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evilmenenjoyer · 21 days ago

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City of Love

Pairing: The Salesman x fem!Reader

Summary: Months after winning the Squid Games, you receive an unwanted visit from the man who's been haunting you since the very beginning.

Word count: 5k

Warnings: smut (minors dni), drinking, sex in a public place, some murderous thoughts. Don't be fooled by the title, it's very much not a fluffy romantic fic lol.

The City of Love.

At least, that's what everyone calls it. It felt like the place to be after all the horrors you had endured in the past year – horrors you don't dare to say a word about to another soul. Friends and acquaintances have told you about how great it is, how beautiful, how magical. About how just a few days here will heal any woes in your heart.

Of course, it didn't work. Now you're just depressed in Paris.

It's not all bad. The Eiffel tower looks just as pretty as it does in pictures, especially late at night when it lights up and sparkles. The historic architecture and cobblestone streets are a nice break from the modern buildings you're used to from Seoul, so different it almost erases the memories sometimes. Never for too long. Just when you think you're slipping back into something resembling normalcy, they return in your nightmares in the shape of blood, pink jumpsuits and children’s games.

This afternoon, it takes the shape of a ghost – a tall, handsome man, whose face you’ve only ever seen in dreams and in the subway lines of Seoul.

All color drains from your face in a matter of seconds, all that pink winter flush.

“What the hell are you doing here?”

He smiles, like you're an old friend. It nearly throws you off your balance by how natural it looks, like he's not forcing it.

“Beautiful city, isn't it? Especially at this time of the year.”

This can't be happening. The whole reason you left South Korea was to put distance between yourself and those horrific games, and all the people associated with them. To just run into one right here, in a different continent, mere months after your victory; it makes you feel like you're about to pass out.

You stand up from your seat and walk right out of the patisserie, leaving your ridiculously overpriced hot chocolate nearly untouched on the table.

You knew, somehow, that he would follow you, but you still prayed he wouldn’t. That it had been your imagination, or the PTSD, or anything other than the Salesman himself crossing paths with you in Paris.

“I expected a warmer welcome,” a voice behind you says, making you pause your stroll down the street. Fortunately – or maybe unfortunately – you still haven’t completely lost track of what's real and what's not, and you can tell that voice is real, clear as day. He’s real and here and that terrifies you to your very core.

Turning around to face him, you hate how he still looks every bit as infuriatingly handsome as he did the first time you saw him.

“What are you doing here?” you repeat, your voice shaky and not nearly as incisive ad you’d like it to be.

“Visiting,” he replies. He turns to gaze at the scenery around you. In your hurry to get away from him, you didn't even realize you ended up at the Pont Neuf, the old bridge crossing the Seine River. Dusk settles around the two of you, the purple-ish color of the sky reflected on the river, almost too pretty for this situation. “Like I said, France is quite nice during the winter.”

You scoff. “You expect me to believe it's just a big coincidence that you and I ended up in the same place, five thousand miles away from home, at the same time?”

“Small world, isn't it?”

“I’m serious. I did everything you people wanted. I beat the games, I took the money and I kept my mouth shut. You were supposed to leave me the fuck alone.”

“Did what we wanted?” Something in his smile changes, shifts from warmth to something more sinister. “We never forced you to do anything. Remember that. You brought whatever happened on yourself.”

Cold air rushes over you, drawing a shiver out of you. It's not snowing yet, but it start might soon. It's hard to remember you were once excited for it.

He reaches out, ignoring the warnings in your eyes as he runs a finger over the smooth fabric of your scarf, then wraps it around your neck one more time. It’s almost a tender gesture, if he was someone else entirely. It should have you flinching, or slapping his hand away. Instead, it only makes you freeze in your spot.

“Yves Saint Laurent,” he notes. “I see you’ve been making good use of that money.”

It doesn't sound accusatory, but it feels like it anyway. Even after months, it still feels wrong to use the money, despite all the literal blood, sweat and tears it took to get it. Like you should be gathering it all in a pile and setting fire to it in protest. But what would that change? Why shouldn't you be allowed to use it to build a new life for yourself?

So you stayed in five star hotels. So you bought a few more pairs of Louboutin shoes than necessary. Therapy was out of the question, so this was the next best thing you could come up with for the time being. Best-case scenario, a therapist would think you're a nutcase. Worst case, they’d turn you in to the authorities for confessing to multiple murders you had committed at the Squid Games. You didn’t want to take the risk.

“I thought that was the idea,” you say. The Salesman’s hands are still on the fabric, merely touching it, but that doesn't stop your mind from picturing him gripping it, pulling on it until you suffocate in the garment you bought as some empty, mediocre sign of victory.

“It suits you.” He lets his hands fall with no damage to your throat or to your respiratory system. “Much better than those knock-offs you used to wear.”

It disturbs you that he even remembers that. As far as you know, you were only one of the hundreds of people who had played ddakji with him at the subway station. You remembered every second of it, replayed it in your mind over and over again, but there was nothing particularly memorable about you back then. You lost most rounds. You hoped against hope that he would ask you out, even after your cheek was red and stinging.

That was a different version of you. One that smiled more, even with all the hardships in your life. One that was too naive to realize she was selling her soul to the devil from that very first game of ddakji.

“Since the city brought us together,” the Salesman says, “I’d like to buy you a drink.”

It would be impossible to keep the surprise from your face if you’d tried. Those are words you would've loved to hear all those months ago, and now that he says them, you can barely draw enough air into your lungs to tell him to fuck off.

“Why? So you can kill me the second we’re off the street?”

He chuckles, like he finds your confusion amusing. “Why would I do that?”

“Isn't that why you're here?” Why else would it be, after all? Maybe it's part of their sick games; to give one person the illusion of victory, let them enjoy the money for a few months, then go after them and kill them. Or worse, pull them back in.

“If I wanted to kill you, I could do it anywhere.”

You suppose there's no arguing with that, but you're not sure if it makes you feel better. Good news: you're still breathing. Bad news: you're still breathing only until he allows you to.

“You still didn't tell me why you came after me, then,” you point out.

“Let's have a drink, and I’ll tell you.”

You must be insane for even considering this. The naive girl that had first seen him in the subway, coming home late at night from work, would be enthusiastically urging you to go. You’re supposed to know better than her.

“One drink,” you say. “Then you go home and never contact me again.”

His smile widens. “I know a nice place.”

He brings you to a piano bar just a few blocks away from the bridge. It's a fancy place, the kind that makes you feel underdressed even in your designer clothes. He blends right in – not only because of the sleek, tailored suit, but because of his demeanor, the natural elegance with which he carries himself.

Not for the first time, you wonder if he was born into wealth, or if he was ever like you. Someone who had to claw his way out of poverty. You can't picture it, but there's so much you don't know about him. It's what makes him so scary and confusing to you, but also so damn intriguing.

He orders for you before you have the chance to open your mouth. Dom Pérignon, two glasses. You raise your eyebrows once the waiter walks away.

“Are we celebrating something?”

“Your victory.”

The response makes your stomach drop. “I don't want to celebrate that.” Not with anyone, but especially not with him.

He gives a small shrug. “Just a special occasion, then.”

The dimmed, warm lights of the bar make the place feel so intimate, almost romantic in a sense. You don't know what to make of it, so you force yourself to look away from him, even when you can still feel his stare unflinching on you. Luckily, the waiter shows up just in time, pouring you both glasses of the bubbly drink and leaving the bottle in a bucket on the table.

You turn back to the Salesman, glaring at him. “I said one drink, not one bottle.”

“You never specified,” he replies, fake innocence in his eyes. “Gives us more time to catch up. Maybe even play a game, for old time’s sake.”

The mere mention of a game makes you want to run away, to lock yourself in the restroom and refuse to come out. It has to be intentional; he has to know what kinds of things would be running through your head, after everything you’d gone through. You take a long gulp of the champagne, nearly done with the entire glass in one go. You can't let him get to you like this. You do your best to look unbothered.

“Do you walk around with ddakji tiles everywhere?” you ask. “Just in case you find someone who wants to play?”

That earns a soft laugh out of him. “No, not ddakji.”

He reaches into the inside pocket of his jacket, pulling out what looks like a standard deck of cards.

“Have you ever played blackjack?”

You have, but hesitation is written all over your features. “What if I don't want to play?”

“Do you think I’d force you?” he asks, like you're a fool for even thinking so. “Like I said, you were never forced to do anything. It's your choice.” He sips his own champagne in a much classier, more contained way than you. Like he's happy to draw this out for hours, rather than wanting this night to be over as soon as possible. “But you’ve beaten much harder games before. This should be nothing for our big victor, right?”

There's a challenge in his voice, in his eyes. You should know better than to fall for it. So why is there a part of you that still feels like you have a point to prove? That feels like, with a little bit of luck and skill, you can finally beat this man at his own game?

“Fine.” You cross your arms over the table. “Let’s do this.”

Pleased with your answer, he shuffles the cards in his hands. You watch him, almost as mesmerized as you’d been watching him play ddakji at the subway station. It's so hard not to get lost in it, but you refuse to look away in shyness and hesitation again, keeping your eyes on him as you sip the rest of the champagne in your glass.

He refills it before placing four cards on the table: two facing upwards for you, one face-down and one face-up for himself, the dealer.

The rules are simple: your cards all together need to get as close to 21 without going over. Whichever one of you gets the closest wins the round. You have a nine and a four, totaling thirteen. The Salesman has a five, and a card that's invisible for you.

“Hit me,” you say, figuring your odds can't be too bad.

He places one more card to your pile: a seven. Twenty in total. Your heart speeds up inside your chest, already triumphant even before the end.

He reveals all his cards to you: the five you’ve already seen, a nine, and a three. Seventeen. Your smile widens, relief washing over you like you’d just escaped a near-death experience. You don't think beating a game, no matter the kind, will ever not feel like this again.

“Not bad,” he compliments. He reaches into another pocket for his wallet, drawing a hundred euro note and pushing it towards you on the table.

You just stare at it with an eyebrow raised, baffled and, frankly, a bit offended. With the tip of your index finger, you push the bill back to him.

“Do you really think I still need your money?”

“It's just symbolic,” he argues, but still tucks the money back into his wallet. “Of course, we can bet on other things too, if you’d prefer.”

“What kind of things?”

“Whatever you want. You won.”

“Whatever I want?” A grin stretches across your lips as you lean forward on the table. “Like a dare?”

He leans forward as well, like he wants to meet you in the middle. His eyes never leave yours. “Like a dare.”

You wonder just how far he’d take this game, if he would do something outrageous or serious just because you told him to. Maybe not. But even this is the kind of power that you never, ever imagined you would have over this man.

“Okay. Let me see your wallet.”

He hands it over without a fight. You rummage through all of it, ignoring all the cash and instead looking for something else, anything personal. But there's nothing. No family photos, no old receipts, not even a condom tucked inside one of the pockets. At last you find his ID license, the name Park Ha-Joon listed beside a smiling picture of him that looks so normal you almost want to laugh.

“It's not your real name, is it?”

He smiles. “Smart girl.”

“It was worth a shot.” You close the wallet and hand it back to him.

He shuffles the cards, hands them over again. Seven and six. You tap the cards in a sign for him to hit you with one more.

“Do you really want to know why I came to see you?”

Your eyes snap in his direction, not even looking at the new card that’s placed in front of you.

“I thought you’d be one of the first to die in a place like that.” He looks focused on the game as he talks, “When I found out you were the winner, I wanted to see it for myself.”

Your throat tightens, making it hard to draw in my next breath. You look around yourself, as if trying to make sure you're really here and not at that disturbing colorful scenario, or at the bunk beds in the dorm. Still the piano bar. Warm lights, soft chatter of conversation, piano notes ringing through the air. The mental image of that place still doesn't vanish from your mind.

“See what, exactly?” you ask, even though you know it would be better not to.

“If you truly earned it, or if you’re just one more piece of trash who got lucky, like all the others before you.”

Your hand must twitch, an involuntary movement you're not even aware of, and the Salesman places another card to your pile. You look down at it in horror, realizing all the cards together total to twenty-three.

“I didn't say hit me,” you protest.

“You tapped. You know that's the sign.” He looks over the cards again, as if just noticing the source of your distress instead of directly causing it. “Too bad.”

It's not fair, and you both know it, but you doubt pointing it out will make a difference. You bite your tongue around any words as well as the lump that's formed in your throat, tears trying to rush to the surface. Your gaze meets his and holds it.

“Are you going to slap me?”

He’s still for a moment, considering it. It's one thing to hit you in the face in a mostly-empty subway station late at night, and another entirely to do it in this sophisticated bar, with all these people around as witnesses. Still, you don't doubt that he would do it. You hold yourself back from flinching when his hand comes out, bracing yourself for the impact.

It never comes. Instead, his hands merely cup your cheeks, tilting your face to face him fully. He looks at you like he's studying you, his expression unreadable.

“Not now. I want something else,” he says. “A round of shots.”

His grip on your face is firm, but he runs the pad of his thumb over the curve of your cheekbone, like wiping away a teardrop that never fell. A gesture that can only be described as affectionate, and it's messing with your head way more than the slaps on the face did.

You nod.

He holds on for just a second too long before he lets you go. He orders the shots to the waiter – you pay no attention to the brand, or even the type of booze –, and you don't say another word until after they're placed in front of you on the table, small glasses so clean they gleam under the light.

“I crawled my way out of that hell,” you tell him. “You have no idea what I had to do to survive. You don't get to sit here and tell me I didn't fucking earn it.”

He looks more amused than anything. “To kill for necessity, anyone can do. It doesn't make you as special as you think it does.” He nods towards the shot on the table, reaching for his own. “Drink.”

You count one, two, three in your head before throwing the shot back, unable to suppress a grimace when the drink comes down your throat like liquid fire.

“Why do you wanna get me drunk so bad?”

He empties his shot glass as well. “Drinking together ensures none of us has an advantage.” He picks up the deck of cards again, before you ever have the chance to tell him you’ve had enough of this game. The words die down in your throat.

One more round. Your cards add up to seventeen.

It’s too risky to ask for one more card; anything higher than four would mean an instant loss. Only then you notice the sweat under your palms, the rush in your ears overpowering the piano music in the background. You force yourself to take a deep breath, to remember that your life is not on the line anymore and losing doesn't mean certain death, even though it feels like it.

He reveals his cards. Eighteen.

“Fuck.”

He seems pleased with himself, accessing you as you brace yourself for whatever he has in mind for you now.

“Come a little closer,” he orders.

You frown, but you find yourself obeying without much questioning, getting up from your chair to slide to the seat next to him on the booth.

He pours you both more Dom Pérignon, and this time he doesn't have to tell you to drink. You focus on the way the bubbles dance inside your mouth, if only to have something to distract yourself from his proximity, from the faint smell of his cologne or from the fact he still hasn't told you what he wants from you for losing this round

His hand lands on your thigh.

You jump in surprise, and his hand tightens its grip there, digging into your skin and keeping you in your seat. Your eyes widen and search for his, a question clear in them.

With his free hand, the Salesman pushes the cards in your direction. “You’ll be the dealer now,” he says, “and for each time you lose, I get to keep my hands on you for one more round.”

Say no, you tell yourself. Say something. A better, stronger woman would throw the champagne in the glass on his face and walk right out of this bar. Instead, you find yourself still as a statue, a sudden rush of warmth overflowing your senses – first, it rises to your face, coloring your cheeks red, then it travels lower to the pit of your stomach and down right into the space between your legs.

You can’t even tell if it’s the alcohol, spreading through your bloodstream and bringing a buzzing sensation to your head that’s not all unpleasant, or the fact you haven’t been touched like this in what feels like forever, or simply the man sitting next to you. How many times had you fantasized about this, until you realized that he was the catalyst of your ruin?

Maybe even a few times after that.

You take the deck of cards. He grins like he knew you would, like a master pleased with a dog following his command. You want to wipe that look off his face, but you can barely concentrate enough to properly shuffle the cards.

If you felt like you were fighting for your life before, it’s nothing compared to right now. The hand doesn’t move, doesn’t so much as twitch until the very final moments of the round, when you realize the two of you are tied. A fingertip slides up the fabric of your stockings until it stops at your knee, your skin erupting in goosebumps following the movement. Your heart beats so hard inside your chest you can barely hear the chatter of people around you as the bar fills in with people.

You lose the next round, and the next, and the one after that. You can’t even tell if you’re doing it on purpose anymore.

With each passing minute that you don’t push him away, that you allow him to test and cross your boundaries, he gets more daring, drawing shapes in the perimeter of your leg and curling into your inner thigh. Your chest rises with a breath that comes tumbling out, the sound of it way too close to a whimper for your liking.

You can tell he notices it instantly, observant and apparently fluent in your body language like he’s spent years of his life studying it. He takes the opportunity to let his hand wander under your skirt, to the spots it hadn’t covered yet.

That’s enough. You need to win this next round.

It’s like, for once, God listens to your prayers. Your cards add up to an even, perfect twenty-one to his nineteen.

He retrieves his hand as if on cue. You thought you would be gasping in relief, but what comes out instead is a pitiful, almost desperate don’t.

He raises an eyebrow. “Don’t as in stop?” he asks. “Or as in don’t stop?”

Your body answers the question for him before your mind can even process what happened, grabbing his hand and pulling it to the spot where it was. Your skin comes ablaze the second he touches you again, like his touch is charged with electricity.

“Did you know,” you can feel his breath so close to you when he speaks, his lips brushing the shell of your ear, “that you were the first person who ever challenged me to play ddakji at the subway? Usually it’s the other way around. Nobody but you ever made the first move.”

It’s hard to concentrate on his words like this, with his body leaning into yours and his hand that still touches you under the table and– whoa, that is not your thigh. The solid press against your core makes your whole body twitch, but you don’t jerk away. You try to focus on the memory.

“I didn’t give a fuck about the game,” you reveal. “I just wanted you to notice me.”

“I know.” He draws small, precise circles over you. “Do you ever think about how I would’ve left you alone otherwise?”

Of course you do, more than you would ever admit. But having him confirm it hurts. It’s bad enough to know you’re the one who caused all the trauma you’ve been through since meeting him, that you could’ve just carried on with your life, shitty as it as, if only you weren’t a foolish girl with a crush on a stranger. But to be in his arms right now, your head falling over his shoulder and your lips releasing a tiny whimper; it just makes it all the more fucked up.

“Was it worth it?”

The smile on your lips is devoid of any humor. “Never.”

“Let me prove to you that it was.”

Just like that, everything stops. He scoots away from you in the booth and stands up, bringing all the heat with him aside from the faint lingering warmth on your face. He leaves a few bills over the table, enough for the entire tab, and walks away.

He doesn’t head towards the front door, instead making his way to the opposite direction. You watch him, confused, for a few moments before you trail after him, past the kitchen and the restrooms until you see the red glow of an exit sign.

A chilly breeze rushes over you the second you step outside, and you expect to see him walking into the dark narrow street. But he’s waiting for you, leaning against the brick wall behind him. He raises his eyebrows in that same condescending way he’s done all night, daring you to make the next move.

You don’t hesitate for even a second longer. You grab a fistful of his impeccable suit jacket and pull him closer, crashing your lips together.

From the start, it’s not sweet or gentle. He digs his fingers into your hips hard enough to bruise, wasting no time before he lifts you up into the air and pins you against the wall. You gasp into his mouth, parting your lips and practically begging his tongue inside. Your legs part almost in unison, allowing him to settle between them and effectively trap you, his larger frame blocking any exit.

As if you would dream to get away.

In one swift movement, he reaches between your legs and rips at the fabric of your stockings, the sound echoing through the empty street. You’re already making quick work of his belt; or trying to, frustrated by your lack of mobility from his position. He doesn’t seem willing to let you go, so he does it himself instead, pulling his pants down just enough to free himself from the confines of his underwear.

You’ve soaked through your panties in whatever time it took to play all those rounds of blackjack. It felt like it was drawn-out for hours, but you know it couldn’t have been more than just a few minutes. He moans when he feels it, before he even pushes into you – a heavenly, otherworldly sound, one you want to hear again and again. You push your hips towards him, feeling yourself throb when he rubs his length over you, burning hot where skin meets even though everything around you is cold. He rewards you with another sound that you drink right in as you deepen the kiss, happy to never have your lips separate from each other ever again.

He pushes the fabric of your panties to the side and thrusts into you without a warning, drawing a strangled, sharp gasp from you. He doesn’t give you time to adjust to the invasion, setting up a punishing pace that pushes you against the wall hard with every thrust. You claw at his back, losing the ability to form coherent thoughts, helpless to stop it as he all but consumes you like this is his last chance to.

“Ah– fuck,” you have to break away from his lips to attempt to draw in some air, your breaths and sounds interrupted by the rhythmic, vicious snaps of his hips into yours. He takes the opportunity to tilt his head and follow the line of your jaw with his lips, to mouth kisses and graze his teeth over your throat.

Hands find their way under pieces of clothing, trying to cling to as much bare skin as they can. He does most of the work, still holding you up in the air with the help of the wall (you curl your toes just to test the waters, the ones on the foot closest to the ground, and they barely touch the pavement), bouncing you on his cock however he sees fit, and it’s embarrassing how close you are already just from this.

“Fuck, baby, that’s so good.”

It’s intoxicating how vocal he is, all the grunts and moans he breathes into your neck, how it rips more sounds out of you than you would usually make. The street is completely silent save for the two of you, not another soul in sight. You could kill him right here and he would never see it coming. Gut him with the knife tucked away in your purse, leave him on the pavement gasping for his last breath. Who would catch you? You have enough money to run to yet another country, to give yourself a new identity and reinvent yourself as many times as you want.

The purse is on the floor where you’d carelessly let it fall, out of reach. Still you run your hands down over his bottom, feeling for any guns or weapons he may have tucked into the back of his waistband, or hidden in his pockets. There’s nothing, but you don’t have a lot of time to be disappointed about it before you’re coming with a high-pitched, broken shout, like your orgasm has taken you by surprise. He holds you up, squeezing you against the wall for support, the only thing stopping you from falling straight to the floor.

The Salesman follows right after, a stream of goods and fucks and your name falling from his lips as he spills deep into you. You wish you had it in you to be offended, to tell him off for it. But all you can think about is how much you wish you knew his name so you could shout it, gasp it, whisper it, for as long as he keeps holding you this tight.

#salesman x reader #the salesman x reader #the recruiter x reader #gong yoo x reader #squid game x reader #the salesman x you #my fics

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reverieblondie · 10 months ago

Text

Remember Me?

Pairing: ExNerd!Miguel O’Hara X fem!civillainreader

Warnings: 18+, NSFW, Smut with Plot, Praise, Unprotected Penetrative Sex (wrap it before you tap it), , Oral, Cowgirl, Missionary. You and Miguel make a mess...

Summary: Miguel has changed a lot since high school, but one thing remains the same...how he feels about you.

A/N: I have been trying to write about Miguel for weeks now! Every time I get close to finishing something for him I reread it and hate it! So I am posting this before I can change my mind! I hope you all enjoy I tried my best!

Word Count: 6,823

“Pfft…I can't believe this is real; this can’t be real!” Gwen keeps repeating to herself, trying to stifle back her laughter.

“I know! I couldn’t believe my eyes when Peter showed me but here it is!” Miles agrees; Pav quickly slings his arm around Miles for a better look.

“Take a look at the specks on him. Did you know he needed glasses?”

“Flip to the club photo. Now, that will shock you all.”

At Hobies request the teens quickly start flipping through pages. The sound of flipping pages and then the sudden bursting of laughter from the small huddle was something Miguel could no longer ignore. Miguel wasn’t sure why the teens and Peter were in his office. But since the events with the spot and some well-deserved apologies, Miguel, in the teen's words, “Chilled out,” and now they seem to hang out around him more. Meaning they are often now in his office… Miguel, of course, tried to appear as indifferent as possible to this change of pace, though He had to admit it was somewhat nice to have the cheerful ambiance that came with them... Hell, sometimes they could make him chuckle; Miles was actually pretty funny. But, of course, he keeps these things to himself.

Miguel makes his way to the huddle to see what could possibly be so enthralling. When he sees what's causing their uproar, his blood runs cold, freezing him dead in his tracks.

Is….that…his….yearbook…

It was turned to his picture and plan as the day under his unrecognizable photo was his name. So there was no getting out of this saying it wasn’t him…

“Miguel, is this really you?” Miles questions pointing to the picture.

“Must be his name right there,” Pav teases, making Miguel groan. This was an actual nightmare.

Looking over them, Miguel sees the picture they are all questioning; the difference is pretty night and day. A young 17-year-old Miguel was way scrawnier compared to his now bulking physique. His dark brown eyes were hidden behind his thick black-rimmed glasses, the only ones his mother could afford at the time. Miguel's thick, wavy brown hair looks untamed as it hangs down his forehead, threatening to cover his eyes if not for his glasses, the rest hanging loosely down to the nape of his neck. Poor kid was desperate for a haircut. Their cheekbones and jaw were still chiseled, and his face was not yet littered with lines of stress, sleepless nights, and age.

Hobie quickly grabs the yearbook, vigorously flipping through the pages until he stops on a picture of a young Miguel holding up a mathlete trophy, awkward smile and all. “This is my favorite picture. Do you still smile like that, bruv?”

“How did you all get this?” Miguel asks in irritation, pinching the bridge of his nose as if that will somehow stop his building anger and embarrassment.

Very aware of the sight of Miguel about to rage out, the young spiders quickly part, pointing the blame to a laughing Peter. Who finally quits his laughing fit as now he is staring into the eyes of a very irritated Miguel, waiting for an explanation.

Peter nervously clears his throat before speaking, “Wel, uh…do you remember a couple of days ago when you told me to drop off that equipment at your apartment? Well…I happened to see this on your living room bookshelf and thought I would look at it. Then I saw how much you had changed… I figured the kiddos would get a kick out of it…”

Miguel's eyes narrow, and his talons pop out, ready to bounce, but that is quickly escalated by Gwen taking back the yearbook, prepared to negotiate peace.

“Okay, okay, no need to rip his head off; we will return your book.” Miguel's body relaxes as he sighs of relief, holding out his hand for the book, but Gwen smirks, holding the book back out of his reach, “But, you have to show us your old crush first.”

Miguel’s eyes nearly pop out of his head, freezing at the terms of the agreement, and everyone else, including Layla, starts oohing. Making Miguel pitch the bridge of his nose again, muttering under his breath, “Esto tiene que ser una pesadilla…” (this has to be a nightmare…)

Then, to make things worse, they start chanting, “Show us….Show us…Show us! Show us!!”

The chatting became too much, and he snapped, holding out his hand irritatedly for the book. “Fine! I will show you; just shut up!”

A yay fills the room as Miguel starts irritatedly flipping through the book as soon as it’s laid in his hand. Everyone waits in bated breath until finally landing on the correct page. It's the page he spent the summer before college staring at, the picture he had agonized over. Miguel pauses, taking in the picture, and he feels those familiar feelings rushing up and swelling in his chest…Those high school crushes do hit you hard…

Even after all these years, he still remembers you so vividly; seeing the picture always solidifies for himself as confirmation as to why he had liked you so much. Beautiful and popular, everyone would only have positive things to say, even if your friend group wasn’t as nice. Miguel remembers that sweetness fondly. Though, behind that sweet smile, there was a mischievous side of you; he recalls hearing it hidden in your cooing voice when you would say that pet name during chemistry class…

“Miggy~”

The memory warms Miguel's cheeks, but he quickly dismisses the feeling. “There, that's her.”

The teens quickly grab the book back, climbing over each other to marvel at the picture of the girl the oh-so-scary Spider-Man 2099 had a crush on when he was their age.

“Wow, she's stunning!” Gwen complements

Miguel hums in agreement, “Yeah… the prettiest girl in my grade…prom queen, part of the student council, incredibly sweet…, and we took chemistry together…”

Pav and Hobie shoot Miguel a smirk, and he quickly huffs, folding his arms over his chest.

“Ever work up the nerve to confess?” Pav questions, ever the romantic.

The group watches as Miguel closes his eyes, thinking that the blush from earlier is slowly rising to his tan cheeks, making them all gasp in excitement.

“You did!” They all scream, but Miguel is quick to correct them.

“Well…technically…I didn’t”

“What do you mean technically?” Miles prys

Miguel can’t believe he admitted this much, but since he's already down the rabbit hole, he might as well give some more context: “At graduation…I kinda did, then I…ran away…”

A look of shock and confusion fills the teenager's face, but Peter is all grins and is going to give Miguel a high five: “Ah, the mysterious type. Nice.”

Gwen quickly swats him on the shoulder, earning a whine from the man.

“Not nice! That is so confusing! You just ran? Did you ever talk to her again?”

Miguel takes a second to avoid eye contact, stoically starting to the side, before letting out a quiet, “No…”

There is a collective groan, and Miguel rolls his eyes, trying to contain his high school embarrassment.

“Can we stop talking about this and return to work now?”

“Have you seen her since?” Miles questions,

“No,” Miguel answers sharply, irritation coming back up.

“Wha-what! How will you ever win her love if you don’t clear up the misunderstanding and confess your true feelings!” Pav laments, making everyone look at him with a raised brow.

“Pav, mate…you know how long it's been since he's seen her?” Hobie chides

Pav shrugs slightly, muttering, “Maybe it could be like a romantic thing…”

“So wait, You have all the resources and never thought to at least search her out? Aren't you curious?” Gwen prods

“No, I never thought about stalking my old crush. Now, can we please-”

“She lives in the city!” Miles' voice calls out, making Miguel whip around.

Miles and Layla stand on Miguel's platform with your picture, info, and social media pulled up on his halo screens. Everyone is quick to web over, including Miguel. Miguel quickly pushes away a beaming Miles as he takes in all your information. He sees where you went to college, where you work, and…

“Ooohhh! She's still single!” Pav beams, looking at Miguel expectancy.

Miguel rolls his eyes as he keeps looking at you, still as perfect as he remembered. Somehow, you seem more confident in yourself, you seem…sexier…

Feelings start rising back to Miguel's chest. He hasn’t seen you in so long, and even your pictures still stir something within him.

“Wow! This is awesome!” Miles beams, pointing to one of the screens

Miguel, being too lost in your pictures, hasn’t realized what the teens are yammering about until they all start shaking him back and forth in excitement. Then he finally hears it.

“You can see her at your High School reunion! It's coming up in a couple of weeks!”

Miguel turns his head to the invitation Layla had pulled up. “You got this a month ago but didn’t think you would be interested…. It looks like you will be attending now, though!”

Before he can protest, she is RSVPing, and all the teens are hollering in laughter and giving high-fives. Everything is happening so fast that all Miguel can do is stand there in something akin to a trance. That's until Pav comes up to him with a giddy smile,

“It’s like density!”

Miguel groans…he wants everyone to get back to work…

They really got him here….How the hell did he let them convince him to come here? They even managed to get him to dress up…

Hair in its usually slick back style, slate gray button down that did little to hide his bulk, and black trousers that he thought appeared too tight but Layla had insisted upon.

Miguel stands uncomfortably off to the side as people he used to know all gather together, chit-chatting about their lives and reminiscing on the good old days… All while Miguel stays sulking in the corner…Maybe things from high school haven’t changed that much. Well, despite the whole genetic splicing that made him a superhero… Instead of still being the captain of the Mathletes team, he's now the CEO of Aleamax. However, one thing remains the same: When he is in a room filled with all these people from school, his eyes still roam around, trying to find you…

High school had not been kind to a nerd like him. He was 9 inches shorter, and the most important things to him were keeping all A’s, getting into his dream college, keeping up with his favorite comic series, avoiding bullying, and wanting so badly to kiss his crush.

Miguel vividly recalls all those times in chemistry when you two worked so closely together. Miguel shyly mutters the mixing process while you lean in with stars in your eyes, taking it all in. Miguel never knew if you were interested in what he was saying or if you were trying to get a good grade, but he didn’t care. You still made his cheeks flush and heart race all the same.

“Then…When-when you add fluid B to A, you will get a fizzing reaction…”

A shaking Younger Miguel tries to steadily pour in the fluids while you watch, leaning in so close he could smell your sweet perfume and look at your glittery glossed lips.

“Wow! Miggy, you’re so smart.” Your voice would be like sweet honey praising him, and the mere closeness of you to him would make his body feel like it was going to melt.

“I keep telling my friends I have the best lab partner…” Miguel feels his throat dry as your hand slowly curls over his forearm. Then the bell rings, and Miguel is flustered, packing his things as you smile sweetly and wave goodbye.

God, you must have been just messing with him, toying with him, knowing he was like a love-sick puppy for you. The worst part, if this was the case, he would have let you…Miguel would have let you toy and bat away at his heart until you felt content with it fully unraveling to you. Pathic…is that what you thought? Well, if it wasn’t what you thought of him before, it must be what you thought after his pitiful confession…

Miguel thinks back to that night when he last saw you…that all too familiar warmth threatens to take him over, so as he stares down at his drink, he slips back to that moment…

The ceremony had ended, everyone had exited the stadium, and Miguel was taking a second to calm himself in the dark hallway. High school was over, and his life was beginning. He was thinking back on all his decisions for this new chapter. Miguel fidgets with his graduation cap and feels about what awaits him. Then he thinks about the things he missed out on…

Then your face comes to mind…he had vowed to confess; even if you laughed and rejected him, he wanted to get his feelings off his chest. But when it came down to it, he let his shyness get the better of him and let you slip through his fingers without telling you. This was high school? He was sure to like other girls…but why was this eating away at him so much? Why did he feel so sick to his stomach for not doing this…

The sound of clicking heels fills the corridor, and like fate, you are walking through the hallway back toward him. Miguel adjusts his glasses, unsure if this is some kind of halustion brought on by self-pity, but no… it was you…

As soon as your eyes locked to his, your lips curled to that all too familiar smile, the one that was so sweet. Then your voice rang that teasing nickname you graciously bestowed upon him.

“Miggy, what are you doing, silly? Hanging out in the dark…Don’t you want to go celebrate?”

“Oh…... I didn’t plan to go to any parties… just going to go home and get started on some summer reading…”

The smile that curled on your lips was additive as you stepped closer to his slouching form, “hm…Miggy…always so prepared… I’m going to miss seeing you around so much. I’m sure you're the only reason I passed chem!”

“No…I am sure you will have more interesting people to talk to than a nerd like me…”

“Maybe I like talking to nerds like you.”

The statement made Miguel look up to see you so close to him mischive filling your eyes. Leaning in so close to him, he feels like he can’t breathe when he looks at you so close like this…

“You don’t mean that…” he chuckles softly.

Then your index finger lifts his chin, and you look at him with sweet eyes, but your tone is stern, “Don’t tell me what I mean…”

Miguel feels his heartbeat quicken, and his palms begin to sweat. Before he can return to rational thought, he leans into you.

He so gently cups your cheek with his nervous hands. Brushing his nose against yours, his shaky breath fanning over your sparkly glossed lips. Then, when your lips finally meet, he isn’t sure who fills the gap.

The kiss was so sweet, and he held you so gently, but he knew you could feel the shaking of his hands and the heat rushing to his face. Everything around you two seemed to fade.

Eyes shut tightly from falling into the depths of the kiss, he pulls away to breathe. Peeking open his eyes, Miguels sees you are breathless, and your face is burning with a deep blush. You look so surprised... and he doesn't know what to say or how to explain.

“I’m sorry…I just had to do that once…”

Then he ran off… leaving you alone in that dark hallway, scared of what you would say next…

“Miggy!”

“Miguel?”

Lost in his thoughts, Miguel failed to notice that one of his ex-classmates had been trying to get his attention. One of them must have finally recognized him. Looking up from his cup, Miguel expects to see one of his old mathlete teammates, but as he finally meets their eyes, he feels his heart stop at the sight.

Looking up at him with that same sweet smile, you look just like he remembers: completely radiant. Your pictures showed you were still beautiful, but in person, you are the thing he remembers most about you: breathtaking.

“Miguel, that's gotta be you… Do you remember me?” -How could he not remember you?

Miguel feels himself staring at his thoughts, running everywhere; what does he say? What does he do?

“I…I, of course, remember m-my lab partner.” -Okay, a little shaky…But with your face seeming to light up when he says he remembers and your eyes roaming over him, he can’t chastise himself too much for stuttering now. Miguel feels his hands starting to become clammy, and his stomach feels full of butterflies…shit…this feels like high school all over again.

“I can not believe how different you look!”

“Yeah, late growth spurt and I uh… I started going…to the gym a lot….You though! You still look so beati- uh nice…good you look outstanding…” His mind is running a mile a minute, and he can’t believe how he is acting right now! He's Spider-Man, and he’s acting so nervous?

Smirking, you look as if you could read his mind about how nervous he is, though to anyone with working eyes, it was obvious.

“You think I look good?” you ask, playful spinning, making Miguel's eyes take in just how tight your dress is. “I was hoping for beautiful…” you smile, giving him a wink. His blood rushes in his veins, and he swallows his suddenly dry throat.

You could eat him alive…and he would let you…

“Beautiful then, you - uh… you have always looked beautiful…”

“Thank you, Miguel, you look very handsome.” Miguel feels his heart racing as you step closer. Your eyes stay on his confident smile on your glossy lips. It teeters on cocky, and Miguel can’t bring himself to hate it…he loves it…

“Though Miguel, I do have to say…I miss the glasses; they were really cute.”

“I still have some that I wear sometimes,” he says a bit too eagerly.

Your smirk widens, “Really? Does your girlfriend like them?”

“Oh, I don’t have a girlfriend.”

The smirk on your lips borders on sinful “Good…” You purr

Miguel feels a wave of electricity shake through him. Are you flirting? Miguel can’t help the smile and blush that's now reached to the tips of his ears. Miguel came here thinking that you wouldn’t be here, and if you were, you would be avoiding him, but he didn’t expect this. Do you even remember it? Well, of course, you would! Who forgets getting kissed, and then the person runs? He needs to apologize before he never sees you again.

“So Umm…I am glad I got to see you, well other than it’s just nice seeing you…but I want to apologize…”

“You’re talking about graduation.” Your cheerful voice cuts him off and utterly confuses him. Furrowing his brow, he’s lost and hoping you can explain.

“Miguel, I liked the kiss…I wish you wouldn’t had run away…”

Miguel is sure he’s died, and there is no possible way you're saying this to him. Sweet, perfect you, liked when he kissed you. Nerdy awkward him? Gently, Miguel feels your hands touching his chest, slowly dancing your fingertips over his muscles. Miguel hopes you can’t feel the way his heartbeat is racing right now.

“You know, now that I really think about it…you owe me an apology or something. It was very rude of you to kiss me suddenly and then run away like that, teasing me. Then, when I went to reach out to you, you didn't have any socials. That's not very nice to do, you know…”

Your hand slightly grazes his jaw, and he feels like he could melt. Rising to your tiptoes, you try to whisper in his ear as you lean into his chest, your chest rubbing against him. Miguel can feel himself starting to break a sweat.

“I thought you were sweet…”

Miguel feels you start to pull away, and in a moment of bravery or desperation, he carefully places his hands on your waist. Leaning down, he whispers back to you.

“Could I make it up to you somehow?”

“I have an idea…if you're up for it?”

Gathering his confidence, when he sees your smile, he squeezes your sides slightly, “Anything you want.”

Without any hesitation, you grab his large hand from your waist and pull him along with you to slip out of the reception room into a dark hallway. The irony is not lost on either of you as you grin and pull each other close. Your lips are so close to his as you lean into his chest.

“You're not going to run away this time. I want you to do this properly this time…”

Part of Miguel feels like he could be dreaming; your arms are wrapped around his neck, your fingers tangled in his hair, smiling at him so sweetly. Your eyes are one of pure hunger, and your voice is so transparent with your want. It’s perfect.

Miguel brushes his thumb over your tempting lips, slightly dragging the bottom down while he tries to archer himself back to reality. Moving his hand to your neck as he leans in and kisses you. Your lips are soft and perfectly guiding against his. Miguel's hands fall to your hips; he digs his fingers into the plush of your skin, making you gasp into his mouth with a moan. It’s been a long time since he’s kissed you, and he wants to make sure you know how much he wants you… trying his hardest to impress you.

The fingers in his hair tighten to a fist as you guide him to part his plush lips, then slip in your tongue to get a taste of him. It’s gentle at first but quickly heats up from your eager influence. Then you start straddling his thick thighs, grinding slightly against him. Both your bodies feel like you’ve been set on fire in a blazing flame of want.

“Miggy, I always liked you…just-”

Before you can finish your words, Miguel drives his tongue back into your mouth, eager to taste those words he had always wanted to hear. His hands cup your ass as he drives his knee deeper between your legs, letting you use him more. Breaking the kiss, you let out the most perfect moans as your body tingles and shivers. Miguel hasn’t had enough of you yet as he keeps his mouth kissing against your flushed skin. His tongue rolls over your rapid pulse as you keep grinding and mewing for more.

“Fuck, miggy~”

Miguel licks a long strip up your neck before grunting in your ear, “I… I only came here… to see you…t-talk to you…”

His rough words make you grind against him more, and right as Miguel starts to feel your slick soaking through his pants, you pull his hair, successfully pulling a whimper from him, which is quickly cut off by your soft lips to his again. Then, as you pull away, you bite his bottom lip, which makes him shiver.

“Can…can I take you home…” Miguel asks breathlessly, his hands still squeezing your ass.

A small giggle leaves your kiss-bitten lips as you take a second to fix his now-disheveled hair, thanks to you.

“Take me to your place, Miggy; you still owe me…”

Miguel feels a rush of excitement run through him, making his length throb at your words. You really are going to eat him alive…

It's the perfect sight he’s only ever dreamed of seeing, you sitting on his large bed completely naked, a sweet smile on your face, soft legs crossed over each other, waiting patiently for him. Miguel adjusted his glasses on the bridge of his nose…you had insisted, and he’s finding he can’t deny you…

Miguel slips off his underwear, kicking them away. Your eyes widen as you see his massive length slap against his abdomen, then hanging heavily. Your eyes rake over his immaculate form; the sight of you licking your lips isn’t lost on him.

“Strip for me, Miggy,” you taunted as you dropped your dress with little effort, waiting for him to follow. Of course, he did. He would follow anything your sweet voice commands. Just please…let him touch you…

Running his hand through his hair, Miguel approaches you, but your sweet voice turns to him in disapproval, and he pauses.

“No walking, I want you to crawl on your hands and knees…please? Miggy~”

Every time you use that old nickname, he feels his cock twitch. Keeping his now blazing eyes on you as he slowly sinks to his knees and begins to crawl to you obediently. The action is meant to make him look submissive, but you find that even now, he looks like a predator getting ready to devour its prey… The shiver that shoots down your spine goes right to your sex, making you drip down on his sheets.

As Miguel crawls closer, you unfold your legs, stretching one out slowly toward him. His large hand immediately catches your ankle. Hungry eyes look up at you, blazing with want, as his hand slowly caresses up your leg. Miguel's lips kiss softly against your calf while he whispers faint words under his breath after every kiss. His eyes watch you as he slowly raises your legs, the back of your thighs being pressed against his broad shoulders.

Miguel's hands grab your hips, making you slip a moan. His eyes turn softer as he hears you moan, his lips coming away from the fresh mark he's left on your inner thigh. Miguel's lips part to apologize, but you're quick to interrupt before he can.

Leaning forward, you push his glasses back into their proper place and caress his cheek. “You're doing so well for me, Miguel…though…It does feel like you're trying to make me beg… Are you trying to tease me?”

Miguel's lips curl into a smile as he lowers his face to lick his tongue against your clit. You throw your head back at the hot contact, Miguel groaning at the sweet taste of your cyprine.

“I wouldn’t dream of teasing you…” Miguel's lips lower down to your clit before he gives it a quick lick.

Unable to help yourself, you grab a fist full of his hair, making him let out a soft groan, “Then devore me, Miggy; you still owe me, remember? And I-Ah!~”

Before you can finish your taunting, Miguel is driving his face into your wet sex to selfishly devore more of you. Long slow licks of his warm tongue send waves of pleasure to flood your body as your toes curl from every push of his nose to your clit.

His breaths for air huffing against your quivering sex, the tip of his tongue darting back to lick against your soft folds, making you whine. Looking down at him, his glasses crooked and hazy and his groans continue to vibrate through your pussy. Then the sensation of his tongue probing you open makes you close your thighs against his head and grab this thick hair, pulling hard enough for a grunt to slip through his chest. Getting the message, Miguel moves his tongue to lick your sensitive clit as his finger slips into you. Your grip on his hair gets tighter as you squirm, grinding your hips against his face, mouth hanging open as your chest heaves moan after moan. Your body starts shaking at the addition of another finger, making you feel jolts of pleasure that make you need to roll your hips onto his face more.

Miguel could carless at the apparent use of his face for your pleasure; it's all he craves right now, your cum to dip all over his eager tongue. For your hips grind onto his face for hours. He would stay on his knees worshiping you like this until you're calling out from too much pleasure, and even then, he doesn’t know how he could pull himself away from your delicious taste.

You feel him groan into you, the vibrations rushing through you to cause you to gasp and shiver as his tongue keeps sliding in and out of you, desperate for your sweetness. You want more, need more, you crave it with every roll of your hips; you want him in you deeply. Unclenching your thighs from his head, you pull his hair, forcing his face from you with a wet pop.

Miguel's eyes are blown as he keeps them steady on yours, his full lips parted and panting. The sight of his face glistening with a mix of his saliva and your arousal is sinful and complete perfection. His poor glasses are resting on his face, still lopsided from his ravenous pursuit to taste your cunt. Leaving forward, you keep a smile as you hold his cheek; he immediately melts into it. Grabbing his glasses from his head, you toss them to his nightstand; before he can say anything to you, you're leaning forward to bring him into a kiss. His lips and tongue are laced with you, and you can’t help but want to giggle as he groans and leans his whole body onto you, so needy for more.

With a gentle push to his massive chest, you can change the positions as you now straddle his hips effortlessly. You are slowly running your hands up and down his chest and abdomen, feeling his hair decorating his skin, making your mouth water. As you shift yourself up, you feel his swollen length hanging heavily as you nudge against it. The tip is hot and already pebbling with glistening pre-cum, straining for you to envelope around him. Reaching down, you flick your eyes from his eyes to his length.

Miguel sure has changed over the years, but his face is so breathless and furrowing with every strained pleasure as you slide your thumb over his cocks slit. Whining so softly, sounding like the sweet nerd you remember. On the other hand, Miguel is witnessing you in a way only his mind had fantasized about. Your smile is no longer so sweet but devious; He wants to push his cock into you so deeply and have you shudder and scream while you gush all over him, But this teasing and taunting… it's mouth-watering.

Touching his length, you feel the sheer heat of it as you carefully trace over the soft skin, feeling every vein. Tracing over the red weeping tip, you feel him shudder and mumble something under his breath as you grasp him to hold against you, seeing that he measures to your stomach. You can't help but bite your lip in anticipation of the stretch.

Your eyes flick back to Miguels, “Think it will fit?” you tease.

“I will make it fit…” his rough voice sends a shiver down your spine.

Lifting to your knees, you line up his tip to brush on your clit, making you gasp as you slip him through your folds. Then finally, you slip him in slowly, feeling his cock stretch your fluttering hole; the stretch is intense and makes you roll your eyes as your back arches. Miguel grabs your ass tightly, bucking his hips to sink in a bit faster; he pants a sorry as you let out a moan and squeeze your hands on his chest for support. Looking down at his beautifully blushing face, you only smile as you sink deeper.

“So eager, Miggy~”

All Miguel can manage is a smile as he works hard to keep himself from bottoming out immediately. He so badly just wants to shove it in deeply and rut into you like a damn animal. A groan builds in his throat as he tries to keep himself from whimpering as you continue to sink so slowly. His cock throbbing and stretching your walls as it heats your insides. Before he can manage a whine, you sink all the way down, taking every inch; before either of you can moan, you lean down to catch his lips in a needy kiss, taking control you guide him, your tongue pushes past his lips to taste his groans. While his tongue eagerly does the same. Pulling away from the kiss, you grind against him, relishing in the feeling of his cock pushing in deeper and his trimmed hairs tickling your sensitive skin; you can’t help but bite his bottom lip to compensate for the mind-numbing feeling.

Miguel's hands squeeze harder, making you release his lip as your cunt to clenchs on him, the moan of his name dropping from your lips as your hips start to grind on him at a slow pace. Using your hands, you slightly push yourself up and rock your hips back and forth, letting his cock slide to bully your gummy insides, brushing your cervix with every nudge. Miguels is mesmerized as he roams his hands over your body, worshiping every inch of your skin with his careful fingertips brushing and rubbing you so tenderly. His hands come to your breast, where he takes a minute to squeeze and pinch your nipples, your whimper in response, and grind harder against his cock, pushing him to rub harder against your cervix.

“You look s-so fucking beautiful…your body, your…tatse…I’ve never stopped thi-thinking of you…” Miguel mutters through pants of hot breaths.

The words spur you on, and you start to pick up your pace, making him moan out and guide your hips to rock back and forth faster, “Always so sweet…” you coo to him…the words are less taunting but just true; he has always been sweet to you…

“Only for you…” he muses, and you can’t help but smile,

“Good…”

You feel yourself starting to sip from having a clear head that's now blurring in a haze of lust as you continue to pursue your pleasure on his girth. Pushing in and out on him quicker. Your hands grab onto him tighter as you ravish your tight pussy with his throbbing cock. Begging for both his and your release. Fucking so deep in you, now your jaw falls slack as his cock keeps pushing against your velvety sweet spot, making jolts of pleasure pulse through your body with every bounce.

The sweat that has built on your bodies works hard to try and cool your fevered states, but with every push into your cunt and with every clench around his length rousing him to go deeper makes it all in vain. There is no cooling as you two approach your white hot release, bodies only growing more hot and sensitive with every whine and every mind-numbing push. So close to tipping the other to ecstasy…

With a couple of aided thrust from Miguel fucking up into you, your muscles tenase and your mouth falls open in a pitched scream of his name as your danm burst making you clench and shudder on his cock, coming undone on top of him. You're quivering on his length as he carefully grinds you through your drenching pleasure, the feeling of his cock slipping deeper as you eagerly ride him through your high.

With the way you clench so tightly and grind faster, Miguel couldn't help but feel himself throb and spurt right into your cervix. The feeling of it spurting so thickly, his cock pulsing inside of you, feeling so heavy in you with each twitch. This cum is hot and fills you so that it's leaking down mixing with your arousal, creating a sticky mess. You can't help yourself when you side on more and more feeling your cunt want to stick to his skin.

Haze starting to clear you fall forward on him, you try to catch your breath in between placing frantic kisses to Miguel's chest and neck. Your orgasm leaves you utterly satisfied, but Miguels is not done…

With a quick turning over your body, you're lying on your back now as Miguel situates himself between your legs. He takes time to look over your flushed form, his massive hands dragging over your sensitive body, and you shiver and buck your hips up. Miguel takes your legs, pushing them up to your chest, making your mew from his touch, your pussy completely exposed to him. Miguel feels his breath catch as his cum leaks out of your trembling puffy cunt in milky drops. Miguel releases one of your legs to fall to his shoulder so he can plam his cock, still erect and ready for more. His red eyes flick back to your blisted-out face, and though you're at the point of overstimulation, you still ache for more.

“M-Miggy…” you're the one to tremble shyly for him now, and the switch of the roles makes him fold. He’s helpless for you…

Leaning down carefully, Miguel cages you between his massive arms as he places a gentle, sweet kiss on your begging lips. Breaking the kiss, he whispers in your ear so softly, “More? Can you give me more? Perfect girl…let me feel you again…please…”

Wrapping your arms around his neck, feeling his damp skin, you buck your hips up in your whine of, “More, Please, Miggy ah—I need more of you, always. You are so good to me.”

He catches your hips in a quick grip as he lifts them up, smiling; it's everything he has ever wanted to hear from your sweet lips. And he is always eager to satisfy you.

Miguel slips his cock into you with a groan; you're already so sensitive as he pushes down to the base, filling you so quickly that your body already starts quivering around him. Pressing soft kisses to your sweaty skin, he rolls his hips slow and deep. He is taking his time with you. Every thrust is hot and tingling, and you feel that familiar tense starting to build up again from the consistent pace he's set. Managing to open your eyes through moans and rolls, you see Miguel with beautifully flushed cheeks, eyes filled with want as he softly pants and whimpers with each clench of your wet cunt.

As his pace quickens, you feel him throb, giving you new resolve to meet your hips with each thrust, and your core starts to burn deliciously. Your nails find their place, digging into his broad back. Every slap of his balls to your overly sensitive skin makes you moan and throw your head back. Miguel takes the opportunity to kiss and lick against your neck, his hot breath rushing over you. With a final clench and strained moan, you feel that white-hot wave of pleasure burn through you; his body shudders at the feeling of your cunt, so desperate to cum against him to milk him dry again. His groan borders on a whine as his hips are still, and you feel that familiar throbbing against your cervix as his thick cum fills you up. Looking up at him, you watch his face contort to be in complete pleasure; the sight of it is completely addicting.

Staying in you till you are both down from your highs, he slowly pulls out his softening cock. The pooling of both of your cum completely ruins the sheets underneath you, but Miguel doesn’t worry about that. He brushes stray hairs from your face and whispers he will be right back. You're too exhausted to move, and you can only twitch slightly as you feel a cool cloth cleaning you up so gently.

After cleaning you up, you feel the bed sink beside you and the feeling of an arm around you, bringing you closer to his warm body, his other hand brushing through your hair so carefully. You gather your energy to curl into Miguel with a broad smile. You two lay there, slowly drifting away in each other's comfort.

Clearing his throat, Miguel tries to be as unawkward as possible, and it only manages to make you smile more; you two just had amazing sex, and he’s still nervous; some things die hard, you guess. Looking up at him, you see he’s trying to gather up the best way to approach his next words; this night has been everything he hoped, and he doesn’t want to blow it now, but he needs to know the answer to his question,

“Can-can I…take you out on a date?”

His face is completely sincere and flushed; you have to bite back your giggle before you answer.

“Miggy, about time you asked…”

You two set the date up for the next night; Miguel, of course, wore his glasses…

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ssahotchnerr · 6 months ago

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girl!dad aaron reading to his daughter over the phone while on a case! 🥹 just like that one episode of jj and henry 😭🥰

nightmares

i will sob. 🥺 i'm also setting this in ellie's bad dreams era :( cw; fem!reader, girl dad!aaron, slight angst, fluff <3

"It looks like this is his comfort zone." Using a red marker, Spencer circled an area on the map. "If we pinpoint-"

As he was continuing his thought, Aaron's phone rang. He fully expected to see Penelope's name, anticipating her call as she was working her magic to narrow down a pool of potential unsubs. However, his eyebrows furrowed in worry as he saw it was from you instead.

"Excuse me." He spoke lowly yet urgently, keeping his eyes on his screen and hurrying away with no hesitation, missing the team's concerned glances.

"Hey," he answered, closing the door to the empty conference room behind him. There was knowing feeling deep in his chest - and a grim one at that. "Everything alright?"

"Kinda... no." You switched up quickly with a sigh, slight distress in your voice. "I'm sorry, I know you're busy. But can you spare a minute or two?"

"Another nightmare?" Aaron's eyes shot to the clock perched on the wall. While it was somewhat early for him, it was getting late back home, timezones to thank. And doing the math quickly, bedtime for the kids had been about two hours ago. So sadly this - right on schedule.

You hummed in confirmation, beginning with the positive first. "She fell asleep in her bed tonight, actually. Went down easy, not much protest. But then woke up crying, and was nearly inconsolable for a while. She's with me now." Your eyes shifted down to your frightened daughter besides you, who was inching closer and closer to seemingly making herself smaller. "And keeps asking for you."

Aaron glanced out; the team was still preoccupied, discussing the geographical profile amongst themselves, and could definitely manage without him for a while longer. "Yeah, I have some time."

There was a quick rustle as you set your phone down, placing it on speaker. Your voice was farther now, not by much, but it felt treacherously distant, as if more miles had been added. "It's Daddy, honey."

"Hey Ellie Bellie." Aaron's tone quieted, his face softening as he spoke. "What's the matter?"

A light sniffle came from the other end. "I had a scary dream."

"A scary dream, huh?" He repeated, an achy pang producing in his chest. Ellie's nightmares have been occurring for a while now, and indubitably becoming a problem. You both expected the dreams to run their course, eventually pass, and things would return to normal. But as time moved forward, it was becoming clear it was well beyond that as they worsened. "It's okay, you're safe with Mom now, right?"

Ellie nodded, unknowingly to him. Her small voice cracked, laced with tears. "I want you."

"I know, and I'll be home when work lets me, I promise. You can even use my pillow tonight too, if you want." He bit down onto his lip as Ellie mumbled a small 'okay' in response. Hard. "Or how about a story? Would that help you feel better?"

Her head rose up and down again, prompting you to speak up as Aaron was met with only her silence.

"We have a few right here." You reached across her, grabbing the few storybooks that frequented Aaron's nightstand and settling back against your own pillow.

"Your pick sweetheart." Aaron pulled a chair from the table, sitting down and making himself comfortable momentarily.

"Goodnight Moon?"

Goodnight Moon, also one of Jack's favorites when he was younger. Between him and Ellie, Aaron's read it so many times, he had the entirety of the book memorized. In addition, Ellie's other, more lengthy favorites - he had gone through and cleverly taken a picture of each page, all stored safely in his camera roll for instances such as tonight. No matter where he happened to be, he could read the text, while also drawing attention to and discussing the images with her.

"Sure. Get all comfy and cozy up to Mom, yeah?"

Ellie nestled herself more into your side, her head resting on your arm as she death-gripped onto her plush bunny. You adjusted the duvet to adequately cover the two of you, scooting down and propping the book up for the two of you to see.

"We're ready when you are." You told Aaron, brushing a few stray strands of hair away from Ellie's face.

As your brief sentence concluded, a harsh pinch formed behind Aaron's eyes, the guilt creeping in as he pictured the two of you laid together, where he also should've been. His little girl was beside herself in fear, wanted him, and yet here he was. Far away on the other side of the country. He felt as if he were failing her; letting her down.

Aaron swallowed to even out his voice, to sound as cheery as he possibly could, and to refrain any agony from being heard. He took a deep, yet small guttural breath.

"In the great green room..."

#aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner fluff #aaron hotchner x you #aaron hotchner x fem!reader #aaron hotch x reader #aaron hotchner imagine #criminal minds #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds x you #criminal minds drabble #aaron hotchner drabble #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds fanfiction #hotch imagine #criminal minds x fem!reader

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solxamber · 1 month ago

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hii i'm here for the holiday event ! (and to all your works too ofc)

[ Pomefiore, 6, fluff/comedy ]

happy holidays to you btw!! 🫶 either genre is fine if only one is allowed -

i got so excited when i saw pomefiore

Unfiltered || Vil Schoenheit

For the Holiday Event! || Prompt: "Say that again" ; Genre: Comedy

Vil was always poised, elegant, and in control of every situation. Except, apparently, when sedated.

You sat beside him in his private recovery room, watching as the usually composed Pomefiore housewarden mumbled nonsense with a wad of gauze stuffed in his cheek. His flawless hair was slightly askew, and his glassy eyes blinked up at you with uncharacteristic awe.

“You’re so… so pretty,” he slurred, reaching out to gently pat your face like you were a particularly mesmerizing painting.

You stifled a laugh, catching his hand. “Thanks, Vil. How are you feeling?”

“Like… like a cloud,” he muttered, frowning. “A very beautiful cloud. Not like Epel. Epel’s a mean little apple.”

From the corner, Epel huffed indignantly. “I’m literally right here.”

“Shh,” Vil whispered, waving his hand dismissively. “I’m talking to my beloved.”

Your cheeks flushed as Epel snorted and promptly decided this was the best day of his life. “Vil, you’re drugged out of your mind. You’re going to regret this later.”

Vil’s face morphed into something resembling horror. “Regret? No. Never. You’re the best thing that ever happened to me.”

“Oh?” You raised a brow, smirking. “Care to say that again?”

“You’re the best thing that ever happened to me,” he repeated, as if it were the most obvious truth in the world.

You leaned closer, voice dripping with playful teasing. “Say it one more time for the people in the back?”

“You’re the best thing that ever happened to me,” he said earnestly, reaching up to hold your face between his hands. His fingers squished your cheeks, making you look like a fish.

Epel choked on laughter, scrambling for his phone. “I gotta record this.”

“Shut up, Epel,” you hissed, batting his phone away. “Vil, you’re gonna make me cry over here.”

“I love you,” Vil said suddenly, his expression somehow both dreamy and sincere.

Your heart skipped a beat. “I… I love you too.”

“Say it again,” he demanded, his eyes wide and glassy.

“I love you.”

“Again.”

“Vil—”

“Again.”

“I love you.”

“One more time.”

You let out a dramatic sigh, glancing at Epel, who looked like he was about to combust from holding in laughter. “I love you, Vil.”

“Good.” He gave a sleepy smile and promptly passed out, head lolling to the side.

The next day, when Vil was back to his usual, regal self, you wasted no time.

“So,” you began, arms crossed as you leaned against the vanity in his room. “Do you remember anything about yesterday?”

“Of course,” Vil said coolly, dabbing at his lip balm. “I behaved with my usual grace, even under anesthesia.”

“Oh, really?” Your smirk widened. “Because I distinctly remember you calling me the best thing that ever happened to you.”

Vil froze, his hand hovering mid-air. “...Did I?”

“And making me say ‘I love you’ five times before you passed out.”

The lip balm clattered to the counter. “You’re lying.”

“I’m not.” You whipped out your phone and hit play. The recording was loud and clear: “Say it again. Say it again. One more time.”

Epel’s laugh could be heard faintly in the background.

Vil buried his face in his hands. “This is a nightmare.”

“Don’t worry,” you cooed, patting his shoulder. “You’re the best thing that ever happened to me too, Vil.”

“...Say that again,” he muttered, his ears turning red.

“Nice try.”

Masterlist

#twst x reader #twisted wonderland x reader #twst #twisted wonderland #vil schoenheit x reader #vil x reader #vil schoenheit #vil

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scealaiscoite · 3 months ago

Text

⋆˚࿔ safehouse prompts 𝜗𝜚˚⋆

¹⁾ “this place doesn’t look like much. i suppose that’s by design, right?”

²⁾ flinching at every gust of wind and rumble of tyres, thinking that the worst is finally about to happen

³⁾ having a nightmare so fitful about the events that’ve led them here that their protector runs to their side

⁴⁾ “nothing’s able to hurt you here.” “yeah. i’ve been hearing that a lot lately.”

⁵⁾ “i know you’re supposed to keep a close eye on me, but i think this is a little extreme.”

⁶⁾ growing faint from having been too anxious to eat for long stretches of time

⁷⁾ “so, how badly did you piss off your boss to get landed with this assignment?”

⁸⁾ trying to sweet-talk their protector(s) to allow them to leave the house, if only for a few minutes’ escape from their reality

⁹⁾ playing the same comfort movies and songs on repeat, to the point where everyone else becomes familiar with them

¹⁰⁾ “i’m here to protect you, asshole- stop making my life so goddamn difficult!”

¹¹⁾ becoming increasingly comfortable around their protector(s), to the point that they don’t realise it when lines start getting crossed

¹²⁾ sharing a bed out of necessity

¹³⁾ alternatively, sharing clothes out of necessity

¹⁴⁾ “when i came here, all i could think about was the day i’d get to leave - but lately, i’ve been avoiding thinking about it.”

¹⁵⁾ self-defence lessons borne out of boredom

#i would eat this trope/setting/brainrot three times a day 24/7 for the rest of my life if i could you don’t understANDDDDDDDDD #safehouse prompts #safe house prompts #otp prompts #forced proximity prompts #forced proximity #prompts #prompt list #writing prompts #writing exercise #rp meme #dialogue prompts #imagine your otp #angst prompts

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saltburnedme · 1 year ago

Text

Catch Me If You Can

My requests are open! Message/comment to be added to the tag list!

Paring: Oliver Quick x Fem!Reader

Word count: 3533

Summary: Living at Saltburn you’d had repeated nightmares about getting lost in the labyrinth. What happens when your nightmare becomes true?

Warnings: SMUT (ONLY READ IF YOU ARE 18+) unprotected sex, choking, stalking? Kind of?, being drunk/drugged, being chased/threatened with a weapon, dub con, generally fucked up smut overall, lots of mentions of blood, pray/predator vibes

You stumbled through the darkness down each twist and turn of the labyrinth, the blood rushing through your veins, that’s when you hear it. The crunch of gravel under a foot that wasn’t your own and in that moment, you knew you weren’t alone.

That’s how the nightmare always starts. You’d gotten lost in the labyrinth at Saltburn enough throughout your childhood to know never to go in there without telling someone where you were. You’d had the same repetitive nightmare for years; you’d go in and never come out. You didn’t know why this stuck with you as much as it did, but it did, nevertheless. Because of this you made it your mission to memorise every step, you knew exactly which way led to the middle, exit and every dead end, you’d walk the maze every day just to make sure that you’d never be caught out.

You’d walked it alone for years, that was until this summer. Felix had brought a friend back; you hadn’t thought much of him until he asked to walk the maze with you. It had taken a few adventures to warm up to him as he wasn’t exactly the most outgoing of men you’d ever experienced in your life, but he seemed well meaning and it was a nice change from constantly walking alone. You weren’t sure why, but for some reason he wanted to learn the labyrinth as much as you did.

You’d never accuse him of it, but it sometimes felt as if he was planning for something more. You had watched his confidence change over time as you spent your afternoons wandering with him. You told him about your nightmare in detail, he was kind and understanding, trying to reassure you that nothing like that could ever happen. Over the time in your presence, he’d gone from a quiet boy to a confident man, almost domineering you when alone but reverting into his old self as soon as you were around others. You had so many questions, you thought that he’d been holding back, and you wanted to see just how far he’d go if he really had you alone although you were certain you’d never say it or so you thought.

The summer sun beat down on the garden and the whole family had been drinking heavily consistently since noon. You’d been in and out of the lake all day, swimming for a while and then lying on the grass soaking up the sun. Members of the party came and went as they pleased until before you knew it, day turned to night. Throwing on a long white sun dress, you lay there until you were the last one left on the grass taking in the stars as you lay there giggling to yourself through a drunken haze. You’d been so taken by the events of the day that you hadn’t even realised until now that you’d missed your daily trip around the labyrinth. You knew it wasn’t a good idea, you hadn’t told anyone where you were going and although you weren’t the drunkest, you’d ever been in your life you certainly weren’t sober. This wasn’t enough to deter you though, you were determined.

Standing on shaky legs you made your way to the labyrinth with a little skip, although your nightmare was always at the forefront of your mind on any trip there right now you felt invincible. Your tipsy mind pushed any sense of danger to the background, right now all you felt was a fuzzy tingling throughout your body and an excitement for a late-night adventure. You made it to the entrance of the maze before you knew it, staring down the first path as you contemplated whether or not this was something you really should be doing. Within a split second you had decided, you were going in. You were certain, this was until something out of the corner of your vision caught your eye.

‘I wouldn’t go in there if I were you’ he says, leaning against the entrance of the maze. ‘Anything could happen in the dark’ he continues, his face lit only by the cigarette he had pressed to his lips, a wine bottle in his other hand.

‘Fuck, Oliver. What are you doing out here? I thought everyone had gone to bed?’ You asked, your heart racing in your chest. It was just Oliver; you knew you were safe with him you thought to yourself.

‘Couldn’t sleep, not knowing you were out here alone’ he says continuously smoking and seeming to be avoiding eye contact with you, staring at the ground in front of him. Something was different, you knew he was at least a little drunk too so maybe that was it, but something felt off.

‘So, you came looking for me?.. in the dark’ you reply, waiting for any kind of response but receiving none. You could feel the alcohol running through your veins, you knew that if you were sober this would have been enough to scare you and although you’d never admit it you were terrified and you thought you might even like it. ‘Well, if you don’t think I should go in there alone you could always come with me?’ You proposition, growing more giggly twirling your hair around your fingers. That drew his attention, still no eye contact but you could feel him watching you, watching the way your fingers moved together and how your dress fell against your curves as you shifted unable to stand still.

‘I don’t think that’s a good idea sweetheart’ he says, taking the last few drags on his cigarette, flicking the butt off into the nearby grass. You feel a surge of confidence as you move closer to him, your body almost touching his as you lean in almost speaking in a whisper. Taking the bottle from his hand you take a large gulp, the red wine trickling down your chin staining the fabric of your white dress appearing almost like blood.

‘I think it’s a great idea’ you start, your face so close to his now that your eyelashes almost graze his cheek, pushing the bottle into his chest in a drunken attempt to give it back. You’d found him attractive for a while, he’d grown on you over the last few weeks, and you finally felt like it was happening, this was your chance. ‘I think you should come into the maze with me’ you giggle. ‘And who knows, maybe if you find me you can fuck me’ you say, that caught his attention. His blue eyes reflecting in the moonlight as his gaze meets yours, he almost looked angry.

This is not what he wanted, Oliver thought to himself, he didn’t want you, not like this anyway. He knew it was sick to think it, but he didn’t want you to give yourself to him, he wanted to take you for himself. As you flirted and giggled, he felt the heat rise in his chest, his heartbeat against his rib cage as his aggression soared. He thought of you as a pure little thing, he would have even said untouched if he hadn’t have heard stories from the others, but you seemed pure to him, nevertheless. He loved the thought of you helpless underneath him, for him to be both the villain and the saviour in your eyes. But hearing you speak like this ruined everything, you’d never spoken to him like this before, he didn’t want to hear you beg him to fuck you, he wanted you to beg him to stop. He’d come out here with a plan, he wanted to take you into the maze and rob you of any shred of virginity that you had left, but now with the way you were talking you were just a whore in his eyes. A slut that was unworthy of him. So, he stood there before you wordless, gazing down upon you in anger as his ocean blue eyes turned black, you stood looking up towards him as much as you could in your drunken state. You thought he seemed angry, but you were so drunk at this point that you wouldn’t have been able to tell either way, the alcohol from Oliver’s wine bottle hitting you way harder than you anticipated.

‘Maybe I can fuck you?’ He finally repeats back to you. ‘Maybe you’ll let me fuck you?’ He sneers as he stands straight, almost pushing you over as he moves closer, his chest pressed to yours. ‘Because that’s such a prize’ he continues, practically laughing in your face, if you thought he was flirting before you could now see, even as drunk as you were, that he was very much not happy. ‘Well then pretty thing, I think you should start running. Can’t catch you if you aren’t running now, can I?’ He says, so he does want you? You question to yourself. One moment he’s almost refusing you and the next he wants you? At this point you felt almost as much confusion as you felt fear. That was until he does it, he pushes you into the labyrinth making you stumble as he does, losing your balance ending up lying face down in the gravel as you turn back from your position on the floor to see him. With the moonlight shining from behind him he looked much taller and more menacing, the kind boy you knew was gone, replaced by only the silhouette of the body he once inhabited.

‘Go on then, run’ he almost growls out as your heart rate increases, you want to let out a scream, but nothing comes. Stumbling to your feet you immediately start running. Turning around to try and see if you could outrun him, you see him still standing at the entrance, then you hear it, the familiar sound of smashing glass. He’d broken the bottle against the statue that’s placed at each entrance of the maze, now only holding the broken neck of the bottle as he begins his pursuit towards you.

You run as fast as you can, rounding the corners of the maze in record speed. You knew the labyrinth well enough that you were certain you could get out before him, this is exactly why you’d been waking it all this time anyway. This was almost exactly like your nightmare you thought to yourself. When you first propositioned Oliver, this was not exactly what you’d imagined. You had pictured this going much differently, you’d giggle and run at an almost walking pace so not to make it too difficult to catch you. But this was wrong, he was wrong.

You didn’t know what exactly had changed within Oliver, but something was drastically off. The Oliver you knew would never have looked at you the way he did or spoken to you as he did. You were absolutely certain that your sweet predictable Oliver wouldn’t have smashed a bottle into a weapon and literally chased you down with it. While you may have practiced your escape from the maze many times, you now realise that you’d never practiced running it as you gasp for breath between each step of your quick moving feet.

Checking behind you Oliver is nowhere to be seen, your pace slowing as you think you may have lost him giving you some time to catch your breath. You stumble your way through the maze, you were sure you were about to get to the middle and make your way out but instead where the exit should be, a dead end. You were sure this couldn’t be right you weren’t lost, surely you couldn’t be. You begin to trace your steps back, finding the topiary equivalent of a crossroads. You see him but you're not sure he’s seen you, crossing in a slightly different direction heading towards the opposite side of the maze. Yet when you look another way, he appears to be walking towards you, and in another direction away from you. You swear you can almost feel him graze your shoulder as he passes you, his shoulder brushing past yours in different directions over and over again as you fall to the floor, crawling on your hands and knees as the hard gravel punctures the skin on your knees leaving behind a small trail of blood.

You knew there couldn’t be that many of him, tears streaming down your cheeks as you rub your eyes. Finally, re opening them you find yourself alone, was any of that real? Was he even in the maze at all? You question yourself, your sanity in its entirety. You can still taste the red wine on your lips, you thought it tasted off at the time but now you were sure, you were drugged or at the very least incredibly drunk.

Stumbling to your feet you use the hedge to the side of you to re gain your balance. Just like in your nightmare you hear the sound of gravel crunch behind you, turning your head you catch the glimmer of light reflecting from the broken wine bottle just as he swings for your neck, screaming and running immediately as you hear his pace quicken behind you. You’d completely lost the grip on where you were in the maze, you could be at the exit for all you knew, but in this moment you just ran straight. The hedges seemed to lengthen as you ran, this singular corridor appearing never ending as you sprint. Almost as if you were in a dream you seemed to run on one spot like you were practically on a treadmill, going nowhere fast. You could hear him behind you, you were sure of it, you tried to look but the tears falling from your eyes blurred your vision too much. Continuing to run forwards you feel as if you can see the light at the end of the metaphorical tunnel, you can see the statue in the centre of the labyrinth dead ahead of you, a feeling of relief flooding your senses as you head straight.

You’ve made it, you’re almost out you think to yourself. Just as you meet the edge of the hedge facing the centre he steps out, your form slamming into his unmoving body forcing you to stop running.

‘Found you’ he says with a smirk, smiling down menacingly at you as his tongue swipes over his bottom lip. You knew you were facing the statue but as he begins to back you into a corner you feel yourself walk backwards into something hard, your body slamming into solid stone. Pressed against the statue at the centre of the maze you look around confused. Where were you? Had you been in the middle this whole time? You were certain you were facing towards it but now the statue was pressed behind you. Regardless it was of little consequence, he had found you.

‘Do I get my prize now little dove?’ He asks you without really asking, not waiting for a reply he wraps his hand around your throat, the other hand still wrapped around the broken neck of the bottle as he uses it to slice the fabric straps of your dress free from your shoulders, your dress falling to the ground. His hand tightening on your throat he leans in to kiss you as you resist, biting him in response feeling blood trickle down both of your lips, the metallic taste swirling around your mouth.

‘You think fighting back will stop me?’ He questions, your resistance only seeming to fuel his desire for you as he grinds his length into your thigh. ‘You thought wrong, dove’ he continues.

Throwing the bottle neck to the floor you hear it smash against the gravel in the distance, that’s one obstacle out of the way you think as he spins you around, pressing your chest into the statue that now stood in front of you. With one hand still around your throat you hear the jingle of his belt unclasping. The swimwear you were wearing from earlier in the day still firmly held against your body for only a few more moments as you feel his strong hands rip the fabric in two, throwing it to the side as you feel his fingers glide through your folds.

‘Fuck little dove’ You were almost embarrassingly wet, you hadn’t realised it until now due to the fear, but maybe that’s exactly why you were as you were. His words coming out as almost a whisper only meant to be heard by himself. To Oliver it’s almost as if you weren’t real, your skin was so soft, your entrance was so wet and warm that he could have been convinced that this was another dream of his and he’d wake up with his hand fisting his cock for relief. But this was real, he could hear your breathing below him quicken as he pushes his fingers into you, curling them as your hands tighten on the marble in front of you.

You moan as he lets out obscenities behind you, sliding more fingers inside of your tight hole, his eyes transfixed on the way his digits glide in and out of you so easily. Eventually removing his fingers from you, his grip around your neck tightens as he pulls your back to become flush with his chest, his free hand coming to cup just below your chin.

‘Spit’ he demands, grabbing your face slightly as he waits for you to drool into his hand. You look towards his hand as you spit into his open palm, a mixture of clear liquid and blood coming out of your mouth as he quickly covers his length in it, coating himself and you in the mixture as he thrusts up into you without warning.

Although you were outside, the slapping, squelching sounds seem to echo off of the walls of the labyrinth. You can hear him groan in pleasure behind you, enjoying the feeling of choking you as he gazes down at the view of himself sinking into you over and over again. He loved seeing you like this, his hand around your throat and your pussy covered in a mixture of blood, cum and spit as he pulled you back once again. His mouth meeting yours in a hurried kiss, his tongue sliding into your mouth. Both of your breaths quickened you taste his blood from his split lip once more. As soon as the taste hits your tongue you feel yourself tighten around him, his free hand coming down to rub circles into your clit.

‘Cum for me little dove’ He demands as you moan, your head dropped back onto his shoulder. ‘Show me what a good girl you are’ He prompts as his fingers press harder into you, desperate to draw out your orgasm. ‘Fuck, that’s it sweet girl’ groaning into your ear as you ride out your climax around his cock, tightening on him as his pace picks up.

His movements becoming more erratic as he works towards his own peak, your body limp in his grip as he fucks you, exhausted from your own climax and over stimulated as he thrusts into you. Your moans must have been loud enough to be heard outside of the labyrinth you were sure, and now as you feel him throb inside of you, you were certain people must have heard him too. Without warning he spills inside of you, his cum painting your walls white as he bites down on your shoulder hard enough to draw blood as he climaxes.

Both breathing heavily he pulls your head back by your hair for one last lust filled kiss. His touch almost tender as he removes himself from you. You hear him fastening his belt as you hold onto the statue in front of you for balance, all of your clothing ripped and discarded on the floor you feel him place his jacket onto your shoulders.

‘You scared me’ you say with a slightly fearful smile, the evidence of your enjoyment in your voice as you speak out for the first time since entering the maze, your tone coming out rasp. ‘Maybe we should do it again some time’ you giggle as you move your ass back against him, eliciting no response other than the sound of his continued breathing. ‘Don’t you think so Oliver?’ You ask, hoping with all of your heart that finally after all of this your soft kind man would return to you but receiving no reply.

‘Oliver?’ You question into the darkness as you turn, your eyes searching for him despite having felt his touch on you only moments ago. But he was nowhere to be seen, the only trace of him being his jacket on your shoulders, his blood on your lips and the trickle of his cum now working its way down your thigh. ‘Oliver?’ You speak out quieter. He was gone and you knew it. Gathering your things you made your way back towards the house, was any of it real?

Message to be added to the tag list! : @lillypink @ilovesaltburn @simplymakkari @hahahafucku @rorysgirll @jubileexoxo @grandpaintersuit @anniemay67 @idontevenknow1359 @frayafriggafrey @rpgdoll @veevsterz @samosas0900 @vivalafae

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bamsara · 1 year ago

Note

what are your most favorite tropes? :3c

IM SO GLAD YOU ASKED:

Near death experiences

Emotional revelations due to said near death experiences

Enemies to Friends to Lovers

Mutual Pining but they believe its unrequieted

"you're my worst enemy but you're so important to me"

Drunk chapter where at least One fist fight happens

Bridal carry after someone gets injured

Slow Burn...of course

"i got you this gift because it benefits me and im not telling you how" (the benefit is seeing the other person enjoy the gift)

Force Alliances or Temporary Truces

"I don't like killing but I'll do it for you"

"I prefer to kill my problems but I won't, for you."

Or: "This person has no idea how many people I've killed in order to protect or provide for them and I'm going to keep it that way."

Mean or Villian Character is actaully a really good Sibling/Parent/Child,ect and has someone they care about

Or better, Villian character adopts child AND is a good parent

Everyone knows the pairing likes each other except for the pairing

Temporary (or non-temp)Amnesia

"I learn your favorite things because I plan to use them against you one day" (proceeds to not do that) (proceeds to get them food or items that persons likes just because they like them)

Breaking and Entering. Literally.

Person A is in love, Person B says they're not but they're 10x times worse actaully

Slip-of-the-tongue/Accidental confessions. Doesn't have to be love confessions but just "whoops i was not supposed to say that"

Biting as a love language

One is feral and bloodthirsty but is put in the position of 'protecting an idiot' because the other is also feral and has no self-preservation. Both characters must be badass, just equally stupid

Kiss on the head/cheek while the other person is sleeping

Bloodstained kiss

Heat-of-battle confession about something

Protagonist refusing to become villian or repeat villian mistakes, not in a 'owo i cant do that its bad' and more like 'fuck you you dont get to see what you wanted to make of me'

Signifier of 'this is my friend/family/lover'. Could anything between a ring, a jacket over someone's shoudlers or scent marking, anything

"if im immortal, then you gotta be too or we both dyin"

Knight x Their Charge

Human x Non-Human

Sunshine x Grump

Character that looks sooooo cute. Oh he's a little fucked up actaully

"ahhaha he's such a freak haha. i need him carnally."

They are mortal enemies. They are also best friends.

Hostage / Rescued trope plus Hostage / Doesn't get to rescue because the hostage killed everyone already

Plot info that's missing that's vital to the story and it's revealed that One of the pairing or someone in the group knew the info the entire time

"I said mean things to you because I hate you, so why am I feeling guilty now"

There was only One Bed

Really competent and scary character is really GOOD at a harmless and charming small hobby completely uncharacteristic to their public persona

Nightmares. And then sleeping in the same bed because of nightmares

Cultural differences / Language Barrier

Character gets so surprised flustered they trip over something or break something and it topples and it starts a chain reaction like a cartoon

There are more but these are some of which I can remember off the top of my head. I've written many of these myself in several of my stories and will continue to do so until the end of time, esp my faves

#writings #writing list #trope list #sara shush

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mrs-elsie-barnes · 2 months ago

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In The Middle of the Night | Bucky Barnes x Female!Reader | Drabble 1k

Bucky takes a chance on staying the night at your apartment for the first time. But he wakes with the smell of blood in his nose and a feeling that everything has gone wrong.

Warnings: Nightmare, Bucky has PTSD, descriptions of blood, angst with a fluffy happy ending.

A/N: Maybe I woke up in the night convinced I was having a period so bad it rivals something from a horror movie. And naturally I wrote this to help me go back to sleep.

Dividers by @firefly-graphics and @saradika-graphics

Masterlist | Bucky Barnes

Hydra had come.

Bucky was half awake, his mind dragging itself back to consciousness with the sure knowledge that spending the night here at your apartment was a terrible idea. Hydra had been watching, they must have been, watching and waiting and now they had hurt you and he would be back in that chair within the hour. He had known it then, protested and put it off and he'd given in and now.

Now.

He could smell blood, it had an iron tang that always lingered in the back of his throat. This was your blood, he had smelt it once before when you had sliced your hand cutting pizza. He'd helped you clean and dress the wound. How could he forget anything about you?

But blood is blood, no matter if it was yours, and it finds its way into his nose and clings there. He could smell it even in his dreams and now, eyes closed but conscious, he can smell it in the room.

Bucky slid his left hand under his pillow, the right was still holding your close. If this was the end, if this was his final moments, he wanted to stretch it out for as long as possible.

You were still warm, so they were close, maybe he had time, maybe -

He sat up with a start, knife in hand and surveyed the room.

Empty, dark, light from between the curtains sliced the carpet it two, but there was no sign of anyone else.

Beside him you sprawled in the sheets, your back to him, but searching for the hand that had been clutched in your own. Movement. You're moving, your hand reaching for his and, not finding it, you roll forwards into your pillow and cuddle that instead.

If you're moving you can't be dead.

Bucky repeats it to himself. If she's moving she can't be dead.

But why is there still that smell. His dreams are vivid but this - it lingers.

He looked down at his hands, reluctant to give up the knife, and there it is smeared all over his right hand.

Your blood.

And his hands and his leg. God it's everywhere and he can't tell now what's real and what's the trick of the light, just a patch a shadow or a pool of blood?

Is this worse than Hydra? This feeling that he's hurt you? Which fear had he ranked at number one? And did it matter now that one of them had happened and he'd done the unthinkable?

Bucky moved backwards, quickly and quietly, he moved away, dropping the knife to the floor and sinking onto the hardwood, wrapping himself in his arms.

"Bucky -" your voice is sleep rough but sweet, shards of handmade toffee, grains of brown sugar at the bottom of his coffee cup, all that's good in his life and he had hurt you. "You okay, Buck?"

There's a rustle as you push back the sheets and then, "oh - shit."

Is that all you can say to the obvious pain he's caused, you're too good. Too good for him, too good for anyone really, who could compare to -

"Baby, why are you on the floor?" Now you're just confused, fully awake and moving in the room.

Your hands cup his cheeks and brush away tears he didn't even know he was shedding.

"Don't, please, I've hurt you, you're bleeding and I thought it was Hydra but it was me-"

"Oh," your laugh is just as wrinkled and sleepy as your voice, "you didn't hurt me Bucky, I - well I'm kinda embarrassed, haven't been caught out since school, but I got my period."

Bucky looks you over now, the flimsy night dress you'd worn to bed only just touches the tops of your thighs, it's white and the satin shines in the moonlight, but all he can see is the rose of blood on the hem, the sticky shimmer between your legs.

"My hands, I woke up and my hands were -"

"Remember how we fell asleep?" You coo and he nods shyly.

He does remember, he remembers kissing and sliding a leg between yours and then his hands and it had been so soft and slow. You'd fallen asleep tangled together.

Bucky's mind is racing but he knows one thing now with clarity, he needs to take care of you.

"Do you want me to run you a bath?" There's a frantic urgency to each movement that he makes, trying to stand and sliding on the floor instead.

You laugh again and kiss him, full and hard, on the mouth. It's easy and loving and there's no anger in it at all.

Because he hasn't hurt you.

"No, but thank you. I'm going to take a quick shower, get myself cleaned up and sorted. Then I'll change the sheets. Are you okay? I'm worried about you. Did you have a nightmare?"

Tears well again, he doesn't deserve this.

"You do."

"What?"

"You do deserve this, me, us and I deserve you. I love you, Bucky Barnes, every little bit of you, even the bits that you don't want me to see."

And you kiss his temple, your hands cupping his stubble rough cheeks.

"I love you too." He says with finality, "and I'll change the sheets for you, please go and get comfortable."

It doesn't take Bucky long to strip and change the bed. He soaks the bottom sheet in the sink the way his Ma showed him, and sets a cup of sweet tea and an iron tablet on the bedside table for after your shower.

Before he knows it he's spent his adrenaline on making you comfortable, his eye lids suddenly heavy as soon as you slip back in to bed.

The light clicks off but he doesn't remember doing it. He does remember wrapping his arms around you and tugging you close.

"I love you so much," he whispers into your hair, kissing the top of your head. He can feel your smile when you tip your chin up and kiss his jaw.

"I love you so much, too."

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starmocha · 6 days ago

Note

ok, imagine you have a nightmare about caleb exactly two months before his death. he happens to be staying with you, a day off just to say hi that turned into a sleepover. you find him at 3am, crawl into his bed, his lap, he's trying to soothe you, asking what happened but you're sobbing, playing a shaking hand over his chest just to feel his heart beating. he manages to calm you down, holding you close, letting you cry it out until he thought you were sleeping/ end part 1

ANON. EATING THIS UP. EATING THIS UP!!!!! nooo pls don’t ever apologize for that. I was so delighted to see the Caleb spam. They’re always welcome in my inbox :)))) Here. I wrote a little something, because I see Caleb and I’m weakened instantly 🥹 And if you haven’t already, pls check out my beloved @rose-tinted-kalopsia’s fic, baby, kiss it better. She wrote about Caleb comforting you after your nightmare. Literally in my top 5 fave LADS fics overall 💖💖💖💖💖

but stay with me

It was the most horrible sound you had ever heard. So godawful, it woke you up from that nightmare.

Still shaken, your fragile heart was racing, pumping erratically against your chest, your own breathing was just as irregular. The heavy panting was mixed with the choked back sobs, your emotions in complete turmoil as you tried to convinced yourself that everything you had just witnessed was not real. It was just a nightmare.

It took you a few extra minutes before it finally clicked in your head that your face was wet with tears. You wiped at your eyes furiously with the side of your arm, but it seemed to have only encouraged more tears to fall, your chest tightening with each painful breath taken.

It was a nightmare. Just a nightmare.

You repeated the mantra, a vain, pitiful attempt to calm yourself.

It was not real. It was just a nightmare.

Except, it wasn’t the boogeyman that scared you. It wasn’t the social anxiety of standing before a large crowd giving a speech while naked. It wasn’t even something like your dolls coming to life to murder you.

Those were all irrational figments of your imagination, concepts so exaggerated they had no place in reality.

But this.

It could very well happen. The world was scary enough to allow this to happen.

You closed your eyes.

You watched him turned his back on you, his hand on the door handle. He opened the door, entering without you, the door closing in your face. Just as you reached for the very same handle he had touched, there was an explosion that knocked you back, leaving you crumbled on the floor staring in confused abject horror as your grandmother’s house went up in flames, destroyed within a blink of an eye for seemingly no goddamn reason.

In just a few seconds, he was ripped out of your life.

In just a few seconds, he was stolen from you.

In just a few seconds, the boy who had promised to always be by your side was gone.

Caleb…Caleb…!

“Caleb!” you screamed out his name, no longer sure whether you were still within that nightmare or if you were awake, suffering from the lingering horrors you had witnessed, the cruel image now ingrained deeply in your mind like a stubborn weed you couldn’t kill, its roots strong and hardy going far deeper into the soil than you could ever reach.

Get out of your head, you scolded yourself firmly. Caleb is alive. He’s asleep in the living room.

It was such a nice day. Caleb had arrived in Linkon for a surprise visit from Skyhaven, managing to find time to slip away from the Deepspace Aviation Administration to see his favorite person in the world and celebrate her recent achievements at the Hunters Association. You both spent the day catching up, reminiscing as you both bumbled your way throughout the city, going from store to store, taking countless pictures to preserve the memory of the day, and laughed until your sides hurt and your cheeks sore from all of the smiles exchanged.

When you came home, Caleb made all of his signature dishes, spoiling you even when he was a guest in your home. It was just a habit he couldn’t break, one that he also showed no particular interest in rectifying. Like a summer breeze, Caleb brought warmth into your home, into your life. When Caleb was here, the world seemed just a bit gentler, a little safer, and you found your guard lowering, letting yourself drown in his familiar warmth.

Caleb was the very feeling of home, and he would always be home to you, encompassing all of the warm memories borne from the innocent years of growing up together.

You tried to steady your breathing once more. There was a hollowness in your eyes, your mind settling but still restless.

You wondered how such a perfect day gave way to the most horrific dream of your life.

Like a zombie, you left your bed, moving sluggishly down the halls to the living room with no clear thought in your head. You approached the couch, peering down at the figure asleep, curled up on that small sofa that could barely contain his large stature.

You stood next to the couch, staring down, breathing a little shaky again now that you are looking at him. He was there, asleep, where he should be.

You could see him clearly with your own eyes, but there was still a seed of doubt planted in your mind, a nagging voice trying to manipulate you, spreading lies in your head that he was just a figment of your imagination, that you were just in another layer of a dream.

You reached out, the pads of your fingers skimmed over his cheek, barely making contact, but perhaps there was still just enough of an electrifying touch to rouse Caleb from his deep slumber.

He stirred.

You quickly pulled your hand back, your breathing worsening. Before you could turn and retreat, Caleb called out to you in the darkness, his voice raspier than normal, still caught somewhere between dreaming and consciousness.

“Pipsqueak? What’s the matt—”

The words died at his lips, his perfect vision noticing instantly even in the darkness your puffy, red eyes. He immediately shoved the cover to the side, rushing to his feet as he gripped your arms, bent down to your height to thoroughly examine you.

“What’s wrong? What happened? Are you hurt somewhere? Do you feel unwell?”

You sniffled, unable to answer the barrage of questions being hurled at you. When you try to speak, the fragments of your nightmare resurfaced, forming that awful image in your mind again. Unable to say anything, you threw your arms around his waist, the suddenness surprised Caleb into losing his balance and you both fell back onto the couch with you on top of him. Instinctively, Caleb’s arms wrapped around you, the familiar warmth of him was already easing your anxiety, but it still didn’t feel like it was enough. You wanted more, needed more.

Needed him. Just so.

Your face pressed into his chest, his heart beating softly and you started to breathe easier again. His body heat spread to you, his gentle voice calling out once more.

“What’s wrong?” His fingers were under your chin, slowly lifting your head up so your eyes could meet. He sighed, disheartened, upon seeing just how red and swollen your eyes were. “What could have made the fearless Miss Hunter here so terrified that she cried until her eyes were so red and puffy?”

You recognized the faint teasing lilt in his voice, the same one he had used since childhood as a way to console you, to brighten your mood, and coax out whatever secrets you were keeping from him. It always worked, and you would confess to him about your fears, reveal the bullies who were tormenting you, or any worries that filled your little head, and Caleb would always come to the rescue and make the world right again.

This time, though, you did not want to tell him.

You quietly lowered your eyes, missing the instant hurt on Caleb’s face when you refused to speak to him.

An awkward silence started to creep into the room, but neither one of you spoke. You continued to withhold this nightmare from him, afraid that if you voice it out loud, something would get set in motion and what was once just a horrific dream would become an irreversible reality.

Caleb himself felt a little lost and suddenly helpless, a role he was unfamiliar with. He was always your protector, your confidant, and your companion, so to see you so terrified to the point that you couldn’t even speak to him made him question his own worth. He closed his eyes briefly, and exhaled, deciding that this silence had gone on long enough.

Easily, he scooped you into his arms, ignoring your surprised cries as he stood up and carried you back to your bed.

“Ca-Caleb?”

“It’s late,” he murmured, not looking down at you, “Let’s get you back into bed.”

You huffed and lightly beat at his chest with one small fist. “Caleb, I’m not a kid anymore,” you said, muttering softly, “You shouldn’t speak to me like that.”

You were lowered down into the soft mattress, and before Caleb could straighten, you grabbed at the front of his shirt, yanking him down until he fell on top of you in surprise.

“Pipsq—”

Your lips pressed to his, and Caleb was stunned into silence, his eyes widened in surprise. A million thoughts seemed to race through Caleb’s mind, and not one of them made sense or even tried to rationalize what was happening in this instance.

Your lips felt so warm and soft against his, and perhaps in a moment of weakness, he closed his eyes, returning the kiss, deepening it further, realizing that this was everything he had wanted for years. The line he had always wished to cross but hesitated was now gone. You were the first to cross to him, so how could he just refuse this moment? Refuse you?

Neither of you know how much time had passed, breaking apart only when you needed to breathe. Caleb’s hands were pressed into the mattress on either side of your head, his eyes locked with yours, both your cheeks flushed and your breathing labored.

“Caleb…you’re leaving soon…”

He looked confused, unsure of what was going through your head. You were behaving so abnormally tonight, so emotional and distressed, he was starting to go mad with worry, wanting to do anything to chase away the anxiety that was grappling you.

“Not for another three days,” he answered as calmly as he could, “I’m all yours until then, pipsqueak.”

“Will you be mine tonight?”

He stilled, his breathing stopping the moment he heard those words, wondering if maybe his hearing might have deceived him. It was a few seconds before he managed to find his voice, though as he spoke, it wasn’t even registering in his head that he was speaking to you, “What…did you say, pipsqueak?”

You looked up, blinking away the tears that still remained. You stared into his violet eyes, wishing to look into them forever. “I want you, Caleb…please…”

“You’re not thinking clearly,” he said, his voice wavering enough that he wondered who he was trying to convince: you…or him?

You shook your head vehemently. “No…I am. I am, I am, I am, I am…!”

Your hands cupped his face, your voice steadied and assured. “This is the most lucid I’ve ever been.” As you stared into his questioning eyes, your heart dropped suddenly. There was an acute shift in your expression, reflecting your sudden mood change, and to others, it was subtle enough that no one would notice, but with Caleb, he was always aware of everything about you. He saw the shift, that flicker of fear in your eyes before you had blinked them away. Quietly, you asked, afraid of his answer, afraid of whatever truth awaited you in the next few seconds, “Or…do you not want me?”

Caleb’s eyes widened in shock, his heart stirring at hearing the anxiousness in your feeble voice. One large hand slipped under your head and you were pressed forward closer to him, his lips crashing against yours in a heated kiss, the depths of his feelings like a tidal wave sweeping away everything in its path.

“Fuck no,” he groaned, the rasp in his voice more prevalent than normal. “I…I’ve always wanted you. I’ll always want you.”

“Re…really?”

“Really.”

“Really, really?”

“Really, really.”

His breathing stuttered, his eyes flickering from your own, a mix of fear and yearning in your gaze, to your lips, trembling and waiting. He swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing, before he leaned down closer, the warmth of his breath caressed against your lips as he spoke, “Are you sure?”

“I’m sure,” you answered.

“One last chanc—”

You kissed him, swallowing that last word. He instantly submitted to you, his kisses ravenous as if a dam had just been broken, and now there was nothing holding back his own feelings. As you kissed him, gasping in between, your hands fumbled against his clothes, tugging at his t-shirt. He let you guide him, the shirt slipping off and revealing his toned torso.

You didn’t have long to appreciate them before you realized his own hands were on the waistband of your shorts, giving an experimental tug down. He shifted his gaze to you, waiting, and you nodded. He smirked and made quick work of discarding your bottoms, his breathing growing heavier now that the only thing left were the light pink cotton panties you wore.

“Caleb…” your lips found his again, pulling him back to you. As you two kissed, his lips trailing all over, marking you up in ways you had never dreamed about before. You gasped, arching up into him when you felt his bulge brushing over your core, the thin fabric of his pajama bottoms not enough of a barrier between the two of you.

The way he was breathing so heavily, his pants making you more aroused than you could have ever realized. One large hand slipped under your shirt, easily covering your entire breast. You whined when that same callous hand circled your breast, his fingers finding your nipple to pinch and play with until it firmed under his touch. You fidgeted against him, whining softly at his teasing treatment.

“Are you always this sensitive?” he asked, gazing down in amusement at your flushed cheeks. He laughed softly when you lightly glared at him. His voice lowered, his mouth so close to your right ear that when he spoke, you could feel butterflies fluttering in your belly. “Or is it…only for me?”

He kissed your neck soundly, the warmth of his lips still lingered even when he pulled back, his smoldering violet eyes gazing down at you with such desires, you quickly forgotten your frustration with him. His hands skimmed down your body, resting on your hips, his thumbs rubbing against the waistband of your panties. There was still some hesitancy left in him, as if he was afraid that once he crossed this line with you, things would never be like before.

You guided his fingers, letting more of the fabric slip lower and lower, his breathing the only sound heard in the stillness of your bedroom. Once he had slipped the garment off, it seemed like everything moved much faster, the restraints that held both of you back gone in that instance as you both succumbed to the once dormant desires within both of you.

“Ah…Caleb…!” You gasped as he grabbed your thighs, spreading you more. His hardened member pressed against your slick folds, the tip slipping in and you moaned as you took him in slowly. Your thoughts raced as you realized that not only was this happening, but Caleb was much bigger than you could have anticipated. Your belly tightened, body tensing as more of his large length filled you.

He kept you spread, his body leaning forward, the barely-contained groans filling your ears. “So fucking tight,” he rasped, “Fuck, you feel so…so good…better than I could…could have…imagined…”

Your chest heaved, the feverish expression you wore betrayed your feelings, showing him that his words barely registered in your head as all you could do was focus on the feel of him filling you so gloriously. He hummed happily as he leaned down and kissed your lips, giving one final thrust to fill you, your startled gasp swallowed by him as he continued to ravage your lips as he let you get used to the feel of him buried deep inside you.

“Ah…Ca…Caleb…” you whimpered his name in between kisses, your hips rolling against his.

Understanding your need, Caleb slowly pulled out before he thrusted back in, your moans more heavenly than he could have ever thought, and now that he had a taste of the once forbidden fruit, he knew he could never give you up even if he wanted to. Once he was sure you were enjoying yourself, he found a pace that was pleasurable for the both of you, letting go of all the previous hesitancy and yielding completely to this moment of passion.

With every movement, every burning touch, you moaned his name, begging and pleading with him for more, to take you harder, make you his completely. You had said his name so many times before, in so many different tones and with so many moods accompanying them, but he had never heard his name uttered in such a sweet, lascivious way as this with that pretty voice of yours spilling such perverted words. He could get addicted to this, wanting to greedily covet all of these sweet sounds for himself.

His length reached deeply inside you, hitting that sweet spot that had you arching into him, clenching around him. He groaned into your neck, his voice hoarse with desires. “Whatever you want,” he murmured, his voice so soft and lazy, it was almost like you were getting intoxicated by him, “I will give you.”

“Ca…Caleb…”

“Hmm…” He kissed you again, long and slow, savoring your lips and this moment for as long as he could. “I will never stop spoiling you,” he whispered, nipping your bottom lip. His forehead pressed to yours, and another roll of his hips had you arching into him, arms wrapped around his neck as you buried your face into his shoulder, crying softly. He gripped your legs on either side of him, pulling you closer to him as he shushed you gently. “You’re so close, baby,” he continued in that same leisure tone, his own groans of pleasure mixed in between his words, “Are you going to cum for me soon?”

“Ye…yes…”

“Yes what?” He was teasing you again, wanting to rile you up. He kissed along your neck once more, his sinfully sweet voice coaxing you closer to the edge. “Tell me. Say it with that pretty voice of yours.”

“Cale…Caleb…”

He hummed again, waiting. He pressed a kiss along your shoulder, his movements quickening to meet your needs.

“Oh god, Caleb!” You gripped him tighter, feeling every deep, hard thrust. You whimpered as he gripped your chin, keep your face close to his.

“Eyes on me,” he commanded, a lecherous smirk on his handsome face. “I want to see what you look like cumming on my cock.”

Oh, fuck.

At those perverted words, the long building climax came crashing, your body pulsing with pleasure as you cried out his name with such ecstasy. The sight of you beneath him, shaking in pleasure, lost in a blissful state of euphoria stole his breath away as he chased after his own climax, driving into you over and over again with reckless abandon.

You whimpered, his forearms suddenly resting on either side of you, keeping you completely trapped beneath him as he continued to penetrate you so deeply with quickened movements. His intense kisses assaulted your lips before his hips stuttered and suddenly, he was emptying into you, filling you with ropes of his seed.

“F-fuck…” he panted, his weight heavy on you. For what seemed like several minutes, you both stayed like this, feeling the aftershocks of your climaxes still coursing through your spent bodies. You could feel Caleb’s lazy kisses trailing along your neck, his lips finding your temple. He spoke first, voice soft and gentle, “Are you alright?”

You nodded tiredly, and he smiled.

He pulled out of you, breathing shuddering as his eyes took in the erotic sight of his cum dripping lewdly from your cunt. He didn’t say anything, but this was having more of an arousing effect on him than he could have realized. He swallowed and quickly looked up, meeting your satiated gaze. His expression softened, pleased to see you were in a calmer state now compared to earlier.

He settled down in bed, pulling you into his embrace. You arm draped over his chest as you both basked in the afterglow. The silence that followed was more comfortable this time as both your breathing slowed in time together.

Your eyes drifted close while Caleb ran his fingers through your hair, a troubled expression passed his features suddenly, almost as if he was unsure whether or not he should ruin this mood with the question lingering in his mind.

He didn’t want things to just get swept away, to be forgotten just like that, especially not when he knew you were in such pain before, and he doubted you were completely fine now. Whether this was a good decision or not, Caleb needed to at least try and break through this new barrier you had put up tonight. So, he asked: “Do you want to tell me about your nightmare?”

You stayed completely still in his arms, not moving or reacting in any way. You could sense Caleb’s intense stare, but he was patient as he waited for you to answer his sudden question.

You could still hear the explosion, the crackling of flames left in its wake. The heat was so unbearable, scorching like the fires of Hell itself.

You burrowed into Caleb’s embrace, shaking your head silently as you held him just a bit tighter, the squeeze a gentle reminder that he was still here, still in your arms.

He was safe.

He was safe in your arms.

And he was warm and real and here and yours.

“Alright,” Caleb whispered, his lips pressed to the top of your head. “I’ll be here if you ever want to tell me.”

Your voice sounded so small and helpless, as if you were a child again chasing after him. “You’ll be here?”

He smiled. “Even if I am away, I will always find my way home to you,” he said, his resolve strong. “From Skyhaven or wherever else, I will always return to you no matter the distance.”

“Promise?”

“Promise,” he answered, not missing a beat. Still seeing the worried creases on your face, Caleb rubbed your cheek affectionately, asking with a tinge of teasing in his voice, “Have I ever broken a promise to you?”

And you smiled for the first time that night, because no, he never had.

And he never will.

#x — 💌#anonymous #love and deepspace #love and deepspace caleb #love and deepspace x reader #caleb x reader #love and deepspace fanfiction #lnds fanfics #lads scenarios #caleb smut #i said a little something but why is it 3.7k words 😔#i’m sorry i’m so pathetic for him 🥹#this will continue 🥹#i will get worse 🥹#title is lowkey monsta x's kiss or death #for no other reason than i heard shownu singing this verse as i was writing lol #also quickly edited 'cause i finished this at midnight while heavily caffeinated lol

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metranart · 8 months ago

Text

“You… you’re so fucking beautiful.” His voice sounded so close that your eyes flew open to find him crouching in front of you.

ft. Hawks centered, Hawks x reader, Slight! Bakugo x reader, Slight! Dabi x reader.

Hawks x UA Student! Reader (Part 4)

Warning tag: obsessed! Hawks, possessive! Hawks, naive! student reader, violation of trust, dubious consent, mating cycles, rut response, obsessive behavior, uncontrollable thirst for reader, manipulation, forced, thigh riding, hormonal minds out of control, sexual content, first time, cock riding, teenage fuck, Dabi's toxically interested in you, Bakugo bestie yet secretly inlove wit you, love confessions, cock-drunk, Hawks trying to be good but failing miserably, gaslighting, HEAVY plot, lots of smut.

You could feel his hand insistently yanking you towards him. He was about to lose control again but kept fighting back. The hero didn’t want to choke you on his cock, but you were taking your sweet time and that made him a dangerous, and highly impatient, lover.

“—Don’t make me shove it down your throat, kid.”

He half begged, half demanded in a breathy voice, subtly smearing the reddened tip against your close lips, eyes shutting tight while he refrained himself from slap you across the face with it. He could clearly see the uncertainty in your young face, surely you had already blown someone, but not an adult, not a full-grown cock, wide and meaty, curved just a little for your greatest pleasure. Hawks was frighteningly large and thick for an inexperienced teenager.

His head fell back as he bit his lip, hard, taking several deep breaths, as if trying to suck it up like a pro instead of letting his rut have a smashing win.

“Don’t be scared—” He pleaded. “Just-just… this will work…,” his hips thrusted, kneading his erection against the warm skin of your cheek, heavy balls kissing your lips at the suddenness of the motion. “Fuck—it hurts.”

Hawks was really making and effort to let you take the lead. Shutting your eyes for a moment, your mind went back to when you blew one of your classmates after a training session, both so excited that it was inevitable, he returned the favor a few days later, it was the first time someone eat you and it became your dirtiest little secret, then why, why was it taking you so much to open your mouth for Hawks.

“You… you’re so fucking beautiful.” His voice sounded so close that your eyes flew open to find him crouching in front of you.

His pupils blown wide as he stared into your eyes, warm breath fanning your face. He even smelled nice- like mint and honey... and so devastatingly handsome, it hurt.

You opened your mouth to apologize, but it was immediately covered by his lips. Ferocity was the trademark of this kiss, the blond bit, licked, sucked and ravaged your mouth like you’d never experienced before. Leaving you openly heaving.

The soft, endearing look on his face, gently screamed to you that the man facing you wasn’t the hero anymore.

“Mate.” Keigo branded you in a deep voice, inoffensively rubbing against you like a cat in heat, the kindness that dripped from his tone could have bring any woman to his knees, yet it only sent shivers down yours. “My, sweet elusive mate.”

“M-mate?” you repeated, swallowing the lump in your throat, due to the implications of the word.

“Say it.” His blown pupils shone dangerously like sharp obsidian, and he waited with bated breath.

“Mat—”

“No.” Hawks cut you off, “say my name,” his stare so firmly set on you, it scared you. “Keigo...” he shared calmly, yet didn’t look it, “My name is Takami Keigo.”

The revelation cracked your serenity… did Hawks just blown his secret identity?? What the fuck?! According to Aizawa sensei, that kind of information was extremely sensitive, only shared with close family, a few privileged friends and… and mates for life.

Fear contorted your features at the realization, this couldn’t be happening… how did your quirk twisted his mind so extremely? This was a nightmare, was the blowjob still an option, or—

“Don’t… please, please—… stop crying, I will take care of you…” You hadn’t even realized you were crying until he began to clean the tears with soft kisses, forehead pressing against yours to try to convince you. “I swear. I won't hurt you, you’ll be so, soooo precious to me, my wife—my mate!”

His lips trailed over your face, like sealing his promises against your skin… cheeks, jaw, forehead, eyelids, and even up your earlobes. Hawks scented you whole, you could hear his ragged breathing, loud and conflicted, almost animalistic.

And that was when you felt it, his feathers wrapping around your wrists and ankles like shackles clinging to your skin.

“Hawks—Hawks, please…” you sniffled the words, “… I can still blow you—”

The tips of his fingers prevented you from keep talking, and he only shook his head, standing up.

Dammit! The only thing you had blown was your chance to walk out of there with your virginity intact. You were so screwed, all options closing in front of your eyes, watching him in horror, slip out of his jacket along with his shirt, discarded on the floor next your hope.

“Take off your panties and shirt—” he indicated, cheeks blazing with heat, a few drops of sweat sliding down the side of his face and half-lidded eyes, panting like he was not getting enough oxygen into his lungs, “your bra too, I want to see your tits bouncing while I breed you—” instead of start stripping you sobbed, and he growled, knuckles white at how hard he was tightening his fists.

“—You can keep the skirt…” he conceded, as if he were being remarkably gracious by allowing it.

“You are a Pro Hero, you can´t—”

“MINE.” He growled lowly, crouching again, seizing you like a wild cat until you were against the wall, made you fall on your ass and then, in almost studied moves, straddled you over his wide thighs, knitting your legs at each side of his lap, sprawling you wide for him, your little fighting hands were no match for his strength and dexterity, every time you unplugged one of his hands away, the other replaced it, getting so close that it was impossible for you to see anything but him and once having you in the optimal position, held you there for a minute to admire you, mesmerizing you with his awfully sharp predatory gaze to distract you from his slippery hands ripping your panties away. It was only when you felt the cold air that you found your struggle again. “.... Knock it off already, kid...”

He sounded heartbreakingly conformist, as if he had given up trying to stop himself, as if he didn't care about your opinion on the matter, but you kept fighting, begging, sobbing.

"Hawks...you have-e to control your-yourself, don't give up...” you stuttered the words to the best of your ability, “I swear—I'm not going to tell anyone about this.”

The sardonic chuckle along with his head tilting to the side and his eyebrows rising incredulously to his hairline, almost made him look like the real victim in the situation.

“First you force me into an early rut—and now you blame it on me?!” The disbelieve in his tone was palpable, he looked almost offended, and you looked away, embarrassed by the reality you had chosen to forget.

“Look at me, kid.” He demanded, but you refused to acknowledge him, pushing him to grip your chin and force you to face him, even if you tightened your eyes, the tears slipped out, but he was beyond that. All his mercy and patience eaten away by his roaring instinct, cornered between his hormonal brain and his unconcluded rut, you OWED him.

He was done playing the wooing game, you had it coming, you had your chance to tame him, but you didn’t use it, now the outcome was far from being his fault, he just couldn’t care anymore, now he was hunting for sweet and fulfilling, release.

“Open your fucking eyes...”

He didn’t scream, he didn’t even raise his voice, even so, the firmness of it, commanding and inflexible, edged you to obey.

“Stop FUCKING fighting me.” His grip grew tighter on your chin when your lips pouted, yet his eyes seemed void of tolerance, “If you could just behave yourself like the fucking hero you are aiming to be...” he pinched your UA uniform skirt to emphasize his point, “this would be so much better for you—for the both of US,” he let go, once felt had your entire attention, “......—but you just have to be a little brat, don’t cha?” he snarled the words, gaze narrowing while trying to countervail his elaborated breathing.

His hard stare was too heavy on you, too charged with feelings you couldn’t deal with. Guilt, anger, frustration, lust, resentment.... shame, all mixed and ready to burst, in the less than fulfilling, angry sex you were cooking for yourself.

So, you strive to understand and listen to him, because actually, Hawks was right. You were aiming to be a hero, you had screwed thing up to this level, you needed to step up and behave accordingly. This blast of self-awareness driving you to finally speak.

“You´re right...” you squeaked out, raspy and weak, throat sour from crying. “...What-what do I have to—”

“Just stop fighting me.” Hawks cut you off, burdensomely. Didn’t seem touched or even proud of you taking on your responsibility, all he seemed was desperate and hungry for you to stop unlatching his hands off you. And you did, granting him a free pass to maneuver you at his liking.

“Good girl.” He hummed, less frustrated and without asking lifted your skirt up your thighs, “here we go,” leaning, planted a velvety kiss on your neck as your reward for behave, and without delay traced your cunt with his thumb, the sensation shook your core, making knots inside your tummy, driving a low whine from your throat while his thumb made itself at home over the bundle of nerves.

“Hawks—”

“Keigo.” He corrected, absentmindedly, “Takami Keigo—…. or love, baby, darling, sweetheart, mate… there’s a wide variety for you to choose…” he said, as if nothing wrong, as if his thumb weren’t keeping its steady pace on your clit. Driving you to the edge in demanding, circled motions, not too slow not too fast, he didn’t want to deal with overstimulation too soon in the race. The experienced Hero was aiming to make you slippery as possible for it not to hurt as much as it will.

But you weren't helping his self-control, how Keigo loved that you were like a broken songbird, stuttering a load of broken and unconcluded moans, without a doubt a clean slate, his little virgin, his to trash and soil to his liking. So, he grew confident enough to worm two long fingers inside your slit to aid his quest, bending them against your stomach found that spongey place inside every female that made her see stars, and without a single care, abused the spot until you were squirming and wailing under his masterful administration.

“You can do it, sweet one, c’mon.” He groaned, picking up the pace of his fingers, jabbing into that spot at an unholy speed. Fucked his carefulness not to drive you to the ugly side of overstimulation, he was losing it. You were HIS mate, you´ll need to learn how to please him. “It feels good.... like I promised baby, c’mon.” He was practically licking his lips in anticipation when you cried out, unable to stop yourself when your core tightened and you came, HARD—so fucking hard that you even squirted, for the first time ever, a long spurt of pleasure that washed all over his abdomen, shining his abs in your love juices.

“I´m so... so-sorry...” You heaved, totally out of breath and strength, feeling strangely exhausted, too ashamed to even look him in the eye. “I didn´t know—I have never....”

“I’ll bet.” Hawks said, smirking wildly, perverted pride marring his words.

The eager Hero was about to lose it, overly agitated over your little squirting fount, you basically ticked all the requirements in his dream woman, you were definitely his person, and that thought excited him to no end.

Keigo smeared his palm over his slick abdomen, and palmed his length, coating his stiff cock on your juices, pumped himself in long and lazy strokes, you couldn't see it thanks to your palms covering your face, but you had his utter and most committed admiration solely on you, he had decided it in that exact moment, no doubt about it in his mind... he was going to knock you up, and keep you for himself.

“You on birth control?” He called, right as he started to align with your entrance, bulling your narrow slit with the head of his cock.

“N-no,” you choked out, drawing a boisterous chuckle out of him.

“Goody, goody.” He sing-sang, shit eating grin almost cracking his face in two. “I wanna be a daddy,” said, slipping a finger inside of you, then adding a second to seize how stretched you were. “It´ll have to do.” He muttered under his breath and pinching your clit to draw you out of your sheepishness, locked his gaze with yours while outstandingly slow, began to split you open.

You jolted at the sudden invasion, eyes popping open from shock alone. “W-wait...... let me-let me think it through.... I-I don´t.....AHHHHHH—” you choked out a high-pitched scream at the feeling of your little cunt being slowly breached, it hurts! It hurt so bad that you desperately tried to push him out, but he was massively stronger than you, and had a solid grip to work with.

“Use your quirk to stop me....” he purred amused, resting both forearms in each side of your head against the wall, “—if you can, kid.”

Demurely, kept going, burying himself deeper, stretching you so wide that it felt like an entire forearm was stuffing you, you trashed and clawed at his chest, shoulders and neck to no avail, until without warning he sheathed completely in one swift roll of his hips, dragging a deaf cry out of you.

“That’s it~” he muttered too far gone into his own pleasure, you were so wet, preparing you first was more rewarding than he thought it´ll be, “Shit, fuck,” the winged hero held himself rooted deep inside you, heavy balls plush against your center, tears were falling freely now but it didn’t seem to faze him at all, “That’s it—dammit! That´s what I was fucking talking about.” You were vaguely aware of Hawks swearing like a prayer, doing the extra mile to stay very still for you to be able to accommodate around him. Panting heavily against your hair as you foolishly tried to wiggle away, only driving a low, pleasurable rumble from his broad chest.

“Oh, poor kid! that´s the best you can do, huh?” He almost sounded apologetic, edging in sarcastic but it didn’t stop him from leaning closer, you could feel a feather slice your bra, and you whimpered when one of his hands wrapped around your naked breast and squeezed.

“You have a good pair of tits on you, my little stutterer.” The Hero praised, and you felt overly violated.

No! you didn't want to keep going, you were afraid, and he wasn’t even gentle. You felt him twitch inside you, the tip of his cock against your cervix just waiting for his owner to give the command, and you tried one last, pitiful time.

“Ple-please.... Hawks, please-e, let me …... let-let me go-o.....” You begged between broken sobs.

“You stutter so prettily — it fucking breaks my heart to have to do THIS.”

COMING SOON PART 5....

⭕️ In this PATREON LINK you will find NSFW art of this story and more spicy MHA NSFW art and exclusive smut fanfiction (also JJK, Demon slayer, and Tokyo Revengers) .... Plus more fascinating rewards, check it out and if you got some extra bucks around, join our community. My eternal and vast gratitude for your support!!!

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ughdontbeboring · 19 days ago

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young newlywed games

Feyd Rautha x WoC Reader (can be read by anyone)

Giedi Prime’s young newlyweds and their Feyd approve games.

warnings: Feyd-let’s be honest the man is a menace. Public sex-ish. Almost murder.

note: thank you to all my babes for all the love and encouragement to get some of these wisp done 😅 especially to my Feyd girlies! and to @peggyao3 for being the best! Seriously your work and your encouragement keeps me wanting to push myself more. And we’re getting closer to those 2 other fics day by day babe! 😂 @austinbutlerslovers hope you babes enjoy 🤎

just so yal know this has been in my folders as a wip since early August 🙃🥲

If yall like it, love it or fucks with it please share and comment! I love talking to y’all about our mans.

I give no permission for my work to be used anywhere.

⚔️

it’s seemed like fate honestly so you don’t feel all that bad at the situation the young unmarried lord of house Moritani finds himself in. Not that being unmarried would matter to your husband.

He is slightly bent since he is taller then you just a bit. His eyes peering softly into yours asking for your permission as his hand points downward to the useless cloth you dropped -rushing away to find somewhere to continue your sulking even if it was petty and partly unfounded.

Your breathless from you rush across the fortress so your “you may” comes out a lot more inviting then maybe you initially intended it to. You were ok testing the waters a bit but you had no desire to risk true punishment for either of you.

Not when you couldn’t grantee the safety of the young kind man before. Who may be a little too kind for the dark cold walls of this fortress.

He nods with a pleasant smile as he starts to lean forward.

But the movement that happens at the end of large moonlit hand is swift. He doesn’t utter a single word but a gasp as you hear clear and promising the swoosh of a very familiar blade and growl as the metal is gently laid at the man’s neck.

You know the blade is too sharp to actually press against his neck he would draw blood too soon and if you know your husband if only for a short time you know he likes a little fear before blood is drawn.

Just something to whet his appetite before the main meal.

He likes to get his point across if anyone is unclear.

You don’t look at your husband though you can feel him burning a hole into the side of your face as there’s no need for him to look at the man before you, he doesn’t matter to Feyd, honestly couldn’t matter less to either of you, you think sadly. Not during this little stare down that’s left boiling over from this mornings bickering -more on your side then his- while you laid in your husband’s warm strong embrace.

“You may” you repeat while straightening your spine to convey more authority and not have your disappointed in the man who’s clearly afraid of your husband displayed so openly, he would just gloat.

Even if his sudden fear and immobility is completely justified and necessary for his survival, you were hoping for a little more from him.

Just enough to get you what you wanted without having to ask. You were better than that or so you’ve told yourself a million times since laying eyes on your future husband as he stood covered in blood on the area floor 4 months ago.

You weren’t supposed to be enjoying him let alone this. Especially not by the hands of a feared psychotic man. The man that plagues everyone’s nightmares even your parents. What would they think if they could see you now?

But none of that matters now, not when desire pools hot as this plants sun low in your core threatening to drip down your legs any moment from the sight of the lethal and slightly unhinged man before you. Your husband the na-Baron Feyd Rautha Harkonnen.

Feyd says nothing but pushes the knife up just a bit so the young lord is standing at his full height, the fear of the blade or Feyd your not sure maybe both causing him to stretch his neck as much as possible trying to create as some space.

Space you know Feyd will not afford him. The simple act of him trying to pull away would cause Feyd to react and the knife would most likely end up in his neck anyway.

You sigh in defeat when you see the man is clearly too scared to do anything.

“You may leave” You relent with an eyes roll.

Though he doesn’t move his eyes trained on the knife at his throat. His face is red and he’s starting to sweat.

Feyd turns the blade flat against his throat and pushes into his neck harshly causing a little blood to pearl along his skin in silent permission for the man to leave with his life.

Much to your displeasure he is quick to flee.

You are slightly irritated, but luckily your husband is too irritated with you also to be as smug as he would normally be. He loves to get you worked up. Loves to watch you react to him.

Like a child you stomp your foot and huff before you glance at him, rolling your eyes then heading in the opposite direction of him. You’ve had enough of his games today. You have yet to have anything you consider win under your belt.

“Do you think they desire your affection more then they fear me wife?” He asks his long legs keeping him smoothly on your heels, pride heavy in his raspy voice. Satisfaction pouring off of him in waves. Oh so now comes the smug bastard.

You smirk knowing your next words could end very badly but you want to take him down a notch he’s too high on his horse for you right now. To please with his ability to instill fear into others.

“Well na-Baron I know had I offered my tight wet cunt he’d gladly lay down his life just for a taste, like most men in this very hall would, and the same as all the other planets I’ve been too” you speak openly but in a normal conversational tone in the greats halls were your both passing those of noble houses and status in GP and servants of the fortress who accompany them.

You want your husband -though you know he’s aware, very little if anything gets past him- and everyone else to know that you do in fact know you effect you have on men. Even the men here who act as if they are unaffected by your beauty simply because it is not the standard here.

You and your husband know they lust for you secretly but only you know the true extent of their desire and how far they’d be willing to take it if only you gave them the impression you were interested from their open stares when your husband is no where in sight. They fill their greed of you openly when Feyd is safely on the other side of the fortress or in the arena or better yet on another planet for his duties, which you haven’t accompanied him with yet in the few times he’s had to leave you because it’s recommended you stay to keep helping your body get adjusted to the atmosphere here so you have a better chance at conceiving sooner.

You hear the growl before you feel yourself roughly pushed into the black wall, a gasp leaving you at the force and surprise. It wasn’t hard enough to truly hurt but enough to get your attention about how closely you were playing with fire.

Nothing stops in the busy hall but you know they’re curious and nervously watching as they try to act nonchalant.

“You can’t be talking about my cunt little wife” Feyd grits with barely controlled rage covering his handsome face that you know those passing can hear, he’s shaking, the thought alone of all the men who’d gladly die for a chance to have your sweet royal cunt.

Yes he knew this but he chose not to think about such things unless he hears or see something he doesn’t like. Something he would take a man’s life for thinking or saying. Like what just happened and what disgusting filth has left your pretty mouth about another ever having you.

No. He would remind you. Remind everyone. He always does.

You’re staring up at him breathlessly and your round eyes give away your excitement as he nudges a strong thigh between your legs.

His hand is quick to follow, as he hikes up your skirt, your bare leg coming into view in the hallway were anyone is too scared to actually watch directly, before his long rough finger tips meet your damp panties.

You roll your hips while letting a whimper escape as your cunt presses into his fingers more, suddenly desperate to feel him.

“Because this cunt” He emphasizes by rubbing while adding more pressure, digging into your clothed lips to get to that pearl he loves so much. Damn these panties you curse, you wanted to feel his bare skin on you. “Because this cunt is my cunt. And any man or woman who even thinks of this cunt will die in such a horribly creative way people will avoid you to try and spare their lives. I will wipe them, their family and any indication of them from the memory of this universe and the next. A whole family line gone because someone thought of my pretty tight little wet cunt” He rasps above you as you shake, you bite into your lip so hard so no one actually hears your moaning as you cum in your panties and all over his fingers. It was too easy how you fell apart for him.

His other hand is hold your jaw in a death grip so you don’t look away from his blue eyes. You don’t even remember when he had grabbed your face in the first place.

But your face burns bright red with embarrassment as you continue to chase the overwhelming feeling of your orgasm on his long thick fingers. Your body shakes pinned under his as wave after wave of your pleasure washes over you.

You try to turn your face to hide from just how much you love this but he doesn’t let you.

He tugs on your lips your puffy clit trapped within with just enough pressure to rip a yelp from you and people start to scurry away. Men with tight trousers, and women hot and soaked from the open display of ownership their desperate for the na-baron to show them. Such affection he’s never shown, not until you. They’re quick to be out of sight, all afraid to still be around when the na-Baron is done with you and what anger may still linger.

Giedi Prime nobles and foreigners trying to flee and not bask too much in the erotic tension that has sudden started to suffocate the hallway from the young na-Baron and na-Baronness.

Newlyweds unlike anything Giedi Prime has seen.

Feyd brings up his wet fingers, catching your attention, you’re even dripping down his hand. How you’ve managed that through your underwear you’re not sure but not surprised with the man hovering above you. He rubs it along your bottom lip, his eyes smoldering as he follow his fingers, it’s then when realized you had broken skin and your bottom lip was bleeding. You smell the metallic just under your nose mixed with your essence.

He’s swift when he moves in. Groaning with deep pleasure as he kisses you passionately without restraint, the taste of your wetness and your blood mixing over both of your tongues as you both fight for dominance. His body chases yours back into the wall and you feel his hard cock grind into your stomach.

You could cum again in this hallway just from the friction of his hot heavy cock against you.

You pull away from the delicious taste and his soft full lips, he makes a noise of protest as he moves back in and starts to suck on your neck.

You and Feyd have not always or mostly even seen eye to eye since your families married you and as much as you’ve avoided trying to feel anything for him the games have gotten hard to resist. He’s been hard to resist. You don’t know if you can call it love yet or ever but his desire and devotion to you is clear and been consistent since your wedding night.

Even so it still kills you to say this to him because you’ve never openly admitted how much you enjoyed being with Feyd all those times he’s made you cum crying on his cock, fingers and tongue. Even some toys. You’ve never been the one to initiate anything sexual between you two but you couldn’t stop yourself if you tried as you feel the words leap off your tongue in a hurry. Completely desperate and full of need. A need only he could tame. You think he has broken you for any other man.

“Husband” you plead in his ear as your fingers caress his head.

He grunts into your neck as he moves lower to your cleavage, his tongue licking over your exposed skin before trying to dip below the hem of your neckline.

“Husband, please take me to your bed chambers” you beg.

His motion stops and his head shooks up trying to gauge you. Piercing Blue eyes like the ocean of your home planet watch you in only a way he could. And when he see the desire and no trace of uncertainty he quickly picks up cradling you in his arms as you squeal and wrap your around his neck.

Maybe this life full of fear, death and games wrapped in the na-Baron arms and snug on his cock wouldn’t be so bad.

⚔️

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mayasaurusss · 26 days ago

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Hi! I have an idea, it would be nice if you could write it (if you want to). Something happened what made Isha and Jinx too nervous to go to sleep, and reader sings a lullaby to them to make them calm down

Lullaby for a pained heart Contains: heartbreak, pain and comfort, found family trope, fluff, bonus with Vi. How can Jinx sleep after what happened today?

"I am sorry about this..." Jinx looks at you with those big pink eyes of hers, fear barely concealed in the space of her throat. You reassure her to the best of your abilities, covering her under an old, thin blanket. Isha, who decided to sleep next to Jinx tonight, tries to snuggle next to her friend, searching for warmth, but finding only the cold body of the bluenette and an uncomfortable nothing on the other side.

"What for? You know I won't judge you" she just huffs in response, throwing the blanket over her shoulders and pushing her nose on the mattress. "I know but...it's still embarrassing" she can feel her pride slowly wither away, under fear's pressure. She closes her eyes briefly and suddenly, her world is filled by orange hues, smoke flowing in the skies, blood mixing with dust and a monster that so much resembled her father clawing at the corpses of fallen soldiers.

The world resumes its colours, blinding and nauseating her. Her body involuntarily jumps from its position, saliva and the contents of her dinner dangerously close to spilling from her mouth. "Hey, Jinx! Calm down!" you take her shoulders beneath your hands, her strength melted away; she's frail under your touch, shivering and sweating. Her heart is beating too fast, and to put her mind to rest, she crashes onto you, arms clinging tightly to your shoulders and hiding her face in the space between her chest and yours. If you had the time to make jokes, you'd tell her she looks like a scaredy cat. Jinx searches for warmth in your body, finding only cold clinging on your clothes. She quickly puts her ear to your heart, listening for its rhythm, repeating it in her head over and over again.

You let her rest, knowing that what she saw today is worse than anything you've ever gone through: in just a few hours, she learned that her father was alive, became a monster, found her long lost sister and almost witnessed the death of someone who was very close to her. That someone now, who had been left alone during this whole interaction of yours, was watching the two of you with barely hidden sadness, tears wettening her eyes, her mind instantly remembering that second where she made peace with what was about to happen, pointing the gun at that mass of hulking strength, ready to pull the trigger. Isha, as quietly as possible, starts to cry. A deaf sobbing, interrupted by sniffs and whimpers comes from her, alerting both you and Jinx. "Isha..." before she can say anything more, the kid slams into Jinx, crawling between the two of you. Her tears wet the base of the bluenette's neck, wailing freely her fears and sadness away. You let the both of them cry until no tears were left, only warmth and tenderness. "You went through a lot today" with your hand, you take the blanket and wrap it around you, this time joining them on the bed. "Let's just be here, okay?". Several minutes pass by, not one sound can be heard besides the one of your breathings and an occasional sniffle.

"When I was a kid, my mother would always sing a lullaby for me when I woke up from a nightmare" painted with watercolors, her mother took her in her arms, singing an old lullaby, her voice lost in the blank spots of the page. Jinx can never quite remember her mother, her face always lost beneath the mixing colours; only her voice and warmth were left behind.

"Can you... can you sing one for me?" she watches as you crane your neck down and smile at her, a smile that she only ever saw on her sister's lips and on a woman with blue hair, a long time ago. A smile that people reserved especially for her. You adjust your position on the bed, sinking inside the pillows. Jinx's head is placed above your chest, with Isha hugging your stomach, pushing herself between you and your lover. Truth to be told, you somewhat feel embarrassed to sing a lullaby to these two, but you could never resist them. You try to dig for a tune inside your mind, finally finding one you heard many years ago, when you were Isha's age.

Slowly you start to hum a lullaby, one without lyrics, one of those mothers make up on the spot, trying to put their children to sleep. At first, Jinx pouts, wanting to hear words coming from you. But as the notes ever so slowly change, her eyelids become heavier, the traces of smoke clear from her brain, leaving her empty and tired. Isha nuzzles in the crevice your and Jinx's body makes, burrowing herself in like a little mole. Her mind wonders briefly on how beautiful and safe this warmth feels, before falling fast asleep, already dreaming about what she and her best friends will do tomorrow. Jinx follows her shortly, with a comfortable silence filling her mind.

Bonus: Vi walks underneath Zaun's rain, black dye melting away and leaving pink behind. She takes a last blow from her cigarette, one Vander had given her years ago, as a little prize to be kept. It has an awful taste, lost under years of fitting snugly in a pocket in Vi's pants.

Even after running back with her sister and her new unlikely friend to the city, away from prying eyes, she couldn't feel safe. What if someone saw them? What if Ambessa would hunt them down? What would happen to Caitlyn? And what does Vi do, when her principles are shaken and the world changes faster than her mind can keep up with? She runs. She watched as her sister, her Powder looked at her with a knowing pain as she left the workshop. Years ago, she had watched her with those same eyes; but today, that pure desperation had been replaced with a veiled pain and something akin to wisdom. Powder, no, Jinx had seen things during those years they grew apart, and had become stronger than that kid who she left in the alley. Her little sister had grown.

But unlike her sister, she could never let herself give into comfort. Comfort was a trap, something that life gives you to let your guard down, before stabbing you in the back.

The rain now feels heavy on her head, each drop carrying the unmistakable smell of machinery and toxic smoke with it.

It's time to go back. With a sigh, Vi leaves her spot on the ground, walking back to Jinx's home. The room is slightly darker than it was when she left it, only lit by a handful of colorful lights hanging from the ceiling and the bed her sister sleeps in. She zeroes in on the mattress, flight or fight instincts already kicking in, before realizing the bed is occupied by three figures she knows. Walking as slowly and quietly as possible, Vi arrives at the foot of your bed, watching your sleeping figures. Your nest reminds her of how things used to be before everything went to shit.

She wishes she could let herself be vulnerable, to feel the love of a now distant home once again. She quickly glances around the room, watching every shadow, before assessing that everything is fine. No one is going to see, right? Vi drags an old chair from Jinx's desk, placing it at the foot of the bed before falling on top of it, wood scraping against wood. Her mind feels heavy, her heart tired and her limbs weak. She finally gives in, placing the top of her body on the bottom of the bed, where everyone's legs intertwine. As she falls asleep, Vi wants to believe that she can finally have a home, among these people.

Outside, Zaun's rain falls down.

#arcane x reader #arcane x you #jinx arcane x reader #jinx x reader #jinx x you #found family trope #fluff and romance #arcane fluff

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greg-montgomery · 10 months ago

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Mr. Scratch - Aaron Hotchner x GN!Reader

a little hurt/comfort inspired by ep. 10x21 - mr. scratch aaron's hallucination is you getting killed right in front of him. pre-relationship <3 words: 1.6k warnings: basically everything bad that happens in that episode: being drugged, hallucinations, blood, feeling paranoid

Aaron stayed unfazed by the sight of the gun pointed at him; his stare cold and unwavering.

“Oh, that was good. Oh, that was so good,” Peter whispered. “That was so impressive.”

His eyes almost sparkled with excitement as he went on, “The way you got into my head…It makes me want to know how I get into yours.”

A sound from right outside interrupted him and Aaron already knew where it was coming from. His team was there, you were there.

“You were right,” Peter said. “They did come calling for you.”

“They’ll kill you,” he threatened him with the same certainty he knew the sun would come up in the morning.

Peter’s next words though made his heart tremble with fear. “Are you sure about that?”

The dead silence in the house allowed him to focus on every little sound being made. His ears despite having been injured in the past could almost hear the door open. They could almost hear the sound of footsteps. He was certain, you were inside the house.

Peter had disappeared in the darkness and he could only pray you would get to him first. What if you weren’t fast enough? What if he drugged you too? What if-

A gunshot from the next room tore his heart in half.

He cursed himself for being unable to move, frozen in the same place as if he was stuck in the middle of a nightmare. Someone was being hurt and he was too weak to help; too slow to save them.

More gunshots followed, he thought he heard someone scream.

And then he heard you. “Hotch!”

Your voice was desperate, scared. But it meant you were alive, and that was more than enough to him.

“Here,” he said with every inch of power he had left in his body.

“Where?”

“Here,” he repeated. “In the study.”

First he saw the outline of your body, moving like a shadow towards him. Your eyes were wide with worry, like every time you saw him in danger. His sweet Y/N, who cared for him in a way he never knew he needed before.

“Where? Where is he?” he breathed as you knelt next to him.

“I shot him. He’s down,” you said.

Before he had the chance to feel relief, before he had the chance to look into your eyes for just a moment of comfort, a body hid the light behind you. He wasn’t dead.

“Y/N!” Aaron yelled, but the bullet had already left Peter’s gun.

You fell to the ground and your hand covering the wound in your neck did nothing to stop the blood from running.

“No,” he screamed with desperation. “No, no, no.”

Tears ran down his cheeks getting mixed with your blood that had been splashed on his face, but he was unable to move. He wanted to run to you, to take you in his arms, to steal you away, but he was stuck watching your terrified expression as you were bleeding to death.

“No,” he cried. “No, baby, not you. Help!” he screamed. “Somebody help!”

His body was shaking, but as if he was under a spell, he couldn’t even lift his arm. A feeling of helplessness took over his body that he had only experienced once before; the day he lost Haley.

“Not my Y/N,” he choked on his sobs.

“Now I know what scares you,” Peter said, towering over him.

The gun he pointed at Aaron turned towards your body again and you were met with a final shot.

“No!”

His eyes closed, his blood boiling with fury. “Son of a bitch. Son of a bitch.”

When he opened them again, he had to blink a few times before he realized that your body was gone. His head was dizzy and his vision was blurred, but he was certain of one thing: you were no longer lifeless, laying right in front of him.

“It’s okay. You can move now.”

He had been fooled, just like all of his victims before. Aaron knew what he had to do now, the fact that you were still alive giving him some clarity.

“I’m about to come through that front door.”

He was lying, but still Aaron accepted the knife Peter gave him and turned to the door. You were about to come in, and this time for real; he had to play along. This time he had a second chance. A second chance to save the person he loved that was so brutally taken away from him the first time.

“My gun,” he asked. “I need my gun.”

“Look. Here I come,” Peter said. “Kill me.”

Aaron reached out for his gun and pointed at the spot he had shown him. As soon as he saw the door open, he turned around and shot Peter as fast as he could.

“Hotch!” you ran to him. “We need a medic in here!” you asked.

“Take it,” he said, terrified, giving you his gun. He didn’t trust himself with it; not when it was you right in front of him. “Take it.”

You did as he said, placing your hand on his arm, trying to figure out a way to comfort him.

“He made me see things,” he cried. And then in a breath he said again, “He made me see things...”

“It’s over,” you said softly. “You’re okay. Look at me.”

Aaron met your gaze and you didn’t seem to think twice before reaching out to him and taking him into your arms. He couldn’t help but melt into your embrace.

“It’s okay,” you kept repeating to him, and it wasn’t the words you used, but the sound of your voice that calmed his shaking body down. “I’m here, I got you.”

“He’s gone,” Spencer informed you.

“He looks traumatized,” JJ said, staring at her boss. Peter had just been arrested but it didn’t seem to have calmed him down. His attention was completely devoted to you, as you held his hand and talked to him at the back of the ambulance.

“His hallucinations were probably traumatic,” Rossi said.

“He needs to talk about it,” Derek added.

“I’m sure he will. He has Y/N to talk to.”

Their attention turned back to you. You were holding a piece of cotton now, patting it softly over his wound. He kept insisting to the medics he was fine, but seemed fine with you touching him.

Your free hand was still holding his.

“I didn’t know they were…” JJ said before David interrupted her.

“This isn’t the time or the place for a conversation like this. Let’s just be grateful he’s letting someone in.”

“You’re right,” Morgan said.

You insisted on driving Aaron home and if he was honest with himself he had no issues with it, since he had also no intention of ever leaving you out of his sight again.

He was thankful Jack wasn’t home. The last thing he wanted was for his son to see him in that state.

Closing the door behind you, you made your way around his couch and sat next to him. You seemed almost awkward in your moves.

The fact that you were a soft spot for him was not a piece of information he had ever shared with you before. But after that night it would be ridiculous for either of you to pretend you were just a unit chief and his subordinate. Your dynamic had shifted.

“Thank you,” he said. “For driving me home.”

“I would never let you drive in that state.”

Any other day your sweet words would have made him smile, but Aaron didn’t have it in him at that moment. He was exhausted and scared.

“Aaron,” you said, reaching out for his hand. The sweet gesture and the use of his first name made his heart flutter. “You can talk to me…about what you saw.”

Flashes of your bleeding body appeared right in front of him. He was back in that house, frozen to the ground, hearing your desperate chokes as you bled away.

“Hotch? Aaron?”

It all vanished the next second, as he blinked to send them away.

“I saw your death.”

His words visibly shook you, and you slightly opened your mouth but without making a sound.

Aaron’s voice broke. “He shot you right in front of my eyes. You were bleeding to death and I couldn’t move.”

His breaths were getting shorter as he sobbed and you moved closer to him, placing your palm right over his heart. “I was too late again. I didn’t save you.”

“You did. You shot him, remember? You saved me,” you smiled sweetly. “You saved all of us. He drugged you and you still managed to shoot him.”

He couldn’t help but let all the tears out. “I’m scared I never woke up from it. I’m scared you’re not real.”

“I’m real. I’m right here, I promise.”

“Y/N…”

Your movements were careful as you lifted your hand to cup his cheek, and the comforting motion of your thumb rubbing the side of his head brought him back to reality. You were real, his inner voice repeated.

“I am terrified of losing you,” he admitted.

“You won’t.”

He tried to speak again but his sobs wouldn’t allow him to.

“It’s okay,” you said. “It’s okay.”

Your eyes were watery too, and he wanted nothing more than to kiss your tears away. But you put him back to his place, silently reminding him that he was the one who needed comfort this time, as you wiped his tears away with your hand. “I’m here.”

“Will you stay?”

“Do you think I would leave you here alone? I would stay even if you didn’t want me to,” you answered.

“I would never not want you here, Y/N.”

Aaron fell into your arms and you held him there with no intention of letting him go. “I know.”

#aaron hotchner x reader #hotch x reader #aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner x gn!reader #hotch #hotch 🪐

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cressidagrey · 6 months ago

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The Witching Hour - Chapter 3 - Feyre

Summary:

5 Times members of the Inner Circle get absolutely terrified by Azriel's...whatever she is, and 1 (of many) times Azriel thinks that his witch was the best thing that ever happened to him.

Warnings:

Seeing the future, mention of nightmares, implied ritual sacrifice?, mentioned stabbing, implied assassination, mention of psychological torture

(super pretty dividers by @cafekitsune)

Her sister's honeymoon phase after her mating ceremony seemed to have come to a...stop. Or maybe it had crashed and gone up in flames.

But then the tension between seemingly every member of their family seemed to be rampant. Nesta was pissed off at Cassian, Cassian at Azriel, Azriel at Rhys.

It was like watching a storm cloud roll in and darken the sky - the tension was thick and heavy, oppressive even.

Feyre had tried to talk to Rhys about it, but he dismissed her concerns with a vague response about "stubbornness" and "new bond adjustments."

But Feyre knew something was awry. Nesta and Cassian seemed to be avoiding each other like the plague, exchanging terse words whenever they had to interact.

Azriel was unusually quiet, his eyes scanning the room with a wariness that spoke of some deep-seated worry.

And Rhys...well, he was a mask of composure, his true feelings hidden beneath a veneer of politeness.

So Feyre had pulled out big weapons: taking her sister book shopping. Rhys had Nyx for the day... Elain was uninterested and had holed up to garden... visions were plaguing her again.

And so Feyre found herself leading Nesta through the winding streets of the city, determined to coax her sister out of her shell and get her to talk. But as they walked, Feyre noticed just how out-of-sorts Nesta seemed, her eyes distant and her step almost mechanical.

"Nesta," Feyre began tentatively, her voice breaking the silence between them. "Are you...okay?"

Nesta's eyes flicked to hers, and for a moment an expression of intense pain crossed her face. But just as quickly as it came, it was gone, and Nesta had schooled her features back into a stoic mask.

"I'm fine," she said, her voice cool and measured. "Just a bit tired, that's all."

Feyre saw right through the lie, but she knew pressing would only backfire. She didn't want to push Nesta into shutting her out even more. Instead, she tried a different tactic.

"You've been...different lately," Feyre said softly. "Quiet. Distant. And I know something's been going on with you. Cassian's been the same way."

Nesta stiffened at the mention of her mate, her jaw clenching.

"Cassian...Cassian is a fucking idiot," she bit out.

Feyre's eyes widened at Nesta's response. She had expected tension, but not outright anger. She had seen them fight before, often in a somewhat humorous way, but this...this was different. This anger was deep, steeped in pain.

"What happened?" Feyre asked, her voice gentle.

"What happened?" Nesta repeated, a bitter laugh escaping her lips. "What happened? Cassian - that fool of a male - happened. He's...he's impossible to deal with. Stubborn, arrogant, and so damn overprotective it's suffocating."

Feyre could only blink, startled by the venom in Nesta's words. "Overprotective? Isn't that a good thing? He cares about you, Nesta. Wants to keep you safe. That's his job."

"He's trying to protect me from Azriel!"

Feyre was taken aback by this admission. "Azriel? Why on earth...

She paused, her mind trying to process this new information. "What's he trying to protect you from?"

Nesta let out a frustrated huff, her eyes burning with emotion. "Azriel found a solution to my nightmares. Cassian doesn’t like it."

"Found a solution?" Feyre asked, her curiosity piqued."And Cassian didn't like it?"

Nesta let out a bitter bark of laughter. "He didn't just not like it, he downright hates it. And me for agreeing to it."

"And...what is this solution?" Feyre prodded, still trying to grasp the situation.

Nesta's expression hardened even more, her gaze turning cold. "A dreamcatcher spell," she gritted out.

Feyre felt a chill run down her spine. "A dreamcatcher spell?" she repeated.

"Yes, a damn dreamcatcher spell," Nesta hissed, her anger flaring again. "And Cassian refuses to understand that it's helping. He's too blinded by his stupid protective instincts to see that it's actually working."

"But..how is it helping?" Feyre asked, her mind swirling with questions.

Nesta's face softened, a hint of vulnerability showing through. "It's...quiet. It's peaceful. For the first time since the war, I'm not drowning in nightmares and reliving memories every time I close my eyes," she confessed.

Feyre's heart ached at her sister's words. She knew the anguish those nightmares caused, the terror and pain that they brought. To see Nesta finally find some relief from them..it was a miracle. But the divide between her sister and her mate...that was concerning.

"And Cassian...?" Feyre asked tentatively.

Nesta's face contorted into a scowl. "He's being a pigheaded fool, as usual," she grumbled. "He's convinced the spell is doing more harm than good, that it's somehow going to hurt me or control me."

"Did Azriel cast the spell?" Feyre wondered, brows furrowing.

"No," Nesta said, her voice dripping with annoyance, "Cate did it."

"Who's Cate?" Feyre asked, dumbstruck.

"Cate is...a friend of Azriel's," Nesta explained vaguely, her tone becoming guarded.

Feyre frowned, sensing there was more to the story. "A friend? Do I even know her?"

"I don't think you do," Nesta said evasively.

Feyre's suspicion grew. "Then how come you do?"

Nesta let out a heavy sigh, clearly reluctant to answer.

"Azriel brought me to her, for the spell. She's a witch. Cassian hates her for some reason. Apparently, she stabbed him once and he still holds a grudge," she added, her voice hard.

Feyre's eyes widened, her mind reeling at the thought of a witch powerful enough to piss off Cassian. And to know Azriel personally enough for him to take Nesta to her for a spell...

"And this witch...she was able to...?" Feyre trailed off, her question unfinished.

"To make the nightmares stop?" Nesta said, a hint of relief in her voice, "Yes. She did what everyone else failed to do. She gave me a bloody break."

Feyre felt a pang of guilt at that. She too had tried to help, but nothing had worked. And now, this mysterious witch had come in and done what all of Feyre's attempts had failed to do.

But why? She mused, her mind working at a frantic pace. Why would this witch help?

Feyre looked at her sister, taking in the less tense lines of her face, the less haunted look in her eyes. Whatever the reasons, this Cate had clearly helped. Helped in a way none of them could. And for that, Feyre was begrudgingly grateful.

"You don't..." Feyre began cautiously, treading lightly, "You don't think she's doing it for a price, do you?"

Nesta snorted. "I think the price is Azriel's presence in her bed," she said drily. "The two of them have an… arrangement."

Feyre's eyebrows shot up. She had expected many things, but this...this was not exactly among them.

"An arrangement..?" she repeated weakly.

Nesta gave her a sardonic look. "You know, the kind where two people agree to please each other without any strings attached?"

"I know what an arrangement is," Feyre muttered, feeling her cheeks heat up. It had been no difference then what she and Isaac had done.

It was just… "But...Azriel and a witch. Really?"

Nesta shrugged. "I don't know the details. Apparently, they have a history. All I know is that they have some kind of...open agreement."

Feyre's mind struggled to process this information. Azriel, her normally stoic and reserved friend, involved in a sexual relationship with a witch. And by the sounds of it, a witch that was both powerful and dangerous enough to scare Cassian.

"And…you're okay with this?" Feyre finally asked, her voice tinged with bemusement.

"Why wouldn't I be?" Nesta retorted, crossing her arms over her chest. “It’s none of my business who Azriel sleeps with They're both consenting adults. They're not hurting anyone. Why would I care?”

Feyre felt her cheeks redden a little more at her sister's bluntness.

"What about Elain?" Feyre wondered. "I thought her and Azriel..."

"You didn't warn him off?" Nesta asked surprised.

Feyre could just stare at her.

"I thought you or Rhys warned Azriel off her, because of Lucien," Nesta clarified.

"Wait," Feyre's mind was still playing catch-up. "You thought...we warned Azriel off dating Elain because of Lucien?"

Nesta rolled her eyes. "Well, yes. I mean, Lucien is her mate. And a High Lord’s Son. I thought you didn't want the political ramifications of that fallout."

Feyre had to bite back a scoff. She found it ironic - and mildly annoying - that her sister would assume she would do something like that.

"No, in case you were wondering," she said, trying to keep her irritation in check. "I did not warn Azriel off."

Nesta shrugged. "Elain…Elain probably needs to heal on her own before she even wants another male again anyway," Nesta said quietly. "Her visions are...rampant again."

Feyre's heart ached at the mention of Elain. She knew her sister had been struggling silently, suffering in ways Feyre could only imagine.

"That witch doesn't happen to have a solution for that either, doesn't she?" Feyre asked sarcastically.

"Feyre, you are a genius," Nesta breathed, grasping her arm and dragging her down the street, almost stumbling in shock.

"What? Where are we going?" Feyre asked, confusion lacing her tone.

"To see Cate," Nesta said, determination in her voice. "We are going to ask her if she can help Elain. Maybe she can... I don't know, do some other kind of spell."

Feyre couldn't help but feel a glimmer of hope. If this witch could help Nesta, then perhaps she could help Elain

"You're sure this Cate would be willing to help?" Feyre asked, her voice hesitant.

Nesta's eyes flashed with determination. "If she can help Elain...she better be willing. Come on."

Feyre swallowed her trepidation and allowed herself to be pulled along. Elain was suffering, just as Nesta had been. If there was even a chance this witch could help... well, they had to try.

They walked in silence, Nesta leading the way. Feyre felt a mix of anticipation and unease. This Cate was evidently powerful, but the little knowledge she had of her was unsettling. A witch who had stabbed Cassian… But the hope of helping Elain overshadowed her doubts. If this strange, mysterious witch could offer any assistance, she would gladly take it.

They finally reached their destination. Feyre's breath hitched as she took in the unassuming townhouse. It looked harmless enough, its windows shuttered, but Feyre could feel the power surrounding it, tingling against her skin, almost sentient.

Nesta didn't seem phased, marching up to the door and knocking firmly.

A moment of silence, followed by footsteps approaching the door. Feyre held her breath, bracing herself.

The door opened. A massive black jaguar stared at them, its golden eyes fixed upon them. It had apparently opened the door.

Feyre almost let out a scream, a startled gasp escaping her lips. Nesta, unfazed, spoke up, her voice firm. "We're here to see Cate." The jaguar's eyes narrowed slightly, as if assessing them. It tilted its head to the side, almost as if in question. And then, as if understanding their words, it let out a deep, rumbling purr.

And with a final glance at them, the jaguar turned, vanishing into the townhouse.

“Thank you, Bella!” Nesta called after it, getting a lazy swipe of its tail in response.

Feyre found herself staring after the vanished jaguar, her heart still racing from the shock.

Nesta, however, seemed perfectly calm, a small smirk playing on her lips. "That's Bella," she explained. "You'll get used to her...she likes playing with Azriel's shadows."

Feyre blinked, trying to wrap her mind around the fact that a jaguar was friendly with Azriel's shadows, of all things. Nesta walked into the townhouse and Feyre followed along.

It seemed empty. Obviously furnished expensively but…no traces of any fae…at least until they reached the living room.

Of all the things Feyre had expected...it was not a blood-splattered naked female sitting on the floor, a crystal ball before her.

Feyre froze in the doorway, her eyes wide with shock.

The female, her skin pale as snow, was clearly in some sort of trance, her long red hair cascading down her bare back. But what caught Feyre's attention was the blood smeared all over her body, stark against her ivory skin.

For one crazed moment, she was reminded of Amarantha.

For just one moment, she was utterly terrified.

But the red hair seemed to be the only similarity.

And Amarantha had been ugly compared to this woman... compared to cascading ruby red hair and skin as white as freshly fallen snow...against full, round breast, the dip of her waist and the swell of her hips...she was gorgeous.

Feyre's mind continued to whirl as she took in the image before her. The female's beauty was breathtaking, almost otherworldly, and yet the blood staining her skin somehow only served to enhance her appearance, adding a dark, almost feral undertone to her loveliness.

Feyre’s fingers itched to paint the scene before her…

Nesta stepped into the room, clearly not fazed by the scene. "Cate?" she called out.

And then suddenly magic sparked from the crystal ball and the female's gaze cleared, from near white to brilliant green. "Ah, Nesta and Feyre." Her voice was soft, melodic, and yet strangely commanding. "I've been waiting for you."

"You knew we were coming?" Feyre asked, finally finding her voice.

"Of course I knew," Cate replied, a sly smile playing on her lips. "I see many things."

Feyre's eyes flicked to the crystal ball in front of the female, a mixture of curiosity and unease in her gut. "You..see the future?" she asked. Was she a Seer like Elain?

Cate regarded her with a considering glance. "I see fragments. Possibilities. Many of them. How decisions impact them…and how it could be…" she said that with a near longing glance to her crystal ball, gently running a hand over it.

Feyre couldn't help but feel a tiny shiver run down her spine. The idea of fate in the hands of someone else...But this was not the reason they were here. She gathered her courage and spoke up. "We're here because..."

"You're here for Elain, aren't you?" Cate finished, her tone almost knowing.

"She's a seer like you," Nesta said but Cate hummed consideringly, making no move to cover herself...or wipe off the blood...wherever that had come from.

Only now Feyre realised that it was smeared over her, not just splattered. Like the symbols drawn on her body, covering her, meant something…Feyre just didn’t know what.

Feyre swallowed, trying to not let the naked female's lack of modesty distract her. "We were wondering if you could...help her."

"Help her how?" Cate asked, tilting her head.

"She's been having...visions," Feyre admitted, her voice strained. "Unpleasant visions. And they've been…..affecting her."

Cate regarded them with an appraising glance. "Affecting her, how?"

"Nightmares, mostly," Nesta answered, a sharp note entering her voice. "She's been…..not coping well."

Cate's expression didn't change. "Is that all?"

Nesta bristled and Feyre had to place a hand on her arm to restrain her.

"What do you mean, 'is that all'?" Feyre asked, attempting a more reasonable tone.

Cate just shrugged, her eyes flickering to the crystal ball again. "Nightmares are not an issue. I can make them go away with a mere flick of my wrist."

Feyre felt a rush of relief. That was more than she had expected. "You can?"

Cate fixed her gaze on Feyre once more, a hint of challenge in her face. "| can. But as a Seer myself, the nightmares are not the problem."

Feyre's heart sank. "Then what is?" she asked quietly, dreading the answer.

Cate let out a sigh. "It's her visions," she said bluntly. "Powerful, uncontrolled visions. The kind that comes without warning and at the most inconvenient times...." Cate looked at her, a hint of pity in her gaze. "Elaine's power is trying to break through. And my best guess is that she's subconsciously resisting, refusing to let it out. She's untrained. It's not surprising.”

It was the last thing she wanted to hear. Elain and Nesta had gone through enough. They had all gone through enough.

Didn’t they deserve something that was…

Finally, Feyre spoke up again, her voice small. "You said you could make the nightmares go away. Can you...do the same for the visions?" she asked, her voice pleading.

"No," Cate said evenly. Feyre's heart sank once more. "How would you like it if I amputated your sword hand without a reason? The visions aren't the problem. Her lack of training is."

Feyre couldn’t help but flinch at that metaphor. "So you're saying...there's nothing we can do?" Feyre asked shakingly. Elain was just supposed to live like this?!

Cate sighed again as if she had been expecting this."What I'm saying is, is that you can't give Elaine a potion and make the problem go away. It's not a disease, it's her power trying to express itself. And it will only persist until she learns how to control it,” she explained.

Power trying to express itself. Elain would have to learn to control it...but how?!

"How would she learn?" Feyre asked, desperation colouring her words.

"She needs a teacher," Cate said, her gaze flickering to the blood staining her skin. "Someone who can guide her."

For a moment, Feyre wanted to ask about the blood. But she pushed it aside, focusing on the more pressing matter.

"And who would be that teacher?"

"You have a few options," Cate responded, her tone nonchalant. "I can teach her. Or I can find someone else who can…that will probably take a year or two…there aren’t that many of us," Cate admitted drily.

Feyre's breath caught in her throat. This woman, the blood staining her skin, her blatant disregard for nudity... she was powerful and dangerous, that much was obvious.

But a year or two?! Elain should just live like this for another year or two?!

But then, for a female that was immortal and was probably…centuries old if not more, then what was a year or two? Nothing.

Was it wise to allow Elain to be taught by someone like her though? Somebody that Cassian clearly didn’t trust?

Azriel and she seemed to have some form of agreement, but Feyre was weakly wondering if…Azriel was kept safe from her wrath because he was warming her bed.

Feyre glanced over at Nesta, silently seeking her opinion.

Her sister's eyes were guarded but there was an undercurrent of trust in them.

"You..you would teach her?" Nesta said carefully.

"I could,” Cate agreed with a careless shrug. “But I highly doubt that your mate would allow that, High Lady."

Feyre's heart jumped in her chest, dread filling her at the mere mention of Rhys. "What do you mean?" she asked cautiously.

"Rhysand wouldn't want me anywhere near your sister," Cate said with a grin. "'I am quite sure he would rip my heart out of my chest for even suggesting this."

She swallowed.

Rhys was probably not gonna take the fact well that they had met her without telling him a word. But then he hadn't told her about the dangers of the pregnancy so feyre figured that he owed her one.

"How do you know Rhysand?" she demanded instead. Did Rhys also hate her just like Cassian seemed to?

"Your mate and I have had...past interactions," Cate said carefully, a hint of amusement in her voice. "Let's just say he doesn't approve of my methods, which are...a touch different from his."

Feyre felt a pang of curiosity, mixed with a hint of dread. Rhys was a male with many secrets, and here was this female, sitting there casually and talking about them.

"And what exactly are these…methods?" Feyre asked, her voice guarded

"Oh, you know, things like manipulating dreams, altering memories, and the occasional bit of psychological torture," Cate replied casually as if discussing the weather. Feyre's blood ran cold. Psychological torture?

"What do you mean, 'psychological torture'?" Feyre asked, her voice a mere whisper.

Cate just shrugged, her expression unbothered. "Oh, nothing much. Just making someone relive their worst nightmares over and over again, twisting someone's thoughts and desires until they're barely recognizable, playing with people's fears and insecurities..."

Feyre felt bile rise in her throat. Cate's words were so nonchalant as if she found discussing such acts normal. But it was horrifying, the thought of someone playing with their thoughts like that, twisting them like pieces of clay. Her mind immediately went to Rhys, as it always did.

Hadn't her mate been forced to do the same?

"I am also of the stab first, ask questions later, school of thought,” Cate tacked onto the end.

Nesta snorted. "Is that what happened to Cassian?"

Cate let out a laugh at the comment. "Pretty much, yes. Your mate has a tendency to barge into other people's territories uninvited. I merely reminded him that it's generally a bad idea," she said easily.

Feyre felt a small shiver run down her spine, realising how close to death her brother-in-law could have been. But there was also something nagging at her mind, some sort of confusion.

Rhys didn't trust this female, that much was obvious. But Cate seemed to know Rhys well, had clearly encountered him before...and she wasn't in the least bit afraid of him...

"Why does Rhys have such a problem with you?" Feyre found herself asking, her voice almost reluctant.

"Ah, Rhysand is just like every other high lord," Cate said, her tone almost mocking. "He doesn't like people who don't fit into his neat, little worldview. I'm considered a 'wild card', something to be wary of. I'm not afraid to challenge him or do what l feel is necessary to get results. And I don't follow the traditional rules laid out by high lords and their courts."

Feyre found herself taken aback by the female's words.

Rhys, as arrogant and over-protective as he could be, was usually so tolerant of others, welcoming them to Velaris without a doubt. The fact that he had such an obvious grievance against this female was unexpected.

"What kind of results?" Feyre couldn't help but ask, morbidly curious.

Cate sighed. “With power like mine comes responsibility,” Cate replied, a sly smile playing on her lips. She was sidestepping the question, Feyre realised. "Or dealing with troublemakers and threats, like a certain Night Court general who decided to invade my home."

Feyre felt her heart skip a beat. Cassian had..invaded her territory?

"You stabbed him, didn't you?" Nesta chimed in, her voice almost bored.

Cate let out a bark of laughter. "Of course I stabbed him. He invaded my home. Did you expect me to offer him tea and biscuits?"

Feyre felt a mix of horror and fascination at the nonchalance in Cate's voice. Yes, Cassian had invaded her land, but the idea of someone casually and unapologetically stabbing another...And Rhys' vehement dislike of the female made a little more sense now.

"Have you..." Feyre began, her voice hesitant. "Have you...harmed anyone else from the Night Court?"

Cate's eyes glittered with a touch of mischief. "Oh, let's see. I've stabbed Cassian, threatened Mor with bodily harm, beat your mate into the dirt once and had a lovely chat with Azriel once or twice," she said, ticking each incident off on her fingers. "Does that answer your question?"

"Is that what you call what you and Azriel are doing?" Nesta asked drily.

Cate let out a bark of laughter, clearly amused by the question. "Oh, my encounters with Azriel are...complicated," she said, a sly smile playing on her lips. "We have a bit of a...history."

"What kind of history?" Feyre found herself asking, unable to quell her curiosity. Cate's smile widened, her eyes taking on a calculating gleam. "Oh, you wouldn't believe what Azriel and I have done together," she almost purred, her tone dropping to a suggestive purr.

Feyre felt a wave of heat rush through her. She had an idea of what the female was implying, but somehow she had a hard time imagining Azriel with someone so... unrestrained, as Cate seemed to be. Then again, what did she really know of her mate's shadowsinger?

"Is it something I want to know about?" Nesta drawled, her tone dry.

Cate raised her eyebrows, a slow smile spreading on her lips. "Oh, I'm sure you'd be absolutely scandalised if I told you what I do to your dear Azriel."

Feyre felt heat spreading to her cheeks, the mental imagery of Cate and Azriel together doing...anything...was stirring something deep within her. But she forcibly pushed the thought away, focusing on the matter at hand.

"We're getting off track," Feyre said firmly, her voice a bit more high-pitched than usual.

Cate arched an eyebrow, clearly recognising her discomposure. "Are you sure? I could tell you more about the things your shadowsinger and I get up to..."

Feyre could hear Nesta suppress a snort, clearly amused by her apparent discomfort. But she ignored her sister, fixing Cate with her most stern glare. "We're not here to discuss your. relationship with Azriel," she said, her voice a touch shaky.

"Suit yourself," Cate said with a shrug. "Although, I must say, Azriel is quite... adventurous, when given the proper motivation."

Feyre felt her cheeks heat up even further, and Nesta let out a snicker, clearly struggling to hold back laughter.

"Can we get back to the matter at hand?" Feyre snapped, her irritation growing by the second.

Cate chuckled, her smile widening. "Of course, High Lady. You were wanting to discuss the issue of your sister and her pesky visions, weren't you?"

Feyre took a deep breath, trying to calm the heat in her cheeks. "Yes," she said, her voice still a bit flustered. "How about you...come to lunch later this week?"

Cate's smile turned cat-like, clearly enjoying her discomfort. "Lunch, hm? That could be arranged."

Nesta raised an eyebrow. "And we can...expect you to have more clothes on by then, I presume?"

Cate let out a bark of laughter. "Are you saying you don't appreciate the view?" she asked, gesturing to her unclothed body.

"I think I'll appreciate some food in my stomach more than your…assets," Nesta replied with a smirk.

Cate chuckled, clearly unbothered by the comment. "Fair enough. I'll bring a dress if that will soothe your delicate sensibilities."

Feyre almost snorted at the implication of 'delicate sensibilities ...Nesta was anything but delicate.

And Feyre was quite sure she was going to regret this lunch.

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