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atlabeth · 27 days ago

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(please) spare me indignity

pt 3

pairing: spencer reid x fem gideon!reader

summary: you and spencer spend more time together. it's bad, then it's good, then it's something else altogether.

a/n: continuing the gideon!reader series! a whole lot of this is arguing because they love each other fr. sorry this took so long, for some reason i had a really hard time finding my footing here but i hope you enjoy!! reader is a victim of the sassy man apocalypse bc this may be s1/2 spencer but he is not going to not be standing up for himself!! have this new banner that i made to try and help with my inspiration. title is from nothing new by rio romero

wc: 5k

warning(s): r and spence argue some more. angst, hurt w/o comfort, then hurt with comfort! idk theyre kinda sweet

You and Spencer spend the next six and a half hours watching movies.

You make it through Goodfellas and you only tell him to be quiet twelve times. You take a break to get water and make popcorn, which was so generously provided in your grocery supply, and while you’re doing it, Spencer insists on picking the next one. You end up watching Psycho, and you don’t think he lets a single scene go by without explaining the meaning behind it.

You choose Notting Hill after, and he knows just as much. He picks Halloween—it doesn’t really help your stalker anxieties, and Spencer apologizes profusely when you bring it up, but you still end up finishing it. Next you go for Pointe Grosse Blank, then Spencer picks Kolya, a Russian film that he specifically put into the box.

There are subtitles, but he spends half the time translating for you anyway—apparently there are nuances to the script that an English translation doesn’t get compared to the original Russian, and that would be a tragedy.

He’s in the middle of his third rant going on seven minutes when you finally break.

“Okay,” you say as you reach for the remote, “I can’t do this anymore.”

You do a double take when your hand meets another instead of hard plastic, and you see Spencer beat you to it. You pull your hand away as soon as possible, feeling your face heat from annoyance.

“What are you doing?”

“What are you doing?” he echoes. “The movie’s not over yet.”

“I can’t take any more of your rambling,” you say. “I’m cutting you off.”

He frowns. “We have to finish the movie first.”

“What are you, a broken record?”

“I couldn’t be a broken record because I said two different things,” he protests. “Besides, what else are you going to do?”

“Unpack my things? Read a book? Sit in silence staring at the wall in my room?” You shrug as you stand up and walk over to the kitchen. “I’ve got a lot of options.”

“Gideon told me not to let you out of my sight,” Spencer says, standing up as well.

“You can see me pretty well from there,” you say. “You don’t have to invade every bit of my privacy.”

“I— I kind of do,” he says. “The whole point of a safe house is to keep you safe. If you’re off doing your own thing, it’s not really safe.”

“It’s not like I’m leaving!” You throw up your hands in exasperation. “What, are you going to sleep with me too? Make sure I don’t go anywhere in the middle of the night?”

It’s almost funny how fast his face flushes bright red. You’ve got a feeling he doesn’t have a lot of experience with this sort of thing.

“That’s what I thought,” you say. “Keep watching your movie if you want. Just leave me alone.”

You feel his eyes on your back as you storm off to your room. The childish part of you wants to slam the door, but you decide to throw Spencer the smallest bone and leave it open.

It’s not his fault that you hate him, and that just makes you hate him even more. He gets to come out of this the bigger person, a saint for putting up with your various deficiencies while keeping you safe from a stalker. You’re just the difficult, ungrateful, estranged bastard daughter of the most deified man in the Behavioral Analysis Unit who can’t set her personal grudges aside for her own good.

You shove your duffel bag into the bed with a little too much force. You unzip it, deciding to try and occupy yourself with unpacking. You’re here for the indefinite future, so you might as well make yourself at home.

You can’t help the dry laugh that comes at the thought. You don’t know if you’ve ever felt at home anywhere.

This might be the worst thing about this whole situation. You’ve got a stalker out there, and it’s making you do all this bullshit introspection against your will. It’s got you thinking about your dad and your relationship with him, and thinking about Spencer Reid and how he’s replaced you in your father’s life without even really knowing about it because he didn’t know about you until he walked into your dad’s office a month ago.

Ten minutes pass in a blur before you’re knocked out of it by a rapping on your door. You turn to see Spencer standing in the doorway, expression unreadable.

“What?” you ask.

“You’ve been quiet,” he says. “I’m just checking in.”

“I’m still alive,” you say. “Nothing exciting happened in the five seconds I was gone.”

“It was ten minutes and thirty two seconds, actually,” he says. “But— but good.”

Again, more silence passes between you. You look up at him from your pile of clothes after thirty seconds.

“Are you just going to stand there?”

“I— I don’t know what else to do,” he stammers.

“Didn’t you say you did something like this before?” you ask. “Guarded some girl from her stalker?”

Spencer nods. “She was a lot easier to get along with.”

You roll your eyes. “Somebody out there wants to kill me to get back at my dad. Sorry that I’m not the pinnacle of happiness.” You make a point to avoid his gaze. “But what I’m trying to say is that you’ve done this all before. You should have some kind of idea of what to do besides bothering me.”

“How am I bothering you?” Spencer asks in exasperation. “I’ve said three sentences to you!”

“Everything you do bothers me, boy genius,” you say. “I thought you would have figured that out by now.”

“I—” He looks like he wants to say more, but instead he just clamps his mouth shut and shakes his head before he walks away.

You stare down at your pile of clothes, largely unfolded and scattered around the bed. The silence doesn’t give you the satisfaction you thought it would.

It only lasts for all of thirty seconds though, and you don’t have time to linger in the discomfort—you hear footsteps, heavier ones this time, and you look up to see Spencer round the corner once again.

“What is your problem with me?” he blurts out.

You frown. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me,” Spencer nods. “You hate your dad, fine— but he’s not here for you to fight with, so you’re taking it out on me. It’s classic displacement, and you don’t get to take it out on me.”

“Why not?” you ask.

“Because it— it’s not fair!” he sputters. “I didn’t do anything to you— I didn’t even know you existed until a month ago!”

“Well, gosh, boy genius,” you say, “I’m sure you’re smart enough to figure it out yourself.”

“Stop calling me boy genius!” he exclaims. “We’re the same age!”

“Then stop acting like one,” you retort. “I know you’ve got a psychology degree, but you don’t need to use them on me whenever you can.”

He frowns, his mouth opening for a second before he closes it.

“Were you going to ask how I knew that before you realized the obvious answer?” you ask.

“No,” he says.

“Yes, you were.” You continue folding your clothes. “You went to Caltech, MIT, and Yale, even though it was your safety school. You’ve got three PhDs, two BAs, and you’re working on a philosophy degree, but you’re not done with it yet.” You shrug. “A little difficult to make it to classes with all the FBI stuff.”

“…Does he really talk about me that much?” Spencer’s voice is quieter than it was before.

“Oh, yeah,” you say. You set a finished pair of jeans to the side then look at him. “I graduated from college too. Granted, it was a couple years ago, not when I was 17, but I think it still warrants a little support.”

“You went to George Mason,” Spencer says.

Your movements stutter. You weren’t expecting him to actually know.

“Yeah,” you say. Your heart skips a beat. “How do you know?”

Has he talked about you to the team before? Sure, they didn’t know you existed before you showed up out of the blue, but maybe he showed them a picture after it happened. Your mom carries one of you in your cap and gown in her wallet—maybe he got a hold of one and Spencer caught a glimpse of that. Maybe you just missed it and he does have a picture of you on his desk. Maybe—

“You have a sweatshirt for it,” he says with a gesture. You look where his finger is pointing, and sure enough, your GMU sweatshirt is tangled up with a couple of other crewnecks.

“…Of course,” you say. You don’t know why you even dared to hope. “Because it’s more likely that you’d notice something like that than it is for my dad to talk about me.”

Spencer says your name, and you hate the sympathy in it.

“No.” You cut him off before he can get any further. “Don’t try to defend him. You know,” you huff a cold, humorless laugh, “he missed my graduation, too. Two separate dates for commencement and my actual school’s ceremony, one 45 minute car ride, and he couldn’t make it to either one.”

“You don’t know how busy we are,” Spencer tries again. “We work weekends and holidays and around the clock— sometimes we get called in at 3am to stay in some random town for weeks at a time, and there’s nothing we can do about it! I— I mean, we’ve had three days off in the past 47 days and—”

“That’s why I have a problem with you!” you cry out, throwing the shirt in your hand onto your bed as you turn to face him. “Because I’m twenty-four years old, and I’ve lived an hour away from my dad for the past six years, but his team that he spends all his time with didn’t even know I existed until I showed up at your office.” You take a step forward, anger resurging inside of you. “Because I threw away a chance at an Ivy to get to see him more, just to deal with the same bullshit as usual. Because I worry about him dying every single day he’s in the field, and he can’t even give me a phone call at the end of it all—” another step forward— “and even in the middle of this shitshow, you think you have a right to defend him— to- to tell me how to feel about him!”

You move even closer, close enough to see his wrinkled button-up is partially untucked, his lips are slightly parted, and his stupid doe eyes—that haven’t left yours—with his stupid dilated pupils, and you jab your finger in his chest.

“Because all I ever wanted is my father’s affection,” your voice breaks, and you hate the way it makes you feel, “and he’d rather build an entirely new life with an entirely new kid than give it to me.”

You push your way past him, making sure to shoulder-check him on your way out. You don’t look back as you forge your way to the bathroom (that you unfortunately have to share), even though his gaze burns into your back.

You close and lock the door. It’s childish, you know, but you need to be alone right now. You can’t stand to be around him.

Spencer just— he irritates you in a way that no one else ever has. He’s your age and more accomplished than you could ever dream to be, with almost six times the degrees and a much better job, and probably a family that loves him. Who wouldn’t love him with everything he’s done?

You, apparently.

You plant your hands on the countertop as you stare into the mirror. Your usual dark circles have become more pronounced over the past month, and you can’t help a wry laugh at the thought. All that trouble sleeping and it was for the wrong damn reason.

If you knew someone was watching you, you would have moved out of Virginia months ago. But maybe this bastard would have found you anyway. If Spencer’s profiling is right and he’s going after you because of your dad, you don’t think much could really dissuade him.

Tears pool at your waterline, and you wipe them away with a rough hand before they can manifest into something more. You slump back against the opposing wall as you continue to stare at yourself.

You’re pathetic and you can’t even find it in yourself to care.

You hear the sound of footsteps once more and you wrap your arms around your midsection. This chill won’t go away.

“…Are you still alive?” a hesitant voice calls.

You bite back a remark. “I’m fine.”

“You’re sure?”

“No.” You don’t know what makes you answer honestly.

A beat of silence passes. You really do feel like a kid. You’re talking to him through the door because you just yelled at him and Spencer is still being the bigger person.

“Can I help at all?”

This answer comes a little quicker. “No.”

Again, more silence.

“Okay.” Spencer pauses, and the footsteps start again. His voice is a little closer the next time he speaks. “Just… let me know when you’re turning in. So I know you’re still alive.”

You huff. He can’t even stick to his guns and hate you like you hate him for ten minutes. “I don’t think I’ll be dying anytime soon.”

“You never know,” he says. “Spontaneous human combustion might not be proven beyond pseudoscientific concepts, but there’s a first time for everything.”

The laugh that comes out of you is unexpected, both in its lightness and occurrence at all. “Keep an ear out for the smoke alarm, then.”

“If you smell anything burning, stop, drop and roll,” he says. “Make sure you don’t run. All it’ll do is add to the oxygen and feed the fire.”

“Okay,” you say. “…I still don’t like you.”

You swear you can hear the smile in his words. “I know.”

You wake up when the smoke alarm goes off.

It’s a very rude awakening. It jolts you out of your very uneasy sleep to unfamiliar surroundings—in your disoriented state, you almost forget where you are.

Right. You’re in a safe house in the middle of nowhere because someone is stalking you. How could you possibly forget?

You stumble out of bed, rubbing your eyes to try and assuage some of your exhaustion as you leave your room.

“Is the place on fire?” you ask through a yawn.

“No!” Spencer exclaims, sounding more panicked than usual. That straightens your back and speeds your pace. “No, everything’s fine—”

You smell smoke, and as you come around the corner, you see him waving his hands overtop the toaster trying to dispel said smoke. You can’t help but laugh, and you actually smile when he gives you the most helpless look.

“I’m so good at so many other things.”

“What are you trying to do?” you ask wryly. “Burn this house down to try and get a better one?”

“This wouldn’t have started a fire,” Spencer says. “Toaster fires usually spread because they’re below wooden cupboards, which catch easily and spread everywhere else.” He gestures at the toaster, which he has plugged in to an outlet on the side of the island. “No cupboards, no house fire.”

“You started this because you were making toast?” you ask.

He flushes. “I’m used to the toaster I have at home. I have the settings worked out perfectly there. This one is all wrong.”

You sigh and shake your head. “Just… hit the reset button, and open the door. It’ll be fine.”

“I can’t open the door,” he says. “It goes against the safety thing.”

“Then open a window.”

“Making it easier to get in here in any way goes against the safety thing,” he says.

“So we have to just deal with the smoke?” you ask in exasperation.

Spencer hits the vent button on the microwave, and the fan whirs into action. “No?”

You shake your head in disbelief as he then reaches up to hit the button on the smoke alarm. His t-shirt lifts with the movement—your eyes drift to the bare strip of skin, and you immediately look away when you realize.

“Where’s the coffee in here?” you ask, clearing your throat as you start sifting through drawers. “I’ll be even worse to deal with if I don’t have caffeine.”

“I already brewed a fresh pot,” Spencer says, gesturing with his head. “Half and half is in the fridge, and sugar is in the cabinet.”

“Oh,” you say. You stop what you’re doing, your hands lingering above the drawer handle. “You didn’t have to do that.”

You see him shrug out of your peripherals. “Why wouldn’t I?”

Because I was a total asshole to you last night, you want to say. Because I’ve been awful to you since I met you and you refuse to fight back and give me a better reason to hate you.

“Because you didn’t need to,” you finally say. Good one.

“I did. So you’re going to have to deal with it.” Spencer takes the burnt toast out and throws them in the trash can, talking while he does it. “You know, it’s actually a rumor that burnt toast contains carcinogens and can increase the chance of cancer. Acrylamide forms when you burn food, but researchers haven’t found a link between starchy foods with high amounts of acrylamide and cancer.”

You hum in some form of acknowledgement as you take a mug out of the cabinet and fill it from the pot. You take a sip and grimace—it’s not the best, but it’s caffeinated. After three years of shitty gas station coffee throughout college, you can deal with it.

“How did you sleep?” Spencer asks.

“Fine,” you say.

He frowns. “Really?”

“Yes,” you say, a little rougher. “The dark circles come with the model.”

“There are a lot of causes other than sleep deprivation,” Spencer says. “Contact dermatitis, hyperpigmentation, dehydration, alcoholism, stress—”

“Got plenty of that,” you interrupt.

“Even genetics can play a part in it,” he says.

You huff. “I think this is one thing I can’t blame my dad for. I haven’t slept since the nineties.”

“Well, you should try,” Spencer says. “The blood vessels around your eyes don’t constrict like they should when you’re sleep deprived, which means your blood vessels dilate, which increases blood in the area, and that gives you dark circles.”

“Wow,” you say wryly. “I really look that bad with them?”

“I— that—” Spencer’s face flushes red as he stutters, and you hide the slightest smile with your mug— “that’s not what I mean! I’m just trying to give advice to help—”

“I know.” You set your mug back down, not able to fully bite back your amusement. “I was joking, Spencer.”

“Oh,” he says. “That’s… new.”

“Am I not allowed to joke?”

“It just doesn’t seem like you,” Spencer says. “Especially after last night.”

“I’m too tired to fight with you right now,” you sigh. “Enjoy your break.”

He clears his throat as he takes two fresh pieces of bread out, then looks at your mug. “You drink it black?”

“It’s not coffee if you don’t,” you say. “It— it’s a sugary mess.”

“It is not!” he exclaims. “It still has the same amount of caffeine, and it’s still coffee—”

“No it isn’t!” you laugh, and you nod at his mug. “How much sugar did you put in there?”

“A couple spoonfuls but—”

“Spoonfuls?”

“But it’s how I like it!” Spencer defends.

“Don’t you have some facts about how harmful excessive sugar consumption is?” you ask.

“Of course I do,” he says. “I also have some about the benefits of black coffee, but I’m not going to tell you now.”

“Wow,” you say. “I’m so hurt.”

He shakes his head as he slots two more pieces of bread into the toaster. “And to think, I was trying to make breakfast for you.”

Again, that gives you pause. Why does he keep trying to do nice things for you?”

“Don’t bother.” You pick up your mug and go into the living room. “I don’t really eat breakfast anyways.”

“That’s not healthy,” he calls after you.

“Most things I do aren’t,” you respond. “What’s on the agenda today?”

“Skipping breakfast puts you at a higher chance of heart disease,” he says.

“Then I guess we won’t have to worry about the spontaneous combustion, will we?” You look back at him. “What’s on the agenda?”

Spencer sighs. He’s given up momentarily, it seems. “Gideon’s going to call me in thirty-two minutes for an update. The whole team has been focusing solely on your case.”

You perk up. The coffee warms your hands through the mug but it doesn’t fully assuage the chill down your spine.

“Do they have any leads?”

“I don’t know,” Spencer says. “Gideon hasn’t called me yet.”

You roll your eyes. “Do you think they have any leads?”

“Maybe.” The toaster pops and he pulls the bread out, then starts buttering it—or trying to. His brow knots in annoyance at the stick of butter, still hard, and he pushes his glasses up with his free hand. You have to look away. “Like I said, Gideon helped start the BAU. He’s solved more cases than anyone else, and,” you feel his eyes on you, “it’s personal this time. He’s probably working around the clock.”

“Just have to hope they get somewhere,” you murmur. Your coffee tastes even more bitter than usual, but you drink it anyway.

“They will,” Spencer says. “I promise.”

“Y’know, people keep making promises they can’t keep,” you say. “I’m getting real tired of it.”

“Well, I’m not leaving your side until they do,” he says. “And I’m going to keep you safe. So consider that promise kept.”

“Great,” you say. “I’m stuck with you until I die or this is solved.”

“You’re not going to die.”

“You don’t have to take everything I say so seriously.”

“Then don’t say everything so seriously.”

You huff a laugh and shake your head. Spencer comes over with his plate of messily buttered toast—not very easy with fully solid sticks of butter—and sits down across from you. He holds the plate out.

“Want one?”

“I told you, I don’t eat breakfast.”

“You should.”

“Because one piece of toast will make so much of a difference,” you mock.

“It will,” he says. “Maybe it’ll even make you happier.”

You roll your eyes and drink more of your coffee. “Are you going to bother me all day like this?”

Spencer took a bite of toast then shrugged. “If you’re this blase about everything relating to your health, then yes.”

You groan as you stand up. “It’s too early to deal with you. See you in a few hours.”

“And good morning to you too,” Spencer says wryly. You make a parting gesture with your hand in response.

It’s been a day and a half, and not only have you argued with him twice, but he still refuses to give you anything to work with, still insists on trying to be there for you. It’s as infuriating as it is gratingly admirable. Anyone else probably would have tried to kill you by now.

Well, you’ve already got a stalker trying to do that.

You sigh and down half your coffee. You’ve got a long day ahead of you.

Spencer doesn’t know why you not liking him bothers him so much.

It’s illogical, but it makes sense for you. Your dad spends more time with him than he does with you, and you’re projecting your hatred for Gideon onto Spencer. Whatever.

But it’s not just whatever, and that irks him.

This is an assignment, simple as that. Gideon trusted him enough to put you under his protection, even if it’s for your mental health more so than your physical. It should be a point of pride, being chosen for something like this by someone like Gideon.

Spencer presses his fingers against his temple. You’re a lot, there’s no way around it. But you also claim to hate him, and he knows that’s not true.

Yes, you argue with him. Yes, you’re short with him. Yes, he lost his temper momentarily because not even Spencer is capable of endless grace.

But he also sees your moments of lightness throughout it all. Your brief smiles, the quips that lean towards jokes more than insults—and he notices your eyes, and the brightness that breaks through on occasion.

He always notices your eyes.

Spencer’s phone rings in his pocket, jolting him out of whatever reverie he found himself in. He pulls it out and flips it open, then presses it to his ear. “Gideon?”

“Reid,” he greets. “How are you doing?”

“Fine,” he says. “You’re calling twenty-four minutes early.”

“We just finished a briefing,” Gideon says. “I wanted to get word to you as soon as possible.”

Spencer sits up. “What is it?”

“Morgan, Hotch, and Garcia have been working together to comb through my past cases and see what they’re up to now. They finally found a potential unsub,” he says. “Someone I put away a decade ago was released last year, and recent records indicate he’s back in the area.”

“Who is it?” he asks.

“Adam Hernandez. Also known as—”

“The Stafford Strangler,” Spencer finishes. “He killed three people in two weeks in the 90s—classic spree killer. You caught him with David Rossi’s help.”

“Released on good behavior, despite the victims’ families campaigning against it,” Gideon says. “You know it?”

“Obviously,” he says. “I’ve read all of your old case files.”

Gideon chuckles, and he can almost imagine him shaking his head. “Of course you have.”

“Do you think Hernandez is your guy?” Spencer asks.

“I’m not sure yet,” Gideon says. “We applied for a warrant—as soon as we get it, Morgan and Elle are heading his way to ask a few questions.”

“You think he’d do something like this?” Spencer shifts his position as he frowns. “Hernandez got fired, lost his house, then went off the deep end. He killed because he didn’t see any other solution. The guy going after your daughter is a lot more emotional about all this, and—” his throat feels dry all of a sudden— “and it’s like he’s got some kind of attraction to her.”

“You don’t need to remind me,” Gideon says roughly. “We’re going for leads where we can, and we’re still working every other angle. It doesn’t end with Hernandez.”

“...Good,” Spencer says. “Let me know if there’s anything I can do to help from here.”

“You’re already doing everything I need you to do.” Gideon pauses, and he hears the creak of the chair in his office as he adjusts how he’s sitting. “How is my daughter doing?”

“I don’t know,” he answers honestly. “Her mood changes with the wind. One second she’s trying to start a fight with me, the next she’s trying to joke around with me. It— it’s a lot, I won’t lie.”

“But how is she handling all of this?” he asks. “Staying in the safe house, dealing with a stalker, feeling like a sitting duck.”

“Very cynically,” Spencer says. “She keeps talking about dying or getting killed.”

Gideon sighs. “That sounds like her.”

“She’s… she’s mad at you, mostly.” Spencer picks at a hangnail, ignoring the sharp, temporary pain. “Every time I bring you up, it lights a fuse. You’re the one thing she hates to talk about.”

There’s nothing but silence on the other end.

“Gideon?” he asks. “Did I lose—”

“I’m here,” he interrupts. “Just… thinking.”

“It’s not your fault,” Spencer says. “She’s—”

“It is my fault,” Gideon interrupts again. “Has she told you much about her younger life?”

“...Some,” Spencer says.

“Like?”

Spencer doesn’t really know what to say. He doesn’t want to just tell Gideon that you’ve told him he’s been an awful dad. That it’s really all you’ve told him.

“You can say it, Reid,” Gideon says. “I won’t get mad.”

“...She says you’ve missed out on her whole life,” Spencer finally says, notably quieter. “Her high school graduation, her college graduation— most of the stuff that happened in college, actually.”

Gideon lets out a rough sigh. “I’ll always regret it.”

“So it’s true?” Spencer asks. He’s surprised at the sharpness of his voice.

“I don’t get to control when cases come in,” he says.

“We’re a whole team of qualified agents,” Spencer says. “We— we always have been. Especially when you and Rossi were together. It was like the golden age of profilers.”

“Spencer—”

“You made it to my graduation!” he interrupts. “You were there for my chemistry PhD, and you said you would be there when I get my philosophy degree, but you couldn’t make it for your only child’s high school and college graduations?”

“I already told you I regret it,” Gideon says. His voice is as calm as ever, and for some reason, that irks Spencer even more. “What more can I say? It’s in the past now. I can’t change what I did.”

Spencer stares at the wall. He doesn’t know why this is such a damning thing to him.

His own dad has missed all of his graduations. He’s missed almost every part of his life. But his dad walked out—he wanted nothing to do with Spencer or his mom.

Your dad is right here. Gideon is still around, working every day to save lives and change the world and take down monsters—but he’s still not there for you.

He’s so close and yet he always steps out of your reach.

“Spencer.” Gideon’s voice is tinny through the speaker, and he presses his phone back against his ear.

“Call me back the second you get another lead,” Spencer mutters.

He hangs up without another word.

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid fic #spencer reid fanfiction #gideon!reader #spencer reid angst #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds angst #x reader #sadie writes #and yes. reader heard spencer's whole side of the convo<3

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kelstey · 1 year ago

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mattheo riddle ☆ confess

mattheo riddle x reader

❃゜・。. ・°゜✼ ゜°・ . 。・゜❃

he hadnt taken his eyes off of you once.

mattheo's gaze lingered on you the whole time you were on the dance floor, not going unnoticed by you. you continued to grind against some random gryffindor, acting oblivious to mattheo's death stare.

less aimed at you, more at the boy who clearly got too excited. mattheo tried to control the urge to absolutely tear him apart then and there but he couldn't. he didn't fancy getting into trouble.

it was even worse that you were wearing a slightly provocative dress - mattheo didn't mind, he could fight. but he did mjnd the fact that someone else's hands were all over you, not his.

you felt grossed out as the gryffindor's hands trailed down your body, wishing they were mattheos as his touch was the only thing you craved.

mattheo finally tore his eyes away from the scene, going over to the drinks table to join his other slytherin friends.

"when are you going to tell her?" enzo asked as he noticed mattheo's arrival.

"what?" mattheo looked at enzo confused.

"don't act stupid, you're in love with the damn girl. you do realise she's one of the most beautiful

- if not most beautiful girl in hogwarts, and other guys are most definitely plotting," enzo sipped the torturous alcohol mixed punch.

"what if she doesn't feel the same way?" mattheo said before taking a shot of vodka, the burn of the liquor tore down his throat.

"don't be silly. you both look at each other like you're the only other people in the world, everyone can see it. but id hurry cause looks like that boy she's dancing with has some other plans," enzo motioned his head to where you were dancing up against a boy.

mattheo's jaw clenched as the other boys hands made their way around your body, a desperate look in his eyes along with a clear bulge as your ass grinded on him.

without thinking, mattheo walked over to you, ripping you away from the boy. "mattheo what the fuck?!" you slurred.

"what the fuck are you doing?" he asked as he held your arm.

"having fun, what else does it look like?" you replied.

"really? cause i can see the disgust in your face as you dance on this twat," mattheo said angrily.

"what's your deal? it's not like we're dating," you said. what you didn't realise is that those words felt like multiple stabs going through his heart.

he knew you weren't dating, of course. the two of you were just best friends who clearly had feelings for each other but were far too stubborn to ever admit it.

"fine, be like that then," mattheo said and let go of you before storming off.

a week had passed since that party, an awkward tension laid amongst your friend group every time the two of you were there that didn't go unnoticed by the others.

neither of you had spoken a word to each other, once again your stubbornness and pride were both far too high to break the no contact.

"for fucks sake! cant the two of you just make up?" draco threw his hands up in the air. the boys were all having a discussion in the slytherin common room about the whole situation between you and mattheo.

"no way, if she wants to speak to me, she can speak to me. i am not talking to her," mattheo rolled his eyes.

"the two of you are literally two little kids, grow up and get over it," blaise added in.

"i agree, mattheo you have no problem getting with other girls so why is it so hard for you to do that with her?" draco said.

mattheo pondered for a bit. why was it so hard? maybe due to the fact that he was purely and utterly in love with you compared to the other girls in hogwarts who were really only used for his pleasure.

"see! you not speaking says so much, get a grip and tell her," blaise said.

"suck my dick," mattheo said before storming off to go to the black lake. he liked the peace; and even better that it was raining so no other students were likely to be there.

apart from you of course. you were sat feeding a squirrel with some trail mix you had in your bag. you were slumped at the bottom of a tree, reading peacefully before spotting a red squirrel.

it made its way over to you and you remembered the mixed nuts you had. you were in awe of the small creature, how it had no fear being cradled in your hand as you fed it.

a twig snapped which scared the squirrel and it ran off. "are you fucking joking me?" you stood up and turned to the source of the noise.

and of course mattheo was stood there. "what are you doing here?" he asked.

"i wanted some peace and quiet," you mumbled before picking up your book and tote bag, ready to leave.

"what's your problem?" mattheo stepped in your way before you could walk past him.

"you!" you shoved his chest and he stumbled back.

"me? right, and what have i done?" he raised his voice.

you grew frustrated, you didn't actually have much of a problem with mattheo. and it didn't help that he looked amazing as the rain soaked his hair and part of his shirt, just enough for you to see his toned abs.

"you know what you've done!" you raised your voice back, you didn't give a reasoning due to the fact you didn't have one, of course you could not lose this argument.

"yeah? why don't you tell me then?" mattheo walked up to you, his large frame towering over you.

"just get out of my head! fuck! every single day you're just there, and i can't help but think of you all the time. do you know how annoying it is seeing you have a new girl sit on your lap almost every time we eat at the great hall? how you want every girl in hogwarts but me? cant you see i fucking love you mattheo?" you shouted, tears welling in your eyes from the overly raw emotions and the fact you just poured your heart out to him.

"so you think ignoring me is going to solve the problem?" mattheo asked.

"yes - no - i don't know?! i want to stop loving you but i can't! i've loved you since second year and i always will!" you confessed.

"what the fuck? i've loved you since second year!" mattheo confessed back.

"then why the fuck aren't you doing anything about it?" you questioned. your question was quickly answered when mattheo grabbed your face and pulled you in. his lips smashed onto yours and things quickly escalated into a very intense make out session.

the anger and annoyance you had from the past week quickly disappeared, you couldn't help but now feel completed and happy. your arms wrapped around his neck, pulling him even closer. mattheo's hands snaked around your waist, somehow getting you even closer.

the two of you broke the kiss, gasping for air.

"why didn't you do that sooner?" you asked.

"i'm doing it now, and i think that's all that matters."

❃゜・。. ・°゜✼ ゜°・ . 。・゜❃

#mattheoxreader #mattheo x you #mattheo x y/n #mattheo riddle #mattheo riddle x reader #slytherin #slytherin boys #fanfic #oneshot

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sturnsdarling · 4 months ago

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boyfriend

{insp by @sturnioz au} smartand'mean'!reader goes to one of fratboy!matt's freshers parties, and has a run in with a boy that doesn't end well.

vibe check: violence, angsty vibes, nasty frat boy grabs reader by the face, fluff, protective!matt, aggressive!reader, descriptions of blood and fighting etc, smoking

1.3k words

A/N: this idea is based on this post that I saw. literally foaming at the mouth over this dude, they are THEM. also can you tell i have a thing for boys who will beat people up for you? yeah.

love and cigs, merc

The music was thumping against your skull, crowds of people around you as you moved your way through the party. Matt had called you about ten minutes ago, drunkenly telling you that he missed you and needed to see you, and after a good five minutes of calling him cringe and bullying him lovingly, you made your way to the house.

It was freshers week, so there was party every night at Matts frat, hoards of new, fresh eyed faces just waiting to be corrupted by the imfamous Sturniolo frat. It was awful, and not your scene at all, but part of being Matt's girl was participating in frat culture, even the bits you hated.

"hey, sexy, where you goin?" speaking of things you hated...a wide eyed fresher grabbed your wrist, pulling your attention away from the entrance to the kitchen.

You turned back to face the boy, brows furrowed in disgust, "not interested, dude, fuck off" you spat, pulling your wrist from his grip and attempting to walk away.

He was relentless, and shuffled after you, quickly stepping in your path and blocking your view of the kitchen. He cooed, grabbing your hands in his.

"don't be like that, baby, you're too pretty to be mean" He said, peppering touches up and down your arm.

you squirmed, pushing him off you with a groan, "I said, I'm not fuckin' interested" you repeated yourself as he stumbled backwards.

The boy chuckled, pressing his tongue to his teeth as a white hot rage of rejection washed over him. He came forward, grabbing your face in his fingers and squishing your cheeks together, his face inches from yours. Your hand came to his wrist immediately, trying to pry his gross fingers from your face.

"you fuckin' bitch, think you can touch me? embarrass me in front of everyone, no wonder you're here alone" He said, his breath hot on your face.

Out the corner of your eye, you saw Matt, charging through the crowds of people to get to you. A smug smile formed on your squished face as you looked back to the pig in your eye line, "actually, asshole, I'm here to see my boyfriend" you said, words muffled through your teeth.

"boyfriend, huh? who's that then?" The boy chuckled.

"me" Matt spat from behind the boy, grabbing him by the back of his shirt and pulling him down onto the floor with brute force.

Before he could even attempt to get up and fight back, Matt was holding him by his collar just above the floor, feet on either side of his hips, pummelling down into him, mercilessly clocking him across the jaw over and over again. The boys blood was splattered across the hard wood floor, and everyone at the party had formed a circle around the three of you.

You took a few steps back, shaking the feeling of disgust out your brain as you felt two large hands grab you by the shoulders from behind. You flinched, but as you turned, you were met with the deadpan face, but concerned eyes of Chris.

"you okay, kid?" He said, nodding slightly.

you nodded in response, "I'm alright" you said, following his movement as he ushered you behind him.

Matt was still going, he had lifted the boy up by his shirt, holding him inches from his face, "not so big now, are ya? puttin' your hands on my fuckin girl-" Matt was cut off by a swift punch to the face from the boy, the whole crowd reacting in sync

You inched forward instinctively, but Chris held an arm out to stop you, shaking his head, you reluctantly listened and stayed put.

Matt laughed, blood pooling out his nose and down into his mouth. Matt moved his hands up to the back of the boys head, raised his leg at an angle, and cracked the bridge of his nose off the corner of his knee.

The boy hit the floor with a thud, and was out cold almost immediately. Matt didn't stop, he laid a swift kick into the boys rib cage, and spat the pooled blood in his mouth down at the limp freshers body. The whole room was silent, the only sound being the heavy breaths of Matt, and a few small whispers about how insane he is.

"fuckin' freak" he said through gritted teeth,

Matt looked up from the boy and took in the sight around him, the entire party all gawking at him like he was a derranged animal. His eyes found yours instantly, a wave of relief washing over him as he saw you stood with Chris.

"take this as a warning to everyone in this fuckin' house" Matt yelled, turning as he spoke, "that girl..." he pointed to you with his ring covered, bloodied hand, "is mine... and if you touch her...well" he paused, looking down to the boy who was just about gaining consciousness on the floor. Matt grinned, baring his bloodied teeth to the room and gesturing with his arm down to the boy.

You moved out from next to Chris and strode over to Matt, wrapping your arms round his neck, pulling him down into a kiss. His hands found your face immediately, pulling you deeper into him as he ignored the burning pain of your face pressed against his bleeding nose, your warm kiss acting as a soothing balm to his burning anger.

you and Matt were on the curb, after being instructed by Chris to go cool off.

Matt took a long drag of his cigarette, dried blood covering the bottom half of his face as his bruised knuckles bent on their hinges, his long, slender fingers holding the straight between them. You were leant on his shoulder, a cigarette hanging from your lips as you attempted to decompress.

"they all think you're insane now" you muttered.

Matt chuckled in response, shaking his head, "I don't give a fuck what they think", he turned to look down at you.

you shifted your head on his shoulder, looking up at him through your lashes, "do you think i'm insane?" Matt asked with a cocked brow.

you smiled, laughing softly, "yeah" Matts eyes widened slightly as he toked his cig, "but I like it" you added, leaning up to him as he pulled the straight from his mouth.

You captured his lips in a kiss, his cigarette smoke filling your mouth as you pressed your tongue against his. He let out a small groan, mostly of pain but also of pleasure, reeling in the way your mouth felt against his. You pulled away with a breathy chuckle, keeping his eye contact as you took a drag of your cig.

His eyes flitted between yours, slightly bloodshot and fluttery. You couldn't help but smile, he was so beautiful, even (especially) with a split nose and bloodied face.

"so" he grinned menacingly, "boyfriend, huh?" his tone was teasing, but his heart did a little flutter as he spoke the word.

You smiled and rolled your eyes, looking away from him, "you're ridiculous"

"you're the one that said it, not me" Matt taunted, watching your side profile as it was illuminated by the butt of your cigarette, refusing to indulge him in the satisfaction.

You were so beautiful, the most beautiful girl he'd ever seen, and he meant what he said at the party and a thousand times before, you were his.

"hey" Matt said, placing a finger under your chin and moving your face to lock eyes with him, "I can be your boyfriend" Matt smirked, his words soft, "if you'll let me"

A small smile formed on your face, your eyes flitting between his in a triangle between his lips and piercing blue iris', you bit down on your bottom lip, "okay" you nodded slightly.

"yeah?" Matt beamed, raising his brows slightly.

"yeah" you nodded, smiling from ear to ear.

Matts eyes fell to your lips and in an instant, your mouth was pressed against his once more. Your tongues pressing and pushing against one-another's desperately as he pulled you up and onto his lap.

taglist: @sturniozalt@mattslolita@shaquilles-0atmeal@blahbel668@sleepysturniolo@le4hsblog @sarosfilms @joemamaaa42069 @2muchofaslvt @seluky10 @cherib3lla @jetaimevous @witchofthehour @sofieeeeex @ncm9696 @lovesturni0l0s @pepsicola-pussy @ifwdominicfike @dani-sturn @stupendousjellyfishpost @aesthetixhoe @sturn-rose @mattsnronebitch

#©sturnsdarling #matt sturniolo #matthew sturniolo #matt sturniolo x reader #matt x reader #matt stuniolo fanfic #matt sturniolo smut #matt sturniolo fluff #matt sturniolo imagine #sturniolo triplets #sturniolo edit #sturniolo fanfic #sturniolo fluff #sturniolo imagine #sturniolo smut #sturniolo x reader

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monochrome-serpetine909 · 9 days ago

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Orgasmic Birth

My mom would tell other people the story of my birth at inappropriate and awkward times to strangers she crossed paths with. I would be standing next to her, holding her hand, my 5 year old big eyes staring at the stranger in the aisle of a grocery store. The stranger would lean down to squeeze my cheek with a nervous laughter and hover us for a couple more aisles. Most of the time, they were adult men with thick mustaches, and sometimes grannies. My mom would squeeze my hand in hers with a wink, wrinkles showing around her eyes and mouth. I would be instructed to stay by the cart when she needed to use the store’s bathroom. She would come back 10 minutes later or more. When she came back out, she’d grab my hand to leave the store despite having a full cart of items. Rarely did we actually ever check out the store items. As I grew, it only made it more and more awkward. Women avoided my mom like she was a plague of death, while men gravitated to her.

During 5th grade, we had public school sex education classes. Of which was not about sex, but what puberty would look like and what to expect. It included birth, where babies came from. I remember sitting in the back of the classroom, my cheeks grew hot when the scene of a vagina expelling a baby was projected on the wall. However, the big difference was- it was obviously a painful ordeal. My mom described my birth as orgasmic, and I shot out of her like a water geyser, with my father shooting his cum all over my newborn gross body.

In 6th grade, I finally confronted my Mom about how it was extremely embarrassing to tell people the events of my birth. Nobody ever needed to know how my mom’s best orgasms in her entire life was from pushing me out of her vaginal tunnel into the new world. It was an exaggerated, if not fake, story that needed to be buried with all other embarrassing stories of myself.

Mom was hurt that I didn’t believe the full story of my erotic birth. Not hurt that I wanted her to stop telling strangers of the erotic birth, but that I didn’t believe her. So to my dismay, as a 13 year old, she showed me the VHS video of my first birthday. Forever will that video make me cringe. Forever had it changed my whole life for better or worse, still not decided. She was not exaggerating whatsoever.

The VHS tape began in the living room being filmed by a friend who majored in film and theatre. The furniture was different, but it was most definitely the same room we were sitting in, watching this. Mom and Dad were on either side of me, their fingers intertwined across my lap, giddy to start the video.

The camera focused on my parents, zooming closer to their intimate parts and actions. The filmer had no shame or embarrassment to get as close as possible while cheering along to the ‘beautiful’ moment.

“Oh my fuck! Jerry! I can feel her coming!” My parents were literally fucking, his penis inside her anus, as her cervix opened up to the camera view. And at each contraction, she screamed of pleasure and maybe even orgasmed, as my dad screamed cumming into her. She laid in missionary style, holding her large, swollen angry pregnant belly with both hands. “Oh god yes! Yes, that's it. Yes-yes-yes, I feel another one coming!” My mom scrunched her face as she bored further down into the couch, holding her breath. Jerry continued to thrust his engorged penis in and out of her anus, holding her legs up to give more pelvic room. A horrific groan came out of her once she released the push. “I need to change position, I need to be on my hands and knees. Quickly now, before another contraction.”

The contractions grew closer and closer, both were screaming and moaning together more frequently. His penis grew even more as he thrusted harder, increasing his speed as he rode her doggy style. He grunted loudly while squeezing her hips with his hands as another wave of contraction hit her. Her water broke, she gasped, and quickly felt the vaingal lips with her fingers to estimate how far along she was. Her fingers were soaked in the amniotic fluid that was still gushing out of her. The couch was soaked and poured onto the carpet. Her belly was considerably lower and thinner, no longer having the amniotic fluid inside. My infant body was actively, angrily pushing through her womb to vagina to the new world no matter the amount of pain it caused. But apparently that pain was more of a turn-on to my mom, who welcomed the start of ‘Ring of fire’ with gasps and moans, rubbing her clit the whole time.

“Don’t stop! I’m almost there! God, don’t fucking stop!” Her hand remained at the opening of her vagina, ready to catch my head, and casually playing with her clit. The other hand was positioned on the arm of the couch to steady herself. “I need to be on the floor,” she huffed between the thrusts.

My dad pulled his penis out abruptly and assisted my mom to the floor. Speckles of blood from her torn anus gathered to the already ruined carpet. She was bow-legged, her palm holding the opening to her vagina, my head just starting to open her lips, almost to the “Ring of Fire”. My whole infant body weight sat just below her hips, her muscles extremely fatigued. She moaned, struggled to get down to the floor to rest on her forearms. “Get back inside me already! It’s fucking burning! She’s almost here! Keep fucking me goddammit!” She was back in the doggy position, this time knowing the baby, me, will be born in this position. Her fingers quickly found the clit.

Her whole body, swollen pregnant belly swaying, moved along the steady rhythm of the penis violently thrusting in and out to a mediocre rhythm. “Don’t fucking stop! There! God, yes, there!!” She screamed throughout the house. My dad forced his thick penis as far into her anus as possible with violent deep thrusts, causing her to scream in agony. A gush of orgasmic squirt shot out before birthing me. Then everything happened at the same time.

“I’m gonna cum! I’m cumming baby! I’m cumming, I’m FUCKING CUMMING!!” My dad’s face scrunched up with his mouth open, my mom panting short quick breaths. He rode the cum-flation into my mom as long as he could, bursting into her anus over and over. It was a cum-fountain inside her anus with no sign of stopping.

Everyone screamed. I screamed angrily, now in a brand new world, bursting past the vaginal lips. My mom screamed and squirted all over my face from her own climax. My dad screamed and screamed, holding onto his penis like a water hose unable to stop. Mom couldn’t stop squirting on top of me and into the carpet, the same carpet I was looking at. It was a sweet taste, she told me, her squirt all over my face as I cried into my new world.

My baby self wailed outside of Mom’s vagina as my dad finished cumming, pushing his softening penis against her anus, his cum dripping onto my newborn disfigured shaped head. The rest of my body wasn’t out yet. My dad listened to Mom’s groans, moans, and begging for him to not stop; his penis was back to business quickly with his thrusting. She needed to push one more time to release me. Mom took a deep breath followed by short breaths, focused on my dad’s rhythmic thrusting, and waited for the feeling of the need to push again. Her fingers suddenly gripped the carpet and her hips were bored down, and she screamed. And screamed. And screamed. My dad’s fingers dug into my mom’s hips, willing it all to end quickly. With a gush of fluid and last scream, the rest of my body was finally pushed out into the new world. Dad screamed while his thick cum covered my whole body and the still attached umbilical cord.

Neither had clothes on, nor planned to cover up any time soon. They moved to the couch together with a slow, steady movement to a missionary position. While still attached to the umbilicord, she cradled me up to her chest, tears rushing down her face. My suckling mouth quickly found her teat and I relaxed into a drunken state of milk and bliss. My dad’s penis grew back to an erection despite cumming multiple times and he re-entered her anus, thrusting gently while I suckled fiercely away. The video showed me nursing her teat as my father caressed her thighs, his hips moving back and forth with slight images of his penis here and there, behind her disfigured vagina, into her anus. They both looked so serene and proud; this was what they were destined to do their whole life and they finally accomplished it.

“What the actual fuck, you guys?” I breathed heavily. I had a pool of wetness in my underwear, which had never happened to me before. Did my period come back so soon? I wanted to leave, I needed to get out of this living room as soon as possible.

“We are just so happy you are our child and grateful for such an easy, pleasurable birthing experience. The other ones weren’t as easy and required us to have a midwife with us.” My mom played with my wavy messy long hair.

“You’re saying I’m not your only child? You’ve had other children? I have brothers and sisters?” My heart was thumping in my ears.

“No no, you don’t have any brothers or sisters. You’re my only child. I’ve just given birth to many children, perfecting the experience until the day I would meet you, my love.” Mom said, with my dad nodding in agreement. “The other ones were for other families- I was their surrogate. You were the one I chose to keep and love.” My mom and dad fiddled their intertwined fingers on my lap, smiling at each other. I jumped up to make way to my bedroom quickly. I looked back at the spot I was just in and saw a dark splotch of where my vagina leaked fluid. I ran to my bedroom. I hid underneath my blankets, begging for my heart to slow down.

#birth kink #labor kink #giving birth #birthday #birth chart #pregnancy #laborsex

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kiiozawa · 8 months ago

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and i know it's going to eat you up inside

As much as sukuna had been groveling in my drabbles, I decided to write the breakup scene between sukuna and reader.

It got kinda long, so I put it under a read more so it doesn't take up ppl's dashes xoxo

☼ pairing; ex-bf! sukuna and server! reader (this is reader breaking up with sukuna)

☼ warnings; sfw, this is basically a prequel, but there isn't a happy ending here. slight toxicity. sukuna may be a little ooc here idk bro i'm new to this, modern!au non-curse!au, reader is called princess, brat, sweetheart,

☼ word count; 1,047

☼ notes; thanks to everyone who likes my little universe!! i appreciate it. 🌺🤞

Your bedroom is pitch black despite it being late morning already. The gunk in the inner part of your eyes feels gross as you rise from your slumber. You have last night’s mascara running down your tear-stained cheeks, but at least you don’t have to work a shift at the restaurant tonight. Time feels like it's moving so slowly yet too fast simultaneously. You swear that you have heart palpitations as you make a poor effort to get out of bed.

Bzz-Bzz-Bzz

The familiar sound comes from your phone which is at 18%. The blue screen is the only source of light: 23 voicemails and 45 missed calls from Sukuna, your now ex-boyfriend. Ice fills your veins and you want to go back to sleep again. Despite your better judgment, you decide to listen to the voicemails, starting with the first one and making your way to the most recent one.

[9:38 PM]

“You can't be serious. Princess, this has to be a joke. You wouldn't break up with me over this. C'mon, answer my calls, baby. You wouldn't do this.”

End of voicemail.

[11:12 PM]

"Listen you fucking brat, pick up my calls. I'm not fucking around. You're not breaking up with me. You can't."

End of voicemail

[1:56 AM]

"You're mad, I know that sweetheart. I'll take you to your favorite restaurant tomorrow and I'll get you flowers again. We can talk it out."

End of voicemail

[3:02 AM]

"Princess, I tried to stop by your apartment again, but you didn't answer. You're my girl, princess. You should know that by now."

End of voicemail

[9:45 AM]

"I'm still going to be here for you sweetheart. Call me when you come back to your senses."

End of voicemail

Silence fills your room as you finish the very last voicemail. The automated voice asks you if you want to delete the messages, but you can't bring yourself to do it—your phone powers down from being left uncharged during the night. Fresh tears start to bubble up, you bite the inside of your cheek to keep your sobs in.

A storm is brewing in your heart because a part of you wants to call Sukuna back and tell him that you made a mistake. The other part of you reminds you that you left for a reason. The memory of last night comes flooding back in as tears roll down your cheeks.

⊹˚₊‧───────────‧₊˚⊹

You accidentally tell Sukuna "I love you." at the end of your call only to be met with silence on the other end. It has only been a couple of months since you began dating the tall tattooed man, but it comes out so naturally that you don’t even realize it until it is too late. You quickly excuse yourself and tell Sukuna that you’ll see him in a little bit for your date.

You could feel your nerves going haywire in your body as you check yourself out for the 10th time in your vanity. Surely, Sukuna will tell you that he loves you, right? He might have the empathy capacity of a walnut, but he will definitely assure you that he does love you, right? Except, you don’t hear those reciprocating words come out of his mouth throughout the whole date. The earlier nerves were replaced by a dull pain in your chest. You’re hoping and praying that Sukuna will just say it as you’re in the passenger seat of his car when he pulls up to your apartment building. It starts to dawn on you that he isn’t going to tell you those four little words that you yearn to hear. And it sends your heart to your stomach.

"Umm... About earlier-" Your voice is shaky as you try to find the courage only for it to be in vain.

"Don't worry about it." Sukuna interrupts as he leans over to kiss you only for you to hold up your palms to his chest and look at him with wide eyes.

"Excuse me? Is that really all you have to say?" Frustration coating your words. You hear Sukuna grumble as he looks at you with what you can only categorize as annoyance.

"Tch, you shouldn't be so needy, babe. Y'know that I don't like clingy girls." He mocks as he leans back into his seat, pulling a cigarette out of his pack from his leather jacket.

Something in you snaps and you swear you feel the moment your heart shatters into tiny million pieces. Heat coats your cheeks as you press your lips together. You have your fists so tight that they turn your knuckles white. Despite the pain in your heart, your eyes remain surprisingly dry as you open the door.

"I'll see you tomorrow, doll." He says as he exhales the smoke from his cigarette.

"No you won't."

"I thought you didn't work tomorrow?" Sukuna raises an eyebrow.

"I don't. I'm saying that I'm breaking up with you, Sukuna." The words feel like they weren't coming from you, but you have your resolve of steel. You slam the door shut as you run into your apartment building. Even through the glass doors, you hear Sukuna’s booming voice calling out your name. Still, you refuse to turn back. Your phone buzzes and you don't need to look to know who is calling you as you enter your unit.

Once you get into your room, you yank the sheets off your bed because it all smells like him. A fresh change of sheets later, you lay down as tears suddenly start to escape your eyes. All you want is to answer Sukuna’s calls, you want to give up and tell him to come up and hold you and comfort you.

Soon enough everything in your room starts to remind you of Sukuna. The dresser he put together for you, the pictures of him on the wall, the nightstand where he would put his pack of Camel cigarettes. You feel like you are being haunted as the tears keep flowing out. Your choked sobs are silent as the buzzing of your phone fills the room. You have to stay strong because you deserve better. If Sukuna can’t tell you that he loves you, then you’ll move on, right?

well we all know how that works out don't we rip reader

#kii rambles #exbf! sukuna x server! reader #jjk #jjk sukuna #sukuna x reader #sukuna x you #jjk x reader #jjk x y/n #sukuna ryomen x reader #sukuna ryomen #sukuna ryomen x you #kii drabbles

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boohorns1136439 · 2 months ago

Text

Learning to belong ~ poly!MHA x fem!Reader (08)

It’s been a while everyone, how have you been? Good I hope, final season is officially over for me, so I’ll go back in my usual schedule.

Warning: cursing

Tags: Pack! Izuku Midoriya X Bakugo Katsuki X Shoto Todoroki X Kirishima Eijirou ; Pack! X fem!Reader ; Omega!Izuku Midoriya ; Omega!Bakugo Katsuki ; Omega!Shoto Todoroki ; Omega!Kirishima Eijirou ; technically Beta!Reader ; modern Au ; post-UA ; Reader has a quirk ; non hero!Reader ; smut eventually ; fem!Reader ; afab!Reader

07 <- 08 -> 09

Masterlist

Taglist -> if you want to be tagged on the next update

The first day after the "incident" had been spent curled up in bed at your apartment, feeling like a prisoner awaiting their inevitable sentence. You half-expected the police to burst through your door at any moment, Red Riot at their side, ready to un-break your nose all over again. Maybe even Shoto Todoroki, wrapped in a Mylar blanket, pointing at you and shouting, “That’s the one, officer!”

Anger pulsed through you, searing and relentless. Each time you closed your eyes, memories ambushed you. Shoto’s desperate pleas, Kirishima’s glare brimming with fury, the sharp sting of your broken nose. The rage felt alive, coiling beneath your skin, hot and suffocating. Sleep was a distant and impossible dream. Every time you thought you were drifting off, your mind screamed at you, reminding you just how utterly fucked up this whole situation was. You had replayed the scene over and over, thinking about what you could have done differently. Fantasies of smashing Red Riot’s nose into an unrecognizable, never seen before, shape shape danced in your head. You had cursed yourself for not slapping common sense back into Shoto Todoroki’s head the second he started his « alpha alpha » bullshit. Sure, as a doctor, you understood how bad heat could cloud someone’s judgment and his was so absurd it bordered on mockery. Alpha ? You ? Yeah no. You had accepted your beta sentence years ago. Still you were too furious to listen to your inner doctor self.

The rage still burned beneath your skin, raw and unrelenting, until it felt like shards of glass grinding against your skull. Every furious thought made your head throb, the ache bleeding into your nose, your jaw, your very core. It was suffocating—too much. So, you forced it down, swallowed the anger and shoved it deep into the pit of your stomach. You were so tired. Your body ached, heavy and fragile, ready to collapse under the weight of it all. Eventually, stillness crept over you, your body sank even deeper into your bed and finally sleep came.

The piercing sound of your ringtone jolted you awake the next day. You groaned, threw the phone across the room, and buried your head under the pillow. The hospital, no doubt. You could already imagine their cold, painfully professional and clipped voice stripping away years of sacrifice and dedication: “Your license has been revoked as a result of gross negligence and inappropriate conduct toward a patient. You are no longer permitted on hospital premises.” The thought made bile rise in your throat. Not yet. You weren’t ready to hear it.

Muttering curses, you dragged yourself upright, only to be startled by the loud growl of your stomach. Hunger clawed at you, and for the first time in days, you had a problem you could actually solve.

"Alright," you mumbled to the empty apartment. If this was your last stretch of freedom before the cops came knocking, you might as well enjoy it. So you ordered everything: Italian, Vietnamese, Chinese. Thankfully, the food arrived quickly. You might have felt a twinge of guilt for the overworked delivery man, struggling to juggle all your bags in one trip—if you had the energy to care. Instead, you handed him the payment, mumbled a quick thanks, and hurried back to the table, arms overflowing with paper bags and boxes. It was a feast. Too much, by any reasonable measure, but reason had no place here. It was pure indulgence, but in your situation, indulgence couldn’t possibly be a sin. It was a necessity—the final wish of a professionally dead woman.

The first bite was salvation. Rich, greasy cheese melted on your tongue as the thick crust of the pizza gave way beneath your teeth. The bánh mì’s savory pork and tangy pickled vegetables paired perfectly with the glossy noodles of the stir-fry. Every dish brought its own moment of glory, and you ate with reckless abandon, savoring every bite until you couldn’t. The dull ache in your nose and jaw faded into the background, drowned by the sheer joy of taste.

The hospital called again and again, but you put your phone on mute after the third call. The whole place could burn down for all you cared. Right now, none of it existed—not the hospital, not the broken nose, not the rage—just the food and the blissful emptiness in your mind. You ate and napped all day long.

By the third day, something shifted. You woke up later than you had in years, sunlight streaming through the half-closed blinds, its warm glow painting the room in the late-afternoon. It hadn’t fully hit you yesterday, but now you realized—for the first time in forever—you had nowhere to be. No patients waiting for you, no charts demanding updates, no surgeries looming over your schedule.

You’d always loved your job. Truly, you had. You took pride in every life saved, in every crisis averted by your hands. But as you lay there, sprawled across the mess of your unmade bed, you couldn’t deny the comfort of a morning like this. Maybe, just maybe, everything would be fine. This wasn’t the end of your life but rather the beginning of a new chapter. You could see it now: you, working in a small and quiet café with cute uniforms and friendly customers. Surely, being a waitress couldn’t be harder than being a doctor, right? The image of yourself laughing as you served pastries in a adora black-and-white uniform brought a fleeting smile to your lips. An easy little life, far removed from all of this.

The rest of the day drifted by in unapologetic laziness. The mental picture of café life faded as you succumbed to hours of mindless scrolling—movies, Twitch streams, YouTube video . It all blurred into a soothing, numbing stream of distraction. You laughed at the dumbest jokes, cursed fictional characters for their stupid decisions, and fell asleep at random intervals, with your phone slipping from your grasp. You had leftovers from yesterday which you didn’t even bother to reheat them. You just ate straight from the containers, curled up in bed.

Every now and then, your thoughts wandered back to the incident: Kirishima’s furious glare, Shoto’s desperate eyes. The bitterness rose, bitter and acrid, but you shoved it back down each time. What was the point? There was no one to confront, no resolution to be had. Besides, a one-hour video essay on some obscure game you’d never played and probably never will, seemed far more appealing.

The day passed in a haze of nothingness. And as night fell, a quiet thought crept in: maybe unemployment was your true calling after all. This aimlessness.…wasn’t so bad, was it? At least, that’s what you told yourself. Over and over again that day.

This chapter is shorter than I initially planned, but it's all I have for now. I just wanted to post something for you all. I didn’t spend as much time reviewing it after writing, so there might be more mistakes (like spelling/grammar) than usual, lol. The next chapter should be much longer, and I know I mentioned that Izuku would be in this one, but I realized it makes more sense to give him his first pov chapter in the next update. It’ll flow better that way, in my opinion. I hope you all continue to enjoy this fic! The holidays are coming up soon, so I’ll be back to my regular schedule then.

Also, I hope the timeline is clear. I’m it isn’t clear so just in case some of you are confused: After the incident at the hospital, Reader hid in her apartment for about 3 or 4 days while Kirishima and Todoroki were going at it. Eventually, after Todoroki’s heat was over, he went to the hospital to apologize (as seen in the last chapter), but the Reader was nowhere to be found because she is still hiding in her apartment. I hope that clears things up for anyone who had questions!

As always, criticisms are welcomed

07 <- 08 -> 09

Big thank you to @cafekitsune who made the beautiful dividers

-> I think we’ve reached the limit of the taglist—I can’t tag more than 50 people in one post, sadly. So, I’ll stop the taglist here and will only tag the first 50 persons who asked to be in it initially. If anyone knows how to change this, I’d love some help! Anyway, if you still want to be notified of the next updates, you can follow me. Thank you all for your support, I can’t believe over 50 people like my work and want to keep up with it!

Taglist: @too-much-gacha ; @electronicexpertshark ; @poopopp ; @cjdjfhfhfufjfdj ; @kimi01985 ; @icycoldbeanieweanies ; @ghostlyworld ; @marsbars09 ; @queenondeezmatatas ; @imnotherw ; @bedheadloser ; @chrisbiniesluvrr ; @fsocs-blog ; @jadeddangel ; @qardasngan ; @omgeyeless-blog ; @goldenglow149 ; @andysteve1311 ; @pinkmelodies ; @hopefulb1ue ; @redkarmakai ; @zukusluvr ; @navezepol221 ; @candiiee ; @aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaq ; @mniya ; @randomhuman112 ; @mintvender r ; @deadendgrim ; @captainswanarcher ; @figbaby ; @midnight-nightmare ; @bluepatrolbear ; @talilosha ; @bawlangya ; @optimisticprime3 ; @purplescorpi0 ; @astrolovedy ; @desiree-lee ; @okaysxx ; @the-faceless-bride ; @thelameone101 ; @gethexxed ; @lowkeyhottho ; @bvirrious ; @heespretty ; @roxy776699 ; @kamy-thee-egg ; @talia-the-gemini ; @pikachuzhc ; @itsnotjustmyself-blog ; @roxy776699 ; @mystic60 ; @reallysparklychaos ; @sixxze ; @blurryperrtymoonlight ; @1poison-cat1 ; @allyfoxglove ; @mindsbloody ; @jkvolgs ; @haruaikawa ; @k3nmakyan ; @my-anime-garden ; @fto6 ; @hanniesroom ; @readeryn68 ; @queenofsimps001

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lanadelreyscokewhor3 · 1 month ago

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I CAN FIX HIM- P.B PARKER

Pairing- Jock! Peter x Nerd! Reader (enemies to lovers)

Word Count: 1.7k

Summary: You and Peter become closer after your successful final project is finished, and you realize perhaps Peter isn't as bad as you've made him out to be. A night out at the bar with him leads to... a date in the near future?

Warnings: swearing, sexual tension, alcohol and drug use

come close, i'll show you heaven/ if you'll be an angel all night / trust me, i can handle me a dangerous man / no really i can …

- i can fix him (no really i can), taylor swift

part one... part two

You could barely see him from the haze that seemed to linger over the crowd of people in the bar, its presence almost suffocating.

But you could hear him.

Even over the steady thud of music and peoples bustling conversations, his laugh rang loud and true in your ears, as if he had been talking about you behind your back.

Your ears seemed to ring as you let your head loll against the cool brick wall, gripping your glass of wine to try and stay cool.

It was stuffy and hot in this cheaply lit, dimmed rundown college bar, and yet it was completely packed- nonetheless.

And yes, you ordered wine at a college bar. You would be damned if you’d be influenced to try some foamy, warm beer- or a gross shot of liquor that would burn the back of your throat like wildfire.

No, you were quite content with your lukewarm glass of red, the same deep red as the lipstick you had boldly applied tonight.

You hoped it functioned as a fluorescent traffic cone in the sea of white shirts and blue jeans- an eyesore to anyone who bothered to glance your way. Your scowl steered everyone in the other direction anyways.

This was not your scene, and you had no plans of blending into it.

A bead of sweat trickled between your breasts, skin seeming dewy and sticky to the touch.

You had to get out here. You were drunk, and hot, and needy.

The longer you stuck by yourself, the more you got in your head about things. Peter had invited you out with some friends to celebrate the praise you received on your presentation, and the good grade that came with it.

Not that you were surprised by any means, you had worked your ass off- and you had worked it off whilst being partners with the most insufferable man alive.

Or so you thought.

Your once conflicting feelings about the man had turned for the worst- and you actually… liked him. Like really, really liked him. And it wasn't just the sex that had sold it.

He was a genuinely funny, charming and smart man. Behind all the jokes and the sass, he had real intelligent ideas.

You hated the fact you liked him.

It was a classic trope, the whole enemies to lovers, the one night stand and then acting like nothing had happened, that no feelings were shared, or had even been felt in the first place.

It was pathetic actually, the way you had let yourself go.

He was the reason you were on the opposite side of the bar. You were afraid if you were near him for too long, you wouldn't be able to stop talking to him- and that wasn't good. Because then he would entrance you, with his charming- boyish grin, and you'd melt into his arms like cotton candy.

Trying to pretend you still hated Parker was impossible though, to anyone who had eyes. You had given up on that act after the presentation- the raised eyebrows and smirks from Peter's friends telling you everything you needed to know.

They knew your little facade of hate was over. The mask had slipped clean off and shattered on the ground, your heart on your sleeve like a lovesick puppy.

You wanted to stay home with your roommates- as none of them would come to this, much preferring a movie night instead. You didn't blame them. You’d be snuggled right alongside them if it wasn't for your little crush, that didn't seem so little anymore.

So here you were, longing for a man you wanted to loathe, on the opposite side of the bar- despite him inviting you. Your head was thudding so loud it felt like a snare drum was directly inside your skull, the endless buzz of people making you woozy.

You gripped your wine glass, shoving past people as polite as you possibly could, making a beeline for the smokers pit. You couldn't take it any longer. It was too much.

The end was in sight, the door just in front of you, so close you could practically feel your fingers brush the crinkled old posters taped all over it.

“Excuse me ma’am- you can’t take that outside.” a man, presumably a worker called to you, and you slipped from his grip, swinging the door open.

“I’m just taking a smoke.” you called, doubting he could hear you over the loud music. The cool night breeze washed over you like a salty ocean wave, and you let out a sigh of relief.

The bouncer eyed you suspiciously as you clenched the wine glass tighter, slipping over to the side of the building, where there was a group of guys huddled, puff like train smoke, a cloud in their wake.

It was too dimly lit to tell who was who. You sighed, pulling a joint and lighter from your purse. You leaned against the brick, perching the joint between your lips, groaning in frustration as you flicked your lighter- nothing but a small spark emerging from it.

“Hey lady, I told you you can’t bring that out here.” that same man yelled, and you just about drunkenly lost your shit.

“Listen man, I’m not gonna steal your four dollar wine glass okay?! I’m just trying to have a joint and a girl cant even get a light!” you stretched, loud enough to alert the group next to you, feeling five sets of eyes on your frame, some shaking with laughter.

The man's face flushed as red as your wine, and you knew you wouldn't be allowed back here again. You couldn't give less of a shit.

“You need help with that?” a familiar voice sounded beside you, making you jump. Peter leaned against the wall next to you, holding a lit lighter to your face, motioning towards your joint.

“Thanks.” you nodded, leaning in and covering it from the wind. You let out a sigh of relief as you inhaled the smoke, the burn in your lungs leaving you fuzzy as you coughed.

“I’ll take care of her man, don’t worry.” he called to the owner, waving him away. His gaze turned back to you, full of charm and sass.

“Well I’ll be damned. Y/L/N smoking a joint? Who would've thought?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Yeah, yeah whatever. I’m drunk and stressed. Big whoop.” you rolled your eyes, taking another inhale.

“I can see that, from the sass you gave the owner. Or maybe thats just normal, I’m not too sure since thats how you always talk to me.” he shrugged.

“Its called flirting, asshole. I was securing a second date at the establishment.”

“Flirting by taking his glasses? I’m not sure I’ve heard of that one before.”

You snorted. “Yeah, I’m in need of souvenirs of this place. Its so beautiful, I just had to take something back with me so I wouldnt forget it.”

He laughed, the sound echoing through the air, interminling with the smoke from your half smoked joint.

“You’re lucky I know him sweetheart. Or you’d never be allowed back tothis beautiful bar.”

You rolled your eyes again, fighting the urge not to let your cheeks heat up. Before you could make a snarky comeback- a voice interrupted your thoughts.

“Hey Y/L/N. Funny seeing you here, without your little school girl getup.” Bucky smirked, peering alongside Peter, patting his shoulder.

“Harty har. Its vintage Chanel, I’ll have you know.”

“You look good.” he commented, both him and Peter checking you out, and you couldnt help but scoff.

“You should see whats under the dress.”

Bucky laughed and Peters eyes widened, stuck like a deer in headlights between you and Bucky. “Shes feisty when shes drunk, eh Parker? I like her. Good choice.”

He saluted you, him and the rest of Peters group heading back inside the bar, probably off to get more shitty tasting beers. You glared at him as he walked off before sharply turning your gaze to Peters, eyes narrowed like a hawks.

You were bold when you drank. Too bold.

“If you’re gonna look at me like that, ask me on a date at least.” you said, tossing the butt to the side and taking a sip of wine.

You felt buzzed. You felt as free as a bird. Anything could happen. You could say anything, and forget it ever happened in the morning.

So why not play him up a little?

“Would you like me to ask you on a date? Cause I will.” he stated.

“No.”

“So no, don’t ask you on a date?”

“No.” you replied again, shrugging your shoulders.

“I’m gonna ask you on a date now.”

You raised your eyebrow, pursing your lips. “And what if I say no?”

“Well I hope you don't since I’ve been meaning to ask you for a while now, but if you did we’d just pretend it never happened.”

Your heart fluttered at his words. He had wanted to ask you out?

“And what, just do this? Have sex once and then act like we aren't interested when we are?”

“Whose we? You are interested then?”

You silently stared at him, glint in your eye as you took another long, drawn out sip. It was nice to have the upper hand and annoy him for once. Suddenly, this whole dynamic wasn't so bad afterall.

“Not sure yet. I’d have to go on a date to find out.”

“Then go out with me, next Saturday. Please.” His voice turned to begging, eyes pleading at you- as if he wasnt the one who played you like a fucking fiddle, teasing you and getting you so riled up youd have to take breaks just from talking to him so you wouldn't lose your mind and kiss him.

He was staring at you, as if you were worth begging over. Like you were above him.

“Please?”

“Please.”

You smiled, hand reaching up to tuck a loose strand of hair back behind his ear, watching as it just fell forward again. Maybe that was too intimate. But he didn't seem to mind.

Encouraged it- actually.

You noticed every little move he made, inching closer and closer towards you- as if your red lips were a magnet.

“Fine. But don't make me wait. Pick me up at 6 o'clock sharp. And I don't like rocks being tossed at my window. A handkerchief wave will do just fine.”

“Just a wave?”

“Just a wave."

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perseruna · 10 months ago

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heyyyy do you have any details/sources for the ca*ill being a jackass thing? ngl i watch twn for yen and jaskier so i was already planning on continuing to season 4 but i'd love some reasons to be actively excited for the actor switch. but i haven't kept up on the behind-the-scenes stuff so i'm kinda lost on that front if you're up for sharing any of what you know!

okay guys buckle up this is THE anti henry cavill megathread xoxo

First of all him dating a teenager as a 33 year old fully grown man literally gross and disgusting.

Also as this quote implies they started dating a year prior and only went public when she was 19 so they supposedly started dating when she was 18.

His entire dating history is a MESS. Sure the women he dated are not him, but he chose to date them, I wouldn't even associate myself with people like these let alone be in a relationship with them. He dated the infamous transphobic TERF Gina Carano, albeit before her loud controversy, but I doubt her harmful views were any different back then. His current gf has a history of doing black face.

His "Me Too" comments.

His comments on the Me Too movement are literally so vile. If you don’t want to be called a rapist, just don’t rape women, it’s literally as simple as that. They’re even more foul because they’re promoting the idea that women lie about their abusive for fame, promoting that harmful rhetoric especially in our times is incredibly dangerous.

Now onto his on set behavior.

We can't talk about his set behavior without mentioning the deuxmoi set leak. Here's the transcript of it:

[Transcript:

There’s something I really really wanted to read to you guys--it has to do with why Henry Cavill left The Witcher. I know that was something that you guys were super interested in when it happened, and I just recently got this message. Somebody was like “Hey, do you want to know what really went down?” And I was like “Sure!” So let me just read it. It says:

“At the beginning of the show, Henry was good to work with. A lot of difficult demands that made people feel like he wasn’t a team player, but that’s not unusual for a really big star. Though in TV it truly usually doesn’t happen until the second season. But in season two and three something shifted and he became really impossible for women to work with, which is always a big problem, but even worse here because the showrunner is a woman. He would try to overrule her and try to get changes made last minute across the board without her knowledge, which, if you know anything about showrunning, is completely fucked. The showrunner has to sign off on every miniscule detail down to the buttons on a costume. Female writers and directors were suddenly being completely ignored on set, unable to do their jobs. Every department head was complaining. He started making comments—it wasn’t a sexual thing, he wasn’t grabbing anyone or being lewd, but it was disrespectful and toxic all the same.

“He is deeply addicted to video games, to the point where it was like working with any other addict. He was distracted, he was late, he was obsessive, and a lot of people think the misogyny came from gamer world. Video game bro language is not how you talk to coworkers, and he wouldn’t stop. Someone on the show compared it to watching someone get brainwashed by QAnon, like his whole personality shifted. Eventually his disrespect escalated. He would rewrite scenes without even alerting the other actors in the scenes until it was time to shoot. He decided that he didn’t want any romantic scenes at all—no kissing scenes, no shirtless scenes, et cetera. He wanted complete control of storylines but really had no idea of the limitations of TV, structure, budget, et cetera. He formed a weird alliance with one writer who was also a gamer, who eventually got fired after multiple HR complaints were made and after that writer left, Henry did anything he could to hold up production and cause problems.

“Eventually top brass at Netflix was tired of him costing them money with delays and HR investigations and the showrunner was asked to construct a potential exit for him. Netflix reached out to him personally and he was given one final warning, and violated that warning with an email he sent to the entire writing staff right after that meeting. That was it. It’s very disappointing.”

End transcript.]

Now believe me or not, but I know from a really good source that the leak was indeed real.

There's a lot of patterned behavior that tracks with what we know of him and his past controversies.

After that leak came out, there was a lot of people from different places coming to comment that ‘yes’ they’ve heard a very similar story adding a little bit more details of their own.

this quickly deleted tweet from one of the writers/producers:

there were rumors about him being an asshole to Anya specifically.

He went on record that he doesn't "understand" sex scenes. Which I know the sex discourse is rampant nowadays and each to their own, but he specifically signed up for a role that requires those scenes and then refused to do them and was allegedly nasty to Anya about it and with the way he talks about women...

Also it’s important to touch upon the “writer he had a weird alliance with” that man in question is Beau DeMayo of the recent fame of getting fired by Marvel from X-Men ‘97. He was previously allegedly fired from The Witcher for being emotionally and physically abusive. And he allegedly got fired from X-Men for being abusive as well. One of The Witcher writers tweeted this after Beau smeared them for “disliking the books” Beau was literally the first person to start that narrative.

The fact that it was HIS idea not to say lines of his dialogue in S1 and instead grunt. To the point that Joey had to take Henry’s lines and make it his own, so the plot would make sense, he talks about it in this interview: https://www.youtube.com/watch?app=desktop&v=Oyh0t117t0U&, and then once S2 press arrived Henry was talking about how he was trying to fight the big bad writers to give him more lines. Ridiculous.

Everyone is already pointing out that the cast looks so much happier without him, and it’s very true. Henry was never present on close to any BTS pics from filming the previous seasons, or on any cast dinners or birthdays. He wouldn't even do any shared interviews with the other three mains but only had solo interviews which to me was giving disrespectful like you're an ensemble you’re not the only lead here. It felt like he was above them to sit down and answer questions with them. When they were doing press junkets in Brazil and Poland Anya, Joey and Freya would always arrive together and leave together with that man leaving all the events early and by himself. And like people who post quotes from the cast about him being perfect from press junkets as “proof” are insane to me like Obviously they’re going to say nice things about him, not only they're newcomers, and he's an established industry name, but they’re doing PRESS for a show that he’s a STAR of (well, was lmao)

The fact that he never defended Anya from the racist trolls, even though most of them were HIS fans. Like she had to go through so much and that man couldn’t make a single comment about it as a leading man BUT he could make a whole IG post because people were being mean to his gf and calling her out for doing blackface.

And sure people might say that a lot of these are unverified sources, and I’d get it if it was a singular case, but there are a ton of these accounts that all match each other. Where there’s smoke, there’s fire.

#anti henry cavill #the witcher #mega thread

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scoutswritingcorner · 10 months ago

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Their Favorite Distraction

Overlord!HuskerDust x Male Reader

Headcanons

TW:KINDA SPICY- SO 18+ PLEASE AND THANK YOU

A/N: Listen I saw Overlord Husk and Overlord Angeldust and thought why not put them together???? Listen, I am a simple man..who simps way too much.

Let me set the scene real quickly, maybe you were a sinner or demon down on your luck and wanted to try your hand at gambling or you simply walked in at the wrong time. But once you got your hand into the gambling ring that’s when Husk had set his sight on you, whilst you were soaring with money lining your pockets. Going table to table, lady luck surprisingly on your side as you had started to get hopeful and maybe you’d be able to pay off your necessities for a few weeks with this type of cash. But you didn’t notice how both Husk and Angel Dust were watching, in hindsight you should’ve just stopped there and left with the prize but god the adrenaline felt so good and what could another game hurt?

A lot apparently, now you were sitting at Husk’s table, Angel Dust standing behind him watching you with a devious little smirk. You should’ve taken your winnings and left. But then..you wouldn’t have ended up with two very overprotective Overlord Boyfriends who adore you so.

-🎰 Like I said- both are very overprotective of you! But in a good way, not in the gross toxic way.

-🕷️ Oh they love to spoil your ass all the time, you look at something on your phone for too long or when your out and about with them? Expect it on your bed or at your door in a couple hours.

-🎰 Sit on their laps while they work? Yes please. Try sitting anywhere else they get pouty and grumpy, your seat is on their lap.

-🕷️ Want a new suit? Done, lean more feminine cause clothes have no gender? Also done. They praise you all the time.

-🎰 Most people think that these men are your sugar daddies, which in some way and how they spend money on you all the time..they wouldn’t be wrong. But no they are your very powerful and loving boyfriends.

-🕷️ They both own a lot of souls and know that they do but they don’t own your soul. They’d tear each other apart if they found that out and Satan forbid if another Overlord tried to get their disgusting hands on you and tried to own your soul..that Overlord is triple dead.

-🕷️ Husk? Loves when you and Angel blow on his dice before anything, you both are his good luck charms. You decide to play a game? Angel is beside you the whole time making sure no one cheats or gets too rowdy around you, someone pulls a gun? Husk is already on them, fangs and claws out. While Angel keeps you close. You get to decide the fool's fate.

-🎰 In Private? These two are the most cuddliest people ever. Laying on the couch watching your favorite show? Now you have two overlords cuddling you. Or maybe you're making a snack alone, not anymore, Husk is hugging you from behind and grumbling about something.

-🕷️ Oh boy the kisses? There is an endless supply of them anywhere you are. In Husk’s casino with him? Give him a goodluck kiss. With Angel in his office as he looks over papers? Sit in his lap and kiss his cheek, the stress immediately evaporates.

-🎰 Add little accessories that represent them? Maybe have spades embroidered on your suit jacket or have custom made jewelry that looks like a spider? Oh boy, their hands won’t leave you alone. Constantly touching your suit jacket or jewelry as they do their business.

-🕷️ Date nights are so fun with these two, they take you to clubs or very expensive restaurants or maybe you want to stay home or go out to the closest bar? Whatever you want, babycakes.

-🎰 If you get a little too drunk? They’ll pull you into their lap and kiss at your reddened face whilst they take your drink away. They don’t need you feeling like shit in the mornin’ especially if your busy the next day.

NSFW GET OUT OF HERE MINORS

-🕷️ Both dominate men, so good luck. Especially if you’ve teased them too much.

-🎰 Husk? Is shameless and will take you anywhere he can get you. In his casino? In his office or in the closest bathroom. He’ll have you bent over and screaming his name for everyone in his Casino to hear. To know who you belong too.

-🕷️ Angel Dust? He’s more of the one to fuck you somewhere private. Not because he doesn’t want to show how good he pleases you but that’s his sight to see and he wants to ruin you (in a good way). He’s also the kinkiest out of the two still.

-🎰When they both get together? Oh you’re done for my good man. They won’t let you go until the morning and your passed out from being fucked all night long.

-🕷️ Aftercare Kings, doesn’t matter what kind of aftercare you want to them. Just want to lay down and cuddle? One of them is holding you close while the other is getting water and some snacks. Want a nice bath? They got a big tub for a reason, Handsome~

-🎰 When you eventually can’t walk or get out of bed? Both men are smug as hell as you glare at them.

#hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel imagine #angel dust imagine #angel dust x you #angel dust x male reader #angel dust x reader #hazbin angel dust #husker x you #husker x reader #husker hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel husk #huskerdust #huskerdust x male reader #overlord husk #overlord angel dust #overlord huskerdust x male reader

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livwritesstuff · 1 year ago

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Hazel posts a tiktok that starts with her elbowing her way between her dads where they sit on the couch watching the evening news.

“The people want to know how your Valentine’s Day was,” she says, holding her phone out at arms-length so all three of them are in frame.

“We’re boring old guys, Hazy-Jay,” Eddie reminds her, “Go ask Moe or Robbie or some other young person.”

“Okay,” Hazel pauses, thinking, “Alright, what do you think is your most iconic Valentine’s Day.”

“Iconic?” Steve repeats tiredly, “Does it have to be for a good reason?”

“Any reason.”

“Uh, then probably the time a florist accused me of having an affair.”

Hazel’s jaw drops open.

“What?”

Beside her, Eddie cackles.

“Holy shit – I totally forgot about that!”

“Wait – storytime,” Hazel said gleefully, “Why did a florist accuse you of having an affair?”

“Well, you know how I always get you and Moe and Robbie each your own bouquet of flowers every year?”

“Yeah.”

“Right, so I went to the florist and–”

“Wait, when was this? Like, what year?”

“Uh, you were probably four or five, so 2011, maybe? Are you gonna interrupt me the whole time?”

“No, just that time,” Hazel shakes her head, “Gotta set the scene, Pop.”

“Sure. Anyways, I went to the florist to place the orders or whatever, and the kid working the register at the time was no older than sixteen, probably, and we got to the part where I add a note to each of the bouquets, and, like, I get it, you know? From her side of this, it was three pretty similar messages to three different girls, and I’m sure they see that kind of thing all the time where it’s actually some idiot buying flowers for their partner and the person they’re cheating on them with, so–”

“Yeah, she’s a real one, honestly,” Hazel giggled, “A little confused, maybe.”

“Right, so this girl starts completely laying into me about how shitty I was, and how could I do that, and don’t I care about people’s feelings, and I think that’s when your dad walked in, and–” he looks at Eddie over Hazel’s head, “Do you remember what you did? You, like, you did something that made it very clear that we were together.”

Eddie laughed, “Yeah, I think I said something like almost done, baby? and stuck my hand in your back pocket.”

Hazel wrinkled her nose, “Ugh, don’t be gross.”

“Well, anyways,” Steve continued, “This poor kid looked so confused, and I remember saying something like, yep, almost done getting the flowers for our daughters – really emphasized the our daughters part. She was mortified.”

“Damn,” Hazel says, “Yeah, that's pretty iconic.”

#inspired by when I hosted at a restaurant and some guy brought his mistress in on feb 13th and his wife in on feb 14th #it wasn't even a nice restaurant either this guy was just a loser #steddie #liv’s steddie dads verse #steddie dads #hazel's tiktok page #steve harrington #eddie munson

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cloudysfluffs · 6 months ago

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--And Once with Tickles!!

A/N: BLARHG i havent posted a fic of any kind in like four years. and i havent written a TICKLE fic in like SIX years!!!! so i might be a little rusty. but this fic has been in the works for OVER A YEAR NOW and itd be a shame if only my bf gets to see it :P so im posting it to da world!!!!!

Summary: basically just if the tickle scene from Sock Opera was longer ^^'' its literally my favorite tk scene of all time so now you can have an entire fic where i stretch it out for 5k words!!!!!!!!!!!! <3

Lee: Bill? Dipper? Bipper <3

Ler: Mabel + Stan

WARNING: THIS IS AN SFW TICKLE FIC!!!!! KINK/FETISH BLOGS DO NOT TOUCH!!!!! MOST OF THE CHARACTERS IN HERE ARE MINORS AND ALL OF THEM ARE RELATED!!!!! DON'T BE WEIRD!!!!!

“Whoah, whoah, hey-- hey, HEY!”

SMASH!

The cake prop crashed against the ground with a horrible crackling sound, breaking apart beneath both of their weights. There was a collective jump and gasp from the startled crowd. Even the puppets themselves-- or, at least, the soul piloting them-- seemed taken off guard.

Despite the panic and destruction, neither Bipper nor Mabel took too long to shake it off. Bipper landed on the ground, on his stomach, just a few feet away from Mabel, who’d landed on her side. Instantly, he pushed himself up, eyes wide, feeling around the floor for the journal. A stagelight swiveled, reflecting off the shiny gold cover, and both of them leapt for it with the determination of a starving animal on a hunt. They touched down at the very same time. They wore matching, angry glares, each gripping the journal so tightly that their knuckles were turning white. Mabel knew, as she squinted to avoid the spotlight, that there was no hope in saving the show. But there was hope for saving her brother! And if that meant sabotaging everything she worked for, then…Well, it was about time she sacrificed something for Dipper.

They rolled across the stage, tumbling over one another, until Bipper’s head reached the edge. If he craned his neck backwards enough, he could see the confused and terrified face of the audience. Something he would’ve found amusing, if the stakes weren’t so high. Mabel was on top of him, her knee on his stomach, and both hands on the journal, tugging and yanking with all her might. He just held on, harder, gritting his teeth. The very same thought was in both of their minds. I’ve almost got it!

“Get out of my brother’s body, you evil triangle!!” Mabel yelled, pressing her leg down even harder. Enough to be uncomfortable, but not enough to cause any lasting damage. She really had to engrain that thought into her head. Once Bill got out of here-- and she would get him out of here-- it would be Dipper’s body suffering the consequences. He’d already been through too much. It turned out to be just enough to get the book to slip out of his hands. Both of their eyes widened in shock, but before Bill could give too much chase, she made sure to whack him with the journal. Just for good measure. She’d wanted to do that this whole time!!

Mabel stumbled to her feet, running back to center stage, just as Bipper was starting to sit up and rub his forehead. He growled, in a way she hadn’t heard since she was in Stan’s mind, in a way she knew her brother couldn’t replicate if he tried. Fascinatingly, she watched as his face seemed to heat up, reddening his skin even more than it had been already, as he pushed himself off the ground. If he were human, she may have assumed his failure had embarrassed him. But this was Bill, they were talking about…so, if she had to guess, this was his human-body equivalent of his yellow turning red. Kinda cute! In a weird, gross way.

“Grrr…You can’t stop me!” He scowled, his eyes narrowing on the book. Mabel looked behind her. The set pieces blocked access backstage from this side, and while she could move to the stage stairs, or even jump down, that’d take a good amount of coordination. Before she could decide…she was leapt on. She gasped, feeling the air leave her lungs as she was tackled to the wooden floor. The journal slipped from her grasp, and landed on the floor beside her. Both she and Bipper placed their hands on it at the same time, hers on the edge, and his on the palm of the cover. Bipper was sitting on top of her, straddling her waist, his chest heaving as he panted. She felt breathless, too. But, as she stared up at him, still pink in the face, and with a tired, yet satisfied grin on his face…It was as if something clicked in her mind.

“I’m a being of pure energy, with no weakness!”

Mabel stared at him, almost in disbelief. It seemed so obvious. In any other circumstance, it would’ve been the very first thing she thought of, when searching for a method to gain the upper hand in combat, without actually hurting the other person. She did it to Dipper all the time! So often, in fact, that she figured the townsfolk wouldn’t bat an eye, if they saw her do this at her own show. For the first time, it was her turn to get to wear that smug, knowing smirk. She brought her other hand around to rest over the journal like a seat belt, just so he couldn’t snatch it while she talked.

“True…But you’re in Dipper’s body!” She reminded, to which he huffed, as if offended. What, did she think he forgot? For once, it was like she could read his mind, because she picked up for him. She lifted the hand that wasn’t protecting the journal, and wiggled her fingers.

“And I know all his weaknesses!~”

Bipper quirked a brow. In the split second between her final comment, and what she was going to do next, she could see the cogs visibly turning behind his eyes. He wasn’t used to not knowing what was about to happen. Typically, at a glance, he could look at a person and see right through to their mind, where he could pluck their thoughts and plans right out. Sometimes, he knew what someone was about to do before they did. Having to rationalize like a human made it so he had to manually run through his own mental database, for what she could possibly mean…It was such a broad assessment. He was human, for christs’ sake. What wasn’t a weakness to them, really? They couldn’t handle being stretched too far, or bleeding too much, and their limbs could only bend to a certain point. Humanity was so fragile! It was honestly a mystery how they survived so long. But he’d pinned her like this for a reason; how could she possibly hurt him?

“What do you mean his--?”

Before he could finish, Mabel lifted her wiggling fingers…and slipped her hand into his jacket, pressing them just underneath his arm.

Bipper felt as if his entire body seized. In the half-second that the sensation touched down, he was overcome with a surge of physical reactions he’d never experienced before. First, he shivered, goosebumps freckling over his skin. It was as if every nerve in his body ignited, with an odd, fluttery tingling. Worse, perhaps…was the way he vocally reacted.He gasped, and squeaked, an embarrassingly high-pitched noise leaping from his throat. The glare, which he’d taken pride in withstanding, was forcibly wiped from his expression, replaced by a shaky smile. It felt like his insides were bubbling. But when he opened his mouth to express that concern…he realized what it was.

“GaHhh--! AAAaahhahahahahaha!” It was the urge to laugh. Uncontrollable giggles poured out of him like bubbles to a heated cauldron. The heat he felt rush to his face only made that metaphor seem all the more accurate. Mabel and the audience might’ve heard Dipper’s voice, but he heard his own. The helplessness in his tone disgusted him. Out of his own control, his reflexes went haywire, demanding that he get anywhere as long as it was away. Robbed of the motor skills required for any complex movements, he found himself toppling backwards, pinning his arms to his sides. He’d hoped falling would be enough to put distance between him and his tormentor, but it seemed like the opposite had occurred. The moment he was down, she took advantage, by climbing on top of his waist, instead. She wriggled the fingers of both of her hands under each of his arms, ruthlessly scribbling for long enough for him to feel as if any attempts at fighting back would be futile. And then, she slid both hands down, grazing his ribs, before settling on his sides. The motion elicited another yelp, and another full-body shiver, before he settled back into the helpless giggling that had possessed him before.

It was unusual. It was unbearable. It…tickled.

“Tickle tickle!~” Mabel cooed, and for some reason, Bipper felt a heat rush to his cheeks. In fact, the burning sensation stretched all the way to the tips of his ears, making him feel compelled to wrench his eyes shut and turn his head away. The words-- or was it that voice?-- made the hair on the back of his neck stand on end. Somehow, it seemed like her touch only tickled more, the teasing worsening the odd hypersensitivity afflicting his nerves. His hands locked around her wrists, and he arched his back, shoving pitifully while he used his heels to kick at the ground. Whether it was due to the tickle-induced weakness, or the pose was just that effective, he didn’t get anywhere. Mabel smirked, baring her braces like fangs, like she could see just how much the comment worked on him. Dipper couldn’t stand that, either!

“Awww, whatsa matter?~ Does it tiiiickle?~ Are you too tiiicklish to handle it?~ Kitchy-kitchy-koo!~”

“S-StahahaAAahahahahahahap!” He hissed, scowling, cursing the stutter in his voice. Damn Pine Tree’s twitchy little body and his squeaky little voice! How did he live, being so sensitive?? He couldn’t bear to listen to another word of that teasing, bringing his hands up to cover his ears. And, in retaliation, Mabel’s nails skittered upwards again. They passed over his ribs, before again settling into a gentle scratch just under his arms. It got the exact same reaction the downward motion over the same spot had caused; a gasp, a yelp, and a full-body shiver, all before his arms snapped right back down again. Both of them seemed irritated by that last response.

“AAGhh-! Whyhyhyhyhyhyhyhy cahahahahahahahan’t I mohohohohove my ahahahahahahahaharms?!”

“Reflexes!” Mabel chimed in, instantly, as if it were obvious. To a human, it may have been, but for Bill, ‘reflexes’ were an entirely foreign concept. He’d never felt so…effortlessly disarmed. And that was coming from someone who spent a good chunk of his life in the second dimension, and, the rest of the time, was confined to the mindscape. He was already relatively harmless. But somehow, when he had a physical body to interpret reality with, being helpless was so much more torturous. He knew the human body was pathetic, but really, how had they survived this long as a species, if all it took were a few pokes to entirely collapse them?? Perhaps it was a combination of how unfamiliar the sensation was to him, and how sensitive Dipper’s body was, anyway…but he felt he reserved the right to mentally complain, anyway. He felt naturally more whiny. As if Mabel could tell, she grinned, and retracted a hand.

“Here, let me help you!”

Her now-free arm shifted backwards, so her hand could lock around his wrist…and force it upwards, pinning it to the ground beside his head. The other hand, that had been trapped in place, wriggled its way out. She crossed it over his body, and switched which side she was attacking, her claws now slipping into his jacket to scratch beneath the arm she’d pinned. It all happened so quickly, Bipper hardly had the chance to look horrified…before he fully squealed, his laughter ratcheting up another octave.

“EEEEeeehheheheheek!! ‘Hehehehehehehehehelp’?!” He echoed, offended, the bite of his tone lost in his giggling. He wanted to argue more thoroughly, but good god, that tickled so much more!! He arched his back, jerked at his elbow, and turned to one side, desperate for something-- anything-- to put distance between his skin and her nails. Talk about feeling disarmed! He thought it couldn’t possibly get any worse, and yet, here he was.

“Yeah! Help! Now you don’t have to flail your arms around; you can just lay back and take it!” Mabel interjected, with an innocence that seemed far too natural for how cruel she was being. Bill saw some of himself in her, sometimes. With that kind smile, and flattery. So, sweetly deceptive. He had to hand it to her, she knew how to get ‘em! This girl was brimming with potential; the unicorns and butterflies and rainbows were just a thin blanket to mask the chaos that she was capable of. The little brat. Maybe he could use that someday. But now, it only aided in annoying him.

“You’re welcome!~”

He wasn’t an idiot. He saw what she was trying to do. But just in case he didn’t, she told him, anyway. Mabel leaned down, eyes narrowed, so they were practically nose-to-nose.

“Get outta Dipper’s body, or I’m gonna tickle you until you pass out!!”

He growled, trying to force the corners of his lips down into a frown. She wished it would be that easy! He may be weakened, and disarmed, but please! Who did she think he was? As if he suddenly realized he had control over his not-pinned hand, he reached over to try and grab at her wrist, to pry the hand attacking him away from the spot. It did work, partially, as the tugging would occasionally slide her hand downwards…but that only meant her wiggling fingers would graze his ribs, instead, and he’d be possessed by that yelp and full-body shiver that seemed to trigger every time. The reaction weakened him. As if he wasn’t weak enough!

“Nehehehehehehehever!” He insisted, with just enough bite in his words for him to feel a swell of pride. He was starting to get used to it! His smile suddenly seemed all the more smug, practically a smirk, despite the fact that it was hardly warranted, in his current state. He was still laughing, and squirming, his entire body leaned to one side to reflexively counteract the nails scratching away at him. Mabel huffed.

First, her eyes drifted to the stage. She wished she could see Dipper. To everyone else here, she was tormenting her innocent brother in front of an audience for no apparent reason. Worse, none of them, not even their most loved ones, would get an honest explanation. Whoops. She’d apologize to him later. In the meantime, she turned her head in the other direction.

Everyone out there seemed absolutely captivated. Well, for the most part, at least. Some seemed confused, others seemed shocked. A shocking amount seemed pretty flustered, while others sported the exact opposite mood. She could just barely see Candy and Grenda confusedly flipping through the script just off stage. But, generally, most of the crowd was enjoying this thrilling multi-media masterpiece. Even those from the Mystery Shack. In fact, maybe especially those three! Mabel couldn’t help but smile, as she met their eyes through the smearing, colorful stage lights.

Wendy was leaning back in her seat with her boots kicked up on the empty chair in front of her, an amused smirk on her face. Though she couldn’t hear anything coherent from the crowd from up here (and wouldn’t be able to, anyway, over Bipper’s high-pitched squealing), she could tell that Wendy snickered, as she elbowed Soos in the side. Soos was one of the members of the audience who seemed a little flustered over the whole endeavor. Even in the low lighting, Mabel could see just how red his face was. He was grinning nervously, and fanning himself with his cap, and flinched just a little too hard as he was nudged. It was all very sweet. Truthfully, she didn’t care if this ruined the show for most of the audience, because it wasn’t for them anymore. It was for Dipper! …But it did make her feel good, to see them enjoying themselves. And no one seemed to be enjoying himself more than Stan!

Earlier today, he seemed to be a little skeptical about coming. He was swayed incredibly easily though, which was rare for him. He was probably the most stubborn man the twins had ever met, and yet a good puppy-dog-eyed stare and a promise that the end would blow his mind was enough to convince him that maybe this memory was priceless. He’d even brought a camera to film it. Even with one of his eyes obscured by the pop-out window of the old recording device, she could see how widely he was grinning, the expression on his face one of fond amusement. He must have assumed that this was the ‘spectacular closing act’ that she’d been bragging about just a few hours earlier. It wasn’t, but if this went well, he’d never have to find that out! He caught her looking out upon the crowd, and tilted his head so more of his face was visible, his grin seeming all the more proud. He gave her a reassuring thumbs up, and she felt a new wave of confidence wash over her. She could do this.

Her eyes fell back to the demon pinned beneath her, who hadn’t stopped giggling and struggling since she shifted her attention a few moments ago. He’d probably been yelling insults she’d been too distracted to hear. She squinted at him suspiciously. If this were Dipper, she’d be jumping to his spot about now. Heck, that’s probably what she’d do when wrecking anyone! But…this wasn’t Dipper. It wasn’t ‘just anyone’. This was Bill! He already seemed to be getting the hang of this sensation, with how consistently now he was shoving at her hands, and how successful his thrashing was becoming. If she let up for even a second, he might even be able to wriggle away, or worse! She needed to not only tickle him to death, but she needed to make the session intense. What was something Dipper wouldn’t be able to stand…?

Her gaze flickered to the crowd again. And, suddenly…she stopped.

Her smirk returned. Her wiggling fingers ceased, and instead that hand grabbed Bipper’s opposite wrist, so she was now pinning both to the floor. The demon-possessed vessel gasped the moment he felt a moment of solace, obviously annoyed by the fact that his giggle-fit didn’t immediately die. Every time he inhaled, or exhaled, he found he couldn’t stop laughing, like the feeling was still there, under his skin. But he was too out of breath to do anything about it! He fought with this natural, human response, while Mabel sat up as straight as she could.

“For my next act, I’ll need a volunteer from the audience!” She announced, proudly, as if it made any logical sense. The poor crowd was going to be so confused. But she didn’t need most of their approval. She only needed it from one. She grinned, and shut one eye, so she could point directly at her grunkle.

“How about you, good sir? You look like you’d make a fine actor!”

Stan lifted his head away from the viewfinder, visibly startled. He glanced to either side of him, pointed to himself, and brightened when Mabel nodded in approval. He didn’t hesitate any longer than that, handing the camera over to Soos (who fumbled with it for a moment, before giving a reassuring thumbs up) and climbing out of his seat.

Bipper was only just starting to regain his composure, when he realized what was going on. He shook his head, and blinked open his eyes, squinting out at the crowd. Jesus, had the kid’s eyes always been this bad? He almost missed Sixer’s glasses. But, the very moment he processed that Mabel’s hands had released his wrists…thick, strong arms wrapped underneath his, scooping him up into a sitting position, pressed against someone’s chest. He felt like a cat being hoisted into the arms of their owner, unable to do anything but twist his shoulders and try to wriggle out of his grasp. Mabel was still sitting on his legs. He glared over his shoulder. The light reflected off of Stan’s glasses, obscuring his eyes, and for some reason that made him look intimidating. Or maybe it was just the fact that he was in such a small, wimpy body; anyone could look like a threat, when everyone towered over you. His hands balled into fists.

“Wh-What is this?!” He scowled, stammering, trying to roll his shoulder to free it from the old man’s grasp. But it seemed like every inch that he managed to unwind, Stan just pulled him back even tighter. It was so effortless, it was hard to feel anything other than pathetic. No wonder this kid was getting tickled constantly! Everyone in town had a leg up on him!

“Let go of me!”

“This is called a grand finale!” Mabel declared, straightening her back and cracking her knuckles. The smirk on her face was downright sinister. An evil that Bill couldn’t help but think rivaled his own. She was an expert at this, wasn’t she? She knew this would up the game, considering the strength difference between them. Even with her best efforts, she wasn’t strong enough to keep him fully still. And even if she could, she’d lose leverage by being unable to use both hands. But the addition of another person-- him, especially-- had immobilized him completely, without her ever having to lift a finger. Not to mention how calculated this whole trap with her ‘grunkle’ had been. She hadn’t even had to speak word to him, for him to understand exactly where his place was, in all of this. Maybe they were psychic. Or maybe they really just did this that frequently. Man, he’d almost pity Pine Tree, if he deserved it! But he hardly had time to dwell on something like that, anyway. Not as he watched Mabel lift her wiggling fingers threateningly.

“Last chance!”

She was bold, too. But so was he. And that would be his first mistake. Daringly-- challengingly-- he smirked.

“Pssh, yeah, right!” He chuckled, rolling his eyes. Mabel glared, as he turned up his nose, quirked a brow, and scoffed. Anyone who thought this was Dipper might almost see it as in-character behavior. He’d been similarly snarky, around this point in sessions. Stan even rolled his eyes right back, and tightened his grip, as if he’d found it predictable. But anyone who knew the truth, knew he wasn’t doing it for any reason other than to call her bluff. This was a pathetic excuse of a torture attempt. He thought smarting off would prove as much. When, actually…it did the exact opposite.

“Like I’d be convinced by a little tihihiiihihiHIHIHIHIHIHIHIHIHICKLING--!!”

Mabel’s wiggling fingers finally dug into his ribs. And it felt so distinctly different from the other spots, or even from how it felt when she was just grazing them earlier. It was like he’d been electrocuted, from the way his body jolted uncontrollably, and the way the sensation gripped him like a shock. The yelp of terror that jumped from his throat broke in the middle, fully replaced by helpless cackles.

…Okay. Maybe not his proudest moment.

Maybe he should’ve known better. Maybe being in this body too long was getting to him. Maybe the stupid, human impulses that he’d gotten so good at ignoring also included this vessel’s apparent desire to talk himself into corners just to get himself tickled. Whatever the case, the whole time this had been going on, the more he felt his resolve…slipping. Exhaustion tugged at his eyelids, like his body suddenly remembered that it hadn’t gotten proper sleep in over twenty-four hours. Every part of him was sore, not that pain could even begin to compete with the tickly jolts shooting through his ribs. He considered the pro’s and con’s of dislocating a shoulder just to weasel out of here, but he couldn’t properly think. He swore he could literally feel circuits shorting in his brain, glitching and sparking and stuttering where the neat rows of coherent thought used to be. It had been a beautiful process to watch, from the other side…but was miserably frustrating, when it was your plans getting thrown out of whack!

He wanted to growl. To kick, and scream, and either kill this vessel or one of the two holding him back. Whichever came first! But, all that came out was…

“SHUHUHUHUHUHUHUHUHUHUHUHUHUHUHUHUHUHUT UHUHUHUHUHUHUHUHUHUHUHUHUHUP!!”

…A very pathetic attempt at defiance. Enough that each of his attackers dared to snicker at him in amusement. He squeezed his eyes shut even tighter, thrashing and twisting in the restraints.

“W-WHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEN I GEHEHEHHEHEHEHEHEHEHET OHOHOHOHOHOHOHOUT OF THIHIHIHIHIHIHIHIHIHIIS, IHIHIHIHIHIHI’LL--! IHIHIHIHIHIHIHIHIHIHI’LL--!!”

Mabel couldn’t help but notice just how…not-evil he looked, like this. Bill’s base form had no mouth, and yet he somehow always seemed to be grinning. Earlier, she’d seen that condescending smirk in Bipper. But now it was gone, and she was seeing a face she’d never quite seen before. It wasn’t quite the flustered, giggly look she got from her brother, but it was far from the invisible, malevolent smile that Bill was always wearing. It was something in between. It might’ve fascinated her, if she was any less focused on the task at hand. Her nails, while dull, knew how to press just right, to tickle as much as possible without translating into physical pain. She scratched at the spaces between his ribs, and played the bones like a piano, watching in satisfied amusement as every motion elicited the same, predictable reaction. Cackles, squeaks and voice-cracks echoed through the auditorium, almost sounding musical against the backing-track of her rock-opera, that no one had bothered to turn off. If anything, Bill was even squirmier than her brother was, which was certainly saying something. This was usually the point in the session where Dipper gave up fighting, especially when Stan was helping, since he obviously didn’t have a chance. But Bill still had some fight in him!

“I don’t know what you did to deserve this, but clearly you’re gettin’ what’s coming to ya!” Stan accused, glancing over Bipper’s shoulder in an attempt to make eye contact. The kid was clearly avoiding it. But he still peeked up, for just a moment, if only to make a point to glare. Stan took advantage of his disorientation, knowing he was disarmed just long enough for him to be able to let go of his arms. Instead, he grabbed both wrists, and pulled them behind his back, like how a cop would while handcuffing you. But he didn’t need handcuffs, because his hands were big enough in comparison to grab both of the kid’s wrists in one of his palms while still having his fingers touch in the middle. And, with one hand free…he was able to pull out one last trick.

Fingers skittered up Bipper’s spine, spurring out an involuntary shiver that was so intense, Bill was a little surprised it didn’t jolt him out of this body entirely. He didn’t get to dwell on how scarily close that had been to breaking him, though. Because in a second, that single skittering turned into a consistent, unrelenting scribble, and any coherent thought that was left slipped out through his fingers.

“AAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!! NOOOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOHO!!”

Right. Almost all of the Pines’ were ticklish here. Maybe he should’ve seen that coming.

It was positively overwhelming. Every curl of his blunt nails against the spot had his nerves lighting up in a frenzy, activating the useless instinct that had him squealing and laughing like this whole ordeal was the most hilarious joke he’d ever been told. But no part of this was funny!! Not when it was him! It was humiliating, at best, and a total disgrace to his reputation at worst. He was glad the folks at home couldn’t see this, because they would never let him live it down.

“Ooh! Good call, Grunkle Stan!” Mabel praised, finally looking back up to meet his eyes with an approving smile on her face. She wished she could give him a thumbs up, but her hands were kinda busy. Bill couldn’t help but bristle at how unfair it was, that Stan could restrain him like this. He couldn’t lean forward even if he wanted to, and leaning backwards only pressed him further into that hand! And, somehow, despite the trap being objectively more simple, it was more confining! Now, he didn’t even have the privilege of flapping his hands, or making vaguely threatening gestures. And it all just tickled more! It was cruel, and unusual. He wrenched his eyes shut, and felt tears build in the corners. Crying had always been an annoying, uncontrollable thing his puppets did, but it felt especially humiliating in this context. Way to rub salt in the wound.

“MAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAKE IT STAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAP!!”

Whether it be a blessing or a curse, neither of the two around him had a chance to respond to that miserable display of emotion. Because, somehow mockingly, his body turned against him. When he tried to catch his breath, he felt a hiccup of air in his chest…that caused a snort.

The two at either of his sides brightened. And the crowd aww’ed.

He’d forgotten they were there. He was on a stage, and yet, the fact that there were more than four of them here had slipped his mind. Earlier, if he’d remembered, he would’ve shrugged it off. Whatever, who cared if they saw him like this? It wasn’t his reputation that was going to suffer for it. It was Pine Tree’s, who now had to go home and live the rest of his life knowing that most of this town had seen him get tickled on stage. And that was still, objectively, true! He knew that. He knew none of them would think twice about it. So why did the sudden realization have his face blushing hotter? Why did he feel this horrible, anxious fluttering in his stomach, like he was full of spiders? He didn’t know. But he knew it had to end.

He couldn’t take it. It wasn’t just his self-inflicted injuries that ached, now, it was others-- his sides, and his throat, and the corners of his lips, were all begging him to just stop laughing. Other than the ache, he was pretty sure he could feel this vessel overheating. Being put in this embarrassing position had struck a match inside of him that was slowly cooking him from the inside out. But more than that, he was tired. And that was hardly a feeling he even understood. Alas, the human urge to melt into a puddle and sleep for eight hours was, apparently, real. He was on the verge of uttering a genuine please, if this didn’t end soon, and he didn’t want to pull that card unless it was a life-or-death situation. So, apparently, he only had one choice left…

Damn it. It wasn’t fair! He’d let them have this win, but his fun wasn’t over. This plan was only the first of many tricks he had up his sleeve. He glanced up at Mabel one last time, eyes narrowing, as if he could glare at her very soul. But she only countered it with a smirk. She knew she couldn’t lose. She’d never lost a tickle fight against her brother!

Suddenly, the sound of his laughter began to taper off. It quieted into a fit of twitchy, broken coughs; it almost sounded like he was glitching. But then he slumped in his spot, quiet…and all four hands retracted. Dipper’s body melted into his Grunkle’s chest, eyes closed, as if he was out cold. Both attackers pulled back for a moment, visibly tense, and met eyes. Mabel, because she was testing to see if this was a good sign…and Stan, because he was genuinely startled. Jesus, he’d never passed out like that before! Usually he called it, when he knew he was getting to the end of his rope! Did they kill him on accident? There was a beat of silence that was just long enough to raise concern...and then, quick enough to be startling, Dipper sat up. He gasped, and clutched his chest, panting like he’d been awoken from a nightmare. And, well…he sort of had! Both of his family members jumped.

“Ahh!! He’s back!!” Mabel accused, lifting her clawed hands in preparation to strike again. She didn’t expect her brother to scream, flinching backwards in horror.

“AAHHhh, M-Mabel!! It’s mehehe, it’s me, it’s me!!” He pleaded, bringing up his arms to protect himself in a panic. The squeaky, nervous little voice sounded different than it had, just a moment ago. Less confident, less angry, and more…well, like her brother. If it was an act, it must’ve been a pretty convincing one, because she lowered her hands. Slowly, skeptically, Dipper lowered his, too…and she saw his round, brown eyes staring back. Her posture fully relaxed, and her grin returned to her face. It actually worked!! Tickling always worked.

#tickle fic #tickle art #tickling #my art #my fics #lee!bipper #ler!mabel #ler!stan #ive never been more nervous to post something in . my life #im just gonna hope and pray it reaches the right audience #sfw tickle community #sfw tickles #tickle community #gravity falls tickle

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lefteagleblizzard · 6 months ago

Text

𝔚𝔢𝔢𝔨𝔢𝔫𝔡 𝔴𝔬𝔫𝔡𝔢𝔯𝔰

Mike Schmidt x male reader

Summary: Many weeks have passed since your relationship with Mike began. Every chance you got, every break from studying, you spent with the Schmidt siblings, especially on weekends. Today, in particular, the three of you spent the whole day together, which ended with Abby falling asleep in the middle of a board game she insisted on playing despite the late hour. In the process of cleaning everything up, you and Mike start asking each other some questions to get to know each other better. The situation escalated from there.

Warnings: Age-gap (5 years) between you and Mike. Male reader. He/him pronouns used towards the reader. Fluff. Mike can speak Spanish, translation to everything at the end (y’all, every time I watch that video on YouTube of Josh answering the web’s most searched question about him and he starts speaking in Spanish... 🥵) Smut at the end. Top Mike. Bottom reader. Table sex. Reader being called “good boy”. Handjob (M receiving). Rimming (R receiving). Anal sex.

Words count: 4500

Part 1-Part 3-Part 4-Part 5-Part 6-Part 7-Part 8-Part 9-Part 10-Part 11

Can also be found on wattpad and ao3

The weekend had arrived, bringing with it a much-needed break from college lectures and a chance to spend time with Mike Schmidt and his younger sister, Abby. The three of you had spent the day immersed in simple pleasures: watching Abby's favorite movies, preparing meals together, and even an impromptu dance party in the living room, which left Abby giggling uncontrollably.

As night fell, Abby suggested playing a board game. It was a game designed for children, colorful and straightforward, but its appeal lay more in Abby's enthusiasm than in the gameplay itself.

Mike sat back on the couch, his eyes softening as he watched you and Abby playfully argue over the rules of the board game she insisted on playing. His feelings for you had grown quickly over the past few weeks, and he often found himself marveling at how easily you fit into his life. It was a feeling that both comforted and surprised him-this natural blending of your world with his.

Mike's gaze lingered on you, noticing how you engaged with Abb, your smile genuine and warm, It was moments like these that made him realize just how much you meant to him. The thought of spending nights like this more often, with you by his side, filled him with a profound sense of happiness.

Abby seemed to relish the sight of you and Mike together, often teasing you both with exaggerated gestures of affection.

Whenever you leaned in to kiss Mike or wrap an arm around him, Abby would dramatically roil her eyes, feigning disgust in a way that only a precocious child could. "Ew, you guys are so gross" she'd declare, her face scrunched up, though the playful twinkle in her eye gave her away.

Mike enjoyed playing along with Abby's antics.

He would sometimes pause mid-kiss, turning to her with mock seriousness, "You're just jealous because he can’t resist my charm."

Abby would respond with an exaggerated gag, making you both laugh. "Ugh, please, spare me!" she'd cry, pretending to shield her eyes.

Abby's competitive spirit shone through as she took an early lead, her laughter infectious as she watched the two of you struggle to catch up.

Despite the game's child-like simplicity, you and Mike indulged her, enjoying the shared moments of joy and the occasional eye roll when she pulled off a particularly clever move.

Eventually, the day's excitement took its toll on Abby, and she gradually succumbed to sleep, leaning against Mike's side. Her soft snores were a testament to the fun filled day, and you couldn't help but smile at the scene.

He gently shifted her into his arms, carefully carrying her to her bedroom. The sight of Mike's gentle care warmed your heart, showcasing a side of him that made you admire him even more.

Once Abby was safely tucked into bed, Mike returned to the living room, with a soft sigh, he bent down and kissed you, his lips brushing against yours with affectionate warmth.

"She's out like a light," he chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck.

With the game almost cleared away, you caught the hint of reluctance in his demeanor, as if he was fighting the urge to suggest calling it a night. He wanted to savor this rare moment of togetherness, not wanting to seem like the boring type who couldn't keep up.

"Hey," you started, your voice light as you gathered some puzzle pieces into a box, "how about we play a little game while we clean up?"

Mike looked at you, one eyebrow raised in curiosity. "A game? Haven't we had enough of those for one night?" he asked, his tone teasing but with an undercurrent of fatigue.

He had been running on the relentless schedule of work and caring for Abby, and the idea of simply wrapping you in his arms and falling asleep was incredibly appealing.

You chuckled, shaking your head as you continued tidying up. "Not that kind of game. I was thinking more of a question game—just you and me. We ask each other questions to get to know each other better. Nothing too serious, just...fun."

Mike hesitated, his instinctive walls coming up. You could see the reluctance in his eyes. He wasn't one to open up easily, even to someone he was dating. The thought of revealing too much too soon probably made him uneasy. But he also didn't want to seem boring or unwilling to engage with you, especially after the perfect day you had spent together. He sighed softly, then gave a small nod, agreeing to your proposal.

"Alright," he said, his voice quiet but warm, "but you go first."

You grinned, pleased that he was willing to play along. You folded up a blanket that had been tossed over the couch.

He sat on the couch and leaned back, stretching his arms with a yawn before picking up some toys scattered there that Abby has hidden in the morning.

“If you could travel anywhere in the world, where would it be and why?"

Mike paused, thinking it over as he picked up the scattered game pieces from the floor. He was silent for a moment, his brow furrowed in thought. "I don't know," he finally admitted, "I've never really thought about it. I guess.. maybe somewhere quiet. A place where Abby could be happy, where she could run around safely and just be a kid without any worries. Maybe a small town by the coast. She loves the water

You smiled at his answer, not surprised that even his hypothetical dreams were centered around Abby's happiness. "That sounds nice," you said softly, picturing the scene in your mind.

"My turn," Mike said, turning to you as he finished stacking the board games. "What about you? What's something you've always wanted to do but never had the chance to"

The question caught you off guard. You hadn't expected Mike to be so direct, but it was a good kind of surprise. You thought about it for a moment before answering. "I've always wanted to go on a road trip across the country," you admitted. "Just pack up and drive, see where the road takes me. No plans, no schedules, just freedom"

Mike nodded, seeming to understand the appeal. "Your turn, champ," he said, getting comfortable on the couch while he handed you this bag where all of Abby’s toys were.

He rubbed his eyes, trying to stay alert with a tired smile.

Mike’s head was resting on one of his hands, his eyes half-closed in a relaxed state as he waited for your question.

To break the tension, or perhaps to prolong it, you quickly thought of another question to ask.

"Say something to me in Spanish."

Mike blinked, clearly surprised by the request. You had heard him mumbling to himself in Spanish once before, early one morning when he thought he was alone in the kitchen. You hadn't understood what he had said, but the sound of the language rolling off his tongue had been intoxicating. You had been craving to hear him speak in Spanish again ever since.

Mike raised an eyebrow at your request, his fatigue momentarily forgotten. A small, knowing smile playing on his lips.

Your cheeks were already flushing with anticipation.

He studied you for a moment, clearly amused by your request. Without further hesitation, he leaned a little closer, his voice dropping to a husky whisper as he spoke in fluid, flawless Spanish.

"Eres un chico hermoso y perfecto," he said, the words flowing effortlessly from his lips

The way he said it, with such ease and confidence, sent a shiver down your spine. There was something undeniably hot about hearing him speak in a language you didn't fully understand, the foreign syllables carrying an air of mystery and allure.

"What... what did you just say?" you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

Mike rubbed his eyes, clearly tired but still amused by your curiosity.

“It’s a secret,” he murmured, his voice low and teasing. “But maybe, if you’re lucky, I’ll whisper it to you again...sometime.”

Grinning, you gave a nod and smoothly took the bag from his hands. With a swift motion, you began collecting the scattered toys and papers, turning the cleanup into a playful dance.

You could almost see the gears turning in his mind as he pondered a question to satisfy his curiosity. A slow smile crept across his face, transforming into a sly grin. Leaning in closer, he whispered, “Before we got together, what’s one dirty thought you had about me?”

A rush of heat surged to your cheeks, and you instinctively placed your head on the table, shoulders shaking with a mix of laughter and embarrassment while you held tightly the bag. "Why did I invent these rules?" you groaned, half in regret and half in amusement.

Mike chuckled, clearly enjoying your flustered state. His eyes went to esaminate the rest of the room, satisfied in seeing that there was almost nothing left. "Come on, you can't back out now. Rules are rules."

Taking a deep breath, you lifted your head, your cheeks still burning. "Fine," you said, your voice tinged with shyness. "There was this one time... you were fixing something around the house in a tank top. I don’t really remember what you were fixing, I wasn’t paying attention to that, you know? I was just watching you, and I couldn’t stop thinking about— hmph..." You paused, your voice trailing off as you hesitated.

Mike leaned in, clearly eager to hear more. "Thinking what?" he prompted, his tone encouraging.

You laughed nervously, finally relenting. "i kept making scenarios in my head of you pulling me close and kissing me. And more..."

The tension between you was almost palpable, a charged current that seemed to pulse through the room.

“For the record, I knew you were staring." He whispered softly at you before turning his back at you to pick up some shredded paper from the ground

You smiled softly at him, happy to know that the attraction you felt for him was mutual.

This game you started will end soon.

After moving around to pick up toys and scattered pieces of paper, you started to feel the heat creeping up your neck. You had been so focused on the game and the conversation that you hadn't noticed how warm it had gotten. Tentatively, and feeling a little self-conscious, you decided to take off your shirt to cool down.

You hesitated for a moment before you slowly pulled off your shirt, revealing your bare chest. You felt a little shy, your skin tingling with a mix of nerves and excitement as the cool air hit your exposed skin.

When you finally looked up, you saw Mike staring at you in awe, his gaze fixed on your chest. There was something almost reverent in the way he looked at you, as if he couldn't quite believe what he was seeing. The intensity of his gaze made your heart race, and you suddenly felt very self-aware.

He caught your eye and winked, a gesture that sent your heart racing. In a fit of playful defiance, you grabbed your shirt and threw it at him, your cheeks burning under his gaze.

Mike raised an arm to shield himself from the attack, laughing quietly as the shirt hit him squarely in the chest. His grin widened, clearly amused by your reaction. "Hey, no fair! Can't blame a guy for appreciating the view.” He protested, but the grin on his face told you he was anything but annoyed.

You couldn't help but laugh at his reaction, feeling both shy and bold at the same time.

Finally, after what felt like hours but was likely only a few minutes, the room was clean, and there was nothing left to distract you from the simmering tension between you. You turned to Mike, a sudden idea popping into your mind-a bold request that you weren't sure you had the courage to voice, but the thought of his hands on you was too tempting to resist.

"Hey," you began, your voice a little hesitant, "how about a reward for all that cleaning?"

Mike looked at you, intrigued. "What kind of reward are we talking about?" he asked as he leaned in slightly.

You swallowed, your heart pounding in your chest as you worked up the nerve to ask. "A massage," you finally said, your voice almost a whisper. "On my back. I could use one after all that moving around."

He nodded slowly, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

"Sure," he agreed, his voice low and velvety. He rubbed his hands together, warming them up as he asked, "Where would it be more comfortable for you?"

Without overthinking it, you moved closer to him and, in a swift motion, settled yourself onto his lap, your back facing him. He let out a surprised huff, followed by a low grunt as he adjusted to your weight.

"Easy there," he murmured, clearly taken off guard by your boldness. He leaned back slightly, his hands resting on your hips. "You're getting a little too good at this teasing thing."

"Everything okay, old man?" you teased, laughter bubbling up inside you.

"You're lucky I like you," he shot back, grinning as his hands settled on your back.

Settling into Mike's lap, you felt a flutter of excitement mixed with a warmth that spread from your cheeks down to your toes.

You could sense Mike adjusting slightly, finding the right balance to support you as his hands settled onto your shoulders. The touch was gentle at first, exploratory, as if he was reacquainting himself with every curve and line of your back. His fingers pressed into the muscles at the base of your neck, drawing out a sigh from you that was part relief, part pleasure.

"You've got a lot of tension here," Mike murmured, his voice low and intimate, the kind of tone that sent a shiver down your spine.

"I blame you for that," you teased, your own voice barely above a whisper.

His hands moved with practiced ease, kneading the knots and tightness with a care that was both soothing and intoxicating. Each stroke of his fingers felt deliberate, a careful balance between pressure and gentleness that sent warmth spreading through your body. You couldn't help but lean back slightly, closer against him, feeling the heat of his body seep into yours.

"Comfortable?" Mike asked, his breath warm against your ear.

"Very," you replied, the word coming out more like a contented sigh. You tilted your head to the side, giving him better access, the gesture both an invitation and an acknowledgment of trust.

His hands traveled lower, fingers tracing the contours of your spine with a touch that was both firm and featherlight. You could feel the calluses on his fingertips.

Mike's fingers splayed across your lower back, his thumbs working in tandem to soothe the tension from the long day. You could feel the strength in his hands, the surety of his touch, and it made you acutely aware of every point of contact between your bodies.

"You're really good at this," you murmured, the words slipping out between soft sighs of pleasure.

He chuckled softly, the sound vibrating through you. "I used to give Abby back rubs when she couldn't sleep.” he replied, his voice a deep rumble that resonated in your chest.

You couldn't help but shift slightly, pressing back against him, the motion eliciting a low hum of approval from him that sent your heart racing.

"You're making this very difficult for me to concentrate."

You smiled, your eyes fluttering open to meet his gaze. "Who said I wanted you to concentrate?"

He laughed softly, a sound that wrapped around you like a favorite blanket, comforting and familiar.

You could feel your heart beating a little faster, your breath coming a little shorter, as if every cell in your body was attuned to the anticipation building between you.

Mike shifted beneath you, adjusting his position slightly, and the movement brought you even closer together, your bodies aligning in a way that was both natural and exhilarating.

You felt a surge of courage that prompted you to turn slightly, shifting so that you could see his face more clearly.

Mike met your gaze, his eyes dark and filled with an emotion that mirrored your own. There was a moment of silence before he leaned forward, his lips brushing against yours in a kiss that was filled with an urgency that left no room for hesitation.

His tongue traced the seam of your lips, coaxing them apart, and when you opened up to him, the kiss deepened into something raw and primal.

But it was the way he moaned against your mouth that sent a thrill of electricity coursing through your veins, the sound low and rough, vibrating through your very core. The moan was muffled, almost swallowed by the intensity of the kiss, but it resonated in the pit of your stomach, sending waves of pleasure radiating outward.

And then he rotated your head slightly, his hand gripping your chin as he deepened the kiss, his mouth moving over yours with a fervor that bordered on desperation.

You could feel the tension in his body, the way his muscles coiled with the effort to maintain control, and it was intoxicating, the knowledge that he was holding back for you.

His hands slid down to your waist, and he pulled you even closer, your chest flush against his as he guided your movements with ease. You could feel the hardness of him pressing against you.

He broke the kiss only to whisper against your lips, his voice a low murmur that sent shivers cascading down your spine. "My good boy," he breathed, his words a caress that resonated deep within you, leaving you yearning for more.

Mike's own breath was unsteady, mingling with yours in a symphony of shared pleasure.

As he pulled back slightly, his lips still brushing against your skin, he whispered with a husky tenderness that made your heart flutter, "Such a good boy for me.”

His mouth found its way to your neck, pressing kisses.

"Mike...”. you whispered, your voice a breathy plea, filled with a need that you couldn't quite put into words. "Speak to me... in Spanish... please."

The request hung in the air between you, and for a moment, you wondered if he would oblige. But then, his lips were at your ear, his breath warm against your skin as he began to speak, the words flowing from his mouth in a rich, rolling cadence that made your heart skip a beat.

"Eres mi chico bueno," he whispered, his voice rough and filled with a intensity that made your knees weak. "Mi precioso, el más hermoso que he visto. Eres mío."

You didn't need to understand every word to know what he was saying, the intent was clear in the way his voice caressed each syllable, his tone heavy with adoration.

His hand slid up your back, his fingers curling around the nape of your neck as he bent down to press a kiss to your shoulder, the gesture so tender, so filled with reverence that it made your chest tighten with emotion. You could feel the way his body trembled against yours, the effort to maintain control evident in every movement, every breath.

But it was the way he continued to speak, his voice low and breathy, that sent shivers down your spine, the words a mixture of praise and profanity that made your heart race and your skin flush with heat.

"Me vuelves loco," he whispered, his breath hot against your ear. "No puedo... resistirme a ti. Eres tan perfecto, tan malditamente perfecto."

"Mi chico perfecto," he whispered, his voice rough with emotion as he leaned in to press a soft, lingering kiss to your lips. The kiss was tender, filled with a depth of feeling that made your chest tighten with emotion, and you found yourself leaning into him, your body seeking the warmth and comfort of his embrace.

His hands moved to your waist, gripping you tightly as he deepened the kiss, his tongue sliding against yours with a possessive hunger that made your knees weak.

The taste of him was intoxicating, and you found yourself drowning in the sensation, your body pressing against his in a desperate attempt to get closer, to feel more of him.

"Eres mío," he murmured, his words a promise, a vow that resonated deep within you. "Solo mío."

The declaration sent a thrill of pleasure through you, and you couldn't help the soft moan that escaped your lips, the sound quickly muffled by his kiss. His hands tightened on your waist, pulling you closer, as if trying to merge your bodies into one, to erase the space that dared to separate you.

And as his lips moved from your mouth to your neck, pressing kisses and bites along the sensitive skin there, you felt the world around you fade away, leaving only the two of you, locked in a moment of pure, unbridled passion.

Mike shifted, rising from the chair with you in his arms and he carried you to the table with a grace that left you breathless.

The cool surface met your skin as he bent you over the table, a contrast that heightened the warmth of his body pressing against you. His hands roamed with a newfound urgency.

His lips followed the path his hands had charted, pressing kisses that were both gentle and insistent.

You couldn't help the soft moan that escaped your lips, a sound of pure pleasure that echoed in the quiet room. Mike responded with a deep, resonant grunt, a primal sound that spoke of his own rising desire.

"Shh," he whispered, his lips brushing against yours in a playful reprimand. But his own breath was ragged.

Mike's hands found yours, interlocking your fingers as he leaned over you, his chest pressing against your back in a gesture that spoke of unity and devotion. His breath was warm against your ear, his whispered words a balm that soothed and ignited in equal measure.

His hand finds the front of your sweats, breaking your train of thought, and he smiles when you gasp softly.

"You're hard."

"Have been for a while," is all you say, face hot.

He just nods before kissing you again, hand rubbing against your bulge with his other one still on your rear.

His hands make haste with the strings of your sweatpants, loosening it just enough to reach in and grab your hard cock, releasing it from the confines of the fabric with a satisfied look. He rubs you softly, thumb placing just beneath the head, soaking in your noises.

He wraps his hand around you firmly now, stroking you slowly as he kisses you deep. It’s rather unfortunate that he must silence your pretty sounds but the vibration of your moans against his mouth makes up for the loss.

Mike was always this way - the pleasurer, rather than the pleased. Trust that he was always happily pleased with his time with you, with your reactions and moans, asking for more, but in general, he just wasn't the type to seek out his own gratification before giving you yours. Part of it riled you up inside, part of it made your heart yearn for him all the more.

He strokes you and you curl into him. It’s as though his fingers are laced with poison. And yet, his lips somehow carry the antidote.

Mike positioned himself in between your thighs, cock of his own throbbing through his jeans. The sight alone has you begging whatever gods may be for some kind of release, not that you’d ever repent for your sinful thoughts when it came to this man. Even if it meant going to something resembling Heaven. You’ve already experienced such a reality and he was right in front of you, rubbing his hardening self against you with no remorse or embarrassment.

Your hands reach down to finally feel him, the way he twitches against your touch, the way he groans just above you.

His hips buck up just slightly, seeking friction, and you chuckle before giving it to him. You buckle his belt and take him out of his jeans and boxers and revel at the sight.

He reaches down to help you. His mouth found yours again as his hands wrap around the both of you, rutting his leaking cock against yours, fucking into his palm.

You follow suit, hips rolling forward as you chase your high. He smirks against your lips before pulling away to look at you, "Eres tan jodidamente hermoso así."

You whine at the praise, face heating up even more - you didn't know that was even possible.

"I, I want-" You struggle to find the words, too lost in the pleasure of his dick against yours.

Mike kisses you again, understanding you regardless, and chuckles as he lets go of the both of you to help you shimmy off your pants completely.

His fingers find again the curves of your ass and he grins widely, groaning at the sight. The flat surface of his tongue laps up your hole, sopping up the area to make it easier for his thumb. He pushes the digit into your enclosure, slow yet eager.

"Mike," you sigh, eyes shut as you focus desperately on his touch.

Your hands clenched into fists on the cold table.

His tongue finally - thankfully - pushes past the precipice, your hips rising at the feeling. Already, your dick twitches in ecstasy, wanting more, wanting release. You can feel the way his facial hair curls upwards against you.

He spits once at your hole as he pulls away, his chin slick from his preparations. Two fingers pass easily through and leave you to crumble beneath him, scissoring them apart to make room for one more, rolling your head against the table, thrashing about as if you were being tortured.

He positions himself at your entrance. "Ready?"

You nod with furrowed brows and god, when he pushes the tip slowly past your rim, you swear you could die.

He pushes in steadily, slow but never faltering. He stretches you so well. You groan, a mix of pain and satisfaction flooding your senses. He holds your cheek, rubbing his thumb over the curves to soothe you as he seeks pleasure of his own deep within you.

You feel his dick twitch against your walls. He rolls his hips, aiming for that spot that drives you to madness. The angle allows this easily, your mind going blank as you become solely aware of the feeling of him entering and exiting your hole. He finds his rhythm, keeping his hands on you as he guides himself in and out, loving the way your ass looks as it ripples with every thrust. He moves his hand from your stomach down to your dick, holding it against the skin of his palm, fingers wrapping around you.

He strokes you at a pace mimicking his own movements, and your brain begins to steam, overcome with heat and desire.

"Shit," you grit, finally opening your eyes.

Your hips buck upward and his thumb shifts against your head as a result, sending you over the edge, spilling over his hand and onto your stomach.

Mike groans at the sight of you coming undone beneath him, pace quickening as he longs to join you in your ecstasy before thrusting a final time, moaning low as he spills.

Warmth spreads over you as he keeps himself slotted within. His hand rests on your stomach.

"You good?" He asks with a soft and reassuring cadence, leaning over to kiss your collarbone as his hands rub up and down your sides.

You nod, satisfied. He chuckles softly at your expression, taking it in affectionately.

As you turned to face him, you saw the exhaustion etched on his face, and your heart softened. He looked like he was on the verge of falling asleep, his eyelids heavy as he tried to keep his gaze focused on you.

"Mike," you whispered, reaching up to gently caress his face, your fingers brushing against the stubble on his jaw. "You look like you're about to pass out."

He leaned into your touch, his eyes fluttering shut for a moment as he let out a deep, tired sigh. "I'm so tired," he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper.

You smiled softly, your heart swelling with affection for the man before you. "Let’s get cleaned up real quickly," you murmured, pressing a gentle kiss to his cheek.

Mike's eyes opened slightly, a grateful smile tugging at his lips. "You're too good to me," he said, his voice filled with a warmth that made your heart flutter.

You shook your head, your smile widening as you helped him to his feet. "No, Mike. We're good for each other."

Later on, as you curled up together in bed, Mike's arms wrapped securely around you, his breath warm against your neck, you knew that whatever the future held, you would face it together, with love and trust as foundation.

As Mike drifted off to sleep, his body relaxed against yours, you couldn't help but smile to yourself, feeling utterly content.

Note: I want to extend my heartfelt gratitude to everyone who read the first part of this. Your support and kind words mean the world to me and have truly inspired me to continue writing.

I hope you enjoy this second part just as much as the first. Your feedback and encouragement are incredibly motivating, and I look forward to hearing your thoughts on this continuation of the story.

Thank you once again for all the love and support!

Translation for all the words in Spanish (done with the help of my brother so blame him for any errors)

-"Eres un chico hermoso y perfecto"= "You are a beautiful and perfect boy"

-"Eres mi chico bueno" = "You're my good boy"

-"Mi precioso, el más hermoso que he visto. Eres mío." = "My precious, the most beautiful I've ever seen. You're mine."

-"Me vuelves loco" = "You drive me crazy"

-"No puedo... resistirme a ti. Eres tan perfecto, tan malditamente perfecto." = "I can't... resist you. You are so perfect, so damn perfect."

-"Mi chico perfecto" = "My perfect boy"

-"Eres mío" = "You're mine"

-"Solo mío" = "Only mine"

-"Eres tan jodidamente hermoso así." = “You're so fucking handsome like that."

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