#i was just shuffling through old files

[theartingace]

going through some old CR files and found this random dragon hidden in the layers and idk what was happening here but it's a vibe (and I like this dragon design but I'm not going to do anything about it)

[literaryvein-reblogs]

Do you use AI generators to compile or scrape this information?

no

[ssaalexblake]

like due to the new photo editor i am Definitely quitting making episode gifsets like that will make it impossible :/ 

[pathologicalreid]

wavelength | s.r.

in which your son ends up in the hospital on one of the BAUs busiest nights of the year

margotober masterlist

who? spencer reid x fem!reader category: angst (hurt/comfort) content warnings: child in hospital with unnamed illness, seizures, pregnant!reader, boy dad!spencer, MRIs, head injury word count: 1.96k a/n: this is my little reid family from three's a family, but as usual, you don't have to read that one to understand this one. (it's one of the cryptic pregnancy ones so maybe keep that in mind lmao) - welcome back to the spencer reid dilf agenda, i missed it

You take a deep breath, trying to steady your thumbs enough to press the call button, tapping the green icon, you press your phone to your ear, listening to the rings as you keep your other hand on the bed in front of you.

Sniffling, Leo holds your hand in his much smaller one, “Mama?” His voice is little more than a whine, and you find yourself wishing he’d fall asleep while you wait for his turn in radiology.

“Yeah, lovey?” You whisper, squeezing his fingers gently as he looks at you with sad eyes.

His eyes were sad in a way that only a three-year-old’s could be, not quite understanding why he had to stay in the hospital, and continuously asking for his parents. “I don’t feel good,” he mumbles, his voice soft as he shifts on his side in the hospital bed.

Your shoulders slouch ever so slightly, trying not to show him how much of his displeasure you shared, “I know. I’m so sorry.” They were holding off on giving him more medication, but it just made him miserable.

Starting to wonder if they could just give him something to help him rest, you distantly hear your name being called, taking a moment to be confused before you remember that you called Spencer.

“Hey,” you greet a little breathlessly, “Are you working?” You move your hand, smoothing back Leo’s hair in an attempt to coax him to sleep.

You hear a shuffling of papers on the other end of the call, answering your question well enough before he responds verbally, “We’re just trying to finish a few things up before calling it a night.”

Bowing your head, you sigh, “Right, you have that senate review next week.”

Spencer groans at the reminder of the meeting, “And finding some of these files is proving to be difficult. I think Garcia’s just about had it, but we’re all starting to get to that point. Why the call? Not that I’m unhappy to hear your voice,” he clarifies. “Did Leo get to sleep alright?”

You falter slightly knowing that Spencer is already stressing about work, “Honey,” you start softly, “Leo’s alright, but I had to call an ambulance for him about an hour ago.”

“What happened? You said he’s alright?” He asks, fear changing the pitch of his voice.

Swallowing thickly, you watch Leo continue to fight sleep, his brown eyes watching you while you’re on the phone. “They think he had a seizure,” you whisper, keeping your voice down so that your son doesn’t catch onto your anxiety.

There’s a shuffle of papers on the other end, “Is he sick? Was it a febrile seizure?”

“Uh, no, hold on,” you flip through the pamphlet, “They called it a drop seizure when we were in the emergency room, and they did an EEG.” You explain, reading over the papers in front of you for the nth time.

Spencer talks to someone else in the room, hopefully letting them know that he has to leave, “What happened?”

Tears prick your eyes, and you look up into the fluorescent light to will them away, “I was just getting him ready for bed, and he went to go potty, and he just fell. He hit his head on the tub and I just… I panicked,” you admit the last part. “I was not very collected, and the 911 operator knew that,” you tell him, watching Leo’s eyes finally fall shut.

“I wouldn’t have been either,” Spencer assures you, “What hospital did they bring you to?”

Rattling off the name of the hospital, you risk assuming that Leo’s asleep enough for you to step back, enabling you to speak at a higher volume, “Can you leave work?” You weren’t even thinking about how busy the BAU was when you called, you were just thinking about getting Leo his dad. “They want to do an MRI, and he’s allowed to have someone in there with him, so he doesn’t get scared,” you explain.

“But you can’t,” Spencer needlessly reminds you.

A huff of frustration escapes your lips as you look down, eyes focusing on where your shirt catches on the soft swell of your lower belly. “No, I can’t,” you say miserably.

A nurse walks through the door, sparing a pitying glance at you, the pregnant mom whose toddler was in the PICU, before checking on Leo’s vitals. Spencer clears his throat, “I’m already on my way.”

You lose track of time, sitting in the reclining chair that lives in the corner of the PICU room, and memories of Leo’s first month of life start to flash in front of your eyes. He was a thirty-two-weeker, and he spent twenty-nine days in the NICU before coming home for the first time.

You felt like a failure then, and you feel like a failure now.

Tapping your fingers on your belly, you watch Leo sleep, his body curled up on the hospital bed and collodion stuck to his forehead. You remember finding out you were pregnant again, the overwhelming joy that mixed with the stunned fear like oil and water—Spencer had to remind you to breathe.

Something caught your attention, a small, high-pitched beep from one of Leo’s monitors sent a group of people flying into the room, standing around your son and listing off things that your fear-addled brain couldn’t comprehend.

He’s there when you stand up, Spencer stays at your side for all twenty-one seconds of Leo’s second seizure, watching as strength returns to his tiny body and his eyes open, “Mama?” His small voice calls out for you, afraid of being surrounded by doctors and nurses that he doesn’t know.

Slipping away from Spencer, you make your way back to the hospital bed, hovering over your son as you cup his cheeks affectionately, “I’m here, baby.” Hiding your face to wipe tears away, your fear that he still feels ill is only exacerbated by the fact that he doesn’t insist that he’s not a baby—he’ll always be yours, though.

Sitting on the edge of the bed, you let him see past you, the way his eyes light up at the sight of his father, “Daddy!” He chirps, trying to reach out for Spencer.

“Hey, buddy,” Spencer says, his voice tight while he crouches in front of Leo, “Mama says you don’t feel good.”

Leo shakes his head, “I hit my head,” he recounts mournfully, “then we had to go in the loud car.”

Your husband frowns for a moment before he realizes Leo’s talking about the ambulance, “Did they tell you I get to go with you to get your tests done?” He warps the narrative to make the MRI seem like a fun activity—something they get to do.

“Can mama go?” Leo asks, tilting his head to the side slightly, leaning into you as he does so.

Gently, you wrap an arm around him, dressed in a pediatric hospital gown with all kinds of wires and electrodes attached to him. “Mama has to stay up here,” Spencer breaks the news to him, sparing you a sympathetic glance, “but she’ll be here when we get back. Then, we can tell her and the baby all about it.”

The baby won’t be able to hear outside voices until you’re much further along, but when Spencer tried to explain that to your toddler, the only response he’d gotten was Why?

As it turns out, even Spencer Reid has a limit to the number of questions he can answer, so you let Leo talk to the baby. “I’ll be right here when you get back,” you reassure Leo, taking a shaky breath when he wraps his arms around you.

He’s in tears by the time they come to get him, only willing to go to radiology if they let his daddy carry him there.

You’ve let go of the hope that this was all just a freak incident, but the looks that the nurses have started exchanging squashed that optimism immediately. Taking the opportunity to lie on the hospital bed, you try to reassure yourself—if Spencer didn’t seem worried, you shouldn’t be worried.

Though Spencer wouldn’t show his concern to you, he certainly wouldn’t do it with Leo in the room.

You don’t know when you fell asleep, but you’re woken up by something being set on your side, your eyes cracking open just enough to watch Spencer lay Leo down on the bed next to you. “Hey,” Spencer whispers, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead, “I was trying not to wake you up.”

Cringing at the brightness of the room, you watch Leo as he curls into your side, “How did he do?”

“He was great,” Spencer says, gently ruffling the sleeping boy’s hair. “He fell asleep about halfway through,” he informs you, carefully pulling a chair up to the bedside.

You hum, making sure Leo is snug in his blanket before turning back to Spencer, “I’m sorry I didn’t call you sooner.”

Spencer shakes his head dismissively, “It’s okay,” he whispers, mindful of the hour—it’s nearing midnight now.

Reaching a hand up to cover your mouth, you hiccup a sob, “I’m a bad mom.”

“You are not a bad mom,” Spencer responds quickly, peeling your hand from your mouth and taking it in his hand.

Your lower lip quivers, “This wouldn’t have happened if he hadn’t been born so early.”

Spencer’s face softens, squeezing your hand comfortingly, “That wasn’t your fault. That was a situation that you didn’t have any control over.”

Deep down, you know he’s right, but your mom guilt that was on the surface level made the truth hard to see. “I couldn’t even hold his hand while he got an MRI,” you cry, small tears falling from your eyes.

“Honey,” Spencer murmurs, carefully wiping the tears from your cheeks, “You’re pregnant. Even more, you’re high risk,” Spencer reminds you as if it’s something you’re soon to forget. “There’s no way I would’ve let you in that room. You can blame that on me if you’d like.”

Leo shifts next to you, garnering your attention for just a moment before you turn back to Spencer, “I thought an MRI was better for pregnant women.”

Sighing, Spencer looks at you fondly, “Compared to a CT, an MRI is the better option if it’s medically necessary. Logically, I’m well aware of this, but I do find myself more protective over you these days,” he admits, eyes flickering down to your bump.

You bite the inside of your cheek, “I should’ve been watching him before he hit his head.”

Your husband dismisses your concern immediately, “We’ve been teaching him privacy, he’s proud that he gets to go potty on his own.”

“Why won’t you let me feel guilty?” You ask, frowning at him.

He hums in response, “Because you aren’t guilty. Your baby is in the hospital, and you might have some unresolved issues from when he was in the NICU.” He takes a deep breath, “and as much as you hate to admit it, you’re tired, and you have a lot of conflicting emotions and hormones that you’re struggling with.”

Leaning your head back on the pillow, you sigh loudly, “You know me too well.”

“I also know that our son loves you, and what happened tonight was not your fault,” he reiterates. “Whatever is going on with him, we’ll figure it out, okay? The four of us are going to be just fine.”

Pressing your lips into a thin line, you nod in understanding and listen to the soft whistle of Leo’s nose as he exhales. “We’ll be just fine,” you echo, intertwining your fingers with Spencer’s and preparing yourself for what’s bound to be a long night.

[cimmanonrowl]

Cyber Sex

You can only put up with so much as Aaron Hotchner's girlfriend. Busy office hours? Case files scattering your usually neat living room? Rescheduling appointments? Impromptu dates? Fine. But what about ovulating while he's out of town?

Pairing: aaron hotchner x writer!reader

Theme: smut heaven

Contents: age gap, soft dom!aaron, cam sex, daddy kink, dirty talking, powerplay: older man/younger woman relationship, squirting, guided masturbation.

The soft mattress of your shared bed dipped against Aaron’s weight. On a normal day, you would’ve greeted him excitedly downstairs. He’d gotten used to seeing you first thing with your curls tied in a messy bun, only wearing your skimpy underwear under his old and oversized Law School shirt; all with a warm, angelic smile on your lips as you hugged him tightly.

Tonight, however, was different.

When he stepped inside the bedroom, you quickly felt his hand on your waist, the pad of his thumb tracing soft circles on your bare skin. Another stifled sob escaped your lips at the contact. Your eyes already stung after hours of crying, blood rushing down your head as you were forced to swallow the lump in your throat.

You heard Aaron heave a deep sigh before cautiously inching closer to your trembling figure, your back facing him.

“Sweetheart…” His voice was quiet and rough, obviously twinged with exhaustion. “I know you’re awake, baby. Look at me, please?”

You scooted away from the warmth of his hand, letting another set of warm tears cascade down your cheeks.

“Sweetheart,” He called out softly, shuffling towards you. “I know you’re mad and I can understand why. And I know that I deserve it, but at least let’s talk about what happened.”

“Go away, Aaron.”

“Hmm?”

Instead of being offended, Aaron just pursed his lips. He carefully placed his big, calloused hand on your waist again, rubbing soothing circles on your skin as he silently watched you. His heart clenched at the state you’re in, fresh tears dripping down your face and straight to your pillow, your shoulders racking in a quiet sob.

“Darling, you know we won’t fix anything without having to talk about it. You have to tell me what you feel and help me fix this…” He urged gently.

The room was quiet for a moment, just the sound of the whirring of the AC and your wet sniffling could be heard on occasion. Your brain flew back to the memories of today’s events. Waking up early and excitedly preparing Aaron’s lunch, kissing him goodbye with his promise of taking an afternoon off from work for your date, you anxiously waiting for him to arrive at your book event, then spending the rest of the day all by yourself.

No reply nor callback from him, not even a single notice that he won’t be able to fulfill his promise. You even had to call Garcia to know that your dear boyfriend was called to an emergency meeting.

Your heart aches even at the mere thought of it.

Of course, you’re aware of the consequence of being with Aaron. When you introduced him to your parents, both of them sat you down and talked to you about the possible dangers of being with a Federal agent. The criminals he’d thrown in jail might get their revenge on him through you, or that you might be targeted as a mere collateral damage. The idea lingered in your brain— it still does every now and then, if you’re honest. But you trust Aaron with your life so much that you know even with those possibilities, Aaron will do his best to protect you.

But it was different when you told your friends about your new relationship. Ever since they’ve been vocal about their concern about your setup: Aaron Hotchner is a busy, busy man. They were worried about you being neglected, or for your efforts to go unnoticed and taken advantage of. Regardless, you fought for him and convinced them that as much as Aaron is a man with a high sense of duty, he is a good partner who always tries to spend as much time with you, with the little free time his job can ever offer.

And for three years, it was enough.

Just not for today.

You sniffed quietly, your voice hoarse when you spoke again. “I rescheduled three reservations since last week, Aaron. I had a book event today and you promised to accompany me.”

“I know, sweetheart…” He whispered regretfully, combing through his hair in frustration. “I’m sorry.”

“You always say that.”

You felt him stiffen at your words, and his thumb stopped its movements in accord. You could almost sense the dread washing over him. “I know, baby, and this isn’t what I wanted you to feel. So let me make it up to you, sweetheart. Work’s just been…”

“I don’t want to hear about your work right now, Aaron.” 

The pleading in your voice caught him off-guard. That was the truth. You’re too upset and pissed to listen to his work problems. And he knows that’s one of the things you loved doing. Normally, you’d let him vent out to you about the things that worried him, stressed him, or angered him for the day— and it usually ends with his cock deep down your throat or pounding in and out of your willing cunt.

But not right now.

He won’t even bother spending an afternoon to support you and your work. Why would you listen to him, right? Right.

After another beat of silence, Aaron nodded in understanding. “Do you want me to sleep on the couch, sweetheart?”

You quickly shook your head.

“I prepared—” You swallowed thickly, almost choking on your own tears. God, you missed him so much.

As much as you felt neglected and hurt by his recent actions, you couldn’t bring yourself to stop caring for him. The image of him spending his night cramped on a couch, and not being able to rest properly isn’t something you can easily stomach. Maybe you’re too in love it’s almost pathetic.

“Yes, sweetheart? What were you saying?”

“I prepared the guest room. S-sleep there.”

“Oh…” His words came out like a whisper, so comforting you almost let yourself melt into it. “Thank you, baby, but I’d like to stay here in our bedroom. I can take the couch if you don’t want me near—”

“Aaron.”

“Yes?”

He waited for you to continue, his warm hand continuously rubbing soft circles on your waist. 

“You’re getting on my nerves, Aaron. Leave me alone.”

As soon as he heard the words come out of your mouth, you instantly felt the subtle change in his grip; it turned firm and rigid. And you couldn’t help but bite your lower lip and expect whatever was about to come.

Aaron exhaled a little sharply.

“I don’t appreciate this attitude, little girl. I’m trying to talk to you.”

“And I just said I don’t want to talk!” You argued back, your voice still hoarse from crying, now raising a tad.

“Lower your voice down. I don’t want to start a fight.”

“Yeah, how noble of you.”

“Jesus…” He mumbled under his breath. Even with your back facing him, you can imagine the look of disbelief on his face. “I’m trying to solve this before this night ends but all I’m getting is this attitude.”

“If you don’t leave me alone, I’m leaving.”

“And where would you go at this late hour, huh?”

His challenging voice infuriated you even more. “I don’t know, some dude maybe. The one who can spend time with me and maybe fuck me—”

“Oh, so is that what this attitude is about? You’re so horny that you’re willing to knock on a stranger’s door and let him fuck you with his small dick, just to get back at me?”

“Whatever you say, old man.”

With a tender yet forceful grip on your waist, he was able to flip you on your back. You watched him as he stood, his hand quietly traveling down his belt and deftly unbuckling it.

“You don’t mean that, little girl.” He pointed out calmly, shaking his head a little. “I think we both know your pretty, little cunt was too ruined by my cock you won’t ever feel satisfied with anything else.”

“You’re so full of crap, Hotchner.”

He raised an eyebrow. 

“Am I now?”

“You’re so full of yourself. There’s a lot of guys out there—”

“Oh, really?” He tugged his necktie from side to side, loosening it before swiftly taking it off. You saw the glint in his eyes as he smiled at you in amusement. “Then why are you scrambling to remove your soaked underwear, sweetling? I thought there’s a lot of guys out there?”

Heat crept on your cheeks as your eyes wandered down your body. Your pink cotton underwear was already pulled down on your ankles, with an obvious wet stain on the fabric.

“I hate you.”

“No, you don’t.”

Aaron smiled as he flicked his pointer finger, urging you to come closer. “How about I eat you out, make you cum over and over again until you squirt on my face? Would my little girl forgive me then?”

You scrambled on your knees, your plump lips shut as you shuffled closer to him. He chuckled softly as you glared at him with your rimmed red eyes. In his eyes, you look heavenly; your hair messy and tear-stained cheeks glowing with a soft hue of rose.

He ran the pad of his thumbs on the remnant of tears on your cheeks before placing a gentle kiss on your forehead.

“You’re so pretty even when you’re crying, doll…” He whispered softly, his apprehensive eyes wandering all over your face. “But I hate making you upset. I’m so sorry I hurt you. Let me make it up to you, sweetheart.”

You sniffed with a nod, whispering. “Okay...”

“Okay what, sweetheart?”

“Eat me out, daddy…” You demanded in a soft tone, staring at him through your lashes, blinking almost innocently at him. “I want your tongue inside my pussy. Let’s see if I’ll forgive you after that.”

He smiled a little. “Oh, I’ll make sure you will, little girl. I will fuck you dumb on the balcony you’d be ashamed to face our neighbors.”

He pressed a sweet kiss on your lips, brushing a strand of hair from your face, his thumb lingering on your cheek.

“Sounds good, daddy,” you smiled back, subtly rubbing your thighs in need.

Sunlight filtered into the room, casting a warm glow on the walls and floor the next morning. You stirred, feeling the warmth of the sun on your face and the coldness of the mattress. Your eyes fluttered open, adjusting to the light, your eyes quickly wandering around the room to look for Aaron who was no longer lying beside you. 

Instead, the sound of hurried footsteps and rustling clothes filled the air.

“Aaron?” You called softly, sitting on the bed as you stifled a yawn.

You turned towards the walk-in closet, noticing Aaron moving frantically around the room, already dressed in his work clothes. A frown unknowingly lidded your expression as you glanced at the bedside table, seeing that your digital clock displayed it was only 9 AM.

“It’s Saturday,” You couldn’t help but point out. “It’s your day off.”

Aaron turned to you guiltily. “I know, sweetheart. But Strauss just called; we got a case. I need to gather the team, you know how she’s been lately. With budget cuts and everything she’s complaining about.”

“Where are you off to this time?”

You watched his reflection as he effortlessly knotted his tie. He looked so good and professional you can’t even bring yourself to feel upset. From a short distance, you can smell his perfume and body wash. The sight was enough to stir your lustful thoughts and send tingles down your sore and well-spent cunt.

“You okay, angel?” He called out, watching you tentatively in the mirror. “I’ll be home in a few days, don’t worry.”

“You said you’ll take me out on a date later…”

Aaron took a deep breath, contemplation plastering his face. You listened to the sound of his footsteps coming closer, the morning sunlight enveloping you in its warm embrace.

“Sweetheart, I’m so sorr—”

“It’s okay, Aaron. I understand,” You smiled in assurance, reaching for his tie to straighten it. “People need you.”

“I want to be here with you, too,” He pressed his forehead against yours. “I’m really sorry, angel. I’ll come home as quickly as I can then file for a leave. We can go on a vacation together.”

You hummed with a small smile. “Okay.”

“Just like that, sweet girl?” He laughed teasingly. “Oh. Is it because of last night? Did daddy remind you how he kept true to his words?”

You blushed at the question. “It’s too early for this talk, Aaron.”

“Well, I did tell you I’ll fuck you so good you’d be pliant on my wants.”

“I saw Mrs. Moore smoking on her balcony last night, she definitely saw us…” Your blush deepened. “I can’t face her ever again.”

Aaron’s eyes lit in humor, and he leaned down to press a quick, gentle kiss to your forehead. “What a whore you are, baby…” he whispered before straightening up. “I really have to go, angel. I’ll call you later, alright?”

You nodded, watching as he grabbed his go-bag and headed for the door. “Hmm. Come home safe and quick.”

“Will do, angel,” he replied, giving you one last look before disappearing down the hallway.

You spent the entire day working and tending to house chores. Aaron called you the moment they landed, assuring you once again that he’d be home as fast as he could. The house was quiet for hours, only the sound of your fingers occasionally hitting the keyboard lingering in the air.

Aaron’s office was cloaked in a soft glow of corner lamps. You sat at Aaron’s desk with your laptop open in front of you. The book you were writing was already coming to a climax, the cursor blinking on a blank document, waiting for words that refused to come.

You sighed, running a hand through your hair as you stared at the screen. You had been trying to write for hours, but the scene in your head just wouldn’t translate into words. It was as if the characters were mocking you, their actions vivid in your mind yet stubbornly silent on the page.

Your fingers hovered over the keyboard, tapping out a few words before deleting them in frustration. You leaned back in your chair, closing your eyes in an attempt to visualize the scene more clearly. Your characters were supposed to have a slow, intimate moment. But for some reason, all you can think about is Aaron’s tongue buried down your dripping cunt, his thick fingers pounding in and out, his thumb rubbing your clit; desperately chasing your high. 

Last night, by the third orgasm, you squirted on his mouth. And he happily lapped your release, whispering encouragement and how he’s so lucky to be able to please you. Then he fucked you near the balcony door, putting on a show for anyone to see.

Minutes crawled by and you found yourself browsing your laptop, scrolling through the locked folder you shared with Aaron, the one containing your sex videos. You eagerly scrolled down, your free hand rubbing slow circles through the thin fabric of your cotton underwear.

You settled with a video Aaron taken just a month ago. It was a close-up shot of his cock pounding gently, slowly, inside your cunt— his cum dripping out with every thrust. With a sharp sigh, you quickly removed your underwear and propped both your legs on the armrest of Aaron’s swivel chair.

You rubbed your clit in a teasing movement, watching the video with wide eyes. Arousal was slowly dampening your cunt which only triggered the pace of your fingers. Heat was slowly licking your skin, a coil tightening in your stomach, watching how Aaron was filling your pussy with his seed, almost too much that some of it spilled out after his shallow pounding.

“Look at this pussy, angel. Fuck. It’s so warm… feels like heaven…” Aaron moaned on the video, his voice rough, his thumb pressing hard circles on your aching cunt, making you clamp your legs a little.

“Moan louder, baby. I want to hear your pretty voice...”

You thrust in your middle finger in desperation, your eyes focused on your laptop screen. “Daddy… Oh my god…”

The camera focused on Aaron’s face as he caged his head in between your thighs. With his cum dripping out of your pussy, he gave your cunt a few teasing licks before finally slipping his tongue inside, moving it around with such expertise. As he continued tongue fucking your hole, his thumb was incessant on abusing your clit.

Once satisfied with your reaction: moaning like a whore and tugging on his hair, he thrusted in his cock once again.

“Daddy! D-daddy! I’m cumming!” Your hysterical moaning rang in the four corners of the room. “Gonna s-squirt. Fuck, daddy– yes! Yes, there, there! Oh m-my god, faster!”

“Oh, this spot right here, little girl?”

Your teeth sank on your bottom lip as you continued watching. Aaron suddenly took out his cock, slapping it against your clit with vigor. You eagerly watched how that pushed you on the edge. You squirted so hard some of Aaron’s cum dripped out, your legs trembling and tightening in so much pleasure.

The lewd sound of your wet cunt squelching was accompanied by your shameless moans. The video already ended on your screen but you can’t bring yourself to stop, too desperate to reach your incoming orgasm. Your fingers were already cramping in effort. God, how you wish Aaron was here to fingerfuck your pussy instead.

But a notification startled you out of your wits. Grounding you back to the reality that you’re actually fingering yourself in front of your laptop. You even forgot to block your camera.

The notification, luckily, was a FaceTime call from your boyfriend.

You quickly propped your legs down to the ground and fixed yourself. Trying to slow down your ragged breathing, you found yourself accepting Aaron’s call almost instantly.

“H-hi!” You greeted excitedly, combing your hair as you saw yourself on the screen. Hell, you looked fucked out. “Hi, love. Done for the day?”

Aaron’s eyes seemed to harden at the sound of your voice. His hair was damp as if he just got out of the shower. You can tell that he’s not wearing a shirt yet, beads of water cascading down his neck down to his chest.

“Yes, gorgeous. Am I interrupting something?” He prompted shortly, making you blush.

“N-no, not really… I was just writing…”

He hummed, shuffling on his bed. “Yeah, right. That’s exactly what I just saw, sweetheart.”

“What—” You frowned a little; until realization dawned on you. You quickly whipped your head in the direction of the CCTV. “Oh— you were watching?”

He chuckled softly, enjoying the look of embarrassment on your face. “You didn’t reply to my texts so I checked the security cameras on my laptop. And to answer your question, yes, dirty girl, daddy’s watching.”

“I’m sorry, daddy. I just missed you…”

“It’s alright, my love. I’m the one who should be sorry…” He assured you with an adoring smile. “Have you orgasmed yet, angel?”

You shook your head bashfully. “Not yet, daddy… you called so...”

“So it’s my fault again?” He teased, chuckling. “I can’t let my little girl not orgasm now, can I?”

You shook your head eagerly, unconsciously rubbing your thighs together as you listened to his mesmerizing, deep voice.

“Can you go back to your position earlier and show me your pretty cunt, little girl?”

You didn’t have to be told twice. You spread your legs in his command and propped it on both armrests, running your pointer finger up and down your wetness.

“I’m so wet, daddy. Was watching our videos…” You confessed sultrily.

A groan rumbled from Aaron’s chest with that. “I saw, baby. What were you watching exactly?”

“The one with— the one in the hotel. You shot a video of my pussy dripping full of your cum and you’re fucking me slowly…”

“I remember that…” He answered shortly, his piercing eyes focused on your fingers tracing slow circles on your aching cunt. “You squirted twice, didn’t you? One from daddy’s cock and one on my mouth. You taste like heaven, little girl. You’re making daddy hard.”

You blushed at his words. Aaron has always been good at talking in bed, he never failed to push you to orgasm with his dirty mouth. “Can I see, daddy, p-please?”

“See what, pretty girl?”

“You big cock, daddy, please? W-wanna see…”

“Rub your clit faster, baby. Go on…” He encouraged softly, palming his hardness through his sweatpants.

Carefully, he laid his laptop on the mattress, giving you a full view of him. Indeed, he was topless, and to your surprise, he was wearing gray sweatpants.

“Daddy…” You plunged in your middle finger, moaning at the sudden intrusion in your pussy. “I miss you. N-need you here…”

“I know, baby. I’ll be home quick,” He said assuringly, still rubbing the hardness outlining his pants. “I spent almost 4 hours fucking that pussy last night and I still can’t get enough. Fuck, angel, if only I can taste that wet cunt—”

A series of pained moans escaped your lips, adding another finger as you saw Aaron finally taking out his cock. With curious eyes, you watched as Aaron spat on his palm before rubbing the wetness on his veiny cock.

“D-daddy… Want your cock down my throat… then my pussy…”

You feel so wet the only thing you can almost hear in the room is the lewd squelching of your fingers assaulting your pussy. Aaron groaned at the sound.

“You’re so wet, baby. I want to suck on your clit as you cum from my fingers,” His eyebrows were tugged together in a frown as he matched the pace of his hand with your fingers. “Then I will fuck you with my big fat cock until you’re a drooling mess. Faster, baby. That’s it. Good girl…”

“Da... daddy!”

“Yes, angel. That’s it... faster, baby. You’re so pretty like that. God, look at that pussy, dripping and desperate to be filled...”

“Need you inside me, Aaron... want your cum...”

“You like that, baby? Like putting on a whore show for daddy?”

“I l-love it d-daddy… wanna p-please you always— oh god, Aaron!” Your legs trembled as you finally hit the spongy spot inside.

“Fuck… I want to pound that fucking pussy until it’s full of my cum…” His voice sounded breathless and restrained, throwing back his neck with his eyes closed to savor the dirty sounds you’re making. 

“O-oh! Want your cum inside… want you t-to breed me, daddy. Want your babies inside–”

“Fuck, angel. I’m not going to stop fucking you until you’re pregnant. Wait until I get back...” He moaned, thrusting on his fist hard and fast. “You’re such a good girl for daddy, baby… Cum for me, come on. Make me proud.”

Your vision blurred as your orgasm ripped through your body. You felt a wave of arousal leak through your pulsing cunt, squirting so hard it almost reached your laptop. Catching your breath, you clamped your legs together as your cunt clenched tightly around your fingers.

“Fuck, sweetheart. You’re going to be the death of me.” You heard Aaron mumbled quietly. And you could only giggle in exhaustion, voice too raw and fucked out to reply.

I suck at tagging, I know. As always, every thoughts and reactions are highly appreciated. Drink your water, babes, and slay!

[harryslittlefreakk]

my policeman

Summary: Harry is the police officer assigned to your case, though you are inexplicably drawn to one another 🤭 this will be the first instalment of a new series (if you guys like it lol)

Warnings: age gap romance, Harry is approx mid 40s and MC is early-mid 20s 🥰 smut!!

A/n: I hope you enjoy!! I really like this idea & the storyline so far for these two

You can join my taglist here! And my masterlist is here!! Happy reading 🫶🏼

“I need to speak to someone please, I’ve been mugged.”

You were panting, having run the ten minute journey to the police station from the bus stop. Someone had snatched the bulky work bag from your shoulder as you walked, then fled down a side street before you’d even had time to comprehend what had happened. Your natural instincts were to just run, and that’s exactly what you did. You ran until you stumbled through the police station doors, your heart still pounding with adrenaline.

“Styles!” the man behind the desk called out, an outstretched arm directing you to a closed door. You shuffled over, legs jelly after your spontaneous sprint. You weren’t sure whether to go through the doors or wait there, and the officer behind the desk had his back to you. But as you shifted awkwardly, the doors swung open, revealing possibly the hottest police officer you’d ever seen. He was old, older than you’d usually be interested in, but there was something about him. He was stocky and toned, grey streaks peppered through his deep brown curls. He smiled at you and extended his hand. "Officer Styles, but you can call me Harry.” Officer Harry Styles, the world’s sexiest police officer. You followed him down the corridor, into a tiny room with only a desk, a chair and a small sofa. It was cold and clinical, four grey walls lit by the same sort of lights you’d find in hospitals. It made you uneasy, but Harry’s eyes were laced with warmth as he looked over at you. "First of all, are you okay?" he asked, his voice gentle.

You whispered a quiet “yes”, your response barely audible, but Harry caught it. You felt vulnerable now, having been too close to danger and not realising it at the time. You’d lived in London for years, heard so many tales of rape and mugging but never experienced it yourself, or had it happen to someone close to you. You were lucky to only have your work bag taken and be left otherwise untouched, but you couldn’t help feeling shaken by the encounter. “I was mugged,” you told Harry.

“Did they hurt you?”

“No. Just took my bag.”

“M’sorry that happened to you,” he said. There was a slight northern twang to his voice, the kind that suggested he’d been in London long enough to start losing it, but been in the North long enough for the accent to be stubborn. “Did you get a look at them?” he asked, tapping his pen against the sheet of paper in front of him.

“No, they were already running before I turned around.”

“Where did it happen?”

“The bus stop near Florence Gardens, going towards the station.”

“What did they take? Any valuables?”

“My work laptop. And my lunchbox,” you told him, corners of your mouth turning up slightly at the thought of the thief finding your leftover pasta. “They were in my rucksack, I had my phone and keys in my pocket.”

“What does the bag look like?”

“Black, it’s leather. I can show you?”

You pulled up a picture on your phone and handed it to Harry, watching as he wrote down the details.

“Alright, give me 10 minutes to file this, okay? You’ll be okay waiting here?” He handed the phone back to you and stood up as you nodded, then strode toward the door, the glinting badge on his chest catching the light. You’d never had to deal with the police before, and always been a little bit scared of authority figures. But Harry was warm, he made you feel safe despite the circumstances that had brought you to the police station.

It wasn’t long before Harry was back, a thick puffer jacket now covering his torso and a huge tote bag slung over his shoulder. He reached out and gently placed a comforting hand on the back of your seat. “Come on, my shifts over so I’ll walk you home.” You smiled as you followed him out of the room, grateful beyond words for his company.

“Do you not have worse crimes to solve than my stolen lunchbox?” you asked him as you walked, somehow comfortable in his presence. “Not anymore,” he told you. “Been in the police for 25 years now. Did a lot of that but wanted to settle down the last few years, s’better for me like this.”

“Guess it’s nicer for your wife that you’re not out chasing murderers,” you quipped, earning a chuckle from Harry. "Yeah, m’sure she’d appreciate it if she hadn’t divorced me already," he said with a small smile. “I’m sorry,” you told him, glancing over to try to read his face. Truthfully, you were excited by the idea of him being divorced. It didn’t mean he was single, and it definitely didn’t mean he’d be into you, but it was one less hurdle in your mind. "It's alright," he said. "Sometimes things jus’ don't work out, you know?”

“Mm, I know. My flat’s just down here,” you pointed the way to Harry. He walked you all the way to the doorstep, staring up at the building. “It’s not the best area,” he told you. "Be safe, okay? If you need anything, or remember anything, don't hesitate to call," Harry told you, a touch of protectiveness in his tone as he took out his phone. He sent a text to your number so you could save his, then watched as you opened the front door. “Thank you Harry, for everything,” you smiled. “I’m only a call away,” he said, rubbing a hand on your forearm.

Jesus Christ. You collapsed against your front door as you got inside, heart racing from just a gentle touch. You’d get mugged every day if it gave you the chance to be around Harry more. The thought of seeing him again made your head pound, the fear and violation you felt earlier in the evening long forgotten.

Maybe it was a reaction to the weirdness of your evening, maybe it was a way to work through all the emotions you were feeling, but you found yourself reaching for your vibrator as you stepped out of your work clothes. Harry was all you could think about, his hands trailing down your body, his fingers pinching at your nipple, his mouth pressing hot kisses across your abdomen. You could almost feel him hovering over you, so close and yet not close at all. He would be authoritative, demanding you press the vibrator to your clit, his fingers beginning to pump inside of you as you writhed on the bed.

You were moaning into the ghost of his mouth, his nose brushing against yours as your core tightened, a rush of emotions filling you to the brim. It was too much, your toy working at your clit with the idea of Harry’s ringed fingers pounding at your pussy, your free hand gripping onto his loose curls. You were coming faster than you ever had, hips bucking as you screamed out his name.

It was borderline insane. Coming so fast and so heavily for a man you barely knew, crying out his name as if he were here, riding you through your high. You felt almost dirty as you chucked your vibrator to the side, too mentally preoccupied to even shower or eat before climbing into bed. You just wanted to dream of Harry, try to work through your delusions before you had to see him again.

—

Your thoughts of Harry came and went over the next few days. Your manager had suggested you work from home for a few days, your only route home from the office marred by your mugging. The four walls of your apartment felt too small, too closed in even before you had an imaginary Harry following you around. You’d tried to push him out of your mind, desperate to avoid a crush on a man you hardly knew. You did this all the time, it was a symptom of being chronically single. As soon as a man showed kindness towards you, you fell in love. Harbouring a crush on the police officer working on your case was bad news, and yet as you thought about him, his name flashed up on your phone.

“Hey, y/n. How are you?”

“I’m okay, you?”

“Better for hearing your voice.” You could almost hear the smirk pulling at the corners of his mouth. “Listen, do you have time to swing by? Wanted to update you on a few things.”

“I can come now?” you offered. Working from home was slow, and you’d already completed your tasks for the day. So how could you wait any longer to see Harry again?

You looked over yourself in the mirror as you put the phone down, tightening your ponytail and smoothing a hand down the front of your top.

Harry was waiting in the reception area when you arrived at the police station, a big beaming grin sitting pretty between his dimpled cheeks when he saw you. Truthfully, he could have spoken to you over the phone, but he wanted an excuse to see you again. It was silly, childlike even, the way he’d racked his brain for reasons to call or message since he’d dropped you off at home a few days ago. He felt ridiculous, far too giddy over a girl far too young for him, but he couldn’t get you off his mind.

“We think we’ve located your bag,” Harry told you as he ushered you into the same room as before. “Really?” you squeaked. “It’s not 100% yet, but we have had a few more reports of thefts in the area. We’ve tracked down an address, and we’ll be going in this week.”

“Thank you, thank you, thank you!” you grinned, throwing your arms around him before your brain could stop you. Harry chuckled, wrapping a strong arm around your shoulders. He pressed a kiss to the top of your head, before freezing. You’d both suddenly remembered where you were, who you were, and yet neither of you wanted to step away.

Harry gently squeezed you before saying, "It's all part of the job,” a small smile on his lips. There was something unspoken in the air as you stepped back, your gaze meeting his. “Sorry,” you muttered. His eyes were soft as he looked at you, reaching out to gently tuck a loose strand of your hair behind your ear.

“You don’t have to apologise,” Harry told you, his lingering touch burning against your skin. You stared at each other wordlessly for a moment, tension heavy in the air, until a familiar call of Harry’s name broke the spell. You stepped further away from him, glancing down at the floor as the professional mask settled back into place on Harry’s face. “Thank you, Harry. I’ll see you later,” you smiled, turning your back on him.

—

You needed to distract yourself, arranging a last minute girls night to take your mind off of Harry. And yet, it was as if the universe was playing a cruel joke on you. The man you were specifically going out to forget was standing on the doorstep of your apartment building, hand poised to buzz your intercom as you opened the door. “Harry-” you started, unable to find any other, better words.

“Come to dinner with me,” he said, gaze trailing up and down your body. You were wearing your ‘good’ jeans, the ones that sucked you in in all the right places yet showcased your curves in all the best ones. You had more makeup on than he’d seen you in before, though your freckles and beauty spots still peeked through. The oversized leather jacket slung over your shoulders obscured the top half of your body, but Harry didn’t need to see any more to know just how good you looked. “Please,” he added, holding up a single red rose.

“Dinner with you,” you repeated, a little stunned by his offer. “Dinner.. with me. Should we say it once more for good luck?” Harry laughed. “Maybe once more,” you smiled, pulling your phone from your back pocket. need to cancel, something came up x you sent quickly to your best friends. “Where are we going?” you asked Harry, eyes locking back onto him as he walked back down the path. “In first, questions later,” he told you, unlocking his car and opening the passenger side door for you.

“You’re acting very murdery for a man of the law,” you laughed, sliding onto the seat. “It was a test, and you failed. Should never get in a strange man’s car,” he joked.

The drive was mostly silent, except for the rhythm of Harry’s fingers tapping against the steering wheel. You were suddenly nervous, mouth dry and heart pounding as you watched the city become a blur. The sun was starting to set overhead as you drove further from home, street lamps and homes beginning to light up around you. Harry glanced over at you, brows furrowed as he tried to read the emotion etched onto your face. “You okay?” he asked, resting a strong hand on your knee.

“Shy,” you smiled weakly. It had only just hit you that you didn’t know Harry at all, couldn’t even think of anything to say to cut through the silence. You wanted the evening to go well, wanted to explore the connection you felt with him. But if you stammered and stuttered all night long, you’d have to go into hiding before a future with Harry even became a possibility.

You watched him as he drove, brows knitted in concentration as he navigated the busy streets. You hadn’t even paid attention to what he was wearing before, and as your eyes wandered over his body, your jaw went slack.

Harry wore a loose white dress shirt that although slightly oversized, seemed to fit him perfectly. He’d left the top few buttons open, allowing glimpses of his toned physique. As he moved his hands around the steering wheel, the material of the shirt shifted, revealing intricate tattoos that adorned his arms and chest. You’d seen a couple on his arms, but the amount that littered the tanned skin of his torso made your heart race. With each tiny movement, his tattoos peeked through the fabric, muscles flexing underneath the inked skin. He was handsome in a way that was new to you, rugged and yet soft.

There was something about his age that drew you to him, his years on you more a challenge than anything. He clearly knew how to act and had no problems going after what he wanted, a world away from the men you knew who were all still stuck in their fratboy mindsets.

“We’re here,” Harry said, resting a gentle hand over yours to pull you from your daydream. He’d pulled up in front of a quaint pub. The bold blue exterior was littered with bright flowers in hanging baskets and window boxes. A crowd of merry customers had spilled out onto the pavement outside, the warm glow from the pub washing over them. “This is so cute,” you told Harry, following him through the open door. “Officer Styles!” a man called out from across the bar. Harry greeted him with a firm handshake, turning his ear to the man’s mouth to hear him over the music. It wasn’t long before he turned back to you, grabbing a hold of your hand to lead you up the stairs. “I did some work for the owner,” he told you, pulling open another door. “Don’t live far from here so I come often now. Good food and good views,” he smirked, stepping out of the way to reveal the scene set up for you.

The balcony was slim, only just wide enough to fit two small tables. One was set up for dining, a bottle of red perched among ice in the middle. The other was covered in candles, wax dripping around a beautiful bouquet in the centre. It was secluded and romantic, the dream setting for your first date with what could be your dream man.

You talked and laughed for what felt like forever, voice hoarse from giggling at Harry’s jokes. The sharing plates he’d ordered sat cold and forgotten in front of you both, almost empty glasses stained pink from the wine.

A hint of a smirk played on Harry's lips as his eyes trailed over yours. “Quickfire round, since I have a feeling you won’t let me kiss you until we know each other better. Family?”

“My brother’s younger, he’s in uni. Parents live by the coast,” you told him, heat rising through your core at the very idea of kissing him.

“My mum lives up north, got an older sister too. Hobbies?”

“I like painting. Don’t do it as much anymore but..” you let your voice trail off.

“But you’re going to paint me?” Harry grinned, turning his back to you and peering seductively over his shoulder. “Draw me like one of your French girls,” he drawled, a mocking glint in his eyes.

“Nuh uh. Got to answer or you’ll never get that kiss.”

“I don’t have hobbies. I like working out and like puzzles,” Harry shrugged.

“Typical old man hobby,” you laughed. Harry chuckled and shook his head. "Well, maybe I am an old soul trapped in a sexy young body," he replied with a playful grin. "Can't complain about that, right?"

You nodded, still amused by his choice of hobbies. "You’re right, I can’t.”

As your conversation continued, you and Harry discovered more and more about each other. Your dreams, fears, and your favourite childhood memories. You laughed and shared stories, the connection between you growing stronger with each passing moment.

“M’not ready to let you go yet,” Harry smiled, looking out over the river. It was almost totally dark now, the last rays of evening sunshine nearly vanished behind the horizon. You smiled back at Harry. “"I'm not ready to go either," you admitted, rolling your bottom lip into your mouth as you looked over him, taking in the beauty of the scene. He was the definition of a silver fox. You’d noticed heads turning as you left the pub, young (and older) women captivated by just a glance of Harry. Being the girl on his arm felt good, even if it was just for the evening.

“Let’s walk,” Harry told you, his fingers intertwining with yours. You strolled down the riverside hand in hand, chatting mindlessly. Harry shared stories of his childhood, his years working for a local bakery before he moved to London and joined the Met.

You felt so much comfort and warmth as you listened to Harry. His stories painted vivid pictures in your mind, a glimpse into his past giving you some understanding of the person he was. As the two of you continued walking, the sound of the flowing river created a soothing backdrop to your conversation. The setting sun was casting a golden glow over your surroundings, and you couldn't help but feel a growing connection with Harry. It was as if time stood still, and the world around you faded away, leaving only the two of you in that moment.

You found yourself opening up to Harry, sharing your own stories. He listened attentively, his eyes filled with genuine interest and understanding. It was refreshing to be with someone who truly cared about getting to know you on a deeper level.

As the evening progressed, the conversation shifted towards more lighthearted topics. Laughter filled the air as Harry recounted some of the funnier people he’d encountered during his career. His animated gestures and contagious laughter made it impossible for you not to join in. There was a boyish charm behind his manly facade, and the more time you spent with Harry, the more you realized how effortlessly he made you feel at ease. There was a natural chemistry between you, a connection that went beyond words. It was a feeling of familiarity, as if you had known each other for years.

As darkness began to envelop you, Harry gently squeezed your hand, bringing your attention back to the present moment. You both paused, eyes trailing over the other’s features under the moonlight. Harry tugged on your arm quickly, pulling you towards the wall. Your heart quickened as his gaze fell to your parted lips, his body gently pressing your back into the brick. The light cast a soft glow on his face, lust etched into every line on his face.

You felt as if you were floating somewhere outside your body as Harry leaned in, his warm breath mingling with yours. His lips brushed against your own, gentle yet filled with an insatiable longing.

You responded eagerly, your hands instinctively finding their way to his waist. The kiss deepened, becoming a dance of lust and unspoken desires. Harry's lips moved against yours with a hunger that matched your own, his hands roaming your body. It had been a long time since a kiss had ignited a fire within your core, and yet you were burning brighter with every touch.

The taste of him was intoxicating, warm wine, sweetness and desire on his tongue leaving you breathless. He pressed you further into the wall, your bodies molding together perfectly as if they were made to be intertwined.

It had started to rain at some point, though you were too consumed by the raw passion that existed between you to notice the soft raindrops running down your skin. All you could focus on was Harry’s tongue licking into your mouth, a silent promise of the yearning and desire that he felt for you.

He pulled your bottom lip into his mouth before you both pulled away, breathless and panting. The world slowly came back into focus, but the sight of Harry before you nearly made your heart stop. The rain had soaked through his shirt, the thin material now translucent and dipping and weaving over his toned abdomen. His curls were slick against his forehead, raindrops lingering on the end of his eyelashes. His jaw was tense as he looked over your face, one hand gently grazing your waist. He was mesmerising, powerful and yet vulnerable as he stood soaked through in front of you.

You reached out with a gentle hand, pushing the wet curls from his face. But just as your swollen lips parted to speak, the heavens opened above you. It was as if someone had thrown a bucket of water over you and Harry, raindrops pelting you from every angle. You looked at each other in shock, a laugh tumbling past your lips.

Harry grabbed a hold of your hand and ran, the sound of your footsteps slapping against puddles breaking the silence of the now empty streets. You were barely able to hold yourself upright from laughter, falling into Harry’s body as your legs carried you closer to the car. His grip tightened on your wrist, guiding you through the dark paths.

As you reached the car, Harry fumbled with the keys, his hands shaking from the sudden cold. You stood beside him, shivers of adrenaline running through you. The rain smacked against the roof of the car as Harry unlocked it, pulling open the door for you. Even in the pouring rain, he was still a gentleman. You slid in quickly, the sudden warmth fogging up the windows.

You sat in silence for a moment, eyes trailing over each other as you caught your breath. A smile played on Harry’s lips as he looked at you, his hand coming up to brush your sodden hair from your face.

—

There was no way you could sleep. You’d been tossing and turning for at least an hour, the ache in your core too much to sleep on. All you could do was replay the evening in your mind, wondering exactly how you ended up alone in Harry’s bed.

“Here,” Harry handed you one of his T-shirts and some pyjama bottoms. “Shower’s through there, get yourself warmed up.” He pressed a kiss to your forehead as you headed into the bathroom, a tiny sigh of disappointment slipping past your lips. You were desperate for him to join you in the shower, craving more of his touch. A night of stolen glances and gentle touches had you burning up even before the kiss, but after seeing what Harry’s mouth was capable of, you were dying for more of him.

As the water washed over you, all you could think about was Harry’s lips on yours. The hunger in his eyes before he kissed you, the taste of red wine on his tongue.

—

“Would you not get in trouble for this?” you asked Harry, hands wrapped tightly around the hot chocolate he’d handed you. “Maybe. But once we have your stuff back, the case is over. They can’t say anything then,” he shrugged, turning to lean against the kitchen counter. He got more handsome every time you looked at him, as if that were even possible. Now, standing there with his old man plaid pyjama pants and a T-shirt tight against his muscular frame, you were left pressing your thighs together to keep the heat in. The anticipation was almost too much to bear, adrenaline coursing through your veins.

“Can’t sleep either, huh?” Harry smiled from the sofa. You almost jumped out of your skin at his voice, having tried your hardest to creep silently into the kitchen. He looked adorable, tucked under a thick blanket with his long legs squashed up at the end of the sofa. “Just needed water,” you told him, grabbing an empty cup from the counter.

“Why don’t you want to share a bed with me?” you suddenly burst out, turning on your heel to face him. You weren’t going to beg, didn’t want to whine, but the words came out before you could stop yourself. Harry chuckled, padding over to join you by the sink. He pushed a strand of hair out of your face, cupping your cheek with his free hand. Pressing a gentle kiss to your lips, he whispered, “come on,” his voice low and husky.

You followed Harry out of the kitchen and back up the stairs, watching as he sat down on the edge of the bed. He patted his legs, signalling for you to join him. You straddled his thick thighs, eyes fixed on his as he looked over your body. In only his t-shirt and your tiny panties, you’d never looked more delicious to him. “I didn’t share a bed with you because I try not to sleep with women on the first date,” he told you, slipping a hand under your t-shirt before holding your waist with a firm grip. “And I wouldn’t be able to resist if I were in bed with you.” His eyes came to rest on yours, his pupils blown under thick eyelashes. “You don’t have to resist, Harry,” you replied, your voice small, barely slipping out past your heart pounding in your throat. You wrapped your arms around his shoulders, one hand toying with the curls at the nape of his neck. His hand moved further up your body, thumb running over your nipple.

“Y’so beautiful,” Harry cooed, pulling your t-shirt off in one quick movement. He sat back for a second, an arrogant smirk pulling at the corners of his lips as he gazed over you. Hunger was written all over his face, the intensity of his gaze sending a shiver down your spine.

He leaned in, his lips soft as they brushed against yours. Gentle, yet fuelled by desire. His tongue moved around yours, a delicate dance that left you breathless against his mouth.

Harry’s hands roamed your exposed skin, tracing patterns of heat and need. His touch was electric, insatiable as he gripped and groped at every bit of skin he could reach. He moved with purpose, tracing the curves and contours of your upper body. Every touch, every stroke, sent waves of pleasure coursing through your body.

His lips left yours, trailing a path of fire down your throat, a trail of goosebumps left in their wake. His breath was hot against your skin, his lips smooth as he suckled and nibbled at the sensitive flesh.

You shifted slightly on his lap, his hard cock nudging at your folds through his pyjama pants. The room was filled with a symphony of whispered moans and ragged breaths as you rubbed yourself on him, the soft scratch of Harry’s pyjamas between your thighs only adding to your desire. You needed him in a way that transcended reality, a hunger that went beyond the physical. Your yearning was deep in your soul as Harry’s hands continued to explore you, his touch more than just a physical sensation. It was a language of its own, speaking unbridled passion.

He wrapped an arm under your hips, lifting you up just enough to slip his pyjamas down his thighs. His cock sprang up between the two of you, grazing your entrance. You whimpered as his tip touched you, your head falling onto Harry’s shoulder. He stroked a hand down his shaft, hissing as his thumb brushed over the angry tip. He started to move you, not expecting you to want to ride him, but you wrapped a firm hand around his neck and shook your head softly, pulling your face from his shoulder to meet his eyes. “Like this, Harry,” you whispered, shifting in his grip until his head lined up with your folds. You pulled your panties to the side, your juices warm against his head.

“You’re on birth control?” he asked, voice strangled as he resisted the urge to push into you. You nodded, sinking down slowly until his thick cock was deep inside of you, splitting your walls wide open. A deep cry fell from your lips as you stilled, his shaft throbbing as it settled into you.

“So fuckin’ tight, kitten,” he drawled, lips planting hungry kisses along your jawline. His eyes were fixed on the mirror behind you, watching his hand grip onto the curve of your ass. His free hand slid under you, easing you up ever so slightly. You could feel him everywhere, in your stomach and in your throat as he pushed deeper into you. Your walls were threatening to burst around his shaft, the size of his cock scratching an itch you never knew you’d had. It was pure ecstasy.

“Harry,” you whined, gripping him tighter as you pushed your hips upwards, starting to find your rhythm. The burn was white-hot in your core, tingles of pleasure spreading through your body as you bounced up and down on his lap. Your nails raked down his back as he fucked into you, deep whines and moans being pulled from your mouth every time Harry’s cock hit your sweet spot. His strong arm was guiding your hips up and down, his free hand still exploring your body as he pressed kisses along your throat. You still wanted more of each other, still searching each other’s bodies as if you had been starved of touch for years.

You were as close as you could be to him, your bodies melding together with every push of his hips. Your clit was rubbing against the fabric of your panties with every movement, every slap of your cheeks against his groin sending you further into your spiral.

“You’re mine, all mine, huh?” Harry mewled against your skin, his lips moving down to find your nipple. He sucked and licked around the bud, his lips swollen and hot. “All yours,” you whined, your orgasm creeping up on you after Harry’s dominant ownership. He held you tightly, your trembling legs heavy on his arm despite how light you felt. You were sure you could take flight in that moment, pleasure coursing through you with every buck of his hips. You threw your head onto his shoulder as you came, a strangled cry pushing past your dry lips.

Your walls tightened around his cock, his lips pressing a tiny moan into your skin. He flipped you over once your breathing slowed, the new angle pushing his cock deeper into you. Harry splayed a hand across your stomach, feeling where he was fucking into you. His eyes were dark as he looked down at you, watching the way your tits bounced with every rock of his hips. His thrusts started to get sloppier, his hips knocking into you harder as he came close to his high. You could feel him throbbing inside of you as he panted, jaw slack as he pulled out of you quickly. One hand stroked the length of his cock as he came, his come splashing violently all over your chest. You released the hand gripping his shoulder to swipe a finger through the puddle, licking it from your fingertip hungrily. “So fuckin’ perfect,” he drawled, chest heaving as he watched you.

You were more content in that moment than you’d ever been, silently thanking whoever had decided to steal your bag. If it was all an insane plan to get you here, covered in Harry’s come, you’d thank them every day for the rest of your life.

taglist: @sleutherclaw @slutforcoffein @harrysolaf @opheliaofficial07 @dragonslayersupremacy @nikkisimps @michellekstyles @im-an-overthinker @fangirl7060 @indierockgirrl @palmettogal508 @thereunion1d @hannah9921 @harryshotpocket @daphnesutton @tenaciousperfectionunknown @thegrapejuiceblues1982 @mema10 @annageeeezzzz @cicicavill7 @drewsephrry @tswiftsgf @ashleighsss @bikestyles @he6rtshaker @prettygurl-2009 @softestqueeen @jerseygirlinca @teammom4 @chesthairrry @golden-hoax @lilfreakjez @swag13r @cursingatdaylight @s-h-e-l-b-e-e

[greenglowinspooks]

(DCxDP) The obligations of a rogue versus those of a parent (pt. 2)

—

Tw: N/A

Will be crossposted to AO3 eventually

(Pt. 1 here) - (Pt. 3 here)

(Masterlist/subscription post)

—

It was a beautiful morning. Somehow, against all odds, the sun was shining through the thick smog perpetually covering Gotham.

And Danny hated it.

He was in pain, he was exhausted, he was grieving, and all he wanted to do was sleep for at least a week.

In an act of celestial mockery, the sun shone regardless.

After around twenty minutes of tossing and turning in bed, trying to get back to sleep, Danny gave up and pried himself out of bed.

He stumbled through the hallway and into the living room, staring openly at every splash of color he saw in the small apartment. He hadn’t forgotten what color looked like in the time he was in the lab, but it was comforting to see.

Someone cleared their throat. Danny whipped his head around, eyes falling on a scrawny, gangly man sitting down in a worn armchair, hunched over a laptop. He was looking at him with a dull, bored expression.

Right. Scarecrow.

His escape.

The chase.

His mom.

“You look a lot less terrifying without the mask,” Danny blurted out, slapping his hand over his mouth. “I didn’t mean that.”

“Well, I certainly wouldn’t call my normal appearance frightening,” Scarecrow hummed, focusing his attention back onto the laptop, “that’s what the costume is for, after all.”

“Oh.”

After a brief moment of excruciating silence, Scarecrow spoke.

“You any good with computers, Danny? Hacking, and all that?”

Danny jolted. Scarecrow needed his help with something! This was great! Now, he’d have more of a reason not to get rid of him!

“Oh, uh, yeah! Not as good as my friend Tucker, but I think I’m pretty good.”

“And you’re familiar with the GiW’s systems specifically,” Scarecrow continued, beckoning him over. Danny complied, shuffling over awkwardly. “Right?”

“Well, I guess? My friends and I got into their stuff a couple of times before they…”

“Wonderful,” Scarecrow said, standing up with a stretch. He shoved the laptop into Danny’s hands and gestured for him to sit down on the couch. “Then you can hack into their system and extract whatever files you can find.”

Danny stared at the man like he’d lost his mind. He looked back at him expectantly.

Danny sat down.

“Yeah, I-I can do that. Tuck and I built a back door into their system ages ago,” he said, checking the screen. It was clear that for all the skills that Scarecrow had, hacking was definitely not one of them. “But, uh, don’t you have someone else that usually does this sort of thing for you? Not that I’m complaining!”

Scarecrow scowled, and Danny felt his heart fall into his ass.

“Usually, I do,” Scarecrow huffed, “but I chose to leave my most recent job with the Penguin early, so now there’s no way that he or Eddie will help me with anything until I make it up to them somehow.”

“Oh,” Danny said.

He had no clue whatsoever who Eddie was.

Danny got to work quickly, hoping that if he ignored the gangly man, he would leave him be. Luckily, he did just that, leaving to go work on something in another room.

Danny checked the laptop’s security before continuing Scarecrow’s progress, making sure that the GiW wouldn’t be able to grab their location.

It was…threateningly good. Whoever Eddie was, he had somehow crammed the functionality of a top-of-the-line PC into a tiny, beat-up old laptop. It almost reminded Danny of Tucker and his terrifying competence with his PDA.

Tucker.

Amity park.

Home.

Danny snapped himself out of his thoughts, tabbing back into the application Scarecrow had up and began to work his magic.

He had near full access to the entire GiW database within half an hour.

Mumbling out a quick thank-you to Tucker, he called Scarecrow over to appraise his work.

“Fixed up some food for you while you worked,” the rogue said, handing him a bowl of oatmeal, taking the laptop into his lap as he did so, “didn’t know how well you could eat, considering you’re recovering from… surgery, so I decided to stay on the safe side.”

Danny had no clue what this guy’s deal was.

He definitely did not tear up at the first genuine thoughtfulness he encountered in weeks, and he did not look away as he ate so that Scarecrow couldn’t see his face.

At least Scarecrow was too focused on the laptop to notice or care.

Or, maybe, he was just mercifully ignoring him.

Either way, Danny ate slowly, not wanting to make himself sick. He allowed himself to absentmindedly look around the room for the first time, taking everything in.

It was strangely homey. The space was filled with warm browns and yellows, a few splashes of color on the wall in the form of (obviously gifted) paintings. There was a beat-up bookshelf against the wall, clearly second-hand, filled to the brim with psychology books. On every available surface there was a different colored candle, all at different stages of use, clearly collected over the course of years.

Danny knew that the man next to him was a crazed, murderous criminal, but his home was oddly reminiscent of Jazz.

He was not about to cry.

“Danny,” Scarecrow hummed, snapping him out of his spiraling, “can you explain this to me?”

He looked over. The rogue was pointing to a new report, seemingly posted only a few hours ago.

Nodding, he took the computer into his lap, pouring over the contents.

He read the report again.

And again.

And again.

Danny swore loudly, crumpling like a wet paper bag, head in his hands.

“What?”

“It’s…” he swore again, glancing back at the laptop, “they…since you became liminal from synthetic ectoplasm, when we’re within about 500 meters of one another, our ectoplasm signatures resonate, and they can’t track us with any of their technology.”

“How is that a bad thing?”

“If we’re not that close to each other, they can track us down from anywhere in the world.”

Scarecrow went dead quiet. After what felt like the single longest minute of Danny’s life, he let out a truly exasperated sigh, slumping over in his seat.

“Yeah, me too,” Danny mumbled, utterly miserable.

“…I’ll have to move my plans back a little,” Scarecrow sighed, “I can’t drag an injured child with me when I attack the Gotham GiW base, you’ll just get in the way.”

“Oh come on,” Danny whined, “I can take care of myself just fine. Besides, Batman brings kids with him to do dangerous stuff all the time, and he’s fine!”

“Might I remind you that the second Robin died violently,” Scarecrow snapped, “and that Batman most likely has more traumatic brain injuries than all of the Gotham rogues combined. That really isn’t the winning argument you think it is.”

Danny paused, trying to think up some way to win the argument. Then, he realized what he had ignored before.

“Wait, Scarecrow, you’re gonna attack the GiW?”

“That’s the plan,” he nodded, “and call me Dr. Crane. I’m only Scarecrow when I’m in the mask.”

But,” Danny sputtered, “Sca—uh, Dr. Crane—that’s insane! The weapons they’ve got- they’ll rip you apart!”

“Not my first time,” Crane said, making Danny wince. “Besides, I have plenty of experience avoiding gunfire. I’ll live.”

“You…” Danny was silent for a while, trying to think of something to say, “fine, but you have to take me with you wherever you go. As soon as they see either of us on their radars, they’ll hunt us down.”

Dr. Crane sighed.

“…Fine. I need some time to plan anyways. Now, you’re going to help me download these files, properly format them, and send them out.”

“…Why?”

“Well, some of the other rogues might appreciate the heads up, and I’d quite like them to be indebted to me. Besides, I still need to pay back the Penguin for ditching him, and he loves knowing things that other people don’t.”

Danny paused.

“That’s an awful idea, no offense. If any of the rogues know our weaknesses, they—”

“Danny, we’re censoring everything. The only things they need to know about are the GiW specifically, and any sort of laws surrounding them.”

Danny snorted.

“You care about laws now?”

“Yes, because if we get taken to Arkham, they’ll hand us off to the GiW the moment they ask, and it’ll be completely legal.”

Oh. Danny had honestly forgotten that Arkham was an option.

“…Ok. I’ll help you. Who are we telling?”

“I don’t think you really need to know,” Dr. Crane said, the faintest shadow of an amused look on his face, “but I’ll humor you for now. We’re sending the files out to the Penguin, Riddler, Poison Ivy via Harley Quinn, Two-Face, and Red Hood.”

Danny nodded. He could live with that.

“Alright, then let’s get to work.”

—

[basketonthedoorstepofthefbi]

Shaking (Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader)

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

Summary: You have an anxiety attack in a public setting, but luckily, the doctor is there to help you through it.

Word Count: 2450

Warnings: Anxiety attack, mild cursing, mostly just ANGST and then comforting FLUFF

A/N: Wanted to write Spence comforting the reader during a panic attack. Fanfiction is better than therapy, right? At least, it’s cheaper! Also not my GIF

——

“You don’t want to just order it online?” Spencer asked as you walked beside him down the sidewalk. His longer legs would typically mean that he’d be several steps ahead of you, but he always slowed his pace so you wouldn’t have to strain to keep up with him. He also walked on the outside of the path because, let’s face it, he was a gentleman.

You shook your head. “No, I want the whole experience,” you said excitedly as you walked, your face lighting up in anticipation. You were on your way towards a local bookstore, where the third book in your favorite series was being released today. The bookstore was going to be packed, but you were so excited to be one of the first ones in the door, to get your hands on a physical copy. “I don’t ever do things like this, but it’ll be something I think about every time I look at the book sitting on my shelf.”

Spencer nodded, lifting his hand, his thumb and forefinger in an O-shape as he spoke. “Ah, the age-old concept of symbolic treasures. One of the main reasons why souvenirs are such a prevalent part of going on vacation. Did you know the tradition dates back to Ancient Egypt?”

You shook your head as you continued to walk with him. Your boyfriend carried on without fault. “As far back as 2200 B.C, Egyptian Prince Harkhuf traveled to what is now known as Sudan and returned with all sorts of objects to present to his father, the pharaoh,” Spencer explained. His words spat out quickly, compulsively, as though they had to exit his encyclopedic brain. “He brought back items such as incense, ivory, even the skins of leopards to show off to his father.”

“I had no idea,” you told Spencer as you neared the bookstore, smiling sideways at him. You loved it when he spouted off facts like that, like he had to get the information out or else he’d explode. He had confessed to you more than once before that most people found it weird or off-putting or even annoying, but not you. Rather, you loved learning new things. Whatever information he had to share with you was always relevant in one way or another, and it was just one of the reasons why you loved spending time with him - he made you a more knowledgeable, well-rounded person.

Before either of you could say much else, you’d reached the back of the line of the bookstore. You checked the time on your phone. The store would open in about fifteen minutes. The line stretched down at least a full block, from what you could see. Lots of people dressed like characters from the books, shuffling their feet in excited anticipation.

There were at least a hundred people in the line, and after a minute or two, a couple dozen more had filed in behind where you stood. You pursed your lips for a moment, scanning the crowd until your eyes met Spencer’s.

“What’s wrong?” He asked, inclining his head to the side.

You shook your head. “Nothing,” you said. “Just… lot of people.”

Spencer nodded understandingly, then reached down to take your hand. Your fingers twined with his and he squeezed his palm against yours. “I’m right here,” he reminded you. You didn’t love crowds. They always made you feel anxious, perhaps even a little claustrophobic. You and Spencer had gone to a fairly crowded French film festival a few months ago and there hadn’t been an organized line to enter; rather, it had been a cluster of people, all pressed together. And you had felt like you couldn’t breathe. Spencer’d had to pull you to a seat off to the side so you could catch your breath, and you’d missed getting a seat up front like you’d been hoping for.

Right now, you were okay, though. There were people in front of you and behind you, but they weren’t flush against you like they had been waiting for the film festival to open. And Spencer was holding your hand, and you were outside, with the cool, spring morning breeze hitting your face. It was fine. You were going to be fine. You inhaled deeply and exhaled, then nodded your head, feeling the anxiety dissipate. “I’m good,” you told Spencer, looking up at him.

Spencer nodded. He squeezed your hand once again before letting go, only so he could wrap his arm around your shoulders and tug you so you leaned against his chest. He kissed the top of your hair. “It’s going to be just fine,” he promised you, and you just smiled to yourself.

About ten minutes later, the store opened. You only knew that because the line started moving, and more quickly than you thought. You squealed in delight and matched the pace of the people in front of you, Spencer by your side with an amused grin on his face. He loved books just as much as you did, if not more, but this outing was definitely just for you. He’d read the other preceding books in this series (literally just because you asked him to and it took him an hour, tops), but he wasn’t a total geek for it like you were.

You finally made it inside the bookstore, a small business, a local place. You’d been inside several times before, but you hadn’t realized just how small the building actually was until you stepped in now. It was two stories, but everyone was tightly packed, with the people and the bookshelves crowding around you as you made it fully inside the store. There was even a line to go up to the second floor, like a queue at an amusement park.

There was little to no breathing room. Everyone was talking as they waited their turn to grab a copy of the new book, and the sound seemed to bounce off the walls and the ceiling and smack you right in the ear. The air felt thick despite the front door and handful of windows being opened, allowing the cool spring breeze to ruffle the pages of the paperbacks on display.

But it wasn’t refreshing. Rather, it was another stimulant that caused the neurons in your brain to fire even faster. You felt your palms get slick. You felt your heart start to pound, and your knees wobble as you shuffled forward in the line. What were you even waiting in line for? You momentarily forgot, blinking a few times before looking up at the man beside you. Spencer was engrossed in looking around the bookstore, the corners of his mouth quirking upward as he seemed to find something amusing. But when his eyes came full circle back to you, they were immediately filled with concern. “Y/N?” He asked softly, placing a hand on your shoulder.

You couldn’t even hear him. The sound of his voice just bounced off your brain, like you were trapped inside of cellophane. All you could think was trapped. I’m trapped. No way out. Stuck. Caged. Can’t breathe. Can’t breathe.

You felt your breathing go heavy, and your eyes fill up with tears. Your cheeks were red, bright red, judging from how hot you suddenly felt. “Leave,” you managed to choke out, your voice coming out from your throat. It felt like your throat was lined with thorns, like the words you wanted to say kept getting caught.

Spencer nodded. “Leave? Yeah. Yeah, baby, we can leave,” Spencer grabbed your hand, tugging you along behind him as he murmured “excuse me, pardon me,” to the other patrons, to get through the crowd. Moving against the crowd was so much worse than standing still. All those eyes on you, seeing your red face and the anxious tears trickling down your cheeks. It was so embarrassing, freaking out like this is such a public space. Everyone thinks I’m a freak, you thought. Your anxiety became not about the crowd, but about your anxiety, about how you were being perceived. Your breathing picked up, quickened, and by the time Spencer led you out into the morning sun, you were fully hyperventilating.

The thoughts in your head were racing at the speed of light. You hated feeling nervous like this, but moreover, you hated that Spencer had to take care of you because of it. You felt like you had ruined the day because your head wasn’t on straight, because you couldn’t stand in a crowd of people and hear the cacophony of voices and tamp down your panic.

Spencer led you down the block, about twenty feet from the store, away from the crowd, and your breath was still coming out staccato, unstable as you looked down at your shaking hands. You were crying and hyperventilating and the whole world felt like it was spinning. Spencer kept his hold on your hand and stood in front of you, squeezing his palm against yours. His eyes, those light brown irises with little flecks of green, stared into yours. “Hey, Y/N,” he said, bending his knees so his face was level with yours. “Breathe with me, okay?”

You shook your head, your eyes clamping shut. You were so mad at yourself in that moment. You didn’t want to have Spencer take care of you, to have to drag you out of a bookstore because you were having a panic attack. “Baby, you’re trembling,” you heard Spencer’s voice laced with concern. “Look at me. We’ll get through this together.”

You opened your eyes slowly, and that’s when you realized your entire body was shaking. You looked into Spencer’s eyes and he released your hand so he could cup your face. His fingers anchored under your jaw, his thumbs rested on your cheeks, and his eyes were wide, full of worry, but his voice managed to stay soothing and calm. “Follow my breath, Y/N. Do what I’m doing, okay? In for four, hold for four, out for four.”

He inhaled for 4 seconds, and you tried to follow his lead, but you just couldn’t control your lungs. “It’s okay,” he assured you as your brows furrowed, presenting frustration. “C’mon, try again.” He inhaled for 4 seconds, and you managed to match him this time. “Hold for four,” you held your breath while Spencer counted. “And out for four,” you exhaled deeply. “Good, okay, let’s do it again.”

Spencer guided your breath for a few minutes, until you finally felt like you could do it on your own. And when you finally felt yourself coming down from the rush of panic that had sent you into fight-or-flight, you wiped at your wet eyes. “I’m sorry,” you croaked, and Spencer just shook his head.

“No,” he insisted, taking your hand and placing it on his heart. You could feel it beating through his long-sleeved t-shirt. “No, you don’t have to be sorry.” You rubbed your hand against his chest, finding it comforting as you hung your head. “Baby, look at me,” he requested, and you met his eyes.

“Please don’t ever apologize for having an anxiety attack, okay? For one thing, it’s not your fault. You can’t control the chemicals and waves in your brain and how your body reacts to situations,” Spencer began, his hand on top of yours that rested on his chest. You nodded, using the heel of your free hand to wipe away your tears. The crying was over, you were fairly certain, but god, did this suck. “You also should never feel ashamed for having a panic attack, Y/N. It happened, and we’re working through it. It’s a lot like boiling a pot of water, isn’t it?”

You let out a garbled sounding laugh and your brows furrowed. “How so?” You stammered out.

“Well, you set the pot of water on the stove, right?” Spencer began, and you nodded. “And then when it starts to bubble, that’s your anxiety. Some sort of external stimulant - the stove, or, in your case, the overwhelming feeling of being in a crowd - is causing the water to bubble. And when the external stimulant increases in intensity, so too does your anxiety. And sometimes, yeah, the pot boils over.” Spencer shrugged like it was no big deal. “But then you just turn the stove off, grab a dishtowel, and clean up the mess. Problem solved.”

You cracked a half-hearted smile. “So in this metaphor, you’re a dishtowel?” You asked, curling your fingers around the fabric of his shirt.

“Technically, I think it’s a simile, but yes,” Spencer grinned as he looked in your eyes.

“But the book,” you sighed, looking back at the bookstore, which was still filtering people in and out slowly. The patrons leaving the store clutched their new copies of the book in their hands, grinning and taking pictures with their phones, laughing with their friends excitedly.

“Do you want to get back in line and try again?” Spencer asked, and you bit your cheek pensively.

“I don’t think so,” you said softly, defeatedly.

“That’s okay,” Spencer said. You loved that he wasn’t coddling you, he was just feeling it out, seeing what you were up for. “Do you want to get brunch somewhere and come back? Maybe the line will have died down by then?”

You nodded, your lips curling into a small smile. “Yeah,” you agreed. You realized your hand was still over his heart, rubbing at his chest. Your movement halted and you retracted your hand, but before your arm could fall completely at your side, Spencer scooped your hand up and kissed the back of your palm. “What if we come back and they’ve sold out of the book, though?” You asked as Spencer walked with you in the direction of one of your favorite brunch places, just a short walk from the bookstore.

“There are twenty-two independent bookstores in the D.C. metropolitan area alone,” Spencer rattled off. “If this one doesn’t have it, we’ll drive around until we find one that does.”

“What article did you read that told you how many bookstores were in D.C?” You asked. You often liked to challenge him by asking him to cite his sources.

“No article. I did a search on Google Maps last night,” Spencer explained.

“What, because you knew I’d freak out when we walked into this one?” You asked him.

Spencer shook his head. “No, just wanted to have a contingency plan in case our first stop sold out before we got there.”

“Always thinking ahead, huh, Boy Wonder?”

“Damn straight.” A smirk formed across Spencer’s lips.

You shook your head. “You’re the best dishtowel a girl could ask for.”

[marvelfanfn2187a113]

Where to Run

Sam and Dean Winchester & little sister!reader

Requested by @deansobssessedgirl

Synopsis: you’re on the run from the British Men of Letters, and you meet your big brothers for the first time.

Entering the United States unnoticed had gone better than you thought it would. As soon as you got through passport control, you dug into your backpack—the only luggage you had brought with you, and it contained all you owned—and pulled out two pieces of paper. You considered them both for a long moment—one, an over a decade-old letter with the name of a small city in black ink in the middle of it, and the other a list of cities, one circled in red.

The list would take you to a nearby Men of Letters bunker in Lebanon, and the letter…

The letter might just lead you to your father.

…

“And you’re sure we haven’t already been to this one?” Sam asked his big brother as they pulled up to a storage facility.

“Of course I’m sure. I would’ve remembered one so close to Lawrence,” Dean said.

“What do you think dad kept in here?” Sam questioned, his curiosity getting the better of him as Dean led the way to the right storage room.

“Who knows?” Dean shrugged. “Let’s just hope one of these works.” He jangled a small set of keys on a ring that John had left in the car—they contained a spare key for the Impala as well as John’s old truck, and several storage facility keys. Dean had thought that he and Sammy had been to all of John’s secret storage places, but after scanning John’s journal for the hundredth time, he caught sight of an address scratched in the corner of a page with a storage number.

“It’s this one,” Sam spoke up, grabbing the keys from Dean and trying a few before one finally worked.

The room was small, but packed full. Sam and Dean—after carefully scanning for traps—split up and began to go through their father’s things.

“Hey, I think this file cabinet’s locked,” Sam said from one corner. Dean lifted his head, but didn’t go to his brother’s aid, too busy going through a box of odds and ends.

“Or you just didn’t pull hard enough—maybe if you had any muscle in those noodles—“

“Ok, ok,” Sam interrupted with a scoff. He rolled his eyes, but didn’t dismiss Dean’s theory—he yanked hard on the file cabinet, and it jerked open in a cloud of dust. Coughing, Sam reached down to shuffle through what was inside. “Hey, there’s only one file in here.”

“Fascinating,” Dean said in a tone that said exactly the opposite.

“There’s a birth certificate inside,” Sam said, and suddenly his voice caught. “With…with dad’s name on it.”

“Dad’s birth certificate?” Dean asked, mildly intrigued.

“Dean…not dad’s.”

“What?” Dean was by Sam’s side before Sam had even seen him move.

“Y/N Winchester, born to John Winchester and…Jane Doe.” Sam frowned, his brow crinkling. “I wonder why dad would use his real name when the mother used a fake.”

“This can’t be real,” Dean insisted. “I mean…I know with Adam…but another one?”

“Let’s see,” Sam mumbled, putting the certificate inside and checking the rest of the file. “Pictures.” Sam held up a stack, which Dean immediately snatched from him. Sam ignored this, because he’d found his own details to focus on. “And letters.” Sam grabbed the first letter from a stack of dozens, and began to read. “Dear John…our girl turns one today…”

Dean tapped Sam’s shoulder and held up a photo of a little Y/H/C girl blowing out a singular candle on a pink cake.

Sam moved onto the next letter, skimming it.

“Dear John…I put Y/N in gymnastics because it’s the only way I can get her to work on strength training and endurance.” Sam’s brow crinkled in confusion, but he was distracted when Dean held up a photo of the same girl, a few years older, in a gymnastics leotard on a balance beam.

“What do you think she meant by training?” Sam asked. “Do you think she was a hunter?”

“Could be.” Dean shrugged. “Maybe that’s why she signed her letters Jane Doe.” Dean pointed to the bottom of the letter, where “love, Jane Doe” was written.

Sam was about to pull out another letter when his fingers froze on the paper.

“Dean…”

“Hm?” Dean asked distractedly, still going through photos.

“Dean look at this.” Sam flipped the paper around, and on the back of it was a watermark—an indicator of who made the stationary.

It was the Men of Letters insignia.

…

“Lebanon, please,” you said to the taxi driver. “I’ll direct you to a more specific location when we get there.”

The man shrugged, unbothered, and began the journey.

You desperately wanted to go to Lawrence in search for your father, but you had to be realistic—you hadn’t eaten all day, you were jet lagged and exhausted, and you needed a plan of action. You needed to recover and regroup, and you needed to do it in a secure location; you needed to feel safe. In fact, you were so wound up that you flinched when the radio came on.

“—o one seems to have any information on who is causing the recent string of murders. The chief of police has offered no comment, other than a warning that the people of Lawrence should stay indoors when possible, and be alert. But there’s no denying the oddity of the case—the mass murderer seems to have some kind of vampire ideologies, with each of its victims drained completely of their blood. In other news—“

“Hey, driver!” You called out, and he glanced over his shoulder to indicate he was listening. “I changed my mind. Take me to Lawrence.”

…

“It’s gotta be another djinn.”

Dean would’ve groaned if he didn’t have a mouthful of hamburger to swallow first.

“Not those again,” he said after a gulp of beer washed down the last of his burger. They’d finished going through John’s things—Sam taking the file of your pictures and documents with him—only to leave and stumble upon a case. Dean had wanted to stop at a diner on the way back home, but he hadn’t expected to walk past a news stand to see a paper with “vampire killer” written across the front. It took Sam less than ten minutes of reading the paper, as well as a little time on the internet, to render the paper completely wrong.

“It doesn’t fit with a vampire. No teeth marks, no signs of struggle, the bodies were found in a different location from where they were taken—it’s definitely a djinn.”

“Ok, so silver knife dipped in lamb’s blood.” Dean sighed. “We happen to have one of those?”

“I think we still have the one we used last time in the trunk,” Sam said.

“Then let’s get going.”

…

You picked up a machete after being dropped off by the cabbie, hoping beyond hope that the radio had been right (even if they were kidding) about it being a vampire—there were several monsters known to drink blood, and if it was anything other than a vamp then things might get tricky. Normally you would be more prepared, but it wasn’t like you could get your weapons through customs when traveling to America, and you’d had to travel light so you could move more quickly. The British Men of Letters worked quickly, so you couldn’t take any chances. And buying up strange kinds of weapons near an old Men of Letters bunker was definitely too high a chance to take, so all you could do was hope that it was a vamp.

You’d done so much research about Lawrence that you barely even have to wonder where the creature might be hiding out—while researching Lawrence, you’d almost automatically noted the places where a supernatural being might be inclined to hide, so all you had to do was see which one was closest to the bodies that were dropping.

Then you were ready to hunt.

…

“I’m telling you, this has to be it. It’s nearly equidistant to all the bodies, and it’s the perfect place for a djinn to hide out.”

“You don’t have to sell me on the location, I believe you,” Dean told Sam. “But you do have to tell me how to get there.”

“Turn right here…yeah, and a left at that stop sign, and then we’re there.”

“So are we just not gonna talk about it?” Dean asked after a beat of silence as he followed Sam’s directions.

“Talk about what?”

Dean scoffed. “I don’t know, maybe our little sister?”

“I don’t know what to say, Dean,” Sam sighed. “There’s no address anywhere in the documents or the letters, and we don’t even know her mother’s name, or if Y/N even goes by Winchester. Her mother used an alias, it makes sense that the kid would go by one, too. We have no reason to believe that she’s going by the name on her birth certificate, so we don’t have the first clue on how to find her.”

“Well it feels like we have to do something,” Dean argued. “I mean we don’t even know if this kid knows about dad—for all we know, she thinks he’s still alive. She deserves to know.”

“Why the sudden interest?” Sam questioned. “You didn’t seem all this interested when we found out about Adam.”

“That was different,” Dean sighed. “With Adam…Adam was just some normal, innocent kid who saw dad once a year for a baseball game and knew nothing about the life. This kid—Y/N—with the talk in those letters about training, and the Men of Letters insignia…she’s in this life, Sam, I can feel it. And since dad’s not around anymore…I think it’s our job to make sure she’s ok.”

“And I’d be happy to do that,” Sam insisted. “If only we knew how to find her. But for now, let’s do what we can do—take out this djinn.”

…

The sight of a car in the parking lot of the abandoned warehouse worried you—even if it was a beautiful car.

“Chevy Impala,” you mumbled to yourself. “67, I think.” You shook yourself, moving your mind back to the task at hand, rather than the conversation you were having with yourself. Hopefully the car here didn’t mean that its owners were anywhere near the warehouse—the last thing you needed was some innocent people getting in the way and getting hurt.

Seeing no one around, you hefted your machete and headed inside.

…

Dean gestured at Sam to be quiet as he peaked around a corner. Signaling that the coast was clear, Dean led the way through the warehouse, the silver dagger gripped in his steady hand. Dean was just signaling Sam to wait so he could check around another corner when—

“Hey!”

“Jeez—what?”

Dean stopped himself just short of cutting not a djinn, but a Y/H/C girl wielding a machete that was aimed at him.

“Hey, easy.” Dean took a quick step back, raising the knife and his hands in the air. “We’re not—“ Dean’s words died in his throat when he got a good look at your face.

“Dean,” Sam breather from beside him. “It’s—“

“No kidding.”

“What are you talking about?” You demanded, lowering the machete just a little bit. “Who are you guys, what are you doing here?” You didn’t want for an answer. “You have to get out of here, there’s a—“ your eyes fell to the silver dagger.

Sam’s gaze followed your own to the weapon in Dean’s hand before he looked back at you.

“It’s not a vamp,” he said, gesturing at your machete. “It’s a djinn.”

You lowered your machete completely.

“You’re hunters?”

Dean couldn’t keep the astonished smile off his face.

“And you’re Y/N Winchester.”

The machete was back up in an instant.

“Who are you?” You demanded for the second time. “Men of Letters?”

“Easy, easy,” Dean said, taking a step back as you advanced on them. “I’m not—“

“Guys!”

Sam’s warning proceeded the arrival of the djinn by a split second—just enough time for Dean to dodge the blow that the djinn tried to land on him.

“Hey!” Your call turned the attention of the djinn, who grabbed hold of your arm before you had the chance to move away. He twisted your arm behind your back until your machete was crashing to the ground and you were crying out in pain.

“Here!” Dean’s call came a second before the silver dagger was hurtling at your face. You snatched it up with your free hand and twisted it so it was facing the djinn a moment before you plunged the dagger into the djinn’s side. He howled with pain and released your arm, giving you an opportunity to spin around and stab again, this time in the neck.

The djinn went down without a sound, and the thud of his fall echoed through the empty room. For a long moment, only the sound of heavy breathing could be heard. That is, until Dean took a step towards you.

“Back off!” You yelled, raising the blood-soaked dagger.

“Are you serious?” Dean scoffed. “Hey, I just helped save your life.”

“I’m not going back!” You were starting to look panicked as you backed away from the brothers. “So-so just tell Lady Bevell, or Ketch, or Mick, or whoever recruited you that I’m done! I’m not a part of the Men of Letters, and I never will be!”

“Hey, hey, easy,” Sam soothed. “We’re not Men of Letters.”

“Then how do you know who I am?” You challenged.

“Because of John Winchester.”

Sam’s response froze you in your tracks.

“J…John Winchester?” The dagger was slowly lowering. “You know him? You know where he is?”

The hope in your eyes was like a punch in the gut to both brothers. However, it was gone in an instant and replaced with a harsh suspicion as you raised the knife higher again.

“How do I know you’re telling the truth?”

“That’s how we know who you are, kid,” Dean insisted.

“Here—“ Sam’s hand was halfway to his pocket when you pointed your knife at him and he froze. “Easy, ok? I’ll go slow.” He slowly reached in, and you relaxed slightly when he pulled out a small bundle of papers. “We’ve got letters that your mom sent to him, with some pictures.” Sam held them out, and you hesitantly took them, thumbing through the stack while occasionally glancing warily at the boys.

“They stop,” you mumbled.

“What?” Dean asked.

“The letters, they stopped…at least ten years ago.” You looked back up at the boys as you spoke. “Is…is there more, or…”

The despair on the boys’ faces spoke for itself. Your lip was already quivering as you tucked the letters away, still holding onto the knife but keeping it pointed down.

“Is he…is he dead?”

“Yeah,” Dean sighed. “About ten years ago.”

Sam could tell you were trying not to cry, trying to act like they hadn’t just ripped the rug out from under you.

“You know, I—I didn’t even know him—“ your voice cracked. “But I…gosh, I re-I really wanted to.”

You let Dean take the knife from you after he put a gentle hand on your shoulder.

“Um, so.” You wiped your hand over your face, trying to brush away any stray tears as you tried valiantly to pull yourself together. “So how did you two…”

“He’s…he’s our dad, too.” Sam said. Your eyes widened slightly as you absorbed this information.

“Wait, you…were you…from his wife?”

“You knew about her?” Dean asked.

“Not really,” you admitted. “John…dad, he…he never liked to talk about his past, but he did mention his wife in one of his letters…he said her death was what made him become a hunter.” Your lips quirked up as you remembered. “He said if I ever saw a yellow-eyed demon, send it to hell for him.” Your eyes went back to Dean and Sam. “Is…is that how he died? Hunting demons?”

“Kind of,” Sam said. “It’s…it’s a long story.”

“What about you?” Dean said suddenly. “If you know Lady Bevell and the rest, and you know they’re here recruiting, then you’ve got something to do with the Men of Letters. Not to mention their insignia on the back of those letters.”

Just the mention of the Men of Letters had you on edge again.

“Maybe we should talk about this at a more secure location,” you suggested. “There’s an old Men of Letters bunker not far from—“ you cut yourself off when you caught the look between the two brothers. “What?”

“We know,” Sam said. “We’ve been living in it.”

Dean noticed your fingers twitch, as if you were thinking about reaching for a weapon.

“And I’m supposed to believe you’re not Men of Letters?”

“Our grandfather was one,” Dean said. “He left us a key.”

You seemed to consider this. Dean watched as your eyes got a faraway look, and he knew you were trying to remember something.

“Mom said that John was from a line of the Men of Letters. It was one of the ways she tried to get him to join.” You shook yourself of the memories. “Fine. I’ll go with you, but that doesn’t mean I trust you.”

Dean couldn’t help the way a smile twitched just slightly on his lips before he dropped it.

“Fair enough.”

…

You were quiet the whole way to the bunker, and although your brothers had questions they sensed you were tired and on edge, so they refrained. Dean kept glancing at you in the rearview mirror the whole way, and he was happy to see the way you slowly put your guard down—mostly out of exhaustion—as you relaxed into a light slumber.

You awoke with a start when Dean pulled into the bunker’s garage, the echo of Baby’s engine reverberating loudly.

“Home sweet home,” Dean crowed as you stepped out of the Impala. You didn’t say a word as he led you inside, but the moment the three of you settled down around the kitchen table, you finally started to talk.

“John met my mother on a hunt. She was just visiting America, vacation or something, but she happened to stumble on a case. They met…and well, I came along.” Both brothers noticed you skipping over the details, for which they were grateful. “But while mom was still pregnant she tried to convince dad to join the Men of Letters.” Sam noticed the way you kept switching between dad and John, as if you either weren’t sure what to say, or you weren’t sure what the boys were comfortable with. “He didn’t like the idea, and he didn’t want that for me, either. They fought about it, and mom left the country to go back to England. She was still pregnant…” Dean saw your fists clench and unclench as you blinked rapidly. “Dad, he…he never saw me in person. Any-anyway, she still wrote to him, and she let me read his letters. She said he deserved that much, at least. Dad was always telling me hunter things—I think he was hoping I’d end up a hunter, like him.”

“Why did you?” Sam spoke up. “I mean, if your mother raised you with the Men of Letters…”

“She kept a lot from me,” you said. “The…morally ambiguous parts.” At Dean’s strange look, you scoffed. “Ok, let’s be real, the straight up evil parts.” This got a grin from both brothers. “But she, uh…” the lightheartedness in the room was gone in an instant. “She died last year, and well…people stopped lying to me. I realized all the crap they really did, and I ran.”

“And what, they’re after you?” Dean questioned. “I mean it’s not like the mafia, right, I mean you can just leave.”

You nearly laughed out loud.

“I wish they were as sloppy as the mafia. No, you can’t just leave, especially not me—just because I’m a kid, doesn’t mean I couldn’t have over a decade of Men of Letters’ secrets stored in my brain. That’s why I came here, I…I wanted to find dad. To find family, protection.” You took a deep breath. “I want to be a hunter, not a Man of Letters.”

Dean found himself speaking before he even thought about what to say.

“Why do you have to be either?”

“What?” You said at the same time as Sam. Dean glanced between you before continuing.

“You’re just a kid—you’ve got your whole life ahead of you. You don’t have to be either, you could be whatever you want.”

You blinked up at Dean, as though the thought had never occurred to you.

“I…I don’t…”

“Look,” Dean began. “Don’t decide just now. John may not be here, but we’re family too, kid. There’s an empty bedroom down the hall, you should get some sleep, get settled in…then maybe we could talk about this hunting stuff, ok? The important thing is, you’re safe here. Let’s just say we don’t like the British Men of Letters anymore than you do. They’re not getting in here, and they’re not getting to you. Everything else can wait for later.”

You felt a smile—a true smile—etching its way into your face for the first time in so long. You looked up at this man—your big brother—and you couldn’t help but feel that everything was going to be ok. Whether you decided to hunt or not, or whether the Men of Letters came after you, you knew one thing for sure—

You really had found your family.

Taglist:

@nyotamalfoy @mrvlxgrl @chocorade @aestheticdaisies @inlovewhithafairytale @that-wannabe-vangoghgurl @casmustdiee @987coley @deadlymistletoe

[sturnsoupspoon]

kiss me thru the phone

matt sturniolo x reader smut .

matt can’t be there to help reader , so he reminds her of an old tape she can use to help jog her memory

warnings : smut , fem! receiving , sex tape , solo fem! slight soft dom matt. language.

italic writing = sex tape footage

-————☆——————☆——————☆————-

the lights were dim in my room . the only sounds heard being the shuffling of my body against my quilt and the taps of my acrylics on my phone screen.

the smell of cologne still attached to the fabric of my pillow case brings a smile to my face . he still wears it .

huffing in the smell i turn around to the other side of my bed . the cold sheets hug the skin of my arm as i throw my hand onto his pillow, missing the feeling of his chest rising next to me , missing the warmth of his skin and the soft fabric of his clothes . opening my phone app i press the recently dialed number , feeling the dial tone vibrate against my hand before it clicks off and i hear the familiar voice ring through the speaker.

“hey i was just thinking about you” matt’s voice spoke into my ear through the phone , his voice high , almost being able to hear the smile against his lips .

“what were u thinking about?” i reply as i get up from my pillows , sitting up and placing a strand of hair behind my ear.

“you know the usual , how i missed you , wondered when i’m gonna see you next , how hot your new post was on instagram is , how horny i now am , how pretty you are ….” he trails off , my eyebrows raise at that second to last one , letting a huff of air out through my nostrils , laughing in slight shock .

“hey what was that that last one ?” i say cutting him off .

“how pretty you are ? i feel like i say that a lot you shouldn’t be so suprise-“

i cut him off “no no. the other one , say that one again” i say quieter this time , now very aware of the prickling between my legs .

“i said …. how horny i am y/n , how hard i am from one photo of you . how much i wish i was there with you now , watching how easy it is to get you all worked up” he says slowly , every word making my heart beat quicken . every syllable making my legs press together more , squeezing the rising tension between my thighs. i let out a shakey breath as i lay back down . subconsciously my body arches back and my legs spread , the heels of my feet dragging along my bottom sheet as i situate myself .

“y/n ? you there sweetheart?” he says quietly , his voice soothing and soft .

“mhmm” i reply , in a trance as i stare at the ceiling, slowly biting down on my bottom lip as i bring my hand up to my chest , slowly trailing my nails across the skin on my breast . feeling my cold fingers move against the skin, forming goosebumps with their trail .

“you okay ? you went quiet there for a second?” he asks kindly , snapping me out of my trance slightly.

“fuck matt i need you” i breathe out , completely unaware of the way matt is loving this .

“i know you do , but i can’t come over tonight , so i need you to do something for me okay ?” he says with fake softness , his voice a calculated one as he waits for his cue .

“anything matt”

and there it is .

“i want you to open the file i know you have on your laptop, the one we made in august ? hmm. i want you to watch it . touch yourself where i touched you in that video, can you do that for me baby ?” he says , his voice now slightly croaky as he quietly talks into his speaker .

“mhm” i reply quietly, my hands already finding their way down to my shorts , past the fabric and onto the skin of my pussy.

“i need you words y/n , tell me exactly what your gonna do.”

i hault my hand as he speaks , a flush creeping onto my face at the tone of his voice. “ i’m gonna touch myself matty , i’m gonna watch the video we made together , im gonna relive it . fuck” i say as my fingers make my way beneath the fabric again , making contact with my sensitive clot for a split second.

“good girl , i’ve got to go now . but don’t be shy , send anything u want me to see” he says sweetly again , his dominant tone switching off again before the end tone rings , signalling him ending the call .

i open my hidden camera roll on my phone , finding the video very quickly. my hand lowers in my shorts before i wriggle out of them , watching the video play .

sounds of kissing is the only thing heard as matt slowly climbs on top of me . his jawline on the camera sharp and perfect as his tongue fights against mine . i moan softly as his hands brush my side , lifting my top up slightly, allowing his hands to snake up my shirt , cupping my breast as he continues to kiss me .

his lips move down to my neck , i throw it back at his touch allowing him a better angle , soft moans and sighs escaping my lips as he works my body the way he knows so well . kissing , sucking , licking all the spots he knows so well , eluding more pleasured sighs from me . my hands slip up his top and i take it off his body , his lips detaching from my neck as i pull the shirt over his head , before y it on the floor. i bring his face to mine again , taking control of the kiss now , my body attempting to roll against his as he pulls away from the kiss and lowers himself to my bare stomach, kissing the skin down to my underwear covered pussy . as he does this i throw my own shirt off my head , throwing it with his . the moment my shirt is on the ground , i feel my panties being rolled over my hips , down the my feet before i am lay bare in-front of him .

he spreads my legs , his muscles in his arms flexing as he holds them open , ducking his head to where i need him the most .

he licks a stripe up my folds , his saliva and my wetness allowing his tongue to slide to my clit easily , making a lewd moan fall from my lips at the contact . he wraps lips around my clit , placing a kiss to it before allowing his tongue to move over the sensitive bundle of nerves . my hand makes it’s way to his hair as he continues, my hips grinding up against him , my thighs trapping him between my legs as his mouth wraps around my pussy .

wet and lewd sounds along with soft moans and whispered “matt” ‘s are the only things heard now , my orgasm slowly creeping up on me as he places two fingers inside of me slowly, curling them into me .

my jaw falls slack as i feel this , my head throwing back into the pillows of his bed . my hand not in his hair grabs onto the headboard behind me , my nails digging into the fabric for some kind of relief as he shakes his head left to right violently.

“fuck fuck matt matt matt please” is all i manage to get our before both of my hands are in his hair , pushing his head down into my further as i reach my high , loud moans being pulled from me as he continues to push his tongue against my clit , riding out my high with me .

as i reach my high on the video i reach my high in real life , my phone falling from my hands as i grip the sheets of my bed , eyes squeezed shut and head thrown back into my pillow .

god even when he’s not here he still fucks me good .

-———————————-♡———————————-

tag list ?

[storiesofsvu]

One ask wasn't enough! So, how about these prompts, with Cabot?

"I can't sleep, can I stay here?" and

"Don't... I'm ticklish!"

Thank youuuu 🥰🥰

Thank YOU so much!! Here ya go!

Insomnia Strikes

Alex Cabot x reader (more implied than anything else lol) Warnings: mentions of anxiety/insomnia, I think that's about it. Just a nice little comfort one shot.

Being the natural night owl that you were, you never had any problems swapping shifts around when someone on the squad got roped into an overnight shift. You honestly didn’t mind it, you basically chilled alone, ate snacks, scrolled through your phone and answered a handful of phone calls that the desk clerk downstairs didn’t catch. It was a very rare occasion where something actually made its way to you prior to six in the morning and by then you were usually only on intake, passing it off to the day team before heading home. It was a nice little break from the chaos that the squad room and a courtroom normally were.

You spent the first few hours catching up on paperwork, finishing all the nearly late files, scrawling your signature across them before popping them into Cragen’s inbox. The squad slowly disappearing as late evening hit until only Olivia remained and you tossed a crumpled up piece of paper onto her desk, telling her to get out of there. You knew she liked to stick around as late as she could, not wanting anyone to really be trapped all alone in the building and she was quick to ask if you’d eaten dinner yet. You laughed, saying you had your breakfast before you came in and that she better get home to get some sleep. If she complained of being tired when you finally did have to call her in, you’d hold it against her. That finally got her going, giving you a warm smile as she wished you goodnight and finally left the precinct.

Once office lights began to flick off and the downstairs desk attendant clocked in things fell into a state of stillness, quiet and calm seeping through the air. Your paperwork was actually done, the most recent case you’d been working on waiting on the jury and you appeared to be free from actual work. So you started on the more mundane tasks, things that didn’t get done until you were on night shift. You started out by cleaning your desk, tossing out old receipts, crumpled up pastry bags, pencils that were so slivered down they couldn’t be used. Grabbing the collection of coffee mugs from the bull pen you headed into the break room, loading up the sink with hot soapy water to take care of the dishes in there. The cleaning crew usually came through around midnight, so you tackled the fridge, throwing out anything and everything that wasn’t labelled, had been in there for too long or seemed to be growing its own ecosystem.

After a very thorough hand wash, you wandered back to your desk, phone in your hand as you ordered some food for dinner, though maybe it was technically your lunch. Having no messages, calls or emails waiting, you pulled out your I-pad, sitting it on your desk as you settled back into your chair, pulling up your most recent binge. You were starting to get a little antsy twenty minutes in, your foot tapping against the floor over and over again. If it were day shift you’d usually caught a case or had to trek over to the DA’s office by now, but you were still just sitting there wishing you had an easier way to get your steps in. Your prayers were partially answered when the desk sergeant called up saying your food was there and you got to jog down the stairs to pay the driver before wandering back up them to your desk.

You ate a couple of slices, snagged a soda from the machine and set the box off to the side as you turned your attention back to the screen in front of you. The cleaning crew came and went, efficiently working through the space in no time, waving a friendly hello and then goodbye to you once they were finished. It wasn’t much later after that when you heard the shuffling of feet coming from the hallway and you glanced up, half expecting the desk clerk to be coming to take advantage of the vending machines. Your head tilted when instead you spotted Alex, loose leggings and a fuzzy sweater wrapped around her frame, hair messily tied back.

“Lex?” You greeted and her head lifted up, a small smile on her cheeks when she saw you. “What’re you doing here? Please don’t tell me you’re gonna have to go wake up a judge.”

“No.” She replied with a small huff, leaning over to press a kiss to your temple before pulling over a spare chair and dropping into it. “Tried your apartment first, neighbour said they saw you leaving for work late so I figured you were stuck on night shift.”

“And you thought I needed a babysitter?” You asked with a tease and she shook her head at you.

“Long day. I just wanted to make sure I got to see you at some point.” She yawned, her hands sneaking under her glasses to rub furiously at her eyes.

“You could’ve just called.”

She glanced up at you, a nervous look in her eyes as she chewed on her lip for a minute before letting out a breath, “I can’t sleep. Can I just stay here?”

“Yeah.” You smiled, reaching out to squeeze at her knee, “course you can. Did you at least try to sleep? Or were you still up on the couch pouring over case files?”

“I did.” She revealed with a sigh, “stared at the ceiling tossing and turning for almost four hours before I gave up. My brain just won’t shut up.”

“Did you take your meds?” You asked and she glanced up at you with a sheepish look on her face, softly shaking her head.

“I ran out on Monday; didn’t realize I was so low and I couldn’t get an appointment for a refill until next Tuesday. I took the anxiety one at eight and doctor’s orders say I can’t take melatonin with it, so I’m just kinda out of luck.”

“Shit.” You frowned, squeezing at her leg again, “next time we’ll make sure you always have an immediate refill on hand.”

“Thanks.” Her hand caught yours, squeezing it softly as she smiled across at you.

“You eat?”

“Wasn’t really hungry.” She shrugged, “had a granola bar.”

“How about you dig into this,” you tugged the pizza box from the other side of the desk, flipping it open in front of her and when the smell wafted over to she felt her stomach begin to grumble. “I’ll see what they have for tea in the break room.”

Leaving a kiss on the top of her head you left her to it, commenting for her to change the Netflix to whatever she wanted while you were gone. Digging through the break room you were pleasantly surprised to find a box of chamomile tea, turning on the kettle and brewing a mug exactly the way Alex liked it. When you crossed back into the bull pen she was curled up in the spare chair, your NYPD hoodie you normally stashed in the lower drawer of your desk draped over her lap as her hands played with the fraying cuffs.

A warm smile overtook your features as you placed the mug down in front of her, kissing her cheek again before reminding her to eat. With a tired sigh she finally leant forward, taking a slice of pizza, a pleased groan leaving her when she found it still warm.

She’d chosen one of your mutual favourite comfort movies, a classic rom com with no drama or terribly corny jokes set in the city you’d made your home. She ate her slice and sipped at her tea while she watched, relaxing into your side as she did so. You had to answer a couple of texts over the course of the hour but otherwise you were pleasantly occupied and comfortable. There were about five minutes left in the movie when she was fully slumped on your shoulder, you could feel her steady breathing and were certain her eyes had finally closed even if she wasn’t asleep yet. Your fingers poked gently at her side and she grumbled, flinching away from your touch without moving her head off your shoulder.

“Don’t. I’m ticklish.”

“Sorry.” You murmured, pressing a kiss to the top of her head, “lets get you to the crib, you can get some actual sleep.”

“Come with me?” She finally looked up at you with sapphire puppy dog eyes and a pout on her lips. You smiled softly, letting out a breath of a laugh.

“Okay, but only ‘til you fall asleep. I am on duty after all.”

“Fine.” She scowled, yawning, her eyes still drooping as she reluctantly stood from the chair, your hoodie still curled in her arms.

Alex shuffled away to the bunk room, letting herself in and leading you to the bunk burrowed in the corner. You grabbed a couple of extra pillows and blankets, making sure she was more than comfortable, tucked in and relaxed as she curled up on her side face you. Perched on the edge of the bed you smoothed back her hair, tucking it behind her ear as her eyes fell shut again, letting out a content sigh.

“Thank you.” She murmured; her voice muffled by the pillow.

“Anytime baby.” You whispered back, fingers trailing across her cheek before you kissed her forehead.

By the time you’d sat upright she was out like a light, soft snores echoing through the small room and a small smile crept onto your lips. Pulling out your phone you quickly set an alarm so she would have enough time to get home and get dressed properly for the day before having to return to the DA’s office and quietly made your way from the room. You knew it wasn’t much, but it really was the little things, knowing that whenever Alex was fighting a bout of insomnia she found solace and relief in you, that no matter where you were, she would eventually be lulled into comfort and thus sleep as long as you were around.

________________________

@mickey-gomez @cabotfan42 @detective-giggles @red1culous @beccabarba @imlike-so-gaydude @altsvu @svulife-rl rl @svushots @mspetey @wannabe-fic-reader @lawandorderimagines @gaylorrds @mysticfalls01 @littlegaybabe @bumblebear30 @wosoimagines @solemnnova @cerberus-spectre @emskisworld @ex-uallyactive @lawandorderuswnt @samwithnoplan @multifandomlesbianic @narvaldetierra @momlifebehard @poisonedcrowns @a-little-bit-of-this-and-that @somethingimaginative17 @alexxavicry @daddy-heather-dunbar @evilregal2002 @7thavenger @disneyfan624 @msvenablesbitch @happenstnces @onmykneesformarvel @desperate-gay @riveramorylunar @kmc1989 @irishavengersassemble @noahrex @temp0rary-bliss @wittygutsy @chimnlex @maximoffcarter @sapphicqueenofdonuts @ralla-ralla @chestnutninny @gamma-rae-bursts

[kaiijo]

A GATHERING OF CLOUDS — BLADE

content: fem! reader, angst, bittersweet/open ending, generally follows the clouds leave no trace mission but i’ve taken some liberties, spoilers for post-xianzhou arc, reader is one of the ten stonehearts and goes by ‘tourmaline’ notes: this story mission broke my heart 

You sigh as you read through the massive file your department head dumped on you. From what you’ve skimmed through, it seems that there’s a problem you’ll have to arbitrate on the planet of Venovia regarding the building of their Quantum Collider. The problem is simple, really, just a matter of the neighboring planet refusing to grant clearance for the collider — did this report really have to go on for over seventy pages?

You’re about to flip to the next page when there’s a knock at your door. “Come in,” you call, eyes darting across the text in front of you. 

“Well, you look like you’ve got your work cut out for you,” Topaz says as she walks in, sitting down in the chair in front of you. 

You snort, looking up at her. “No rest for the wicked, I suppose. Yan Shilou gave me this yesterday and said a resolution had to be proposed by the end of the week.”

“Three days away, then. Better get on it!”

“I would be working on it now if someone wasn’t distracting me in my office,” you say but your voice lacks any irritation. 

Topaz laughs a little, “What? You don’t want me to say bye before I head to Jarilo-VI?”

“Aeons, that’s right! I forgot!” You open up the bottom drawer of your desk and root around, finally feeling your fingers brush against what you’re looking for. You pull it out and hand her the box, wrapped in a cream-colored paper and secured with an orange ribbon. 

She opens the gift, finding a pair of dark gloves identical to the ones she usually wears, but you explain, “There’s lined inside. Belobog’s eternal freeze is nothing to joke about.”

“Wow!” She slides them onto her hands and says, “Thank you! They’re so soft inside!”

“It was my pleasure!” You smile at her and you two chat for a little before she gets up to leave. There’s a knock at your door before she can and you beckon the person to enter. 

Your assistant shuffles in, apologetically glancing between your mountain of paper and Topaz. “I’m sorry, ma’am, I can come back—”

“Don’t worry, I was just about to leave,” Topaz says and she wiggles her fingers at you as a goodbye, disappearing around the corner. 

“Mail’s come in.” He hands you a small stack of letters, keeping one in his hand. You motion at it in question and he says, “This one’s odd. There’s no return address or any indication where it came from.”

He leans over to give it to you and you slice it open with a dagger-shaped letter opener. Your assistant eyes it and says, “I always forget to tell you how cool that thing is. It’s so well-made!”

Your finger runs over the grooves of the handle. Even though the metal is cool, you swear you can still feel the warmth of the forge and of the hands who crafted it. You turn it over in your hand and finally manage to reply, “Thank you.” 

You know it sounds flat and strained so you instead busy yourself with the letter. There’s no visible ink when you slide it out of the envelope but as you unfold it, the words materialize into a message written in swift, decisive strokes. 

It has been a very long while, hasn’t it? I hear you’re going by Tourmaline now. It suits you, as does your high-ranking position in the Talent Motivation Department of the IPC — you always were a mediator. I know you have run off to the farthest corner of the universe to leave behind what has transpired. But in accordance with our old vow, I invite you once again roam our lands of past, drink in celebration and recount our great adventures.

You think your heart has stopped and your eyes examine the words over and over again. You forgot that your assistant is still in the room. He clears his throat hesitantly and asks, “Are you alright, ma’am?”

You suck in a deep breath and plaster a mask of smile on your face as you answer, “Yes, I am fine. You’re dismissed. And thank you for bringing in the mail.”

He casts you another worried look but says no more, nodding and exiting, closing the door behind him with a quiet click. You don’t realize how much you’re trembling until you pick up the note to read it one last time, the thin sheet shaking too. 

You scoff as your eyes fall on the final sentence and you scoff. As if vows meant anything to them. 

Your stomach churns and there’s a sting behind your eyes that you haven’t felt in years, yet you’re reaching for your phone and reserving a starskiff to the Xianzhou Luofu before you know it. 

“I believe that’s checkmate,” you said, grinning triumphantly as Jing Yuan froze, eyes darting across the board, trying to find a way out. 

“There’s always a way out,” he huffed, hand hovering over one piece, then another, then another.

You replied, “That’s not how chess works.”

He glowered at you and Jingliu sighed, standing behind Jing Yuan to gaze at the board. “You should have moved your knight here,” she said, pointing at a square. “Then you would have beaten her in three more moves and avoided the capture of the queen.”

Jing Yuan didn’t answer, still surveying the board. Dan Feng rolled his eyes at your friend’s fruitless determination. You laid back, delighting in the light mist of water that sprays from the surrounding waterfalls. You loved Scalegorge Waterscape — it was rare to find somewhere with so much nature in the Alliance. “Wait,” Jing Yuan said and you sighed dramatically. He continued, “What if—”

A low gravelly voice sounded behind you. “Give it up, Jing Yuan, she has bested you again.”

You tilted your head to the source of the voice and smiled again, big and wide, heat sparking through your body when he offered you that signature smirk. Baiheng dashed ahead of him, waving the large bag of food they had picked up. He sat down beside you, long lithe fingers reaching over to brush a stray piece of hair from your face.

“Miss?” You jolt awake with a tight feeling in your chest. Your starskiff driver is turned around in his seat and staring at you. “We’ve arrived.”

“Oh!” You scramble to give him his credits and you climb out, stepping onto the Xianzhou Luofu for the first time in seven centuries.

Central Starskiff Haven is as busy as you remember, bustling with passengers embarking and disembarking from various spacecrafts. Merchants hawk their wares loudly, tourists slowing down to peruse as residents quickly rush past. 

You weave in between the crowds, the familiar smells of berrypheasant skewers and songlotus cake making your mouth water. Despite your anxiety, your heart swells as the sights and sounds and smells around you. You begin to make your way towards the next starskiff terminal when you hear footsteps approaching rapidly from behind. You tense, steeling yourself when you feel a hand on your shoulder. A voice breathes out your name in disbelief and your own eyes widen at the familiar sound. You turn around. “Yukong.”

She stares at you, repeating your name once more. A tentative smile appears and she says, “It’s been a while.”

“It has. How have you been?”

“Well, all things considered.” She hesitates and says, “A lot has happened since you left.”

Your stomach churns with guilt and you force out an answer: “You know I had to get away. After everything that happened—”

“Yes, I know.” She cuts you off and you can hear the betrayal leaking into her otherwise stoic tone. She squares her shoulder and asks, “What are you doing back?”

“I…” You debate telling her the whole truth but, perhaps against your better judgment, you don’t. Instead, you say, “I need to meet with Jing Yuan.” It’s not a lie, technically, but Yukong knows you better and from the way her lips purse, you can tell she doesn’t believe you entirely. 

“The general is not at the Seat of Divine Foresight at the moment. He’s dealing with matters concerning a prisoner right now.”

“I see.”

Another silence. When Yukong breaks it, you expect her to inquire further but she says, “You don’t have your bow on you.”

It makes you smile slightly. “I do, just not so conspicuously now.” You gesture to an intricate band around your wrist. 

“I’m surprised. You never would have parted with it before.”

“Things change.” Your eyes flicker over her and you ask, “Do you remember when I gifted you your first bow?”

It makes her smile a little too. “Yes. It was far too big for me. Baiheng laughed and laughed that day. I still have it.”

“Really?”

“It’s at home, hanging on my wall.”

“I figured you would have disposed of it, given everything…”

She sighs, “I thought about it but I couldn’t part with it. No matter what has transpired over these many years we’ve been estranged, you are still my bow master.” You don’t get a chance to reply before Yukong says, “I have to return to the Palace of Astram.”

“I understand.” You tilt your head up and look at the clear blue sky. Perfect flying weather. You look back at her. “Perhaps we can catch up some other time.”

A pause, then she nods. “I would like that.” Turning on her heel, she moves to leave, but over her shoulder, Yukong says, “Until next time, master.” Then, she melts into the bustling crowd and disappears among them. 

With a heavy exhale, you decide to go to Scalegorge Waterscape. You board a starskiff and head for Scalegorge Waterscape. It’s not a long journey at all but it feels interminable. Your heart pounds against your ribcage when you land, the sand soft under your boots as you disembark.

You can see the looming columns in the distance and you push down your nerves as you walk towards them, passing by the statue of your old friend. As you approach, a young boy with a blond ponytail walks past with a group of Cloud Knights flanking a man. The boy eyes you suspiciously and he’s about to question you when the man in custody says, “I presume you’re a part of the reunion.”

You don’t answer, brushing past both swiftly and silently. You see Jing Yuan first, his eyes meeting yours resolutely. He calls your name, voice low. The three others turn to face you and your heart stops. 

Jingliu, wearing the same blindfold covering her eyes that she had when she escaped the Xianzhou. Dan Feng, or rather, his reincarnation, gazing at you with a spark of recognition in his eyes as he reaches into the fog of his mind for memories of you.

And him. Yingxing, though, you don’t think he’s going by that name anymore. No, he’s taken on a different moniker, one befitting of the life he now leads. Blade, a Stellaron Hunter, a weapon for the Slave of Destiny. 

You force your feet to move, dragging you forward until you stand between Dan Feng — or whatever name he goes by now — and Blade. Jingliu starts to move now, her steps precise, and she stops in the center of your circle. “And so,” she begins, “everyone is present. I never thought the High-Cloud Hexad would be able to gather again in the same place after hundreds of years.”

You watch her intently as she continues, recalling the promise you all made so many centuries ago. No matter what happened, you would all gather together and share a drink. You remember that day with too much clarity, how Baiheng grinned when she suggested it, bright and beaming like the sun. You remember clinking your cups together to toast the vow. Those days feel so distant, so unattainable now. 

“How sad that Scalegorge Waterscape remains empty while the world continues to turn. Some of us have been reborn,” — her eyes slide over to Dan Feng’s reincarnation — “while others have been denied death.” Her head pivots towards Blade, addressing him still when she says, “Some have become criminals.” 

Then, she faces you. “And others have never stopped running and lost their souls along the way.”

Your hands clench into fists and you bite your tongue to stop from retorting but you know all too well how the IPC is viewed by much of the galaxy. Maybe you hoped that you would be regarded as one of the good ones. Maybe it’s just been denial on your part. 

Regardless, Jingliu is as she has always been, her words as sharp and accurate as ever. Your fingers brush over the band around your wrist that contains your bow.

“There are also those,” she says, peering upwards, “who can no longer fulfill their promises. And in the end, our friendship is no more. Soon, I will be shackled and tried. This will be the last you see of me. This is why I sent out the invitations before departing, hoping that everyone would be gathered here for my final farewell.”

Then, she utters the words you have heard time and time again in your sleep, in dreams and nightmares that never seem to end. 

“Of six people, three must pay a price.”

She’s still speaking but her voice fades into the back of your mind as the sound of your blood roaring fills your ears. You feel cursed, sometimes, as a long-life species, doomed to live and remember and suffer. 

You almost think Baiheng’s fate was the kindest of them all, unburdened of guilt and heartache and memories. 

And just as soon as you all gather, Jingliu soon begins to dismiss you. She and Jing Yuan discuss where she will be detained and as they turn to leave, Blade interrupts. Coldly, he says, “Before you leave, you still owe me my due.”

It’s all too clear what he wants. Your stomach drops at his request and finally, you really look at the man who used to be the man you loved. One of his hands is gloved, the other wrapped in bandages. There’s a bandage around his thigh. Another twined at his bicep. 

Your heart cracks. How much pain and suffering has he endured? How long has he begged for death and an end, felt the slide of a sword or the bullet of a gun, just to regrow again and return to the same agonizing cycle?

When Jingliu refuses to draw her sword against him without provocation, Blade draws his, an ancient, broken sword you’ve seen countless times when it was brand-new. One that has been shattered and pieced back together over and over again, just as its wielder has been as well. 

You hear Jingliu’s dreamy voice float above the clanging of metal. “Their faces still linger before my eyes, like a bygone dream.” As they begin to duel, your head spins and memories you’ve buried deep down in the recesses of your heart and mind break through their confines and seep into your bones. 

Baiheng’s loud laugh, ringing up to the stars as you walked the streets of Aurum Alley. Jingliu poured you a cup of tea as you caught up at her home. Jing Yuan fell asleep against your shoulder as you all sat together on a sunny day. Dan Feng’s exasperated voice called for you to slow down. 

Jingliu continues: “I thought those joyful days would flow indefinitely before us — like a Xianzhou lifetime.” Blade lunges for her, the tip of his sword skimming close to her face, intentional in its avoidance. Instead, it slices her blindfold and it flutters into the wind. 

You entered Yingxing’s workshop in the Artisanship Commission. Swords, daggers, and other weaponry lay around the shop, some cooling in water, fresh from the forge; others hanging on the wall. You found him hunched over his workbench, scowling and grumbling. 

You crept with quiet steps to him, tapping his shoulder. Yingxing whirled around furiously, expression softening slightly when he saw you. “What are you doing here?” he asked. 

“You promised you’d meet up with me an hour ago and when you didn’t show, I figured you’d be here.” You tried to peer at his workbench, but he moved in front of you, broad shoulders blocking your view.

“What’re you working on?”

“Nothing.”

“You were just huffing and puffing, Yingxing. That doesn’t seem like nothing.”

“It’s nothing worth your time,” he replied, standing up to usher you to the door, but he didn’t anticipate your quick reflexes, and you skirted around him. 

On the workbench sat a small ring. It was gold, dented and misshapen, so different from Yingxing’s regular work. “Don’t—” he started as you reached for it, turning it over in your fingers. 

“Who’s this for?” you asked, stomach turning at the thought of it being for another. 

“Nobody.”

You plastered a smirk on your face to hide your simmering jealousy. “Is it for that pretty shopgirl who always gives you an extra berrypheasant skewer for free?”

“No,” he grumbled.

“What about the girl—”

“It’s for you,” he said. “For your birthday next week.” 

“Oh!” Your heart swelled and you bit back the grin that threatened to break out. “I’m sorry I ruined the surprise. It’s beautiful, Yingxing.”

“No, it’s not. Discard it. I will make you something better.”

You reeled back from him, cupping the (jewelry) protectively in your hands. “I love it! It’s already perfect!”

“It’s sloppy.”

You frown at him defiantly and slide it on your finger with ease. “It’s perfect.”

“In what way?”

“Because it came from you,” you said. “Because it’s thoughtful and kind and I love it, and I love you.” The minute the words left your mouth, your stomach dropped. It was out in the open now — the feelings you had been dancing around for months. Your unspoken pining finally made tangible with words.

He went still. “You love me?”

You laughed weakly, desperately fighting the anxiety clawing up your throat. “Isn’t it obvious?” When he didn’t reply, you began to say, “Forget I said anything”

“No,” he said. and then with one stride, he closed the gap between the two of you, lips crashing against yours.

Jingliu leaps into the air, sword aimed precisely and lethally. “Yet, dreams…” she says, “...will eventually fade — like clouds from the sky.”

You remembered when you had found out what Dan Feng and Yingxing had done, tampering with the Ambrosial Arbor and committing one of the most grievous of sins. You remembered how it felt like your heart had been ripped out when you heard of their fates, of Dan Feng’s forced reincarnation, Yingxing’s wicked immortality wrought by mara and his banishment. How you had sobbed and screamed and tore apart your shared home with Yingxing before your legs had given out and you sunk to the floor in despair and betrayal and hopelessness. 

You left the Xianzhou Alliance soon after, packed up in the middle of a cold, gray night and disappeared. You couldn’t stay, not in the home that reminded you of him or on the fleet that reminded you of them, of everything. You were adrift for a long time before Diamond found you. 

You watch as Jingliu drives her sword into Blade’s chest, the force sending him sprawling. She yanked it out of him, no blood spurting from the wound or flecking her blade. He lay there for minutes before jerking, eyes flying open and gasping for air. He sits up then stands quickly, and he says nothing further to her. 

As Dan Feng’s reincarnation goes to speak with Jingliu, then Blade, and Jing Yuan (Dan Heng, you hear Jing Yuan call him), you cautiously approach Blade. He’s looking out into the distance of Scalegorge Waterscape but he turns when you stand beside him. 

There’s no greeting, not that you expect one. He asks, “What do you go by now?”

“Tourmaline,” you answer. 

He just continues to stare at you. Then, Blade’s eyes flick down, settling on your neck. He points at the ring that you wear on a chain around your neck. “This,” he says. “What’s this?”

Your heart aches. He doesn’t remember. Of course, he doesn’t; the mara fragments his mind. You’re sure it’s familiar to him, which is why he’s asking, but like Dan Heng, he does not have all his memories from your former life. “You— Yingxing made it for me.”

“It’s ugly.”

You can’t help but scowl at him and there’s a sense of deja vu as you snap, “No, it’s not.” It’s perfect because it came from you. Because you crafted weapons and armor and things that were meant to be sharp and lethal; you were unused to making something meant for softness and love and you did so anyway for me. 

Blade doesn’t react. The breeze passing through rustles his long, dark hair. He’s as handsome as ever and you hate it. You hate this. You hate Jingliu for orchestrating this. You hate yourself for coming. And you hate him, this stranger who wears your beloved Yingxing’s face but will never be the man he once was. 

You don’t even realize that there are tears rolling down your cheeks until you feel hands, strong and calloused from years of work the owner of the appendage can only remember in fragments, cup your cheek. His thumbs wipe at your tears but when your eyes meet him, he freezes, eyes widening ever so slightly as if he can’t believe he’s doing it himself, a subconscious instinct driving him. A memory of what was. 

You expect him to withdraw swiftly but his hands are slow, fingers skimming your skin gently as if trying to savor the feeling and engrave it on their tips. They reach your chin, falling away. Blade’s arms hang at his sides and he’s still. 

Then, he turns away and begins his journey out of Scalegorge Waterscape. He casts one last long look at you over his shoulder, expression unreadable. Something swims in his crimson eyes that you can’t discern. You want to say it’s longing, maybe even something affectionate, but the man you loved is long gone. You can’t read this stranger. 

You blink and he’s vanished before your very eyes. It leaves you, Jing Yuan, and Dan Heng alone. Dan Heng says quietly to you, “You were the bow master of the Luofu.”

You offer him a sad smile. “I was.”

“Where are you going from here?” Jing Yuan asks.

“Back to Pier Point,” you respond softly. “I have matters to attend to for the IPC.”

“I see,” Jing Yuan says. “I would invite you to stay but I know it’s a selfish request.”

“Another time, General,” you say. “When I return again, we’ll meet up once more.” You address Dan Heng: “And you?”

“I’ll return to the Astral Express.”

“Ah,” you say wistfully, “a Trailblazer. It suits you.”

He gives you a nod and a small smile, and you say, “Goodbye, Jing Yuan. Goodbye, Dan Heng.”

You make your way back to the starskiff, still dutifully parked where you left it. As you climb inside, one last lingering memory drifts into your mind. 

“When I die,” Yingxing said as he held you close, curled around you protectively, “promise you won’t forget me?”

“Why are you talking about this, my love? Planning on dying anytime soon?”

“It is something to consider. I am not a long-life species. So promise me when I am gone, you won’t forget me.”

You gaze up at him, “As if I could ever forget about you.”

You massage your temples. This Quantum Collider nonsense is more of a headache than you anticipated. “Mail’s in!” Your assistant waves a stack of envelopes at you, placing them on your desk before taking his leave. 

You sift through the pile — bills, forms you had to sign, scam letters about an overdue warranty… 

You pick out one envelope in particular. It’s red among a sea of white and you slice it open with your letter opener. The note you pull out only has a few words on it: a time and a place. There is no sign-off or official signature. All that is at the bottom was the Xianzhou character for the word ‘blade.’ 

[indifferent-depravity]

Pussyfooting

Minors DNI 18+

CW: age gap

A/N: don't forget requests for everything are open so if you'd like to see anything from me feel free to drop it in my ask box :)

buy me a coffee!

help me escape abuse

my Etsy shop

~~~

With Gemma out looking after a sick Abel, you graciously take over all her shifts, not even giving her a chance to object. The office at the club's garage was an easy gig, half of it was just waiting for customers and organizing paperwork, giving you little to do for most of your shift. But you can’t complain as your eyes wander back to the window into the garage where Chibs is working on a car.

Your eyes trail over his body, thighs pressing together at the sight of his bare arms straining as he works. Your eyes lock when he looks up, a smirk growing on his face as you duck your head down, a deep blush crawling across your cheeks. You quickly mess with the paperwork in front of you as the door opens, trying to look busy to hide your embarrassment.

A hand covers the page and your breath hitches, eyes slowly moving up the arm to find Chibs in front of you. Your mouth goes dry at the playful smirk on his face and you swallow, feigning nonchalance as you speak, “Chibs! Did-did you need something?” You ask, nervously tapping your nails on the desk.

Chibs leans closer until you can smell the cigarette smoke lingering, “Was jus’ wondering what you were thinkin’ when you were staring at me just then.”

You laugh nervously, pushing the chair away from the desk and him. You move to stand in front of the filing cabinet, blindly shuffling through its contents. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, I-I wasn’t staring!” Your voice sounds shrill and you squeeze your eyes shut, grimacing inwardly.

“No? Didn’t realize you kids changed the definition of staring.” Chibs murmurs and you can hear him move behind you, swallowing hard as his hands settle on your hips. He spins you around, hovering his lips over yours, “No need to be embarrassed, sweetheart, I never said I didn’t like the attention.”

He leans in and you tilt your chin up with a shaky sigh to meet him, letting your eyes fall shut. Your lips barely brush against each other when someone yells for him in the garage. Chibs curses under his breath, pressing his forehead against yours for a moment and then he’s gone with a gentle squeeze to your hips.

You groan and drop your head against the cabinet, shifting uncomfortably as wetness causes your panties to cling to your cunt. You clear your throat and sit at the desk when you catch Chibs watching you, your face burning as he winks at you.

~~~

You weave through the crowd gathered in the clubhouse, letting out a grateful sigh as you push your way out into the cool night air. You lean your back against the wall and light up a cigarette with a satisfied hum, taking a slow drag.

“Fancy seeing you here.”

You choke on the smoke, quickly tipping your head up to exhale. You eye Chibs as he mirrors your position and gestures silently toward your cigarette. You hold it out, breath catching in your throat as he leans forward, eyes holding yours as he takes a drag, his lips just barely brushing your fingers. He gives you a smile as he exhales and you smile back, shakily bringing the cigarette up to your lips to delay responding. Unbeknownst to you, his eyes slide down to your mouth as you wrap your lips around the cigarette, tongue poking out to wet his lips.

“Shouldn’t you be knee-deep in croweaters vying for your attention by now?” You ask in a light tone and look at the dark garage in front of you, passing the cigarette to him without looking.

He snorts and takes a drag, watching the smoke curl in the air. “Some of us know when it’s time to stop fucking everything with two legs and a pair of tits.”

You roll your eyes, turning to give him an amused look when you see him already watching you.

“When they know they found their old lady.”

You stammer and turn back, heat crawling up your neck at the implication. “Y-Yeah I guess they do.” You take the cigarette and finish it off, dropping it onto the concrete and crushing it beneath the toe of your boot. You stand there for a while, a deafening silence growing between the two of you.

“Sweetheart.” At the pet name, you look over at him, heart skipping a beat at the heat in his gaze. Chibs cups your cheek, pressing you against the wall, “I’ve been meaning to ask-”

“Chibs! Aw, man, Clay’s been looking for you! He wants you in the chapel.”

Chibs growls, shooting the prospect a dirty glare, “Get the fuck out of here before I shove my foot up your ass, prospect!” The prospect puts his hands up in surrender, nearly tripping over himself in his haste to go back into the clubhouse.

You giggle, biting your lip in a poor attempt to stifle the noise. Chibs raises an eyebrow, giving you an amused look which causes another giggle to fall from your lips. You stretch onto your toes and press a kiss to his cheek, “Don’t want to keep your president waiting.” Your eyes linger on his for a moment before you slip away, smiling inwardly as you catch him pressing his forehead against the wall with a groan as you rejoin the party inside.

~~~

“I don’t know what to tell you, baby. If you had brought her in a couple of weeks ago like I told you, it would’ve been an easier fix.” Gemma gives you an apologetic look as if that makes the knowledge you’ll be out of a car for the rest of the week any easier.

You run your fingers through your hair with a sigh, “I know, Gem, thanks for trying.”

You turn to your car in the garage, trying to figure out how you’ll survive without your car when your eyes wander to Chibs, the sleeves of his coveralls tied around his waist, exposing his arms. Gemma sidles up next to you with a smirk, “You know, it’s a lot easier to just fuck the man instead of pussyfooting around.”

Your face heats up at her teasing words and you splutter, quickly diverting your eyes to the floor, “I-I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

She scoffs, “Mhm, sure, sweetheart. Everyone knows you and Chibs have a thing for each other and you’re just too chicken-shit to say something.” She looks you over for a moment before sticking her head into the garage, not giving you a chance to protest as she yells his name over the din of people working, waving him over as he turns around. Gemma nods her head towards you, “They need a ride home, do you mind taking ‘em? I would but I’m going to be here late doing paperwork.”

Your head jolts up and you glare at her, mouthing at her to knock it off. Chibs nods, “S’long as they’re okay riding a motorcycle, I don’t mind.”

Your heart skips a beat at the thought of riding behind him on his motorcycle and you shake your head, giving him an apologetic look, “You don’t need to do that, I-I can just walk home.”

“It’s no trouble, what kinda man would I be letting you walk that far?” The look on his face tells you that no arguing would get you out of it and you give him a small smile. “We can go whenever you’re ready.” He says and walks in the direction of his motorcycle, wiping the motor oil off his hands with a grease-stained rag.

Gemma narrows her eyes at you as she hands you your things, pushing you out of the office with a quick kiss on your cheek. You mumble curses at her under your breath as you walk toward him. You stop short, your words dying in your throat at the sight of him on his bike, sending a silent prayer to whoever is listening that you could keep it together long enough to get home.

He smiles when you reach him, holding out his hand to help you onto the bike. Your heart races as you take it, using it to steady yourself as you swing your leg over the bike. He looks back at you with a grin, guiding your arms around his waist, “Hold on tight, sweetheart.” You give him a nod, tightening your arms around him as he starts the bike. A grin forms on your face as he speeds off, closing your eyes as you enjoy the wind whipping through your hair.

You’re almost sad as he slows to a stop in front of your home, your heart still racing from the ride as you loosen your grip on his waist. You climb off the bike, suddenly feeling cold as you shift your feet nervously. Leaning down, you quickly kiss his cheek before stuttering out, “I- uh I wa- th-thanks for the ride, I’ll see you at work.” You close your eyes with a slight grimace, turning on your heel to escape before you make things worse for yourself.

“Sweetheart.”

You flinch when his hand catches your wrist, heart stuttering in your chest as you hear him get off the bike. You’re about to give an excuse to leave when he tugs on your wrist, making you stumble into his chest. You let out a shaky breath, your eyes slowly sliding up his chest to find him watching you, his face unreadable. “Chibs?”

Chibs cups your cheeks, his lips hovering over yours as he murmurs, “Call me Filip.” He kisses you passionately, stealing your breath away. It takes you a minute to respond, curling your fingers around his wrists as you stretch onto your toes to kiss back. He lingers close to you when he finally breaks the kiss, pressing his forehead against yours with a sigh, “Baby, I- tell me you want this too, I need you to want this.”

You nod against him, closing your eyes as you whisper, “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted this. Come inside?” You grin when he agrees and gently tangle your fingers in his, a buzzing excitement replacing your anxiety as you tug him to your front door.

Chibs wraps his arms around your waist when you drop his hand in favor of opening the door. He lightly kisses your neck and your keys nearly slip from your hand as you try to find the right key. He nips at your skin, drawing a soft whine from your throat, “Ch- F-Filip you need to stop distracting me.”

He hums, tugging you back against him, pressing the hard ridge of his cock against your ass, “Say my name again, sweetheart.” You moan and try to blindly get your key in the door, knees growing weak as he ruts against you. You finally get the door open and he urges you inside, pressing you against the door the minute it shuts. “C’mon baby, say it again.”

His hands roam over your body, sneaking underneath your pants to palm your ass. You gasp, arching into him, “Fuck, Filip.” You pull him down into a searing kiss and roughly push his cut off his shoulders, tugging at the bottom of his shirt, “Take your clothes off, now.”

“Bossy today, aren’t ya?” Chibs chuckles and pulls his shirt off, throwing it to the side before tugging your shirt over your head.

You give him a devilish grin and flip your bodies around to press him against the door as you dip your hand into his coveralls, fingers brushing the heated skin of his cock, “You can take your time next time, need you to fuck me right now.” He groans, thumping his head back against the door as you slide your hand over his length. You attack his skin, nipping and sucking marks over his neck and collarbones.

“Fuck- sweetheart it’ll be a bit difficult to do that if you keep touching me like this.” You hum, still moving your hand over his shaft, grinning against his skin as he bucks into your touch. Chibs grabs your arm, swallowing a moan as he forces you to stop. You press a kiss to the underside of his jaw, giving his cock a final squeeze before pulling away.

“Come and get me then,” You say with a smirk, making a show of peeling off the rest of your clothes as you make your way to your bedroom. Your cunt throbs as you hear his boots hit the floor with a heavy thud and you hook your thumbs into the waistband of your panties, slowly teasing them down your thighs. You giggle as Chibs wraps his arms around you, hand sliding between your thighs with a groan.

“God, you’re so fucking wet f’me, aren’t you?” You whine as his fingers find your clit, digging your nails into his arm, “Been thinking about this pretty pussy wrapped around my cock for weeks now.”

You tip your head back against his shoulder with a sigh as he sinks his fingers into your cunt, “Maybe-maybe you should stop lollygagging and fuck me then,” You say with a quiet moan, your knees weakening from his touch.

Chibs growls and pulls his fingers out of you with a light smack to your ass, spinning you around to face him, “You’re going to get in trouble if you keep mouthing off to me, sweetheart,” He grips your thighs, hoisting you into his arms as he moves to sit on the bed. Your breath hitches as his cock slides against your cunt and he grins, delivering another smack to your ass that has you clenching your thighs around his hips.

You let out a breathless laugh, reaching between you to press the head of his cock against your entrance, “Yeah? What are you gonna do about it?” Before he could answer you sink down on his cock, a whimper bubbling out of you as you stretch around his length. He swears, digging his fingers into the flesh of your ass as he bottoms out inside you.

You shiver as Chibs drags your hips against his, working you over his cock, “Oh, I think you’ll find out, sweetheart.” He growls, surging forward to capture your lips in a deep kiss, forcing his tongue into your mouth as you moan into the kiss. You wrap your arms around his neck and lift your hips, the drag of his cock inside you making your toes curl.

He presses his thumb against your clit and you break the kiss with a gasp, throwing your head back as you shudder against him. “Fuck- ‘m so close, Filip,” You whimper, another shudder running through you as his cock presses against a spot deep inside you, “I want you to cum with me please, I need- I need to feel you.”

Chibs groans, pressing his forehead against yours as your bodies mold together. “It’s alright, sweetheart, let go. Cum for me, cum on my cock.” He coaxes you over the edge, rubbing circles over your clit as you let out a broken cry, clenching tightly around him as you reach your climax. He follows you quickly, letting out a quiet moan as he fills you with his seed.

~~~

You poke your head into the garage, “Filip! What’s the status on the gold century? The customer wants an update.” He shouts a reply and you shoot him a smile, turning pink when he returns it with a wink.

“When did you become Filip?”

You can hear their jeers at his reply even through the door and you groan, grimacing when you turn around and see Gemma looking at you with a smug smirk. You glare at her, “Don’t even start.”

“So… he a good lay?”

[archangeldyke-all]

hello sevika lovers happy saturday! here's a nasty little smutty piece for you from me.

have a lovely weekend! love,

angel :)

men and minors DNI, i'll block tf out of u

modern au

sevika's some kind of high level exec. business owner with silco. he handles the marketing and she handles the numbers.

the two of you met years ago when her business was just starting to take off. silco had hired you to help design a logo for them, and in the process you'd spent quite a bit of time getting to know the duo.

for a few months, you met with silco and sevika once or twice a week to discuss and tweak your designs. after the first few meetings, silco started sending sevika to meet with you alone, sick of feeling like a third wheel during business meetings.

you weren't subtle about your infatuation with the woman, but you kept it professional--she was your boss after all.

after three months and dozens of meetings with sevika (most of which went hours over scheduled-- both of you getting too caught up in flirting and chatting to notice the time flying) you finalized the design and got your final paycheck.

you figured that that was the end of your little flirtatious fling with sevika, until a week later she's pounding on your door with a bundle of flowers hidden behind her back.

"sevika?" you asked, surprised to see the woman standing in your doorway.

"hi. uh. silco said my brooding was ruining the atmosphere at the office. told me to suck it up and go for it so..." you had no idea what she was talking about until she revealed the flowers to you and shoved them into your chest. "i was wondering if you'd ever like to get some food with me. you know. not for work."

"like a date?" you asked. she nodded.

you kissed her in response. (and she fucked you against your front door before trimming and arranging the flowers in a vase for you.)

anyways since then you've been inseparable.

she marries you the second she has some substantial money put away in her savings.

most days she's able to keep her work away from home, but come the end of every business quarter, work gets exceptionally busy for her and she doesn't have any choice but to sprawl out in her home office, crunching numbers and reviewing accounts night after night after night.

one of these evenings, you come home and find her hunched over her desk, glasses slipping down her nose, rubbing her temples.

for a few minutes, you simply admire her as she jabs at her calculator and shuffles through her files. eventually, she notices you, the tension in her shoulders melting at the sight of you. you saunter over to her and she grins.

"hi baby" you say, pressing a kiss into her hair.

"mmmh." she says as she buries her face into your tits, her arms snaking around your waist. you scratch her scalp, and you can swear you hear her purring.

"how much longer have you got?" you ask her. she groans into you long and dramatic, and you giggle, pressing kisses on her head.

"hour and a half, two hours maybe." she says. "why? you wanna distract me?" she looks up at you with a salacious smile. you laugh, flicking her forehead.

"get your work done and i'll give you a back massage." you say, pulling away from her. you gently push her glasses up her nose for her, leaning down to kiss her forehead. she sighs.

"fine." she says, shooing you away.

you go , stripping and putting on your jammies, (one of sevika's old t shirts and a pair of panties.) sipping on a large glass of wine after a long day.

you put on some soft music in the kitchen, whipping up a quick meal for yourself and sevika.

when you wander back into her office about half an hour later, she's so focused she doesn't even notice you.

you place her food beside a tall stack of folders, then pour her a big glass of whiskey from her bar cart. you press a quick kiss in her hair.

she hums, reaching out to grab your wrist, keeping you beside her as she finishes some calculation. when shes done, she sets down her pencil and looks up at you.

you pout down at your wife, tracing the dark bags under her eyes with your thumbs. "poor baby." you whisper. "workin' so hard."

sevika hums in agreement as she nuzzles into your touch. you laugh at her. "come here." she demands, patting her lap with one hand and pulling you toward her with her other

you comply, straddling her lap. her hands find your waist, while yours snake around her shoulders. "you think this chair can hold the both of us?" you ask as the chair lets out a pathetic squeak beneath the two of you. sevika doesn't respond, too busy pressing kisses into your neck and jaw. you hum, running your fingers through her hair.

"fuckin' miss you." she mumbles into your neck.

"'m right here, honey." you say. her hands begin to massage your hips.

"yeah but i haven't gotten to fuck you in weeks." she grumbles. this makes you cackle.

"we fucked this morning!" you say. you feel her smile against your neck.

"been so busy lately, been neglecting my wifely duties." she continues. you laugh again. she begins sucking a hickey into the flesh of your neck. "been neglecting you, huh?" she asks. you laugh.

"you're not getting anything from me until you're done with your work, babe." you say to her. she nips your skin and you screech.

"why not?" she asks petulantly, grip becoming tighter on your hips. you have to pull her away from your neck by her half pony.

"because you've got important things to do. businessy things. dinner things. things for silco. and if we start now, you know we won't stop until we're both asleep."

"you're more important than any of that shit." she whispers. you smile, pushing her back in the chair, slowly unbuttoning the top few buttons of her black silk button up for her, pushing her glasses up to sit on her head. the more you undress her, the harder getting off her lap seems.

her grip on your hips is so tight now you'd struggle to leave now anyways. she's got a cocky little smile on her lips, like she knows she's won, and you can't help but huff in annoyance.

with a grin, sevika pulls down on your hips as she thrusts up against you. you gasp when you feel a hard bulge in her pants.

"fuck, sev." you whisper. she grins as she begins to grind you down on her crotch. "when did you even put that on?" you ask with a giggle.

"kept it on after i fucked you this morning. wanted to remember the noises you made all day." you groan, pulling sevika's shirt out of where it was tucked into her pants, clawing at her abs. "so...?" sevika asks.

"what?"

"you gonna distract me for a bit, sweetheart?" she asks.

you roll your eyes but nod anyways, grinding small circles into sevika's lap as she grins up at you. "you're fuckin' annoying." you whisper down at her. she chuckles.

"you're the one who married me." you roll your eyes at her, before smacking at the grip she has on your hips.

"lemme go." you whisper. she pouts. you kiss her in reassurance, whispering in her ear. "not going far." sevika's grip doesn't relent, and you roll your eyes, biting her ear lobe. "come on baby. gotta get your dick wet before you can put it in me." you say, popping the button on her pants. she moans and lets go, hands flying to help you push her pants down. you giggle as she wiggles out of her pants, sliding off her lap and onto the floor between her legs as she pulls her strap out.

"fuck." she whispers at the sight of you. you lick your lips when her strap pops out of her pants, seven thick inches of purple silicone that never fails to make you scream. you don't waste time, both of your hands coming up to grip her thighs, pressing a kiss to the tip of the strap as your eyes flick up to catch hers.

sevika always loses her mind when you suck her strap, swears she can feel it, swears it's the hottest thing in the world to watch. she's cum from it a few times when she's particularly desperate, and it never fails to get you soaking fucking wet watching her fall apart above you.

sevika snakes a hand into your hair, gripping at the roots. she guides your head down the strap, and you keep your eyes locked on hers as you relax your throat and take her to the hilt.

tears begin to well in your eyes as sevika holds you down on her cock, and she waits until they fall down your cheeks before pulling you off to let you breathe. "shit baby, you're so fuckin' good at that." she whispers as you gasp to catch your breath.

you grin and spit on her strap, giggling as her hips jolt. you jerk the silicone up and down, pressing kisses on every inch of the shaft, soaking it in your saliva, never letting your eyes leave sevika's unless it's to close your eyes as you moan.

taking the strap back into your mouth, you begin to bob your head up and down, nasty gagging and squelching sounds starting up from between your lips. "g-god fuck." sevika whines. "shit listen to you. fuckin' gaggin' on it, huh baby?" you nod up at her. she tightens her grip on your hair and you relax, allowing your wife to control your movements as she begins to throat fuck you.

"f-f-fuck honey, shit." sevika grunts as she starts thrusting her hips up into your mouth. your clit is throbbing in your panties, and you're sure you've soaked them through by now. clenching your thighs together brings you some relief, but nowhere near enough.

when you snake one of your hands away from where you were gripping her thighs to rub between your legs, sevika groans.

"fuckin' touching yourself, baby?" she asks. you whimper, two of your fingers easily sliding inside of your sopping wet hole. "fuck, you're so nasty. getting off on this. shit is that you?" sevika asks when the wet sloshing sounds of your fingers massaging your inner walls start. you whimper around her cock in response. "jesus fucking christ." sevika growls. "get the fuck up here. lemme feel how wet that pussy is for me."

before you know what's happening, she's pulling you off her cock and back up into her lap.

your chin, neck, and the front of your t-shirt are soaked in your drool, a small puddle of your saliva's grown at the base of sevika's strap, which prods deliciously against your cunt as you get comfortable in her arms again. she hugs you to her chest, pressing kisses against you everywhere she can reach, into your hair, against the tear tracks on your cheeks, down your neck. she hugs your waist with one hand, and with the other, she pulls your panties to the side and starts rubbing your wet cunt.

"need something?" she teases as you twitch against her hold. you bite her neck and reach down to grab her wrist, pushing her fingers toward your hole.

"gotta stretch me out before i can take your dick, baby." you whisper. a shiver runs down sevika's spine. "and your fingers feel so much better than mine." you say. sevika groans and she slides her pointer finger into you. your thighs quake. "m-more i can take more, 'm wet enough for more baby." you gasp when she shoves a second finger inside you.

"feel good?" she whispers against your ear as you grind down on her fingers. she starts shallow thrusts in and out of your cunt, pushing against your g spot on each thrust.

"m-m-more." you whisper, orgasm creeping up on you. "another sev, please, you're gonna make me cum." she growls as she begins fucking a third finger in your cunt. the stretch stings, sevika's thick fingers bullying their way into your pussy, and you whimper and whine until her third finger finally slides in along side her other two. your pussy clenches, and her fingers press right up against your g spot, and you see stars.

"fuckin' cum for me." sevika growls. "cum on my fingers then i'll make you cum on my cock." you gasp. "fuck, you're soaking my hand honey." she whispers, grinding her fingers inside you as her palm rubs against your clit. you bite down on her neck, your thighs shaking, your back arching. "there you go baby, there you go. so perfect for me. such a good mouth. such a good cunt, baby, shit. takin' me so perfectly, you're gonna look so good all fucked out and dumb riding my cock."

you gasp and cum, her words going straight to your cunt. "fuckin' good girl, just like that. i fuckin' love you, holy shit, look at you." sevika babbles as you tremble in her hold. "shit baby. 'm gonna knock you up." she whispers in awe as you collapse against her, the last waves of your orgasm dying down.

you chuckle at her words, kissing her neck as you try to catch your breath.

sevika rubs your back with her free hand, peppering kisses against your head.

when you pull back to look her in the eyes, you melt. she's looking at you with a lovesick expression, the same expression she wore after the first time you kissed her, the same expression she wore watching you walk down the aisle, the same expression she wears every time you cum for her. you grin and lean forward to kiss her sappy smile off her face.

as you kiss her, you grab her wrist where her fingers are still buried inside you. you whine as you help her ease her thick fingers out of your cunt, the emptiness after the lovely stretch of your wife's fingers feeling foreign.

"you okay?" sevika asks against your lips. you pull away nodding. with a gentle tug, you bring her hand up to your face. sevika looks confused until you open your mouth for her-- lust quickly overtaking her features as she shudders.

she shoves her fingers in your mouth and the two of you moan simultaneously: you at the taste of your cum on your wife's fingers, sevika at the feeling of your tongue and lips sucking on her fingers.

"you're fuckin' nasty" she whispers, impressed. you chuckle around her fingers. you've been using the same few moves on sevika since you met, and she's just as shocked and turned on each and every time.

she shoves her fingers deep as they'll go, watching as your drool starts collecting and sliding down her hand and your chin, before pulling her hand away and smashing her lips against yours, shoving her tongue in her mouth like she was trying to get just as deep as her fingers were. one of her hands reaches back to grip your ass, the other snakes up your shirt to squeeze your tits. you reach behind you to guide her strap toward your cunt, huffing in frustration as you struggle to line her up right.

sevika pulls away from your mouth with a pop, spit strings connecting the two of you as she pulls away. you gasp for air as she reaches down to help you hold the strap up. "here you go baby." she whispers.

she's so sweet it almost makes you feel bad for what you're about to do to her.

almost.

you smile up at her, pressing a chaste kiss to her lips as she guides the tip of the strap inside you. the strap and your cunt are both so slippery that even with the two of you coordinating and guiding it, it takes a few tries to get it in.

when the tip does slide in, though, you both moan simultaneously. (you laugh a bit, because sevika can't even see the strap but she somehow knows it's inside you. she always swears she can feel you through it, and you're starting to think she really can)

her hands clutch at your hips, trying to be patient, but after so long together you can see the desperation creeping up on her. it's in the way her hold on you has become bruising, in the way her pupils are blown so wide she looks fucking high, in the way she's shuffling her feet beneath the two of you, trying to keep from thrusting into you. she's so sweet to you, so good, and you're about to break her poor heart, so you lean forward and give her a nasty kiss before pulling away and ripping your shirt over your head, determined to give her a good show.

sevika's gaze snaps to your tits, a grin growing on her lips, and you arch your back as you slowly sink down on her cock, giving her a good view of her slowly disappearing inside you.

your legs are shaking by the time you're sat on her lap, her strap buried inside you. "fuck-" you whisper. sevika gulps.

"you okay?" she asks. you close your eyes and nod, biting your lip and grinding tiny little circles against her. you both shudder at the movement.

you finally compose yourself, stilling your movements, taking a deep breath, and opening your eyes. your lovely wife is studying your body with a furrow between her brows, lip between her teeth, looking at you with the same intensity she was looking at her work earlier. though she looks much less bored this time. you gulp.

"sev." you whisper. her eyes snap up to yours. a nervous flutter flashes through your stomach when your eyes meet. sevika looks like she's gonna eat you alive. shit.

in an effort to placate her before you rip the bandaid off, you start gently scratching her scalp, running your fingers through her hair like you always do at night when you're trying to lull sevika to sleep. some of the tension leaves her body, she melts into her seat, sighing and blinking slowly at you. "sevika." you say, gathering your bravery, trying not to smile with nerves and betray yourself.

"yeah baby?" she asks. fuck. her voice sounds like sex.

you lean forward, pressing your body against hers, burying your head into her neck, pressing a gentle kiss there before nuzzling in and sighing. "you better hurry up and finish your work if you wanna fuck me before i fall asleep." you say.

sevika freezes. you close your eyes and bite your lip and wait for her to speak.

you hear the sound of her mouth opening and closing. like she's trying to talk but no words are coming out. you sneak a glance at her, and grin.

sevika looks shocked. her mouth is wide open, her eyes are widened in surprise, her brows reaching for her hairline. her hands are suspended in the air like she's not sure what to do with them.

you make the mistake of giggling, and her eyes snap to yours.

"you..." she whispers, eyes flashing from your cunt to your face to your hand still running through her hair. "are you serious?" she asks, dumbfounded.

you try your best to look innocent, widening your eyes, like who me? biting your lip in an attempt to hide your guilty smile. if the incredulous smirk sevika's face morphs into at the sight of you is anything to go by-- your attempt at innocence fails.

it's a stand off for a minute, sevika waiting for you to break, you waiting for sevika to get back to work.

you lean forward and give her nose a little kiss pulling her glasses back down and straightening them on her nose, tucking her hair behind her ears. "dont forget to eat your dinner too, baby" you whisper, settling back down against her shoulder.

your heart is pounding against your chest and your cunt is pounding around sevika's strap. you close your eyes, taking a shaky breath, waiting for her to react. for a minute, she does nothing, her hands suspended in midair.

then, she scoffs, sniffs, clears her throat, and picks up her pencil. the gentle scratch of pencil against paper fills the room and you grin in victory against her throat. she must feel the curve of your smile against her neck, because sevika scoffs and shakes her head above you, then she brings her free hand down on your ass with a resounding smack.

you gasp, your hips jolting in shock, causing you both to moan. sevika swallows hard, takes a deep breath, and gets back to scratching numbers behind you.

it takes you ten solid minutes to get your heart rate under control, but eventually, you and sevika start to sag into each other more and more. you sigh into her neck as the tension in your back slowly melts away, and she presses a gentle kiss against your scalp in return.

at one point, she stops writing, and takes a couple bites of her dinner, grunting as she does. she squeezes your ass and mumbles against your head "'s really good babe. thank you." you hum a happy sound and kiss her neck.

the hand on your ass starts to gently trace little numbers in your skin, which is so fucking cute it makes you a little dizzy. you have to bite your tongue to keep from kissing her senseless and breaking her focus.

your breath catches in your throat every other minute when sevika will intermittently claw your ass like a stress toy as she mutters under her breath, cursing her calculator, or a client, and occasionally just silco himself for "talkin' me into this fucking business shit." like she hasn't been doing 'this fucking business shit' for over a decade now.

she pushes her head into your hand when your scratching stops, like a cat demanding more attention. you giggle and begin to play with her hair again. she sighs sweetly in thanks.

eventually sevika snaps one folder closed and opens another. she jostles you a bit in the process. "sorry baby." she mumbles. you hum.

"'s okay."

"you're not falling asleep are you?" she asks suddenly, panicked, her grip on your ass tightening. you laugh.

"not yet."

"you tired?" she asks. you are, but nowhere near tired enough to fall asleep with sevika's cock buried inside you. still, you decide to tease her.

"a little."

"tell me about your day." she demands. you scoff, but start talking regardless.

you mumble against sevika's neck for a while she works behind you and hums and laughs at your words. after a while you trail off and run out of things to say, so sevika starts speaking in short little bursts between tasks and problems. what she ate for breakfast. the guy she watched step in dog shit this morning, how he almost caught her laughing. that she hates the arm exercises her new physical therapist gave her.

as time goes on, sevika's mindless groping of your ass becomes a little more intentional. her hips beneath you start shifting minutely, intermittent at first, but soon she's just grinding up into you. you bite your lip, trying to ignore her, but she just takes it as a challenge.

"i'm still trying to decide if i'm impressed or betrayed by your little stunt." she grunts out. you chuckle nervously.

"fuckin' dramatic." you whisper. "'m just trying to make sure you keep your job. like a responsible wife."

"like a tease."

"that too." you giggle.

suddenly, sevika's got both her hands on your hips, grinding you down onto her strap hard. you squeal.

"fuck sev!" you curse. "you--you've gotta do your work first." you say as your hands go flying down to grip her wrists. she grins at you.

"just finished." she growls.

you gulp, your cunt clencing, your heart rate picking up. you give up on trying to control the way sevika's grinding you against her lap, instead just holding your breath in anticipation of what she's gonna do to you.

"so whaddya think?" she asks. you whimper.

"'bout what?"

"should i feel betrayed or impressed?" you smile, leaning forward to kiss sevika.

"impressed. duh." you whisper against her lips. "got you to finish your work twice as fast." you say with a waggle of your eyebrows. sevika chuckles and shakes her head in amusement. she leans forward and gives you a sweet little kiss. you hum against her lips, only to screech when in a flash, sevika shoots up with you in her arms, setting you down on the desk in front of her, pinning your legs by up under your shoulders and looming down over you. you blink.

"dont make too much of a mess, baby, i gotta give these papers to silco tomorrow." is the only warning you get before she's pistoning her hips in and out of you at a brutal pace.

you scream and sevika grins.

"what'd you think was gonna happen, babe? thought you were gonna tease me like that 'n get away with it?" your hands flail, clawing at papers, before smoothing them out, then reaching up to claw at sevika instead. "huh?" she asks. you blink, then shake your head no with a chuckle. "no?" she asks, surprised. you laugh.

"knew i wouldn't get away with it. that's half the fun, sev." you whisper. she laughs and ducks down to kiss you.

"you're an evil fuckin' genius, baby." she says against your lips between panting breaths as she fucks you at a brutal pace.

your cunt is squelching between the two of you and sevika shakes her head in admonishment. "fuck did i say honey?" she spits. you huff. "told you not to get messy and you're already laying in a puddle." she growls against you.

"c-can't help it." you whine.

"no?"

"feels- fuck- feels so good baby." you moan. sevika growls, pressing one last firm kiss onto your lips before pulling away completely.

she pulls back, pulls her strap out of you, lets go of your legs, leaves you spread out and fucked open on the middle of her desk, whining and empty.

"fuck, you're pretty." she whispers. she grins down at you for a second, reaches forward to tweak your nipples, and then she's flipping you over.

you land on your stomach with a grunt, a shiver running down your spine as sevika presses your face down against her desk with one of her hands and guides her cock inside you with the other.

"fuck!" you gasp. sevika chuckles, starts fucking you with shallow little thrusts as she gropes your ass. "sevika." you whine.

"what's wrong baby?" she asks, chuckling as she watches you twitch and writhe beneath her.

"deeper, please." you ask. she hums, hitches one of your legs up on to the desk beside you, then slides all the way inside.

you whimper. the new angle makes her cock feel two inches bigger.

"that good enough for you?" sevika spits from above you. "huh? your greedy cunt finally satisfied baby?" she asks. you nearly cum at her words.

"sevika!" you gasp out. she laughs and starts grinding deep little circles into you.

"fuck. love watching your cunt clench around me like that baby. so fuckin' pretty. you're creamin' all over me baby, shit." sevika rambles. your eyes roll back in your head and you start rambling, desprate and needy.

"sevika, sev, baby, fuck me. please honey, fuck me hard and deep and fa-- ah!" you shriek as sevika starts fucking you. "oh fuck!" you screech. "fuck! just like that!" sevika presses down against your head and leg harder, pinning you to the desk as she picks up her pace.

she's growling behind you, but it's barely audible over your wailing and the smacking sounds of her hips meeting your ass, the squelching sounds that start back up between the two of you again.

"fuck." she whispers. you giggle when you hear it.

"feel good baby?" you taunt. sevika grunts. "god you're so deep, 'm not gonna be able to walk tomorrow." you gasp out. sevika leans down to begin biting at your back and shoulders, her thrusts getting sloppier the more you talk. you smile. "gonna cum inside this pussy, baby?" you ask her as sweetly as you can while swallowing back moans and whimpers.

sevika's hips stutter and she bites your shoulder, groaning against you. "gonna get you fuckin' pregnant." she whispers. you jolt against her at the words and she chuckles. "you gotta cum for me first, though." she whispers.

"'s gonna be messy." you choke. sevika coos down at you and you bite your lip.

"that's okay baby, you can be messy. i put all the important shit away. was just teasing you earlier."

"you're so mean." you whine. sevika grins, then pinches your clit.

"yeah, but it gets you so wet." she grunts. you gasp beneath her and she chuckles. "gonna cum?" she asks. you squeak, your thighs starting to shake. "i can tell. can feel this pussy clenching around me. fuck, you're so perfect baby." you gasp, your orgasm creeping up on you.

"sev--" you scramble and claw at the papers littering the desk, looking for something to hold onto as you start to fall apart. sevika presses kisses to your shoulder, cheek and back as she fucks you impossibly faster. "sevika i'm--!" you squeak out. sevika chuckles behind you.

"do it baby." she grunts.

with one final squeak you cum, soaking your thighs. "fuuuuck." sevika curses as she continues to fucking you until you're twitching.

she moves her hand away from your clit when you start to whine, sinking it into your hip as she starts drilling into your cunt with reckless abandon, chasing her own release.

you struggle to catch your breath, still so sensitive from your own orgasm that you cant do much but lay limp on the desk. "y-you gonna..." you gasp, "gonna cum sev?" you whimper. she grunts. "gonna cum inside me?" you ask. she responds with a grunt and a hand smacking your ass.

"f-f-f--" she says, clawing your ass.

"yeah, yeah, yeah, sev, cum inside me, please, want you to feel good baby."

"fuck!" she shouts as she cums, burying her cock deep inside you and grinding against your ass as she shakes. "shit, baby, fuckin' take it, just like that." she grunts. you hum happily beneath her as she twitches against you.

its quiet for a second as she catches her breath behind you, but then she flops forward, pinning you to the desk with her full body weight.

you giggle and moan as she nuzzles into your neck, breathing you in as she comes down from her orgasm. "fuck baby." she grumbles on top of you. you giggle.

"mmm." you hum beneath her. "i want a bath." you whisper. sevika grunts on top of you. you let her rest for a minute before speaking again.

"and a snack." you say. she huffs against you.

"sevika." you say after a minute. she hums. "if you run us a bath, i'll still give you that back massage." you offer. she lifts her head up in consideration. you chuckle.

"in the bath or in bed?"

"whichever you want."

"you making the snack?"

"if you help me walk to the kitchen and back."

it's silent as she considers your terms, then finally, she groans as she lifts off of you to stand. with a gentle pat to your ass, sevika pulls the strap out. you flinch, and she kisses your back in apology.

you stay melted to the desk as sevika undresses behind you, only moving once she finally reaches down to help you up.

she gathers you in her arms, pressing kisses to your face and head. you giggle against her.

"hi." she says with a sweet smile. you grin, leaning in to brush your lips against her.

"hey, sexy."

"thanks for the motivation." she whispers against your lips. you giggle.

"anytime, baby." you promise.

she seals your promise with a kiss.

[lovezbrownies]

Nia with a really clumsy reader, like when reader gets left alone for 10 seconds theyve already set something on fire and caused the death of 5 families (im exaggerating for dramatic effect)

everytime i see a nia request it always gives me so much joyndkjfnds theyre always so fire oomf thank yeww for this one

Oopsie! (Yandere!Queen x GN!Reader.)

Nia's Masterlist - General Masterlist

Synopsis: Nia meets a very clumsy yet endearing individual.

Nia Bloodwen x GN!Reader.

Warnings: 'Countel' used as a gender neutral term of Count/Countess, Reader genuinely doesn't know how to walk or talk at all, Reader is a nervous wreck in this, Nia is having fun.

Your marriage to Queen Nia was supposed to be one of convenience—for you, at least. As the clumsy former Countel of the L/N house, your title had been thrust upon you when your fathers, tired of the burdens of leadership, handed over the reins to their 24-year-old heir. And though you were earnest, you were terrible at it. It wasn’t that you didn’t try—oh, you tried—but the documents you signed often had to be rewritten, your speeches were filled with stumbles, and you couldn’t navigate noble circles to save your life.

So, you kept to yourself at parties, avoiding the judgmental eyes of other nobles, desperately trying not to trip over your own feet. Soon, you became known as the “mysterious Countel,” a title whispered among the court’s gossipers. The irony wasn’t lost on you—your mystery was born out of your desire not to make a fool of yourself. Yet, somehow, it only made you more desirable to certain women, drawn to your quiet demeanor. You always declined their advances, though. “I’m flattered, but at the moment, I have no interest in courtship,” you’d say, voice cracking just enough to make them more intrigued, though that was never your intention.

Then, one day, everything changed. You found yourself in the Queen’s presence, not through any special favor but simply through the necessary duties of noble estates. Queen Nia, however, was known for her reclusive manner—meetings with her were conducted behind a curtain, her assistant passing documents back and forth between you. As you fumbled through the mountainous folder of estate paperwork, you were, naturally, a mess.

“Err, the estate papers… Uh, I think it’s this one!” you said, rising from your chair to hand over what you believed to be the correct document. But as you stood, the chair screeched loudly across the marble floor, and your foot—of course—caught on one of its legs. You stumbled forward with a yelp, only to be caught by the horrified assistant. “Stop! Please, sit down,” she hissed, gently guiding you back into your chair, prying the file from your sweaty hands.

“Oh, sorry!” you muttered, flushed with embarrassment, your ears burning.

Nia, behind her veil of privacy, heard the commotion and couldn’t suppress her curiosity. She knew of you—rumors had swirled around court about the elusive and awkward Countel, but this display? The nervousness in your voice, the shuffling of your steps? It wasn’t what she had imagined. In fact, she found herself oddly charmed by the entire affair.

The assistant passed the file to Nia, and when she opened it, her amusement grew tenfold. “Countel L/N, are you sure this is correct?” she asked, her voice laced with amusement that was difficult to hide.

You froze on the other side of the curtain. “Um, yes?” you responded, only for her to hum softly.

“These appear to be your drawings,” she said, her tone now openly teasing.

“Oh gosh! Uh—y-yes, I mean, no! That’s not the—wait!” Frantically, you shuffled through your papers, your heart pounding in your chest as you realized you’d handed over your sketchbook by mistake. You found the correct file, nearly shoving it into the assistant’s hands, mortified beyond words. “I-I’m so sorry! Here’s the real one, your Majesty!”

Nia, on the other side of the curtain, had to bite her lip to keep from laughing. It was… endearing, really—your clumsiness, your flustered apologies. And those drawings? They were beautiful. There was something raw and unpolished about them that made her linger on each page, tracing the delicate, clumsy lines of birds and flowers, the intricate details you poured into sketches of the estate’s landscape. She wasn’t just amused; she was fascinated.

Your meeting ended in what you hoped was a neutral tone, and as you nervously stood to leave, you cleared your throat. “Um, c-could I maybe… have the drawings back?” you asked, eyes wide with hope.

“No,” came the sharp, definitive reply.

“Ah…” You left, defeated and certain this would be the end of you. Surely, she’d have your head for this embarrassment! You returned home that evening, declaring to your family that your beheading was imminent. They laughed, of course, as they always did when you overreacted. You, however, were already trying to figure out which of your younger sisters would be fit to take over your title.

Meanwhile, Queen Nia sat in her chambers, unable to focus on her usual duties. She tried, of course, to turn her attention to her work, but her gaze kept drifting back to your sketches. She found herself flipping through them over and over, a faint scent of flowers—perhaps from your preferred drawing spot—clinging to the pages. Each stroke of your pen had a life of its own, and it wasn’t long before Nia found herself daydreaming. How strange it was to miss someone she had barely met! The way you had fumbled, the way you had nervously stammered—it was all so utterly… adorable.

Within days, she began inquiring about you discreetly. She invited one of your admirers to her court, listening patiently as the young noblewoman gushed about your endearing quirks. Nia learned that you preferred to keep to yourself at parties, that you were fiercely protective of your sisters, and that you spent most of your free time drawing under the trees in your estate’s garden. A week passed, then two. Nia found herself thinking of you more and more, until finally, she couldn’t resist.

After months of orchestrated meetings and quiet observation, Nia had finally managed to break through your social barriers. You were no longer simply the Countel you had been before—now, you saw her as a friend. And you valued that friendship, even if it made you impossibly nervous. But then, out of nowhere, Nia dropped a bombshell.

“I want you to marry me,” she said one afternoon, her voice so calm and assured that you nearly choked on your tea.

“What?!” you sputtered, coughing violently as water sprayed from both your mouth and nose. You could barely breathe as you struggled to process what she’d just said.

Nia stood, her silhouette suddenly imposing as she stepped out from behind the curtain for the first time. She wasn’t in her usual royal attire—today, she was dressed simply, her hair loose and flowing, her eyes locked onto yours with an intensity that made your heart pound. “You heard me, Countel. I want you to marry me.”

“B-but, I—Your Majesty—I—!” Words failed you as you sat frozen, your mind racing with a thousand different thoughts. This wasn’t just a proposal from any noblewoman—this was the Queen. You couldn’t possibly refuse her, yet marriage had always been something you dreaded, something you weren’t ready for.

Nia’s smile was dangerous, predatory almost, as she closed the distance between you with deliberate steps. “You’ve caught my eye, Countel L/N,” she purred, her voice sending a shiver down your spine. “You’re charming, in your own awkward way. You’re clumsy, shy, and you never seem to know what to say, but it’s exactly those qualities that make you… irresistible.”

Your throat went dry as she leaned down, her face now inches from yours. You could feel the heat radiating from her skin, smell the faint hint of roses in her hair. “I’ve decided you’re the one,” she whispered, her lips brushing against your ear as you sat, helpless and breathless. “And I always get what I want.”

“I-I don’t know if—”

“Doesn’t matter,” she cut you off with a gleam in her eyes, wrapping her arms around you with surprising gentleness. “You’re mine now, Countel. And you’re going to be the perfect spouse for a queen.”

Before you could protest further, Nia’s grip tightened, her hands trailing down your back. You weren’t sure if you should laugh, cry, or pass out. But one thing was for certain—you were no longer the clumsy, awkward Countel. You were now the Queen’s clumsy, award partner, and there was no escaping her embrace.

The grand, sunlit halls of the palace stretched endlessly before you, the polished marble floors shimmering beneath the cascading light that filtered through tall, stained-glass windows. And in the midst of this royal grandeur, your hand was clasped firmly within Queen Nia’s—a gesture that had become all too familiar, though not for its elegance. No, she held onto you not out of decorum but to prevent your inevitable stumbles. Today was no exception.

“Honestly, my love,” Nia’s voice, a melody of amusement, slipped past her lips, the sound echoing through the quiet halls. She tugged you closer as you narrowly avoided crashing into a priceless vase, your foot—somehow—tangling itself in the hem of your elaborate royal robes. “How do you manage to trip over absolutely nothing? Do you have some sort of talent for this?” She was laughing now, the sound warm but carrying an undertone of possessive affection, as though she were the only one allowed to witness your constant mishaps.

You flushed, cheeks burning beneath her teasing gaze, and muttered an apology that she waved off immediately, her grip tightening on your arm. “Don’t you dare apologize,” she purred, eyes glinting as she looked at you. “You wouldn’t be you without all this.” Her free hand gently brushed your cheek, her touch lingering in that possessive way she always had—as if claiming you as her own with every small gesture, reminding you with each caress that you belonged to her and her alone.

Months had passed since your marriage, and though you had settled into your role as her spouse, you still hadn’t quite gotten used to the way she looked at you sometimes—those predatory eyes, always watching, always following your every move as though you were something precious and fragile, something she’d fiercely protect but never let go. There were days when you wondered if she’d ever stop teasing you, but you knew the answer before you could even consider it.

Nia enjoyed your clumsiness far too much, her laughter a constant reminder of her amusement—and her obsession. Every trip, every stumble seemed to end with her holding you tighter, her arms around your waist, her lips brushing your ear as she whispered, “You’re mine, darling. Always.” And though her words made you feel safe, there was something more beneath them—a fierce protectiveness, a possessiveness that never quite left her tone.

And yet, as the months passed, you couldn’t help but notice someone else’s eyes lingering on you—eyes that were far less welcoming, far less comforting than Nia’s. Isadora, Nia’s ever-dutiful assistant, had become a shadow in your life, always hovering just out of reach, her gaze too intense, too calculating. At first, you thought nothing of it—surely she was simply doing her job, ensuring her Queen’s spouse was well taken care of. But there was something different about the way she spoke to you now, the way her hands would sometimes brush against yours as she passed you documents, or how her eyes lingered just a bit too long when you tripped and Nia wasn’t there to catch you.

One evening, as you sat alone in the palace gardens, sketching nervously under the fading sunlight, Isadora approached, her steps almost too quiet for comfort. “Countel,” she greeted, her voice smooth as silk but laced with something you couldn’t quite place. You glanced up, offering her a polite smile as she stood over you, her shadow casting a long, dark line over your sketchbook.

“Good evening, Isadora,” you replied, your voice wavering slightly. There was something unsettling about the way she was looking at you, as if she were studying you far too closely. She crouched beside you, and you stiffened as her fingers brushed your wrist—just a light touch, but it sent a shiver down your spine. You didn’t like how close she was, how her breath seemed to warm the air around you.

“I’ve noticed…” she began, her tone far too intimate for your comfort, “that the Queen seems rather… fond of you.” Her fingers traced along the back of your hand, and you flinched, pulling away awkwardly, nearly knocking your sketchbook into the dirt in your clumsy retreat.

“I—um—yes, of course she is,” you stammered, fumbling with your words as you struggled to maintain your composure. “I-I mean, that’s not surprising, right? I—uh—she's my wife, after all…”

Isadora’s smile didn’t reach her eyes. “You’re quite the catch, Countel L/N,” she whispered, her hand ghosting over your arm now. “Someone as kind and charming as you… well, it’s no wonder she’s obsessed.” There was a sharpness to her words, a hidden bitterness that sent your heart racing in the wrong direction. You tried to step back slowly, awkwardly adjusting your sketchbook under your arm as you stood—nonchalant, you told yourself, just another casual movement. But as you turned, your foot caught on a loose cobblestone, sending you careening sideways into a nearby flowerbed, your arms flailing wildly to catch yourself.

You hit the ground with a soft thud, face flushed, flowers and dirt mingling with your robes. “Oh no! I’m fine!” you exclaimed, cheeks burning. You scrambled back to your feet, brushing off the petals and soil as Isadora chuckled softly, the sound laced with a mix of amusement and something darker.

“See?” Isadora leaned closer, a teasing lilt in her voice, “You really do need someone to catch you.” She reached out, her hand grasping your elbow, but you jerked away, panic rising as you tried to regain your composure.

“I really appreciate it, but I should go—like, um, really go tell Nia something! Important! Very important!” You stammered, your words tumbling over each other in your rush to escape. “I mean, it’s not that I don’t want to talk, but…” You stumbled over your own thoughts, the franticness of the situation sending you spiraling.

Isadora smirked, clearly enjoying your flustered state. “I think we’d make a lovely pair,” she persisted, her gaze piercing as you stumbled backward toward the palace, nearly tripping over your own feet again. “You don’t have to tell her everything, do you?”

You shook your head violently, feeling the weight of her words crashing down around you. “I-I really don’t think that’s a good idea! I mean, why would I—um, ah!” Your foot caught on the hem of your robe, and you tumbled forward, the world tilting precariously as you collided with a nearby garden bench, nearly tipping it over as you flailed to steady yourself.

“I’m—going to go—tell Nia!” you blurted out, the words tumbling from your lips in a rush as you managed to slip through the doors, leaving Isadora behind. Your breath hitched in your throat, and you wiped your sweaty palms on your robes, desperately trying to find Nia, trying to shake off the unsettling feelings that lingered from the encounter.

When you finally found Nia in your shared chambers, lounging gracefully on the edge of the bed, her expression softened at the sight of you. You could feel the tension leaving your body just by being in her presence. Her eyes lit up with curiosity as you approached—trying to steady your voice, trying not to make it seem like anything was wrong.

“What’s happened, darling?” she asked, her voice laced with concern as she noticed your hesitation.

You fumbled for words, wringing your hands together as you paced the room, trying to make sense of the mess in your head without alarming her. “I… um, I don’t want to make a big deal of this, but… Isadora, she…” You trailed off, feeling the weight of Nia’s gaze on you, and then took a deep breath, forcing yourself to say it. “She… tried to, um… make some sort of… move? On me?”

The room seemed to still. Nia’s playful expression froze, her eyes narrowing as she processed what you’d said. The air around her darkened, a possessive storm gathering behind her eyes. “What?” Her voice, though soft, carried an edge so sharp it sent a chill down your spine. “She what?”

You swallowed hard, regretting immediately that you hadn’t just told her straight away. But now, there was no going back. “I-I told her no, obviously,” you added quickly, feeling the weight of her possessive gaze on you, “but… I thought you should know.”

Nia rose from the bed, her movements graceful yet terrifying in their deliberation. The playful Queen was gone, replaced by something far more dangerous, far more protective. “Where is she now?” she asked, her voice cold, calculated.

Before you could answer, she was already calling for the guards, her voice ringing with fury. Within moments, Isadora was dragged into the room, her confident demeanor slipping as she was forced to her knees before the Queen. Nia’s eyes burned with possessive wrath as she stood over the trembling assistant.

“You thought you could lay a hand on my spouse?” Nia’s voice was deadly, her gaze unwavering as she stared down at Isadora. “You dared to think you could steal what is mine?”

Isadora stammered out a weak apology, but Nia wasn’t having any of it. “Your ambition blinds you,” she said, her voice low and sharp, like the edge of a blade. “You’ve miscalculated your position here.” Her gaze flickered toward you, filled with a mixture of concern and fierce protectiveness that sent shivers racing down your spine.

You stood frozen, caught in a whirlwind of emotions as you watched Isadora falter under Nia's intensity. “I—I didn’t mean to…” Isadora protested, her composure cracking as she looked up at Nia, desperation creeping into her voice. “I thought—I just thought…”

“Thought what?” Nia interrupted, her tone cutting through the air like ice. “That you could charm your way into my life? That you could take what belongs to me?” She stepped closer, looming over Isadora, who now cowered beneath the Queen’s wrath, her earlier confidence shattered.

The atmosphere in the room shifted, thick with tension, as you felt a mix of dread and relief. Dread for Isadora, whose ambition had led her to this moment, and relief because Nia was defending you, fiercely and unabashedly. But even as you felt that protective warmth from your wife, a small flicker of concern tugged at your heart.

“Nia, please—” you started, your voice hesitant as you approached her, wanting to defuse the situation. “I-It’s okay. I told her no. I didn’t want any of this—”

“Stay back, darling,” Nia interjected, her voice firm as she turned to you, eyes softening just a fraction as she glanced your way. “This is between me and her now.”

You watched, heart racing, as Nia’s expression hardened again. “You will not threaten my spouse again,” she declared, her voice unwavering. “Consider this your final warning. I’ll not allow anyone to come between us, Isadora. You may leave, but understand this: any further attempts, and you will regret it.”

Isadora’s eyes widened with fear, and she nodded rapidly, scrambling to her feet as she backed away. “I didn’t mean any harm! I was just—” But her words fell flat as Nia stepped forward, every inch of her commanding, fierce, and utterly in control.

“Leave,” Nia repeated, her tone leaving no room for argument. Isadora stumbled back out of the room, muttering half-hearted apologies, clearly shaken, her earlier confidence extinguished in the face of Nia’s wrath. The door slammed shut behind her, the echo reverberating through the silence that followed.

You turned back to Nia, who was now visibly shaking with the force of her emotions. The anger had left her, but the protective intensity remained, her eyes dark and swirling with unbridled feelings. “Are you alright?” she asked, her voice suddenly soft, the fierce Queen giving way to the concerned wife.

“I—I think so,” you replied, your heart still racing, a mix of exhilaration and anxiety coursing through you. “I didn’t expect that to happen.”

Nia stepped closer, wrapping her arms around you, her warmth enveloping you like a shield. “You have to understand,” she murmured against your hair, “I can’t allow anyone to come near you. You’re too precious to me.” Her fingers tangled in your hair, holding you tightly as if she were afraid you might slip away.

“I know,” you whispered, burying your face in her shoulder, feeling the comfort of her presence wash over you. “I just didn’t want you to get hurt. I didn’t mean to cause any trouble.”

Nia pulled back slightly, her gaze intense as she searched your eyes. “You’re never trouble, my love. You’re everything to me. I’ll protect you, always.” Her voice was low, fierce, filled with an earnestness that made your heart swell.

As she stepped back, her expression softened, and the playfulness returned to her gaze, but there was an underlying tension still lingering between you two. “But I won’t tolerate anyone trying to come between us again. Not even a whisper of it.” Her lips curved into a teasing smile, but the possessiveness in her eyes remained. “So, just promise me—if anyone else tries anything, you’ll tell me immediately. No more hiding.”

You nodded, feeling the weight of her gaze pressing down on you. “I promise,” you replied, your voice steady. “I won’t let anyone come between us. Especially not Isadora.” Oof, best not to cross Nia, that is for sure.

Nia smiled, satisfaction flickering across her features. “Good,” she said, pulling you back into her embrace, her warmth grounding you. “Now, let’s put this behind us, shall we?”

In that moment, surrounded by her fierce love, you knew that no matter the challenges that lay ahead, you would face them together. And in the heart of the storm, you felt an undeniable strength—a bond that was unbreakable, forged in the fires of love and loyalty.

[nervoussagittarius]

20191009 I Like Her

matt sturniolo x reader

summary: y/n shows matt a song that explains the way he's been feeling

warnings: none just fluff

"matt, have you ever listened to mac demarco? " you ask as you lay on his bed. there's been a comfortable silence between the two of you as you search for new music and matt sits at his desk playing around with his computer settings.

somehow you had come across one of your old playlists that focused primarily on the album "2" by mac demarco.

while he was one of your favorite artists growing up, you never got the chance to listen to his newer music. matt looked at you for a second and held up a finger signaling that he'd answer you shortly, after he finished changing his desktop files around.

matt was trying to play it cool. he had been having these weird feelings towards you for the past couple days. he didn't know how they developed or what they meant. what he did know is that he didn't want to come off strong or seem overly interested in you even though his mind was screaming at him to say how he's been feeling.

truth be told, he didn't really know how he felt. he had only known you for a couple of months and you started coming around the house more because you were close with nick. though, as time went on you formed a bond with matt that was comfortable and safe. matt was always able to tell when he started liking a girl, but it was harder to find the words to explain how he felt about you.

matt felt the need to keep any relationship between you two strictly platonic. you were nick's friend first, and while he didn't think nick would care he didn't want to lose the trust that he had built with his brother. he vowed to himself that nothing romantic could happen between you two, but as days went on that thought flew further to the back of his head.

"mac demarco," matt asks, he looked at you again. "is he the one who sings salad days'"

"yeah and he has a lot of other good music, but i just found his newest album and there's one hundred and ninety nine songs on it"

you pressed shuffle on the album. it was intriguing that a majority of the songs just had numbers for titles,and no vocals to them, just melodys.

"this song is '20200821 cowboy shit' its different" you said as you both laughed listening to the lyrics.

"it's definitely something" matt replied still not taking his eyes off of you. he admired the way your eyes sparkled as you flicked through the songs. he noticed how your lips turned up in a twinge of a smile when you heard a lyric you liked. he loved moments with you like this. he could sit here with you forever.

"y/n" matt said as the next song started playing. he was nervous to ask the next question. he wanted to know if you could put a name to the emotions he was feeling. you had always been better with this kind of stuff. you knew how to communicate how you felt, and you were always an open book with him. "do you think it's possible for us to like each other as more than friends? i don't really know how to explain it but i've been having these thoughts recently and i cant tell if they're just plationic"

you stared at him in shock of what he was saying. you've had feelings for matt for a few weeks now, but you didn't want to make things weird by saying something.

the words to '20191009 i like her' played in the background as you two just looked at each other. you kept replaying matts question in your head to think of the best way to answer, while matt was focused intently on the lyrics to the song to try to distract himself from the tension that had begun to rise in his room.

i'd give the world to her

as long as my heart's still beating

as long as she's next to me

as long as this love still fleeting

because i like her

matt thought you looked beautiful even though it felt like he could see the wheels turning in your head as you tried to answer his question.

listening to the lyrics, he felt this thought clear, and he knew in this moment that he couldn't say his feeling were just friendly anymore. sensing this, you made your way over to him. he looked at you warily, almost expecting you to yell at him and tell him that that he was crazy.

there was another beat of silence. "i like you y/n, a lot. i would do anything for you. will you please give me a chance?"

without second thought, you cupped his face in your hands and kissed the boy that you had quickly come to like.

could it be make believe?

am i just walking through a dream?

haven't felt this way in

such a long time, i do believe

that i like her

an: i've never written anything like this before so please tell me if you liked it or if you think i should change something. i'm always open to receiving feedback. i really appreciate you guys being here and if i could give each of you a forehead kiss i would