gladly accepted the kiss. His lips slanted over yours, sighing softly as you melted into him. Your kisses were soft and sweet, punctuated by cute little pecks that had your boyfriend smiling against your mouth. You took the opportunity to slide your tongue against his, making Mattheo groan as his fingers slipped through your hair.

“Damn, mami. You missed me that much?”

You rolled your eyes at his cocky smirk while you climbed into his lap and straddled him. Mattheo gripped your hips, moaning as your lips latched onto his neck. His pretty brown eyes rolled back as you left a trail of kisses along the column of his throat. You raked your nails along his chest, dragging red lines down to his abs, and tracing his happy trail as he captured your lips once more. Mattheo let out a choked groan as you tugged at his waistband. To your surprise, he grabbed your wrist and blinked up at you.

“Y/N…” Mattheo said breathlessly. “Maybe we should…maybe we should go to sleep.” His Adam's apple bobbed up and down as he tried and failed to swallow his own words.

You raised a brow and settled over his lap, squirming against his hard length as Mattheo bit his lip. “You want to go to sleep? Right now? While I’m on top of you and willing to do whatever you want?”

Your boyfriend looked pained. Conflict was evident on his face. Without a word, Mattheo nodded.

“Oh my god,” you blurted in disbelief. “You agreed to that stupid sex ban, didn’t you?”

Mattheo groaned. “Only for a week, love. We really need to win this match.”

You scoffed. This was absolutely ridiculous. “I know you, Mattheo. You aren’t going to last a week.”

“Hey! Have a little faith in me.”

Rolling off of him, you crossed your arms against your chest. “First of all, you didn’t even ask me if I’d be okay with it.”

That seemed to be the wrong thing to say. With a shit-eating grin, Mattheo cocked his head at you. “It sounds to me like you’re the one who can’t last a week, princesa.”

“Please,” you said with an eye roll. “I have my book boyfriends to keep me company. I can channel all my sexual energy into reading smut. You, on the other hand? You can’t even make it through class without dragging me into a broom closet.”

Faster than you thought possible, Mattheo flipped you onto your back and pinned you to the mattress. A cocky smirk curved against his lips as he trailed them down your neck. “Oh?” he hummed, kissing the sweet spot just below your ear, his hand gripping the inside of your thigh, making you press your legs together to suppress the need. The bloody bastard. “But can your book boyfriends touch you like I can?”

Channeling every ounce of self-control within you, a calm and unbothered expression clicked into place like a mask. You tugged at his curls, forcing him away from your neck. “Don’t worry your pretty little head about me, Matty. I’ll be just fine.” Mattheo released a choked groan when you palmed the front of his boxers. He twitched at your touch, his cock painfully hard. “Looks like you’re not doing too hot, though. Let me know if you need help. You know I’d be more than happy to give you relief, baby.”

Mattheo cursed under his breath as his own plan backfired on him. Blood rushed down to his cock as you squeezed gently, making him harder and hornier than ever. You chuckled darkly as he grinded against your hand. With one last squeeze, you kissed his cheek and peeled yourself away from his bed.

“You know where to find me, papi.”

He watched in disbelief as you gathered your things, cute little ass swaying farther and farther away from him as you hauled your bag over your shoulder. “You’re seriously leaving?”

You smirked and waved at your boyfriend as you pulled the door open. “I have a hot date with my romance novel. Good luck with your pact, babe. You’ll need it.”

Merlin, Mattheo was going out of his fucking mind.

For Salazar’s sake, he was starting to get the shakes and it had only been two days since he last had sex. Granted, it felt like an eternity since you were more than determined to get your boyfriend to break. Could lack of sex actually drive a person to the brink of insanity? Mattheo was pretty convinced that the answer was yes as he gaped at the lacy red bra peeking out under your white blouse.

Had your clothes shrunk in the wash? Mattheo could’ve sworn that your shirt hadn’t been that tight before. You were nearly bursting out of it and the view of your tits pressed together as you leaned across the table to steal a blueberry off of his plate made his mouth water and his dick hard.

“Stay strong, Riddle,” Theo whispered beside him. “We’ve got this.”

Never in his life had he wanted to throttle Theo more. The only thing Mattheo had at the moment was a painful fucking boner. Three more days. That’s all he had to endure before they called off this stupid sex pact.

He could make it. Couldn’t he?

As he looked up at you sucking on a strawberry, Mattheo’s confident wavered. You were truly testing what very little self control that he possessed. You were right when you said that your boyfriend couldn’t last a single class without dragging you into an empty broom closet. You were just so pretty and sexy and hot and that was when you weren’t trying.

Now that you were determined to tease the fuck out of him, Mattheo didn’t stand a chance.

All day, you focused on making his life an absolute living hell. Perching on his lap, fixing his tie, smiling prettily while you brushed his curls back and left glossy kiss prints all over his cheeks. His hands were in permanent fists, fingernails digging into the flesh of his palm so deeply that he wouldn’t be surprised to find himself bleeding. This was torture. Cruel and unusual punishment.

The final straw came when the two of you were studying in the library later that night. Bouncing his leg, Mattheo forced himself to pay attention to the Ancient Runes textbook in front of him instead of ogling you from across the table. It wasn’t working though. Every few minutes, he caught himself glancing up at you. Your lips, your eyes, your hair. There was nothing sexual about you taking notes yet he was so turned on that he felt dizzy.

Mattheo lowered his head, trying to keep cool. When he looked back up, you were no longer in your seat. Instead, you were reaching for a book on the shelves behind you. Whatever you were looking for was on the lowest shelves, so you bent down to retrieve it. When you did, your skirt rode up, revealing that you weren’t wearing any underwear. Mattheo hissed, scrambling to pull your skirt down.

”What in Salazar’s name are you doing, Y/N?” Your boyfriend gripped your elbow, anger and frustration radiating off of him in waves.

You blinked up at him, putting on an innocent smile. “Oh!” you exclaimed, placing a hand on Mattheo’s chest. “Did I forget to wear underwear? Silly me.”

Your boyfriend groaned and pinched the bridge of his nose. He muttered something under his breath repeatedly. Breathing exercises. You bit back a smirk.

On his third count to ten, Mattheo finally opened his eyes. Without a word, he gathered your belongings and hauled you out of the library. He didn’t speak until the two of you were back in the dungeons.

“I’m going to study in my room,” Mattheo declared as he handed you your book bag. “You’ll study in yours.”

You grinned. “Oh, Matty. We both know the only thing you’ll be studying is your cock in your hand.” Mattheo tensed as you traced a finger down his jawline. “What a shame. I’d be more than willing to put an end to your misery if you just admit that the pact is stupid.”

For Salazar’s fucking sake. Mattheo was so close to calling this whole thing off. He wanted you. Screaming underneath him. Crying from pleasure. Moaning his name. But he couldn’t. He had to stay strong.

Mattheo sighed and kissed your temple. “Good night, mi amor. I love you. Even though you’re determined to drive me fucking mental.”

You smiled before pulling him in by his tie. Mattheo groaned as you placed a sweet kiss on his lips, barely giving him a taste of what he wanted. “Love you too, Matty. Sleep tight. I hope you dream of me tonight.”

With that, he watched you saunter off in the direction of your dorm, skipping through the common room without a care in the world. Mattheo stared up at the ceiling and counted to ten again.

Friday could not come any fucking faster.

You had to admit that you were impressed. Your boyfriend had miraculously survived an entire week without sex.

Despite your best efforts to thwart the stupid pact, Mattheo stayed true to his word. A pretty impressive feat given the fact that you’d practically thrown everything you had into seducing him. Sitting on his lap, licking your lips while he talked, kissing that sweet spot below his jaw, wearing your clothes shorter and tighter than ever, and even sleeping in his favorite silk red set, which you knew was particularly hard for him if the erection pressed against your back all night was any indication.

Still, Mattheo withstood all of your attempts.

You would’ve been upset had it not been for the fact that Mattheo looked absolutely pained by the whole ordeal. This entire week, his fists were permanently clenched at his side, his jaw locking and unlocking with every suggestive comment you threw his way, his eyes flickering over your body, groaning in frustration as he tortured himself by looking at what he couldn’t have.

It was amusing to watch your boyfriend twitch at your every move. As you predicted, you fared better than Mattheo had. After all, you had a wild imagination and a collection of toys to hold you over. That wasn’t to say that you weren’t needy and aching for him, but you had ways of coping.

“I’m so fucking glad it’s Friday,” Pansy grumbled beside you as she took a swig from her flask.

After the whole bring Zabini to his knees plan failed, she’d been crankier than ever. Neither one of you expected either of your boyfriends to even make it this far without caving at least once.

“Me too, babe. As much as I’m rooting for our boys, I can’t wait for this bloody game to be over. Win or lose, I know the sex is going to be insane.”

Your best friend smirked as she handed you the firewhisky. “I’ll cheers to that, babe.”

Surprisingly, the tension and frustration helped the boys play better than ever. They were ruthless on the field. Theo and Enzo were vicious as they defended the goalposts, giving way for Blaise and Mattheo to chase after the opposing beaters, nearly taking some poor bloke’s head off with a bludger. You almost felt bad for the Ravenclaws.

When Draco caught the snitch, you cheered loudly. You and Pansy screamed until your throat felt raw and hoarse by the time the game was officially called. The two of you swayed as you descended from the stands, slightly inebriated from your generous swigs, but you didn’t mind. The liquor kept you warm and served as preparation for a night of drinking and debauchery for the common room party.

Blaise wasn’t at all surprised that you and Pansy pregamed. In fact, he took the flask and downed the rest before tugging his girlfriend towards the castle.

“Have fun, you crazy kids!”

Zabini chuckled. “Oh, we will. By the way, your boyfriend’s waiting for you in the locker room.”

With a conspiratorial wink, Blaise wished you good luck as Pansy grinned from ear to ear. You chuckled before making your way over to the locker room. The doors opened, revealing a very smug looking Theo. With a frown, you swatted the back of his head.

“Ow!” The brunette exclaimed, rubbing his newly acquired injury. “What was that for?”

“For encouraging my boyfriend to agree to this stupid sex ban.” You crossed your arms and glared at your friend. “I know it was your idea, Theodore.”

“Hey! We won the game, didn’t we? So obviously, my idea was brilliant.”

“It was just dumb luck,” you replied with a scoff. “Honestly, I didn’t think you guys would take it so seriously. Especially you. You’re even worse than Mattheo. Celibacy for a week must’ve been hell, huh?”

Theo shifted his weight, looking abashed. You narrowed your eyes at him as you read the guilt in his body language. “You little weasel! You caved, didn’t you?”

“There was this really hot Ravenclaw…”

“With the opposing team, too? You’re shameless, Nott.”

“Please don’t tell the guys.” He looked genuinely contrite as he pleaded with his eyes. “They’ll murder me if they knew that I couldn’t even stick to my own pact.”

You rolled your eyes. “Fine, but you owe me big time.”

Theo smiled before leaning over to kiss your cheek. “You’re the best. I’d say see you at the party, but with how tense and insane your boyfriend has been, I probably won’t see you two for the next few days.”

“I wonder who’s fault that is.”

“The pact was my idea. Teasing him was yours. Honestly, he almost stabbed a fork through my hand because you bent over in front of him.” He smirked as he held the door open. “You’ve got that man on a tight leash.”

You fought a smile. “Leave before I get the urge to hit you again.” Theo nodded, making his way out. “Oh, and congratulations on the win.”

After a cheeky wink, Theo was gone. Leaving you to find your boyfriend on your own. When you rounded the corner, you could hear the sound of water running echoing off the tiled walls. You ventured farther in the stalls and found Mattheo standing underneath the scalding hot shower, tipping his head back against the spray. With a smile, you leaned against the wall and admired your boyfriend. Merlin, he really was beautiful.

Mattheo was a sight to behold; biceps flexing, abs taut, and back muscles tense as he washed away the sweat and grime. Your gaze trailed down to his trim waist, licking your lips as your eyes snagged on his backside. The longing sigh you released gave you away.

Water glistened on his skin as Mattheo looked over his shoulder, a playful smirk tugging at his lips as he surveyed you. Your boyfriend didn’t bother covering himself as he sauntered over to you. His chocolate brown eyes roamed over your body, smiling softly when he saw that you were wearing one of his jerseys. Mattheo traced over his surname embroidered right above your heart.

“The Riddle name looks good on you, mi amor,” he whispered huskily, backing you against the tile. “I can’t wait to make it official one day.”

You hummed while you tangled a wet curl between your fingers. “Oh? That won’t be happening any time soon, Matty.” Mattheo frowned as you caressed his cheek. “Not with the way you’ve neglected me this week.”

“Don’t be like that. You know it was hell for me, princesa.”

“I know,” you said with a grin. “I’m just teasing you. In reality, I’m kind of impressed. You didn’t cave once even when I threw everything I had at you. You were so good, baby. You crushed those Ravenclaws too.” Mattheo groaned as you kissed his jaw, nipping at his sweet spot. “Maybe the pact wasn’t so stupid after all.”

Your boyfriend groaned as he gripped your hips and pinned you against the wall. “Oh, I won’t be doing that shit again.” Mattheo rested his hand on the base of your throat, eyes black and filled with lust as he squeezed. “It was torture not to touch you.”

When you spoke, your voice sounded husky and seductive thanks to his possessive hold. “Could’ve fooled me. You seemed perfectly in control. So much so that maybe we should extend it another week. Abstinence really helps clear the mind, doesn’t it, baby?”

Mattheo chuckled darkly. He knew you were baiting him. You weren’t used to not getting what you wanted in your relationship. Your boyfriend was well aware that he spoiled you rotten. You were going to make him work for it tonight, but he didn’t mind. In fact, the idea thrilled him. He wouldn’t have been dating you if he wasn’t up to the challenge.

Without warning, Mattheo tugged you into the shower, making you squeal as the water soaked your clothes. He wasted no time before crashing his lips onto yours, claiming you in a starved and possessive way that had you gasping for breath. Your boyfriend was frantic as he hoisted you up and wrapped your legs around his waist.

Mattheo sucked harshly at your flesh, his dark chuckle a seductive caress against your skin. You groaned as he grinded his cock against your clothed pussy, which was already throbbing and aching for him. “Brace yourself, sweetheart. We have a whole week to make up for and we’re not leaving here until you’re properly punished for teasing me like the little brat that you are.”

You flashed him a saccharine smile. “Do your worst, baby.”

“You’ll regret that, mami.”

With a wicked grin, Mattheo slid your panties to the side and teased along your folds. He hissed when he felt how soaked you were, practically dripping down his fingers as he eased one into your pussy. You bit down on your lip as the delicious pressure awakened a familiar heat in your core.

“Not so brave now, are you?” Your boyfriend taunted as he slowly fingered you. After going without, you were embarrassed to find that a simple touch was enough to set your teeth on edge. “This is payback, baby. Wearing those tiny little shirts with your lace bra peeking out. Bending over in front of me knowing that you had no panties on. Grinding on my lap and making me so fucking hard that I almost sprained my wrist wanking off in the restroom like a madman.”

“I’d say I’m sorry, but I’m not.” You rasped, groaning as Mattheo picked up the pace. “Not if this is what I get in return. I like when you’re rough, Matty. It makes me wet.”

Your head lolled back as he added another finger, curving them inside of you and reaching that spongy spot that had you seeing stars.

“Good,” Mattheo whispered as he nibbled at your earlobe. “Because I’m about to fuck you until you can’t walk.”

The filthy words sent you over the edge. Mattheo flicked his thumb over your swollen clit and you clenched around his fingers. “I can feel you squeezing me, pretty girl. So fucking greedy, hm?”

You let out a choked moan. Mattheo grabbed your wrist and slid your hand down his front. “Do you feel that, princesa? I’ve been hard as fuck for you all week. Are you gonna be a good girl and help me out?”

“Yes,” you breathed out. “Let me take care of you, papi.”

Mattheo twitched in your hand as you gripped him, tugging as he watched you with lust blown eyes. The intensity of his stare made butterflies erupt in your stomach.

“I thought about this while getting myself off this week. Your hands. Your eyes. Your voice.”

“I thought about you, too,” you confessed. “But it doesn’t compare to the real thing. God, you’re fucking sexy.” You rubbed your thumb over his tip, rubbing his precum over his head. Mattheo whimpered against your neck. “I missed you whimpering for me.”

“I don’t whimper,” Mattheo countered.

You raised a brow and picked up the pace, working him until his eyes rolled back. Despite his denial, Mattheo whimpered even louder this time.

“You’re playing dirty, baby.”

“I thought you liked it dirty, Matty.”

“I do,” he said with a smirk before curving his long fingers inside of you. You shuddered as he hit that sweet spot. “Now come on, pretty girl. Come with me.”

You nodded, picking up the pace and groaning as Mattheo pulled you in for a sloppy kiss. He licked the roof of your mouth, shuddering as he bucked into your hand. You tugged at him, coaxing him to cum as he panted against your neck.

“Fuck. Don’t stop, baby. I’m so fucking close.”

“Me too, Matty,” you whimpered, grinding against his fingers to take more.

The orgasm crackled over you like a lightning strike, singing your veins with heat as your boyfriend continued to fuck you with his fingers. Mattheo wasn’t satisfied with one orgasm. He coaxed another out of you, laughing as you greedily bucked against his hand, biting into his shoulder while the second wave hit.

By the time your third orgasm rolled around, you genuinely felt as though you’d left your own body. Mattheo only relented when your eyes rolled back and your legs trembled, cries of his name falling sweetly from your lips.

“Tú eres dulce como el azúcar.”

You opened your eyes slowly and found Mattheo lapping up your cum, swirling and sucking his fingers clean with a smirk. You’re sweet like sugar. Though the words were seemingly innocent, Mattheo was anything but. Your boyfriend knew exactly how much it turned you on when he spoke Spanish and he was definitely using it to his advantage.

“That was just the appetizer, baby. Got you all warmed up for my cock. Think you can take it, Y/N?”

“I’ve been waiting all week,” you responded hoarsely.

“It’s worth the wait,” Mattheo declared cockily as he flipped you over. He stripped you of your clothes, carelessly tossing them behind his shoulder while he positioned your hands on the tiled wall. You groaned as he bent you at an angle, smacking your ass before he lined up behind you. “I promise to fucking ruin you, mi pinche puta.”

Anticipation coiled in your stomach as Mattheo sank in slowly. Both of you groaned as he slid all the way in, twitching as he stuffed you full. It was familiar yet new at the same time. It had always been a tight fit, but given your involuntary break, you could feel yourself struggling to adjust to his size once again.

Mattheo gripped your hips, leaving bruises in his wake as he slid all the way out. You whined at the loss, but it wasn’t long before he thrusted all the way back in, knocking the air out of your lungs as he set a punishing pace. You braced yourself against the tile as he spread your legs further apart, allowing him to hit an even deeper angle.

“Oh fuck, how do you always feel so good?” Mattheo grunted as his hips snapped against your ass, brutally burying himself inside of your pussy over and over again. “You were made for me, princesa. We’re perfect together.”

”Matty, baby, please…”

You keened as Mattheo tugged you by the hair, kissing you sloppily as he continued to ruin you. He cupped your tits, flicking his thumb over your nipples as he squeezed your flesh between his rough, calloused hands. Mattheo kneaded your breasts and used the momentum to drive deeper. His palm trailed down your torso, pressing against your stomach to feel himself moving with each thrust.

Tears streaked your cheeks as your eyes rolled back. “Oh gods. Fuck me. Right there, baby. You fill me up so good. I love being full of you.”

“Yeah?” Mattheo drawled as his hand crawled up your throat. “You like when I fuck you rough? Deep down, you just want to be treated like a slut. Don’t you, princess?”

“I do,” you breathed, groaning as Mattheo squeezed your neck. “But I’m only a slut for you, Mattheo.”

“Damn fucking right, baby.” He said proudly. “This pussy is mine. All fucking mine.”

You clenched, squeezing him so tightly that Mattheo felt like he might cum then and there. “So greedy. Milking me fucking dry. God, you’re perfect. Mi princesa, mi vida, mi amor.” Your boyfriend shuddered as you grinded against him, picking up the momentum as the two of you neared euphoria. “That’s it, baby. Just like that. Fuck, I’m gonna cum—“

”Cum inside me, Matty. I want to feel you. I want all of it.”

Mattheo cursed, his body seizing as he came with a loud cry. The sensation of him filling you to the brim, his hot cum dripping out of you and coating the inside of your thighs was enough to send you over the edge. You trembled as the orgasm hit you all at once and nearly passed out from the sheer force of it.

Fortunately, strong arms wrapped around you before your legs could give out from underneath you. Mattheo pulled you against him, holding your trembling body as you came down from the high. You leaned into him, resting your head on his shoulder as he cleaned you up. Your boyfriend took his time washing your body, taking great care when it came to your sensitive core.

You smiled up at him as he lathered shampoo into your hair, letting you return the favor and sighing in satisfaction as you scratched his scalp. Mattheo grinned, flashing you a lovesick smile as you rinsed the product out of his hair.

“I love you so fucking much,” he whispered softly.

“I love you more,” you countered.

”Impossible.”

After the two of you dried off, you leaned against the wall and allowed Mattheo to clothe you in his hoodie and sweats. He tied your shoes before giving you a sweet peck.

“Ready, princesa?”

You nodded and took his hand. Without the support of the solid wall, your legs wobbled as you struggled to walk. Mattheo caught you around the waist, a smirk tugging at his handsome face.

“I warned you, Y/N.” He looked entirely too smug and satisfied for your liking. “Told you I’d fuck you until you couldn’t walk.”

Your boyfriend chuckled as you rolled your eyes. “Poor baby. Don’t worry, mi amor. Let your Matty take care of you, hm?”

“I take it back. I kind of hate you right now, Mattheo.”

You squealed as he picked you up bridal style. He didn’t even break a sweat as he carried you across the field. “No, you don’t. But you can fuck me like you do.”

“Deal.”

#this came from the deepest pits of hell aka my overactive imagination #mattheo riddle #mattheo riddle x reader #mattheo riddle smut #mattheo riddle x you #mattheo riddle imagine #mattheo riddle fluff #mattheo smut #mattheo x you #mattheo x y/n #mattheo x reader

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harmoonix · 1 month ago

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♡ 𝙎𝙤𝙪𝙡𝙢𝙖𝙩𝙚𝙨 𝙊𝙗𝙨𝙚𝙧𝙫𝙖𝙩𝙞𝙤𝙣𝙨 ♡

More future spouse Observations

𝙎𝙤 𝙝𝙤𝙩, 𝙄'𝙢 '𝙗𝙤𝙪𝙩 𝙩𝙤 𝙚𝙭𝙥𝙡𝙤𝙙𝙚

𝙊𝙪𝙧 𝙗𝙤𝙙𝙞𝙚𝙨 𝙢𝙤𝙫𝙞𝙣' 𝙛𝙤𝙧 𝙨𝙪𝙧𝙚

♡ For some natives with Juno in the 1st house, this placement can often indicate marrying young or finding your soulmate more early than others

♡ Karma asteroid [3811] aspecting the 7th house or its ruler/lord/planet can indicate a karmic relationship. We all have karmic relationships, but this one is a clear indicator

♡ Karma asteroid [3811] aspecting Juno can indicate a karmic marriage. Like you are meant to be tied with that person by marriage

♡ Karma asteroid [3811] aspecting Saturn, every karmic thing that happens in your life comes with a lesson. You can take to learn from it or to let it pass

♡ Asteroid Sappho [80] can also be used for the same sex relationships,can indicate what they think of you and how they act around you, etc..

♡ Any love asteroid aspecting the Midheaven [MC] will have a public impact. This means your relationships will be more open to other people

♡ In my opinion, asteroid Persephone [399] can be used a lot as a love asteroid indicating a more intense love and the sorrows that come with it

♡ Persephone [399], for example, in contact with Pluto, can indicate manipulation in love relationships and by their partners

♡ Persephone [399] in contact with Mars may indicate a love relationship that came too fast in your life. Events are happening too fast, and you couldn't have time to think about you

♡ Persephone [399] in water signs might have a hard time processing their suffering since this can be quite a nostalgic feeling at the moment

♡ Mars aspecting Lilith like to be dominated, they love to have a dominant energy around them. Can be also a feminine dominant energy

♡ Jupiter in the 5th house usually has luck when it comes to their dating life. Life can fulfill them with lots of attention from their dates

♡ Love asteroids in Sagittarius often indicate a foreign partner or the relationship can happen to be aboard, especially Juno or Eros in Sagittarius

♡ Their moon sign can indicate what they think of you since the moon represents the inner feelings of a person. What they like about you

♡ Eros or Venus in the 6th house can improve themselves with the help of their partners. Is an evolving relationship where partners help each other to grow

♡ Sometimes, it is good if partners have the sisters' signs combo in their chart. For example, if they have:

Virgo Moon x Gemini Venus (both Mercury energy)

Capricorn Venus x Aquarius Moon (Saturn energy)

Libra Moon x Taurus Venus (Venus energy)

Scorpio Venus x Aries Moon (Mars energy)

And it can happen vice versa as well

♡ Saturn/Juno/Eros in Capricorn can indicate dating more mature people. They can be older than you as well also more wise

♡ Juno x Uranus aspects, everything in their relationship can happen randomly. From their first meeting to their first kiss, for example

♡ Neptune/Juno/Eros in the 12th house tend to have sexual or wet dreams. When we dream about foreign people, we mostly see entities, so no face or nothing about their appearance. You'd still feel a connection

♡ Juno in the 4th house or cancer can indicate your future spouse may want to build a family with you. They find comfort in you

♡ Eros or Juno in Aquarius sparks a bond between friendship and love with their spouse/partner. The bond can happen to be 'friends before lovers', though so special for them

♡ Broken people break others. If they have Chiron x Venus aspects, the spouse or the native with this specific placement could've been hurt before

♡ Eros in Pisces, Libra, Taurus desire for a deep connection, a person who they can fulfill every romantic thing with, they crave love even when they don't show it

♡ If their south node aspects your Venus, you could've had some situationship in a past life. Usually, you'll have a lot of deja-vu feelings around this person. Like you knew them before

♡ Eros in Scorpio, Capricorn, Aquarius, and Aries can be touched deprived. So they really crave anything that is physical from the other person

♡ The native with lots of Pisces Placements but especially Pisces Venus or Moon may like to daydream about their spouses or future partners. Creating scenarios about it

♡ Neptune or Uranus in the 8th house can have a sexual aura or energy surrounding them. Intense inner feelings, they may drive their partners crazy

♡ If they have 12th house placements, especially Sun or Moon, they'll mostly stay in the shadow and admire you. Intense crush-like feelings or liking at first sight

♡ Eros in Gemini, Cancer, Leo, and Virgo are mostly the type of lovers who ask you to read their heart and to observe how much love they hold for you

♡ If the spouse has their south node in their 8th or 12th house, they would like to keep their past a secret or hidden from other people

♡ Eros x Mercury aspects may have a cute nickname for each other, having a special bond in communication and good at trusting each-other

♡ Saturn aspecting Juno or Venus even in good or harsh aspects can indicate worrying or being anxious what the other person thinks about you

♡ Eros in the 3rd house can indicate the native the spouse might have a very seductive/erotic voice. Their voice might turn you on

♡ Eros in the 5th house can have a childish type of love relationship. You kinda desire a love/partner who can heal your inner child

♡ Juno or Eros in the 2nd house love physical touch. They want to feel skin to skin, heart to heart, soul to soul. They may love to make gifts for their partners

♡ Juno or Eros in Libra or Leo can happen to date popular/known people. This may also bring more light on your relationship with your spouse

♡ Eros x Mars aspects want to an intense love relationship. To enter their soul and never leave. Their little paradise together with their spouse

♡ Juno in Scorpio or 8th house may want to keep their relationship secret. No posting, not letting people know about it, and so on..

♡ Venus/Juno/Eros in Taurus would like to keep your forever and never let it go. They may show their adoration for you using gifts or small things to make you happy

♡ Venus/Eros/Juno in the 3rd/11th house represent those long talks relationships. Where you talk for hours with your lover and share special things with them

♡ Eros or Juno in Virgo might have the desire to 'treat them rignt'. They can treat you so well and with so much respect. Their presence can improve your mood

♡ Venus x Pluto aspects tend to get the vibe of 'loving too much', intense but also quite addictive lover type. The type of taste, smell, eyes, and name you'll remember

♡ Eros/Juno in Aries is the type of nastyyyy love. They might love to chase after their lovers. Flirting a lot. Dominant and strong energy, power couple

𝙊𝙪𝙧 𝙗𝙤𝙙𝙞𝙚𝙨 𝙢𝙤𝙫𝙞𝙣' 𝙛𝙤𝙧 𝙨𝙪𝙧𝙚

I'm back with a new astrology post observations. yayyy enjoy!! And happy Friday/weekend to everyone ♡

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sebscore · 7 months ago

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ARE WE STILL FRIENDS?

pairings: f1 grid x driver!reader (she/her pronouns)

warnings: angst. angst. angst. swearing. like a lot of swearing. i cannot write crashes/contact for the life of me. argument. lando and reader are assholes in this.

author's note: dont even ask me why i wrote this, i got inspired and needed it out of my system. lol.

masterlist

''Retire the car. Too much damage. Sorry, Y/N.'' Marco informed her over the radio, sounding frustrated and apologetic over her already finished race.

The driver took a deep breath before answering. ''Too bad, it was going well. Thanks, guys.''

Her race had in fact been going well. She'd made a great start going from P4 to P2, and had managed to keep up with the Red Bull of Max. They weren't even halfway in the race or Lando tried overtaking her, causing contact, causing her to run off in the gravel with too much trouble on the car to continue.

In her opinion, it had been reckless. The McLaren driver knew exactly she would end up being forced off the track by the overtake, and that her race would most likely be over because of it.

As she trudged back to the garage, helmet in hand, she could barely contain her frustration. The team greeted her with sympathetic looks, but she didn't stop to talk to anyone. She headed straight for her driver's room, needing a moment to cool off before she could face the media.

Her hands trembled with anger as she peeled off her gloves, tossing them onto a nearby chair. The season hadn't been going how she had hoped or even expected it to go. Last year she had been the vice World Champion, the undisputed second-best driver on the grid, the only one to essentially have been able to challenge Max's dominance. Now, she got lucky to even end up in the top five of a race. Her team's design of the car hadn't been meeting the expectations the engineers had set, and upgrades weren't helping in the way they had hoped.

That is why this race weekend had been a great boost for the team's morale and confidence. Qualifying had gone really well, and for a moment they were able to fight for the win even. But the papaya car of No. 4 had shoved their hopes down the drain.

Minutes later, there was a knock on the door. She turned to see Marco standing there, looking concerned. ''You okay?''

''Have I ever been okay,'' she remarked, a sarcastic chuckle leaving her lips. ''I'm just pissed, that's all. I had high hopes for today.''

''We all did,'' he smiled sadly. ''The stewards reviewed the incident, but he, uh, didn't get a penalty.'' He said softly, almost as if he was afraid of her reaction.

The young woman let out a bitter laugh. ''Of course he didn't, why would he?'' Her hands covered her face, briefly wiping off the sweat that had formed.

Marco took a step closer, his expression a mix of empathy and disappointment. ''You drove brilliantly out there. Everyone saw it. The team saw it. It's just... racing politics sometimes.''

She dropped her hands, meeting his eyes with a mixture of anger and resignation. ''It's always like that, though. It's always the same drivers suffering the consequences of others, and they don't get shit for it. It is fucking annoying.''

Her engineer nodded, understanding everything she was saying. ''I know, we all know. But we keep fighting. We keep pushing. This season isn't over yet.''

''Yeah, true.'' She sighed.

Marco gave her a reassuring smile. ''We'll be ready for the next race. We're all in this together, okay? We're all behind you.''

She nodded, feeling a small measure of comfort in his words. ''Thanks, I appreciate it.'' They shared a quick embrace, before he left to join the team again. Meanwhile she got herself ready to go to the media pen. As much as she wanted to hide away, she knew it was part of the job.

Since she had an early exit, there wasn't much activity inside the area, though there were a bunch of reporters waiting for her.

''Y/N, tough race today. Can you tell us what happened from your perspective?'' The reporter asked after briefly greeting her.

''Yeah, it was, uh, challenging, I guess,'' she plastered a smile on her face. ''We had a great start, moving up to P2 and keeping pace with Max. Then, yeah, the contact with Lando. The car had a bunch of damage, and we decided to just retire the car.''

''Do you think it was a fair move by him?'' He followed up.

She paused, weighing her response. ''Racing is always intense, especially at this level. I don't think it was the right move to make, but the stewards saw it as a racing incident. I'll respect their decision, but it doesn't make it any less frustrating.''

''You and Lando are good friends, and have been racing against each other since your karting days. Will you talk to him afterwards or just forget about it?''

They had expected a question like this, so the media-trained answer came out very quickly. ''It was deemed a racing incident, so there is not much to say further about it.''

''How do you and your team plan to bounce back from this setback?'' The reporter for Sky Sports changed the topic.

''We'll regroup and come back stronger,'' she answered, injecting as much determination into her voice as she could muster. ''This season has been tough, but my team and I are committed to pushing forward. We learn from every race, and today is no different.''

''That's great, thank you, Y/N.'' They wrapped up the interview, and she moved onto a new one.

Once she had spoken to everyone she needed to speak to, she finally had a moment to herself. She knew the words she had just spoken were the right ones, but they did little to soothe the turmoil inside her.

It didn't help that Lando managed to take the lead, and eventually get his first win. As she watched the remainder of the race from the sidelines, her emotions were all over the place. On the one hand, she was proud of her friend for finally making his dream come true. However, it had come at the expense of her race. She had pushed so hard this season, and to see her friend and rival celebrate his triumph while she stood there with nothing but frustration was almost unbearable.

The cheers from the McLaren garage echoed in her ears. They celebrated wildly, the joy of his long-awaited victory palpable even from a distance. He was swarmed by his team as they shouted his name.

The podium ceremony was even worse. As Lando stood on the top step, the British national anthem playing in the background, she couldn't help but replay the moment that had ended her race. She could see the excitement in his eyes, the genuine happiness that came with achieving a lifelong dream. But all she could think about was the contact, the gravel trap, and the wrecked potential of what could have been her race.

Under any other circumstance, she would have been there for him. She would have run to the ceremony herself, just like he had done for her when she got her first win in F1 and made history as the first woman to do so. But it just stung too deep.

''Lando, there was an incident with Y/N that resulted in her retiring from the race. Can you tell us what happened there?'' The Dutch reporter asked the race winner.

Lando's expression shifted slightly, the euphoria dimming just a bit. ''Uh, yeah. I saw a gap and went for it. It was a tight move, and unfortunately, it led to some contact. But that's racing, you know.''

''Have you spoken to her yet?''

''Not yet,'' he admitted. ''But I don't think there is much to talk about.'' He chuckled, quickly glancing sideways, but his laugh seemed forced.

''She told Sky Sports that she didn't think you made the right move there.'' The journalist said, instigating a headline for them to be able to use.

Lando frowned at his words, but recovered. ''Well, that's her opinion. It was just racing for me.''

''So you don't regret making the move?'' The reporter pressed on.

The Brit took a deep breath before answering. ''I regret that it ended her race. But as a racer, you have to take chances. It's a fine line, you know.''

The older man in front of him nodded at his response, knowing they had gotten a glimpse of the tension that was present between the fan-favorite duo. ''Thank you, Lando. Congratulations again.''

''Thank you.''

With that, the interview wrapped up, and Lando moved onto the next reporter. As he walked away, he couldn't shake the feeling of unease. He didn't think he had done anything wrong, so why was everyone talking to him as if he had done something wrong?

Y/N was struggling to unwind. The events of the day played over and over in her mind, each replay more frustrating than the last. She tried to distract herself by either watching some TikToks or TV, but nothing could drown out her thoughts. The texts from her friends, family and team certainly didn't help. It was a nice gesture, but she didn't want to think about the race anymore and the messages weren't helping. Finally, she decided to call it a night and climbed into bed, hoping sleep would offer some respite.

Just as she was starting to drift off, another knock on the door interrupted her thoughts. It was unusual for someone to bother her this late, especially when she was winding down in her hotel room.

She frowned and got out of bed, opening the door to find Lando standing there, wearing his signature grin, acting nonchalant as ever. ''You wanna come celebrate with us? We rented a club.''

Y/N frowned at him, confused over his casual behavior. ''No.'' She scoffed, offended by the mere thought.

It was now Lando's turn to frown at his friend. ''Why?''

She crossed her arms, incredulous at his obliviousness. ''Why? Are you taking the fucking piss out of me or something.''

His grin faltered slightly, but he tried to maintain his composure. ''If this is about the racing incident then you're being ridiculous.''

Her eyes widened in disbelief, her frustration boiling over. ''I am being ridiculous? You were ridiculous with that move you pulled!'' She retorted, raising her voice. ''You ran me off the track knowing how hard this season has fucking been for me. You know how much I needed a good result today and you ruined it for me!''

''Y/N, I get that you're upset, but it's racing. These things are bound to happen. I saw a gap and I went for it. The stewards didn't even penalize me, so clearly, it wasn't as bad as you're making it out to be.'' He was restraining from rolling his eyes, she could tell.

She scoffed, shaking her head. ''Oh, so now you're agreeing with the stewards? Now that it is benefitting you? And there was no fucking gap, you were just being selfish. You knew what you were doing, and you didn't care how it would affect me.''

Lando's face hardened, his patience wearing thin. ''I didn't do it on purpose to screw you over, where the fuck are you getting that from? I saw an opportunity, and I took it. That's what we do out there. You know that better than anyone."

''If that opportunity was ruining my fucking race, then yeah, you really took the opportunity, Norris.'' She rolled her eyes, voice tinged with sarcasm.

He took a step closer, his frustration now matching hers. ''I'm sorry that you didn't get the result you wanted today, I really am. But I am not going to apologize for racing and doing my job, Y/N.''

She simply glared at him, disappointed in how he was acting towards her. They'd never really had an argument before, at least not one where they couldn't see each other's point. They'd been frustrated with each other before, but it was always in reason.

''If anything, I should be angry with you- not the other way.'' Lando suddenly said.

''Why's that?'' She sneered, almost in disbelief that he would have a valid reason.

''Because you didn't even have the fucking guts to congratulate me,'' he snapped back, ''when you won Silverstone, I was literally one of the first people to hug you and congratulate you for your win. I stood next to your fucking parents, Y/N! And today you didn't even bother doing anything.''

Her mouth fell open, a mix of shock and anger flooding her veins. ''You are unbelievable… You ruined my fucking race, Lando! How am I supposed to stand there and cheer for you when you cost me everything today?''

He rolled his eyes while throwing up his hands. ''This isn't just about today. You're just jealous because my season has been going so much better than yours. You can't fucking stand that for one time I'm doing actually better than you.''

''Jealous… of you?'' The words came out like laughter, slightly hurting the McLaren driver's ego. ''You think I can't be happy for you because I'm not doing as well? That's so low, Lando.''

''Ever since the start of the season you've been so moody and distant, and now you can't even say or even fucking text me a congratulations for my first win. You're so pissed that I got a win before you this season, you can't even hide it.'' He shot back.

''Oh, give me a break. Like you wouldn't act the same if you were getting all these shit results. Maybe I didn't congratulate you because I was too busy trying to scrape gravel out of my fucking tires.'' She remarked, throwing in the sarcastic comment.

Lando looked unimpressed by her remark. ''You're just mad cause I'm outshining you. You can't fucking stand that I'm getting all the attention.''

''Outshining me? Are you hearing yourself?'' She mocked him, laughing bitterly. ''You get one win and you're acting like you're a fucking World Champion already. You've been riding Max's dick these last years hoping some of his success will rub off on you. Newsflash Norris, everyone is just fucking laughing at you.''

His face turned red, either embarrassment or anger. ''At least I'm not constantly whining about my car and blaming everyone else for my problems. Maybe if you spent more time focusing on your driving and less on complaining, you'd have more to celebrate.''

''You're a fucking spoiled brat who can't stand some competition. You think everything should be handed to you on a silver platter.'' She retorted.

''And you're a fucking baby who throws a temper tantrum everytime you don't get what you want. It's time to fucking grow up, Y/N!'' He shouted, his voice rising with each word.

She took a step closer to him. ''You should spend less time trying to prove yourself to people who don't give a shit about you, and more time trying to be a decent fucking human being. I'm ashamed to call you one of my best friends.''

That last sentence had clearly hit a nerve or several nerves. He shook his head, taking a few steps back. ''Fuck you, Y/N. Enjoy your pity party.'' Lando turned and walked away, joining his friends who were waiting in the lobby.

She watched him go, her chest heaving with a mix of anger and heartbreak. She could feel the pulse of her racing heart, the adrenaline from their argument making her feel jittery and unsteady.

A lump formed in her throat as she replayed the last few minutes in her mind. She cringed internally at the words she had fired at Lando, while also trying to ignore the sting from his own harsh words. She wondered how they would be able to come back from this. They had never been in a situation like this before, and she knew that she would never want to be in this situation again.

The young woman knew that she had let her emotions get the best of her. She had always prided herself on being fair and understanding, but now she felt ashamed of herself.

Her thoughts were interrupted by the sound of another door opening. George peeked out, concern etched on his face. ''Y/N, you okay?''

She shook her head, not wanting to deal with anyone else. ''Mind your business, Russell.'' She retreated back into her room, not before slamming the door behind her.

As she leaned against the closed door, the weight of the evening pressed down on her. The room felt too small, her emotions too big. She slid down to the floor, pulling her knees to her chest, and let the tears she had been holding back finally fall.

Even when she finally got up, even when she tucked herself in again for the final time, and even when she tossed and turned the entire night, the same question lingered in her mind.

Are they still friends?

The question haunted her, gnawing at her thoughts every time she closed her eyes. She replayed the argument over and over, dissecting every word, every expression. The hurt in his eyes, the anger in his voice- it all felt so raw and irreversible.

As the hours dragged on, sleep remained elusive. The darkness of the room mirrored the uncertainty in her heart. She knew they both needed time to cool off, to reflect, but the thought of facing Lando again filled her with dread.

The first light of dawn began to seep through the curtains, and she felt no more at ease than she had the night before.

Are they still friends?

story ideas are always welcome, but remember that it can take a while for me to get to it! :)

#lando norris x reader #lando norris x you #lando norris x oc #f1 grid x reader #female f1 driver #f1 x reader #f1 x female driver

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hoshigray · 1 year ago

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𝐑𝐢𝐝𝐞 𝐓𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐃𝐨𝐦 | ryōmen sukuna

𝐀𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞: totally not writing this to compensate for the fact I haven't posted the Gojo fic yet, hahaha–sorry...Anywhooo, happy jjk Thursday, a lil something for the sukuna devotees~☆ okay, i go suffer irl now, && ty for 3.7k, loves, mwah!

𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬: true form! Sukuna x afab! reader - explicit content; minors DNI - double penetration (he got 2 dicks) - cowgirl dp position - scratching - cervix fucking - choking - clitoral play (pinch) - tiny praise - he lets you ride him, but still in control (it's Sukuna, cmon now) - pet names (brat, human, pet) - mention of tears and drool.

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 1.2k

When it comes to dominance, Ryōmen Sukuna knows he radiates that role. As long as there’s air in his lungs, he’ll ensure that dominance never leaves his side. Anything outside of that is practically unfathomable to the King of Curses. He expects everyone to kneel before him and turn his way. Anything that happens outside of that will be dealt with expeditiously.

His aura is suffocating to those around him, humans and curses alike. Every step this large, brawlic creature takes in his path must be noticed within three seconds max. Bowed heads of his subjects meet the ground he walks on — he expects nothing less than that. The smell of fear suffocates them, yet it fuels him. It’s what subjects him from everything and everyone else; that’s what he wants.

Sukuna is a dominant man in every aspect. And you are not subtracted from this at all. You may be the thing that he sees precious value in and holds you up on a pedestal higher than all — for him to look at and him alone.

So, when it comes to you, Sukuna is the dominant role, in and outside his chambers…However, on the rare days he lets you be confident and take control, he lies on his back on the futon with a devilish grin. “Don’t disappoint me, brat.”

Here you are, straddling on top of the four-armed creature, with both the tips of his cock harboring inside your holes before you gradually descend. Your body trembles as it takes every inch of the girth limbs, feeling full despite not reaching halfway down the bases. You use slow breaths to keep you steady, your hands on his stomach where the large tongue teasingly licks your wrists.

You’re allowed ten seconds to adjust to his lengths merged with your body, and that’s it. Any more than that and Sukuna’ll wrap this up himself, wasting this opportunity to show what you’re made of. He’s immensely impatient, and you know this as a fact. So, with a few breaths, you start moving your hips and propel yourself in up and down motions.

The overwhelming feeling of both his cocks bullying your insides is efficient to have you teeter off sanity, the tips grazing the gummy walls of your cunt and anus. With trenched brows and chewed lips, you try to find a rhythm that satisfies the both of you — more so him than you, even if you’re in a position centric to you. “Ahhhh, hahhhh, ‘kuna…You feel ‘o good…Mmmmh…”

“Hmph, you think I’m lying here to satisfy yourself, human? Mmmph…“ Sukuna grunts at the way you sway your hips around, his dicks contracted by your holes perfectly. Good, you’re doing what you’re supposed to. He brings two of his hands to your wrists to keep them on him while the other two rest on your hips. “Shit, pick up the pace, pet. Show me you really want me.”

You do as you’re told for your sake, your ass increasing the speed of your motions. Hushed pants become louder and louder when the cock in your chasm brushes your cervix with precision. The jabs get more and more accurate, and tears well up in your eyes from the contact with your tender canal.

And Sukuna watches you with all fours of his eyes, taking in the entire image of you becoming a mess on top of him. He can see the drool from the corner of your lip stream down, and he knows you want to wipe that down, not wanting the King of Curses to see such indecencies. However, he absolutely doesn’t care. If anything, it amuses him. Your nails digging into his pecs, your stomach trying to shy away from the tongue from his abdomen every time he teases it with licks, and the tears rolling down your cute cheeks. It all makes him snicker, and a flame inside him ignites a carnal feeling he’ll indulge in later on.

Your tempo dials up, grinding your hips down, making him purr. Not moan — purr. You can feel it vibrate within his body through the tip of your fingers. Your body jolts when your clit brushes up against his pelvis. Oh, that felt so good, holy shit. You lean your body down and grind it more; the electrifying sensations from the motion deepen your haze. “Ahhnn, ohhooo—Nnngh!!”

“You only attend to yourself in front of me, huh?” Suddenly, Sukuna brings a large hand to your neck, his thumb, fore, and middle thinner big enough to wrap your neck and clog your breathing. The action has your anus and cunt clench around him desperately. And he sneers. “Dare cum before me, and you’ll be lucky to be alive when I’m through with you tonight.”

That is no threat to be taken kindly — even if you are his little dove, you are no fool to disregard the orders from the King of Curses himself. You’re quick to deescalate the tension, controlling the speed and angles of his cocks to churn your insides further. The constant pokes to your cervix prompt you to keep going — your wails fill the space of his traditional-style chambers when Sukuna’s dark nails pinch and pierce the skin of your hips. The constriction around your neck turns your erotic bliss into high stakes, and your mission now is to bring the behemoth below you to climax. You take the reins be damned; you do as you’re told when you’re told, no matter what.

More purrs and groans from Sukuna result in your appeasement, throwing his head back to the pillow with eyes sewn shut to concentrate on both your holes. The tighter you clench on his cocks, the more his orgasm climbs up. “Hnngh!! Fuck…Take it, brat.” He grips your hips as he bucks to your leaky entrances, his balls smacking up to the sweaty skin of your ass. It takes you aback, your screams only making him rut harsher into you for his dicks to explode their loads into you. White, milky jizz fill your velvety texture and spill down to the hilt of his nether limbs.

Sukuna finally removes his hand from your throat — your silent permission to chase your own high as he experiences his. Thank God, because yours hits you in seconds when the hand he removed travels down to your clit to pinch, and you come instantly. The fluttering agitation from your puckered chasms clamping around his pulsing girths has him his, and your shaky arms do what they can to keep you upright despite your climax.

He watches your trembling figure during the fleeting moments of his climax – his intense red eyes examine you like a piece of art. And when your orbs finally open to look at his, he greets you with another wicked chortle. “That’s a good pet,” he brings one finger to attend to the tears from your eye. And you smile at him with breathless satisfaction.

Sukuna is always and forever will be a dominant man. But on those rare occasions when he allows you to take the reins, he expects nothing but a good job. If so, he’s not opposed to having the change again.

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astrophileous · 2 years ago

Text

A Well-Kept Secret

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Female Reader

Synopsis: While working on a case in D.C., Spencer didn't expect to hear a familiar name being mentioned as the sole surviving witness. Or, in which the team discovers Spencer's well-kept secret.

Warning(s): established secret relationship, mentions and/or depictions of death/physical violence/gun violence/injury/attack, signs of trauma, survivor's guilt, curse words, hurt/comfort, nudity but it's not sexual, allusions to sexy times, mentions/implied alcohol consumption

Word Count: 5900-ish

Author's Note: hiya! I decided to write this lil piece after seeing the fic challenge posted by @imagining-in-the-margins abt the family/found family trope. I had a lotta fun writing this one and I think it's got potential to be something more. So pls comment or message me if you wanna see me exploring with this idea (either turning it into a series of connected one-shots or multi-parters). Don't forget to like/comment/reblog and give me a follow :) I hope you enjoy! 💞

Criminal Minds Masterlist

When Hotch had notified the team to haul their asses up and drove all the way to D.C., Spencer never expected that it would also entail him having to suffer through a mini heart attack.

The series of attacks around D.C. had been dominating the 6 PM news segments in the entire country. What was initially perceived as a suspected sequence of robberies gone wrong--since the first two targets to have been hit were a bank and a prestigious auction house--soon turned into a nationwide panic as people realized that there was a bigger game at play.

After the third attack was found to have occurred in the headquarters of one of the top, up-and-coming renewable energy startups in the states, the D.C. police finally started to entertain the idea that perhaps they hadn't been dealing with their usual petty robbers at all.

And naturally, that was when the BAU had been called in.

As soon as the team entered the Metropolitan PD bullpen, they were struck with the smell of panic and the sight of chaos.

"Agent Hotchner?" A middle-aged man in a gray shirt and blue tie appeared in front of them. "My name is Detective Mills, we spoke on the phone."

"Of course, Detective." Hotch shook the other man's hand. "This is my team. Agent Prentiss, Jareau, and Dr. Reid. I have two others already at the latest crime scene. What can you tell us so far?"

"As you can see--" Detective Mills gestured towards the frenzied scene behind him, "--the entire D.C. area is going haywire after news broke out about yesterday's attack. The public is demanding the city to be put on lockdown, and I'm getting pressure from above as well. We received information that nearly half the city has called in sick today."

"A classic response to mass paranoia," Spencer noted.

"Well, paranoia or not, I just want to start getting some answers." Detective Mills began to lead the team further into the bullpen. "I have every pair of hands I could spare in this. If they aren't out there chasing leads, they're here interviewing the victims, friends, and families."

"Any luck so far?" Emily asked.

"Nothing more than what you've probably seen in the files."

Detective Mills pushed open the door to an office in the corner, away from the havoc in the center of the station.

"Lieutenant Jeffreys retired a couple of weeks ago. The lucky bastard." Detective Mills scoffed jokingly. "It's the most decent space I can spare at the moment. Think you'll be fine in here?"

"It's more than enough, Detective. Thank you," Hotch replied.

"What about the witnesses from yesterday's attack? Have you had the chance to interview them?" JJ asked as the rest of the team started setting up.

"Some of my men are with them right now. But I doubt they'll have anything useful. Just like the other two cases, the attack happened while most of the office was out. The rest left behind were DOA at the latest scene."

"They're rapidly devolving," Spencer pondered out loud as he skimmed over the case files. "They went from killing a non-compliant security guard during the first attack to executing almost every witness in the last one."

JJ raised an eyebrow. "Almost?"

"It says here there is one survivor." Spencer showed the word he had underlined in the case overview to JJ.

"Yes, there is," Detective Mills confirmed. "I had one of my men talk to her. There's not much she could give us. Thing is, she wasn't even supposed to be there."

"What do you mean?" Emily asked.

"She didn't work in that office. She was a consultant who just happened to be visiting. Poor girl's pretty shaken up. She hid in a supply closet the entire time. She was the one who found the bodies and called 911."

"So, the perpetrators never checked the rooms while they were holding the victims hostage?" Hotch questioned.

"Not according to her statement, no. See, I thought it weird myself. Do you have any idea why?"

"Not sure." Hotch hummed, deep in thought. "Perhaps our UnSubs didn't think to check because they didn't know someone was in there. Detective, you said all of the victims were the only employees of the company who didn't attend the event downtown, correct?"

"Yeah, they were the only ones who weren't listed as attendees. Why? Do you think those people were specifically targeted?"

"Unfortunately, we can't rule out anything yet this early in the investigation," Hotch said. "We need to talk to the witnesses to know more. JJ?"

"On it." JJ nodded. "What can you tell us about yesterday's sole survivor, Detective?"

"Not much. I didn't interview her personally, one of my men did. She works at a consulting engineering firm in town," Detective Mills replied. "I believe her name is... what is it called?"

When Detective Mills mentioned the name, Spencer's heart instantly crashed inside of its cage.

"What?" His hand had stopped scribbling on the board. In a matter of miliseconds, Spencer had crossed the room towards the doorway where Detective Mills was standing. "What did you say her name was?"

Dumbfounded, the detective stared at a dread-stricken Spencer before spelling out the name once more.

"Why? What's wrong?" Detective Mills asked in confusion.

JJ touched Spencer's shoulder. "Hey, you okay?"

But Spencer, either too alarmed or merely choosing not to acknowledge both questions, asked instead, "Where is she? I need to see her."

"In the waiting room by the pantry--"

Spencer didn't even wait for Detective Mills to form his complete thought before dashing out. JJ exchanged a glance with Emily following Spencer's sudden exit, perplexed by his odd turn of behavior.

"I'll go get him," JJ announced before leaving the room, chasing after a flurry of wavy hair and a wool-knitted purple vest sprinting across the bullpen.

The roaring commotion inside the station was almost loud enough to rival the intensity of your racing thoughts.

Almost.

At this point, you didn't think there was anything you could do anymore. The vivid images from yesterday's attack were playing continuously in your head. There was nothing you could do to stop them.

Rubbing your eyes from exhaustion, you mourned the loss of sleep that you failed to get the previous night. As if the waking nightmares weren't torment enough, the images had somehow translated even more cruelly into your subconscious. You could barely close your eyes for three seconds without feeling like you had been brought back to that place.

Cold, cramped, and alone. Fearing for your life in the tiny supply closet that smelled more like death than bleach.

At the sound of the door opening, you quickly turned around in your seat to hide your face away from prying eyes. The last thing you needed at that moment was having a complete stranger seeing you fall apart in the middle of a police station.

But when the voice came carrying the sound of your name, it wasn't the voice of a complete stranger you had heard. It was a voice you knew more than you probably knew your own. A voice you loved and a voice you had longed to hear for the past gruesome twenty-four hours.

"Spencer?" You turned back towards the door, seeing the face you adored most in the whole world staring back at you.

"Sweetheart."

At the speed of a lightning, Spencer dropped to his knees in front of you and gathered your broken little pieces into his arms.

Spencer's touch was everywhere. Your hair, your neck, your shoulders. As if he was checking whether you were real. That you were actually there inside his arms, and you were not a simple imagination that his mind had conjured up.

Surrounded by the safety of his embrace, you could feel the shattered pieces of yourself beginning to mend once more.

"Spencer," you uttered his name again as you pulled away, still in disbelief that he was physically there with you.

"I'm here," he promised you as he cupped your face gently.

"Spencer, what are you... How..."

"My team is working your case. We arrived half an hour ago," he explained simply. "Sunshine, why didn't you tell me? I thought you were still in Alaska?"

You had previously apprised Spencer that you would be hard to reach during your trip since you would be spending most of your time at the power plant site where cellphone receptions were scarce. So when an entire day went by without him ever hearing from you, Spencer didn't have any reason to be worried.

Never in a million years would he have ever predicted that you'd be caught in the middle of a hostage situation.

That thought alone caused Spencer to squeeze your hand a little tighter than usual.

"I'm sorry, Spence," you said sincerely. "My trip ended earlier than planned. I arrived back yesterday morning. I actually wanted to surprise you last night. After yesterday's... incident, I wanted to call you, but my phone was shot--"

"Wait, what? You were shot?"

"No! No, baby. Not me. Just my phone," you assured him. "But that's why I couldn't call. I did attempt you once using this station's phone, but it went straight to voicemail."

At the new piece of information, the colors immediately drained from Spencer's face.

"That was you? Fuck. I didn't--I didn't know. I rejected the call because I didn't know it was you."

"Hey." You stopped his guilty rambling with a hand to his cheek. "It's okay. I'm okay. I'm just glad you're here."

And then, because Spencer needed to make sure that you really were okay, he pulled you back into his arms and held you even tighter this time.

"Uh, Spence?"

The sound in the doorway snapped you both out of your mutual reverie. You looked up to see a blonde woman there, staring in an equal mixture of shock and confusion at the sight in front of her.

Spencer begrudgingly untangled himself from your arms before getting up to approach her.

"JJ, do you mind if I do the cognitive for this one?" Spencer asked.

The woman--JJ-- shifted her eyes a few times between you and Spencer. "Um, of course. I'll just go and inform Hotch. Tell us if you need anything."

After JJ's departure, Spencer closed the door again to award you both a much needed privacy.

He grabbed a wooden chair from the corner and dragged it before sitting down right in front of you.

"I need to start the interview now, sweetheart. Think you're up for it?"

Your whole body went rigid for a matter of seconds before you forced it to restart again. It was gone as soon as it came, but Spencer noticed it just the same.

"Look at me," Spencer ordered softly, using his delicate finger to nudge your face up until he was looking straight into your eyes. "I know it's scary. I don't want you to have to relive yesterday either, but it will help us catch whoever did this."

"I've told the police everything I knew yesterday. I was hiding the entire time." Like a coward. "I didn't see anything. I don't have anything else that could help you."

"I know that, sunshine. But as I've told you before, our method is slightly different. We won't be just focusing on what you saw, but also what you smelled, or maybe even heard." Spencer took your hands then, squeezing affectionately. "I'll be here with you the entire time."

The nod you gave him was hesitant, but it was a start nonetheless. You listened intently to Spencer's words and closed your eyes just as he had instructed.

"We'll start at the beginning," you heard him say. "Why don't you tell me why you went there yesterday?"

"I, uh, received a call from my friend, Nick, after my plane landed. We had been communicating back and forth since his company seeked my consultation for one of their upcoming projects," you began. "I wasn't even supposed to work because I had requested the day off. But Nick said it didn't have to be a formal meeting, so I agreed to meet him."

"Tell me what you remember after arriving at the office."

Your mind traveled back to that specific time one day prior. You remembered walking into the place and seeing its unusual state of vacancy even though there was still a good half an hour left before lunchtime.

"I just assumed everyone had gone to lunch earlier and shrugged it off," you recalled.

Spencer nodded his head. "Did anything else strike you as out of the ordinary?"

"No? I don't... I don't know. It was only my second time being there, I'm not sure what was normal and what wasn't."

"Okay. That's okay. You're doing good so far, sweetheart," Spencer quickly interjected, trying to get you to calm down before your distress could turn into a full-blown panic. "Now, what did you do next?"

"I followed Nick into his office."

Nick was keeping his promise true. It hadn't felt like a formal meeting, just two old college buddies reminiscing about the past and discussing possibilities of the future that, of course, included the company's upcoming project which you would be working on with him.

"I excused myself to the bathroom at some point," you added. "When I first heard the commotion, I thought nothing of it. It's like the idea that a group full of armed men had taken over the building didn't even cross my mind. I mean, why would it? I was on my way back to Nick's office when I saw them."

You recalled turning a corner after exiting the bathroom only to see those figures carrying machine guns and shouting at everyone to get on their knees or put their hands above their heads. You remembered sprinting the way you had come from and opening the first door you could reach that just happened to be the supply closet.

"Let's go back to the moment you saw them," Spencer urged gently. "How many people were there? Do you remember any conspicuous detail? Maybe one of them had tattoos or spoke with an accent. Anything that distinguished them."

Taking a deep breath, you tried replaying those crucial seconds slowly in your head.

"There were four of them. I couldn't see much. They were all wearing identical black clothes."

Suddenly, an unexpected piece of memory rushed to the front of your mind. You opened your eyes in shock, meeting Spencer's curious gaze that had been kept intently on you the entire time.

"I think at least one of them is a woman," you told him.

Spencer's eyebrows rose in surprise. "Are you sure?"

"One of the guys said something about... fucking this place up. And then she laughed. I heard her. It was definitely a female laugh."

"Good. That's good."

"Yeah? Do you think it'll help?"

Spencer nodded assuredly, bringing his hand to leave calming strokes on your head. "I know it will. You've done a great job, sweetheart. I'm proud of you."

The praise Spencer gave eased the tension in your shoulders. As if having been granted fresh air after decades of confinement, you were finally able to let yourself breathe again.

Spencer continued his loving strokes on your head. Little by little, the weight of his touch melted the resolve you had built into a pathetic puddle on the floor. Without its mental shield protecting you, your tears sped forward, gathering in your eyes until they spilled on the vast path down your cheeks.

"Hey, hey." Spencer's voice was laden with panic after seeing you start to cry. "Sunshine, what is it? What's wrong? Talk to me."

"I-I just... God." You struggled to get the words out in between sobs. "I'm a coward, Spencer."

"What?"

"All of those people... They died because I was a fucking coward."

Your admission tore into the air before stabbing Spencer right through his chest.

"Sweetheart, you know that's not true."

"But it is!" you cried out, pulling away from Spencer's grounding hold around your shaking body in favor of your own arms. "I was a coward. I ran and hid because I was too scared to die. Too scared to fight. If I had just tried a little harder, I could've called for help. That way, maybe all of those people wouldn't... And Nick wouldn't..."

A haunting image flashed behind your eyes. The image of Nick's limp and lifeless body on the floor, among those of the others. You remembered crying next to him, punching his chest, body, and arm despite having seen the gunshot wound on his forehead. It took you another five minutes before you eventually managed to gather yourself together, found a phone, and dialed 911.

Not that it made any difference. They were all already dead.

Spencer could hear his heart breaking at the sight of you curling into yourself, recoiling from his touch because you somehow believed you didn't deserve his affection at that moment. If Spencer could just transfer all of your pain towards him, he would. Seeing you beat yourself up that way over something that happened and was done to you was the worst kind of torture he ever had to endure in life.

And Spencer had been through more kinds of torture than the general population in the world.

Deciding that he had seen enough of your self-deprecating torment, he reclaimed your hands inside of his palms and urged you to look at him.

"Are you hearing yourself right now?" Spencer asked incredulously. "How can you even think that way? Sweetheart, what happened to those people, to Nick, it is not your fault."

"B-but, if I hadn't run away--"

"Then you would've died, too," he cut you off. "Sunshine, there were four of them with machine guns. No one stood a single chance against them. Those people were there to kill. There was nothing you could've done."

It was a hard pill to swallow, but Spencer needed you to hear it.

He needed you to know the truth no matter how unacceptable it was.

"If you hadn't hid from them, we would've found seven bodies there instead of six. And I--" Spencer took a shuddering breath, "--I would've lost you."

Your shoulders deflated at his revelation. "Spence--"

"So please--" he searched your eyes then, using his thumb to sweep away the remaining tears under your eyes, "--stop holding yourself accountable. I promise I will do everything I can to find those people and make them pay for what they did."

Spencer's vow triggered a new wave of tears that compelled you to sink into his awaiting arms. He let you stay there until you had cried your tears dry. It was something he also secretly needed for himself after suffering through the short-lived horror over the mention of your name in relation to the heinous case. He just needed to make sure that you were okay.

A few minutes passed by with you in his arms. Eventually, Spencer had to tear himself away to finish his job. He asked you to wait as he wrapped up the transcript of your cognitive interview, along with his professional report over it.

"I need to run somewhere real quick. I promise to be back in a couple of hours," he notified JJ as he handed her the interview report. "Tell Hotch for me? Thanks."

Without waiting for his friend's reply, Spencer rushed back to the waiting room before leading you out to take you home.

Back at your apartment, Spencer guided you towards the direction of your bathroom as soon as you had stepped into the threshold.

"Are you trying to get me naked, Spencer?" you remarked playfully after he refused to let you take your clothes off yourself.

"Yes." The gleaming mischief in your eyes caused him to flick your nose lightly. "Just to get you ready for your bath. Get your head straight, will you?"

You scoffed at his back as he turned around to check the water temperature in the tub.

Once you were submerged safely inside, Spencer left the bathroom to give you some privacy. Meanwhile, he began rummaging through your drawers to pull out a change of clothes, a towel, and a clean sheet for your bed.

By the time you exited, Spencer had changed your bedsheets and lit one of your favorite candles on the bedside table. He asked you to sit down on the bed as he kneeled before you, helping you put on the pajamas he had picked out with little prints of sunflowers on them.

None of Spencer's touches were sexual. They swept over your skin with the care of an artist handling their most precious work. When his eyes found yours, you swore you could almost cry from the intense adoration that seemed to shine so brightly out of them.

As he guided you to lie on the bed, you were surprised to see him following suit. He got under the covers with you, pulling you close to tangle every inch of your limbs with his.

"I love you, Spencer," you admitted to his chest, heart heavy with the deep appreciation and overwhelming affection for the man beside you.

Spencer looked down at your confession, finding his favorite pair of eyes already looking earnestly at him. Instinctively, he reached for your chin with his fingers, tugging your face upward until he could capture your lips with his.

The kiss was slow. Careful. Filled with silent promises and discreet reassurances. When you both parted, Spencer didn't pull himself away. Instead, he let his forehead touch yours while his eyes stayed closed.

"Will you be here when I wake up?" you asked quietly.

"Yes, sweetheart. Now go to sleep."

Although the two of you knew his answer was a lie, you both chose to pretend otherwise. You knew Spencer still had responsibilities to fulfill, along with a promise to you that he intended to keep. You knew that when you woke up later that evening, Spencer would already be long gone, and you would be forced to bask in the traces of himself that he had left behind.

But for now, Spencer was still there, in the comfort of your bedroom, lying on the bed next to you. And that knowledge alone was good enough for you to finally drift further into the land of sleep, surrounded by the warmth of Spencer's loving embrace.

"I'm telling you," JJ insisted, looking at her entire team minus Spencer and Hotch. "There was definitely something going on between them. Why else would he request to take over the cognitive for me?"

"Maybe he was feeling generous," Rossi deadpanned, earning an unimpressed glare from JJ.

It had been a full week since the BAU team had arrived in D.C. to investigate the series of gun attacks in the city. Just the day prior, they had successfully made their fourth arrest, bringing this case to yet another satisfying conclusion in the eye of justice.

If nothing else was amiss, they should have been on their way back to Quantico in less than an hour. In the meantime, though, JJ felt obliged to gather her team members in the middle of the bullpen to share her suspicion about a certain scene she had accidentally caught on their first day working the case.

"Pretty boy did seem more emotionally involved in this case than he usually does, though," Derek pointed out.

"Right? Right?" JJ replied almost too enthusiastically. "Come on, aren't you guys at least half as curious as I am about who this mystery girl might be? Don't you wanna try finding out who she is while we're still here?"

They all stared at each other in hesitation.

"Or, we could just ask Spencer directly and let him explain?" Emily suggested, receiving incredulous looks from the other three in response. "Yeah, you're right. What did you say her name was again?"

"I don't remember," JJ answered.

"It must be listed in the files somewhere, right?" Derek immediately sprung into action, reaching towards the scattered case files that might contain the name they were looking for.

"Just to be clear, I am not taking any part in this." Rossi sighed.

"Got it!" Derek waved the offending file in hand, giving it to JJ, who instantly began skimming over it.

"Alright. Says here that her name is..."

JJ read the name aloud when unexpectedly, an answering sound sprouted from behind them.

"Yes?"

Every single one of them turned in shock at your voice. You smiled at their wide-eyed expressions, waving your hand a little awkwardly in the air.

"You!" JJ exclaimed.

"Me?"

Emily nudged JJ in the ribs, making the blonde woman wince.

"Y-you're the witness from the startup case, right?" JJ said, trying to rectify the situation.

"That's me."

"What can we do for you, Miss?" Rossi asked, stepping forward and away from the rest of the group.

"I'm actually looking for Spencer. Do you know where he might be?"

"Spencer Reid? You know Reid?" Emily asked.

Before you had the chance to reply, the man in question came strolling into the bullpen, rambling animatedly to Hotch who was walking beside him. The moment Spencer caught sight of you, though, he immediately abandoned Hotch's side and rushed towards where you were standing.

"Hey, what are you doing here?"

"Looking for you, of course," you told him, fitting yourself easily into Spencer's side as his arm went around your waist. "Hi, Hotch."

The older man called your name in greeting. "I got your message. You wanted to talk to me?"

"I wanted to ask you--well, all of you, actually--" you glanced around at the other team members, "--if maybe you all would let me treat you to lunch? As a thank you for your hard work on the case."

Hotch nodded in response. "It's fine with me. We don't have to be back until tonight, anyway. Everyone?"

Instead of replying to your offer, Emily voiced aloud the question that was circling everyone's mind.

"You know her?" Emily looked at Hotch before dragging her eyes away towards you. "And you know him? You know each other? How?"

You gazed up at Spencer's eyes, seeing them shining with the same mirth as the one you felt dancing in your stomach.

"I guess this is supposed to be the part where I introduce myself, isn't it?" You chuckled.

Extending your palm, you shook each of their hands while telling them your name, them responding back with theirs even though you already knew who was who long before you had even met them.

"I still don't understand," JJ admitted after you finished shaking her hand. "How did you know Spencer and Hotch?"

Once again, you looked into Spencer's eyes, a question bouncing around in yours. Spencer's nod of affirmation was the only go-ahead you needed.

It's time.

"I'm Spencer's girlfriend."

"She's my wife."

You turned your head towards Spencer in shock.

In front of you, Spencer's teammates were causing an uproar.

"Wait, what?" Emily stared dumbfoundedly.

"You have a girlfriend?" Derek asked in disbelief.

"You're married?!" JJ shrieked.

"Hold on a second," Rossi interjected, holding his palms out as if to tell everyone to stand down and calm themselves. "So which one is it? Girlfriend or wife?"

And that was how you found yourself sitting in the private VIP room of your favorite restaurant in the city with some of Spencer's closest people on earth.

"That's the craziest story I've ever heard," Emily pondered in astonishment.

Rossi, Derek, and JJ were all wearing an identical look on each of their faces after hearing the story of how you and Spencer met: by drunkenly getting married in Vegas after only knowing each other for barely one night when you both weren't even twenty-two yet.

"If someone were to tell me yesterday that there's another member of this team who also went to get married while drunk in Vegas, I would have never even thought of mentioning Spencer's name," JJ mused.

At your curious expression, Spencer explained, "Rossi also got drunkenly married in Vegas to his third ex-wife,"

"Why didn't you two get a divorce?" Emily suddenly asked.

It was something that everyone who knew about your situation with Spencer had questioned at one point or another. The real answer was because you and Spencer had both been reluctant to go through the nasty and lengthy legal process of getting a divorce. Therefore, you decided to part ways without doing anything about it, vowing to only track each other down if one of you ever needed to end the bond because of another impending marriage or any other urgent matter.

But that reason alone was usually not enough to appease people's curiosity. And over the years, you and Spencer had poked fun over that particular fact by coming up with the most outrageous lie you could muster up.

"She wanted to get a divorce," Spencer fabricated smoothly. "I persuaded her otherwise because I had this inkling that someday we were gonna fall in love."

Usually, any other people would coo sweetly at Spencer's statememt.

But these weren't any other people. These people were Spencer's family in more ways except flesh and blood, and even without their profiling skills, you knew they could see right through Spencer's little deception.

"That sounds like bullshit to me. Doesn't that sound like bullshit to you?" Emily asked, turning to JJ for support.

"Yeah, that was bullshit, alright," JJ claimed vehemently, prompting an innocent-looking grin from Spencer and a series of chuckles from everyone else.

"When did you two start dating, then?" Rossi spoke up from one end of the table.

"About two years after Vegas, right?" you estimated, to which Spencer nodded in confirmation. "He strolled into my place of work while he was on a case, and then he asked me out."

Derek sat up on his seat after hearing the new information. "Wait, when was this? Why didn't I know about this?"

"The beginning of my second year in the BAU," Spencer offered. "Elle knew."

"Elle? Elle Greenway? You told Elle but not me?" Derek looked offended.

Spender shrugged nonchalantly. "Elle was assigned with me that day."

"Unbelievable." Derek slumped back down in his chair. "Penelope is gonna freak when she finds out what she missed today."

"Penelope? Oh, she already knows," you told him.

That revelation earned a collective disbelief look across the entire table.

"Yeah... I, uh," you cleared your throat, "I actually just went shopping with her two weeks ago."

"You've got to be kidding me," Emily muttered.

"You told Penelope but not me?" Derek sounded hurt as he pointed his accusatory stare at Spencer. "You even told Hotch!"

"I didn't tell Garcia. She dug through my history and found it out herself. Had to bribe her with candies and chocolates for a whole month to keep her quiet," Spencer grumbled. "And I had to tell Hotch. We needed to add her number to my emergency contact list."

Despite Spencer's concise explanation, Derek still seemed unsatisfied by the whole ordeal.

"How long have you known?" he finally decided to ask Hotch.

"A while," the man answered from his seat at the opposite end of the table from Rossi. "They even babysat Jack a few times for me."

"I don't believe this," Derek scowled. "Pretty boy's got himself a girl for the last six years, and I never knew? Outrageous."

"Technically, we've been married even longer than that," Spencer responded, as if he was unaware of the imminent glower that Derek was sending his way. "Eight years since Vegas."

"That's longer than any of my marriage," Rossi remarked before sipping his drink.

The laugh that resonated upon Rossi's little comment elicited an affectionate smile on your lips.

"So, you live in D.C., then?" JJ asked, at last stirring the conversation away from the topic of your and Spencer's secret marriage-slash-relationship.

"I do, yeah. But most of the time, I live out of my suitcase," you answered. "My firm has clients all over the country. A few overseas, as well. I'm lucky if I even get to have an entire week to sleep uninterrupted in my own bed."

Even then, you truthfully quite enjoyed the work you had to do. You didn't mind having to travel some place new every other week. In fact, you somehow believed that your constant need to travel for your job, and Spencer for his, was one of the reasons why the two of you worked so well together.

Although people might think that two adults who had to travel for a living were a recipe for a disastrous relationship, you and Spencer had so far proven otherwise. Because of your respective schedules, you could sympathize more with the other anytime they had to go somewhere urgent for work. It only made you savor every single second you spent together because of how much precious each one of them became.

The rest of lunch unraveled with the same bucket of smiles, jokes, and laughter. It felt good to finally tell the few people who meant the world in Spencer's life the truth about your relationship. It was also a huge relief to see them opening their arms and welcoming you into the family without an ounce of hesitation.

"Hotch?" Spencer called out after everyone exited the restaurant. "Will it be okay if I stay in the city for one more night?"

"As long as you promise to be back for tomorrow's briefing," Hotch reminded sternly, but the meaningful look he passed over you before he entered his vehicle spoke of a thousand things left unsaid.

"It was so nice meeting you," JJ said as she took you in her arms. "And I'm sorry again about your friend."

"Thank you. And thanks for all of your hard work in catching those guys."

"Of course, it's what we do." JJ smiled as she pulled away. "Invite me and Emily the next time you and Penelope hang out, okay?"

"Will do," you promised.

You watched as every single one of them scrambled into the two black SUVs, waving your goodbye until the cars drove out of your sight.

"I think that went well," you commented before looking up at Spencer. "Do you?"

"I think it went as well as it could."

"So--" you began, circling your arms around Spencer's neck, "--we have more than twelve hours until you're expected back at Quantico. What do you wanna do?"

Spencer nudged your nose with his. "I can think of a few activities we can partake in."

"Really?"

"Really."

Just as he was a hairbreadth away from pressing his lips to yours, you suddenly tore yourself out of Spencer's arms.

"Like getting some frozen yogurts?" you asked giddily, smirking at the dumbfounded look that you managed to put on Spencer's face.

"Fine. Let's go get some frozen yogurts."

Spencer had to hide his amused grin at your elated squeals. He was more than content at that moment to let you produce those addictive sounds at the mere prospect of frozen yogurts.

But later that night, he had a whole different set of activities lined up to pull those same sounds out of you once more.

And it might or might not potentially involve an entirely different yet creative use of frozen yogurts as well.

Spencer simply just hadn't decided yet.

9K notes · View notes

vatelixx · 4 months ago

Text

You are the knife (I turn inside myself),

S2!Post-addiction!Spencer Reid x afab!BAU!reader

SMUT!! (and copious amounts of angst, and like a small amount of fluff to just… balance it out), Workplace rivals, aka, enemies to lovers (who are still enemies and would rather die than tell each other they’re in love).

──── autistic spencer (as per usual), evil evil reader (im being dramatic, kinda), they hate each other so much that they have to find a new way to crawl into each others skin.

Warnings: sub spencer, brat!spencer (a man gets glasses and suddenly thinks he can be defiant) brat!tamer!reader, HUGE corruption kink (someone keeps putting that in there???? it’s not me, i swear), first time for Spencer (i love a virginal nerd), restraints (someone has to pin him down), crying— like lots of crying, degradation (and a little praise because they work hand in hand), Spencer eats reader out like rent is due, reader says thankyou by destroying him, they argue mid-sex. They actually just argue constantly.

— warning: mentions of past drug addiction.

w.c: 9k (mostly smut, holy shit how is it 9k??? their arguments hiked up my word count im positive)

a/n: i know tumblr hates to see me coming with my Spencer Reid one shots. I wrote this at 3am when I was supposed to be studying for my latin exam, it’s okay. Uni will understand I had greater things to do. I promise i’ll get around to my requests this week, i just got possessed by the holy ghost and wrote this.

────────────

Something, something, mindless torture. Spencer holds his brain, his intellect, in high regard. Proverbial accomplishments, Stanford Binet approved genius, he’s an outlier to most. And yet, the moment you start speaking, he has no thoughts beyond the domineering urge to throw himself off a cliff.

You’re late today. Chicago, you’ve both been sentenced, discarded to create a profile from the minimal information present. Forced proximity, the team have been trying to stifle this animosity shared between you for over a year now. It doesn’t work.

Here’s the thing, each member of the BAU has their own specialised feat: Penelope could be a cybercriminal, if she so wished, a tech-genius that has no qualms in tearing down firewalls. Morgan, adroit, an expert on the field, stereotypically strong, all running lines of muscle. Who wouldn’t want to be princess-carried away from danger by him? He’s also remarkably good at kicking down doors. Gideon has incalculable years of experience, a mentor.

The list stretches on.

But you and Spencer can’t both be the brains of the team. It’s unbalanced, skewed. A clash of intellect. Scales tipped in one direction, why does he always come up short? Why can’t he just—

Why, repeats as you push through the bureau, blanking the predictable, formulaic stares of various officers, trained officials, the usual mess. Why— why profiling? Why did you voluntarily choose to suffer your way through ceaseless cases of sanguinary?There has to be an element of masochism to your career; no one with a sane mind voluntarily decides to walk into an onslaught of serial killers and death.

The early mornings are always the worst; stumbling out of bed, deriving no sleep from the night, tangled sheets and restless limbs. “Don’t,” you push, padding into the office, met with Spencer’s hardened gaze. “Late night.”

“We haven’t been here for 48 hours yet, 36 and 22 minutes to be precise, and you’ve already—“

“Get your mind out of the gutter, boy genius. Late night as in I stared at the casefiles until my mind went numb.”

“Did you take a break?” he asks, and you both know it’s not born from care. “Maybe a self-reflection period to realise that torturing yourself isn’t the most effective form of work. Your reactive skills will be delayed now, let’s hope we don’t find the unsub today. In fact, maybe I should warn Hotch—“

“Have I ever warned Hotch about your breakdowns?” that shuts him up. It also makes him spiral, because you can’t know, it’s not statistically possible that you’d be aware of Hankel’s lasting impact on his body, dilaudid, hydromorphine, and not tell someone. He assumes you’d be desperate to eliminate him from the team, to claim your win.

“Right, um— the case,” he shifts in his seat. Professionalism, tolerance, it’s all a little too much work when it comes to the subject of you.

“The case.” you agree.

You’re attuned to each other, a psychological curse he’s forced to stomach. Offices and crime scenes, analysing, competing, hellbent on one upping the other. “Look at these markings—“ his hands rifle through the files that adorn the table, searching searching until they produce an autopsy report.

The markings on the body are intricate, latin symbols prominent against the victims pale skin. You lean further forward, following the path of his index finger as it traces the outline. Perhaps there’s an element of telepathy to your dynamic; you don’t need to state the obvious, too aware that his brain has already processed the information, that he’s moved onto the nuances now.

Human sacrifice, it’s not the first time you’ve caught yourselves in the midst of cult worship and indoctrination. But it’s certainly the first time of its kind.

“Traces of wine in her bloodstream. Found in a forest. Sounds like a bacchanal.” you state, shifting to pull yourself up on the desk.

Spencer looks. At your long, slender legs extending out from a pencil skirt. Effortless, natural, situating yourself on the oakwood, hair half covering your face, with loose strands pooling over your eyes to obstruct your sight.

It’s a strange analogy, the two of you; Spencer with his tired eyes, haphazard clothes and messy desk, and you, just as dishevelled in the morning light.

Metaphorically and literally you’re higher than him right now. He fixes his askew glasses. Clears his throat. “Regina Horthorne,” the victim, “Straight A student. Honour role. What are the chances she willing went to said… bacchanal?”

“Hm. I don’t know, maybe she’s like Laura Palmer. Double life. 4.0 cheerleader by day, crazed bacchante by night.” you retort.

Shamelessly, you take a moment to observe him, just as he did you. Shirt sleeves bunched up at his elbows, hair tousled, large hazel eyes, interminably darting across your face. You wonder for a moment if he’s analysed you the way you’ve analysed him. It’s a futile question, of course he has.

Anything to gain the upper hand.

You continue, “Maybe they’re sacrificing virgins. You could go undercover as a potential victim. Certainly fit the part.”

“I’m already too old to be counted as an appropriate victim. There’s a high probability ‘they’, the dominant unsub, wouldn’t even look at me, and—“ he pauses, pretty face marred by creased features, brows furrowed, a slight pout to his lips.

“There’s a homicidal cult preforming human sacrifice, and you’re wasting time by insulting me?” Spencer is….. a perpetual scholar, a social disaster, wearing his intellect like an ill-concealed secret, outcasted for the weight of his own brilliance. “The BAU clearly made a well-informed decision when they hired you.”

“Oh, you wound me boy genius.” you respond, pressing your hand against your heart.

Endless cases. The impenetrable presence of fall. It feels like you shift through cycles, bleary-eyed and tainted from the job, damaged goods— do you struggle to sleep like I do?

You lean forward, hands, adorned with cluttered rings, braced against the table, bodies closer now. There’s a burn, something fervent that lingers between you, rivalry, opposition. Some days you feel as hedonistic as the unsubs you track and chase.

Continuing, you let out a sharp laugh. “Are you still bitter because I realised it was a bacchanal before you? Don’t worry, i’ll let you take the credit for it. I’m sure Gideon will be so impressed.”

Gideon sees everything in him, and nothing in you. Predictable.

The distance between you has become almost null. It’s intimate, and he’s not sure how he feels about that. “I’m not bitter. And I don’t care about the credit.” A lie. “Unlike you, I don’t need to prove my worth to him.”

────────────

Spilt blood. Your hands are calloused from holding a gun. From firing a bullet straight through skull. The case closes, locked behind that inviolable wall, the one that’s installed into your mind the moment you’re employed, the moment you sign your fate over to the BAU. You’re not sure why anyone stays, overworked and undervalued, there’s no heroes in real life. Maybe it’s the sense of family, or maybe it’s just what everyone subconsciously fell into.

You can’t understand why you’re so angry at Spencer, why it extends to the next case, South Dakota— deaths of locals, but these days, all of the illogical, petty reasons just blur together. Create this tangled mess of overcompensation. ’I assumed you two would get along,’ Prentiss had stated— but what does she know? She’s been an active member of the BAU for a whole 10 minutes.

The hostility has mounted to new levels now.

It’s hard work, long hours, no gratitude and a pay cheque that can’t even begin to cover the trauma that comes with the job. The BAU is like self-sabotage: a long list of reasons to leave, and no real reasons to stay. But still you’re both stuck in this loop.

South Dakota, of course it’s South Dakota. Cold, desolate South Dakota where the wind and snow will not let up, and the team are forced to remain cooped up in a cheap motel, desperate for any sort of entertainment.

Here he is, coerced into your room to work on the case, overtime, his eyes are rimmed crimson.

You’re sprawled out across the bed while he sits at the other end, slender legs crossed. Spencer is tired with a weariness that seems to go soul-deep, shoulders slumped forward, glasses oblique.

The tension is near-palpable, stifling. “I can do this myself. No offence,” full offence, “but you’re unneeded right now. In general, really.”

You make him cruel. Or no, maybe this job does? He can’t remember himself unscathed now, fresh-faced to the BAU, unaware of what he’d endure. It’s still early days in recovery, two months since he was entirely, indomitably reliant on Dilaudid.

“No you can’t,” you retort. Maybe it’s unprofessional, disreputable to waste so much breath on insults, to dedicate specific moments to hostility— people are dead, people will keep dying. And yet, perhaps there’s justification for this; your mutual animosity is the only semblance of routine to this job, the only way either of you can seek control.

Control. All you do is reach for the blade.

“You’re just bitter that I know what I’m doing. You’re not infallible, Boy Wonder. You need my help, so shut up and read that autopsy report. The sooner this is over, the sooner I can go back to my apartment and forget you exist.”

Well that’s certainly unlikely.

“I think,” he says, and he knows this is going to be bad. He can feel the serrated edge to his forming words, his half-baked analysis too focused, too distracted, by his need to hurt. But he’s exhausted, and these days, he runs on a detrimentally short fuse. Maybe he finds a release in your dynamic, or maybe it makes everything worse. How can something be everything and nothing at the same time?

“I think you’re insecure” he continues, “because you know Gideon values me more. That, to him, you’re replaceable. It’s why you’re so fixated on one upping me. Why you feel the need to prove yourself superior. Textbook insecurity. You can’t stand the fact that he chooses me over you, that he thinks I’m better than you. That my input is more wanted, more necessary.”

This is uncharted territory now. It’s never been pushed to this extent. It’s never gotten so morbidly cruel that his words actually pierce. You’d consider yourself to be thick-skinned, bullet-proof, a mess of hardened edges and calloused flesh. But he regards you with such insignificance, in a way that’s different from your own personal view of him.

Obstinate, petty, a smart kid yet to meet his match. But never insignificant.

There’s silence, and then he’s dragging you down with him, forcing you to dig deeper, to smother wounds with salt. “Did he really choose you, though? No one on the team noticed. Not one person. After the Hankel case? When you came back different?”

Spencer falters.

It’s a vulnerable, raw spot, a laceration that never seems to heal; the worst part is that you’re right. He’d been in a spiralling decline for months, in plain sight, but everyone had been so absorbed in their own issues and god he needed a release. No one noticed. No one ever notices.

That he has no life, no prospects outside of the BAU. That his existence has been one comicotragic mess of inexperience, missing the mark, missing the joke, the punchline, the fact that everyone was always laughing at him, behind his back, to his face, present or gone. It didn’t matter? Why would it ever matter to a bunch of washed-out teenagers?

He was robbed of his adolescence. And these days, he barely gets by.

Spencer’s eyes drift back to the files, avoiding your perusing gaze, if only you had enough decency to soften your eyes. Just once.

“You don’t get to bring that into this.” He murmurs. “Shut up.”

“You started this—“

“Are you 5?” he bites back, “I was making an observation.”

When he abruptly stands up, files clattering to the floor, discarded despite the prevalent case, you’re quick to follow after him, to chase him into the cheap motel corridor. Because no, he doesn’t get to walk away from this. Not when he laid the first blow, when the first cut was drawn from his blade. Perhaps it’s perverse, to chase the hurt that comes from being around him. Maybe it’s all just an elaborate way to self-harm, to find release in the distorted relationship you both share.

“Where are you going? You can’t walk away from this one.” you state, gripping his arm. Nails pressing into skin, crescent marks that’ll stain and remind and then ache— it’s repetitive now.

“I covered for your ass.” you knew about the addiction, you knew, and even though omitting such information to the BAU could’ve lost your license, you still. Didn’t. Say. Anything.

It’s not like it took much effort to discern the truth.

“I also signed your email up to about 100 rehab centres and self-help blogs.” you’re not sure if you did that out of malice, or if it was your own, interpersonal way of minimising the damage, despite the circumstances.

You noticed. The rest of the BAU, who pressed false promises of friendship, loyalty into his shaking palms didn’t notice. Didn’t even think to humour what he became at his worst. But you did.

Furthermore, to add onto that jarring conclusion, you helped him. Admittedly in your own insufferable, (downright mocking) way. But it was help, and that’s more than he’s ever received before.

All he knows right now is that he hates you, hates the person he is, the person this job, and the intransigent presence of you, forced him into becoming.

All he knows is that he’s stumbling forward, cupping your face (taking your grip along with it), and kissing you. Kissing you hard. Like he’s Icarus and you’re the sun, worth the inevitable burn, even if the touch is only momentary, even if it’ll seal his fate as foolish.

It’s a mess of harsh, rough skin, tousled hair and sharp teeth against soft lips. It’s like trying to grasp at stardust, his hands fumbling for purchase along your body, trying to push you closer, as if the chasm of space between you is unbearable, a distance that’s impossible to endure.

He laughs when you respond instinctively, a sharp excuse of a noise, muffled by your swollen lips, and he’s just kissing you through it because he hates you, he hates you— he hates you so much that sometimes he can’t breathe when you’re around.

You crawled under his skin a long time ago, made yourself a home there.

“I think I’d rather be held hostage for a second time than kiss you again.” he says, and he might’ve elaborated further, but his lips abandon such a notion to chase your own.

The kiss becomes more languid, more desperate, like he’s trying to find an answer in response to it. There’s a brief, agonising break, foreheads pressed together, a harsh gasp of air, before the moment restarts.

God you taste good. Feel good, he thinks. He’s never been this intimate, not beyond Lila, that fleeting mess in the pool. The two events incomparable, he felt something then, small and minuscule, not enough to pursue. But right now? Oh, In contrast, he feels everything now.

“I wish you were being held hostage. It’d be quieter,” you retort. It’s muffled, and you’re moving, bodies stumbling into obstacles as you relocate, when did you get to your room? It feels like natural progression, evolution, diminutive changes that you don’t even realise are occurring.

You bite his bottom lip, draw it between your teeth, ruin him for anyone else. Because isn’t that what you’ve been doing for years now? Hurting each other so profoundly that only you can bare the scarred aftermath?

It’s sick. It’s sick, and you wonder how petty comments, trivial work-place rivalry distorted into this? How you’ve just ended up sick because of each other, and admittedly, for each other.

What is sickness without pleasure?

He whimpers. The noise almost imperceptible, but it’s there, and it’s pathetic, an unbecoming thing caught somewhere between a gasp and needy whine. He’s backed against the wall now, and he can’t find it in him to complain.

“Of course it would be you,” he says breathlessly. For all the knowledge he lacks here (physically; he’s well-versed in the hypotheticals of anatomy), he doesn’t feel pure.

People like him don’t get that.

He should feel guilty. He should recoil at the touch, at the knowledge you bear, at the reality of this. Except, for some unknown reason, he relishes in the idea of someone having him, even if the cost is his pride, his dignity, even if the cost is you.

He whimpers again as your teeth rake along the slope of his neck, shuddering at the sharp sensation, and he’s almost begging, words on the verge of being uttered.

But he can’t. Because that isn’t him when he’s with you. “Are you going to punish me? For uh, everything I said tonight? Because ah, god, I’d like to see you try.”

Admittedly, it’s not hard to break his resolve. A few more soul-crushing kisses and your wandering hand, dipping beneath his trousers, hard. Obscenely hard. Yes, he’s muttering as you unclasp buttons, as you loosen his trousers to the extent that you can palm him through his boxers. Half-choked gasps escape his bruised lips with every touch, and he’s crying now. Pretty tears streaming down his face, accentuating those doe-wide eyes of his, now glossy and warped.

“Only person who’s ever touched you, huh?” you state, and maybe you derive pleasure from that concept. That only your hands, drenched thick with staining blood, have ever scrutinised the warmth of his skin. The areas where his form curves, and the areas that make him come apart, undone at the seams. Grasping you, relying entirely on the wall, just to remain upright and somewhat conscious.

He makes another noise, another guttural, pathetic sound. Because, yeah, it’s just you. It’s only you, and the thought should be unbearable, but the pleasure of having, being touched is too much.

He has to grasp the back of your shirt, nails digging into fabric, as a distraction, a way to centre himself, while the rest of the world falls apart. His words are scattered, broken and messy, and he finds himself saying things he’ll inevitably regret. “Please, I can’t-“

He’s supposed to hate this, hate you.

“Cant— can’t take it. Oh,” he wants to bury his face into the crook of your neck, but you’re gripping his jaw, forcing him to look directly at you. Glasses discarded, the view was blurry without the added layers of tears.

“Eyes on me, boy genius.”

He complies. Gaze locked, unable to look away, entranced by the way your pupils dilate, staring at you, like you’re artwork, something to be studied and broken down and torn apart, only to be rebuilt again once he’s had his fill.

“Let’s look at you. Hm?” you state, removing his sweater, then his shirt, and there’s so many layers, and he’s acting coy now, as if he wasn’t whimpering moments prior.

Instinctively, by reflex, he tries to cover himself up. To hide planes of untouched skin from your gluttonous palms. You grip his wrists, pin them above his head, and oh isn’t this a sight: Spencer Reid, entirely bare, bound by you alone, tear track marks and swollen lips.

He always wanted to be seen.

He just didn’t expect, anticipate, being seen to this extent. He can’t fight your trailing gaze, and he doesn’t want to; it might make him flushed, a few irrational movements away from a cardiac arrest, but this it— raw uncut intimacy.

You’re softer now, as you run your hand along his dick, earning a variety of muffled noises, as your thumb brushes over his tip, taking care to touch every part of him. Everywhere he needs it. When you finally wrap your fingers around him, everything burns, fervent and collapsing, and he supposes this is what it felt like the moment Troy collapsed.

“Mhh,” he moans, hips bucking in time with your palm, steady movements.

He’s already so messy, and it should be embarrassing, but all he feels is the blunted edges of pleasure, the jagged cut of humiliation, warring against each other.

“You’re— oh.. you’re enjoying this far too much,” he manages, and it takes so much energy to get it out, his words slurring, interrupted by debauched gasps.

It feels good, so good that he can’t process the shame that’s bound to follow. He hates you, and he might be a little in love with you, and it’s not fair to process feelings, chemicals, he was never supposed to obtain.

“That it’s. There you go. That’s my good boy.”

Spencer sobs.

“Shh, shh, I know, I know, it’s a lot.” there’s always an element of condescension to your words. An undertone that rips through his defences. Destroys him in the process.

His body is receptive, ruined, because of the praise. He’s not sure how you can look at him, clearly, consciously, and dictate that he’s good. Most days he feels impure, debased. Burnt-out and wasted, the great always fall.

The same skin he pierced with needles is now reverently on show, and you should be cruel, it’s what you’re both good at, the only viable way to communicate, an undisclosed secret language. But you’re not. That confuses him to no extent.

“I can’t— cant, ‘m so close.” his arms are still bound above his head, and despite the ache, he keeps them there. It’s not the most conventional ‘first time’, but he takes it regardless.

“Yeah?” you mutter, pace picking up. The sound is obscene, his excessive pre-cum smeared across his length, wet noises with every stroke. “You wanna cum for me, hm?”

“Oh god,” he breaks, “Yes— yes, please—“

You have no interest in denying him, not when he’s this destroyed from a mere hand-job. “Go on then. Just because you asked so nicely.”

He falls apart. Dewy-eyed and blissed out, you force him to look at you as he reaches his orgasm. To keep looking as he squirms and writhes. So he does, because apparently his cognitive function has evaporated now.

Your tongue meets your palm, tasting him, pressing the excess into his mouth with an indecent kiss. Is this what sex entails? Complete submission, vulnerabilities bared wide? Dirty in that primal sense, the same one he always shied away from?

Finally, finally in the aftermath, he breaks his stare. His head falls back against the wall, eyes closed, neck exposed. Stifled gasps, it’s quiet, as if you’re both aware of your actions, the consequences of them.

“This is, uh— yeah.” he mumbles, reaching for his clothes; now the ecstasy has worn off, the shame overpowers. The sin of man, he’s starting to think you’re the personification of the serpent.

Or maybe it’s the other way around. He doesn’t hold his own body to such pure standards. He’s not sure any benevolence would look at him with acceptance. Not after everything he’s done to it.

“Hey wait,” you’re not good at this whole ‘nice’ thing, not when it comes to him. But there have been moments, in the past, small, fleeting seconds of…. you’re not entirely sure what to call them. Late hours spent scrutinising cases, your back-up points to his statements, mindless information dumps that the team can’t quite understand.

“Don’t make me chase you a second time, jesus.” You can’t just leave—“ you exhale, breathe, in and out, “Are you okay?”

He stops. He stops because you’ve never asked that question, never cared to ask that question, and maybe that hurts more than not being asked at all.

A part of him, the small part of him that’s not functional, wants to stay, wants to just stay in this bliss and pretend that it doesn’t matter, that the inevitable fallout won’t occur. But the larger, prominent part, reminds him that this isn’t right, that he needs to leave and collect his wits.

“I don’t know, im confused—“ he sighs, drags a shaky hand through his hair. “Yeah, im uh… i’m fine. “I just need to leave, I have to-“ he swallows. “I can’t. Not right now, I need to do— anything but this.”

He walks out on you and it’s fine.

────────────

Everything is fine, reality can return, and you can forget that you had his arms bound against the wall, that he fell apart from the weight of your dragging palm. You can pretend you never saw him naked, bare in every form of the word. Stripped raw, his lips burning against yours, skin on skin. It’s. Fine.

Life continues. Your dynamic remains the same, unrelenting, your biting words, just short of callous, his scathing remarks. Modus Operandi. You wonder how you’ve turned the most tender person into something sharp, and you wonder if it’s ever going to be reversible.

When the case closes, the BAU, in predictable, systematic fashion, celebrate (ease the weight) over drinks. You’re adorned in lace, a black dress that just catches your thighs. It’s late now, and by the time you arrive at the dive-bar, the majority of the team are intoxicated (you couldn’t go straight from work, there was still blood clinging to your skin).

Everything is fine. To reiterate.

It’s not.. It’s not. Because oh, Spencer finds himself staring. He’s fairly certain he doesn’t have any lingering interest. But then again, why is he fixated on the way fabric clings to your ruinous figure, the way your hair sits, slightly dishevelled, pooled over one shoulder? It’s exasperating and inebriating all at once. You shouldn’t be able to affect him to such an extent, and yet here he is, mindlessly staring at you with starry-eyes. He should look away. Leave even?

Of course, he fails. You end up squeezing in next to him, all leather seats and too little space.

And, okay, he knows he should feel guilty.

In reality, he’s not. Because, sure, he’s sat too close, and sure, he can just make out the scent of your perfume, faintly floral. But he’s intoxicated, just as everybody else is, and it’s making logic and reason seem far off, too distant to process. He looks at you once, then twice, like he can’t quite believe you’re tangible.

“You look nice, I guess,” he murmurs bluntly, looking away, feigning disinterest.

As if the ‘incident’ (as he’s taken to calling it) didn’t tilt his world on its axis.

“You also look nice, I guess.” you retort, and it’s the best you’re going to get out of each other. At least in this state (the surplus of praise that left your bruised, possessed lips cannot be justified, or repeated ever. again.)

You lean forward, watch as his face creases at the proximity. Are you thinking about the kisses? Plural, fuck, plural. Open-mouthed, desperate movements?You’re. not. Instead, you steal his glasses, slip them on. The prescription is strong, thick lenses that distort your perception.

“What do you think?” you ask, “I might go as you for halloween, it’ll definitely scare the kids.”

“They make you look intelligent. Considering you need all the help you can get, I’d take that as a compliment,”

It’s a domestic action, to put on his glasses. And the thoughts that burn through his mind stem from HR prohibited to domestic, which he argues is far worse. You, tangled in sheets, sporting nothing but his glasses. Resting against the tip of your nose, askew, as you ride him. As you tilt your head back, exposing— no.

He wants to say something about how ridiculous you look— but it’s hard to focus, you’re taking up all of his sanity, like a computer running multiple programs at once. You’re malware actually, destined to corrupt him (which you’ve already done to a painful extent).

“You can’t just touch my stuff.” he settles on, sounding more petulant than anticipated.

“Oh chill out, boy wonder. It’s a pair of glasses,” you mutter, removing them to blink blink blink, and there he is, the centre focus of your vision, now fully detailed again. It takes you a moment to render in his appearance: shirt sleeves rolled to his elbows, arms exposed, long, deft fingers. There’s heavy bags gathering beneath his eyes, dragging down those big, blown-out irises of his, wide and completely dirty (how is it that his natural resting face is so obscene?).

Focus.

You push the glasses back onto his face. Better, it’s a sight you’ve come to anticipate after he ran out of contact lenses. “There. Oh, were you just upset because you couldn’t see me properly? That’s sweet, Spence. Flattery will get you everywhere.”

He can see everything.

Every small detail of your face; strands of hair falling loose, dilated pupils, accentuated by heavy liner, obsidian that contrasts against your incisive eyes. Your lips, oh your lips, he could write a thesis on them. Stained crimson, if he were to kiss you right now, residue would catch against his own mouth, incriminate him.

He gets up. Excuses himself. Sometimes he wishes he could vanish.

But it’s not good enough.

“You,” he says between messy kisses, “Need to keep your hands to yourself.” — okay, he’s not sure how this happened. He left for the bathroom (to splash water on his face, gather his dignity, perhaps drown himself?) and you to humour the locals outside, gathering around with half-smoked cigarettes and slurring conversations.

But then, on his way back, padding through the long corridor (why is it always a corridor?), you were there, and yeah. He was screwed. Fatefully wrecked.

He had tried, in the moments leading up to his demise, to resist, but he was a man of logic and science and the science, when he was around you, simply did not apply. You’re bad for him, in every sense, he should avoid you, he should stay away.

But now, there’s no space between your bodies, no space for rationality or reasoning (god he’s tired of the thinking part. He just wants to feel).

The kiss is rough, sloppy, a desperate, messy thing. “This can’t keep happening,” he mumbles against your smeared lips.

“Do you remember last time?” you question. It’s taboo, to bring it up, to disclose the buried. But you’re fairly certain this compromising position wouldn’t exist without the lethal effects of that one night. The cheap motel and his body arching into your touch.

Rationality appears to be nonexistent now. A discarded concept.

Like last time, you guide him back against the wall, pin his hands above his head. Mirroring your actions. Well, to some ‘dignified’ extent. “Had you just like this,” you lean forward to press a series of kisses along the curvature of his jaw. “I bet you’d let me take you like this again, hm? Right here? In the middle of this shitty dive bar?”

And if he weren’t so far gone, he’d protest, he’d tell you that no, this is wrong, because you’re so wrong for him. He knows that if one good man has to fall, it shouldn’t be him.

But you don’t let good men rise, and there’s something so enticing about the depths of hell. He’s not sure he’s good anyway. It’s a complex situation. “You’re a sadist,” he murmurs, breathless, “I wouldn’t.”

Your grip instinctively tightens against his wrist, and he squirms. He’s nervous, “Could we, like… at least find a bathroom? I’d take a bathroom, even though there’s endless strains of bacteria there. Or, or split a cab. No, i’ll just pay— Anything. I’ll do anything. Just not here. This is a public space, and technically, public indecency, and—“

“Fuck,” he’s never been the type to swear, “I’ll do anything.” this time, he says it in self-defeat. Acknowledgment.

────────────

French exit. His wandering hands in the cab, and the electric pulse that burnt through his body as he kept a low profile, stumbling out of the bar, muttering thinly-veiled excuses for his abrupt departure.

The second you’re both inside your apartment, you’re clattering into things. “I love your eyes,” you state bluntly, forthcoming in every sense of the word, “Love it when you cry for me.”

You think of every harsh word that has ever escaped your lips, You think of the consequences they might’ve had. Did he ever cry over them? You know, in contrast, you never did over his. Though there was that sharp, sinking pain that felt like the embodiment of slow death. Something terminal, fated to linger, to eat and eat until nothing remained.

No big deal!

“It’s an involuntary bodily response. You’re a dacryphiliac.” he responds.

There’s not a lot he can compute right now, his brain too preoccupied with processing your touch alone. Which is so prominent, so harrowingly good that not even his genius mind can comprehend it.

He’s reasonable to believe he would kill whoever had the pleasure of experiencing you like this.

“It’s not a fetish if I only feel it for you—“

Spencer breaks.

“No-no-no,” he says, too loudly, “You can’t just- say those things. You can’t tell me you love when I cry, just because- I should be scared, of you. You’re volatile. Destructive,” he murmurs, head leaning against the crook of your shoulder. Against better judgement. But all reason has left him now. You’ve stolen it, taken it as a personal trophy to parade and boast about.

“Why am… Why am I not scared?” he asks, “It’s not like I make you cry…”

“Because there’s no reason to be scared.” you answer simply. And at surface level, it’s true. In spite of the hostility, the years of white-knuckled rivalry, you’ve always trusted him. It’s a coveted admission, considering you’re circumspect by nature.

You unbutton his shirt, let it fall to the floor, exposing his skin in the middle of your apartment. He’s standing there, and you’re not sure what to do with all of this want that perhaps you’ve misplaced as enmity for so long.

“You could make me cry,” you state, because if there’s one person out there capable of cracking you open, leaning behind fragmented pieces, it’s him. It’s always going to be him.

It’s a startling realisation. That he, Spencer Reid, of all people, can reach the centre of you in ways nobody has ever done before.

“Why would I want you to cry? That’s— i’m not even sure how I would go about it.”

You grip his hips, walk yourself backwards until you’re hitting a wall, there your body instinctively curves forward to meet his. “It doesn’t always have to be bad.” you explain, because he’s looking at it from a simplistic, textbook perspective. “Last time,” those words still feel like poison, “When I made you cry, there was no pain, right? You cried because it felt good.”

He’s staring at you clueless. Though, he might just be distracted. Either works.

Your hand catches his wrist, and then you’re hiking up your dress, guiding his touch beneath fabric. The lace panties that cover skin. He’s tentative, experimental, dragging his thumb over your clit, causing your hips to cant towards him. “Make me cry, boy genius.”

You act like this is the most indecent thing he’s capable of doing. From an unbiased standpoint, it’s up there on his list, but admittedly he hasn’t really done enough to constitute a list in the first place.

Spencer, in response, simply drops to his knees. Your panties are pulled down your legs in a disconcerting haze, and then he’s just groaning, cursing Gods he doesn’t believe in, spiting them with blasphemy, whilst also simultaneously thanking them, humouring false promises he won’t commit to.

It’s blasphemous, a prodigy on his knees, in front of you, for you. As if he’s worshiping something he can’t even comprehend, something beyond the expanse of his knowledge. And you just pull strands of his hair, pull at the strings of him.

His hands find the inside of your thighs, caressing the soft skin there and you make another noise, a noise that has him devouring you.

Face buried between your legs, he flattens his tongue against your clit, drags it upwards to catch wetness, to affirm that you’re just as affected as he. That since you touched him, all thoughts have consisted solely of you.

He doesn't think he's doing this correctly- but you're making noises, gasps that he didn’t even know you were capable of, and that's the thing about science or anatomy, whatever it may be, the brain is incredibly subjective, and the more knowledge you acquire, the less you really know.

And there's knowledge here, but it’s not utilised; no coordination, even when there should be, even when he’s got the human body memorised to perfection. Still, you seem to like him messy, desperate, drawing your clit into his mouth to pull, to tug, before shifting back to blow cold air against you.

The task was simple, at surface level: make you cry. And whilst, if you pick it apart, it becomes more complex, he seems to be efficient in following orders because right now, you’re ruined. It might not be the most meticulous head you’ve received (though you’re sure, under different circumstances he could probably surpass that standard), but it’s wanting, in a way that makes you ache.

“Oh oh, fuck— fuckfuckfuck.”

You grip his hair, twisting and pulling and using, and he lets you, he’d do anything, do this forever if he had to. His fingers, still gripping your thighs, dig into soft flesh, leaving visible marks. And he wants to see those marks, in the morning, an irrefutable fact that would force him to accept this as real.

But he can’t focus, can’t think about anything when you’re reacting like this, so undone. How can there be anything, at all, beyond this?

He lets you drape a leg over his shoulder, let’s you get off against his face, fingers sliding inside, one digit at a time, to feel warmth wrapped around him. To feel the way you clench when he curves them, when he grazes spots that he could explain to factual detail.

Your body shudders, and you’re making noises he hasn’t heard before, sounds that could only be described as obscene— and his name, you’re moaning his name, and god, he’s certain he would follow you to the ends of the earth right now. Without question.

It’s when he stops, when he leans back enough that he can breathe. That he can look at you, really look at you.

You’re messy, undone. The sight could be considered humiliating from an outside perspective, but you’re gorgeous, and he’d do this a thousand times over if it resulted in this exact reaction. A reaction that he’s given you. No one else.

“I love your face.” He says, a little bluntly. But it’s true, he does.

So he returns to the task. Practically situating you on his face now to suffocate him, to let him become some sort of extension to your pleasure. And inevitably when you fall apart, tears and writhing, boundless pleasure, he can only push you through it. Allow his existence to crumble, for the second time,

And as he draws back, face covered in you, he can only stare.

His knees are bruised. That’s the first thing you notice when you stumble to the bedroom, when you’ve taken a moment to wipe away evidence of the tears, to regather and compose yourself. It’s not in your nature to be soft, no to him, but you still find yourself kissing the mauve blemishes, working your way up his body after you’ve oh so unceremoniously undressed him. Reduced to his boxers, he’s an incriminating sight.

“Losing your virginity to me is like the biggest irony ever.” you say, kissing along his stomach, watching as his body reacts, arches, contorts in search of more pleasure. It’s a hypnotising sight, to see every nerve tuned to you solely.

“Ironic, demeaning, enough to send past versions of myself into an early grave. Yes, I get your point.” he mutters.

Your hands find their way to the waistband of his boxers, and he’s lifting his hips, because he wants you to undress him, because he’d let you do anything right now, but he also feels embarrassed, exposed. Vulnerable in a way he’s never felt before. You’re seeing him, seeing things he doesn’t even know himself. But there’s nowhere to hide, not while you’re slowly pulling off his underwear, with a care that he’s unaccustomed to.

“I won’t go easy on you,” you assure. Even though that’s technically a straight-faced lie. Of course it’ll be more tender than anything else you’ve endured; he has this devastating habit of softening those around him. It’s only taken this long to affect you out of pure, unbridled spite.

Oh, he wants. The evidence is his body alone. Laid out before you, like an offering, a hedonistic one. Dick hardened, dripping pre-cum onto his stomach.

“Hands above your head,” you watch as he blindly obeys, any defiance now crushed. Well, for the most part: at least in his actions. “That’s good— good boy. Tell me if they’re too tight,” you say, binding them with his discarded tie.

You stare, and it’s like you want to eat him alive, and against better judgement, he’d let you. Serve himself up, passive as you tear him limb for limb, taste all the bad parts of his existence, the ones he keeps hidden shamefully away.

“Too tight? I’ve been held hostage, I think I can handle a little bit of fabric.” he retorts before tugging at the restraints, “Tighter.”

“Didn’t realise you were so into this—“

“Neither did I,” he scoffs, “I’ve never done it before, obviously.”

“Now you have. Congrats, i’ll give you a sticker once we’re done. Gold star, huh?” and just for good measure, you tighten the restraints further. Just a few more pulls until you’re knotting it in place. Until he’s entirely defenceless, but realistically, what would you do? It’s hard to find fear when you’ve covered him on the field for over a year (he’s prone to being targeted, an unsubs wet dream).

“Yes, thank you. I’ll put the sticker on the wall next to my PhDs.” right now, right in this moment, countless people are getting what they want.

And Spencer is being manhandled by his pretty coworker.

Ironically, that’s exactly what he wants.

You’re the perfect dichotomy. Cruel, and caring. Harsh words to juxtapose gentle hands. Soft touches, but scathing remarks that linger, leaving behind a trail of scars, the ubiquity of your cruelty.

You’re lethal, and he’s smart enough to comprehend the danger. Except he’s never been smart when it comes to people.

Your hands are acquisitive, roaming, searching, blunt nails that scrape skin as you rake them down, down towards his abdomen. He shivers, bite into that pretty bottom lip of his until he’s spilling blood, and it’s a sight. Something sick that you both want to such an offensive extent.

“Sensitive.” you murmur, like the idea of him so reactive pleases you, in a way you’ve never considered before. Because the way his body strains, bucking forward to deepen the contact is maddening.

“Are you always like this?” you wonder aloud, leaning down to run a hand along the length of his inner thigh. “Poor baby, so touch-starved.”

“I don’t know if I’d use the word sensitive.” he replies, “More susceptible to the fact that you’re touching me, and that I haven’t felt another person touch me in a long time. And of course when people touch me, it’s usually professionals poking me with needles or stitching this weeks new wound.”

Touch-starved? He has sensory issues. The lightest graze can provoke, cause his skin to crawl. Of course he would like your touch, of course the universe would torture him by finding relief in the one person who nobody should stumble upon for relief.

“Oh you’re a soldier, you suffer so much.“ you state, and it’s condescending (naturally), but there is some truth to the serrated comment. You, the team, are all bruised, mentally and physically distorted from the consequences of the job. Only he could react so reverently to your calloused hands, blissed out to the extent that it looks like you’re witnessing ascension.

It’s pretty. Pretty, in a soft, domestic way. One that demeans his bound wrists and your sharp words.

You press a few tender kisses to his thighs, the inner sections, where you’re certain, assured, no one has ever touched before. Maybe there’s something possessive to that thought, the want to own, to know that no one will ever have him the way you have him.

Your touch is like a brand. He wants it, even if it’s bad, even if it’s cruel. Because the alternative to this is nothing. A lonely existence. A life of work, of chasing shadows, knowing he had so much to give, and no one to give to.

“Stop mocking me.” he replies, it’s through laboured breath. “Just because I don’t have your proclivity for taking hits doesn’t mean I don’t suffer.”

No one’s ever touched him like this. No one’s ever cared to try. You’re his first.

“I know you suffer,” you retort, are you arguing? Is this foreplay? If it is, then you have some serious self-reflecting to do on every single past conversation. Because maybe you should’ve taken him to your bed earlier, in that case.

Oh god was your hatred of each other built solely on sexual tension?

Finally, you move. Just like the first time, your hand runs across his length, taking him slowly, easing him into it, coercing him through the pleasure. It’s not similar to before: it won’t end after he’s found his release, and it’s not frenzied and ardent. Spurred on by shame.

“And you know i’m always going to take the hits for you, regardless.” he whines when you remove your hand, and whines again, for contrasting reasons, as you spit on your palm, generate lubricant to support each stroke.

“Oh—“ he breathes out. He’s fairly certain he’s supposed to be more contained. A huff escapes his lips and then he’s retorting, “You could try a tactic other than reckless self-sacrifice every once in a while.”

He’s overwhelmed, with you. All of you. The way you look, the way you talk, all the harsh lines and scathing remarks. The way you take the hits for him, an altruistic custodian, but he isn’t worthy of being saved. Isn’t worth the effort.

“Shut the fuck up, Spencer.” you say, promptly ending this discussion; you grip his dick tighter, tilting your movements to catch him at a better angle.

“Shit— okay, okay,” he moans because that feels really really good, and he wishes he could articulate it in a better way. Something complex and poetic, but it’s just so good.

He’s always been a little masochistic. Too smart for his own good, too analytical. He wants you to take him apart, piece by piece, and see the inner workings of his body laid out before you, raw and vulnerable. Because only you can see him like this.

He doesn’t even really touch himself. There’s been nights, body flushed and wanton, bucking up against sheets, muffled noises pressed into his pillow. But they’re rare, and they usually lead to an aftermath of ignominy.

He’s a prodigy, a genius in the field of criminal psychology. So why does it feel so good like this? To be humbled, to be demoted. As if all his degrees, his awards, his intellect, mean absolutely nothing.

He’s never felt so loved. Which is ironic. Because he’d always hoped love would be slow, gentle. Soft, like a caress. The kind of love you share over meals and pillow-talk.

He realises, with a jolt to his system, that if this is love to you, he’d accept it, in its most primal form.

“You get off on this,” he analyses as you draw back, mostly to stifle the begs that nearly escape his mouth. Come back, need you here.

“Well I’d be pretty concerned if I wasn’t getting off on this right now—“

“No,” he pushes, “You like that i’m, that yeah. I have no experience. You want to corrupt me, huh?” he looks up at you with pretty, innocent eyes. Holy shit. “Ruin me for anyone else? Go on, let me have it. I’ll only come back, i’ve already done it once. Statistically, it’s going to happen again. And again. Pavlovian responses, condition me. Make my body react to no one else.”

When you kiss him again, he can only take it. Can only moan, whimper, plead against your mouth until you’re lining him up, until you’re sitting on his dick, and everything is okay.

“You’re so—“ bottomed out, wrapped around him entirely, you sigh. “Fuck, Spence, who taught you to be so fucking dirty?”

“You.” he mutters, playing coy. “But you’re a bad teacher, I think I could do with a few more lessons..”

“I think you could do with learning to shut your mouth more often.”

“It is better suited for other purposes, I suppose..”

He gags when you slot two fingers, index and middle, into his mouth. No warning, no predetermined acknowledgment. They hit the back of his throat, and he can only suck, muffling protests around the digits until he goes blissfully silent.

“Better,” you retort. Drawing them out, you press your thumb against his bottom lip, keeping it parted so that you can lean forward, spit into his open mouth. When you first met, he promptly refused to shake your hand, too conscious of the dissemination of germs, now? He’s swallowing your saliva, unprompted, with little resistance.

You know him. The way you touch is like you’re searching for something. Anything about him. It’s like you’re a bloodhound, trying to unearth every single vulnerability. And you must’ve found them, because you’re suddenly here, bearing all your weight on him, moving, and it’s all his body can do to take it. All of it. All of you.

He tugs at his restraints, because he won’t go down without a susceptible fight. Even if he knows it’s fated that he will inevitably fall. “Please—please untie me, just wanna hold your hand.”

And, oh that shatters you. Like, mentally, physically, spiritually dismantles you until you’re breathless, staring at him with widened eyes and a loss of composure. It’s such a tender request, something domestic and raw, and mindlessly you’re fumbling with the knots of his tie. Freeing them to take one in yours.

It’s against your nature, but you can’t help, can’t refrain yourself from pressing a kiss against his knuckles. “You’re doing so good f’me. Such a good boy,”

Your free hand runs across his torso now, grazing skin, admiring the sight of him, flushed, debauched, sprawled out beneath you.

He grips your hip. That’s the first thing he does once he’s sufficiently sane, well… partially, the praise did knock him entirely off balance. Tip the scales, send him over the inexorable edge.

He watches as you take the incentive to slip off his body, and the loss of friction is okay, tolerable because he’s sitting up against the headboard, drawing you closer, whining for you until you’re on his lap, until you’re sat in your rightful place.

Here, he can kiss you. Which he admits has become a very vital aspect to his existence.

The kiss is like a bruise. Not rough, he’d never be rough with you, he’s all long, languid strokes and soft movements. But it’s overwhelming, and leaves discernible, lasting imprints.

And yeah, sure, kissing you is the closest thing to worship he has ever known. Something he would like to commit to memory, every single time your lips touch, it’s like he’s seeing god in the shape of your cupid’s bow.

“Please, I need—“ he stutters over his words, “If you don’t move, I swear—“ he pauses, his head falling against your shoulder— “I swear, I’m gonna die, this has to be against the Geneva Convention, you can’t leave me like this, please—”

“The Geneva convention? Really? Is this your form of dirty talk?” you retort, unable to muffle your laugh.

“No. I’m stating my rights,” he says, “Torture is prohibited.”

“I’m not torturing you—“

You tangle your hand through his hair, tug tug tug, and then pull, drawing his head back by tousled strands, forcing him to meet your gaze.

“Ohmyfuckinggod, yes. You are.” he whimpers.

It’s indefensible how good he feels, how he sinks into you, hitting crevices you’re certain no one else has ever grazed before. Feeling full, whole, it’s new. It’s your own first, and you can’t even begin to articulate how defenceless you are to the way it makes you disintegrate, fragment to pieces of pleasure. Spencer is warm, and soft, and it makes you want to cry. To just fall, give in, transcendence of self, Burke said, and right now, you feel that entirely.

His moan is unapologetic, unfiltered as you move. At this point, you could slice him open, leave him bleeding in your bed, and he’d thank you for it.

You hold his hand, and yet, simultaneously destroy him.

“Please,” he whimpers again— he’s too pretty to be asking so nicely. “I just— I want you closer. As close as possible, I want you so close to me that I’m not even sure if my body can handle it.”

It’s not dirty talk, it’s more like he’s begging you, tears staining his skin, pitiful eyes, wide and glassy, staring at you with some form of desperation. Brows furrowed, gaze soft.

And his gaze only grows worse when you do give him what he wants, when your pace fastens.

It’s a religious experience, like he’s about to be crucified, a martyr to his pleasure. He’s almost afraid to touch you— to stain something divine, like you’re too much for him. But you’re not.

“I like this. Like you. Like you here. You’re so good for me,” he murmurs, and it’s untruthful, but right now, he sincerely believes it. “so good, so perfect, all I need, please—”

“Stop it.” you bite, preferring him defiant over this— because this opens up wounds you weren’t even aware existed. “Oh fuck, stop it.”

“So good. You’re so good,” he cups your face, presses his forehead against yours, and you might as well just die right here.

“Says you.”

“Says me.”

You fuck him harder.

“Oh,” is all he can pronounce, little oh’s every time you rock against him, and he has to grip you hips, deepen the movements until you’re bouncing against him, up down up down, exploiting his sensitivity with a torturous pace.

And it’s not fair, he needs to balance the scales, so he runs his thumb over your clit, firm halos that have you keening. “If being nice got me this, I’d be so nice to you for the rest of my life—“

Another lie. But it’s worth it. If only for the way you kiss him. The way you silence his cutting words, forcing your way into his mouth, forcing him to just squirm and sob, until you’re clenching around him, and he’s there with you. Falling apart, bodies shifting until movement ceases, and there’s nothing but bliss.

“I hate you so much,” you say in the aftermath, and it’s closest you’ve ever gotten to a confession of love.

He laughs, wipes away tears, “Hate you more.”

“Don’t leave this time.” he just nods, bordering on nonverbal now. It takes you hours to coax actual words out of him, and by then, you’re both tangled in a foreign mess of warm limbs.

“Oh i’m going to be so mean tomorrow.” you mutter, playing loosely with his hair.

He can only sigh, stare at you dreamily. “God, is that a promise?”

#sub spencer reid #sub spencer #brat spencer reid #spencer reid angst #spencer reid smut #criminal minds #enemies to lovers #rivals #idk they hate each other but want each other #it’s a messy situation!!#id hate to be either of their therapists #or HR who has to deal with the fallout of this

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cheriladycl01 · 5 months ago

Text

Pushed Down and Down - Grid x Driver! Reader

Plot: Suffering with mental health issues as a driver isn’t easy - but when people actively don’t help it can only get worse.

Based on that one tiktok edit sound.

A/N: as someone who struggles with her own mental health this was a true comfort for me to write and reread. Drivers who talk about their mental health and how they do struggle literally have my whole heart (Lando, Lewis etc)

Warnings: Talk of mental health, depression, anxiety, etc, all drivers are a little mean to Y/N

From a very young age you were told you wouldn’t be able to do karting, and you wouldn’t get very far as it was strictly a man’s sport.

Your mum tried to sway your opinion as you were clearly the athletic type and get you into gymnastics or dancing. But the smell of the petrol and the adrenaline you got from going round the tracks was like nothing else.

Your dad on the other hand fully supported you, he was a mechanic so he did struggle to afford decent gear for you but you made do with what you had.

This however never stopped you, and as a child going into a teenager and young adult it didn’t affect you too much. You took your wins as and when they came and you worked hard for them and you took your losses as opportunity to learn from.

Oh how you wish you could go back to those days.

You proceeded to be asked in 2016 if you wanted to compete in British F4, you had your License and it seemed like you were this up and coming British talent.

You came 1st in the British F4 championship in 2017 right after Lando Norris and Max Fewtrell won the years before you. The two behind you being Oscar Piastri and Logan Sargeant. You didn’t win a race for the whole season, just pure consistency.

You then came third in the UAE F4 Championship in the same year. Oscar and Logan were also in that series with you. Logan being right on your toes coming in second place. This season you were close to taking your first win, but Logan had crashed you out taking the win for himself and leaving you down in P8.

Both Oscar and Logan of course moved up to bigger and better things in 2018. Both of them moving up to doing Eurocup Formula Renault whereas you weren’t offered anything.

In 2018 you competed in Formula 4 United States and came second place again. Your team let your American team-mate pass you on the last race of the season through team orders even though you were on equal points.

You took the loss and moved on because that just the kind of race driver you WERE.

In 2019 you were promoted to F3 and got to drive with Max Fewtrell, Logan Sargeant, Yuki Tsunoda and Liam Lawson. You came second and you actually were insanely close to Robert, but it never felt like a win. You were with Prema, and you fought tooth and nail.

In 2020, Oscar and Logan rejoined you in the feeder series and were in the same team as you as you remained with Prema.

Prema, unfortunately for you and Logan prioritised Oscar and with an insanely dominant year for Prema Oscar won the championship through the help of team orders. There were many chances for you to take wins but you knew you couldn’t get promoted to F2 just get, even though you spend to years in Prema and come second both times.

This was when Red Bull noticed you and backed you paying for the rest of your career which was lucky really considering your dad wouldn’t have been able to afford another season for you in F3 with all the debt he was already in.

2021 came around and Red Bull helped you further your career getting lots of sponsor shops along the way and finally securing you an F2 seat for the 2022 season.

In 2021 you finally won a championship, but you didn’t feel like it was a win. Everyone had something to say about this achievement, that you’d only won thanks to the team, and that it wasn’t driver capability. As a young 21 year old these comments really affected you going into the F2 season.

Once you got into F2 in 2022, you were head to head with Felipe Drugovich. Red Bull also came forward asking for you to become a reserve driver for Red Bull alongside your F2 driver Liam Lawson. You were back in the standings with Logan too, Oscar having won back to back championships and now becoming the golden goose on his route to F1 with Alpine.

This year halfway though the season you had to experience the unfortunate passing of your dad, the only true supporter you ever had. It was utterly dismal for the few races that came afterwards.

The season was closing out and there were only 3 points between you and Felipe with Theo and Liam not far behind. With a dramatic qually in Abu Dabi that had most of you at the back of the pack when starting the race, you prevailed winning the race and taking the championship.

You got out of that car celebrating only to see your team not there for you. You awkwardly celebrated with the team of the drivers from 2nd and 3rd place but you couldn’t understand why they weren’t there for you.

But he was there for you…

Christian Horner in his Red Bull team gear, white envelope in his hand that he presented you in the quiet room.

He was the first person to truly believe in you and see see potential apart from your dad and it was refreshing getting the contract that was going to sign you on as a rookie along with Oscar and Logan in the 2023 season.

Liked by y/user, f1mia and others

f1: BREAKING: RedBull announce Y/N Y/L/N to drive for them in 2023 meaning all seats for the season have now been filled.

#f1 #redbull #womeninthepaddock

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user1: oh Lord I’ve followed her since F3, so proud of her!

y/user: this is a dream come true! I can finally tell my mum I made it!

lewishamilton: so proud of everything you’ve done to get women this far in the sport @y/user

user2: god they just keep on ruining this sport

redbullracing: So excited to have Y/N join us on the team!

-> y/user: I’m so thankful to you guys to be given the opportunity!

user2: oh this year is gonna slap.

maxverstappen1: welcome to the RedBull Family!

First was the Bahrain Grand Prix, it was your 3rd time in and F1 car and you were obviously very nervous. It was your first race weekend and you didn’t know where to place yourself.

The whole weekend didn’t really feel like your debut it just felt glazed over with Sergio Perez leaving and no longer being in F1. A lot of the team had hushed whispers around the situation, and Max tried his best to make you feel welcome but his awkwardness made that hard.

“So like what do you do, you drink beer?” Max awkwardly asks as you’d both been sat in the hospitality together waiting for Christian or one of the engineers to come grab you.

“Oh erm, no I don’t drink at all actually” you smile with a little furrow in your brows.

“Oh … right” Max sighs and thankfully that conversation was cut short when Christian came round the corner to collect you both.

You both were racing and for a rookie you had incredible tyre management making the agreed one stop strategy seemingly start to work despite the temperature on track. You were very quick, maybe even more quick than Max.

However coming out the pits, your tires are already starting to complain and tyre marbles are going left right and center.

Y/N Radio: What happened guys, my tyres are degrading so quickly I thought we agreed on hards?

Static was all that was received back.

Y/N Radio: Guys did you put me on softs?

Race Engineer: Sorry Y/N mess up at the pits, pit in 5 laps.

And once word got out to the other teams that they’d fucked up your race strategy and that you were basically free game your race was pretty much over.

P4 wasn’t bad considering the mistakes made, but you knew you’d could have gotten a podium on your first race.

“Y/N amazing first race in F1 you really know how to make an entrance to the sport huh?” The interviewer says cheerfully happy that you’ve done as well as you did.

“Yeah” you say with a smile.

“Not happy with the result it seems?” She pushes and you sigh.

“I’m of course so happy, getting P4 was amazing and I know my team are happy and I’ve made eveyone at home really proud. Thank you dad and I hope you’re watching! But it’s always a little … disappointing? I don’t really know if that’s the right word for how I’m feeling right now, when the outlook of something is going so well and external forces out or your control tamper with that it’s not a nice feeling. I’m really proud of the team today and of course Max had a great win today so we collected a lot of points for the team and remain top in the constructors” you explain and she nods slightly shocked with how open and honest you had been.

Eventually you were taken away by your PR manager who was starting to worry about what you were saying, a little scolding that you weren’t sure what for afterwards.

People spoke too, Lando and Oscar shocked you most.

“Y/N was kinda dangerous on track today, can’t believe she was that ballsy as a rookie man” Oscar said having know you the best driving with you for as long as he had.

“She’s talented for sure but I can’t help but feel like she’s gonna wash out” Lando admits with a sigh.

Was he right, would you have one good season and then that was it?

Things went the same in Saudi this time you managed to place your car in pole position, leading the race while Max had an unfortunate start from P15.

However after team orders came in to let Max take over once he got to a close enough gap behind you made you obey the team, not wanting to get on their nerves and make them regret choosing you. After that a botched pit stop and Oscar driving like a lunatic and bumping into your side left you down from P2 to P6

“Y/N what an incredible drive despite all that happened and you’ve hauled some good points for the team! How are you feeling?” The interviewer asks pushing the mic closer to you.

“Hot, I’m so hot right now” you joke trying to lighten the mood, wiping the sweat away from your forehead.

“Yeah I can’t imagine with this heat and the fact that the car is incredibly warm here” she smiles back and you take a breath before answering the second question.

“Yeah I mean today didnt go as planned. I got pole, I was on track to win, I did everything right but I just don’t think it was meant to be today and you know I’m going to fight really hard in Australia and see where we can get us hopefully something better than what I’m doing now” you say with a polite tight lipped smile and nod before going to the call down room.

You sat against the cold plastic door of the room head against it as you held in your tears. You always told yourself to never cry over a loss as you can’t expect to win them all. But this was supposed to be your race and you can’t help but feel like if you had Max behind you defending the incidents with the pits stop wouldn’t have occurred as you wouldn’t have done that second pit stop that cost you time.

In debrief you couldn’t believe what you were hearing.

“Are you kidding?” You laugh looking towards Max and then back at Christian.

“You didn’t move out the way from Max quick enough and you should have caught up quicker! What were you even thinking out there colliding with Piastri like that!” Horner announces making your cheeks flush a little red from embarrassment.

You didn’t think the collision with Oscar was your fault, but maybe it was.

Then you’d heard Daniel talking to Carlos, and your thoughts continued to spiral.

“She’s a tricky one mate, can’t see her having that seat for long” Daniel admitted to Carlos at the restaurant they were at with some of the other drivers.

Y/N was sad when she didn’t get an invite seeing as many of them were there but she didn’t take it to heart having fun eating alone while people watching.

“Yeah, I wonder how many times they have to tell her team orders” Carlos had added.

The next race was Australia.

You had the faster car, better starts and you beat Max going into turn one. It was a ballsy move on your part but it was clean racing, no damage done.

Race Engineer: Y/N give back position now

Y/N Radio: But I have the faster car Zayn, I got fresher tyres and my deg is fine. I have the stats don’t tell me I’m wrong when I’m the one in the car

Race Engineer: Y/N Max is fighting for the championship, team orders slow down and give position back

And so you did, you gave Max his position back and trailed behind him creating a DRS train behind you, Hamilton and Alonso not being able to pass you to potentially overtake Max.

After this race you started to keep a mental health diary and your coach thought it would be a good idea to see a therapist to help with your quick thinking and decision making on track, of course not for your mental health and you start to struggle with coming to the terms that Max needs a second driver and that’s what Red Bull hired you for.

So you became his second driver.

Constantly being criticised by the team and Horner, constantly having Max tell you that you need to be a second driver for the season and that’s it. Nothing else. Having interviewers wondering why you keep having these near misses.

When your home Grand Prix the British Grand Prix came around you’d just about had enough of being called a second driver. You took matters into your own hands. You spend hours in the sim working out the best angle for the corners of Silverstone and seeing how much you could push the provisional car down the straights.

When it came to qualifying you smashed everyone out the park in all three sectors. The media were buzzing at your stone face for the duration of the weekend.

“Y/N what an amazing qualifying for you, you were really flying out there. And your starting on pole tomorrow with Max behind you, is there going to be team orders to let him through?” The interviewer asks smiling at you.

“I mean there have been the whole season no?” You laugh with less sparkle and glimmer in your eyes than the start of the season.

“Yes, so you’re saying Max will be let ahead tomorrow!” She asks and cock your head to one side.

“He’ll be asked yes” you nod before you leave.

Race day came and you did not listen to team orders.

Race Engineer: Y/N let Max through, then we’ll pit you first to defend the lead while Max pits.

Y/N: what about, no? Come on guys, I’ve done everything for the team you’ve wanted me for. Just let me race him.

Race Engineer: Max will race you too hard, you risk loosing both the cars Y/N let him through.

Y/N: im sorry, but i have to do this for me, to prove I’m as good a driver as i try to be.

Race Engineer: Y/N don’t do this.

And with that you celebrated your first race win. Max had ended up DNFing when he got a little caught behind and skidded onto the gravel trap trying to make up too much time to catch you.

It was a full Brit Podium, you Lando and Lewis. You were thankful you had both of them there to celebrate with you as your team didn’t show up again. Probably all consoling Max on his first DNF of the year. He wasn’t happy at all and you could tell.

“Are you okay?” Lewis had asked you as you guys had stepped away from the podium. The man wasn’t blind and could see the disappointment on your face when no one was there to congratulate you on your first win and celebrate with you.

“M’fine” you say shortly before leaving and going straight to your drivers room, tears following. You spend hours writing away in your self help book. But you couldn’t wallow it was time to take on the words of Taylor Swift in her Reputation Era.

You never thought something you loved so dearly could kill of your spirit so quickly and easily. But Max go tougher as the season went on. Only allowing you one more win in spa where you once again ignored team orders. Max was incredibly unhappy with you up there on the podium and you just knew the media would have something to say about the awful tension between you and Max. He didn’t celebrate with you in Spa only the third place podium which happened to be Charles.

The Red Bull team member immediately celebrated with Max and Charles, as much as you tried to join in however you weren’t able to get close enough. You were royally fucked off.

Singapore felt like a breath of fresh air for you when it happened, it was a new feeling that had your toes curling as you pressed on the brakes knowing that Carlos and Lando were leading with you hot on their tales and Max being nowhere in sight.

Celebrating with them felt different, but everyone could tell that the happy bubbly girl who they’d started the season with was no longer apparent.

The season closed, and honestly your team, Max and Christian all seemed like 2024 wasn’t worth sticking around for … as a great driver you owed it yourself to find your worth in F1 and that wasn’t with Red Bull

Taglist:

@littlebitchsposts @hockey-racing-fubol @laura-naruto-fan1998 @22yuki @simxican @sinofwriting @lewisroscoelove @cmleitora @daemyratwst @lauralarsen @the-untamed-soul @thewulf @itsjustkhaos @purplephantomwolf @chasing-liberosis @summissss @gulphulp @starfusionsworld @jspitwall @sierruhhhh @georgeparisole @youcannotcancelquidditch @tallbrownhairsarcastic @ourteenagetragedy @peachiicherries @formulas-bitch @cherry-piee @spilled-coffee-cup @mehrmonga @eiraethh @curseofhecate @alliwantisadonut @dark-night-sky-99 @i-wish-this-was-me @tallrock35 @butterfly-lover @barnestatic @landossainz @darleneslane @barcelonaloverf1life @r0nnsblog @ilove-tswizzle @laneyspaulding19 @malynn @viennakarma @landosgirlxoxo @marie0v @yourbane @teamnovalak @nikfigueiredo @fionaschicken @0picels0 @tinydeskwriter @ironmaiden1313 @splaterparty0-0 @formula1mount

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giuliettagaltieri · 1 year ago

Text

Claim the Heritage

Pairing: President!Coriolanus Snow x First Lady!Reader

Chapter Synopsis: The Wife

Warning: casual dominance, marital quarrels, tension, vulnerability, explicit smut, cunnilingus, p in v, unprotected sex, body worship, brat taming, self destructive tendencies

Word Count: 4364

6 of 6

Coriolanus Snow has a knack of pushing himself too far.

He expects too much from himself and does everything in his power to meet those expectations.

As a student and a starting politician, he has done great things, contributing fresh insights to Panem. And now that he is the President, he has the power to do things with his own hands. No longer having to need the approval of people of higher status, not when he’s the President, nobody has power greater than his.

You worry that he might be forgetting his other responsibilities.

He is after all, not just Mister President but also your husband.

You see him often in the corridors and you exchange nothing more than sultry glances. It was fun the first time you have done it but you are left wanting now.

At night, the two of you come home late, too tired to get some action going.

You have needs that long to be fulfilled.

And your unfed desires manifested in your temper.

The men in the room are discussing the recent power outage that paralyzed Panem for a day. A malfunction caused by severe water temperatures in the hydroelectric dam in District 5 caused a cascading error in the system. The Capitol and a portion of District 1 and 2 were able to continue their operation due to generators but the other Districts suffered from it. And the one day pause of labor caused a slight drop to Panem’s stock charts.

All eight of your husband’s subordinates are trying to raise their opinions about the matter, how they will conduct another investigation as they are quite convinced it was human error, and how they will punish the one responsible for it too.

Their voices are starting to irritate you, making you tap your foot under the desk. Coriolanus seems to be ignoring them as he reads through the report. How he can manage to focus, you have absolutely no idea.

You try to regain your composure by taking a sip of water but it does not help, not one bit. Deep intakes of breath also seem to be not working.

Coriolanus is still reading the report, his back against his chair as one of his hands toy with his pen. His fingers are looking rather breathtaking today.

You look away before anyone could notice your desperation.

“Frankly, you are all arguing about matters that have been resolved already.” He murmurs and you are thankful for it as the room quiets down.

“What do you mean sir?”

You bite your cheek to stop yourself from berating the man. But Coriolanus can see that arch in your brow any day. You are pissed.

“You have something to say, wife?” He smiles knowingly at you and you look at him sharply but his smile only widens more.

“Well, all of you are being foolish!” You finally burst. Coriolanus leans back in his chair as if he is watching a rather interesting show. “There is a report given, and a very good one at that. Do you all have poor reading comprehension that you cannot understand that this is not a human error!”

The room falls silent as the men stare at you with their cheeks pinking in embarrassment.

Coriolanus clears his throat and leans closer to his desk. “I believe what the Missus wants to say is that we must be coming up with solutions to prevent this from happening again rather than point fingers.”

You glare at him again but Coriolanus is not looking at you but the men who are nodding in agreement. You hear a chorus of apologies from the men and you can’t help your bottom lip from jutting out in irritation.

“We can strengthen the system. A collaboration with District 3, perhaps?” A man says nervously, eyes flitting to you for approval but you don’t acknowledge him.

The other men raise their support. They have to stay in your good graces. All eight of them are dispensable. If you talk to your husband to eliminate them, there will be nothing they can do.

They are proud men, but they too are necessary associates, albeit shortsighted at times.

You lean on your chair and swivel it so you are partially facing your husband. “Another source of power.”

He nods at you to continue.

“A solar plant.” You say. “It is a good back up.”

Coriolanus rubs his chin and considers it for a moment. “Indeed. May I ask you to write a proposal, my love?”

“Of course.” You say and you begin tidying up your stuff. Coriolanus picks it up and addresses the men in general.

“I appreciate your…enthusiasm in helping our great nation. Good day, gentlemen.”

They all file out of the room, thanking the President and you. They all seem to sweat when you dismiss them with nothing but a brief nod.

Coriolanus leaves his chair and he eyes the pout in your lips.

“Have a great day.” You say as you stand.

“Leaving so soon?” He raises a brow.

You stop in your tracks to look at him weirdly. “You asked me to write a proposal?”

He hums at this and presses a chaste kiss on your lips. “I will be seeing you at lunch, then.” He guides you to the door and you both exit the meeting room to go to your separate offices.

His behavior is really really starting to irk you.

You are lying if you were not hoping that he would stop you and at least help out with the tension in your body.

But you guess not, he is a busy guy after all.

Coriolanus buries himself more and more with work.

You worry that he might be close to self-destruction.

The crops in District 9 suffered from a locust infestation and it kept him up very late for a few weeks.

You started to miss him very much. Try as you might to stay awake in your room, it is not until nearly sunrise when he joins you.

It hurts and you hate yourself for being selfish.

One morning as you share your breakfast, you notice that he is barely touching his food as he reads the report about the red tide poisoning in District 4.

“Corio, eat.” You say before your lips wrap around a strawberry.

He only hums in response as he flips to the next page of the report.

You glance at him and see the dark circles under his eyes, his skin looking dehydrated, and it is evidenced by the cracks in his lips.

“You will die before you turn thirty if you keep that up.” You say lowly before you suck on your finger absentmindedly, your eyes now scanning your bowl for the next strawberry you’ll eat.

This caught his attention.

“What did you just say?” There was a challenge in his voice and you hesitate for a moment, heart wanting to submit and apologize but the Swansworth blood courses through your veins and you fear you will shame the strong women before you if you fold so easily.

You look at him dead in the eye. “You will die before you turn thirty if you keep that up.” You smile at him sweetly. “Was that clear enough for you, or do I have to repeat myself again?”

His jaw tightens, his eyes sharp. He does not take mentions of his death lightly. Had you been anyone else, you would have your tongue cut off and live as an Avox.

“You really are your father’s daughter.” He sighs, trying his best to hide the amused smile you put on his face.

You wanted to retort but your words die in your tongue. Coriolanus glances up at you when you don’t speak. Usually, you would have bitten another comment at him. But you were only looking at your strawberries sadly, finger tracing the bowl that held them.

The sound of paper crinkling had you looking up. He folded the report away, he had the necessary information he needed anyway. Coriolanus knows you are watching him and he scoops a mouthful of truffle scrambled eggs. You gave him the sweetest smile he had seen on your face for weeks, and it was motivation enough for him to eat the breakfast that was served to him. Yet, he still finishes first.

You pout unknowingly when he wipes his lips with the napkin and walks over to kiss your forehead.

“I will be seeing you later for your report.”

“See you.” You reply with less enthusiasm.

He watches how sadness swam in your eyes and he leans closer to peck your lips and he is off.

You did not have much energy for work afterwards.

The meeting was at 10 in the morning and you arrived in the meeting room at 10:02. Coriolanus was not pleased.

He did not back you up when the other men in the room asked questions about your presentation. It was their job to pick apart your proposal and you only show them how flawless it is. They are finally satisfied with it after a while, your throat burning from how many questions they asked.

You are infuriated with your husband. You feel like he is throwing you to the wolves. Not that you can’t tame the said wolves but it made your blood boil.

“I have decided to call this solar plant, Coriolanus 9.” You attempt a smile and they actually bite. “In honor of our President, and us.” You purposefully let yourself blend in with the men in this proposal. You need to boost their morale from time to time.

All eight of them murmur their agreement, smiles wide as they feel honored just by being included in the project.

After a few more questions from them, your husband finally adjourns the meeting.

His lack of support was not appreciated and you are determined to get out of this stuffy meeting room.

“Gentlemen, that would be all.”

What about you?

Your lips part in protest but Coriolanus raises a finger at you, making you close your mouth as you narrow your eyes at him.

After the men filed out, you got up briskly, your chair wheeling back in a great speed.

“Careful.”

“Oh, so you’re talking now?” You snap, your hand placed on your hip.

Coriolanus only leans on his chair as he looks you in the eye, his chin tilted upwards.

“I am…” he pauses as he scratches his chin. “upset with you.”

You scoff. “You are upset with me? I am upset with you!” You point at him harshly. “You were the one who asked me to make a proposal and present it afterwards! But what did you do? You did not support me or give me assurance!”

“I was confident in your proposal.” Coriolanus stands up calmly, his hands in his pockets, his thumb jutting out.

You give him one final glare and you huff, turning your nose up as you look away. “I am done talking to you today.”

Coriolanus grips your arm before you can walk away.

His hand is warmer than usual and you frown.

“Do you need me to put you in your place?”

The threatening growl in his voice washed away all the fight in you.

You bite your lip nervously, the entire bottom lip disappearing behind a row of teeth. You shake your head and you tear up from how pathetic you have become for this man.

He smooths your hair and places a warm kiss against your temple. “Be good.” He murmurs.

You watch him collect his things and he throws you one final warning glance and he exits the meeting room. Your hands grip the hardwood table to steady yourself.

How dare he!

You are his wife, not some District whore that needs to be reprimanded, you will not allow such disrespect again!

Coriolanus is not surprised to see you miss lunch. His assistant tells him that you are having luncheon with Mrs. Plinth. And that…you canceled all your plans for the day. And the rest of the week.

He taps a finger on his desk and wonders if he pushed you too far earlier.

Coriolanus glances at your photo in his desk. Your smile was brighter then.

A slight pounding in his head makes him grimace and he groans.

There were two more bills he needed to get through before he could relax. Coriolanus inhales sharply, forcing his eyes to read through the files.

It was night time when he came home. He missed dinner again.

Coriolanus had an unsettling feeling in his stomach when he entered your home. It was dark and cold.

There was enough security outside but no signs of life inside.

Your servants usually retire after dinner and come back only in the mornings to serve you your breakfast.

But where are you?

Coriolanus doubles his steps to check your bedroom, you are not there.

His heart starts pounding, cold sweat dripping from his temple as he runs around his mansion in his tight suit. He wanted to ask the peacekeepers stationed outside if you are even in your mansion when he catches a glimpse of your sheer robe in your sunroom. He steps closer and sees you there, asleep in your plush chair, curled up around a book.

For a moment, he just stares at you, calming himself down. No one has taken you and you did not leave. Coriolanus seats himself to the identical chair across you and just looks at the rise and fall of your chest.

You must have fallen asleep as you were having your afternoon read. It appears you might have missed dinner, as none of the lights are on. The servants must have left it off so as to not disturb your sleep.

The night deepens and he just sits there, still convincing himself that you are still with him.

Coriolanus believes he will be there until morning comes but fate has other plans and your book slips from your hold, the hardcover making a loud slamming noise against the otherwise silent evening.

You jolt awake from the noise and when you reach for it, you catch a glimpse of him and you jolt for the second time.

“Heavens!” You clutch your chest tightly, your eyes glaring accusingly at him. “Do not scare me like that!”

He laughs hollowly.

“Apologies.” He mutters.

You lean back in your chair, holding your book in your lap.

“Have you eaten your dinner?” You ask just to break the silence.

“Not yet and neither did you.” He uncuffs his sleeves and loosens his tie.

You purse your lips. “I had tea and cakes this afternoon.”

“When did tea and cakes pass as dinner?” He drapes his waistcoat on the armrest together with his tie.

You choose not to answer as you have a feeling the question was rhetorical.

Coriolanus rests his arms on his thighs and clasps his hands as the silence lengthens. Moonlight was emitting a pale glow, it reflected on your faces and everything else was still.

“My father casts a very large shadow.” He tells you.

You nod. You both have that in common. But you do not want to tell him as his case was different. You are aware of his struggle while growing up, the things he has done that could have tarnished his name, and now, he has become the President, a leader of Panem, and the footsteps that his father left for him to follow might be too large for him.

“I wanted to do everything right. To do things how he would have done it. Maybe even more.”

You play with the edges of your book as you listen, afraid that if you’ll talk, his walls will come building itself up again.

“He was not the best father. Nor husband.” He chuckles bitterly. “I was sure, I would be just like him too.”

You bite your lip as you will yourself not to cry in front of him.

“But I enjoy your company, wife.” Coriolanus tells you truthfully. “I love you.” He confesses, making your chest tighten. “I do not wish for this marriage to fail.”

You cannot help how a tear rolls down your cheek.

“Come here.” He commands and you throw yourself to him, sobbing to his chest. “I am terribly sorry for being a lousy husband.”

Your tears soak his dress shirt as Coriolanus peppers kisses on your head.

“Been neglecting my wife, how awful of me.” His hand grips on your bum possessively. “When she should have been worshiped day by day.” His tone changes ever so slightly into something you hear only inside your bedroom walls.

You do not protest when he lays you on the chaise lounge. Your sobs turn to sniffles when Coriolanus parts your thighs and bunches your dress until it shows your abdomen.

“Corio.” You whisper his name like a prayer and he mumbles yours against your skin. You watch as he plants his lips on your scar. A scar that you got from taking a bullet for him.

It was not the last time you whispered his name in the dead of the night.

“Your petals always have the sweetest nectar.” He groans and you feel yourself shy away, hips hiking up and away from him but his arms tighten their hold around your thighs and he looks at you from there, his eyes giving you a silent warning.

“S-sorry-ah!” You gasp as his tongue darts out to lick the juices off your slit. His tongue pokes at your pearl and you break eye contact with him when he wraps his lips on your tiny nub.

Coriolanus looks at you with his eyes now lazy but his tongue, the opposite!

He kisses you and in an act of total impulsiveness, starts tracing his name on your clit. Coriolanus Snow was owning you in every way possible.

He had you reduced to your most carnal self. Your hands were on his platinum hair, gripping them tightly in your hold, selfishly pulling him in. Your thighs are resting on his broad shoulders. And your cunt, it was making a mess on your chaise lounge and on your husband’s face.

Coriolanus groans as he parts your lips so he could kiss your opening. His thick finger, that you have been craving, sliding on your juices before he plunges it knuckle-deep. It might have been a mistake on his part given your sensitivity after having to be forced to join him in his self-induced celibacy. Your lewd mewl brought rouge to his cheeks.

You bring your hands to your mouth to hush yourself and Coriolanus took that as a challenge. He sits up, sitting on his ankles to press your thigh to your chest as his finger prods at you from the inside.

You are writhing underneath him. Telling him how good he is making you feel. Oh, and he reveled in it. Every sound that comes from your lips, it fueled his desire more and more.

A second finger was added and you shriek from the stretch, it has been a while, he needs to be more gentle! But Coriolanus cannot help himself when you look so pretty. Your cheeks wet with tears, eyelashes clumping up, as your hands formed tiny fists. Any form of his self control has disappeared when you are gushing and pulsating around his fingers.

He knows you’re nearly there, so close!

You pant, closing your eyes as his fingers massaged your walls, coaxing you to climb higher and higher and-

“Coriolanus!” You yell furiously when he pulls his fingers out.

Your husband grins at you as he wipes his face from your slick.

“I seem to recall that someone was not a very good girl this morning?” His hands trailed at your hips and you almost tear up from frustration.

He was supposed to be making it up to you! He had no reason to bring up the events this morning.

In an act of defiance, you huff and you reach your own sex to flick at your clit. Your fingers are more delicate, making you gasp at the gentle pleasure.

Coriolanus grins as he watches you play with yourself. Enjoying how you grow more and more frustrated as you cannot give yourself the same pleasure. You shriek angrily as you pull your fingers away, you slam your tiny feet on the chaise and Coriolanus laughs.

“Are you done being a brat?”

You are too stubborn to answer but you do not stop him when he maneuvers you until you are on your stomach, you groan softly in discomfort when he pulls your hips so your cunt is presented to him beautifully.

His fingers are prodding your entrance again and you mewl when he pops his tip in. Coriolanus stays there for a moment as his hands, rough from his time as a peacekeeper, grips on your waist firmly.

“There’ll be no stopping, alright?” He reminds you. “We’re done when I say we’re done.”

You lift your head from the plush of the chaise lounge and you give him a nod.

“Put your head back down, my love.”

You do as he tells you and you brace yourself.

Coriolanus enters you with a sharp thrust, and your whimper is muffled by the cushions. Your husband thrusts at a steady speed, his eyes watching the impact ripple on your body.

Your breath hitches with every kiss his tip makes on your cervix. Every slap of his hips against you makes the crudest sound, sending a jolt of arousal through you. President Snow is a man of the most refined of tastes, the pinnacle of order. But when he beds you, he is just as raw, just as unrestrained.

“Don’t know why I deprived myself of your wet cunt for so long.” And his mouth spewing the most vulgar of things.

He uses his weight to push you further in the mattress so he can fuck you deeper. Your cunt spasms and you moan shakily, almost sobbing.

“Chase it, my love.” He groans deeply.

And you unravel, lewd sobs spilling from your polished tongue as your back arches, cunt creaming around his cock.

Coriolanus watches you sob, your shoulders shaking as his thrusts do not relent. His eyes flicker to where your bodies meet, your warm juices are dripping on his taut sack.

“Corio…Corio please! I don’t think I can anymore….”

“Hm?” He reaches to grab your chin. “Thought I told you that we’re only done when I say so?”

You look at him with tears sliding down your cheeks. You can’t even focus on him, body shuddering when your tummy feels another tight coil.

Coriolanus inhales sharply when he feels the familiar pulsation of your warm softness.

His tip twitches as it bumps your plump cervix. And when you call his name with your broken voice as you cum, he shoots his seed in you.

“Hah…hah.”

He is panting from on top of you, his hand placed against your bottom to keep himself up.

Coriolanus gently pulls himself out, watching the gossamer webbing of your arousal on his cock. He smacks your bum and you tighten your cunt to keep his seed from spilling. He scoots closer so he is holding you, your back against his chest as your legs tangled together.

The two of you gaze at the moon from the enormous windows of your sunroom. It was calm again. Nothing but your heartbeats and the gentle breathing lulling each of you closer to sleep.

“Corio.” You call his name softly.

He hums in response as he pulls you closer, just needing to feel you against him.

“The people of Panem are not your fucking masters.”

His brows meet and he glances at you, wondering where all of this is coming from.

“They cannot have you always cleaning up their mess like you are some District servant.”

He shifts you so you are facing him now. His stern brows meet to let you know you are on thin ice.

“You govern your people. You don’t coddle them. Let the District officials do their job. They must learn to solve their own problems and the Capitol Bureaucrats must see to it that they are doing it in ways that align with your judgment. And you lead them from the top.”

“Why are you telling me this?”

You yawn like the adorable thing you are. “So Snow lands on top.”

He clicks his tongue smoothly. “You are only attracted to power.”

“My love.” You say rather darkly. “You are power.”

Coriolanus falls silent, contemplating your words, letting himself process it.

He sighs as he looks at you in endearing defeat. “You just want a vacation, don’t you?”

You fight back a smile as you smack his chest.

“I am being serious, Coriolanus Snow.”

He pulls you closer, teeth glinting as he snickers. “I understand that, Y/N Snow.”

“Y/N Swansworth-Snow.” You remind him and he laughs.

“Of course, of course.”

You lean your head on his chest and your cheek soaks his warmth.

“You know, you are not your father, Corio.”

He winces. “I know…I’m just-”

“You are better.”

That sinks deep in him.

He now understands why there was something in you that pulled him in. No one in Panem, or in this world, could understand his soul in its most naked form. You are his stability. Someone whom he cannot scare away when he is darkest.

Because it seems like you might be exactly just like him. Just as cruel, just as evil, with no regards to anyone but each other.

And he is fine with that, even if the world is burned to ash around you.

“My love for you is catastrophic.” Coriolanus murmurs against your skin and you smile as you close your eyes.

You run your finger on his chest. “And my love for you is all-consuming.”

Coriolanus and you are obsessive, ablazed with reckless passion, villainous in nature, but it is easy to justify when you are both equally drunk with dangerous devotion.

The people of Panem be damned.

The odds will forever be in your favor.

Hunt for Glory

#coriolanus snow x y/n #coriolanus snow x you #coriolanus snow x reader #young coriolanus snow #coriolanus smut #coriolanus x reader #the hunger games #tbosas #the ballad of songbirds and snakes #hunt for glory

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jiminomenon · 10 days ago

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model! karina and assistant! reader become parents

pairing: model! karina x assistant! female reader

word count: 1.2k

summary: where karina impulsively adopts a fluffy little kitten, her long-suffering assistant y/n is left to deal with the chaos. from midnight zoomies to knocked-over vases, princess turns their lives upside down. as y/n and karina navigate the ups and downs of cat parenthood, they find themselves growing closer—bickering like an old married couple one moment and sharing surprisingly tender moments the next.

from my series: the devil wears prada

jimin didn’t think. she didn’t plan.

one moment, she was scrolling through her phone, bored out of her mind between shoots, and the next, she was standing in the middle of a pet store, staring at the tiniest kitten she had ever seen.

the little thing was curled up in a plush bed, her fur a soft cream color with barely visible stripes. her big, round eyes blinked sleepily at jimin, and when she let out the tiniest, squeakiest meow jimin had ever heard—her heart was done for.

“i’ll take her,” she said immediately.

the store clerk barely had time to process before jimin was already pulling out her black card, signing papers without even reading them. she didn’t know the first thing about taking care of a kitten, but that was fine. she had an assistant for a reason.

y/n could handle it.

“you what?”

jimin had always been extra, but this? this was next level.

“you adopted a what?” y/n repeated, staring at the tiny, wide-eyed kitten cradled in jimin’s arms.

“a cat,” jimin said, to as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “isn’t she so perfect?”

“a kitten,” y/n corrected, pointing at the tiny ball of fur blinking up at her. “you bought a kitten. on impulse. without thinking. and now you expect me to take care of it?”

“well, yeah,” jimin said, tilting her head. “isn’t that what assistants do?”

the kitten, a fluffy white ball with a pink bow tied around its neck, meowed softly. y/n pinched the bridge of their nose. “ms. yu, you don’t even know how to take care of a cat.”

“that’s what you’re for,” jimin replied, handing the kitten over like it was a designer handbag. “she needs a bed, toys, and… whatever else cats need. figure it out.”

y/n pinched the bridge of her nose even tighter, inhaling sharply. “ms. yu, that is not what assistants do.”

jimin ignored her, instead holding up the kitten, who wiggled slightly before letting out a soft little meow. “her name is princess.”

y/n stared at her, unamused. “of course it is.” y/n sighed but couldn’t help noticing how tiny and fragile the kitten looked, her heart softening at the sight of the little beast. “fine. but you’re helping.”

jimin scoffed. “me? helping? i’m a model, not a nanny.”

despite jimin’s arguments, she eventually agreed and sulked after y/n threatened to take back princess to the pet store.

princess, as it turned out, was not as regal as her name suggested. the moment jimin set her down in the penthouse, the kitten took off like a tiny tornado, her little paws skidding across the polished floors as she explored her new kingdom.

“she’s so… energetic,” jimin said, watching as princess leaped onto the couch and immediately started batting at the tassels on a throw pillow.

“energetic?” y/n raised an eyebrow. “she’s a menace. look at her—she’s already plotting world domination.”

as if to prove their point, princess launched herself off the couch and onto the coffee table, sending a stack of fashion magazines crashing to the floor. jimin gasped. “those are limited edition!”

y/n sighed, picking up the magazines. “maybe you shouldn’t have adopted a kitten if you didn’t want your stuff destroyed.”

“i didn’t know she’d be like this!” jimin protested, scooping up princess before she could attack the curtains. “she was so calm at the shelter.”

“that’s because she was probably sedated,” y/n muttered, watching as princess wriggled out of jimin’s arms and darted under the dining table.

princess’s next target was the kitchen. before y/n could stop her, the kitten had leaped onto the counter and was sniffing around a fruit bowl.

“get her down!” jimin shrieked, as if the kitten were about to detonate a bomb.

y/n rolled her eyes but obediently went to retrieve princess. “come here, you little gremlin,” she said, scooping her up. princess meowed indignantly but didn’t put up much of a fight.

“see? she likes me,” y/n said, smirking as she handed the kitten back to jimin.

jimin held princess at arm’s length, her nose wrinkling. “she smells like… bananas.”

“that’s because she was in the fruit bowl,” y/n said, trying not to laugh.

by the time midnight rolled around, princess showed no signs of slowing down. jimin, on the other hand, was exhausted.

“why won’t she sleep?” jimin whined, flopping onto the couch. “it’s past her bedtime.”

“cats don’t have bedtimes,” y/n said, watching as princess chased her own tail in circles around the living room. “especially not kittens.”

“well, she should,” jimin grumbled. “i have a photoshoot tomorrow, and i can’t look tired.”

y/n shrugged. “maybe you should’ve thought about that before adopting a cat.”

jimin shot her a glare but didn’t argue. instead, she picked up princess and tried to cradle her like a baby. “okay, little one. time for bed.”

princess, unimpressed, squirmed out of jimin’s arms and leaped onto the back of the couch, where she perched like a tiny lion surveying her domain.

“she’s mocking me,” jimin said, narrowing her eyes.

y/n laughed. “she’s a cat. mocking you is her job.”

around 2 a.m., princess finally started to calm down—or so they thought. just as jimin was about to doze off on the couch, the kitten let out a loud meow and started pawing at y/n’s leg.

“what does she want now?” jimin groaned, covering her face with a pillow.

“probably food,” y/n said, standing up. “did you even feed her?”

jimin blinked. “feed her? i thought the shelter did that.”

y/n stared at her. “she’s been here for hours. of course she’s hungry.”

“well, how was i supposed to know?” jimin said defensively. “i’ve never had a cat before!”

y/n shook her head but couldn’t help smiling as she headed to the kitchen to find something princess could eat. after some searching, she settled on a small bowl of plain chicken (courtesy of jimin’s gourmet leftovers).

princess devoured the food like she hadn’t eaten in days, and y/n couldn’t help but laugh. “you’re such a drama queen,” she said, scratching her behind the ears.

jimin watched from the couch, her expression a mix of annoyance and admiration. “she likes you more already, doesn’t she?”

y/n shrugged. “maybe. or maybe she just likes people who actually feed her.”

jimin pouted but didn’t argue.

by the time princess finally fell asleep—curled up in a makeshift bed y/n had put together using a blanket and one of jimin’s designer box that was lying around—the model and the assistant were both exhausted.

“remind me why i thought this was a good idea,” jimin said, flopping onto the couch next to y/n.

“because you wanted a cute accessory for your instagram,” y/n replied, smirking.

jimin glared at her, but didn’t deny it. instead, she leaned her head on y/n’s shoulder and sighed. “she’s kind of cute, though. when she’s not destroying my stuff.”

y/n glanced down at jimin, surprised by the rare moment of vulnerability. “yeah,” she softly responded. “she is.”

as princess snoozed peacefully in her box, jimin and y/n sat in comfortable silence, the chaos of the night slowly fading into something that felt oddly… right. maybe princess wasn’t just a cat—she was the start of something neither of them had expected.

#aespa karina #karina x reader #yoo jimin #yu jimin #aespa x fem reader #aespa x reader #yoo jimin x reader #karina #yu jimin x reader #kpop gg #tdwp #model! karina #bratty! karina #karina fluff

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lazy4honey · 7 days ago

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Hybrids: Wolf x Hare

I saw a post mentioning Wolf hybrid x Hare hybrid where the hare is dominant and I thought “oh a hare hybrid topping a wolf hybrid, cool!” only to discover they meant a power bottom… So this is a hare topping a wolf.

Contains: past tense, second person perspective, fingering, lube, condoms, anal, some dirty talk, a little rough, “pup” and “leveret” instead of “babe”, possibly friends to lovers and also a hate fuck…? NSFW & MDNI

As a buck hare hybrid, your long, powerful legs have already helped you find a good mate for your spring frenzy many years in a row.

And then your frantic performance during that month would scare them away, complaining about how you didn’t listen and should be more gentle and so on — all things you’d explained to them beforehand, which they had explicitly consented to.

Of course, you’d also tried sitting it out once, specifically your first time, but that went so terribly haywire you didn’t want to remember it.

Since the relationships never survived the spring, you’d start looking for a new mate the moment they ended. For this, it was useful to have a friend circle where each friend’s circle overlapped with other circles and then some more. It greatly reduced the chances of fucking yourself through your friends and then ending up with no friends.

However, this year, this well-tried system suffered a bug.

No, not a real bug, not a bug hybrid either — actually, that would have been leagues better than your current situation. Maybe getting fucked by a hybrid in possession of an ovipositor would have been an eye opening sexual experience for you.

This summer, an old friend had invited you to an outing where another old friend whom you hadn’t seen in years brought their partner who in turn brought some of their friends. Among these friends was a red wolf hybrid.

You were introduced to each other and happened to sit together, so you casually chatted a little with him. Finding him pleasant, you felt he would make a good additional connection to your network, and so repressed your solitary nature to talk with him more than you would have otherwise.

The next time you met was a coincidence. Both your friend groups had gone to the same beach and then spontaneously joined together. It was a fun time, and when the red wolf approached you, you were in a generous enough mood to exchange numbers with him.

You met every now and then, more often through your friends holding parties or going to clubs, and over time you became friends.

By autumn, you were close enough to meet alone, taking walks, going out for some coffee, or meeting at the library. It was quiet and cozy, but you still wouldn’t invite him to your home or go to his for watching movies together or such.

Then winter began and January rolled around.

You still hadn’t found a mate for your spring frenzy and were feeling a little anxious.

Actually, there had been a few candidates among the friends of Jules, the red wolf, but every time at the next meeting after chatting them up, they would awkwardly tell your various reasons why it wasn’t possible anymore. The most common reason was that they had already found someone different to mate with and were very happy.

Jules would then pat you on the back, lowering his already deep and sexy voice to comfort you.

But when he showed up on your doorstep on the first day of January with his tail wagging and asking you to be his mate, you suddenly understood—

This guy was doing the same shit as you!

And he was even worse, sabotaging your chances by excluding you when playing matchmaker for his friends!

You slammed the door shut, right in his face, and decided to cut off contact.

It was a pity for the nice time you had spent with him, but a wolf in rut was just as bad as a hare in their spring frenzy, and you weren’t about to get yourself railed by a wolf!

Unfortunately, Jules disagreed.

Ever since that first day of January, who knew how he did it, but he would follow you wherever you went the moment you left your house.

Buying groceries? He was there.

Going to work? Also there.

Shopping? There!

At first, he just wagged his tail. After a few days, he walked closer to you. Then he took every opportunity he could get to stick close to you, to touch you, first your fingers, then your hand, cheek and ears, followed by your sensitive neck, and he even went as far as creating situations where he could sneak touches at your butt and tail. To others, even your closer friends, it looked like you two were a pair.

But that wasn’t the straw that broke the camel’s back.

It was his dirty talk that started in February.

He would tell you whenever he got hard and the reason why. Be it your thighs outlined by your tight pants, the twitch of your tails and ears, or the way your eyes shone when you had a new idea on how to deceive him so he’d leave you alone, it all seemed capable of arousing him in an instant.

Then came how he wanted to ram his big cock into your tight hole, fuck you until you were all loosened up for him, shove his fat knot inside you and make you cum until you couldn’t anymore while he filled you with load after load of cum and made your belly bulge with his seed.

A few days after voicing these obscene thoughts that you didn’t want to hear, Jules suddenly started calling you Leveret. He hugged you tightly, his hard cock straining against his pants and poking your ass as he confessed in a panic so needy and whiny like you’d never experienced that he’d had a crush on you since autumn. He wanted you completely to himself, the less you talked with others and the more attention you paid to him the happier he was, and for some reason he decided the best way to keep you from dating someone else was by playing matchmaker for them.

It was utterly ridiculous.

You somehow managed to get him off of you and quickly left, wanting to calm down and reorganize your thoughts.

But Jules didn’t give you that chance.

He showed up at your door the next day. Before you could slam the door or scold him, he lunged at you, pressed you into his chest, and kicked the door shut.

Instead of nuzzling your neck like he’d done before, he stared at you, his brown eyes filled with a mix of determination and an attempt at looking pitiful, “Leveret, I didn’t mean to scare or anger you, I-I just like you so much I want to be with you all the time…”

“So you decided to ruin my life?” you frowned at him.

“No! No, I- Leveret, you can do to me anything you want, just let me be with you.”

You doubtfully stared at him. “Do anything I want?”

Jules eagerly nodded, “Yes! Anything!”

“And what if I want to beat you?”

His ears and tail drooped a little, but he tried to play it off. “That’s also fine! Even if you want to insult or punish me, I will accept it.”

You didn’t understand. “Why? It’s obviously making you uncomfortable, and I’m not—“

“Because it’s you.”

You felt your heart miss a beat.

Was this guy serious?

He swallowed nervously, “If-if you don’t want to…”

You closed your eyes for a moment. When you opened them again, you were expressionless. The red wolf stiffened, thinking you were really angry now, when you suddenly threw him over your shoulder, marched into your bedroom, and tossed him onto your bed.

He was still stunned when you pressed down on top of him and held his damned handsome face, squishing his cheeks together.

“Are you sure?” you asked, staring into his eyes.

He slowly nodded.

“Anything?” you asked again.

His eyes shone and you could feel his tail start wagging again as he gave you an enthusiastic nod.

“Well then, my little pup, let’s hope you won’t regret it, hm?”

He shuddered at your words, his eager eyes gleaming with a watery sheen and his cock pressing into your thigh as if he was about to start humping you right in this moment.

Considering he’d annoyed you for almost two months and ruined your search for a mate for even longer, you decided to relieve some of your pent-up irritation.

You roughly removed his jacket and shoes and carelessly threw them aside, then plopped your firm ass down on his crotch, triggering a muffled groan. Following that, you ran your hand down the close-fitting shirt showcasing Jules’ tight muscles, grabbed the hem, and tore it open. You felt his dick twitch against your ass.

“So you like it rough, huh, little pup?”

You leaned down, your hands sliding up his muscular abdomen to his sturdy chest and pinching his nipples. Your face stopped just above his, close enough to kiss if he just raised himself up a little, but your hands pressed down on him, preventing him from touching you and making the red wolf whimper pitifully.

“Then let’s fuck you up,”

“Leveret…”

Jules’ husky murmur was cut short by your biting kiss. Teeth collided and tongues entangled. His paws slowly slid up your powerful thighs and settled on your buttocks, kneading them in a way that his claws dug into your flesh and pulling your tail.

The pain elicited a moan from you.

Before the red wolf could feel happy with himself, you bit him forcefully enough to draw blood. Then you grabbed his wrists, pulling his arms up and securing them above his head.

“Little pup, why are you acting up? Just let yourself obediently get pampered by me, hm?”

“…Mhm.”

You bit his jaw in satisfaction and started making your way down, leaving bites on his rolling throat, his protruding collarbone, and his undulating chest.

His needy pants made you smirk.

Sitting up on his crotch, you let go of his wrists and got off of him. You licked your lips at his adorably confused look and grabbed him to turn him onto his stomach in one smooth motion. Like he did before, you grasped his tail and gave it a good pull. He shuddered and gasped as a tingle ran his tail up his spine and into his balls and dick.

“Leveret…”

You chuckled and held the base of his tail, massaging it while biting along his spine from his neck down to the small of his back, coaxing needy moans and shallow hip thrusts out of him.

Suddenly, your grip on his tail tightened and you pulled his ass up into the air. It was firm and round, with the reddish tail sticking out from his pants’ aperture at his butt cleft. After admiring his form for a moment, you ripped the obstructing pants off of him and found that he had completely foregone his underpants, immediately revealing his balls and his hard cock protruding from its sheath to your view.

Holding against the tail that reflexively pressed down due to his arousal, you leaned closer to examine his small puckered asshole, your breath spraying on the sensitive skin.

Jules trembled and his dick and asshole twitched as his claws dug into your sheets and he desperately breathed in your scent, trying to keep calm but still unable to resist pleading, “Leveret, hurry, do whatever you want, just fuck me, please!”

You bit his ass cheek, inducing another tremble.

“Sure.”

Then, hand sliding down from his tail to his asshole to circle around the delicate skin, you leaned over to your bedside table and retrieved a big tube of lube.

You held it in front of him, “You’re not allergic to anything in there, are you?”

Jules swallowed and focused his gaze on the small writing with some difficulty before shaking his head, “No…”

“Good,”

So you proceeded with opening the tube and squeezing some of the unscented gel onto his asshole and your hand. He shuddered at the cool sensation and hugged your pillow, desperately breathing in your scent in deep pants, seeming unable to relax. You didn’t feel like comforting him, but you didn’t want to really hurt him either, so you slowed your pace.

Holding up his tail with your dry hand, you used the lubed up finger of your other to circle around his puckered hole and gently prodded it. The regular motion allowed the lube to warm up a little and Jules gradually got used to the feeling.

And the moment Jules got used to it, he started causing trouble again.

“Leveret, hurry up, I want to feel you inside me… I’ve thought about how tight and hot you’d feel around my cock so many times, how your asshole would clench around my knot when you come from me pumping you full of my cum again and again and how you would cry when it gushes all out once my knot loosens, and then you’d feel so empty you’d beg me for more, for me to cockwarm inside of you, and— Ah!”

Annoyed, you unceremoniously shoved your finger inside his asshole and wriggled it a little. You felt the muscles of his anus clench around your finger, as if wanting to force the invading thing out, and you chuckled darkly.

“If you want to dream, go to sleep. Today, it’ll only be me fucking you, my little pup. I might not have that fat knot you’re so proud of, but I will certainly make good use of what I have and fuck you senseless. Just imagine you cockdrunk from my railing, begging unintelligibly, not remembering whether you want my dick to fuck you faster or slower. Oh, and once my spring frenzy comes, it’ll get real fun, then I’ll make you unable to even crawl out of bed…”

You whispered in his ear as you pumped your finger in and out of him, adding some more lube so his dry little hole could take you better.

The red wolf groaned and wriggled his hips, making you curl your finger and eliciting a low growl. Jules turned his head to look at you with his lustful brown eyes, and the way his husky voice arranged the words was simply baffling.

“Does that mean I’ll still be with you in spring?”

“…If you can hold on that long, maybe.”

His eyes curved as he smiled, overflowing with an emotion you couldn’t quite name, yet it felt all encompassing.

You stared into his eyes, lost in that strange yet cozy feeling until Jules suddenly hummed and shook his butt, and then you remembered that your finger was still sticking in his butt and what you were about to do had at least the slight flavor of a hate fuck, or maybe rather revenge sex.

“Leveret, please fuck me,” Jules whined and pushed himself further onto your finger, making his voice a little breathy, “I want to know what your cock feels like inside of me, I want you to touch and kiss me, I want…” He panted as he twisted his neck to look at you, “I want you…”

As you wondered if there would ever be a day when his sweet or dirty talk wouldn’t set you off like a firecracker, you squeezed some more lube and pushed a second finger into him.

His breath hitched and his ears quivered, the tail pressing down and almost getting his own fur into his ass. You couldn’t help but feel a little annoyed and soon added a third finger, almost stretching all the folds out of his poor hole. Ass crammed with your fingers, every deliberate push producing squelching sounds, the red wolf’s thighs trembled and he kept whimpering like a wronged puppy.

You sped up your hand movement, your fingers glistening with lube easily sliding in and out of his asshole. Every now and then you would brush against a certain spot inside of him that made Jules clench each time, allowing you to clearly feel the pulse going through his rectum whenever it happened. Gradually, you started targeting that spot, and it didn’t take long before unrestrained moans and whined filled your bedroom.

The thought of it being your cock instead of your fingers enveloped by him, causing him this pleasure, made you hard, and it also made you lose your patience.

You pulled put your fingers with a loud squelch.

He looked at you, both confused and still caught in his pleasure slowly approaching the peak. Then he saw you rid yourself of your clothes, fully revealing your slender yet powerful figure before him for the first time. His gaze roamed over your body, fervently admiring every inch of you before settling on your erect cock.

He audibly swallowed at the sight.

“My, my, so eager, my little pup?” You smirked at him and leaned over, pressing close to feel his heat and bite him a few more times.

Jules whimpered and rubbed against you, clearly eager for more.

So you fished a condom out of your bedside table and bit it open while locking eyes with him. Then you retreated, sat up behind him, and properly put on the condom. You squeezed more lube onto your hand and held his tail up with a tight grip.

“Ready?”

He adjusted himself a little, his buttocks swaying right in front of your eyes as he tried to get a little more comfortable and dug his claws into his own ass cheeks to pull them apart and reveal his loosened hole to you in all its glory.

“…Ready.”

You generously slathered your dick with the lube and smeared the rest onto him, then held his hips and aligned yourself with his entrance. The tip of your cock poked at the loosened, lubed up hole, and you could see it close and open as if breathing, lightly brushing against your glans.

“Leveret, hurry up…” Jules whined and recklessly shoved his ass towards you, incidentally directly impaling himself with half your dick. He inhaled sharply, “Fuck…!”

You felt his ass clench around you and groaned, “Little pup, you’re really impatient, aren’t you? Your greedy little hole is so eager to eat me up, the bite it took was a little too big for you… Ah, I’ve never encountered a pup begging to be fucked so desperately, and by a hare at that…”

While speaking, you slowly pushed your dick inside him. Watching him swallow you was a most arousing sight, enticing you to give up the slow and steady approach and just ram into him, to go balls deep and make his ass jiggle with each thrust, have him cry put until his voice was hoarse like the call of a crow…

His hands holding his ass cheeks shook as you buried your cock inside his asshole. The hot, tight walls of his soft insides squeezed your length and reluctantly clung to you as you very slowly pulled out. It sucked on your glans before being forced to let go, producing a wet plop sound.

Jules whined and wriggled his ass, so you pushed in again, faster this time, moaning when the heat enveloped you. His ass was so tight you felt like it would milk you dry the moment you didn’t pay attention, yet at the dame time you couldn’t wait to loose control and cram yourself inside his hole regardless of everything.

You sped up as your sanity slipped away, your mind echoing with the wolf’s moans and whines that were growing louder and more frequent.

As you pumped in and out, you occasionally grazed that sensitive spot inside him with your glans. Every time it happened, his ass would throb and tighten around you, causing both of you to moan, inducing you to search for that spot and target it once you found it. You wrapped an arm around his waist, pressing him firmly against you as you fucked him, your dick never leaving his asshole before thrusting in again.

Jules could barely hold himself up anymore and, head only filled with desire, reached for his own engorged cock to help a bit. The knot was already swelling up, indicating he was about to cum.

Your thrusts shook his entire body, making his hands basically jerk his dick all on its own. Yet it just didn’t seem to be enough, the pleasure neither releasing nor fading, just constantly building up as you fucked into him.

“Leveret, Leveret, I want to cum…”

You almost couldn’t hear his whines over your own panting and the noise of your naked bodies smacking together, the lube squelching and the bed creaking, thumping against the wall, and you weren’t really clear about what you could do to help him release. So you just did whatever you liked, one hand gripping his waist so hard your nails dug into his flesh and the other following his arm to his cock, teasing his glans, rubbing his knot and kneading his tight balls.

As your climax approached your thrusts grew sloppier and more irregular, almost frantically chasing that high. Then, you came. A wave of pleasure crashed over you, making you tighten your grip on Jules and fiercely bite down on his nape. You felt his asshole flutter around your cock, squeezing more cum out of you while he shot his own load onto your sheets with a loud moan.

The peak of your ecstasy was extended for an unknown time, and by the time your mind returned, you realized you were both panting heavily. Still intimately connected, Jules lay bonelessly in your embrace, unable to hold himself up.

When you pulled your dick out of his asshole, you saw the reddened, stretched hole pitifully contract and relax as if breathing, unable to close properly. The clear lube smearing his ass and dripping down his balls made you regret wearing a condom for a moment, wishing it were your cum making such a mess out of the red wolf, but after a moment of thought, not having hurt him was a much better outcome. After all, like this, you could happily go for another round…

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eatingoutmen · 6 months ago

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“ INSIDE HIS OFFICE . ”

| ☎︎ A/N : feeding ya’ll again with Professor/Sergio Marquina because I am OBSESSED and INLOVE with him and Àlvaro Morte in general, so why not show our submissive nerdy man some love? Also, I have just been suffering with writes block and taking a break off for my mental health. Anyway, enjoy this smut-fic!! I’m sorry if this took too long, I had to proofread this alot of times… (😭)

| 𖤐 PAIRINGS : Sergio Marquina x Top Male Reader

| ⚠︎ CWS ; male/amab reader, no pronouns used, office sex, semi-public sex, praise kink, humiliation kink, teasing, blowjob, throat-fucking, multiple orgasms, fingering, slow and sensual to fast and rough sex, dumbification, creampie, porn with no plot.

It was late at night, the moon casted its gentle glow as it created a quiet and peaceful moment around the warehouse. Except for the loud grunts and moans that could be heard in the Professor's office, along with choked sobs and loud gags of a cry of pleasure behind the closed door.

The Professor was on his knees, he was still half-clothed with his suit jacket was on the floor, his shirt unbuttoned and his tie sitting loosely around his shirt collar and his pants slightly revealing his boxers along with the bulge outlining in the fabric. Sergio’s hair was tousled while his glasses were barely hanging onto his face from the overwhelming pleasure, a hand held Sergio by the top of his head; making him bob his head with guidance and purpose.

Sergio’s hands grasped onto your knees for support as he was a submissive mess, he responded eagerly at the feeling of your cock moving inside his mouth. He would let out muffled moans and choked sobs whenever the tip of your dick would go deep down his throat, his nails scratched the fabric of your pants, tears welling up in his hues as he continued to gag around you.

He always loved it when you take control of him, making feel weak and pathetic from your dominant presence.

Your cock was so deep down in his throat, you were moving so fast that Sergio found it too difficult to take your movements, his breath caught in his throat as he tried to take your movements eagerly. The pleasure becoming almost unbearable and overwhelming for him, he let out a gag as a shudder ran down his spine. His spit dripping down his chin as his hands held onto your knees, he looked up to you with submission and need in his gaze as his glasses were barely hanging onto his face.

You let out a soft chuckle as you pulled out and let him catch his breath, you tapped the tip of your cock against Sergio’s cheek, your smile grew wider seeing the blush that crept on his face. “Think you can still take it, Professor?” You teasingly asked, your voice a blend with dominance and desire. You watched as his breath became ragged as he tried to form coherent words to reply to your teasing question, making you chuckle lowly.

Sergio lets out a shaky breath as he looked up to you, his hands grasping onto your knees for support. He opens his mouth to respond but the words in his throat are choked and comes out as just incoherent sounds, he looks away to avoid your gaze. You placed hand on his chin, tilting him to meet your eyes. “Answer me, I said can you still take it?” You asked, rubbing the tip of your cock to his lips teasingly. His breath caught on his throat as he nodded his head quickly in response, yet it still wasn’t the answer you were looking for. “Use your words, Professor…”

Sergio lets out a whimper as he struggled to find his voice, his hands trembling as he grasped onto your knees and felt his cheeks flushed with a mixture of desire and surrender. He nodded his head again as he met your gaze. “Y-yes… I-I can take it…” He managed to gasp out, his voice trembling as his words were breathless yet filled with surrender and submission. ""I-I can take whatever... you give me..." His flustered face got more flustered as he heard your mocking chuckle dancing in his ears.

He looked so pathetic, and you loved it.

You rubbed the tip of your cock to Sergio’s lips, you heard his breath hitching. You chuckled as you tilted your head slightly with a smirk forming onto on your lips. “Open your mouth, Professor…” You whispered, his eyes widened slightly as his breath quickened but was quick to obey. He opened his mouth widely for you, without hesitation. You shoved your cock back into his mouth again while your fingers tangled his hair, making him bob his head as you let out a groan at the feeling of his tongue swirling around on your cock.

You grunted loudly as you continued thrusting your hips back and forth while chuckling as you heard Sergio’s moans of pleasure were choked and gagged by your cock deep inside his throat, you stared down at him watching him taking your cock eagerly as his hands trembled while holding onto your knees while a shudder ran down his spine. You moaned loudly while you gripped his hair tightly, you kept going till you kept chasing your orgasm.

“Oh, fuck… Shit, ‘m close-” You moaned out, your words encouraging him to work his tongue faster on while thrusting your hips faster and tightened your grip on his hair. The sight of him clouded from pleasure as he continued to choke and gag around your cock, you let out a breathless chuckle mix with a groan. You kept going and chasing after your orgasm as you thrusted into his mouth. Fucking his pretty face entirely.

One, two, three, four more thrust into his mouth as you let out a loud moan. Your grip on his hair tightened as you came in his mouth, a shiver of pleasure ran down your spine as you looked down and see Sergio’s eyes widened and choking loudly at the feeling of your load in his mouth, you groaned and let out a low chuckle seeing him swallowing it all eagerly. You looked down at him as you got a better look of his cum staining his pants from the pleasure you gave him.

You let go of his hair and he pulled off of your cock, with a small ‘pop’ sound and watch him gasp for air. Breathing heavily as he tried to regain himself, a mix of your cum and his spit drooling down his chin, he adjusted his glasses as he blushed while his hands rested on his thighs looking up to you with those brown eyes he had, looking like an adorable puppy begging, a smirk curled into your lips.

You knew exactly what he wanted and you were gonna give it to him…

You had Sergio with his legs spread wide for you, his cum-stained pants and boxers discarded, his button up shirt unbuttoned as his tie was sitting loosely around his shirt’s collar, his beautiful body displayed all for you to please and cherish. Your middle finger and ring finger stretching out his hole as you prepped him for your cock. Loud but muffled moans and choked sobs escaped his lips as he threw his head back, tears of pleasure welled up from his eyes. His cock leaking pre-cum as he squirmed his body at the feeling of yours fingers hitting his prostate, hitting all the rights spots that made him to let out loud moans and whimpers.

“Oh, oh- god- hmph!… [N-Name]!-” He cried out as he cut himself off with a loud moan mix with a high pitch whimper, his hands finding their way to his clothes, gripping it tightly as his knuckles turned white. With one hand, you gently held his thigh, rubbing them gently to calm him down and get him to stop squirming so much. “You’re so loud, Professor. The team might hear you, you know?” You teased, as you see him whimper and blush at the thought of being overheard at this intimate moment he was having with you. You chuckled as you watch him let out a series of moans and whimpers escape his lips while you continued to stretch him out.

You tilted your head and chuckled lowly seeing him in such messy and vulnerable state, his calm and composed demeanor was replaced with raw desire and submission as he turned into a needy and desperate slut. “Please… I-I need to cum… Please let me cum, please!…” Sergio desperately begged at you, tears streaming down his face as his hard cock twitched and leaked more pre-cum. He let out a series of moans and whimpers, growing louder and desperate as your fingers stretched him out.

He begged so beautifully that it was so pathetic yet so incredibly hot.

You hummed in response, your fingers continued to hit his prostate, repeatedly abusing it as your eyes lingered at the sight of him so whorish and needy, his moans turning into high pitch whimpers, filling the office’s atmosphere. His tears continued to well up from his eyes, you chuckled seeing his cock twitch and leaking out more pre-cum onto his stomach. Your fingers slowing and teasing his hole, he let out a whine from your action, his orgasm suddenly subsided. You liked seeing him get frustrated on you.

It turns you on seeing him get all so needy like a desperate slut begging to get fucked dumb.

“[Name]… Don’t tease me… please…” Sergio whined, a soft whimper leaving his lips seeing you chuckle at his response, you met his gaze, with a cocky grin on your face. “You’re so cute when you beg, Professor…” You said teasingly, causing him to blush and let out a needy whimper. “[Name]…” He whined, his voice barely a whisper.

“I know, mi amor. Don’t worry, I’ll let you cum… Just be a good boy for me, okay?” You said, he whimpered while he nodded his head eagerly waiting patiently for his release that you held in your hands, he continued to moan and whimper uncontrollably at the feeling of your fingers hitting his prostate with precision.

Your eyes trailed down his body, eyes stopping as you noticed his cock leaking more pre-cum onto his stomach, you chuckled lowly and began to fasten your pace with your fingers while fingering his hole, abusing his sweet spot repeatedly. His moans turned into high pitch whimpers and choked sobs at your relentless pace. “[N-Name]!… f-fuck- ahh- oh- oh god!-” He cried out, his body arching in response as he screamed to the overwhelming sensation, his hard cock twitching as it continued to leak more pre-cum. “D-don’t stop… please, don’t stop!…” He threw his head back as he arched his body further, ass in the air for you to continue to stretch him out and give him his sweet release.

You hummed as you continued to push him further to edge of release, you chuckled hearing him moan and gasp uncontrollably at the sensation of your fingers abusing his sensitive spot in all the right ways. “Gonna cum, Professor?” You asked, looking down at the man beneath you, nodding his head desperately. “Mmm…Yes- s-shit!… oh, God- Yes!” He managed to gasp out between moans, desperately on the edge of release as his cock leaked more pre-cum onto his stomach. “P-please, [Name]… let me… let me cum!… please!” He pleaded, his body yearning for that sweet release that you held the key to.

You chuckled hearing his desperate pleas, you maintained your relentless pace as your fingers jabbed his prostate. “Go ahead, Professor. Cum for me.” You urged, watching his cock spill cum all over his stomach as he moaned out your name loudly. His body trembled from the intensity of the moment while he laid there, breathless and sated from his intense climax, his body still tingling with the echoes of pleasure. You smiled as you pulled out your fingers and let him rest for a while after that overwhelming pleasure you gave him.

Before you can say or do anything, he sat up from the floor and moved towards you and began to straddled himself onto your lap, your eyes widened in surprise as he rocked his hips onto your clothed crotch, creating some delicious friction.

He leaned in close to your ear, his warm breath ghosting on your skin. “I want more…” Sergio whispered, his voice husky and tone filled with lust, he placed a soft peck against your lips as he continued to rock his hips against your clothed crotch while letting out a needy whimper, his eyes filled with need and longing.

How can you deny his request when he looks so pretty and needy all for you?

The clock on the wall continued tick its hours away from what you two were doing now, you now had The Professor bent over the desk as it shook loudly back and forth, important documents and blueprints of the heist’s plans and strategies began falling off as it hit the floor from getting shook and pushed off. He let out moans and whimpers as well as incoherent words and choked sobs from his lips, echoing loudly in the atmosphere of his office.

Sergio’s hair was tousled even more and his glasses were barely hanging on his face from the pleasure you were providing, both of your hands held him by his waist, moving and holding him down higher to the table as you thrusted your hips, the wet sounds of both his and your skin meeting against each other and his cries of overwhelming pleasure you were elicited within him created such a erotic atmosphere in the office.

His hands grasped onto the edge of the table for support as he was a moaning mess, his body responding eagerly at the feeling of your cock was moving so slow and teasing inside of him, he would let out loud moans whenever the tip of your dick would hit his prostate, sending waves of electric pleasure coursing through him.

Yet it still wasn’t enough for him. No, he craved more. More of your sweet, overwhelming pleasure. But you were being so cruel to him that it was driving him insane.

Your cock was deep inside of his hole, moving so slow that it was driving Sergio to the edge of frustration and need, his breath was coming in shallow gasps as he tried to form coherent sentences to your movements. The pleasure becoming almost unbearable and overwhelming for him, “P-please… m-move faster…” Sergio managed to gasp out between whimpers, he rocked his hips to meet your movements, his body eagerly moving in rhythm to your slow and teasing pace.

You chuckled as you continued thrusting your hips so deliberate and teasing, making him deny what he begged for, which caused him to let out a whine of frustration. Your hands held his waist firmly as your moved in and out of his hole. He gasped and moaned at the feeling of your cock moving in and out of walls and stretching him out. “Patience, Professor… patience…” You teasingly whispered, he whined at your response which caused you to chuckle lowly. “Come on, a bit of patience wouldn’t hurt right, Professor?”

He let out a whine of frustration, his nails digging into the desk as he rocked his hips to meet your pace, his breath came in gasps and moans as he panted out heavily. He knew at this point he couldn’t wait any longer, he needed that sweet release again that only you can grant him, and with that. He let out a needy whimper, hoping to himself that his plan would work on you. “[N-Name]… please…” Sergio pleaded, his voice a breathless whisper. You clicked your tongue in response, trying not to give in to his pleas.

But, God the way he begged for you was like a siren’s call, so alluring and impossible to resist.

You chuckled mockingly as you continued your slow and teasing pace, your cock stretching out his hole and moving in and out of his walls. You leaned down, pressing your chest against his back, carefully trying not put much of your weight on him and dropped your voice into a low and husky whisper, your lips brushing against his ear as your breath ghosted on his skin. “Beg a little harder, Professor...” You ordered, as you increased your pace slightly, which elicited a loud moan from him.

He let out a shaky moan as your cock moved deep inside of his hole, his hard cock between his legs leaking pre-cum as his body quivered with pleasure, his hands grasping onto the desk as it shook back and forth from your movements. With a mix of need and vulnerability and a soft moan escaping his lips. “P-please… f-faster… I-I need you [Name]…” Sergio gasped out, his plea was filled with urgency, he let out a whimper as your cock stretched his hole as well his walls.

And with that plea, you draw all the way out. Thrusting your hips as you pounded his hole aggressively, the tip of your cock getting caught with his rim. His moans and whimpers grew louder at the sudden increased intensity of your pace, the desk shook back and forth as he held onto to it for support. His legs getting weaker and weaker at each deeper thrust inside him.

“Y-yes… j-just like that!—” He managed to gasp out between moans, his glasses loosely hung on the crook of his nose. His body quivered with pleasure and satisfaction. “Keep going!… j-just like that!…” He moaned loudly, his words were punctuated by gasps and moans of ectasy. Your hands held his waist firmly as you slammed your cock back and forth in his hole, thrusting deeper inside his walls. “You like that, Professor?” You asked teasingly, staring down at the man who was so high off the pleasure looking like as if he lost his fucking mind.

“Mmm… Y-yes!… I-I love it!… d-don’t stop!…” Sergio cried out, his eyes screwing shut as his cock leaked out more pre-cum, you chuckled seeing him struggle to form coherent words to answer you. You snapped your hips back and forth, your pace growing faster and faster, making him scream from the overwhelming pleasure you were offering him.

“Then why don’t you thank me, Professor. Like a good boy for giving you what you needed so badly.” You chuckled while pounding his hole and stretching out his walls, your tip brushing against his sweet spot. Making his moans and whimpers grow louder and mingle with the sound of skin smacking against skin that echoed throughout the office.

“Y-yes… t-thank you!… thank you for moving… f-faster!…” Sergio gasped out, as he was getting fucked so deeply by you. You reveled the way his moans and whimpers grew louder, you tilted your head and smirked at the idea of the team hearing him from just outside the door. “You do realize how loud you’re getting right, Professor?” You remarked, while maintaining your fast pace. “Ever thought about the team might hear you, huh?” You added, with a chuckle as you slammed your hips back and forth.

Sergio was so high off of the pleasure that he felt like he was seeing heaven, he couldn’t give a damn if the team heard him or walk in and see the two of you like this. All he cared about was getting fucked so dumb by you, the feeling of your cock pounding his hole and making submit to your dominant demeanor. His throat burning from moaning and whimpering uncontrollably, his body quivering as his cock leaked more pre-cum. “I-I don’t care… just keep going…” He whispered hoarsely, his voice rough and sore.

You chuckled at his response, you continued to thrust yourself deeper in his walls, your hands holding his waist firmly as you pounded your cock deep inside him. You stared down at his appearance, his hair tousled, his glasses barely hanging onto the crook of his nose, his body quivering from the overwhelming pleasure you were evoking within him. You chuckled as you continued to tease him further, “What’s wrong, Professor? Is this too much for you? Want me to stop?” Your smirk widened hearing him whine at the last sentence.

“D-don’t you dare… oh, f-fuck… don’t you dare fucking s-stop, [Name]…” Sergio managed to gasp out between moans, his voice filled desperation and frustration. You chuckled as you continued to thrust your hips faster and faster, his walls hugging your cock tightly while your tip kept abusing his prostate. You kept going as you chased your orgasm, abusing his sweet spot with unerring accuracy, hitting it all the right spots that make him see heaven.

“You close, Professor?” You asked, looking down at him as he was moaning and whimpering uncontrollably, his body trembling with need of release. He opened his mouth to answer but the words were caught in his throat and all that came out incoherent sounds and choked sobs, you chuckled while continuing your fast pace. Pushing him further to the brink of another release, “Come on, Professor. Use your words...”

Sergio let out loud shaky moan as he nodded his head slightly, his cock between his legs leaked more pre-cum as he was teetering on the edge of release. “Y-yes… I-I’m… close, so close…” He managed to gasp out, his voice hoarse and a breathless whisper. “P-please, [Name]… let me... let me cum… please…” His plea laced with desperation and longing, surrendering to overwhelming pleasure that you were orchestrating within him.

You chuckled hearing his desperate pleas, you maintained your relentless pace as your cock jabbed his prostate. “Go ahead, Professor. Cum for me.” You ordered, watching his cock spill cum all over himself as he moaned out your name loudly. His body trembling with the intensity of another climax, riding his orgasm as his cock shot out his load onto the floor. He couldn’t ride off his high properly as you continued thrusting your cock deep inside him, chasing your own release.

“Inside… p-please…” Sergio slurred out, his body trembling as he felt your cock twitch inside of his hole as his walls squeezed around you. His throat burning from moaning and whimpering uncontrollably, “You want me breed you, huh? Professor?” You asked teasingly, he nodded eagerly.

“Mmm… y-yes… please, [Name]…” Sergio responded weakly, his walls hugging your cock tighter, and that threw over the edge. You kept thrusting a few more times til you finally rode out your orgasm, you let out a groan as you painted his walls white with your cum.

You were both breathing heavily and sweating profusely with the aftershocks from the intense lovemaking, both your bodies trembling and chest rising and falling as you both catch your breath. You groaned as you slowly pulled out of him, you let out a breathless laugh seeing his body trembling and legs shaking completely while holding onto the desk for support. His hole dripping out your cum down to his legs.

You switched his bent over position and carefully sat him on the desk’s table and peppered his face with kisses, “I love you, Sergio…” You whispered softly and adjusted his glasses, he smiled faintly and rested his forehead against yours. His breaths mingling with yours. “I-I love you too… [Name]…” Sergio whispered back, his voice weak but filled with warmth. You placed a gentle kiss on his forehead as he let out a contented sigh.

“Finally, they fucking stopped!” Someone shouted from the other side of the room, you and Sergio exchanged looks, you laughed breathlessly seeing his flustered and embarrassed face.

Well, this is gonna be an awkward next morning with the team, but you couldn't really care about it. On the bright side, at least you fucked your boyfriend.

ʚ all works belong to @eatingoutmen do not steal, copy or repost anywhere. ɞ

#ʚ ⋆ ᴡʜᴏʀᴇᴄʜɪᴠᴇꜱ ⋆ ɞ #dom male reader #top male reader #seme male reader #x top male reader #x male reader #male reader #bottom character #bottom male character #sub character #sub male character #the professor #sergio marquina #money heist #la casa de papel #lcdp #sergio marquina x reader #la casa de papel x reader #alvaro morte

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really-fanny-longbottom · 5 months ago

Text

only in my dreams [part three]

summary: the beginning of the end.

warnings: mentions of death, violence, abuse and burns.

pairings: azriel x reader, eris x reader

words: 8.9k

A feeling of numbness began to invade you from the top of your head to your toes.

As you closed your eyes and calmed your breathing, you felt your shattered heart one last time before focusing on your emotions and feelings and bringing them to the surface.

Realizing that it was impossible to reach all of them, you focused on those whose presence had become a habit and which had begun to suffocate you day after day.

Jealousy - upon seeing that Azriel's courtships were not intended for you.

Pain - realizing that the Spymaster eye's weren't looking for you the way yours did for him.

Insecurity - thinking that you will never be enough for the Shadowsinger that occupied your thoughts.

Sadness - understanding that you will never find yourself in the arms of the person you most want to hold you.

Broken heart - when you realize that the male you love will never love you back.

You let them emerge, and when they did, you let them swim back and forth as you dug your way through them looking for that little switch.

The switch that was about to solve all your problems. In a few moments, it would mend your heart and bind it with a steel chain around it, to prevent it from breaking again - from feeling again.

After digging your way for a few more seconds, the switch came into your reach and as you headed towards it, you noticed the darkness that surrounded it.

The darkness that would invade your veins and corrupt your heart - the price to pay.

By reaching for the switch with an invisible hand, you let the happy memories with your friends replay in your mind, granting one last wish to your aching heart.

It was while reliving those memories that you were hesitant about what you were about to do, seeing the good times you had spent with the friends that had become your family.

Nesta, Gwyn, Emerie, Rhys, Cass, Feyre, Mor and Amren - all their faces appeared in turns bringing a slight smile and a feeling of comfort.

But it shattered when the image of Azriel and Elain holding hands and exchanging smiles invaded your mind without permission.

You would never be her and he would never look at you that way.

That was your breaking point.

You wouldn't continue to suffer for a male who didn't even dedicate a second of his time to acknowledge you.

And just like the snap of a finger, the hesitation disappeared, anger replacing it, making the invisible hand reach out and finally complete its task.

With a simple click...

You turned it off.

And become darkness.

A storm was heading towards Prythian.

Black clouds haunted the sky, an immense darkness hid behind them, preparing to release its confined monsters at the right moment.

The Courts were dominated by gray — a consequence of the storm that was about to break.

The trees had lost their color; the flowers and food planted in the gardens stopped growing; the water in the rivers and seas was still, with no wave being formed; the animals had fled and a crushing cold forced every inhabitant to stay at home.

The sun was nowhere to be found.

With no explanation from the High Lords for what was happening, the inhabitants were left at their mercy to conjure one.

'This is the work of witches,' some said.

'Prythian is dying. It's the end of the world,' said others.

But the rumor that most circulated among the Courts? The rumor that many believed but were too afraid to say out loud? The rumor that due to fear was whispered between ears or past written in letters?

Someone had disturbed a powerful being, and this was the result of their wrath.

Now, Prythian was condemned to face their punishment.

The entire extension of Prythian seemed cursed, but no Court was worse than the Night Court.

Mainly Velaris.

All eyes that fell on the city would only take a second to identify it as the epicenter of the storm.

After all, that was where the 'curse' itself began.

Velaris was paused in time.

Flying over what was once vibrant and full of life, Velaris, Azriel, Cassian, and Rhys continued their search.

They flew through the empty streets, past the closed shops, with no sign that anyone lived there.

If the males didn't have the age they have, they would never have believed that this had once been the City of Starlight.

It all started four weeks ago.

Four weeks since Madja's drastic revelation about you.

Four weeks since the last time any of them had seen you.

You had disappeared without leaving any kind of trace.

While Amren, Nesta, and Feyre read all the books Helion had lent them about rare powers, Mor on the Continent trying to find someone who knew more about empaths, the males were tasked with finding you.

The brothers had already flown over the entire Night Court to try to find any trace of you - but without success.

It was as if you had simply evaporated.

They went as far as contacting Eris to find out if the Heir knew anything about you.

Although they didn't get any information regarding you, the males ended up discovering that Eris himself was looking for you.

Apparently, your news powers had reached the ears of Beron, awakening his interest in you.

Unfortunately, this wasn't the first time Beron had been interested in you.

News in Prythian never took long to reach all the Courts.

When the first rumor about an empath in Prythian emerged, all the High Lords were agitated, especially when that same empath was one of the members of Rhysand's Inner Circle.

Empaths were very rare, with only two recorded in the last twenty thousand years, so the extent of their powers and capabilities remained a mystery.

Rhysand had to set up a meeting and introduce you to the High Lords personally to prove you weren't a threat.

And you weren't. The High Lords saw firsthand what a caring, kind, and gentle person you were.

They saw your abilities as a healer and the purity in your eyes.

You were the epitome of kindness.

There was no reason to fear you.

Until now.

They could barely believe what you had become. It was as if the girl they had met decades ago had never existed.

As if it had been nothing more than a dream.

Helion was the first to find out about your situation when Rhysand came to him.

Rhysand will never forget how Helion said you must have suffered too much and too long in silence to be able to become what you became.

The warning that followed still haunted the male in his sleep 'Do not underestimate her, Rhysand. It's innocent and pure people like Y/N who can find the deepest darkness within themselves when motivated to do so. She may not have been a threat before, but she certainly is now.'

The truth that no one wanted to admit was that they were scared of you.

Scared of your new powers and what you would be able to do with them.

And now Beron was looking for you.

You were never a violent or aggressive person. In fact, in all the years since you joined the Inner Circle, they had never even seen you raise your voice.

But now...with your emotions turned off, and your powers, if Beron finds you and you feel threatened...

They weren't sure that Beron would come out alive from that confrontation.

They didn't know how far you would go to protect yourself, but there was one thing they knew: they needed to find you quickly.

On a distant illyrian mountain, in an unpopulated zone, an abandoned cabin had been improvised as a laboratory.

The cabin contained only three rooms: a bedroom, a bathroom, and a living room/kitchen.

This last room was the largest of the three, but due to all the tables that filled it, it gave the impression of being the smallest.

On the tables against the walls were various dried plants and flowers — in other words, dead.

You were sitting on a wooden stool in front of one of the tables in the center — that one was loaded with green plants and flowers with colors ranging from blue, red, and yellow.

Your eyes studied a sunflower while your hands surrounded it with a darkness they emitted.

You watched as the poison began to spread through it from the root to its petals — how it began to lose its color and wither with each passing second.

This has been your occupation for the last four weeks.

Ever since you discovered your new powers, you have dedicated yourself to learning about them.

All those sleepless nights, the days with little food in your stomach, the headaches, and the hours you spent sitting had been rewarded.

You could poison a entire plant or in a specific place of your choice, it could spread quickly or slowly, it could be deadly immediately or last for hours, you could remove the poison and bring the plant to its original state.

But the most interesting part? You had accidentally discovered during one of your experiments a few days ago that even after its death, you were able to control it.

That's what you had spent the last few days working on.

You believed this was the final step to achieving your full power.

You watched closely as the flower reached its final stage. You could feel its vitality fading away at your fingertips.

With one last movement of your hand, the flower reached its end.

Letting a few seconds pass, you took the opportunity to readjust yourself on the bench and stretch a little. You felt the muscles in your arms and back relax instantly.

You didn't know how long you had been sitting here working on the flower, but when you looked out the window and saw the light of a new day outside, you realized that a few hours had passed.

With your eyes finding the flower once more, you ignored the headache that was beginning to form on the right side of it, you had had many lately preceded by a bad night's sleep because of the nightmares that had invaded your mind for almost two weeks.

You had never had nightmares before, and these were mysterious. You couldn't understand them no matter how hard you tried.

You let go of that thought, pushing it deep into the back of your mind, and focused your attention on the task at hand and extended your hands towards the flower.

This was the moment of truth.

Slowly, with each rotation of your wrist, the flower started moving.

A big smile appeared on your face as you watched the flower move with the direction of your hands — following your lead.

Your attention shifted to your hands as you realized what was happening.

Your glow was changing color.

Transforming.

What used to be darkness was now a bright red.

The reach of your full power.

However, your moment of triumph was interrupted when your ears perked at the new sounds outside of the cabin.

Footsteps.

Several of them.

The cabin only had one entrance and one exit, and that was where the intruders were headed.

You knew exactly who they were. You knew they were looking for you. They had come very close to finding you the last time, forcing you to move.

Luckily for them, back then, your priority was learning your new powers, but this time? This time, you were irritated.

Your eyes didn’t leave the flower when the cabin door was kicked open and five Autumn soldiers burst into your small laboratory.

You had heard that Beron was looking for you, but you thought the male wouldn’t be stupid enough to send his soldiers to the Night Court — especially Illyria.

Apparently, you were mistaken.

The soldiers began shouting orders that you ignored.

Did Beron really think he could capture you? Use your powers as he pleased?

Without warning, the cabin door slammed shut, the hinges creaking.

The males' heads turned toward the sound faster than humanly possible, yet they dared not move when a melody followed — one that sounded like a lullaby.

With trembling hands and legs, the soldiers tried to maintain their composure as they turned in the opposite direction.

"Tell me," your voice rang out across the room, "Which one of you can winnow?"

There was a deadly tone in your voice, enough to send shivers down the males' spines and cause doubts in their beliefs.

Your voice was light, calm, and delicate like a siren's song luring its victims to their death.

In a matter of a second, regret settled in the eyes of the soldiers, too scared to even remember that they had been questioned.

When none of them responded, you moved just an inch on the stool, allowing the soldiers to see what you were doing.

Without making any noise or sudden movements, the males began to walk backwards slowly while they increased the strength with which they gripped their swords, their eyes still fixed on the scene they were witnessing — a dead flower being guided by the action of your hands that subjected it to what could only be described as the dance of death.

The noise of a soldier swallowing the lump in his throat reached your ears, the same one that made the wise decision in answering you. "All of us."

The small laugh you let out made them shrink.

"Well, that's perfect," you finally turned to them, "that way, I don't have to waste time guessing.”

Mouths dropped at the sight of you. The eyes that held nothing behind them, the long hair down to your waist, the simple long white dress you wore, your bare feet, and the smile that would scare away the bravest warriors.

Behind you, the flower continued to dance without ever stopping.

One of the soldiers gripped his sword tighter. “Wh...What...What's that supposed to mean?” his voice failed to hide the fear that was rising from him.

You stood up.

The soldiers backed away even more, their backs hitting the wall behind them.

"By the Cauldron..." one of them muttered.

Five too-fast heartbeats filled the silence of the room.

You smiled.

“I need you to deliver a message to Beron for me.”

The soldier, who was on the far left side, began to search for the doorknob at an unnatural speed.

The smell of fear was palpable in the air.

"Lucky for me that you all can winnow, but unlucky for you," you took another step, watching their faces change as they realized what was about to happen. "I only need one of you to deliver the message."

The last thing the soldiers saw was your eyes turning red before everything exploded.

Azriel didn't know how many hours he had been flying or how many laps he had already made over Velaris.

Lost in his thoughts, the male made the mistake of looking down.

He flew over a small, familiar house at the top of a street.

Inside the small house, there was an old healer with her face stained with tears and pain in her chest caused by a worrying heart.

The old healer was in the same position as the previous days. Sitting at the window in her living room, waiting for her beloved niece to return.

But with each passing day, Velaris grew grayer, taking a bit of the old female's hope with it.

Guilt struck his heart.

The last time he had seen Madja was five days ago.

Nuala and Cerridwen had prepared several casseroles to help the old female through what was the worst time of her life.

Feyre offered to take them, and Azriel and Cassian volunteered to help.

The Spymaster expected Madja to kick him out or release her anger on him, but she never did.

The healer welcomed him with open arms and prepared him some tea as thanks for his help. The suffering in her was visible; red eyes, low voice, bent posture, slumped shoulders, and several handkerchiefs soaked in tears on the living room table.

How could things have gotten to this point?

The promise Azriel made to himself flashed through his mind — he would bring you back into Madja's arms.

The movement of Cassian's wings broke his trance, and Azriel's eyes left the small house and resumed his flight.

Four weeks without any information.

The males even thought that you might have left the Night Court and gone to a different one.

But no wards had been passed, and they would know if anyone had passed them.

So wherever you were, you were still within the borders of their Court.

But where?

The brothers flew to meet each other, and when Rhys was preparing to speak, something happened.

A surge of power ripped through the Night Court with a red flash accompanying it.

The mountain and the ground shook, the water rattled, and somewhere, screams were torn from the throats of the citizens in their homes.

The males were sent straight to the ground, their wings and Illyrian strength not enough to keep them in the sky.

Azriel, Cassian, and Rhysand had to protect their eyes from the intensity of the flash while trying to remain stable on a shaking ground and ignoring the overwhelming feeling they felt as the wave of power passed by the entire Court.

So many thoughts ran through their minds.

What was happening? Was Prythian being attacked? Were the girls okay?

After a few more seconds, the flash began to diminish until it disappeared completely, leaving only the remains of something red all over the sky.

The mountains and the ground regained their stability and the rivers their calm.

As they raised their heads, the brothers saw what appeared to be red powder falling from the sky and towards the ground.

Cassian was the first to pick up a small amount and rub it between his thumb and index finger, trying to decipher what it could be.

With no answers, Cassian turned his attention to the males sitting next to him, checking for injuries, and noticed that they were both doing the same to him.

After checking that both they and the city were okay, the three of them took to the skies, and their eyes immediately found the source of the wave of power — Illyria.

The Illyrians would never attack them. They could be brutish and arrogant, but they were not stupid, leaving only one possible explanation.

"Y/N." Azriel whispered.

"It's her," Rhys confirmed as he stretched out his hand, where remnants of the red flash landed on it.

Shock did not fail to appear on the males' faces. None of them mentioned what they had just witnessed, but all three knew.

Your power has grown.

You were stronger. More powerful.

Cassian broke the silence, if his brothers weren't going to talk, then he would "She knows," a silent agreement hovered between them, It was only a matter of time before you found out about your new powers.

"What do you think she's doing with it?" A bad feeling invaded them at the General's words.

Something big was about to happen.

They all knew it.

"We should go back." Rhysand ignored his brother's words — he wasn't prepared for this conversation.

"What?" Azriel protested, his wings beating faster with the anticipation of going to look for you. "We finally know where she is, and you want to give up?"

"No one's giving up, Az," Cassian placed his hand on his shoulder, trying to calm him down, "but look around you. You just felt her power, and we've been flying for hours. We can't go to her like this."

Azriel removed his brother's hand from his shoulder, a bit harsher than he intended, but he couldn't stop the anger that filled every word of the scream he released next. "What, you think she's going to attack us?"

Cassian's wings lowered a little, and he didn't hide the look of defeat he felt nor the hurt it caused in his chest when he said what had to be said "I don't know."

Shock ran through the Shadowsinger's body, making him move away as if those words had burned him.

Cassian let out a small sigh before continuing, "That's not our Y/N, Az. We don't know what she's capable of, and we have to assume the worst-case scenario."

When Azriel tried to protest again, Rhys stopped him. "Cass is right. We'll be back in a few hours when we're recharged."

Azriel knew they were right, but the guilt that invaded him didn't let him rest so easily.

"Besides, we need to know if the girls are alright."

Azriel nodded. If Helion's words were truly true, if you now posed a threat, then they couldn't risk surprising you without being prepared.

That single thought hurt him more than a sword strike, but that was the new reality they faced.

The males resume their flights but with their destination being the House of Wind.

There was nothing they could do for now. All that was left for them was to wait.

Azriel looked back.

To the mountains where you were.

The mountains that hid you from him.

Or the mountains that protected him from you?

Eris Vanserra was having a long day, and there was no sign lurking that it was about to end.

As he walked through the halls of the Forest House, Eris let his mind wander to the meeting he had just left.

Beron had just made his alliance with Koschei and the mortal queen official, but that wasn't what bothered the young Heir.

His father had also told his council that his search for you was not over. Not even when the only soldier who had returned described word for word what had happened in Illyria.

The soldier's testimony did not have the same effect on the High Lord as it had on his council.

While the old males had shrunk in their seats at the description of your powers, Beron had moved closer as if to hear better.

A hand slammed down on the meeting table hard enough to stir the liquids in the crystal glasses that sat in front of each member.

"Speak, boy!" Beron demanded.

"She... She's different, High Lord. I've never seen anything like this before, not even with Hybern."

"Be specific! Do I look like someone who has the patience for riddles?"

"Death." The soldier said quietly, as if afraid that the walls might have ears.

Beron stood up from his seat at the revelation, curiosity gnawing at his body. Eris leaned back from his chair and gripped the arms of the chair in an attempt to soften the shock that this news had caused him, while Beron's council struggled to regain color in their faces.

"She looked like Death." The soldier finished before being dismissed.

When the door to the meeting room closed, the council erupted in screams.

The males of the council tried to dissuade Beron from his search for you but without success, as was to be expected.

His greed grew, as did his hunger for power. Now knowing what you were capable of, his desire to find you was now even greater, with the several soldiers who had left the Autumn Court with orders to find you as soon as the meeting ended as proof.

That was what bothered him. Not the change in your powers, not what happened with the soldiers — his soldiers — but your well-being.

But why?

He was beginning to think he had lost his mind.

Eris had even made the mistake of staying after the meeting ended to try to persuade his father to continue searching for you.

That had earned him the burn on his shoulder that he now bore.

What was going on with him?

Why hadn't you left his mind in these last few weeks?

His brain was telling him to ignore the situation and focus on the potential war with the Death God that was becoming more real with each passing day.

But his heart... his heart was telling him to write a letter to Rhysand asking about you. To know if they had found you yet or if they had any clues about you.

Anything to comfort him.

Little did he know that this would not be necessary because when he opened the double brown doors that led to his room, his eyes met those that appeared in his dreams.

There you were — sitting on his bed with one leg over the other in what looked like a tight black dress.

A smile formed on your lips as you stared at the male in front of you. "Did you miss me?"

"That was Y/N?" Nesta's voice was so low that if Cassian hadn't been right in front of her, he probably wouldn't have heard her.

"Yes." Cassian confessed to her as he witnessed the pain appearing in his mate's eyes.

Cassian didn't hesitate to wrap his arms around her.

This situation was difficult for everyone, but the General knew it was especially so for the female he was trying to comfort.

Your relationship with Nesta was different from everyone else's. It had started out as rocky as a bad day, but just as bad days never last forever, neither did your beginning.

Before you knew it, you and Nesta were laughing together, exchanging books, walking arm in arm, and going almost everywhere together.

You had become sisters.

And the thought of losing you caused her more pain than she could have ever imagined.

As Nesta pulled away from her mate’s arms, she faced her brother-in-law.

“What’s the plan?” You had fought for Nesta, never backing down, never giving up, and now she was going to do the same for you.

Rhys’s eyes softened, and he squeezed Feyre’s hand tighter before answering, “Cass, Azriel, and I are going to Illyria, see if we can find out where she’s hiding.”

Nesta nodded, but before she could speak, a voice interrupted her.

“How will you know where to go?” Elain asked.

“We’ll follow the trail of the power surge. That should be enough to tell us where it started.”

Elain nodded in understanding before her eyes flicked to Azriel.

The male was quick to look away, focusing on his brother.

"She might not be there anymore." Cassian pondered.

"Still, it's worth a try." Feyre spoke a few seconds later.

Rhys gave her a weak smile that didn't reach his eyes — Feyre mirrored it.

An awkward silence fell over the family.

These past few weeks had been the strangest they had ever experienced. Sometimes, it felt like it wasn't even real, but rather a never-ending nightmare — sometimes they had to pinch themselves to make sure they were awake, and this was actually happening.

"I'll go with you." Nesta broke the silence.

Cassian knew there was no point in arguing, so he just nodded, wrapping his arms around her.

Azriel nodded as well before turning to Feyre and asking the question everyone was eager to know the answers to.

"News from Mor?"

Feyre let out a long sigh before shaking her head.

"We received a letter earlier. She arrived in Rask three days ago but hasn't found anything yet. She says there's an old male who's experienced in rare powers, but it might not mean anything," Feyre let out another sigh, "she says she'll let us know when she finds something."

Every day, they waited anxiously for a letter from Mor. With hope fading by the day, they believed more and more that the answer lay on the Continent.

Azriel was interrupted from his thoughts by a gentle touch on his shoulder, and he turned to find the middle Archeron sister standing in front of him.

"Can we talk?" She asked softly.

Looking back and seeing the rest of his family chatting, Azriel nodded and followed Elain into the hallway.

When the female in the pink dress tried to touch his hand, he pulled away faster than her brain could process.

Azriel remained silent, letting Elain start a conversation he had no desire to have.

"What happened that night?"

His response ended up being a frown rather than words, so Elain continued.

"The night of our date. You never showed up at the restaurant," When Azriel stayed silent, she continued, "I know you went looking for her, Azriel. I heard Madja say you went to the clinic looking for Y/N. Why?"

Azriel had the answer, but it wasn’t with Elain that he wanted to share it.

And as if his brother had heard his thoughts, Rhys appeared in the hallway, telling Azriel it was time to go.

Azriel didn’t look back before following his brother and taking off.

Eris checked that no one was around his room before closing the doors.

The male leaned against the door for a few moments as if to make sure you were real.

"You're here."

Your smile widened. "I am."

Eris matched your smile and moved to sit on the wooden chair in front of the bed before undoing a few buttons on his shirt and moving to unbutton his boots.

"Did Beron get my message?"

"He did."

You watched him for a moment before speaking again. "So you know about my powers."

"I don't care about your powers." He was quick to respond.

"What about your soldiers?"

"They shouldn't have threatened you."

"But he keeps looking for me."

Eris continued to untie his boots as he confirmed your statement.

"I told him to stop but he wouldn't listen."

"Hmm," you slowly stood up before stopping in front of him, "is that how you got that burn?"

Eris's hands stopped immediately, and without moving much, he directed his gaze to the white shirt that had fallen down when he bent over, now revealing yet another of Beron's marks.

Eris sighed and stood up, leaning his back against the wood of the chair.

His golden eyes met yours and he didn't look away, not even when he considered what lie to tell.

"I saw your mother when I was coming here."

You moved closer.

"She was applying what I think was a cream to her bruises."

Eris closed his eyes. He had heard about the argument his parents had had a few days ago when he was away at meetings.

His mother hadn't told him anything but he had assumed how it had ended.

The Heir felt a weight on his legs and arms wrapping around his neck. When he dared to open his eyes, he found yours a few inches away.

"Do you want me to kill him?"

The question took him by surprise. No one had ever dared to say such words.

"Would you do it if I said yes?"

It was no secret that Eris dreamed of the day he would put an end to Beron's reign. One of his greatest goals was to free Autumn and his family from the clutches of that male.

"For you, yes."

Eris laughed and tilted his head back only to be grabbed by the chin by a hand smaller than his and meet your eyes again.

"I'm serious. Say the word and it will be done."

The owner of the golden eyes was lost for words. No one had ever cared about him like this.

Not knowing what to say, Eris brought your lips together.

You kissed him back almost immediately, adjusting yourself on his lap.

Eris broke the kiss just long enough to say, "I was worried about you."

You laughed into the kiss, responding with a quick, "I can take care of myself, prince."

Eris laughed back, "I know, but I missed you."

His response did something to your heart — something you couldn't quite put your finger on.

It would be a lie if you said you came here just to warn him about his father.

For some reason, this male made you feel things that shouldn't have been possible.

Your brain was telling you to pull away, to leave, but that thought was forgotten when your heart answered for you.

"Then show me how much you missed me."

And so he did.

Darkness. Silence.

Were the first two things you came across.

Total darkness surrounded you.

You couldn't make out what was around you. No matter how hard you tried to squint your eyes, they couldn't make out any kind of shape, not even a shadow.

No noise could be heard — wherever you were, silence dominated that place.

What was going on?

How did you end up here? What were you doing here?

"Hello?"

You didn't get any response back, which led you to assume that you were alone. Whether that was a good thing or not, you didn't know, but something told you that you were about to find out.

As you took a step forward, you stretched out your arms in the hope of finding a surface that you could use to guide yourself.

It took several steps until you found what seemed to be a wall. As you let your hands run along it, you realized that its surface was rocky and damp and that your footsteps echoed.

Always with one hand on the wall, you let yourself be guided to whatever was waiting for you on the other side.

Seconds.

Minutes.

Hours.

You didn't know how long you had been walking, your hand already cold from being pressed against the wall for so long.

Just when you were beginning to think that the darkness was endless and that you were lost or trapped, that there was no way out, something answered your worries.

A weak beam of light entered your field of vision, indicating the path to salvation.

In what seemed like a matter of survival, you ran towards the light that gradually grew brighter as you approached.

The moment the light became a little stronger, you realized that you were inside a cave when you saw the entrance.

When you finally left the cave, you saw that the light that was offered to you came from the moon, hence its dim brightness.

Without any intention of returning to the infinite darkness, you walked towards the trees that led you to a lake.

The lake was large, surrounded by pine trees, and with only the moonlight illuminating it and reflecting on its water.

The view was enchanting. It reminded you of one of those places where people would go when they needed to be alone or to think.

A place that would become someone's favorite place — where they would feel nothing but tranquility and security.

Where they could escape reality and take a break from their problems for a few hours.

Unfortunately, not everything is as it seems.

Just as a wolf can seem affectionate and friendly at first, causing its prey to let its guard down moments before attacking, this lake also seemed like a place of peace and not one of danger.

Your feet took you to the edge of the lake, where you crouched down and stretched out your hand to be enveloped by the water.

The water was pleasant and reminded you of summer days. You were swinging your hand from side to side when something caught your attention.

There, reflected in the lake, right behind you and a lot taller, emerged a dark figure.

A figure that was impossible to make out, could it be anything — a person, an animal, a shadow?

Acting on instinct, you turned as quickly as possible, and the only thing you could find was darkness accompanied by a deep voice.

"Come find me."

Your eyes flew open.

Your breathing was fast, as was your heartbeat — as if they were in a race that they both wanted to win.

A line of sweat ran down your chest while another on your forehead followed suit.

You sat up slightly in bed as your eyes quickly adjusted to the dark room.

You saw the desk in the middle of the room where the pile of letters still stood, the tall windows that were covered by brown curtains, the fireplace where there were still traces of the wood that had burned a few hours ago and finally — the warmth that rested against your back.

You were still in Autumn.

In Eris's room.

The male's arm was around your waist, his chest against your back, and his previously closed eyes were now open.

Those golden eyes that did something unknown to your heart.

Eris sat up, remaining behind you, bringing his free hand to brush your hair away from your bare shoulder where he placed a light kiss.

You could have sworn your heart skipped a beat at the brush of his lips against your skin, but you attributed those thoughts to your sleepy state.

With his arm still around your waist, he pulled you towards him until your back was resting against his bare chest and your head on his shoulder.

"Is everything okay?" Eris asked, barely above a whisper.

What was he doing to you?

How was it that after everything you had done to protect your heart, this male could undo it with just a touch?

"Little fox?"

You closed your eyes at the nickname. Your cheeks felt hot — from the nickname or from the male holding you?

You felt a warm hand take its place over your heart, a gesture so simple yet meaning so much.

Your heart began to stabilize, your body to relax, and your breathing to return to its normal state as Eris began to make small circles with his hand.

"I'm okay, Eris." You couldn't help the small smile that pulled the corners of your mouth upward until your dimples appeared.

This was becoming too real — too deep.

You had to get away. From this male, from this place — from everything that reminded you of a certain Heir with red hair and golden eyes that reminded you of the sun

"Are you sure, little fox?"

Whatever this was between you and this male couldn't continue.

How could he be having this effect on you?

"Mm-hmm." Your response was followed by a light kiss on your temple before another was placed on your cheek.

What was this feeling in your belly? Why was your heart reacting like this?

You had to put an end to this. You were going to tell the male that whatever this was was nothing more than a bit of fun.

You were going to pull yourself out of his arms, forget about his lips, put on your clothes, and leave.

You made your decision.

You didn't pull away when Eris pulled the two of you to lie down.

You didn’t protest when he laid your head on his chest and wrapped an arm around you.

You didn’t stop him when he covered you with the blanket.

Your mind felt heavy — what had you been thinking about earlier?

You snuggled closer to him, placing one of your arms over his stomach and tangling your legs with his.

You kissed his chest, and he ran his hand briefly through your hair.

A vague sense of thought passed through your mind — you had made a decision, hadn’t you?

You couldn’t remember.

The next morning, Eris woke up alone in his bedroom, now lit by the light of a new day.

He did not find your figure on the left side of the bed. Instead, he was surprised by a piece of parchment.

"I had to go, I have some business to attend to. Don't worry, prince, you will see me again."

Eris fell onto the bed with one hand hiding his face but not enough to hide his smile.

A warm and welcoming feeling filled his heart.

For the first time in all his centuries of life, Eris Vanserra was happy.

So happy that he didn't notice that his burn had been cured.

The Inner Circle was gathered in the living room with Amren back from her home.

Rhys had shared the vision with everyone that the four of them had encountered in the cabin — or what was left of it.

Rhys, Cassian, Azriel, and Nesta were still lost for words. Their minds couldn’t form thoughts — too busy trying to process everything they had seen in the cabin.

The plants and flowers, the evidence of your power in the destroyed walls and soil, the soldiers, and… the dead flower that still danced.

Every time they closed their eyes, that was the sight they were greeted with.

Feyre sat on the arm of the chair with a hand pressed against her chest. “Y/N… the soldiers. Are you sure it was her?”

When everyone remained silent, Azriel took over. “It was her. The soldiers had traces of her power. We don’t know where she went, but we believe she couldn’t have gone far.”

"I couldn't find anything in Helion's books," Amren said, "what do we do now?"

Several sighs were let out, and then "I think we should-" Azriel couldn't finish his thought due to the change in the air.

As his family immediately took up defensive positions, he realized he wasn't the only one who felt it.

Everyone's eyes found the source of the change — the door to the living room.

It was early morning, the light illuminating the room completely, but somehow, darkness could be seen beyond the door.

Everyone's hands began to find their weapons.

It was impossible to break into the River House — Rhys had placed the wards himself.

The darkness moved.

Azriel didn’t wait for the threat to strike first.

His centuries of training, experience, and combat kicked in.

In an instant, faster than the blink of an eye, Truth-Teller was flying through the air, about to strike his target.

Until a hand stopped it.

The darkness began to dissolve, revealing you behind it. As you walked into the room, the knife was still immobilized in your hand.

As surprise and shock grew on the faces of what you once recognized as your family, a smile grew on yours.

Your eyes flickered through violet, blue, brown, and silver ones until they stopped on a pair of hazels.

The Shadowsinger’s knees nearly gave out before you spoke.

“Now, that’s no way to welcome a lady.”

You walked around the room as you took in the decor.

The Inner Circle had moved to sit on the couch as they watched you.

"I like what you did with the new place. Fancy." You said as you ran a finger along the dining table.

As you walked to the couch, a smile still on your lips, you stopped to pour yourself a glass of whiskey before sitting down next to Nesta.

"Hello, friend." You said as you took a sip of the drink that burned your throat.

"Y/N."

When Nesta showed an intention to speak again, you quickly turned your gaze to the males who were sitting on the couch opposite yours.

"I heard you were looking for me. How cute." You said with what could be detected as false emotion.

"Where have you been?" Rhys asked you.

"Oh, you know. Here and there," your hand slid down your leg, stopping at your knee, "by the way. Beron made his alliance with Koschei and that human queen official yesterday."

Amren gave you a scornful look, "And how do you know that?"

A cheeky smile filled your face. You rested your arms on the back of the couch and crossed your legs as you replied, "I was with Eris yesterday."

Seeing her roll her eyes, your smile widened before you met the eyes of the female who had become like a sister to you.

Nesta watched as you stared at her with blank eyes and no emotion on your face — pain struck her heart as she didn't recognize the person in front of her.

"We saw the cabin."

Azriel's voice broke your eye contact with the female and made you focus on him.

"Oh, yeah? And what did you think?"

Amren answered, "Monstrous."

Your gaze met hers. “I was just protecting myself.”

“Were you?” she asked, “or were you trying to show off?”

Your eyes turned red, and the room began to shake as you let your power surge to the surface.

Cassian, Rhysand, and Azriel widened their eyes as the Archeron sisters tried to hide the fear that filled them.

You stood up from the couch and walked towards the female without ever breaking eye contact or missing a step.

"Be careful, Amren," As you approached her, she began to retreat her steps. "If I were you, I would choose your next words wisely."

The ancient one's back touched the wall, and you noticed her breathing become faster. "You don't want to anger me."

As you glanced one last time at Amren, you gave her a smile before heading for the door.

Azriel was quick to stand up. “Where are you going?”

Your feet stopped, and you glanced over your shoulder. “Leaving, obviously.”

Just as you were about to resume walking, you were interrupted again.

“No.” Rhys answered this time.

This made you slowly turn in your place — it took all of Rhys’s strength not to flinch at the look in your eyes.

Cassian, who was next to him, murmured, “Careful, Rhys. Don’t get on her nerves.”

Rhys glanced at him sideways before swallowing the lump in his throat and letting out his High Lord voice.

Although he didn’t show it, he was shaking inside, but he hoped this would work on you.

"You're not going anywhere. Now that you're here, I want you under my supervision at all times. I forbid you to leave Velaris."

Everyone held their breath as they waited for your reaction.

They were all surprised when your answer was "Fine. Do I have a room here or will I have to sleep in the garden?"

One by one, they sighed in relief before Rhys spoke again "Of course you have a room here."

"I'll take you." Azriel walked forward before anyone could protest.

After climbing the stairs, turning left, then right and another right, they reached the door to your room.

Without hesitation, you opened the door and when you were about to close it, a hand stopped you.

"Azriel, no. I have a headache and I just want to sleep."

Azriel was surprised by your answer but now that you were in front of him, he didn't want to wait any longer.

"There's something I want to tell you. About that night."

"Honestly, I don't care."

"I didn't go to meet Elain. I went looking for you," seeing the confusion on your face, he continued, "I went to the clinic that morning but I didn't find you-"

"I wasn't there."

"I know and-"

"Azriel." Cassian's voice trailed off, drawing your gazes to him.

"Come," when Azriel tried to protest, Cassian was firmer, "now."

"Thank the Cauldron." And with that, you slammed the door in his face.

After dinner, the members of the Inner Circle entered the living room where Amren was on the couch with an old book on her lap.

No one had commented on what had happened.

Not out of fear of Amren but out of fear of what it would mean to admit it out loud.

Feeling your power, the closeness they felt — they weren't ready for this conversation even though they knew they would have to have it sooner or later.

"What are you looking for?" Feyre asked the elder.

When the silver-eyed female didn't answer, the High Lady approached and read the contents of the book.

Her eyes widened "You're reading about Koschei?"

The others approached.

"Yes, what Y/N said earlier made me think."

Azriel sat down next to her "About an alliance with Beron and the queen?"

"Yes." Amren kept her eyes on the book.

Cassian took the seat across from her and rested his arms on his thighs. “Why?”

Amren sighed and closed the book, setting it down on the small coffee table.

“Think about it. Koschei has been on the lake for thousands of years, right?” When everyone had settled down, she continued, “So why act now? With all the centuries he had to free himself from the lake, why now?”

Not liking where the conversation seemed to be going, Rhys approached the table and picked up the book, turning it over in his hand. “What’s your theory?”

“I think he’s waiting.”

“Waiting for what?” Nesta asked.

Amren stood and went to pour a glass of wine. “Not for what, but for who.”

"Amren." The High Lady said. Everyone realized that this was not going to be a simple conversation.

"He's a sorcerer and his powers weren't neutralized, we realized that when he cursed Vassa. So what other spells can he do?"

The General ran a hand through his hair before sighing "What are you trying to say?"

Amren looked at the High Lord who was already looking at her, with a nod, she indicated to open to page one hundred and forty seven.

Rhysand followed her indication but it was the only thing he could do because the content was in an ancient language — long lost.

"What does it say?"

Amren cleared her throat to answer and for the second time that day, the Inner Circle saw her get nervous.

"It's a spell to see the future."

"What?" Everyone asked in unison.

Elain spoke for the first time since all this began "I thought only seers could see the future."

Amren shook her head in denial. Rhysand looked at the her and like a snap of fingers, the situation became clear in his mind.

"You think he used this spell to see when would be the best time to act."

Amren nodded. She grabbed the book and flipped through the pages until she found the one she wanted.

"Koschei needs help to break the spell that is binding him to the lake. He needs someone powerful. Very powerful."

Her gaze met Azriel's. "I think Koschei used the spell and saw when that someone would appear and has been waiting ever since. He needs someone with a power that he can relate to. I think-"

"Y/N." Nesta murmured.

All eyes moved to her but Nesta only looked at Amren.

The ancient one didn't need to say anything to confirm Nesta's thought.

"Koschei is a Death God," her eyes remained focused on the silver ones. "Y/N is a necromancer. Her power involves death and we have all just witnessed how powerful she is."

"No..." Azriel blurted out as Feyre covered her mouth with her hands.

"Amren?" Feyre asked.

The female simply nodded her head.

"If Koschei saw the future, he saw what was going to happen to Y/N," Rhysand began, "he waited until her powers changed to act."

Silence fell over the room.

This was bigger than they had thought. They had all thought their only concern would be Beron, but little did they know how wrong they were.

A second passed.

Two seconds.

Three seconds.

"Koschei was waiting for Y/N."

Azriel was the first to move, followed by the others.

"Y/N!"

They all ran towards your room.

"Y/N!"

Their hearts were pounding as they got closer.

"Y/N!"

Just a few steps away, several prayers were sent to the Mother for you.

"Y/N!"

The door to your room was knocked down and the space was invaded by seven people.

Your room was dark.

Your bed was unmade and empty.

And you were nowhere to be found.

It was too late.

You were at the lake again.

The lake surrounded by pine trees and illuminated by the moonlight.

The lake that promised tranquility and safety.

'Another nightmare' you thought to yourself.

The figure appeared again reflected in the lake but this time in front of you.

You followed its reflection until you found it hovering over the lake.

Anyone else would have backed away, screamed or even run away.

But you were not just anyone and whatever this was, it didn't scare you.

You walked closer until your feet were greeted by the water.

"Who are you?"

The figure approached and beneath the cover of darkness you could make out the shape of a man.

"My name is Koschei. We finally meet, Y/N."

Your face remained neutral, without a trace of shock or surprise.

"How do you know my name?"

A deep chuckle rang across the lake, making its water vibrate.

"I've been waiting for you."

It was only when the man shrouded in darkness placed a hand on your shoulder that you realized this wasn't a nightmare.

Pryhtian shook as a great flash invaded the sky, dyeing it red.

The houses shook.

People screamed.

Animals fled.

The cold increased.

But it was only when they looked back at the sky that they realized what had happened.

The clouds changed color.

The darkness that had been hiding behind them advanced.

The storm was here.

A/n: Thank you for reading! There will be one or two more parts (I haven't decided yet) and I have a lot of ideas to finish it off in style!

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