#like bro is in it for the long haul
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the only sign he was alive that we got from oliver on s7 finale day being him liking a buddie post was all of the information i needed actually
#like bro is in it for the long haul#thick and thin rain and shine up and down that motherfucker is GETTING BUDDIE CANON.#and the fact that hes being active rn?? offscreen break up iktr#obviously its not actually gonna be offscreen but i can dream#911 abc#oliver stark#im just gonna tag#anti bucktommy#anti tommy kinard#for reasons...
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hey girl have you seen that canon kentparse timeline post? I swear I saw it floating around but now I canât find it
this is the old guide we usually refer to but kvp90 did a recent version here:
#check please#kent parson#long rant in the tags about the line âkent visits samwell with (potentially) the cupâ#he did naught#shitty says âit's not like he showed up with the Calder under his arm or anythingâ in reference to his next line#which is âKent Parson is a humble broâ#so what shitty said is rhetorical#a hyperbole#we do not piss on the poor on this blog#and ANOTHER THING#players have their day with the cup in summer#it would be physically impossible for kent to bring the cup to samwell because he wouldnt have access to it#and also WHY WOULD HE#yes kent is a pathetic little dog (only rivalled by jack zimmermann) but i dont think kent is that needy for it that he would haul the CUP#all the way to SAMWELL#like#on a passenger plane?? what are the logistics here#hello???#can anyone hear me??#screaming into the void over here
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apple health motif saying âur activity changed over past 5 daysâ like yea NO SHIT glad u NOTICED - but iâm looking at it now & im truly realizing how far apart my classes are now considering i would average like 7k steps everyday đđ
#stream#like đđđ bro thatâs so much more than i thought ?#like i knew i was only getting like 4k last semester & itâs like yea#i literally walked to 1 building then across the street & now iâve had to walk to 1 building haul ass ANOTHER building & up 3 flights of#stairs - which honestly ok even after the building change it still was 3 flights of stairs - then to just walk to my car or twiddle my thumb#but then iâd walk BACK to THAT building & now iâm at ANOTHER building but truthfully itâs like the same distance#& then on my odd days (prev r even iykykiydyd) itâs to the 3 flights building direct but thatâs changed to the building next door and#still the same height though technically 1 flight thatâs long lol#then to HAUL ASS across campus AGAIN and then to mosey my way back to my car#bc i will 100% get lost like i canât be in a spherical shaped building i need corners or i will die#like the business school is so fuckign stupid shaped & theyâve so many colors it looks like a middle school đđ#like the liberal arts buildings are all the muted beige and khaki paired w age itâs very liminal#& i adore them - i mean everyone hates them bc itâs pathetic#but they also just cut funding to liberal arts ALSKALSKALKSALKSLAKALA#while giving the president a 100k pay raise#to 900k$/year & i want to strangle her
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person reading my blog voice: wow that guy has major main character syndrome
#bro you cant even begin to comprehend the labirynths my mind creates for me to justify....i dont know what#i shouldnt date (will hurt them) or have friends (will hurt them 2 electric boogaloo long haul version) or find people attractive (it will#hurt them)#and that unless im actively suffering the world is getting worse and that i have the ability to stop it if i just suffer#but if i suffer then it needs to be the worst pain i have ever felt or it doesnt count and im half assing it and it just hurts my family#and if i suffer then it hurts people who consider me their friend or family#so it needs to be done quietly#but doing it quietly is lying to them and they deserve better so really it would be better if i didnt have friends or family#i feel like a loaded bear trap. i feel like a tar pit thats frosted over and theyre walking on it and theyre so sure theyre safe#spoken
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nsfw curly headcanons
whaddup mouthwash nation i don't normally make posts but i was sick in bed thinking abt curly all day n i got inspired by other ppl's hc posts on here âșïž so im throwing my hat in the pile.. these are kinda disorganized but the first part is curly x long-distance reader (reader doesn't work on the tulpar), second half is more general stuff.
this post features; afab reader, cunnilingus, masturbation, various other things
when he's single it's pretty easy to get in his pants but it's embarrassingly easy for him to catch feelings for ppl he sleeps w. nd once that happens it's OVER he can't even Look at anybody else bro he is Dedicated
during hauls when he can't be with u it's rlly hard for him to get u out of his mind, esp when he's working bc there's no immediate outlet .. under normal circumstances he doesn't rlly masturbate that often, but when hes away from u it's a lot more common^^; just whenever he can get some privacy alone tbh. he prob does smth rlly lame like look at a picture of u while he does it LMFAOOOOAOA
he gets rlly pent up in the week or so before he gets home especially... once he finally gets home to u he can keep himself in check in public + around others, but once u two are alone at home he's all over u for basically the rest of the night DJFKG hope u dont have work the next day
100% service top no question. nothing turns him on more than your pleasure. he's fine w piv sex if that's what u want but honestly i think he rlly prefers to give oral/handjobs/etc. he'll make sure u cum at Least once before he gets any, especially!! when he's just got back from a haul. he likes to put off his own satisfaction as long as possible bc he tends to fall asleep after he cums but he doesnt want the night to end so quickly^^;
after hes finished getting u off he likes to hold u for awhile while u calm down.. n then he'll let u do whatever u like to him^^ i think he likes when u touch him the most, but really as long as you're enjoying it he's not too picky abt how u get him off
honestly he prob cums pretty fast bc he stays turned on for so long w/o stimulation, but he likes it when u edge him a little bit (not too much tho!)
i honestly don't think he's that much of a talker, esp while receiving. he gets too into it to form coherent words. u can try dirty talking him but u won't get much more than an enthusiastic nod or a whispered "yes" .. oh but he does love saying yes to you::3
THIS MAN WHIMPERS BTW. esp if u pull his hair while he's eating u out, it drives him crazyđ
very much an oral fixation kinda guy, he likes putting your fingers in his mouth, kissing, biting, licking, marking, anywhere he can get to but mainly ur neck/chest
SAYS I LOVE YOU DURING SEX IDCâŒïž he melts if u say it too..
reaaaally really likes it when u take charge n tell him what to do, he'll follow ur every word
also into body worship, both receiving and giving. he works hard on his physique! tell him he's beautiful!! (he also thinks your body is perfect and will appreciate it at any opportunity ofc)
he is addictedddd to your voice n it's a big reason why he's so into pleasing you over himself, he lives to hear you whimper n gasp and moan for him. doesn't matter if ur loud or quiet, he loves ur voice bc it's yours
he also really likes to watch your expressions to see how he's doing, and because he thinks you look beautiful writhing under him, but!!!! he'd understand if u were a shy type who gets embarrassed easily, n he'd hide his face in ur neck or vice versa so he cant see u^^ he'd prob just verbally check on u a liiiiitle more often::3
#mouthwashing smut#mouthwashing x reader#captain curly x reader#curly x reader smut#curly mouthwashing#too embarrassed to put this in the main tag lolol but u can if u reblog â€ïžâđ©č#ive never posted before this is rly scary and im being so brave so pls be nice to me
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Man-Up Camp
With @gassydumbjocks
Just to make it clear, Joel had no problems with his son being gay. Tanner had grown up a decent young man, now almost 25 and working in the bioengineering field. But throughout his childhood and adolescence, Joel has fostered quite the effeminate son. It made no sense regarding Joel's background. Obsessed with sports, passionate about drinking beer, supporting his family through thick and thin. He was not conservative, but such a traditionally masculine man should not have reared the pinkest pony on the block.
Science and gender studies over business and sports management, Christina Aguilera over Garth Brooks. Heck, Joel had even been excited to have the talk with his son, but instead the discussion turned into Tanner explaining how bottoming worked! All Joel had wished for was a real man of a son, someone he could be proud of. So after hearing of a fantastical âMan-Up Campâ, Joel decided to send his son in. Tanner was almost past the point of young adulthood, so Joel did not want to waste any more time than necessary.
Everything happened fast after Joelâs payment had gone through. Tanner had exited the lab building for the night after a long day of research. Minding his own business and walking on the sidewalk while listening to the music, he had not even noticed when the camp's van suddenly pulled up beside him. Out hopped two burly men, and suddenly Tanner felt a sharp prickling in his neck followed by another in his side. Once out cold, the men were easily able to haul the twink into the van and head off to camp.
When Tanner eventually awoke, he was greeted by a taller lad with tanned skin, a beefy frame, and an already-noticeable obnoxious personality. The hunky man was only wearing some gym shorts, airing out his musk into the small, concrete room.Â
"WhaâŠwhatâs going on?â Tannerâs high voice squeaked, noticing he was tied up.Â
âWelcome to Man-Up Camp, bro!â
Within a momentâs notice, the jock approached and quickly shoved his victimâs head into one of the hairiest armpits Tanner had ever seen. After about 30 seconds, the jock released Tanner, revealing the twinkâs sweat and funky grime-covered face.
"Thought youâd like that, sissy boy,â the jock taunted, motioning to Tannerâs small, erect dick before leaning in with a:
BOOUUUURRRPPP!
"Ugh, god..." Tanner grumbled as he swallowed the nasty smoke. Before he could recover, the jock had already turned around, raising a leg before grunting.
PPPPPPPPPPRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRTTTT!
The putrid smell dove right for Tanner, penetrating into his skin as it was absorbed. This process of funk exposure would continue for a few hours. The jock would go back and forth between all different methods of emanating stench, a way of directing pure masculine DNA.
As Joel had read online, the unadulterated toxicity would erode away at the drugged client, contaminating until their being was soaked in what was deemed as âundeniably alphaâ. In the end, the trauma would restructure Tanner's memory to appropriate the results.
âââ
Nervously, Joel knocked on the door of his sonâs apartment. Tanner had returned from the Man-Up Camp two days ago, but the program had advised not to visit clients for at least 48 hours to help solidify the marination process. Now, Joel stood before his decision, wracked with excitement and guilt. He had not agreed with all the programâs promises, including the conversion, but his desperation for a manly son sat stronger. Joel just hoped he had not gone too far.
âIf it ainât my old man!â A booming voice greeted from the entryway. For the first time ever, Joel had to look up to make eye contact with his son. âI was just about to leave for a game with the boys, wanna come?â
Joel took in his new son. Gone was the short flamboyant nerd; what now stood before him was the epitome of masculine identity. Tanner was tall, muscular, and hairy. Just by peering into the apartment, it was clear his priorities had shifted. While once impeccably decorated, Tannerâs home was now filled with cheap generic furniture, discarded takeout leftovers, and dirty clothes scattered across the floor.
After being blasted by the funk wave that emanated from his new son, Joel agreed to join him. In response through burps, Tanner spelt out a âG-R-E-A-T B-R-OURP!â right into his fatherâs face.
Over the rest of their time together, Joel simply sat on the sidelines studying this new man. He could not help but take in every inch of Tanner's physical and mental testosterone. The camo baseball hat, the scruffy beard, the lightly-dusted pecs, the massive dong swinging freely in the workout shorts, the giant shoes clomping around the court. His interactions too, chest-bumping his bros when he scored a point and blasting the losers with smelly butt bombs. Tanner had become a dumber, grosser, obnoxious, bigoted version of himself: Joel could not have been more proud of his success.Â
âYo Pops!â Tanner shouted, adjusting himself freely. âYou ever gonna join us or you just gonna fag out over there?â
Joel laughed. This new rowdier, cockier Tanner was gonna take some time to get used to. Perhaps Joel would just have to man-up himself.
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in body and blood | h.s
pt. i, pt. ii
summary: over a century adrift in darkness, he found his sunânot in the dawn, but in the quiet fire of her love, a light fierce enough to bind even eternity.
cw: fem!reader, blood+blood drinking (bro is literally a vampire there's going to be blood) 1700s!harry, mentions of death
word count: approx 7.3k
I yall this excruciatingly long so i just figured it was better to split this into four parts. it starts off kinda slow i knowwww but i feel like it fits his character. anyway I hope u will like. mwah :* also YES his heart beats idk i took creative liberty in assuming the blood he drinks would give him some sort of circulation and YES i drew inspo from tvd i like their vamp lore the most ok bye
Fourth of November, 1701
The English flag thrashed wildly in the biting wind, its edges snapping above the clank of chains and the groan of wood as boats were fastened to the harbor. Hooves clattered against the cobblestone, mingling with the grumble of cart wheels as townsfolk hurried homeward, eager to escape the deepening chill of evening.
Winter crept in with an ill-fated air, a shadow over the town. The fishermenâs hauls dwindled to nearly nothing, their nets coming up bare. Squash and pumpkins, once abundant, softened and rotted on their vines before they could be harvested. Livestock, struck by a strange sickness, perished too soon, their spoiled meat no longer fit to eat. Lately the townsfolk scraped by on what little they could huntârabbits, mostlyâa meager fare that barely stretched to sustain a family for more than a few days.
YN stood at the end of the dock, the seaâs bitter wind pulling at her hair. A basket woven by her mother dangled from her arm, half-covered by a cloth beneath which a few herbs and stunted vegetables peeked through. She waited for Niall, a fisherman sheâd known since childhood, to come ashore. His face was grim, his knuckles pale as he secured his boat. âAny luck?â She asked over the wind, though she already knew the answer.
His mouth twisted into a scowl as he wiped his hands on his trousers and approached her. âLucks got nothinâ to do with it. sâthe new king, swear it. God turned his back on us âcause of him.â
She winced and swatted his arm lightly as they started toward the stone walls encircling the town. âDonât say such things, not out loud.â She kept her voice low, though she too had her doubts about the new ruler. âBest not to tempt fate with those words.â
He rolled his eyes and took the basket from her arm, letting it hang from his own so she could tuck her hands into her sleeves. âYou agree with such things. Sâpose God does as well from the lack of bloody fish.â
They passed under the worn stone archway marking the entrance to town, their footsteps echoing against the ancient stones. Dover was nestled between the English Channel and rolling green hills, hemmed in by rocky shores and the stark rise of the cliffs, standing watch like grim sentinels over the troubled little town.
As YN and Niall made their way up the winding path from the square, the quiet crept in around them, settling like a thin mist. The evening was thick and gray, heavy clouds stretching over Dover and flattening the light into a cool, uneasy dusk.
Each face they passed, they recognized. it was impossible not to, in a town so small. There was old mrs. Harris, hunched beneath a weathered shawl, who gave them a knowing nod as they went by, as if she alone were privy to the dayâs secrets. And mr. James, pulling his cart toward home, who offered a quick tip of his hat, but avoided meeting their eyes too long, as if a weight hung over all of them that no one cared to mention.
Niall, walking beside her, held his silence longer than usual, and there was a flicker of something unreadable in his eyes when he finally turned her way. âYouâre still makinâ that stew, yeah?â He hummed, nodding toward the basket swinging lightly in his hand. His tone was casual, almost lazy, yet she sensed something else beneath it, like he was testing the waters of a conversation he couldnât quite bring himself to start.
âMum has already started it,â YN replied, keeping her voice as light as his. âCabbage, onion, bit of thyme. barely a stew, more a broth.â She cast a sideways glance his way, catching the faintest hint of a smile pulling at his mouth.
âNo doubt youâll have your sister servinâ it, then?â He asked, as though it were an afterthought. âI hear she has a way of makinâ anything taste finer.â
YNâs lips twitched, a hint of humor flickering in her eyes. She knew well enough where this was going, but she didnât indulge him outright. âOh, she has her charms, but sheâs picky âbout who gets to see âem.â
He laughed quietly, a low sound that seemed to carry on the breeze, soft and uncertain. âShe's got the whole town near dreaminâ of her, from what I hear. never seen her eye stray toward anyone, though.â
YN glanced away, her gaze drifting over the clustered rooftops, the narrow chimneys stretching into the dimming sky like spindly fingers. âYouâd need more than a bowl of stew to catch her fancy, Niall. Youâd best hope for a rich merchant or a duke cominâ ashore.â
His chuckle died off, and for a few quiet moments, they simply walked, the soft scuff of their shoes blending with the distant murmur of the sea. Yet something hung between them, unspoken, like the faintest shadow shifting at the edges of their conversation.
It was Niall who broke the silence, his voice lower this time, his words careful. âHave you heard the talk? About the old watchtower?â
YNâs gaze drifted to the far side of town, where the dense stretch of forest gave way to a steep rise, the silhouette of the abandoned tower just barely visible through the trees. âFolk say all sorts of things,â She muttered, almost to herself. âBeen empty as long as I can remember.â
Niallâs eyes narrowed as he looked out toward the darkening line of trees, his jaw set. âEmpty, maybe, but someoneâs taken to hauntinâ it now. The lads swear theyâve seen a figure up there at night, just a shadow movinâ about, like heâs watchinâ the town from that high window.â
She felt a faint chill that wasnât from the cold, and she pulled her shawl tighter around her shoulders. âThey say a lot of things,â she repeated, her tone steady but soft. âCould be nothinâ but the wind playinâ with shadows.â
He tilted his head, the edge of a smirk softening his face. âAye, thatâs what I'd think, too. But seems each personâs got a different tale to tell. Some say heâs a protector, sent to keep us safe.â He shrugged, his gaze still fixed on the distant woods. âOthers say itâs somethinâ darkerâmaybe one of the kingâs men, sent to spy on anyone who dares breathe a word against him.â
YNâs lips parted, but she hesitated, the words hanging unspoken as her gaze lingered on the watchtower. Her grandmother had told her stories of that tower once, years ago, when she was still young enough to believe in the old tales without question. But sheâd since brushed them off as the ramblings of an old woman long passed. Now, though, the stories flickered back to her, sharp and vivid as theyâd once been.
âI heard some folk say itâs not a man at all,â She murmured, so quietly that her voice nearly vanished into the chill air. âGran said itâs a spiritâa demon.â she let out a breathy laugh, sending a glance his way. âYou believe my olâgran true?â
Niall made a sound, halfway between a scoff and a chuckle, though he didnât argue with her. âYou donât seem the sort to believe in demons,YN.â
She didnât answer him, and for a moment, they stood in the gathering dusk, looking out toward the distant, looming shape of the tower, as if something there had caught them both in its thrall. A strange, unsettling weight hung in the air, pressing down around them, and neither seemed willing to break it.
The faint toll of the chapel bell echoed across the town, marking the evening hour. The sound seemed hollow, almost mournful, as it resonated through the narrow streets, slipping into every crack and crevice, lingering like a warning in the growing dark.
The path wound through the clustered homes of their town, each one narrow and stacked close beside the other, the rooftops tilting like old friends leaning together to brace against the coming winter. Flickers of candlelight peeked through small, thick-paned windows, casting brief glows over doorsteps worn smooth by years of footsteps. Voices drifted out faintly as neighbors settled in for the night, the low buzz of comfort after a long dayâs labor.
As they neared her door, YN glanced sideways at Niall, a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. âWell, no use lettinâ the stew go to waste with just me. You might as well come in and help make somethinâ decent out of it. And,â she added, with a playful glint, âmy sister will be there, too. Might be the only chance you get to impress her.â
Niall feigned indifference, though she caught the hint of a flush in his cheeks beneath the dimming light. âWell, if itâs to spare you from that sorry excuse of a stew, I sâpose I could lend a hand,â he said with mock reluctance, yet his steps quickened as they approached the small wooden door.
Inside, the house was simple and small, with a low ceiling that sloped slightly, forcing even YN to duck beneath the beams as she led him in. A narrow hearth crackled with a weak but steady fire, casting warm shadows across the modest room, which served as both kitchen and living space. The scent of herbs, drying in bunches along the walls, mingled with the faint tang of smoke from the hearth. A single table stood in the center, its edges worn smooth, surrounded by a handful of mismatched stools and chairs, each one slightly wobbly but bearing the marks of care and countless meals.
âIs that you, YN?â Her motherâs voice came from the corner, where she was bent over a pot, stirring with steady, practiced hands. She looked up with a gentle smile, her face flushed from the warmth of the fire. âAnd Niall too! Just in time. I was about to send Arthur to fetch you, but heâs off fiddlinâ with somethinâ in the corner.â
Ten-year-old Arthur looked up at the mention of his name, a wide grin splitting his face when he spotted the blonde. âNiall!â He called, scrambling to his feet and darting over, a wooden sword in hand. âYouâll stay for supper, wonât you?â
He placed the basket next to the older woman before he tousled the boyâs hair, giving a wink to YN. âThat dependsâwill your sister cook, or will your ma have mercy on me?â
YN rolled her eyes as her mother chuckled, stirring the stew with a knowing look. âI'll make sure to keep it fit for eatinâ. Now, why donât you both make yourselves useful and set the table?â
âYes, maâam,â Niall replied with a quick bow, flashing his best charming smile, though his eyes lingered on the slender figure by the fire.
YNâs older sister, Ella, sat with her needlework in hand, her fingers nimble as she embroidered a delicate pattern into the edge of a linen cloth. She looked up as Niall approached, offering him a nod and a faint, polite smile, though a flicker of amusement danced in her eyes.
âElla,â Niall greeted, taking the opportunity to lean a bit too casually against the edge of the table. âNow thereâs a sight finer than any supper, if I may say.â
âOh, you may say.â Ella sighed, her tone as mild as her smile. âBut sayinâ doesnât make it so, does it?â Her eyes sparkled with a touch of mischief, and she kept her gaze on her stitching as if he hadnât said a word.
YN snorted, reaching past Niall to set the bowls on the table. âSheâll need more than empty flattery to be wooed, Niall. Youâll be talkinâ all night before she so much as bats an eye.â
âEmpty flattery?â he echoed, feigning shock as he helped with the cups, placing them with exaggerated care. âThis is pure honesty, YN. Your sisterâs a vision, though I'm not sure she sees it herself.â
Ella finally looked up, one eyebrow arched. âPerhaps thatâs âcause itâs hard to see with all the bluster in here. Is it flattery or just another of your tales, Ni?â
Arthur laughed as he climbed onto his chair, his wooden sword clattering to the floor. âTell a tale, Niall!â He urged, his eyes bright.
He obliged with a grand sweep of his arm. âAh, tales are easy to tell when the companyâs fine.â His gaze drifted meaningfully to Ella, who only smirked, clearly unbothered.
âEnough of your foolishness, Horan.â YNâs mother cut in, though her tone was warm as she dished the stew into the bowls. âThere'll be time for tales when your stomachâs full. Now, all of youâsit, before this stew turns cold.â
They settled around the table, the simple meal set before them steaming in the flickering firelight. YN ladled out servings, keeping her own expression solemn as she dished out the rather grayish stew. Niall took a tentative sip, raising his brows in mock surprise.
âWell, I'll be,â he declared, setting his bowl down as if astonished. âTastes just like stew!â
YN kicked him under the table, rolling her eyes. âDonât sound so shocked, else weâll make you eat the scraps.â
Ella, watching them from across the table, hid a smile behind her hand. âIt's better than you deserve,â she teased, offering Niall a faintly teasing look that sent Arthur into a fit of giggles.
As they settled into their meal, the conversation turned to the familiar rhythms of the dayâthe fish hauls, the scarcities at the market, the latest mischief Arthur had managed, and the townsfolk theyâd seen along the way. Laughter bubbled up around the table, filling the small room with warmth as the stew slowly disappeared, their bowls clinking softly with each spoonful.
It wasn't until theyâd nearly finished eating that YNâs motherâs voice turned low, a faint shadow crossing her face as she glanced at arthur. âArthur,â she said gently, âI don't want to hear any more of you playinâ outside the town walls.â
The boy frowned, his spoon paused halfway to his mouth. âBut ma, Iâm careful,â he protested, glancing between her and YN as if hoping for support.
âShe's right,â Ella added, her voice calm but firm. âThe woods arenât safe, especially with winter cominâ on.â
He looked to Niall, his face a mask of confusion and a bit of defiance. âNiall plays near the woods, donât you?â
He shifted in his seat, his smile fading just slightly as he glanced at YN. âAye, lad, but itâs different. I'm older, and I keep my wits about me. Besides,â he added lightly, though his voice held a trace of something darker, âthereâs been talk of someone wanderinâ near the old watchtower.â
YNâs mother sighed, folding her hands on the table. âToo much talk.â She said quietly, her gaze drifting toward the narrow window. âI donât care if sâonly lore, youâll be safe rather than sorry.â
A hush fell over the table, and Arthur's wide eyes darted from face to face. âWho is it, then?â He whispered, his voice trembling slightly. âA man?â
Ella reached over to ruffle his hair, her voice soft. âNo one knows. could be a man, could be no more than shadows. But some say itâs best not to linger too close to it, just in case.â
Niall, watching Arthur's reaction, leaned in with a grin. âThere now, itâs probably nothinâ more than a lonely olâ fox. But best stick close to home, eh? Canât have you disappearinâ on us.â
YN tried to keep her voice light as she chimed in, though she felt the faintest prickling unease beneath the laughter. âYou heard him, Arthur. best keep to the town, else you might end up a story yourself.â
The boyâs eyes grew even wider, and he gulped, glancing nervously toward the window as if expecting to see the mysterious figure standing just beyond. He fidgeted, his hand reaching instinctively for his wooden sword on the floor beside him.
With a faint, tired sigh, YNâs mother rose and began clearing the table, signaling the end of the meal. The warm glow of the evening seemed to have dimmed, and even Niallâs usual cheer was muted as he helped gather the bowls, his gaze drifting back to the light flickering along the walls.
Outside, the wind picked up, brushing against the windows and rattling the latch ever so slightly, a whisper against the warmth of the firelight. The small house was silent for a long moment, each of them lost in thought, each glancing occasionally toward the dark window where the night gathered, close and watchful.
Morning seeped slowly into Dover, pale and cool, bringing with it the damp scent of the sea and the faint call of gulls overhead. YN was awake early, as was her habit, slipping quietly out of bed while the house still lingered in the soft dimness of dawn. The fire in the hearth had died to embers, and a chill clung to the air, but she moved quickly, tucking a shawl around her shoulders as she crossed the small room.
Arthur, already up and dressed, was tugging at the latch on the back door, eager to start his morning chores. He looked back when he heard her steps, his face lighting up with a grin. âThought youâd sleep through it, lazybones.â He teased, though his eyes sparkled with mischief.
She snorted softly, pinching his cheek as she passed him. âCheeky lad,â she muttered. âCome on, then. Let's get to it.â
They stepped out into the brisk morning, their breath puffing in the cold, and began making their way down the narrow stone path that wound through the small patch of yard behind their home. Frost clung to the grass, glinting in the pale light, and the chickens shuffled restlessly in their pen as Arthur went to check on them.
âCareful now.âÂ
He bent down next to them to scatter their feed. The hens fluffed their feathers, clucking contentedly as they pecked at the ground, and Arthur kept one eye on the rooster, who strutted about with his chest puffed, keeping watch over his domain.
âLook at him,â he whispered, stifling a laugh as he threw a handful of seed. âThinks heâs king of all creation, that one.â
She grinned, crouching beside him. âWell, heâs a rooster. not much else to do but look important, is there?â
The boy giggled, tossing a bit of feed toward the rooster, who eyed him warily before puffing up even further. YN kept watch as he finished the feeding, carefully securing the penâs latch when he was done.
They moved on to check the small patch of herbs and vegetables that clung to life in the early cold, though the frost had already done its damage. The leaves hung limp and dark, and YNÂ frowned, brushing a thin layer of frost from a withered cabbage leaf.
âSânot lookinâ good, is it?â Arthur said, his voice dropping to a murmur as he followed her gaze.
âNo,â she replied softly, her fingers brushing over the leaves. âBut weâll manage. Always do.â
He gave her a solemn nod, but she could see the worry in his eyes, the way he seemed to glance toward the woods, as if he might glimpse the shadowed figure their mother had warned him about the night before. She reached over and squeezed his shoulder, offering a smile.
âNo need for lookinâ so glum, Arthur,â she said, keeping her tone light. âWe've plenty to keep us busy, and I'll wager youâll see that rooster crowned king before anything happens to us.â
He managed a faint smile, his spirits lifting just enough to reassure her. They finished up quickly, making their way back inside, where the warmth of the house greeted them. YN set about preparing a quick meal for Arthur and her mother, who was just beginning to stir, her tired eyes softening at the sight of her children.
Once breakfast was sorted, YN returned to her small room to ready herself for the day. She tugged off her worn nightdress, slipping into the fresh linen undergarments sheâd set aside, and carefully pulled on a plain woolen dress that hung neatly from a peg beside her bed. It was a simple dress, but a neat one, its modest collar and long sleeves making it suitable for the chilly weather. she straightened the fabric, adjusting the waist so that it lay just right, and wrapped her shawl back over her shoulders, pinning it at the front with an old, weathered brooch that had once belonged to her grandmother.
She caught her reflection in the small, scratched mirror by the windowâa young woman with steady eyes and a hint of determination in her gaze, her hair braided behind her, a few strands slipping free to frame her face. After a moment, she tucked a few stray wisps behind her ear and gave herself a brisk nod, turning to head out.
The streets were beginning to stir as she made her way down to the docks, the early morning light casting a soft, muted glow over the cobblestone. A few shopkeepers were already sweeping their doorsteps, preparing for the dayâs trade, and a handful of townsfolk passed by, nodding their greetings as she walked.
When she reached the docks, she found Niall already there, standing by his boat, his hands working quickly to secure the ropes. His coat hung loose over his shoulders, and his hair was tousled from the morning breeze, but there was a contented look in his eyes as he glanced up and saw her approach.
âWell, if it isnât the queen of the cabbage patch,â he greeted her, a grin breaking across his face. âCome to see if I've hauled in a kingâs feast for ye?â
YN rolled her eyes, crossing her arms as she stopped a few feet away from him. âI wouldn't go that far. but I'll settle for a decent fish, if youâve managed one.â
He laughed, giving the rope a final tug before stepping back, wiping his hands on his trousers. âOh, a decent fish, she says. Well, lucky for you, I've got just that.â He reached into a small wooden crate and held up a plump haddock, its scales glinting in the early light. âNot a kingâs ransom, but itâll do for stew, wonât it?â
She eyed the fish, unable to suppress a smile. âAye, itâll do. Might even save us from havinâ to wrangle another cabbage.â
Niall chuckled, tucking the fish back into the crate. âCouldnât have that, now, could we? Iâm doinâ my part to keep your cookinâ passable.â
âPassable?â She laughed, nudging him lightly as she stepped up beside him to peer into the crate. âYouâre just glad to have an excuse to come round, steal our bread, and charm my sister.â
He gave her a mock-offended look, though his eyes glinted with humor. âNow, thatâs hurtful, YN. I'm here for the food and the fine company, naturally. If your sister happens to be nearby, well, thatâs not my fault, is it?â
She rolled her eyes, unable to help the small laugh that escaped. âPoor Ellaâll need more than a fish to be impressed. Best not get your hopes up too high.â
âAye, sheâs a hard one to please,â he admitted, a faint, wistful smile crossing his face. âBut I'll manage somehow. or at least, I'll keep tryinâ.â
They both fell silent, their gazes drifting out over the water, where a thin mist clung to the surface, casting an eerie calm over the harbor. The other boats rocked gently in the quiet, and the gulls called out above them, their cries echoing faintly across the empty stretch of sea. Together they turned back toward the town, the mist curling softly around them as they walked, side by side, in the quiet of the morning.
The midday lull brought a hush over the town, as folk took their brief respite between the dayâs labors. The soft light of afternoon slipped over the rooftops, and YN found herself winding her way down one of the quieter streets toward Mauraâs, a modest little cottage that doubled as the gathering place for the women in town. Here, around a crowded table of mismatched cups and chipped saucers, town gossip simmered as steadily as the tea.
Maura's door was open, the sound of voices spilling out into the cobbled lane, and YN slipped in quietly, greeting the women with a polite nod before finding a seat near the end of the table. The familiar faces of neighbors turned to greet herâMaura herself, with her cheeks flushed from the warmth of the kitchen, mrs. Harris with her ever-watchful eyes, and a handful of others who paused only long enough to give YN a quick nod before returning to the subject that had clearly held their interest long before she arrived.
âI'm tellinâ you,â mrs. Harris was saying, her voice low and edged with certainty. âThere's somethinâ in that tower. maybe itâs a spy, maybe itâs worse.â
Maura scoffed, shaking her head. âIf it were a spy, weâd know by now, wouldnât we? why bother lurkinâ about if thereâs nothinâ worth seeinâ here?â
âThereâs plenty to see, Maura,â the older woman sighed, leaning forward, her teacup nearly sloshing over the rim as she gestured toward the window. âWhoâs to say he hasnât been watchinâ us all along, takinâ note of whoâs loyal to the new king and whoâs not?â
Maura snorted, but one of the other women, Anna, leaned in, her voice barely a whisper. âor worseâwhat if itâs no man at all?â Her gaze darted to the others, her eyes wide with a kind of fearful excitement. âThere are tales, you know. Of things that wander the woods. Spirits that linger in dark places, things that only come out when the days grow short.â
Mrs. Harris crossed herself, nodding solemnly. âAye. folk say itâs a night creatureâa demon, even.â
YN listened quietly, her fingers tracing the rim of her teacup, but she held back a smile. as the women exchanged anxious looks, she leaned back, sipping her tea, the warmth of it calming her nerves. To her, the stories felt like little more than old wivesâ talesâa way for folk to pass the time when the days grew cold and bleak. A lonely man, perhaps, whoâd taken to the tower for solitude, a soul with nowhere else to go. Nothing so sinister as the women here believed.
âYou've a skeptical look about you, dearâ Maura said, catching her eye with a wry smile. âDonât tell me youâd walk up to that tower yourself, would you?â
She met her gaze calmly, setting her cup down. âI'd sooner believe itâs a wanderer, Maura. Maybe one who wants peace more than anything else. Donât see why we should fear him.â
âPeace, or no peace, heâs still up there, watchinâ us all.â
YN didnât reply, only nodded politely as the conversation swirled on, the voices around her swelling in speculation and rumor. After a while, she quietly rose, setting her cup aside and offering Maura a grateful nod before slipping out the door and into the fresh air.
The chatter of the women faded behind her, and she took a deep breath, the cool air filling her lungs and clearing her thoughts. She knew she was unlikely to shake their unease or convince them of her view, but as she thought of the lonely figure up in the tower, something tugged at herâa kind of curiosity that gnawed gently at the back of her mind.
Without a second thought, she made her way home, moving quickly and quietly, her mind already set. She slipped through the door, pausing only to grab her small woven basket from its hook. Her mother glanced up, but YN offered her a calm smile, murmuring something vague about a quick errand before supper.
IN the small corner of their kitchen where they kept their stores, she selected a handful of berries from the last of their foraging, a few slightly bruised carrots, and a small bunch of herbs tied with a thin scrap of cloth. Modest offerings, but enough, she hoped, to serve as a token of peace, a sign that she meant no harm.
She took a deep breath and headed toward the edge of town, her footsteps light as she made her way past the familiar lanes and toward the narrow path that led up to the old watchtower.
The path leading to the watchtower was narrow, winding its way up the hillside in gentle, uneven curves. YN had walked these woods many times before, though never with the purpose she had now. Above her, the sky was beginning to darken, clouds gathering in ominous clumps, casting long shadows across the land as the sun slipped lower.
Her heart thudded in her chest, not from fear, but from a strange mixture of curiosity and anticipation. The stories sheâd heard that morning lingered in her mind like faint echoes, each warning a small reminder of the mystery ahead. But she felt something else tooâa quiet resolve, an odd certainty that she had to see this figure, whoever he might be, with her own eyes.
The watchtower loomed before her, its crumbling stone walls climbing into the sky, weather-worn and scarred by time. She could see now why the townsfolk feared it; it looked like a relic from another era, half-hidden by the dense growth of ivy and the creeping fog that clung to the base of its walls. It was silent here, too silent, as if even the birds dared not sing in the shadow of the old tower.
Steeling herself, she moved forward, her footsteps muffled by the damp earth. The closer she got, the more the watchtowerâs age showed itself in cracked stones and vines, a darkness that seemed to pool between the stones, deepening the gray of the twilight. At the base of the tower, a narrow door sat slightly ajar, barely wide enough for her to slip through. She paused there, glancing up, feeling an odd twinge of nervousness as her gaze drifted to the upper windows, dark and empty.
Drawing a deep breath, she pushed the door open, stepping into the dim interior.
The inside of the tower was colder, the air thick and still. Faint light seeped through cracks in the walls, just enough to reveal the sparse furnishingsâa wooden table, books, a chair beside the hearth, long since gone cold. Dust motes hung in the air, catching the dim light like fragments of stars, and a faint, earthy smell lingered in the space, as though the room hadnât seen another soul in years.
Yet something else lingered too, something that made the hair on the back of her neck prickleâa sense that she wasnât alone.
A figure stepped forward from behind a wall, emerging so quietly she almost missed it. He was tall, with dark curls that tumbled around his face, shadows clinging to his features as though he belonged to the darkness itself. His eyes met hers, a piercing green that seemed to hold an entire centuryâs worth of secrets, and for a brief, unsettling moment, she felt as though he could see straight through her.
âWhat brings you here?â His voice was low, quiet, each word clipped and precise, yet holding a softness that surprised her.
YN swallowed, her hand instinctively tightening around the basket she held. âIâI thought you might be hungry,â she stammered, offering the basket forward with a hesitant smile. âFolk talk of you up here, you know. Thought it might be nice to see if you wanted some company.â
He raised a brow, a faint trace of amusement softening his gaze. He didnât reach for the basket, but instead continued to watch her, as though trying to make sense of why she would come here, alone, to his solitary refuge.
Didnât seem exactly the safest thing.
âPeople rarely visit me,â he said finally, his voice barely more than a murmur, as though he were speaking more to himself than to her. âEspecially not with offerings.â
âWell, itâs no great feast,â she laughed breathilyânervous, setting the basket down on the table. âBut itâs enough for a quiet meal.â
He looked down at the basket, his expression unreadable. The shadows seemed to deepen around him, and for a brief moment, she wondered if he would turn her away. But then his gaze shifted back to her, gentle, as though something in her gesture had reached him in a way she couldnât quite understand.
âI donât need much,â he breathed, finally stepping closer, his movements careful, almost tentative. âBut thank you.â
The silence stretched between them as Harryâs eyes lingered on her, his regard tracing every movement of her face, the subtle rise and fall of her shoulders, the way her lips pressed together as if searching for words. He could feel itâher pulse thrumming in her neck, the warmth radiating from her skin, the soft, steady rhythm of blood rushing through her veins. It was maddening. The sound alone clawed at the quiet corners of his mind, stirring that old, cursed hunger heâd worked so hard to bury.
But he couldnât let her see that. Couldnât let even a flicker of it touch his face.
With a composed nod, he turned his attention to the basket, using the small action to steady himself, to pull his focus away from her and fix it on the modest offering sheâd brought. Herbs and roots, earthy and clean, none of it touched by blood. He forced his breath to steady, aware of her watchful eyes on him as he sorted through the items, careful to keep his hands stable.
âAre you here⊠often?â She asked softly, breaking the silence in a voice that felt almost hesitant, as though unsure whether it was allowed. Her gaze darted around the room, taking in the sparse surroundings, the thick shadows that crept into every corner.
Harry let his fingers linger on a sprig of thyme, keeping his voice level as he answered. âYes,â he confided simply, his tone giving nothing away. âI find it⊠peaceful.â
âPeaceful,â she echoed, a faint smile touching her lips as she looked back at him. âIt doesnât frighten you, being all alone up here?â
He allowed himself the smallest of smilesâhimâfrightened? How sweetly ironic. âSometimes solitude is easier than the alternative.â
She studied him, and he could feel the weight of her eyes, searching for something beneath his answer. Her heartbeat quickened just a bit, a small, steady thump that seemed to reach straight through him, its warmth coiling like a spark inside his chest. He could almost taste itâthe sweet, heady pull of her pulse.
But he forced the thought down, burying it beneath years of restraint. Instead, he tilted his head slightly, redirecting the focus onto her. âAnd what about you?â he asked, his tone soft but steady. âDoesnât it frighten you to come all this way, alone?â
She gave a small laugh, shrugging one shoulder. âMaybe it should. But I suppose I donât scare easily.â She paused, her gaze slipping to the narrow window where the trees outside swayed gently in the wind. âItâs quiet here, almost like a different world. Sometimes it feels like our town is shrinking, like itâs closing in. Out here, itâsâitâs freer.â
Harryâs gaze softened, though he said nothing. There was something in her words he understood, something that echoed faintly in his own memories of why heâd chosen this placeâthis forgotten, lonely towerâto escape. A life he could no longer live, a curse he couldnât risk unleashing.
She looked back at him, curiosity bright in her eyes. âPeople say youâve been here a long timeâI mean, they say the towerâs been abandoned forever. But you donât seemâŠâ She trailed off, biting her lip as though she didnât quite know how to finish.
âDonât seem what?â he asked, his voice low, inviting her to continue.
She waited, and he watched her carotid flicker in her throat as she searched for her words. âYou donât seem like someone who belongs in a place like this,â she murmured. âLike youâve got more in you thanâthan just seclusion.â
He felt a tug deep in his chest at her words, something he hadnât felt in a long, long timeâa faint longing, a half-forgotten ache for a life heâd once dreamed of. But that life was gone. Heâd buried it the night heâd been turned, when the world as he knew it had collapsed into a semblance of hell.
âItâs strange,â he replied carefully, his eyes drifting toward the flickering shadows on the wall. The hunger gnawed at him, unrelenting, every second reminding him of how close he was to her. She was standing barely a foot away, her warmth filling the small space, her heartbeat a steady, maddening drumbeat that drew him closer, closerâŠ
He straightened slightly, pulling himself back. âSolitude,â he said quietly, almost as if reminding himself, âsometimes feels simpler.â
She nodded slowly, but her eyes stayed on him, and he could see the spark of curiosity still there, unquenched. She was brave, this girl. Far braver than most. And something about that braveryâthe quiet way she stood her ground in the face of shadows and rumors, in the presence of a strangerâintrigued him. She wasnât running away. And a part of him, despite everything, wanted her to stay.
âThank you,â he mumbledâalmost a dismissal, gesturing to the basket, his voice softened with a touch of genuine gratitude. âNot many would bring gifts to a stranger. Especially not one so isolated.â
She smiled, her cheeks flushing faintly in the dim light. âWell, maybe Iâll bring something better next time,â she replied with a small laugh. âIf youâd want that.â
He paused, her words lingering in the air between them. Next time. It felt dangerous, allowing the thought of it, letting her return. But as she looked at him, her smile warm and unguarded, he found himself nodding almost without thinking.
âYes,â he murmured. âIâd like that.â
But even as he spoke, he felt the old thirst stir beneath his words, a dark reminder that she was flesh and blood, and he was anything but.
Harry watched her retreating figure until the last of her shadow disappeared down the winding path. The silence settled thick around him once more, yet it felt different now, charged with the lingering warmth of her presence. The faint echo of her heartbeat still pulsed in his mind, like a phantom drum that refused to fade. He drew in a slow, deliberate breath, pushing down the hunger that had clawed so violently to the surface, fighting a void that had nearly overpowered him the entire time sheâd stood there.
He had always been a weak man for the living.
Turning back into the tower, he closed the door and leaned against it, his hand flexing as he grappled with that old, familiar agony, the ache that thrummed through his veins whenever he was near a human. After all these years, after countless nights spent mastering his restraint, he still struggled. The curse was unrelentingâan obstinate thirst that he could never truly silence, only suppress.
Memories rose in him unbidden, dark and sharp, clawing their way out of the places he kept them buried. He could still recall the crisp air of that autumn night in 1601, back when he was alive, when heâd believed his life was bound for something beautiful. Heâd been a poet then, a young man enamored with language, eager to make something of himself. Heâd had dreams of attending university, of pursuing a life dedicated to literature and ideas, a life where he could spend his days wrapped in thought and art.
But all of that had been shattered in a single night. He had been walking back from a small tavern in London, tipsy and laughing, still reciting lines of poetry in his head, the night air filling him with a light, exhilarating hope. He remembered it so clearlyâthe dimly lit street, the damp chill creeping into his coat, the rough hand that had seized him by the throat and dragged him into an alley. Heâd thought it was a robber at first, maybe a cutthroat from the docks looking for a quick coin.
But then heâd seen his attackerâs face.
The manâs eyes were inhuman, glinting with a feral hunger, and his skin was pale, almost translucent in the moonlight. Harry had fought, struggling against the impossible strength of those arms, but it had been useless. The man had pinned him down with a brutal ease, baring his teethâa flash of something razor-sharp, malevolentâbefore sinking them deep into Harryâs throat. The pain had been excruciating, and then everything had gone dark, his life draining away into a cold, endless void.
He hadnât known what had happened to him for days afterward. Heâd awoken alone, hidden in the dark recesses of a forgotten basement, his body shuddering with an unholy thirst that tore through him like wildfire. The transformation had left him a half-mad, hollow shell, consumed by an insatiable need he didnât understand. Heâd stumbled through the streets, eyes wild, hunting without even knowing what he was hunting for. And when heâd finally cornered a man in the dead of night, tearing into his throat with a frenzy he could barely comprehend, heâd learned what he had become.
The first months were a blur of blood and horror, a nightmare he hadnât known how to escape. He had been controlled by an ache, a greedâenslaved by it, a wretched creature lost to bloodlust. Heâd fought it as best he could, but each time he tried to resist, the thirst only grew stronger, until he was reduced to a brutal, savage need that erased everything else.
It had been a year later, in 1602, when he encountered another vampire. His name was Thomas, a wily, unrepentant creature who fed freely and without remorse. Thomas had found Harry alone and ravenous, nearly mad from weeks of starvation in an attempt to restrain himself. Heâd taken Harry under his wing, teaching him how to survive in this new, cursed life, how to hunt, how to kill cleanly. But while Harry had been grateful for the guidance, he quickly saw that Thomas reveled in the whispers of the devil, that he viewed humanity as little more than prey. He was malignant.Â
His own heart was too soft for such cruelty. Heâd hated the feel of human flesh beneath his hands, the way his victimsâ eyes widened in terror as he held them down, the way their life drained away in his grasp. He hadnât wanted this life. But the need was too powerful, too all-consuming, and he had been too weak to fight it.
And then, in 1643, came the night that shattered him completely.
Her name had been Beatriceâa young woman from Manchester, one of the few souls whoâd looked past his oddity, his quiet reserve, and seen something in him worth knowing. Sheâd been kind, curious, always showing up at his door with a warm smile, her laughter lighting up his otherwise bleak existence. For months, sheâd been a balm to him, her presence a brief reprieve from the loneliness that gnawed at him. Heâd been so careful around her, so painfully restrained, never allowing himself to get too close. But one night, after days of starvation, he had faltered. Sheâd come to visit him, concern etched on her face, her hand reaching out to touch his cheek.
And in that moment, heâd lost himself.
The memory of that night was burned into him like a scar, the scent of her blood, the warmth of it cascading from his lips and developing him wholeâ the sound of her heart slowing as he drank from herâall of it haunted him, even now, decades later. He had tried to pull away, tried to stop himself, but the hunger had overpowered him, consuming her life, taking everything she had. When he finally came to his senses, she lay cold and pale in his arms, her eyes staring up at him, empty and accusing.
After that, heâd fled, haunted by the horror of what heâd done, determined never to let it happen again. Heâd hidden himself away in this tower, learning to feed from the animals that roamed the forest, forcing himself to endure the hunger rather than inflict his curse on another innocent soul. He would never again allow himself to feel that agony, that terrible loss.
And yet tonight, with her presence in his small, empty world, something had stirred in him, a strange, aching reminder of what it meant to be human, to crave connection, companionship. It was dangerous, foolish to even entertain such thoughts, yet he couldnât deny the faint spark she had left behind.
He closed his eyes, forcing himself to breathe slowly, steadying the wild, restless energy that surged in him. She couldnât come back. He couldnât risk it. He would have to find a way to make her think the tower was haunted, or evilâsomething to scare her off for good. Because he knew himself, knew that he was a creature of hunger, bound to a curse he couldnât escape.
And if she returnedâhe wasnât sure how long he could resist.
#harry styles#harry styles blurb#harry styles fanfiction#harry styles imagine#harry styles one shot#harry styles writing#harry styles x reader#harry edward styles#harry styles concept#harry styles au#vampire!harry#vamprry#kinktober#harry styles series#harry styles fanfic#harry styles drabble#harry styles x you#niall horan
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Monster!König when his pet started bleeding out of nowhere! And alot! What the hell. (She got her period and is nearly fainting because of the fatigue and cramps)
And when vet says it's normal, Bros just standing there, in front of her, staring, how is this normal!?. (While she is just rolling on the ground because of the cramps)
Konig isn't afraid of many things. You could be losing clutches of eggs after clutches, he wouldn't really care. You could be cursing him out of his existence and try to kill him - he would just straddle you with his tentacles and put your nasty mouth(and other holes too) to good use. But when you just woke up one day, snuggled close to him in the nest(not because he likes to have you here, definitely not like that, he just needs something warm for his tentacles to cling onto) and you are bleeding all over...he actually thinks you're dying. The thing is - every time you're bearing eggs, your body is being tricked into thinking you're pregnant. With the usual hormonal disbalance, lactation, and weird cravings - your periods are obviously stopping. Even you were surprised when, just after Konig left you without his eggs for a while, you started bleeding again - so he hauls you in his hands and forces you into the human vet office. And the vet is not pleased. Not at all. Because when the colonel is panicking, they are expecting you to come over to the office without a head - not with obvious signs of menstruation. You tried to tell your impossible monster husband that it's normal but, of course, he wouldn't listen. Vet sends you two back with a pack for menstruation - pads, sweets, even pills for your cramps because Konig won't settle for the problem that can't be cured with a few pills. You know this situation when cramps are terrible, but you also want to see just how long you would last without pills? Yeah, with monster!Konig, it's literally impossible. He can sense the tiniest bits of discomfort and will get you pills immediately, finally putting the heated pad to a good use.
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Stealing 'em off the Jobsite
You're fed up! Those goddamn construction workers have been across the street for weeks now, and they haven't erected anything (aside from the pole in your pants). Your eyes have studied the collection of sweaty bodies each day, always sad when they pack up and leave.
It's determined. Tonight, things will change. Tonight, they'll be coming home with you...
All it takes is a glance at your newly acquired, hypnotic pocket watch: a family heirloom.
Your grandfather probably didn't think you'd be using his most powerful artifact for this, but he's not here to witness the control you exert over the crew. They may laugh at first, but their eyes quickly glaze over the second they actually look at the thing swinging overhead. Their grins falter as the tendons in their face slacken. They're relaxing, just like you commanded them to.
Suddenly, those big muscular men don't seem so cocky and masculine. Their typical swagger is replaced by something else; something more subdued, more bovine, dumb.
You did that to them. You caught them right before they left the job site and flashed that magical pocket watch in their faces. Now they all stand before you like a herd of dumb work animals. It's an unbelievable site: grown men that are reduced to loyal dogs, patiently awaiting the commands of their master. Who are you to keep them waiting?
You order them to follow...
They're good at following the instruction, even if it's just a simple one. The construction workers fumble down the street behind you, grunting and pushing their way past each other like a bunch of braindead zombies. You know they're tired. The sweat of a long day is soaking through most of their clothes, but you rather enjoy knowing how weak their big arms and meaty pecs have become.
Normally, men like this are rowdy and obnoxious, but right now their jaws only hang stupidly. The occasional moan can be heard deep in their throats, but more often comes the unmistakeable sound of gas from their rears. After all, you did tell them to relax, and that command seems to have loosened up their insides as well. More than a few wet farts can be heard in the crowd, but none of them react. Some of the noises are gross enough to suggest they've even shit themselves, not that filling their pants with crap will stop them from mindlessly following you home.
It's almost comical to see how oblivious they've become, but that blank look on their face is getting old. Their heavy slick bodies are hot, but so are their chauvinistic bro attitudes.
Finally at your house, you order them to grab a beer, smile, and file inside for the party...
Watching the crew of hardened laborers snap out of the trance is eclipsed only by the dumb smile that breaks on each of their masculine faces. Just like that, they're beaming at you, treating you like their best bud and slapping you on the back. Can you remember the last time you were at a party, let alone a party full of grizzled blue-collar workers?
Per your instructions, they haul the booze and speakers down the stairs into the basement. They're only too happy to help, and they get even more excited when you tell them to.
Their eyes pop open wider. Any fatigue from the long workday is replaced with a sudden urge to chug a beer and chest bump the guy next to them. The music is turned up louder than the growing volume of the men joking, laughing, and shit-talking with their gravelly bass and baritone voices.
The testosterone is almost unbearable. You can smell the thick funk of body odor mixing in the humid air. You can even taste the salt evaporating off their skin. But, even more exciting, you can feel any inch of them you want. Diving into the bodies packed tightly together, don't hesitate to touch, sniff, and lick anything you want. The men are lost in a euphoria of moving to the music. They only grin when they find you below, slobbering over their muscle tits or fondling their swollen packages.
They sure as hell wouldn't allow this if you hadn't hypnotized them first. You made them eager to accept an intrusive finger down the back of their work pants. With a little more coaching, they've become even more comfortable around their master...
Your wish is their command, so they relax into each other's arms when you tell them to. They've already been told to relax so much that it hardly takes any effort. Before you know it, the men's bodies are being pulled in close embraces with casual smirks. These macho builders don't mind their colleagues getting all up in their personal space, no matter how intimate it gets.
The first pair brave enough to obey seems happy they did so. The hug turns into a more aggressive groping until the larger of the two rips off his partner's ratty old tank top.
This party's starting to look more like an orgy...
The men are happy with this new direction, mostly because you told them to be. Some of them partner up, greedily grabbing their closest bro at work. It's hard to imagine these guys were ever a platonic, straight work crew.
Some of them probably would've gone home to their families tonight, but these fathers and husbands are yours at the moment. You'll let their wives fuss over tucking the kids in. If you can take away all cares from these men with one simple glance at a pocket watch, then why should you care about their families.
All you need to worry about, is choosing which filthy laborer to break in first...
The Foreman. He's on the far end of the basement, but the boys obediently squeeze their beefy bodies together to give you a path.
He might be the big boss on the job site, but the handsome brute drops to his knees with one word from his master. That dopey smile on his face says just how much this bitch wants to please you, and his workers couldn't agree more. Noticing your lust for their boss, they start egging him on, telling him to be a good boy for the master, encouraging him to be the best slut you've ever had.
You command the Foreman to open his mouth. He does so gleefully and accepts your cock surprisingly well. You can feel how relaxed his throat has become.
With that, the orgy of construction workers is officially kicked off! Your commands begin simple enough, telling who to bend over and who to ram it in, but they become more involved as you gain confidence. You tell the men to moan like two-cent whores, and the whole room echoes with deep manly growls. At one point, you instruct everyone to form a line and jerk off onto the Foreman's face, leaving it smothered with the cum of thirty men. Later, you order them all to lower their pants and touch their toes so you can find the hottest ass to peg. Hours go by as you test the limits of your control over these men.
Eventually, around four in the morning, you are drunk, tired, and sore in the balls. Three of the strongest men are still up to massage your shoulders and each foot, but the rest lay on the concrete floor, using each other's bodies as pillows. You fall asleep to the sound of gruff laborers randomly muttering compliments or praise to you, their master.
Just like you told them...
You wake up, and they're still taking turns to commend you. The three blokes massaging you seem ready to collapse from the fatigue.
With a simple order, everyone stops.
You leave them kneeling in the basement, packed together as efficiently as possible. It'd be nice to keep using them, but you have to go upstairs and heal from the hangover.
Before you flip the light off, you take one more look. The construction workers seem totally oblivious to the fact that you're leaving them down there to wait on their knees in the dark. From the looks on their faces, this would seem completely normal to them. Chuckling, you slip the door shut and move on with the day.
Who knows when you'll flip that light switch back on next? Until then, they'll be patiently kneeling in the dark, listening to the sound of thirty bodies breathing around them.
So, what are you gonna do with them? Return them to their old lives of physical labor and unchecked masculinity? Their wives and kids would probably thank you for that. Or maybe you'll have them cut off whatever friends or family they had before? Turn them into true workslaves that are only interested in bringing you the checks they suffer for? That would definitely be a rewarding financial endeavor. For now you'll just leave them to wait in your basement.
After all, you stole them fair and square...
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âź my favorite ao3 enhypen fics âź
|| updated 11.19.24 ||
*disclaimer: all of these fics are mxm & contain smut (mdni!!!)
ËËË heeseung + jake ËËâ
âź - oh, is it love? by malamyszk
âź - like a prayer by achoome & pinkfire
âź - all i want for christmas (is you, tree farm guy) by malamyszk
âź - mixed up by pinkfire
âź - a haunting (and now youâre mine) by malamyszk
âź - but no oneâs supposed to, they just want to by malamyszk
âź - what the water gave us by malamyszk
âź - like thereâs no one other than you (and our kids) by malamyszk
âź - youâre the warmth in my chest (letâs light a fire) by mooniik
âź - thatâs how the light gets in by ponyohoon
âź - have to pay by pinkfire
âź - iâll be like one of your girls (or your homies) by ponyohoon
⟠- curiosity killed the⊠dog by pinkfire
âź - surfacing by enhasjaeyun
ËËË heeseung + jay ËËâ
âź - primus inter pares by justlookagain
âź - canât control my body by geminicat
âź - always home by amoreyen
âź - the virtruvian man by yvth
ËËË jay + jake ËËâ
âź - he my best friend, yeah we not a couple by devianthee
âź - we got seven seconds left in heaven (then itâs back to life) by devianthee (pt. 2 of he my best friend, yeah we not a couple)
âź - one more time by orphan_account
âź - tricked my treat by midge03
âź - nirvana in different skin by celestefics
âź - good for you (series) by wwisteria
âź - open up your soul a little more, flood it by worldstar
ËËË jay + sunghoon ËËâ
âź - head shot-drank by scarletsunbeams
âź - cotton, kfc and a motherâs sickly love by midge03
âź - from the top (to the bottom, what is this?) by midge03
âź - insouciance by etudeism
âź - kiss it better by anonymous
âź - leave it like an unmade bed (keep it messy) by ponyohoon
ËËË jake + sunghoon ËËâ
âź - all was golden in the sky (when the day met the night) by anonymous
âź - all day (burn me) by anonymous
âź - littering is butch (no not really) by midge03
âź - itâs just a âbroâ thing by anonymous
âź - footsteps by nicoismysenpai
âź - sink or swim by ponyohoon
âź - 1-800-want u by devianthee
âź - long haul by untilitbreaks
ËËË sunghoon + sunoo ËËâ
âź - anything but mine (1/2) & you were never mine (but do you remember?) (2/2) by darlingriki
âź - fever by reesablue
âź - love the way you wear that by eatcereal
âź - want you (to want me too) by collectingseaglass
âź - i wanna be in the sequel by merodies
âź - canât leave you alone by misocarmine
ËËË heeseung + sunoo ËËâ
âź - eat me softly by gemxblossom
âź - this kind of love is getting expensive by pinkfire
âź - yours for the weekend by anonymous
ËËË sunoo + hyung line ËËâ
âź - bad behavior (one-shot series) by sunoosphere
ËËË jay + jake + sunghoon (mxmxm) ËËâ
âź - use me, defuse me by devianthee
âź - just between you & i by enhasjaeyun
âź - adventures in shame by myathewolfeh
âź - fifth wheeling by wwisteria
âź - pass your boy the heatwave by devianthee
ËËË heeseung + jake + sunghoon (mxmxm) ËËâ
âź - fresh paint job, check! by worldstar
*note: as you can tell, iâm a heejake enthusiast and heavy heejake reader LMAO also malamyszk is the BEST heejake writer in the entire world so please show their works some love!! let me know if all the links are matched up correctly, this took me a while to do so there may be some mistakes. iâm not sure if you need an ao3 account to access these, but the link should bring you right to the fic!*
#enhypen#enhypen hard hours#enhypen smut#jake smut#sim jaeyun#heeseung#heejake#jay enhypen#jay smut#sunghoon smut#park sunghoon#park jongseong#lee heeseung#kim sunoo#sunjay#jayhoon#jayke#heesun
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SCREAM AT THE ABYSS â SPENCER REID!
after being kidnapped because of your involvement in the case, spencer and the team rushes to shut down the operation as quickly as possible.
s1!spencer x fem!reader | mystery | 4.0k | event masterlist.
main masterlist.
| part one. | part two. | part three. |
a/n â happy? ending? maybe? uh⊠idk bro
The vanâs doors slam shut with a cold finality, the sound echoing in your mind like a death knell.
The air inside is thick, musty, and suffocating, and your heart hammers in your chest as you struggle against the hands pinning you down.
Your breath is coming in shallow gasps, muffled by the rough cloth theyâve tied over your mouth. The floor of the van is cold, hard, and your skin scrapes against the metal as you writhe, trying to free yourself. But the grip on you is unyielding.
The men say nothing, their movements precise and practiced. Itâs terrifying in its efficiency, how quickly theyâve taken control. You try to scream, to shout Spencerâs name, but your voice is swallowed by the cloth gag and the darkness.
The van jerks forward, and youâre thrown back against the wall, your head pounding as the vehicle accelerates through the night.
Time blurs, the minutes stretching into an eternity. The sound of the engine and the steady hum of the tires are the only things you can focus on, grounding you as your thoughts race. How did they manage to grab you? The club was literally crawling with police. Where were they taking you? Did anyone notice that you disappeared? The questions pile up in your mind, each one more frantic than the last.
You force yourself to calm down, to breathe through the panic thatâs clawing at your throat. You canât lose control. Not now. You try to remember everything youâve learnedâeverything you and Spencer uncovered. The missing girls, the disappearances, the trafficking ring. Itâs all connected. You are now part of that connection.
The realisation hits you hard: youâre not just chasing the truth anymoreâyouâve become its prey.
The van lurches to a stop after what feels like hours. Your heart leaps into your throat as you hear the doors swing open, the crunch of gravel under heavy boots. The hands tighten around your arms, dragging you roughly toward the exit.
Your body resists, instinctively fighting, but itâs useless. They haul you out of the van and onto your feet, the blindfold over your eyes making it impossible to see where you are.
You can hear distant voices nowâfaint murmurs of conversation, some in a language you donât understand. Thereâs a sickening sense of organisation to it all, like this is something theyâve done a hundred times before. Youâre pulled forward, the sound of a heavy door creaking open, and the air shifts as youâre led inside.
The smell hits you firstâdamp, metallic, and faintly chemical, like rust and bleach mingling in the stale air. You try to make sense of your surroundings, but everything feels disjointed, your senses heightened but useless without your sight. The blindfold is ripped off, and the dim light of the room stings your eyes.
Itâs a warehouse. Or at least, something like it. The walls are gray, lined with stacks of crates and industrial equipment. There are a few flickering overhead lights, casting long shadows across the concrete floor. Your stomach churns as you notice the small cages along one side of the room. Empty now, but too small for anything other than a person.
Thereâs a man standing in front of you, older than the others, his presence commanding in a way that sends a cold shiver down your spine. His suit is pristine, his demeanor too calm for the circumstances. He steps forward, appraising you like a piece of merchandise.
âYouâve been poking your nose where it doesnât belong,â he says, his voice low and smooth, as if this is all just a game to him. âWe donât take kindly to curious minds like yours.â
You feel the bile rise in your throat, but you hold his gaze. Despite the fear gnawing at your insides, you refuse to look away. âWhat do you want from me?â The words come out muffled, but the venom is clear in your tone.
He smirks, a slow, predatory expression. âItâs not what we want from you. Itâs what we want with you.â He gestures to the cages, the darkened corners of the warehouse where shadows shift and other captives might be hidden. âYou see, girls like you are quite valuable. Especially when they know too much.â
The weight of his words crashes down on you, and suddenly, the stories you and Spencer uncoveredâthe whispered rumours, the reports of girls vanishing into thin airâbecome horrifyingly real. This isnât just a trafficking ring; itâs a machine, a well-oiled operation designed to exploit the most vulnerable. And now, theyâve pulled you into their web.
The manâs eyes narrow. âYouâre not the first to think you can expose us. But you might be the last if youâre smart.â
He steps closer, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. âYou have no idea how deep this goes. We own peopleâlaw enforcement, officials, you think your amateur investigation will protect you? You canât touch us.â
You feel cold all over, the enormity of what heâs saying sinking in. Theyâre bigger than anything youâve imagined, and the people you thought you could trust may be compromised.
One of the men standing beside you moves toward a nearby table, grabbing somethingâa syringe. Your pulse spikes, adrenaline flooding your system as you realise whatâs about to happen.
You thrash again, the blind panic finally setting in, but the hands pinning you are too strong. They hold you down as the needle pierces your skin, the sharp sting quickly dulling as something cold spreads through your veins.
Your vision blurs, the room around you beginning to fade, but you hear the manâs voice one last time, as distant and cruel as the darkness closing in.
âWelcome to the market.â
The world tilts, and then everything goes black.
â
When you wake, youâre lying on a cold floor, the taste of blood sharp in your mouth. Your wrists are bound, and youâre in a different part of the warehouse, the dim light casting long, eerie shadows in its corners. The sounds around you are different nowâmuffled voices, footsteps echoing on metal stairs, the distant hum of a generator.
Your body feels heavy, sluggish, whatever they injected you with still coursing through your system. Panic threatens to overwhelm you, but you force yourself to focus. Stay calm. Think. You scan the room, your heart pounding as you see other girls huddled in the corners, some barely conscious, others staring blankly ahead.
This is what Charli went through. This is what all of them went through. And now, you're trapped in the very nightmare you were trying to stop.
But somewhere out there, Spencer is still looking for you, he has to be. And if you can hold onâjust a little longerâmaybe youâll find a way out before you disappear for good.
â
You donât know how long youâve been in the warehouse. The minutes blur into hours, the cold seeping into your bones. You drift in and out of consciousness, each time waking to the same gray walls and the quiet murmurs of the other captives.
Thereâs no sense of time, no way to gauge how long youâve been held or if anyone is coming for you. Your thoughts grow darker with each passing moment, and for the first time, a terrible possibility creeps into your mindâwhat if no one ever finds you?
Then, one night, everything changes.
Youâre startled awake by a series of loud crashes, followed by shouting and the unmistakable sound of gunfire. The entire warehouse erupts into chaosâmen yelling, doors slamming, the heavy thud of boots on concrete.
The other captives stir around you, eyes wide with confusion and fear, but none of them move. Everyone is too frightened, too broken, to hope for rescue.
Your heart races as the door to your cell flies open, and for a terrifying second, you think itâs one of them coming to take you. But itâs not. Itâs Spencer.
He looks disheveled, his face streaked with dirt and sweat, but his eyes lock onto yours with a fierce determination. Relief washes over you, overwhelming and disorienting, but you can barely process it as he rushes to untie your hands. "Itâs okay," he whispers, his voice hoarse. "Youâre safe now. Weâre getting you out of here."
Your mind struggles to catch up with whatâs happening. Youâre safe. The words donât seem real, not after the nightmare youâve endured. But then Spencer is pulling you to your feet, his arm around your waist as he helps you stumble toward the exit. âYouâre okay, Iâve got you,â
All around you, agents from the BAU and local law enforcement swarm the building, subduing the traffickers, rounding up the men who took you. The sting operation has finally come to fruition, and the trafficking ring is being torn apart.
But the price of that success hits hard as you step out into the night air, your legs trembling beneath you.
In the days that follow, the weight of what happened doesnât lift. It sits heavy on your chest, even as youâre surrounded by people trying to reassure you, to tell you that youâre safe now, that itâs all behind you.
The arrests make headlines: dozens of men involved in the trafficking ring, including high-profile figures in the D.C area, are taken down. The news calls it a victory for the BAU and law enforcement. They call it justice.
But it doesnât feel like justice.
Not when the trauma lingers like an open wound, raw and festering beneath the surface. You sit in the hospital room, staring at the IV in your arm, but all you can think about is the warehouse. The cold concrete. The cages. The girls who werenât so lucky.
Spencer comes to see you every day, though you donât say much. He sits in the chair beside your bed, his eyes full of worry, as if heâs searching for the right thing to say but knows that nothing will fix it.
He saved you, but you can see the guilt weighing on him, the same questions gnawing at him that haunt you: How many girls did they miss? How long had this been going on? Why didnât anyone notice sooner?
âYou donât have to talk,â he says one afternoon, breaking the silence. His voice is gentle, but thereâs an edge to it, a weariness that mirrors your own. âBut when youâre ready⊠Iâll be here. You donât have to go through this alone.â
You want to respond, but the words donât come. Youâre trapped in the in-betweenârelieved that youâre out of that hell, but shattered by the memory of it, by what you witnessed, by how close you came to disappearing completely.
â
The days stretch into weeks. The investigation wraps up, the trial dates are set, and the media frenzy dies down. But your world feels smaller now, confined to the four walls of your apartment, where you spend most of your time trying to make sense of everything thatâs happened.
The smallest things bring it all rushing backâa sharp sound, the clink of metal, the smell of bleachâand suddenly, youâre back in that van, or in that warehouse, bound and powerless.
Youâve been through the trauma debriefs, sat through sessions with psychologists who try to help you process the experience. They talk about recovery in terms of stages, as if healing is something you can track and measure. But for you, recovery isnât linear. Itâs fractured, messy, one step forward and two steps back.
One evening, Spencer comes over to check on you. He brings takeout and sits with you on the couch, both of you eating in silence. After a while, he sets his food down and looks at you with an intensity you havenât seen since the night he found you.
âI know itâs hard,â he says quietly. âI know youâre still processing, but you did something incredible. You found the truth. And because of you, so many girls are going to be saved.â
You swallow hard, staring at your untouched food. âBut I couldnât save them all.â
Spencerâs expression softens. âNo one couldâve. This operationâit was bigger than any of us imagined. You did everything you could, and more than most people would have. Thatâs what matters.â
His words settle over you like a blanket, warm but not entirely comforting. You know heâs right, but the guilt still gnaws at you. You think of Charli, of the girls who didnât make it out. You think of the nights you spent terrified, wondering if you would ever escape. The victory feels hollow.
âI donât know how to go back to normal,â you admit, your voice barely a whisper. âI donât even know what normal is anymore.â
Spencer is quiet for a moment, then he reaches out, placing a deft hand on your shoulder. âYou donât have to go back to how things were. Thereâs no ânormalâ after something like this. But you will heal. It just takes time. And when youâre ready, weâll keep fighting. For the ones we didnât find. For the ones who are still out there.â
You meet his gaze, and for the first time in weeks, you feel a flicker of hope. Itâs faint, fragile, but itâs there. The trauma wonât vanish overnight, and you know the nightmares will come for a while yet. But Spencer is rightâwhat you uncovered, what you survived, will save lives.
Maybe you didnât stop it all. Maybe you couldnât save everyone. But you made sure the world knows whatâs happening. And for now, that has to be enough.
As you sit there, the weight of everything still heavy on your shoulders, you take a breath. Itâs shaky, but itâs a start. You survived. Youâre still here. And for the first time in a long time, that feels like a victory.
In the months that follow, you begin to rebuild. Itâs slow, agonising at times, but each day you feel a little more like yourselfâthough a new version of yourself, forever changed by what you went through.
The nightmares come less frequently, the panic attacks that once struck you in broad daylight begin to subside. But something is always there, lurking in the quiet moments, reminding you of the darkness you escaped.
Itâs during one of those quiet moments, sitting in the early morning light by your window, that the idea first comes to you. Youâve spent so long trying to understand what happened, to come to terms with it, but you realise that your experience doesnât have to be just your burden. It could be a way to help others. To make sure something like this never happens again.
You begin to think about the girls who went missing, and the eerie silence that had surrounded their disappearances until it was too late. The indifference of the campus administration, the lack of awareness, how easy it had been for these predators to operate in plain sight.
If anything was going to change, people needed to be aware. Students needed to be armed with knowledge and resourcesâtools to protect themselves and others.
Thatâs when you decide. Youâre going to turn your pain into something meaningful.
â
The first meeting of your support group takes place on a rainy Tuesday evening in one of the small, out-of-the-way rooms on campus. The turnout is smallâjust a handful of studentsâbut that doesnât matter.
What matters is that theyâre there. You sit in a circle, Spencer at your side, Detective Walker standing off to the side, her presence both protective and reassuring.
You never expected her to become such an ally after the initial doubts she had about your investigation, but after the sting operation, sheâd been just as shaken by the scope of the trafficking ring as you were. Since then, sheâd committed himself to working with you and Spencer, determined to prevent anything like it from happening again.
As you look around the room at the studentsâsome hesitant, others eager to share their fears and concernsâyou realise how important this is.
These are people who are scared, whoâve heard the stories and rumours about the disappearances, but never knew where to turn.
Some of them share personal experiences of feeling unsafe on campus, of reporting suspicious behaviour only to be dismissed or ignored. Others simply want to know how to protect themselves and their friends.
You take a deep breath, then start to speak. âI want to thank you all for being here tonight,â you begin, your voice steady but soft. âI know how hard it can be to talk about things like this. To admit that you feel vulnerable, or that youâre scared. But thatâs why weâre here. To change that. To make sure no one has to feel like theyâre alone.â
You pause, glancing at Spencer, who gives you an encouraging nod. âSome of you might have heard about what happened a few months ago. About the investigation into the missing girls and how it all led to⊠something much bigger. I was part of that investigation. And while we were able to stop some of the people responsible, the truth is, this could happen again. It happens more often than we realise.â
Thereâs a quiet murmur in the room, but no one looks away. Theyâre listening. You can feel the weight of their attention, and you press on.
âThatâs why weâre starting this group. To create a space where we can talk openly about campus safety, about the things that make us feel unsafe, and to figure out how we can protect ourselves and each other. We want to raise awareness, but more than that, we want to take action. We want to make sure the administration hears us, that they take real steps to keep us safe.â
Detective Walker steps forward then, her authoritative voice grounding the room. âIâll be working closely with you all to help guide these conversations. Weâre also going to be pushing for more campus safety initiativesâbetter lighting, more security, self-defense classes. But what matters most is that youâre aware of the risks and that you donât hesitate to report anything suspicious. Your vigilance is the best defense.â
The group talks for over an hour that first night. Some students share their experiencesâtimes they felt unsafe walking home alone, or how they avoided certain areas of campus after dark.
Others ask questions about how to recognise warning signs, about what they should do if they feel theyâre being watched or followed. You and Spencer answer as best you can, while Walker gives practical advice, but youâre careful not to push too hard. This is a space for support, not fear-mongering.
As the meeting comes to a close, you feel a sense of relief. Itâs a small step, but itâs a step forward. And in a way, itâs part of your own healing process, turning your trauma into something that might help others.
Over the next few months, the support group grows. What started with just a few students in a small room blossoms into something larger. More people show up, word spreads, and soon, the administration can no longer ignore the conversation.
Spencer helps you organise events in his spare timeâawareness campaigns, partnerships with local law enforcement, and self-defence workshops led by professionals. Detective Walker becomes a trusted figure on campus, and her involvement lends credibility to your efforts.
One night, after another well-attended meeting, you stand with Spencer in the empty room, gathering your things. The exhaustion is still thereâthe weight of everything youâve been through never fully leavesâbut thereâs also a sense of accomplishment. Of hope.
âYou did it,â Spencer says, breaking the comfortable silence. âYou turned this into something real.â
You glance at him, offering a small smile. âWe did it. I couldnât have done this without you.â
He shakes his head. âYou were always the one pushing forward, even when it was hardest. I just followed your lead.â
You pause, thinking back to everything that brought you to this pointâthe investigation, the sting, the night you thought youâd never make it out of that warehouse alive. The memories still haunt you, but they donât control you anymore. Youâve taken that power back.
âNone of this brings back the girls we couldnât save,â you say quietly. âBut at least now, weâre doing something. Weâre making sure people know whatâs out there. Maybe itâll stop someone else from going through what we did.â
Spencer nods. âIt will. I know it will.â
And you believe him. It doesnât erase the trauma, but it gives it purpose. And thatâs enough.
As you lock up the room and step out into the night, you take a deep breath of the cool air. The campus is still, the buildings lit up by streetlights that feel brighter than they used to.
Thereâs a sense of safety now, not just for you, but for everyone who came to those meetings, who learned something that might one day save their life.
You reflect on the journey that led you hereâfrom the isolation and doubt at the start, through the horror of the trafficking ring, to this moment of quiet resolution.
Youâve changed. Youâre stronger. And now, youâre not just survivingâyouâre making sure others have the chance to, too.
â
The city buzzes with energy on Friday night, vibrant and alive with laughter and music echoing from the clubs lining the streets. Young people gather in groups, their voices blending into a lively symphony as they celebrate the end of the week.
âHey, you almost here?â
Jules takes a deep breath, a feeling of giddiness washing over her as she glances at the neon lights flickering across the street. The club is packed, and the atmosphere is electric. âYeah, yeah Iâm almost here,â
âGreat, Iâll seeââ The line cuts out into static, and Jules furrows here eyebrows, pulling the screen away from her ear momentarily.
âHey? Hello?â she asks, pulling her phone closer to her ear.
âYeah, Iâmââ
Jules sighs as the line continues to cut out, ending with a dead tone as the call ends. âStupid phoneâ whatever,â She dumps her cell into her purse as she turns towards the club, crossing over the street.
Before she can even make it to the sidewalk, a hand clamps down over her mouth, yanking her back into the darkness. Panic ignites within her, and she struggles, her heels clattering against the pavement.
The laughter and music from the club fade into oblivion as sheâs pulled toward a nearby alley, her heart pounding in her chest.
âHelp! Let me go!â she cries out, muffled by the grip on her mouth. But the streets are alive with laughter, the music too loud for anyone to hear her desperate pleas.
#spencer reid x reader#spencer reid#criminal minds#criminal minds x reader#mgg#spencer reid fluff#criminal minds fluff#spencer reid angst#criminal minds angst
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BEDROOM HYMNS BY PROSEOVER-BROS
FANDOM: The Walking Dead
TITLE: Bedroom Hymns
STATUS: Complete
ERA: Season 7
PAIRING: Negan Smith x Female Reader (No Use of âY/Nâ)
WORD COUNT: 4.6k
SUMMARY: On the night of the lineup, Negan took one look at you and knew that he had to have you. What you never anticipated was just how desperately you would end up wanting him back.
RATING: Mature (Minors DNI)
WARNINGS: Enemies to Lovers, Angst, Language, Sexual Situations, Dirty Talk, Begging, Praising, Oral Sex (Female Receiving), Fingering, Vaginal Sex, Rough Sex, Unprotected Sex, Teeny Bit of Fluff
A/N: I donât think itâs a surprise to anyone that I love Negan just as much as I love Daryl. Needless to say, seeing JDMâs sexy ass on my screen again every week was just the inspiration I needed for this smut-fest. Hope you enjoy! If so, comments/likes/reblogs would mean the world!
What the fuck am I doing here?
The same question had been repeating itself in your head as your reluctant footsteps brought you to the outside of Neganâs apartment. All of your instincts were screaming at you to get far away, but before you could so much as knock, the door swung open to reveal that smug, irritatingly beautiful face.
You knew heâd been waiting for you. When Simon had made a beeline for the truck the moment you returned from that afternoonâs run, it was a dead giveaway. Not to mention the fact that Negan had you hauled back the second he realized youâd snuck off in the first place.
Earlier that morning, youâd heard a group of the Sanctuaryâs scavengers talking over breakfast. Todayïżœïżœs run was supposed to be through a neighborhood ten miles west of Alexandria. This was your chance. Your plan was to return, but only long enough to pack your things and get gone before anyone knew the wiser. The last thing you wanted was to create any more trouble for Rick and the others when all theyâd ever done was help you.
Unfortunately, your entire plan went to shit when Negan had gotten in touch with Mike, the Savior who was leading the expedition. Youâd overheard their conversation on the radio, listening as Negan ordered Mike to bring you back to the Sanctuary if he wanted to keep his balls attached to his dick. If Mike had been anyone else you mightâve felt bad for getting him into trouble, but he wasnât. Mike was a Savior, and therefore not worth one damn bit of your sympathy.
He drove you back to the Sanctuary, bitching about the waste of fuel and resources the entire way, and when his truck pulled up right outside of the towering building, you turned to face him.
âIf you were stupid enough to believe that heâd let me go in the first place, you deserve whatever you have coming.â
Mike snarled, opening his mouth to no doubt call you a bitch or a whore, but by the time the insult traveled from his pea brain to his mouth, youâd already opened the door to the passenger side and jumped down from the truck to an awaiting Simon.
âWhat is it about you?â Simon asked by way of greeting. âDonât get me wrong, youâre hot as hell, but there are loads of hot women for him to choose from. Women whose job it is to please him. Whyâs he so enamored with you?â
âOh, enamored!â You exclaimed sarcastically, earning a glare from the man who had the bushiest mustache youâd ever had the displeasure of seeing. âSomeoneâs been brushing up on their vocabulary.â
When Neganâs right-hand man crossed his arms and raised an equally bushy eyebrow as he awaited your answer, you rolled your eyes and strode past him. âJust lucky, I guess.â
The truth was, you didnât understand Neganâs obsession with you either, but it went all the way back to the night of the lineup. That night and the fear youâd felt as you anxiously awaited his arrival with the rest of Rickâs group would stay with you forever. Youâd all heard plenty about the Saviorsâ infamous leader, but none had ever crossed him. Once the group had honored their agreement with Hilltop and attacked what theyâd thought was the Saviorsâ only compound, youâd assumed Negan had been included in the body count.
That assumption had cost Glenn and Abraham their lives.
You would never admit it, not to Negan, not to yourselfânot to anyoneâbut the moment that the door to the RV swung open, you were just as attracted to him as he was to you. He may have been the man that both Hilltop and the Kingdom had warned your group about, but even you couldnât deny that he was beautifulâpsychotic or not.
As hard as you tried to fight it, your attraction to him had only grown since that horrible night, and after finally succumbing to it when youâd shared a kiss with him just yesterday, youâd gone out of your way to put some distance between the two of you. Until now, when you knew that continuing to avoid him could result in something horrible for Alexandria.
âWell, look who it is!â Negan exclaimed as he appeared in the doorway, opening his arms wide. He was attempting to hide his anger at finding his bed empty that morning with his typical show of bravado, but deep within his hazel eyes, you knew that the anger was laced with something else.
Hurt?
No, it wasnât possible.
No fucking way.
This was Negan. He wasnât capable of that emotion.
You brushed those thoughts to the back of your mind, finding it very easy to act as if it hadnât happened when he continued with his usual theatrics. After allowing him to lure you to his apartment with dinner and drinks the previous evening, Negan had convinced you to stay the night, and youâd agreed, mostly because you didnât want anyone to catch you leaving his bedroom so late. The entire evening had been established as a way to pay him back after heâd agreed to let Dr. Carson go to Alexandria to treat Carl, who had developed pneumonia after going on a run in the rain with Daryl and Sasha.
When you woke up that morning, it was in Neganâs bed, but heâd at least played the part of the perfect gentleman and taken the couch, which made it easy for you to slip out just as the sun was rising, completely unnoticed.
âWhat do you want?â You snapped, annoyed.
Stepping back, Negan opened his door wider to let you in, the flash of emotion youâd just seen on his face quickly forgotten as his signature grin replaced it, stretching wide across his handsome face. Foolishly ignoring your conscience for the second time that day, you stepped forward, entering his apartment.
âPretty sure you know the answer to that question.â He grinned.
âAnd you chose me rather than forcing yourself on one of your âwivesâ?â An exaggerated gasp left your lips as you placed a hand to your chest with mock pride. âIâm honored.â
Negan shut the door behind you and within seconds you could feel him on your heels, his warm breath ghosting the back of your neck. âYou really think I need to force myself on anyone, darlinâ?â
Ignoring his proximity, you moved away, stepping over to the kitchenette and mindlessly running your hand over the counter. Turning to face him now that youâd put some distance between the two of you, you crossed your arms over your chest and narrowed your eyes at him.
While Negan may not have noticed you leaving his bedroom that morning, someone else had. Sherry. The two of you had walked back to the cafeteria where sheâd filled you in on how she had become Neganâs wife just a few weeks ago. It was an ultimatum that sheâd agreed to in order to keep her real husband from receiving a worse punishment than the iron.
âI am not a rapist.â Negan continued defensively. âEvery one of those women have come to me, willingly.â
âWillingly?â You scoffed, glaring at him in disbelief as your anger began to mount. âWhen you threaten to kill someoneâs husband unless they agree to be your whore, that isnât willingness, thatâs desperationâand you fucking know it!â
Negan rubbed a hand down his jaw as he stared at you, but for once he didnât have a witty comeback to toss your way. If the circumstances had been different, you wouldâve celebrated such a victory. The man who never shut up, finally silenced? It certainly was a sight to see. As it was, you werenât exactly in the mood for celebrating.
âThatâs right, I talked to Sherry. Try again, asshole.â
For a moment he remained silent, tapping two fingers against his bottom lip as he appeared to be deep in thought. But when he met your eyes again and you watched as that wicked grin returned to his features, you knew that he felt no sense of shame, and your victory over him was short-lived.
âAh, I know what this is . . .â He began, his deep, gravelly voice practically purring as he sauntered closer and lowered his hands to your hips. âYou jealous, baby?â
Rolling your eyes in pure disgust, you covered your face with your hands, groaning loudly. âOh, I fucking hate you!â
Neganâs grip moved from your hips to your forearms, gently pulling your hands away from your face. âWe both know thatâs not true.â
âMaybe it wasnât. Maybe for a brief, absurd, fleeting moment I didnât absolutely despise you last nightâbut thatâs over. Done. I want to go home. I want to go back to Alexandria.â
For a moment, nothing was said. He worked his jaw as he took in your words, but refused to believe in them. âNot happening.â
âWhy?â You hissed, pushing his hands away when he attempted to return them to your waist.
Negan frowned but didnât reply.
You couldnât believe that youâd managed to stump him twice in one night.
âI asked you a fucking question.â
âTake it easy.â He warned you.
âTake it easy?ââ You laughed, outraged by how nonchalant he was being. Negan, who could put your potty mouth to shame, even on an off day. Nowhere near in the mood for this, you slammed your hands up against his chest, throwing all your weight forward and shoving him as hard as you could.
âWhy the fuck not, Negan? Rick and the others have been killing themselves getting you everything youâve asked for. They havenât let you down once!â
Before you could fully remove your hands from his chest, he grabbed you by the wrists and pressed you to the wall, crowding your body with his.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
You absolutely hated yourself for the abrupt feeling of desire warming in the pit of your stomach as he closed in on you, those dark eyes staring you down in a way that made your heart race.
âBecause Iâm not letting you go. Because itâs different with you. I felt itâyou felt it. I fucking know that you felt it.â Raising his hand, he moved it forward to cup your chin, his thumb and forefinger dipping down to graze the sides of your neck. âAnd I havenât fucked any of those women, not since you got here.â
âAnd what do you want for that? A prize?â You hissed, desperately trying to keep your train of thought on what was important. âThis isnât me being jealous of your harem, this is me being disgusted with you for taking advantage of these women in the first place.â
âDidnât seem to bother you last night when you kissed me.â He murmured, his eyes darting down to your lips.
âYou kissed me.â You corrected him.
âAnd you kissed me back.â He smirked.
Lowering his hands from your face, he placed them over your hips once more and pulled you flush against him, letting you feel what thoughts of the previous night were doing to him. You closed your eyes at the sensation as he molded your body to the erect outline of his cock, your resolve weakening.
âThat was a mistake.â You whispered, hating the pathetic sound of your voice.
âYou donât believe that.â He argued.
Biting into your bottom lip, you swallowed hard but said no more, not sure that you could trust what might come out of your mouth next.
Suddenly, Negan scoffed. âYouâre a real piece of work, you know that?â
Finally opening your eyes to look at him, you narrowed them into a glare, daring him to elaborate.
âI let you pick the job you wanted, excluded you from the point system. Hell, I even let you take that hick piece of trashâs placeâ"
At the mention of Daryl, you swung your hand out and slapped him across the face so hard that it left your palm numb and stinging. Neganâs head whipped to the side from the impact, and when he looked back at you, that smug smile was finally gone from his lips.
âDonât you fucking call him that.â
Negan growled and in the blink of an eye, pressed you back once more, slamming his free hand against the space beside your head. Your back connected with the dry wall, a startled gasp leaving your lips as you stared up at him, wondering if youâd finally gone too far. Moving his hand to your throat, he gave it a gentle squeeze but even as you felt your heartbeat quicken from the contact, you weren't scared of him. This wasn't fear you felt, this was something else entirely, and when his eyes darkened and he lunged forward to roughly press his lips to yours, you kissed him back rather than allow yourself time to think about what that feeling was.
Neganâs kiss was hungry; his mouth devouring your lips, tongue, and every single moan that escaped you while his strong hands held your face far more gently than youâd ever thought him capable of. Opening and closing your mouth against his, you returned each of his kisses with equal fervor; a mixture of passion, anger, lust, hatredâevery single emotion youâd ever felt for him, merging into oneâyour hands clutching his shoulders as he moved you from the wall and carefully backed you over towards his bed.
Gently breaking the kiss, Negan stared down the several inches he had on you, the look on his face very much resembling a starved man. With your eyes on his, you opened your mouth to speak when a sharp gasp left your mouth instead, his hands having found your ass and lifted you into the air against him before gently setting you down on his bed. Over the next moment or two he took his time removing your button-up flannel, tank top and jeans, his lips tenderly kissing every new inch of skin that became exposed to him.
Moving his hands to unclasp your bra, he let it drop to the side before lowering his body over yours. Negan had always considered himself an ass man, but with you he didnât want to graze over a single body part. Pressing his lips to your neck, he used both hands to cup your beautiful breasts to his face, and you welcomed the rough feel of his calloused hands and warm tongue as his mouth lowered to each smooth mound long enough to tongue both of your nipples into stiff peaks. His hands continued their descent to your hips, your thighs, your ass, until finally he hooked his thumbs beneath your underwear and pulled it off.
Quickly removing his own shirt, Negan loomed over you, his eyes greedily taking in every inch of your body with a groan that let you know he was loving what he saw. Wasting absolutely no time, he grabbed you beneath your knees and dragged your ass to the center of the bed as he kneeled, pulling you close to his face and dipping his mouth between your legs. Breathing heavily as you allowed your body to recline against the pillows, you tilted your chin, watching as he skimmed the soft skin of your inner thighs, the scratch of his beard and feel of his lips teasing you mercilessly.
âLook at my beautiful girl,â He grunted in awe, groaning at the sight of you completely spread before him, pink and smooth and glistening with your slick arousal. Youâd been wet from the moment you saw his face and heard his voice when heâd first opened that door, and if heâd given you any time to think it through youâd probably be a little embarrassed, but then he leaned forward to lay a sloppy kiss over your wet heat and all those thoughts of shame faded away.
âFuckâ" You cursed, tossing your head back as his mouth found your clit with ease, his tongue darting forward to caress the tiny bundle of nerves as he used his lips to suck it further into his mouth. Instinctively, your back arched and your hips lifted off the mattress to be closer to his skilled mouth as he feasted on you. Anticipating your response, Negan slid his hands beneath you to grip your perfect ass, anchoring your body to him with his hands and mouth as his eyes traveled up to your face. Heâd waited far too long to see you at his mercy, and he wasnât going to miss a goddamn second of it.
After a few more moments spent skillfully eating your pussy and learning just what you liked, one of the strong hands clutching your ass slid from beneath you and returned a second later when he thrust two of his long fingers inside of your tight cunt, stretching you. Negan lifted his head for a breath and groaned against you as he felt resistance meeting his knuckles.
âSo fuckinâ tight, arenât you, darlinâ?â
Staring down at his beautiful face nestled between your thighs, you nodded eagerly, jerking your hips to the rhythm of his fingers as you shamelessly began to fuck yourself up and down on top of them. You wanted moreâyou wanted himâand anything less wasnât going to satisfy you for long. Snaking a hand along your abdomen, you slid it up between your breasts and shoved a closed fist against your lips, biting the skin of your knuckle.
âFuck,â He hissed, his eyes hooded with pleasure as he watched you move your beautiful body in sync with his fingers, your breasts bouncing with each movement as he curled his fingers inside you to graze that tightness within that left you writhing with pleasure. You were a goddamn treasure, and he was loving every second of this. âAnd so fuckinâ wet for me, too.â
Lowering his head once more, Negan lashed his tongue over your clit again and again, slowly but insistently while he continued thrusting his long fingers in and out. He could do this all goddamn night if thatâs what it took, but with the way your body was starting to shake against his mouth and fingers, he knew you were close.
âCome for me, baby.â He breathed against you, twisting his fingers deep inside as he hummed over your clit. âLet go.â
âOh, fuckâNegan!â You cried out, feeling that beautiful heat building up in your stomach and licking down to your core, your toes curling as your body began to jerk and spasm with the most intense pleasure youâd felt in yearsâmaybe ever. Negan lapped up every bit of your release, taking his time as he cleaned you up, his graying beard and chin glistening as he climbed back up your body.
Your breathing was beginning to slow back down, but before you could get it back to normal you caught sight of his face and lifted your hips to pull him forward. Grasping his chin, you pulled him into a heated, messy kiss that he all too happily returned.
âYou want me to fuck this pretty little pussy now?â Negan murmured against your lips before leaning forward to give you another soft, languid kiss. Hearing your eager moan of approval, he grinned onto your lips as he slid his tongue forward, letting you taste yourself. Tucking his hand behind your head, he threaded his fingers through your hair and gently tugged back so that your eyes were level with his.
âThen youâre gonna be a good girl and look at me while I do it.â
Negan watched as you processed his words and as your expression went from aroused, to pissed, then back to aroused again. But he knew that he had you. Of course, it was a risk, and if it hadnât paid off he wasnât sure heâd be strong enough not to beg for your forgiveness. Not allowing you any time to change your mind, he slipped his middle and index fingers forward to spread your slick folds, pressing his forehead to yours as he felt you shudder beneath him.
Not letting up, he found and stroked your swollen clit, rubbing torturous circles around it with the pad of his thumb and eliciting a sharp gasp from you. A beautiful, overwhelming shock went straight back to your core; your nerves still heightened and sensitive after everything heâd just done to you with his mouth.
âYou want it?â Negan repeated himself, though his tone didnât sound the least bit impatient. He was enjoying this far too much. Dipping his head, he pressed his lips to the smooth flesh of your breasts, leaving wet, open-mouthed kisses across your taut, pink nipples.
âNegan . . .â You whined.
How had you become so desperate for this man? Your enemy? How could you let him touch you with hands that had murdered your friends? Kiss you with the same mouth that had humiliated Rick, time and time again? You hated begging, and you hated the idea of begging him of all people, but in that moment you needed him to fuck you more than you needed air to breathe.
âNot good enough, baby.â He murmured. âLet me hear you say it.â
Fucking prick.
Kicking your pride to the curb, you stared up at him and nodded quickly as your teeth found your bottom lip, your gaze going from his face to the erection in his pants, then back to his dark, hazel eyes.
âI need you, Negan.â You begged, practically whimpering as your hand splayed out against his chest to grip the dark, coarse hair that grew there. âNow.â
âThatâs my good girl.â Negan praised you, another smirk taking over his features.
The floor creaked beneath his weight as he stepped down from the bed to unbuckle his belt, his jeans and boxers soon joining the pile of clothes on the floor. Spitting onto his palm, he took his massive cock into his hand and gave it a few leisurely strokes as he stared down at you. Jesus. He was just as huge as heâd always assured you, and part of you fucking hated him for that.
Climbing back over you, Negan captured your lips in another kiss as he slid between your thighs, slapping the thick tip of his cock over your clit a few times before inching himself inside of you, his eyes watching as your mouth fell open in a gasp; completely overwhelmed by the sudden fullness. Meeting each otherâs gaze, you both slowed to stare at one another, clearly overwhelmed by just how fucking incredible it felt to finally be joined.
When you thought back to your fantasies of fucking Negan, youâd always wanted him to take you from behind, but it was clear that he wasnât going for that. He absolutely would not provide you with any opportunity where you could pretend this wasnât happening. The knowledge that he would only fuck you on his terms aggravated you to no end, but if you were being honest with yourself, you loved watching his reactions to the things your bodies did together. The way his brow furrowed as he thrust forward; the way his lips parted to elicit a husky groan of bliss when he finally buried his cock deep within you. And that smile. That insufferable, shit-eating grin that spread over his face, dimples shining through his scruff, all while his eyes stayed locked on yours. You wanted to slap it off and kiss it all at the very same time.
âJesus-fuckinâ-Christ,â Negan hissed, thrusting his narrow hips forward and burying his cock deep inside what had to be the sweetest, tightest heaven heâd ever had the pleasure of fucking. He looked down, mesmerized as he watched your tight cunt swallow him whole, in and out, over and over, delighting in the sounds you made as he stretched you inch by inch and you lifted your legs to wrap around the back of his thighs and ass.
âUhh, Negan! Mmm . . .â
Your body reacted instantly to everything he did, your hands clutching his chest as you rolled your hips against his again and again, giving as good as you got. This man might be a monster, but he knew exactly what your body needed, and for right now that was enough to help you temporarily forget all the things that heâd done to the people you loved.
âFuck, baby, you feel so fuckinâ good,â Negan hummed, digging his fingers into your hips as he steadied himself, pulling them just how he needed as he set up a steady rhythm. The sounds of his grunts and the wet, obscene noise of his cock going in and out of your pussy as it impaled you at such a delicious angle grew louder, and you could only pray that no one was loitering around in the hallway when you cried out his name while he fucked you harder, deeper, and better than anyone else ever had or could.
âSay it again,â Negan grunted, leaning over your body to gently palm your throat, pinning you in place as he used his other hand to swipe his thumb over your clit. âFuckinâ say my name, baby. â
âNegan,â You cried, not even ashamed as you felt him circling hard at your clit. âFuck, Negan, fuck!â
Every time your hips rose to meet hisâyour movements, your expressions, your cries, his name on your lips, everything you were, everything you didâit all pushed him further to the edge. Anticipating that you were close, he quickened his pace, knowing that he wouldnât be far behind.
âLook at me while you come all over my cock, pretty girl.â He demanded as he moved his hand from your throat to your mouth to trace your plush, swollen lips.
As if out of instinct, you flicked your tongue forward, lashing over the pad of his thumb and earning a low growl from him when you did exactly as he said, holding his gaze as he teased your climax from you, that delicious warmth fluttering through your stomach, then down further as your cunt pulsated and throbbed over his cock through every wave of your pleasure.
Gripping your hips, Negan moaned with you, lost entirely in your gaze as he chased his own release. Lowering his head, he met your lips once more in a bruising kiss as his cock swelled inside of your cunt and he spilled himself deep inside of you with several, brutal strokes.
Finally spent, Negan rolled to the side, reclining against the mattress and breathing deeply as he rested his hand over his abdomen. For a moment the two of you laid in peaceful silence, but only for a moment. Finally coming down from your high, you moved your palms to the mattress, about to push yourself up when Negan grabbed your right hand.
âStay.â He said softly.
Quickly looking over at him, you frowned, about to shake your head no when he gripped you harder.
âLook, you can go back to goddamn hating me tomorrow. Just . . . just give me tonight first.â He pleaded.
Watching closely as he held your gaze, you found yourself at a loss for words. In that moment, Negan was being completely vulnerable, and he was letting you see thatâmore than that, he was begging you to stay. After a few seconds, he looked down, assuming you were going to deny him anyway, when you suddenly squeezed his hand back.
Rather than answer right away, you took his face in your hands and leaned forward to press a slow, tender kiss to his lips. When you broke it a few seconds later, you opened your eyes to find him staring at you searchingly.
âTonight," You promised. âYou can have tonight.
#negan smut#negan x female reader#negan x reader#negan smith smut#negan smith x female reader#negan smith x reader#negan x you#negan smith x you#the walking dead smut#twd smut#negan fanfiction#negan fanfic#negan smith fanfiction#negan smith fanfic#jeffrey dean morgan#twd negan
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Pretty, But Not Stupid
Extra of Hunting the Tawtute
Kinkmas Day 10: Breath Play
Pairing: Loâak x Fem!Human!Reader
Word Count: 3.8K
Warnings: AgedUp!Loâak, Dark!Loâak, ***NON-CON***, Dub-Con, Breath Play, Choking, Size Difference, Alien Genitalia, Oral (male receiving), P in V, Belly Bulge, Creampie, Scenting, Mention of knots (but no knotting yet), Slight threesome (and Dark!Neteyam), Mentions of death/dead bodies, Reader is not having a good time (although idk...i think sheâs having a great time), Mentions of war
A/N: Guess whoâs back, besties!! Been MIA, slacking on prompts, and about to lose my fucking mind with all my family around, but I somehow got this done and Iâm about to read as many fics as I can before someone else demands my attention.
A/N 2: This was not intended to be a full Part 2 yet, but it's way too long to be called a drabble. So Iâm calling it an extra for now until I decide what to call it lmao. Hope yâall like it đ§Ą
A/N 3: DEDICATED TO @oakbuggy AND THEIR AMAZING ARTWORK (Everyone stop reading and go look at their art rn, all of them are god-tier but the one for Hunting the Tawtute definitely holds a special place in my heart. Thank you again, Buggy! You're amazing!)
Summary:Â With their fatherâs impending retirement as Oloâeyktan, Neteyam has more responsibilities to the clan and less time to see his favorite human. Thankfully, Loâak is there to pick up the slack.
**PLEASE READ THE WARNINGS - DON'T LIKE, DON'T READ**
Translations:
Vrrtep - Demon
Tawtute - Human
Sevin - Pretty
Palulukan - Apex predator resembling a lion or panther
(Mountain) Banshee/Ikran - Large, dragon-like aerial predators
Mawey - Calm
Narlor - Beautiful
Tam tam - Calm, be content, there there
Srane - Yes
Yawne - Beloved
Paskalin - Sweet berry (term of endearment)
Their father is stepping down as clan leader - at least thatâs what Loâak tells you when he comes to visit you in the isolated hut the brothers have set up for you on the side of a cliff face. It was for your own protection, they told you. You couldnât stay in the village yet, their father would never allow it, and you clearly couldnât be trusted not to run away if they built you something on the forest floor.Â
âTawtutes with their tiny brains are stupid,â Neteyam had sneered as he hauled your combined weight up the cliff side. Your arms locked around his neck tightly, legs wrapped around his lithe torso as your eyes squeezed shut, determined not to look at the insane height you were being pulled to. âYou might think to run away and then become the next meal of a hungry Palulukan.â
âNah, bro,â Loâak said, the grin on his face audible in his teasing words as he climbed up the cliff behind you, ready to catch you if you decided to end it all right there and try your hand at plummeting to your death, no doubt. âOur little vrrtep would never run from us. Right, sevin?â
The hut they built for you was as cozy as it could be. Assembled further into the cave and away from the treacherous cliff side, thick material wrapped around sturdy posts to keep out any harsh weather that the cave itself couldnât keep out. Theyâd given you plenty of blankets, assuring you that even though your human nose canât smell it, their scent is all over them.
âTo keep you smelling like us, when we canât be here to do it ourselves.â
But theyâre always around, day after day they come for you. Loâak grinning a deceivingly sweet smile and Neteyamâs amber eyes burning holes into your face as they grab at you, pulling you towards them as they all but rip off the loincloth and chest covering they gave you, baring your marked up body to their hungry gazes. They spread you open, fucking you and fucking you until youâre a crying overstimulated mess, drooling and teary under your mask as they fill you up.Â
They know exactly how to touch you, where to press, where to rub, where youâre most sensitive. They learned how to play with your body better than you could ever know how, dragging orgasm after orgasm out of your trembling, exhausted body until your left limp and theyâve decided theyâve had enough for the day.Â
Your body still struggles to take their cocks (although they love to tell you that you were made for it - âmade to be our little cocksleeveâ). Your only saving grace is that theyâre still not sure if they can knot you. Theyâve gotten close to trying, instincts desperate to push that large ball of tissue at the base of their cocks inside your already stuffed to the brim pussy. You feel how they test the resistance, pushing juuuusttt a little deeper, the swollen knot stretching you even farther than you ever thought you could stretch before they back off.Â
When they fill you full of their cum, itâs with their own hand squeezing tightly around the knot.Â
Usually, itâs both of them. This time, youâre shocked to see only Loâak climbing over the edge of the cliff.Â
âNeteyam sends his regrets,â Loâak says, kneeling down to wrap his arms around your body and press his face into your neck. His flat nose presses against your rapidly increasing pulse point and breathes in your scent. âHe said to tell you that heâs sorry he wonât be able to visit you today, but that heâll make sure to come see your pretty face and fill your tight pussy tomorrow.â
Your face flushes hot at his words, shivering when his nose slides up to nudge just behind your ear, but you stay silent.Â
âBut thatâs good news for me,â He continues. âBecause that means I get you all to myself for tonight.â
Neteyam isnât coming to visit you today because their father is stepping down as clan leader, which means increased training, more hours at council meetings, and less time to sneak off with his captive human.Â
âWhat does that mean?â You canât help but ask. Loâakâs hands smooth down your sides, large palms dragging over your bare skin until theyâre squeezing your ass. Your voice cracks at the feel, but you push on, your eyes doing their best to keep contact with his bright amber ones. âYour father stepping down? What does that . . .âÂ
What does that mean for me?
âNothing you have to worry about right now,â He says.
Without warning, he stands, pulling you with him so your legs wrap around his torso as he supports you with a hand on your ass. A loud yip rips from his throat, echoing through the cave as he walks you both towards the cliffâs edge. The responding roaring shriek makes you cower against him as the large dragon-like animal lands on the platform behind you, wings flapping hard against the wind.Â
âWeâre going on an adventure,â Loâak says as he walks you closer to the banshee. You whimper, arms locking around his neck so tight youâd think you would be choking him if you could think straight. But youâre not, head whipped around staring wide eyed at the monstrous creature as it turns its head sideways to stare back at you.Â
âLoâak, no,â You beg through gritted teeth, but he ignores you as he approaches the banshee, his hand settling lovingly on its snout.Â
âMawey,â he coos, carefully rubbing along the blue leathery skin on the bansheeâs snout, but youâre not sure if heâs trying to calm the large animal or you. âMawey, narlor,â
âLoâak, no,â You plead, still clinging to his upper body. Tears pool in your eyes and a panicked whimper escapes your lips when you feel the puffing breath of the mountain banshee on your back. âPlease, please, no!â
But youâre ignored again, even when your body goes rigid at the feel of that rounded snout pressing against the curve of your spine, hot exhales practically burning your skin as the banshee sniffs at you. Fuck, fuckâyou could die. Right now, you could die in a second, that snout pressing into your skin could disappear, replaced with dual rows of long curved teeth that would take only a second to open and bite down and rip you clean in half.Â
You can hear the smile in Loâakâs voice from where your mask is digging into his collarbone, his soft murmurs of encouragement loud even through your terrified thoughts. âSrane, tam tam. Look at my two beautiful girls, getting along so well.â
He moves swiftly, not leaving room for any more pleading as he bonds with his banshee and climbs on, bringing your clinging body with him. The rush of air as the large animal takes flight makes you squeeze Loâak tighter, desperate for safety as you feel the wind bat at your back as the banshee cuts through the sky like a bullet from a gun.Â
âIs this all it takes for you to cling to me, sevin?â Loâak teases as he rests a secure hand on your trembling figure, all five fingers spread so wide that they nearly span the entirety of your back. âA little ikran ride and I get you all cuddled up, nice and close?â
You ignore his dig, teeth clenching together as you fight to find your voice around the wind rushing around your ears. âW-where are we going?â
Loâak nudges his chin against the top of your head. âYouâll see,â
The flight feels like hours. Hours of watching miles and miles of trees and forest thousands of meters below from over Loâakâs shoulder. Logically, you know youâre exaggerating. It hasnât been hours, and even though youâre still high enough to die as a splat on the ground if you were to fall, it's probably not as high as it feels. But heights have never been your friend, and frankly, neither has time management.Â
Itâs only when the banshee lowers to the ground and Loâak dismounts, depositing you on your own two unsteady feet, that you realize where heâs brought you on your âadventureâ.Â
Your mouth opens in horror at the remains of your old home. The RDA outpost, a once tall and strong fortress that housed the lives of hundreds of humans, now practically nothing more than a heap of rubble. The walls once meant to provide safety to those within them have crumbled down, victims of their own explosives used against them by the enemy. Debris lines the paved ground, thick boulders and metal platings that were once walls, bullet shells glinting in the sunlight. Thereâs a few AMP suits scattered around the battlefield - you canât see inside them from your vantage point, and youâre terrified of what you might see if you get too close.Â
âThis way, tawtute,â Loâak says, reaching for your hand, but you yank it away before he can grab it.Â
âNo,â You say, but the firmness in your voice is overshadowed by the shakiness. âNo, Iâm not going in there.â
âYes, you are,â
Another headshake. âNo,â
Quick as lightning, his hand shoots out and grabs the bottom of your mask, gripping on the valve at the bottom as he bends down so his face is level with yours.
âDemon,â He growls, fangs on display for just a moment. A warning. âYou are pretty, but not stupid. You do as I say.â
Fear claws at your throat and your hands immediately latch onto his wrist, silently begging for him to not pull your mask off. He never does, and neither does Neteyam. Not as a punishment at least. When they use your mouth, thereâs always a warning - a âhold your breath, yawne,â before the air is cut off from your lungs and your mouth is full of alien cock. But the fear never leaves, the possibility is always there at the forefront of your mind, and you cling to his wrist like the lifeline it is.Â
Loâakâs face softens at your expression, grip loosening from your mask as his hand slides to cup the back of your neck. âYou know I would never hurt you. You need to trust me,â
Hesitantly, you shake your head again. Youâre pushing your luck, you know it. But youâve learned Loâak is the more lenient of the brothers and will tolerate more âdisobedienceâ than Neteyam will. âI canât,â
âYes, you can. Nothing in there will hurt you. If anyone is left in there, theyâre dead,â
And thatâs the problem. The terror of facing the place where life as you knew it was ended in a heartbeat. If thereâs still people in there, people you once knew, people you talked to, some people who were good, lying on the ground . . . lifeless . . .
In the end, itâs not a choice. Loâak sighs, pulling you back in his arms and cradling you to his chest like a toddler. You sniffle, eyes sliding shut, determined to not watch as he walks you towards the remains of the outpost.Â
Itâs hard to admit, but being carried by the brothers can be really soothing if you let it. They move swiftly, with grace and confidence in every step, careful not to jostle you despite the usually uneven terrain of the forest. Itâs even smoother now as Loâak walks across the flat pavement of the base. If you close your eyes, it can almost feel like youâre floating.
Thereâs a loud chu-chunk sound followed by the rapid hiss of air and the loss of sunlight behind your closed lids. You open your eyes to see that Loâak has found a still intact entrance, the airlock working to adjust the oxygen levels to whatever lies beyond the interior door. He smiles when the pressure stabilizes, opening the door and stepping into the inside of the base. This time, he doesnât warn you when he pulls off your mask, the sound of escaping air hitting your ears, but you donât choke. Instead you can breathe, deep complete breaths without the need for a mask covering your face.Â
Loâak wastes no time nuzzling his face against yours, sliding his cheek across every new inch of face and neck that he can comfortably reach, a deep content rumble vibrating through his chest.Â
Scenting you.Â
âI can smell you,â He whispers, lips pressing against your cheek. âNot just you right now, but where you were, where youâve been, here, within these walls.â
âW-what?â
His feet carry him, guided by an old scent that you can hardly believe is here after so long. But it is, it has to be - you know the journey, have walked it hundreds of times during your time on Pandora, but you canât imagine that Loâak would. You donât think he ever went inside the outpost during the attack. He shouldnât know that it's the second hallway instead of the first, shouldnât know itâs two left turns and one right, and that your door is the 3rd on the left. But he does.Â
He even knows which bed was yours and which was your roommateâs, only confirmed when he drops you down onto the thin RDA issued mattress against the far side wall. You land with a yelp, bouncing slightly from the force of the drop, but your noise of surprise is cut off by Loâakâs lips against yours.
âStupid humans,â He growls against your lips. âCan't even breathe air without help. Wish I could teach you, so I wouldnât have to go without your pretty lips on mine every day.â
You whine into the kiss, his big lips nearly twice the size of yours as they capture your mouth completely. Itâs not the first time heâs kissed you, but itâs the first time you can breathe while it happens.Â
He pulls away after a few more kisses, his breathing shallow as he reaches for something tied to his loincloth. Itâs only then that you see the CO2 mask thatâs been attached to his hip this whole time. He pulls the cross strap around his body, the mask hanging low on his chest and the CO2 canister hanging around his hip. He brings the mask to his face with one hand, taking in a few deep breaths, while the other hand works at the ties on his loincloth.Â
The material of his covering falls to the ground and he drops the mask in favor of gripping your chin, thumb rubbing soothingly across your cheek.Â
âSomeone wants to play with you,â He purrs. âBe a good girl and invite him out, okay?â
Your breathing is shaky as you rise up on the bed, knees pressing into the mattress as you come face to face with the flat plane hiding Loâakâs cock. His hand moves to the back of your head, guiding you forward until your lips press against the smooth space between his thighs.Â
Experience has you knowing what to do now, how to hold onto his thighs with both hands to keep yourself steady as you pepper gentle kisses along the hidden slit. Loâak tips his head back at the feel of your tongue sliding along the seam, little teasing kitten licks against the engorging slit that are always from him demanding them, demanding the slower teasing buildup, rather than you being coy.Â
He pushes your face harder against him, hissing a âyeah, good girl. Like you fucking mean it,â as he urges you to lick him deeper. When his slit opens, puffy and dripping, you canât help the moan that falls from your lips as the sweet taste of his slick coats your tastebuds. It controls your body, whatever is in the slick. You feel it, making your body heat up, making you want things you definitely donât - and youâre in the thick of it now, no mask or breathing breaks to cut whatever effects it usually has on you. It sets your body on fire now, making your thighs clench together as wetness pools in your core, and your brain fuzzes as the first touch of Loâakâs cock teases your lips as it starts to slip past the slit.Â
You donât know how long he keeps you there, sucking his cock. Heâs dragging it out, taking advantage of the rare opportunity he has now of you without your mask. He drags your mouth along his cock, staring down at you with hooded eyes and letting you suckle gently on the lavender tip. Sometimes heâll growl, pushing you down harder on his length just to hear you gag when the tip of his cock hits the back of your throat. Other times heâll pull you off completely, twisting your head so that your lips wrap around his girth from the side, before sliding you slowly back and forth along his length, tongue running over each and every bump and barb along the hot cerulean skin, the bright bioluminescent freckles decorating his cock practically shining under the layer of slick and saliva.Â
When heâs finally used you to tease himself enough, he pushes you back flat on the bed, large hands wrapping around your calves and pulling you closer so your ass is just barely hanging off the side. You whimper when he pulls your legs apart, ripping the soaked loincloth from your body, hungry amber eyes staring at your swollen, wet cunt.
âSuch a pretty girl,â He moans. The tip of his cock slides along your folds, nudging against your clit before sliding back down and positioning at your entrance. âYou ready?â
Your brain is fuzzy and your clit is throbbing, hole clenching with the need to be filled. You close your eyes, looking away from his intense gaze - you donât want it, you try to remind yourself, you donât, heâs making you. But a swift smack on your thigh makes your eyes fly open again, Loâakâs hard gaze seeming to cut into your very soul.
âSay it, demon. Wanna hear you say it,â
A small cry escapes your lips, body unconsciously trying to bear down on his cock even as you shake your head. He shifts forward just the tiniest bit, lavender tip just barely pressing against your drooling hole enough for it to start to stretch before stopping again.Â
ââNeed you, Lo'ak,â he recites, brow cocked, expecting you to repeat it. âSay it.â
âFuck!â Is what comes out instead - a whiny, frustrated curse, that has your eyes tearing up again and Loâakâs ears pinning back against his skull.
His hand is quick to wrap around your throat, fingers digging into the blood vessels at the side of your neck as he hisses down at you. Your hands wrap around his wrist again, fingernails digging in and no doubt leaving red crescent shaped marks in the blue skin. Heâs not squeezing your neck, not crushing your windpipe out of anger. You can breathe, the gulping breaths your gasping for are making it into your lungs, but the fingers pressing into the blood vessels make it feel like you canât. Your head is clouding again, fuzzing like TV static, vision going blurry as his hand doesnât relent.Â
âFine,â He grunts. âYou donât wanna talk? Donât.â
You want to scream when he pushes forward, cock bullying its way past your entrance and inside you, stretching you and filling you up. Itâs slow and torturous as he fills you impossibly full, the barbs along his length scraping ruthlessly against your slick walls. He sighs, ears flicking in pleasure as your heat envelopes him, stretching around his girth so perfectly he swears you were made for him.Â
You can feel the bulge in your belly, the pressure disappearing and reappearing again as he begins to move inside of you. Long, purposeful strokes meant as a punishment, meant to make you feel every agonizingly blissful inch of him as he fucks into your soaked cunt, harder and harder with each thrust. Your mouth moves trying to form words, sound fleeting save for the barely there whispers of âfuckâ, âoh my godâ, and âpleaseâ. Loâak hears them anyway, leaning down to silence you with a filthy kiss. His hips pound against yours, unrelenting in their mission to completely fuck the soul of your body, and the sound of slapping skin against skin mix with Loâakâs groans and your barely audible breathy whines.Â
Loâakâs fingers find their way to your swollen clit, rubbing persistently at the sensitive nub until you're crying into his mouth, thighs trying desperately to close together but canât because of his body between them. The thick press of his knot against your entrance is what pushes your oversensitive body over the edge.
At the first suffocating clench of your pussy around his cock, Loâak releases your throat letting all the air it felt like you werenât getting back into your lungs in a rush of oxygen. You gasp, crying against his lips as you arch up against him, creaming pussy fluttering around him as you cum on his cock. He growls when your teeth latch onto his bottom lip, blunt teeth digging in enough to draw blood, but the way he immediately grabs your hips, shoving his knot against you as hard as he would dare without actually penetrating you, tells you that it was a lust filled growl this time, not an angry one.Â
He moans when he spills himself inside you, face pressed against your neck as he fills you up. You swear it feels almost scorching hot, heating you up from the inside and then out as it spills from around Loâakâs still buried cock and runs down the curve of your ass and onto the bed sheets.Â
Someone clears their throat from behind Loâak, and you gasp at the sudden sound, frantically trying to look around Loâakâs hulking body to see who it is.Â
Loâak sighs, undisturbed by sudden intrusion, even going as far as rolling his eyes before slowly pulling out of your used cunt - more of his cum spilling out onto the bed now that heâs not still inside you to keep it in. âWasnât expecting you today, bro,â
Your eyes widen when he moves out of the way, revealing a smug looking Neteyam in the doorway, still very much dressed up in his warriorâs gear.Â
âI had to make time to see our pretty little demon,â Neteyam says, bright amber eyes sweeping over your exhausted form. He crosses the room with three long strides, one knee pressing into the bed as he leans down to press a soft kiss to your cheek. âThat was a nice show. I know youâre tired, paskalin,â
His eyes meet yours, amber irises practically swallowed up by the blacks of his pupils. A hand presses against your belly, sneaking down towards your oversensitive pussy, his pointer finger reaching out to tap against your clit as you whine.Â
âBut itâs really not fair that you smell more like Loâak than me now, is it?â
**Special thanks to @neteyamsyawntu for the prompt!
Taglist: @eywaite @loaksulluyswife @erenjaegerwifee @f-cklife @beautiful-brown-skin-05 @anastasia1777-blog @localjasmine @tsewtx @skywonder @neteyamswillow @luvv4j4ybe11 @pandoraslxna @avatarwifey
#đ»đđđđ đŸđđđđđ â#Avatar12DaysofKinkmas#lo'ak smut#lo'ak x female reader#lo'ak x reader#lo'ak x human reader#tw: noncon#tw: non con#tw: dubcon#tw: dubious consent
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Smoke Eater - Part 7
Pairing: Firefighter!Dean Winchester x F. ReaderÂ
Summary: Dean Winchester is the cocky, but well-respected Lieutenant at Firehouse 25. He leads by example, but heâs also known to break a few hearts. Heâs starting to crave something heâs never had, though. Something stable. Something real.Â
Thatâs when he meets you, on a truly terrible day, trapped in a rickety old elevator.  Â
đ„ Series Masterlist
AN: So I don't know why it takes me exactly seven chapters to get to the smut, but so far that's three different series where that's happened. đ (Never Say Goodbye, Break Me Down, and now Smoke Eater. Go figure! đ€·đœââïž)
Word Count: 6,200 Tags/Warnings: 18+ only! For smutty smut and baking shenanigans, tinge of angst.
Part 7: âCherry Pie & Lemon Drizzleâ
You liked Deanâs apartment. It was on the second floor out of three, and a modest, clean, comfortable space.
Though overall it felt very âdude broâ in dĂ©cor. You supposed that made sense, considering it was just Sam and Dean living here.
And while you still hadnât met Sam (he was working late tonight), it gave you a chance to do something youâd been very much looking forward to doing with DeanâŠÂ
âNot for nothinâ, this is probably one in three of the best things Iâve ever put in my mouth,â said Dean.
True to his word, his mouth was full. You giggled as a flake of pasta spewed from his mouth.
âOh really? Makes me curious about the other two,â you said mischievously. And you handed him a napkin to blot his face.
You sat across from him in the small dining room adjacent to the kitchen. The table itself was barely big enough to fit in the space, feeling more like a nook than a room, but it sat three people. That was usually enough for Sam and Dean, and occasionally Eileen when she came over.
Dean chuckled, his brows dancing. âOh, Iâm sure youâll find out.â
Your face warmed at that, despite your amusement. You had made dinner, for which Dean had been more than enthusiastic.
âYou mean I get an actual chef making me food? Sign me the hell up,â heâd teased.
Never mind that you werenât an actual chef. You had focused on patisserie in culinary school. He didnât seem to mind though, as heâd devoured two servings of salmon and fettucine alfredo, even down to the steamed broccoli. You had to admit, it warmed you inside to see him enjoy your food.
Youâd promised to cook for him last week, and he hadnât let it go until both your schedules opened up enough for you to come over.
He now hummed in satisfaction as he finished off the last bite on his plate and wiped his mouth with the napkin.
âThanks for this, sweetheart. I needa have you around here more often,â he said, tossing you a grin.
You smiled back. âItâs my pleasure.â
It wasnât the first time Dean had invited you over to his apartment, but for the life of you, you didnât know why it had taken you so long to accept.
âŠWell, okay, you did know why. You were reluctant to leave your grandfather alone, potentially all night. But George had been adamant about you going out for as long as you wanted, on the promise that heâd check in every few hours until he went to bed.
âOkay, ready for dessert?â you asked.
âUh, yeah,â Dean said. He still thought about those cookies you brought to the firehouse, almost a month ago already.
Damn, has it really been that long? he thought as he helped you collect the dishes from dinner. He followed you into the kitchen, where you already knew the lay of his land.
Sam couldnât cook for shit, so it usually fell on Dean to be the figure of culinary expertise. But he had no problem making way for you, especially if you were going to look over your shoulder and wink at him like that.
âGood, because youâre going to help me,â you informed him.
Deanâs smile grew. âAll rightâŠwhat did you have in mind?â
While he started on the dishes in the sink, you hauled out even more ingredients from a big grocery bag youâd brought and stored in the refrigerator. He watched you out of the corner of his eye and spotted lemons, among other things.
âLemon drizzle cake,â you replied. âOne of my grandmaâs recipes. I just need a mixing bowl and a cake tin.â
âGood, because weâre not very Betty Crocker in this place. Letâs just say my kitchen tools are limited,â he said, raising a brow at you. âYou know, if you wanted to bake, Iâm sure youâve got all the proper bells and whistles at your house. We couldâve done this over there.â
You paused to consider the question he wasnât quite asking, because he had a point. You couldâve invited him over your house instead. You joined him near the sink and leaned against the counter, tapping your nails on the tile surface.
âWell, as you know, I live with my grandpa,â you said.
âGood olâ George,â Dean grinned. âThat guyâs hilarious. Like the fourth Stooge.â
He particularly liked the story youâd told him about the time George had bought you your first makeup palette when you turned fifteen, but hadnât told you it was face paintâŠthe kind that clowns used.
âAnd Iâd love for you two to get to know each other better. Donât get me wrong. But barring the fact that we probably wouldnât have muchâŠprivacy,â you pointed out with a subtle smile, trying to ignore Deanâs resulting smirk. Never mind that you two hadnât needed âprivacyâ just yet.
âI guess Iâm just not used to inviting people over. Iâve been trying to limit the exposure to germs in the house,â you admitted. At Deanâs quizzical look, you had to explain.
âMy grandfather had cancer last year,â you said. âHe had surgery to remove the mass, and did well, considering his age. Heâs in remission nowâŠbut Iâm still looking after him.â
Youâd gone with him to see his primary doctor a couple of weeks ago for that persistent cough. While the doctor seemed to think it was Georgeâs asthma acting up, youâd still scheduled an appointment with his oncologist.
And while your thoughts led you down an all-too familiar path, Dean processed this with a nod of his head. He shut off the sink. After drying his hands, he looked over at you and brushed your cheek with his thumb.
âIâm glad heâs doing better now,â he said. His brows furrowed. âAnd your grandma passed just a few years before that?â
You nodded, letting out a deep breath. âYeah. Itâs been a long few years.â
So, Dean took an inventory in his mind as he rested a comforting hand on your back. You took care of your family. You could cook. You were beautiful. And still, you kicked ass at your job and seemed to have the rest of your shit together.
He had to admit. The more he learned about you, the more he liked you.
âAnyway,â you shook your head with a smile. âSorry. Ready to bake?â
Deanâs lips quirked as he followed you to the other side of the kitchen. He stepped behind you and letting his hands fall to your waist. His lips skimmed the side of your head, pressing a kiss there.
âOkay, Rachael Ray,â he teased. âTeach me your ways.â
You were trying to measure out some sugar in the bowl first, but you giggled with a warm blush as he kissed his way down your neck.
âAre you actually going to help, or are you just going to distract me?â you volleyed back.
Dean hummed against the crook of your neck. âCanât I do both?â
You picked up and egg and raised it level with his face.
âHmm, should I try cracking this against your forehead?â you pondered.
His teeth playfully nipped your skin in retaliation, making you flinch with a yelp. The egg actually cracked in your hand.
âShit,â you laughed, and you quickly dropped as much of it in the bowl as possible. But getting fractals of the shell in the bowl disturbed your anal sense of meticulousness. When it came to cracking eggs, you typically had nothing if not precision.
You shot Dean an accusatory look over your shoulder. He just grinned back at you.
âAm I helping yet?â he joked.
You chuckled dryly in response. âJust you wait.â
A few more minutes and âhelpfulâ distractions from Dean later, you successfully had a cake batter in the bowl. You were hand mixing up a storm and sorely missing your Kitchen Aid mixer. Dean was right though; his cupboards had little more than one cake pan, one mixing bowl, and one wooden spoon.
At home, you had a modest collection of cookware and bakeware that rivaled Williams & Sonoma. Though that had been a gift from your grandparents, when you graduated from culinary school. (Your grandma had picked them out before she passed.)
âWhatâs your favorite dessert?â you asked Dean. You were pretending not to catch him sampling the batter with a finger while you buttered the cake tin.
âEver?â he asked, rubbing a licked finger on his jeans.
âYeah. Number one top favorite.â
âHmm,â he contemplated with a cross of his arms. âPie, I guess.â
You smirked. That explained his little man-child display a few weeks ago, when youâd tried to share his blueberry pie on your second date.
âWhat flavor?â you asked.
âI dunno. Iâm not real picky,â he said.
âCome on. Everyone has a favorite flavor,â you reasoned. âIâm more of a cake girl myself, but even I love a blueberry pie.â
Dean eyed your teasing grin with a growing smirk of his own. He remembered that day in your office just as well as you.
âOkay, fine. Apple, I guess,â he replied. You gave him a mocking look.
âReally, the most basic of them all?â You tsked at him, shaking your head. âWhat happened to Mr. Rocky Road?â
Dean chuckled, but he leaned against the counter next to you. Instead of giving it to you right back, as usual, he looked more thoughtful. A gentler look grew on his face. It caught your attention.
âYou know, one of my earliest memoriesâŠâ He looked up at you then, more self-deprecating.
You realized he was about to admit to something, maybe embarrassing, or maybe just vulnerable. Your smile softened too as you paused in what you were doing.
âYou canât leave me hanging on that one,â you said. And you drew closer with a hand soothing up his arm.
He glanced over at you. âI remember beingâŠfour, probably. My mom made pies during Christmastime. Cherry, pecan, whatever. But my favorite was her apple pie. I still remember it, because I havenât had a pie since that tasted like that one.â
Your heart clenched, but your insides also warmed. Not just at the story of his mother, but the way Dean told it, his voice softer, steady, and deep. It told you a lot about him without him having to explain; just like you, he knew what loss was.
You curled your hands around his bicep and pressed a kiss to his shoulder. Then your gaze drew back up to his.
âHave you talked to your dad since the last time?â you asked, a bit cautiously. âAbout his investigation of the fire?â
Dean sighed deep through his nose. âNo.â
But despite his fatherâs warning, he had spoken to Sam.
âItâs different this time, Sam. The brand marks are the same,â Dean argued with his brother, this time in the living room. He sat on the couch while Sam stood, trying to process everything Dean had just told him about Maryâs potential murder.
âYou saw the pictures yourself?â Sam asked.
Dean frowned. âNo, but Dadââ
âDean,â Sam cut him off as he gripped at his temples in frustration. âThis is what he does. He sees evidence where he wants to see evidence. Iâve been down this road with him too, you know.â
âYeah, I know,â Dean gritted out. John had roped Sam into helping him a few times, using his ADA status to look into different leads that ultimately hadnât panned out.
âThey always look like connections to him, but they never end up being anything more than his obsession,â Sam said.
He was firm, and Dean understood why, but his gut was telling him that it was different this timeâŠ
Still, he had no choice but to let it go. For now.
Dean shook his head of that memory. Instead, he tried to focus on being here with you. He liked this little yellow sundress you had on, despite the fall chill starting to set in outside. As usual, your hair was clipped up away from your neck while you got ready to put the now full cake tin into the oven.
He came over behind you and freed your hair from the clip, letting it all tumble down. You yelped and glanced over at him.
âDean,â you chided, even though you were smiling. âMy hairâs going to get in the batter.â
âIâll keep it away, donât worry,â he said lightly. He curled some of your hair around his hand so he could once again press a tantalizing kiss to the back of your neck. He felt you shiver.
You subtly leaned back against him, even as you whined in protest.
âCan you just let me get this in the oven?â you asked on a laugh. He smirked against your skin. You did manage to get the cake in the oven, but his lips and teasing hands were unrelenting as you tried to start cleaning up.
So you felt you had to take matters into your own hands. A mischievous idea had you smiling. You reached out for some flour that had spilled on the counter.
You turned, and before he realized what you were up to, you marked his forehead with an arch of white against his skin.
âSimba,â you said in a deeper voice, trying to mimic Mufasa from The Lion King.
Deanâs brows rose along with his widening eyes. Heâd never seen you do something that childish, but it sparked his competitiveness as he blinked a bit of flour out of his eyes.
âYouâre real proud of yourself, arenât you?â he asked.
Your little smirk was answer enough. You flicked a bit more flour onto his shirt.
Dean chuckled darkly. âOkay, you asked for it.â
Both a gasp and a giggle caught in your throat.
âOh, no.â
He reached past you for some flour off the counter and flicked it down at you, into your hair, across your face. He grabbed your flailing wrist and marked your cheeks. All the while, his grin grew ever deeper at your shrieking protests.
But you grew devious. You stuck two fingers into the bowl and scraped out a gob of raw, yellow batter. You were fully prepared to fling it into his face, but Dean grabbed your wrist.
âEy, ey!â he raised a warning finger with his free hand. âYouâre about to take this to a new level.â
You met his gaze through your lashes with a playful smile. âSo?â
Dean raised a brow at you. He could admit, you had audacity. All he could do was call your bluff.
He took one of your battered fingers into his mouth. Your eyes widened at the feel of his soft tongue swirling around your finger, sucking it clean. All the while, his eyes never broke from yours.
Lord have mercy, you thought. Really, it was the only coherent one in your head.
He soon released you with a soft pop, before he did the same to the second finger.
Your breath hitched, and your blush was a living thing spreading down your neck, even as warmth pooled between your legs. By the time your second finger slid out of his mouth, you had to reach back to grip the counter just to steady yourself.
His arm slipped around your waist, and you reached for his face with both hands, bringing him down for the hottest kiss youâd ever had in your life. Teeth clicking, lips and tongues warring and devouring. Your fingers slipped roughly through his hair, while he gripped your hips and ass with a passion just shy of bruising.
You almost didnât register the way his hands slipped under your thighs, to then heft you up onto the counter. You gasped into his mouth and clung tightly to his shoulders. He chuckled and positioned himself to stand between your legs.
âWhat, need a little warning?â he teased. Though he was breathless as your soft lips veered away from his, starting a burning path across his jaw and down his neck. You left the remnants of your lipstick all along the way, but it was the occasional graze of your teeth that had him moaning for you.
âMaybe,â you whispered coarsely against his skin, uttering a small laugh, âSometimes I forget how damn strong you are.â
He scoffed. âSweetheart, if I can heft a grown man on my shoulders up a flight of stairs, I can get you up on a little counter.â
You snorted in response. Perks of dating a firefighter.
And you shoved off his plaid shirt from his shoulders. Dean helped you by letting it drop the rest of the way to the floor, followed by his black undershirt.
You couldnât believe this was the first time you were seeing him with his shirt off. It was a damn shame, really. But you caught the bit of smugness curving his lips at the way you were ogling, first with your eyes, then with your exploring hands over his toned arms and chest, and the solid plane of his abs, all the way down to his belt. You started undoing the clasp.
Dean couldnât believe he was doing this, but he stopped you with his hands gently curling around your wrists. You looked up at him in confusion. To him, you looked unbelievably sexy then. Thoroughly kissed, hair tousled, a strap of your dress fallen to one shoulder while your lacey black bra peeked through.
Just the memory of having your curves in his hands had his dick hardening in his jeans, but he blew out a breath.
âDean?â you asked. âWhatâs wrong?â
His hands tightened on yours as he peered down at you. âAre you sure?â
You blinked incredulously. âDid I look not sure?â
He paused, licking his lips. He raised a hand to hold your cheek.
âI justâŠyou know Iâm trying to do this right with you,â he said. âI just want to knowâŠâ
He couldnât seem to finish what he was trying to say, but you thought you understood. You smiled up at him warmly. You leaned up for a kiss, softer this time.
âDean, I trust you,â you said. And you could finally say it with no reservations. âI think this feels real. More real than anything Iâve had in a long time⊠What about you?â
When Dean smiled, it was warm, melting away the doubt in his eyes.
âYeah, me too,â he said.
He seemed sincere. Maybe this man spared few words when it came to how he felt, but youâd seen a glimpse of the deeper parts. He felt things deeply, down to his bones.
His fingers sunk into your hair, and he guided you into a kiss. It was slower, but no less heady and wanting than the first. Your arms wrapped around his middle, letting you flatten your palms against the muscles in his back. But just as you were getting comfortable, Dean broke the kiss. He flashed you a smirk.
Before you could ask what the hell he was about to do, heâd hefted you back into his arms and over his shoulder. You squawked in protest as your whole world tipped over. Your face thudded on his back with a soft oof, your hair loose and falling like a curtain. Your hands accidentally fell against his ass.
âOoh, someoneâs handsy,â Dean teased.
âDean!â you exclaimed, despite your peals of laughter. âIs this really necessary? I think I can find your room just fine.â
âCall it an officerâs escort,â he supplied.
âThatâs for policemen!â you argued.
You couldnât see it, but you could imagine the way he was grinning from ear to ear as he carried you through the apartment. You never noticed just how long his bowed legs were as he strode onward. But it felt like his shoulder was digging into your appendix.
Grunting in frustration, you slapped his ass again for good measure.
Dean laughed. âHey, youâre only fueling my fire, baby.â
He slapped your ass right back, since he had an even better vantage point. He even slipped a hand underneath your little sundress and squeezed the inside of your thigh teasingly.
Your answering yelp, and the futile kick of your feet, had him laughing harder. His cheeks were aching.
Finally he reached his room, where he shut the door with his foot. He was gentle as he eased you off his shoulder and laid you down on his bed. You let out a breathless huff once your head hit the pillows. Your face was all red from being suspended upside-down, your hair a mess, and your dress pooling over your folded legs.
You gave Dean a playful glare. âGet over here.â
His smirk deepened, but he obliged you. He chucked his shoes off first, just like you let your sandals slip off the side of the bed.
He soon made his way up the bed, until he was hovering over you with his arms braced on either side of your head. He liked the way you were all laid out for him over his sheets, your wild hair spread over his pillows. Heâd pictured something like this before, but nothing came close to having you for real.
He just didnât know youâd been dreaming of the same thing.
You hadnât allowed yourself to truly fall for someone, not in a long time. Youâd been too focused on pivoting after school, on building your career, on taking care of your family. Youâd dated here and there, but nothing had stuck for more than a few months. Even then, youâd never felt half of what you felt right now.
It scared you a little, but it also made you feel alive. Being with Dean made you feel that way.
So you took his face between your hands. His stubble rasped against your palms and the pads of your fingers. You didnât mind that though. Heâd left it a bit long for a shave last week. When youâd mentioned off-hand that you liked the thicker scruff (thinking it made him all the more handsome), heâd kept it for you.Â
Now, he seemed like he was waiting on your cue.
You guided him down to you. He kissed you hot and slow, while a hand moved to your waist and clenched in the material of your dress. He slipped a heavy thigh between both of yours. The pressure was welcome, but you wanted friction.
You bunched up the skirt of your dress and aimed to slip it off, but Dean stopped your hands.
âThatâs my job,â he teased.
âThen how about you get to it?â you countered with a smile. He rose a brow at you.
âA bit bossy, but I can dig that,â he smirked.
His kisses dropped against your neck, down your exposed neckline, and he peeled down the straps of your dress one by one. Your breathing became more labored as he touched you, squeezing a breast over the bra as he exposed more inches of your body.
Your fingers carded through his hair on a sigh as he made his way further down. Though he finally got impatient enough to work your dress off all the way, followed by his jeans and your bra and matching lacey panties. He lavished attention what felt like all over your body.
Really, he was just strategic. He stopped in places where you lost breath, moaning his name. Like the spot just under your ear, where he sucked hard enough to make you see stars. Or over your breasts, taking a pebbled nipple in his mouth, swirling with his tongue like he had the cake batter off your fingers.
His hands mapped out the soft planes and curves of your body for the first time, sometimes smooth and grazing, sometimes adding pressure that made warmth continue to pool between your legs. Â
He went further still, wrapping an arm around your thigh and pressing nipping kisses along the inside. All the while his mouth drew closer to the place you wanted him the most. Even though you still raised up on your elbow and gave him a questioning look.
âReally? You want toâŠâ Your voice came out in a whisper.
Dean looked up at you with puzzled brows. âWhy not?â
You shook your head, your eyes widening marginally.
âNo reason, I guess. I, umâŠIâve never had someone do this for me first.â And certainly not on the first time having sex.
Dean frowned.
âReally?â he asked. âA guyâs never gone down on you first?â
You blushed. âWell, maybe with his fingers, but notâŠâ
He shook his head and let out a breath. You felt it between your thighs, and your core clenched in anticipation.
âOkay, baby. I gotcha,â he said. He guided you back down with a gentle hand. âJust lie back and relax.â
You smiled, despite your lingering blush, and you stroked the hand that rested above your stomach. That hand soon slid down as he once again kissed and licked down your thighs. They quivered a bit as his fingers slipped between your folds.
âSo fucking wet for me already,â he said in approval. You peered down at him, unable to help a smile.
âYou want a medal?â you quipped.
Deanâs brows rose.
âOh, Iâm about to earn it.â His eyes found yours. âYou know what my real favorite pie flavor is?â
Your brows knitted together. âWhat?â
A familiar smirk crossed his lips. âCherry.â
Before your choked surprise could be broken with a laugh, he began.Â
And he wasnât lying, about any of it. The pads of his fingers began toying with your clit, and that alone had your breath hitching and your hips squirming.
He held you down with one hand on your lower belly while his tongue joined his fingers, seeking your heat and finding the hot channel where you craved to be filled. You gasped.
âOh, God,â you uttered. Once his warm tongue began rolling inside you, you almost couldnât breathe.
He worked you over with fingers, lips and tongue until you were arching off the bed, fists clenched in his hair and in the sheets, releasing broken gasps of his name. He didnât relent until your thighs stopped shaking around his head. Your knees were damn near pinning him there.
He eventually withdrew, wiping his mouth and nose with the back of his hand. He moved smoothly back up your body and heeded the pull of your hands on his arms, and then his face. You tugged him down for a sloppy kiss.Â
âHowâs that for a first?â he asked breathlessly. His tone was teasing, but he was half-serious you thought, by the look in his eyes.
You were honest, without a hint of a joke. âFucking incredible. Just like you.â
Dean wouldnât admit it then, but what you said warmed him. He looked down on you with a smile.
Your hands caressed his face, down his neck and firm chest, and further still to caress his straining length over his boxer briefs. Dean let out a halting moan at your gentle touch.Â
âWhat if I want to return the favor?â you asked with a smile. He made a sound deep in his throat when you cupped him more firmly, letting your thumb brush over the head.
Well hello, you thought. He was thick, and a bit bigger than your first thought. Your already sensitive core tightened at the thought.Â
Meanwhile, Dean squeezed your arm. His hot gaze bore into yours.
âVery, very tempting.â His thumb brushed your lower lip. âIâve no doubt youâve got some talents yourself.â
You smiled under the pad of his thumb. Part of you was contemplating some retribution, sucking it into your mouth the way heâd done to your fingers in the kitchen.
âBut Iâm thinkinâ I want to skip to the part where I have you coming apart all over again,â said Dean. His head bowed near your ear, though his lips skimmed the side of your face. âThis time, from the inside.â
His voice was deep and threaded with grit. You bit your lip on a giddy laugh. You managed to nod, sweeping your shaky fingers through his hair.
âOkay, next time then,â you promised and gave him a sensuous kiss. âBut first, just want to make sure youâre ready for meâŠâ
You leaned down to slide his underwear for him, down to his knees. He helped you the rest of the way, kicking them off his legs. When he came back, you were sitting up.
You soothed warm hands along his thighs and took his cock into your hands. Dean dropped his forehead onto your shoulder with a grunt, again squeezing your arms as you touched him properly for the first time.
Dean had a habit of impressing you, and this was no different. You liked the feel of him in your hands, warm and thick and heavy.
After licking your hand to coat it with some wetness, you experimented for a moment in how you stroked him, trying to get a feel for what he liked just as he had for you. He gasped and jolted on one particular twist, and he finally stopped you with a hand on your wrist.
âOkay, baby. Keep that up and weâre not gonna get much farther for a while,â he said coarsely.
It was satisfying to know youâd made him feel even a fraction of how heâd made you feel.
You pressed a purposeful kiss into his neck. âI told you, next time Iâll take care of you for real.â
He chuckled, cupping the side of your face.
âOh, youâre about to. Believe me,â he said.
He kissed you long and deep, until you were once again breathless. The two of you were kneeling in the middle of the bed like you had all the time in the world. And yet, you wanted him more than ever.
âIâm on birth control,â you told him between more fervent kisses, hands drifting, feeling skin to warm, dewy skin, breaths mingling.
âAnd Iâm clean,â he said. You nodded, hesitatingâŠ
âItâs our first time,â you said. âCondom, just to be safe.â
He hesitated only a beat before he nodded back, agreeing to your request. âYes, maâam.â
He broke from you briefly. He turned and dug into his nightstand while your nails drew light patterns down his back. It was distracting in the best of ways. A trill of excitement had his hands moving quickly, ripping the foil packet open and fitting himself with the condom.
When he was ready for you, he turned and hooked an arm around your waist. You twined your arms around his neck, and once again, you let him lay you down. His kiss came first, and then his fingers between your legs, past your folds to stroke you back to life.
You moaned into his mouth and wrapped your legs around his hips. Though he surprised you again by hooking your legs over his shoulders. Your brows raised at him, and he shot you a wink.
âTrust me, youâll like it this way,â he said.
You did trust him. Your hands caressed down his neck, down his chest, and you subtly urged him with your heels on his back, encouraging him where you both knew he needed to be.
And with one slow push, his cock was stretching your inner walls with slow, delicious friction. You both groaned at the feeling. His forehead pressed against yours. His hand trembled slightly, brushing your hair away from your face. And he began moving inside you in steady strokes.
Dean was putting his all into this tonight. He thought your promises to take care of him next time were as endearing as they were sexy as hell. Even now, you were touching him wherever you could reach, occasionally moaning his name in his ear, encouraging him with every thrust inside you.
Fuck, he was right, you thought. He was reaching places deep inside you, filling you to the very brim. And you were already on the edge of pleasure, brows furrowed, biting your lower lip so hard that your teeth nearly broke the skinâŠ
Your fingers slipped down between you to further part your folds and rub your already sensitive clit. Dean caught the hint and moved your hand to do it himself, as in time with his thrusts as he could. Finally, you unraveled for the second time that night. Your gasp gave way to a moan.
Your tightening walls gripped him like a vice. His release hit him with the same force, choking a near shout out of him. His hand was a bit too tight in your hair, he realized, so he forced himself to ease up.
He petted over your hair instead as he came down with ragged breaths. After he released your shaky legs back to the bed, he leaned mostly on his elbow and thigh instead of sinking all his weight onto you.
You appreciated that. You soothed up and down his back while you panted for breath.
âWow,â you managed to say.
Deanâs chuckle took him by surprise too.
âYeah,â he agreed. He turned his head to press a sloppy kiss where your neck met your shoulder.
Just then, a distant-sounding jingle reached your ears. It was familiarâŠand you remembered it was the alarm on your phone, which was probably in the kitchen.
âOh shit,â you gasped. âThe cakeâs still in the oven.â
He blinked. âWell, I donât smell burning, so weâre good.â
âDean! Youâre a firefighter, remember?â you laughed, but you still tapped his shoulder so heâd roll over. Reluctantly he did, but he still took you with him, even after heâd slid out of you.
You yelped and clung to his shoulders to balance yourself. âI gotta get the cake!â
âFive more minutes,â he grumbled into your neck. He also liked the way your breasts were pressed against his chest.
âItâs going to be soâŠdamnâŠburnt!â You punctuated each of those syllables with a playful smack on his arm, until he finally released you with a lazy smirk.
You shook your head and huffed in amusement. Sliding out of bed, you searched around for your dress. The first thing you found was his discarded undershirt. You slipped it on real quick and cautiously padded out of Deanâs room. You didnât know if Sam was back from work, but this was not how you wanted to meet him.
The halls were quiet, so you didnât think he was home yet. You managed to get to the kitchen unscathed, where you turned off your timer and grabbed some oven mitts. You opened the oven and pulled out the cake, setting it down on the counter. Your eyes narrowed at the almost perfect dome on top.
âWhatâs the verdict, Chef Ramsay?â
Dean leaned in the doorway, dressed in a pair of gray sweatpants and nothing else. The view was delectable, but you sighed and gestured at the cake with a shake of your head.
âItâs burnt.â
âWhat? No, itâs not,â he refuted. He joined your side and stared down at the top of the cake, which was half browned. âLooks all right to me.â
âTrust me, itâs going to be dry,â you said, âeven with the lemon drizzle on it.â
It was the perfectionist in you that smarted with disappointment. You didnât want to serve anyone something you werenât proud of, especially Dean. But he just leaned over and pressed a kiss to the side of your head.
âDonât beat yourself up,â he said. âIâm still gonna eat the crap out of it.â
You glanced at him, unable to help a small smile. He grinned back.
âAnyway, I think it was worth it. Donât you?â Dean said. He pulled you in towards him by your waist, and you went willingly, resting your hands against his bare chest. You let your nails drag against his skin a little as you contemplated.
You looked up at him with a grin of your own.
âYeah. Definitely worth it.â
Dean later sat with you again at the table, this time with your chairs closer together as you each ate large slices of delicious cake (even if it was a bit dry). Out of the corner of his eye, he noted the copious number of dishes still left in the sink and the flour and batter sprinkled across the counter.
He knew Sam was going to have a conniption when he got home (in the morning at this rate). He was probably crashing at Eileenâs apartment tonight.
Good, Dean thought. That meant heâd have the place all to himself, with you.
âYou know, I just realized something,â he said.
You knew that look in his eyes. He was about to say something smartass.
âWhatâs that?â you asked. He reached out and thumbed at your chin.
âI just got my dessert twice in one sitting,â he remarked. âThatâs pretty damn good, if you ask me.â
You snorted in laughter. You also blushed, but you were unable to stop smiling either.
You set down your fork and eased back from the table. Your hand on Deanâs shoulder encouraged him to do the same, so you could sit across his lap. He welcomed you with a warm hand on your bare thigh. Already it was creeping under the shirt you borrowed.
You stroked his cheek with the back of your hand and gave him a mischievous smile.
âThink you could handle another serving?â
AN: đ«Ł Was it everything you wanted it to be? lol I love me some baking innuendo. What did you like more: eating the cherry pie or making the lemon drizzle? đâ€ïžâđ„
In Part 8, Dean's past comes a knockin'...
Next Time:
While you were getting dressed, a phone buzzed on one of the nightstands beside the bed. It was Deanâs phone.
You went over to it curiously as you fixed the straps of your dress. The screen showed a missed text message from last night, around 10:00 p.m., and another one this morning. You read the latest one with a sinking feeling in your chest.
From Marissa: Surprised I didnât hear back from you last night. The offer still stands. đ
Keep Reading: PART 8
Dean Winchester Masterlist
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#Cherry Pie & Lemon Drizzle#Smoke Eater#Part 7#dean winchester#Firefighter!Dean Winchester#dean winchester x reader#Dean Winchester x female reader#firefighter!Dean Winchester x Reader#dean winchester x you#firefighter AU#dean winchester AU#spn#supernatural#zepskies writes
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Allan x Reader Meetcute Oneshot Adventure
A/N: God gave me the power to write and weed so Iâm making stuff.Â
Summary: A Allan Adventure redone scene so he can avoid that long-ass day. Really half of this is just the transcript from wiki but I had fun with it.Â
Warnings: Mentions of quitting smoking, Smiling Friends shenanigans
___________________
Allan had stepped into the local Office Crap in search of some paper clips. He speaks to an employee with six arms who was stocking shelves to quickly ask where he could find the paper clips.Â
Allan: Um, excuse me.
Armzo: [interrupting Allan] Wait, wait, wait, hold on man, I'm do- I'm in the middle of something here.
Allan walks up to Armzo while he continues to stack cans.
Allan: I just need some help.
Armzo: I'm warning you right now dude, keep screwing around and bad shitâs gonna happen, man.
Allan scowls at the rude attitude.Â
Allan: You don't need to be rude.
Armzo angrily puts his cans down and walks up to Allan. Tapping his foot impatiently.
Armzo: Ok, what's up man, what do you want, huh? Whatâs going on, what do you need, man? Don't get nervous now, man, what? Ask your-ask your question, go ahead, what?
The two talk over each other, while the armless manager in the background notices the argument.
Allan: Look, asshole, I'm just wondering if you have any-
Armzo: Asshole?!
Allan: Yeah-
Allan and Armzo: Asshole!
Allan: You-
Armzo: Did you call me an asshole?!
Allan: Yes, I did, because you're being an asshole! Why didn't you help me?
Armzo: Bro, youâre being an asshole! I'm in the middle of something right now!
Allan: Fuck you, don't you work here? I'm just a customer!
Armzo: You walk up to me and you literally just start bugging me with stupid questio-
Allan: I'm not "bugging you", I'm just asking- you- you spider, you ass-
Armzo: What do you need?! Wha-
The manager runs over.
Manager: ARMZO! Who told you to stop stacking with your six arms? He wiggles his arm stubs.
Armzo angrily continues stacking while scowling at Allan.
Allan: Sir, do you know where I can find some paperclips?
Manager: Paperclips? No, sorry. Unfortunately, we're sold out.
Allan: Sold out?
 The manager nods.
Allan: Hmm, is there somewhere else where I can get them?
Manager: Hmm, the only place that might have them is that computer repair shop over in Crimeville.
Just then another critter appeared setting down a large box that was blocking them from view.
Y/N: W-wait, boss, what do you mean sold out? I just hauled in all these crates of paper clips.
Manager: O-oh ya did?
Y/N: Yeah for like the last 2 hours I've just been hauling these crates in. You told me to, remember?
Manager: Oh yeah. I thought that was Billy's job.
Y/N: Billy didn't show up today. Only Armzo and I did and since he has six arms and I don't he got stacking. He always gets stacking. We knew we were getting a big shipment today after that last guy bought the whole stock. Look at all these crates. Thatâs all metal in there. Look at how short I am. I couldâve used some help.
Manager: Uh huh. Look, y/n I really don't want to get into this right now. We have a customer.
Y/n looks to see Allan turn slightly revealing his presence. They mistook him for a load bearing pole painted red.Â
Y/N: Oh, didn't see you there, man. My apologies.
Allen: Um yeah. I just needed some paper clips.
Y/N: Oh yeah yeah isle 7. Just over here.Â
Manager: And Armzo, if you screw up again you're going BACK TO THE PSYCH WARD!!!!
Armzo starts quickly stacking cans in fear, the manager walks away before he turns back to a smiling Allan
Armzo: Thanks, man. Thanks for getting me in trouble, two armed piece of shit.
Allan: Sure thing. Hey goodbye spider. Goodbye. Keep stacking, keep stacking. Bye bye. Bye. Goodbye.
Armzo: [at the same time] Goodbye! Bye! Bye bye! Bye bye! Bye bye! I will, I will! Bye bye!
Armzo flips off Allan with three of his arms as he leaves to follow Y/N to the paper clip aisle.Â
Armzo: Get outta here man.
One of the cans fall on Armzo's head
Armzo: WOAH-
All of the cans fall on and bury Armzo.
Y/n began leading Allen to isle 7.
Y/N: Look, man I'm real sorry about my outburst back there.
Allan: Oh, it's cool.
Y/N: Like I've just had a really rough morning but I'm trying to not project that onto people. You don't need to know about all that. Anyway, here's the paper clips.
Allan: No, I don't. Thanks for the paper clips though
Y/N: Yeah man. I can ring you up when you're ready
They turned to go to the register.
âHeyâ said Allen getting y/n's attention. Now walking to the register with them, paper clips secured.
Y/N: Yeah?
Allan: (he looks to read their nametag) Y/N, you were much more helpful than that other guy with the arms.Â
Y/N: Oh thanks, dude. Don't worry about Armzo, he's just been super irritable since the psych ward made him quit smoking. Called me a %$^#%$&@#&$^^$@^#^$@(!^&#%@@% yesterday so i put a dead fish in his locker. Anyway, that'll be $4.39, sir.
As Allan handed them the money their hands brushed a second longer than needed.Â
Y/N: And 61 cents is your change. Would you like your receipt?
Allan: Sure.
Their hands brushed again as Allan was handed his receipt and his change. Static shocking them both.
Y/N: Have a nice day, sir. Â
They waved off with a smile.
Allan: Yeah. You too. I guess I'll see you around.
Y/N: See ya around.
With that, Allen turned to leave with his paper clips. Upon closer inspection of the receipt, allen noticed y/n had written down their number.
______________________
Meanwhile in Crimeville, DJ Spit waited outside of the computer repair shop for Allen to walk out with the paper clips. After waiting a while he called up the landlord who hired him.
DJ Spit: (on the phone) Hey man, I donât think this foo is coming, holmes.Â
Landlord: WHAAAT?? But he shouldâve been there by Now!!!!?
DJ Spit: Uhhh yeah man, no I donât see him nowhere around. Itâs already been like a couple hours.Â
Landlord: OH Woah is me! Now who will I get who is cool enough to HANG out with me and smoke weed and fill out bellies with DIET soda and play Burnout Revenge for the PS2?!
DJ Spit: you got weed man? Thatâs cool I remeber playing PS2 with my primos after school.Â
Landlord: Hey Dj Spit, Would you like to HANG out with me and smoke weed and fill out bellies with DIET soda and play Burnout Revenge for the PS2?!
DJ Spit: Would I still get paid, man?Â
Landlord: Oh ABSOLUTELY!
DJ Spit: Oh fuck yeah man, Iâll be right over. My soundcloud about to pop the fuck off with this one. Hey ya want me to bring like beers or anything while Iâm out.Â
Landlord: No itâs cool. Iâve got the DIET soda. I just have to make a quick call to cancel the other stuff. I might still be able to get my DEPOSIT back. I guess what I really needed wasnât a smiling friend but a friend who would make me smile.Â
DJ Spit: Uh cool, so Iâll see you in like 15.Â
Landlord: HEHEHEHe cool. See you in 15, PAL!
End
#allan red#allan smiling friends#smiling friends#smiling friends s2#allan#allan x reader#allan red x reader#dj spit#justice for dj spit#crack fic#I write because I have free will#alan smiling friends#alan x reader#alan red
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äžâFrom the Startă»ăă»ă
authorâs notes: scurries in from the darkness, throws this > đŁ < out into the light, and runs back for cover đ„
warnings: unedited, angst, drabble, unrequited love, pining, daydreams, cliffhanger
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When Leo invited you down to the lair to hang out, you had thought maybe it would be a movie thing. Or perhaps even going to the ramp room, chatting while he practiced skateboarding tricks that almost always ended badly with bruises. You wouldnât have been surprised if he had dragged you into the kitchen to whip up something to eat or just snack on whatever the two of you could find.
But no, instead, he led you to his room, with a skip in his step. When you questioned why it had to be just the two of you. Why all of his brothers were rolling their eyes in Leoâs direction. He just shook his head, âI canât tell anyone else! Youâre the only one I can trust!â It was then, that you had a sinking feeling.
This scenario had happened before. Many times actually. You glanced back at the bros, exasperated already and you hadnât even heard anything yet. But you knew.
Once in his room, Leo let go of you, and jumped face first into his bed. He let out a dramatic screech, kicking to boot before he turned to the ceiling and announced, âIâve got a crush,â
You held back a sigh as you walked over to the only chair in his room. Pulled it out from under the desk, and sat, getting ready for the long haul. âWho and how?â
He really hadnât even needed the question. He was off to the races explaining exactly how he had met ~them~ and all the moments after, from whence his heart first skipped a beat, the beauty that they hold, how they laugh at all his jokes. Your eyes clouded over.
This was pure torture. As your eyes unfocused, you let your train of thought wander away from Leoâs babbling fancies. Truly youâd lost count of how many times this had happened before. It was always the same things that made his heart flutter. That made him go crazy, so much so, that heâd tire out his brothers from all the lovesick shenanigans and bring you into the mix.
Which was like listening to chalk squeak against a chalkboard. Shrill and grating. If you didnât tune it out, youâd go crazy yourself. Because it was despicable to listen to your own crush, talk about how much they wanted someone else.
For a second, you could just blink, look over at him, and pretend he wasnât saying anything of consequence. âBlah blah blah,â his mouth moved, but you werenât listening. That was better. It was unfair how pretty he could be. Especially when he was happy, especially when he was falling hard. The way he smiled, how his eyes shined. His hands couldnât stop moving, he just had to animate with his whole body about how he felt. Your knee started to bounce. He was being cruel and he didnât even realize it.
It wasnât fair. But then again, how would he ever know unless you told him? You imagined what it would be like. To interrupt him. To confess your love. Heâd probably laugh in your face. Ha what a great joke Y/n, now get real and back to my love crisis. Thatâs what heâd say. Or something along the lines of it.
But sometimes you could imagine him pausing completely. Getting taken so off guard that he no longer had the words to respond. That maybe heâd look at you with a different light. So maybe that was why you did it. On the off chance that, maybe, Leo had always harbored something for you too. Just deep down! So deep that he felt the need to hide it with all of these other so called crushes.
âLeo!â
He blinked and sat up from where he had been laying, interrupting his tangent.
âWhat?!â
Straightforward. That would be the best route.
âI like you.â Your eyes were steady, yet your heart raced. It was thundering in your chest as you watched one of his brow bones raise.
âI like you too Y/nâ he said so as if it was obvious. Which meant he was misunderstanding.
âNo no, not like that. I like you.â You strained with the emphasis as you willed his thick skull to understand. And it mustâve gotten through because his eyes widened just a bit.
âYou like me?â He questioned, sitting up even straighter than before. Now you had his attention. And you could feel sweat building up in your palms as you nodded seriously.
âBut, weâre best friends..â and you couldâve let that shoot you down. But you continued on. Getting up from your spot, from the single chair, and making your way over to him. Despite how every step made you second guess yourself. Despite thinking maybe it was a better idea to just run out of his room. Or to just settle for the friendship you thought you had wanted.
But you pushed through it all as you sat down next to him. âWe are. Youâre my best friend Leo. And I, maybe Iâm greedy, but I canât help it. Iâve liked you for so long now. And I donât think I can just sit idly by anymore.â
You took a breath, palms closing into fists. Eyes closing because if he was going to reject you, itâd be better to not see the pity on his face. You piped up once more before he could say anything, âEvery time you talk about your crushes, I canât help but think, but wish, that it were me! And every time you get over one, I get ahead of myself, I hope that maybe, one day, youâll look at me differently!â
There was so much you could say. So many different ways to say it. But that was the gist. âThat⊠youâll like me like that. That youâll return the feelings Iâve felt for you,â you blew out a breath. Then looked into his eyes.
Leo was rarely ever serious but he was now. âI never knewâŠâ he said softly after a moment of silence. Of taking in all that you had revealed. You nodded not knowing what that meant for your relationship with him now. And the fear of losing him forever leaked onto your face. His eyes softened, a green hand going out to cup your cheek.
âI wish Iâd known sooner,â and with that he brushed a finger against your skin. He looked down at your lips as they parted with a shocked breath. He smirked, as only Leo could, and leaned down with a silent question that had you tilting your head to give him better access to your lips.
âY/n are you even listening to me?â
You blinked.
âHuh?â
You were in the single chair.
âHello! Earth to Y/n, this is like the biggest moment of my life, Iâm telling you I think they may be the one!! Come on focus!!â
Right. You straightened up, crossing a leg over the knee that wouldnât stop bouncing.
âSorry, go on,â
And he blinded you with that smile as he retold all of the sickening things that made him so endeared to his crush. If only it wasnât so endearing to you.
âââââââââââââââââââââââââ
This â is why this â came about :D
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