#wish you luck with the threatening
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Fear not Virgil! I will chase away the mean amlien with the threat of kisses!
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whenever i see someone complain about "gif stealing" or not being given credit i report their blog for copyright infringement. under tumblr terms and conditions you aren't allowed to post gifs of media you do not own the rights to. if you start whining about other people stealing gifs of media you yourself have stolen then bye bye blog :)
you phrased this so oddly that i had to read it twice to understand what you were even trying to say, which seems to underline that what you’re trying to argue makes no sense. regardless, the only person whining here is YOU. gifs make up the majority of posts on tumblr, so if we follow your (nonsensical) logic, then everyone who posts gifs is infringing copyright and should be reported??? try to square that circle.
if we could only make gifs of media we “own the rights to”, what would we be giffing??? get off tumblr if you don’t want to support the people who keep this site alive 🤷♀️
#also you can’t file a dmca unless YOU yourself own the og content#so i wish you luck with that <3#of all the hills to die on this is something i'll never understand#you're on a website populated by (very talented) creators - a huge chunk of whom are gifmakers#why not support them and their work rather than threaten them when they rightfully raise the issue of reposting#which has been going on for years???#💌 answered 💌
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TOOK 100 PULLS EXACTLY. ITS LIKE PULLING TEETH WITH THIS MAN
#shay speaks#enstars#anyway still mad at him but its fineeeeeeeee its fine#still missing his leader card#loser. nerd. i hate you you only came home after i threatened to choke you out on discord multiple times#well anyway now i can save for yuzuru's ushimairi card.#i got like a month for that#wish me luck
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Whumptober 2023
Welcome to Whumptober 2023 — the sixth year running!
COMPLETIONISTS/PARTICIPANT BADGES CAN BE FOUND HERE
To those of you who participated last year, welcome back! To everyone joining this year, welcome!
Please make sure to read the Event Info carefully, as most of your questions will be answered there already. For everything else, you are welcome to come to our ask box or ask questions in our Discord server here.
This year’s AO3 Collection can be found here.
And this years playlist can be found here.
There are 139 prompt options in total this year - this is including the alternatives list! A special thanks goes out to those who took part in our trope vote back in July. From the 1526 responses to our list of 223 tropes, we looked through the popularity results, as well as your honourable mentions, and were able to produce this years prompts list. Stay tuned, as we will be posting some of the results at a later date!
We’re very excited to see the community come together once more and be a wild, chaotic bunch of creators and consumers of whump. Go wild with the prompts, and support your fellow creators - we wish you all the fun!
Best of luck and happy whumping,
Mods Vanne, Yenn, Kitty and Surro
(All 31 Themes + Prompts, Event Information and FAQs are posted below the cut!)
Whumptober 2023 Prompt List
No. 1: “But now this room is spinning while I’m trying just to fill in all the gaps.”
Safety Net | Swooning | “How many fingers am I holding up?”
No. 2: “I’ll call out your name, but you won’t call back.”
Thermometer | Delirium | “They don't care about you.”
No. 3: “Like crying out in empty rooms; with no-one there except the moon.”
Journal | Solitary Confinement | “Make it stop.”
No. 4: “I see the danger, It’s written there in your eyes.”
Cattle Prod | Shock | “You in there?”
No. 5: “You better pray I don't get up this time around.”
Debris | Pinned Down | “It's broken.”
No. 6: “Do or die, you’ll never make me; Because the world will never take my heart.”
Recording | Made to Watch | “It should have been me.”
No. 7: " “I paced around for hours on empty; I jumped at the slightest of sounds.”
Alleyway | Radio Silence | “Can you hear me?”
No. 8: “I’ve got soul, but I’m not a soldier.”
Overcrowded ER | Outnumbered | “It’s all for nothing.”
No. 9: “Learning everything ain't what it seems, that's the thing about these days.”
Polaroid | Mistaken Identity | “You're a liar.”
No. 10: “Can’t you see that you’re lost without me?”
Broken Phone | Stranded | “You said you'd never leave.”
No. 11: “All the lights going dark and my hope’s destroyed.”
Animal trap | Captivity | “No one will find you.”
No. 12: “I haven't slept in days but who's counting?”
Red | Insomnia | “I’m up, I’m up.”
No. 13: “It comes and goes like the strength in your bones.”
Cold Compress | Infection | “I don’t feel so good.”
No. 14: “Feed me poison, fill me ‘till I drown.”
Flare | Water Inhalation | “Just hold on.”
No. 15: “I don't need you to help me I can handle things myself.”
Makeshift Bandages | Suppressed Suffering | “I’m fine.”
No. 16: “Would you lie with me and just forget the world?”
Gurney | Flatline | “Don’t go where I can’t follow.”
No. 17: “You’re the lump in my throat and the knot in my chest.”
Collar | Touch Aversion | “Leave me alone.”
No. 18: “I tend to deflect when I’m feeling threatened.”
Blindfold | Tortured For Information | “Hit them harder.”
No. 19: “I’ll take one final step, all you have to do is make me.”
Floral Bouquet | Psychological | “I’m not as stupid as you think I am.”
No. 20: “People don’t change people, time does.”
Blanket | Found Family | “You will regret touching them.”
No. 21: “See the chains around my feet.”
Vows | Restraints | “Don't move.”
No. 22: “They never saw us coming, ‘til they hit the floor.”
Glass Shard | Vehicular Accident | “Watch out!”
No. 23: “It’s gonna get me by the end of the night.”
Shadows | Stalking | “Who’s there?”
No. 24: “I’ve got a head full of chemicals; mouth full of ridicule.”
Goodbye Note | Neglect | “I thought they were with you.”
No. 25: “You’re not delivering a perfect body to the grave.”
Storm | Buried Alive | “They’re not breathing!”
No. 26: “Sometimes I get so tired; I don’t even know myself.”
Seeing Double | Working To Exhaustion | “You look awful.”
No. 27: “You drew stars around my scars; But now I’m bleeding.”
Matches | Scars | “Let me see”
No. 28: “We might not make it to the morning; so go on and tell me now.”
Bloody Knife | Sacrifice | “You'll have to go through me.”
No. 29: “I only sink deeper the deeper I think.”
Scented Candle | Troubled Past Resurfacing | “What happened to me?”
No. 30: “It’s okay, just to say, ‘I’m not okay’.”
Borrowed Clothing | Bridal Carry | “Not much longer...”
No. 31: “I thought that I was getting better.”
Emptiness | Setbacks | “Take it easy.”
Alternatives List:
Betrayal
Aftermath of Failure
Brass Knuckles
Decoy
Body Modification
Playing Cards
Examination
Hunting
Drugging
Shaking
Panic
Broken
Miscommunication
Lab Rat
Reluctant Whumper
Event Info & Rules
~ Please read our extensive event info posts before sending us an ask ~
WHUMPTOBER is a month-long, prompt-based creation challenge (think: Inktober, but whumpier). There are 31 official themes this year - one for each day of the month - which can be used, skipped, or combined in any way you’d like. The 'theme' of each day is the line of lyrics.
The prompts are merely to serve as inspiration without being taken literally (e.g. you don’t have to include the exact wording of prompts into your work). Feel free to run rampant on interpretation. For example, if the prompt is "flame", you could create something with reference to a candle/campfire, your character could have suffered a burn, or the flame could be related to the 'spark' of a relationship. It's truly up to you!
In total, there are 4 prompts for each day: there's lyrics, an object, a trope and a line of dialogue to choose from. We want to give everyone as much creative freedom as possible, as well as increase event accessibility for folks with triggers and squicks.
Creators can PRODUCE work in any media they choose, including but not limited to: writing, visual artwork, photo/video/audio edits, paper crafts and elaborate recommendation lists (not just a list of links). Creators can PARTICIPATE as much or as little as they want (i.e. you don’t have to do ALL the prompts if you don’t want to) and prompts can be used in any order. They are also free to use even after the event ends.
When uploading Whumptober content to your blog, be sure to tag the with:
#whumptober2023 …..(the event tag)
#no.1, #no.2, #no.3, …..(day number)
#lyric, #bruises, #stabbing, …..(the theme or specific prompt you chose)
#fandom or #OC, … (ironman, originalcontent, oc …)
#medium …..(gifs, fic, podcast, art, etc.)
#teeth, #gore tw, #etc …..(trigger warnings & any additional tags. Add "tw" AFTER the trigger/content warning. )
#nsfwhump …..(only for nsfw content)
#your own tags go here
PLEASE BE DILIGENT WITH YOUR TAGGING. Only properly tagged posts are considered for archiving on the official @whumptober-archive blog. They must be tagged in the order above. An elaborate post about our tagging system can be found [here]
Unfortunately, due to the sheer number of participants in recent years, we cannot guarantee your work will be archived. A random selection of properly tagged posts from all genres will be reblogged each day.
Whumpers who produce content for 31 total theme days are considered event completionists and will be tagged in a masterpost at the end of the month. A form will be published at the beginning of November asking you to tell us if you completed the event. You do not need to post anything you have created, we rely on trust and we will not check this.
Questions not addressed in one of our many event info posts can be directed to this blog. We will not answer any questions that have been answered in the FAQs or rules already.
Frequently Asked Questions
Q. How does this year’s prompt list work? What do I have to choose?
You can create something based on:
The overall theme/lyric of the day
Prompt 1, 2 or 3
One or several of the alternative prompts
A combination of the above
Q. Is [specific anything] allowed?
When in doubt: JUST DO IT!
Q. Do I have to do all 31 days?
Participate as much or little as you like! Just be sure to tag your posts properly (ex. #no.7, #radio silence). If you create works for 31 total theme days you will become a completionist. But apart from that, there are no repercussions if you don’t fill prompts for each day.
Q. Can I post early/late?
Yes, you can post whenever you want. We will only reblog posts during October, but you can use our prompts all year round. The day you post will only affect your probability of being reblogged.
Q. Will you reblog my post?
Due to the sheer number of content posted during Whumptober we can’t promise to reblog every single post. We will make a random selection trying to capture a wide variety of content. The following will increase your chances at being reblogged:
tag your post properly
post within 2-3 days of the theme you want to fill: if you fill the prompt for Day 1 your chances of being reblogged during October 1st to 3rd are highest and will go towards zero afterwards.
Q. What if I don’t understand a prompt/theme?
Send us an ask! We’re happy to help with wild, unhelpful clarifications or brainstorming. That being said, the themes are entirely up for interpretation. Don’t take them too literally. For example: You can be choking on a cherry, someone else can choke you or you could be choked up on emotions, etc.
Q. What kind of content can I make? Can it be NSFW?
This is a MIXED MEDIA event! You can write fic, post meta, doodle or paint, create a gifset or photo edit, link a song, or get crafty with video - anything goes. As for NSFW, make what you like, we just hope that you’ll tag your work accordingly so that others participating in the event can stay safe.
Q. Can I combine Whumptober with other creation challenges?
Absolutely, as long as the other challenges allow it too.
Q. Can I upload/repost my Whumptober content to other social media platforms?
Of course! You can post your own content wherever you like (or you can opt to not publish it at all). Additionally we’ve created an AO3 Collection to archive any fics posted there. It can be accessed here. The tumblr blog @whumptober-archive is the official archive, so please respect the boundaries of any closeted whumpers in your social circle.
Q. Can I use prompts to write a new chapter for an existing fic?
Yes.
Q. An existing fic I am currently writing contains many of the Whumptober prompts, can I use it?
If you are actively writing this fic at the moment with the Whumptober prompts in mind, yes. If you’ve previously posted something that checks the boxes, we ask that you not include it retroactively for this current year. You can, however, add new chapters relating to one or more of the prompts.
Q. What kind of characters can I write for?
Fandom characters, OC characters, human, furry, alien, cyborg, RPF, whoever you like. You can use the generic “whumpee” character or have specific ones.
Q. Does it have to take place in a specific fandom?
No, you can create works for your own worlds or for fandoms or for both. You can also create more generic or pan-fandom works. You can do cross-overs or use OCs, whatever you want.
Q. Can I use a prompt multiple times?
Yes, but it only counts once towards being a completionist.
Q. If I’m not comfortable with one day’s prompts can I use a prompt of a different day as a substitute and still be a completionist?
No, you can’t exchange prompts for different days. However, if all four prompts of a specific day make you uncomfortable, we have created an alternate prompts list that you can draw from. You can exchange any prompt with these, but please make sure not to use them twice.
Q. Where can I post my work?
Post where and how you want. You don’t have to (cross)post it to Tumblr or at all. Just keep in mind if it’s not on Tumblr we will not be able to add it to the blog archive.
Q. Can I start posting early?
You can, but this is an October event and wouldn’t it be more fun with everyone doing it at the same time? That being said, you can post early, but we won’t be reblogging any work predating October 1st.
Q. Do I have to finish a fic I started/can I post WIP’s?
Yes you can post WIPs. And you’re not obligated to finish it in October for it to count towards being a completionist.
Q. Is co-writing allowed?
Yes, absolutely, and it would count towards being a completionist for both/all of you.
Q. Do I have to create 31 standalone pieces to be considered a completionist or can I write one continuous story?
One continuous story is fine. The challenge is to write something for 31 prompts. If that’s spread over 31 fics or just one, you are still considered a completionist. (The same goes for every other media you choose.)
Q. Is there a min/max limit on word count?
There is no limit.
Q. Can I combine prompts? Is there a limit on how many?
No limit and combine as many as you’d like.
Q. Is a hc/angst/emotional whump focus ok?
Of course! We are not going to establish a threshold for whumpiness. If you think it’s whumpy enough, then it’s whumpy enough. It can be physical, psychological, emotional, or any combination of the three.
Q. What’s considered nsfw?
See this post
Q. What is whump?
Typically the genre includes situations where a fictional character is hurt, be it emotionally, psychologically, or physically. Fanlore provides information here.
Q. My interpretation of the prompt isn’t whumpy at all, does that count?
If you don’t think your interpretation is whumpy, then it doesn’t count for Whumptober. Remember that whump comes in many forms, though, and that we don’t have a whump-checker or a threshold for how much whump needs to be included. If you think your interpretation contains enough whump to count, then it does.
Q. Can I start working on the prompts before October?
Absolutely! That’s why we post the prompts a month in advance. We recognise how difficult it can be creating for 31 days in “real time” so feel free to start creating early!
Q. How do I tag triggers?
tw at the end of the word, ex. #gore tw
Q. Do I have to use your tags?
Yes, if you want your work archived on the blog. If not, feel free to use whatever tags you want.
Q. Does combining prompts count towards completion?
Yes
Q. Can we @ you?
Yes but we mostly rely on the #whumptober2023 tag.
Q. Is there anything we are absolutely not allowed to write?
There are no rules, but please make sure to properly tag your trigger warnings. And keep in mind Tumblr’s policies if you are posting it here (or the policies for whatever site you use).
Q. Where can I go for brainstorming help?
Here on Discord or come into our ask box.
Q. My characters are minors, is that ok?
Yes, but as with everything else, use clear and descriptive tags.
Q. Can I cross post on other blogs?
Yes, multiple platforms and blogs are perfectly acceptable. You can also post different works to different accounts under different names, without posting them everywhere at once.
Note: This is a creation challenge, please don’t repost your old work under our tags (unless it’s been changed or edited for the event).
Thanks for reading, and happy whumping!
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YOU WERE LIKE AN ANGEL TO ME | Spencer Reid x Sunshine!Reader
Request: my DARLING @avis-writeshq says- i’m a menace but i ADORED the spencer fic u posted 🥹 UGH THEYRE SO CUTE YOUR HONOURRRR 👹if it’s okay, may i request another fic with the same couple 🙈 perhaps one day reader is not as sweet or chirpy as she usually is, or she gets injured or threatened in the field? much love and lots of kisses xoxo 🫶
Description: Spencer swore he wanted to hate her. She was too happy, too chirpy, too much for a guy who spent months rotting in prison. But how could he ever hate her when she cried in his chest like that?
Length: 5k (I'm feral for these two)
warnings: post prison reid. Angst. depiction of suicide from the Unsub. gory language used. guns mentioned. mention of $nuff video and other murders. Nothing that hasn't been done on CM already.
authors note: if y'all want to see more with these two just SAY because I am all ears I would die on this ship
There were a lot of times in his time at the BAU that Spencer had wished he could have changed the outcome of their bad guy, surprisingly enough. There was the time they found their UnSub a few minutes too late, and one of the victims fathers decided to take him out then and there with a shotgun to the head. He was just a kid. There was the entire time he was with Tobias Hankel, and he lived in a state of both fear and sympathy for the boy trapped in his own body after years of abuse. There was Nathan Harris, the kid who had stopped him at the subway station and practically begged him for help to stop his urges to murder, only to slit his own wrists before Spencer could get to him because he thought he was tainted.
He could see how it was easy in their job to get wrapped up in saving the day, in saving everyone they could. He just had hoped, on some stupid grace of a god he didn’t even believe in, that she would have at least remained untouched by the bad luck.
Spencer had always thought, since the first day he had arrived back into the office after his stint in prison, that she seemed to just waltz through life easier than anyone else. He knew the concept of luck was not quantifiable, that it was just a coincidence that good things happened to some people, and bad things happened to others. He always grouped himself in with the latter, because what was his entire life if not one bad hand of cards after another?
Part of him had been seething with vitriol jealousy when he first met her. He hated how the elevator doors seemed to open without hesitation for her, no waiting required. He hated how her hair never seemed to fall out of place, while his required primping and preening to upkeep. He hated how she was always so happy, whether it had been she’d been given an extra cookie at the bakery for free, or her coffee had just tasted super delicious that morning, or the road works clogging the city had been put on hold the one day she needed to drive into the office. She was one of those people, he had decided, that life just seemed to smile down upon, and she beamed back in that dazzling grin.
He felt sick to his stomach for ever wishing it gone, especially when she looked like she might never smile again.
They never liked to say that they had easy cases and hard ones, all of their cases were difficult to process. But this one had been a handful above the rest.
“UnSub has been killed on site, all units stand down,” Luke said into the radio, and the entire squadron took a sigh of relief, all of them except him.
Because he saw that look in her eye, the way everything sparkly about her seemed to have vanished.
They had been following Bobbie Wrids for a week. Five bodies in, five men shot between the eyes execution style, almost six by the time they’d arrived on the scene.
She’d gone with Tara around the front of the abandoned building; Penelope tracked their newest victim, Henry Frond, through his phone pinging off the nearest satellite towers, and it had been straight forward from there. Or at least it should have been.
Because by the time Spencer and Luke arrived in their own SUV, Penelope had time to access the rest of Henry’s phone, and it was clear to see the victimology behind all six men.
They were distributing snuff videos of women, some between themselves, some to other usernames on the darkweb, and Bobbie Wrids’ daughter had been one of them.
Bobbie had become somewhat of a vigilante, but he was a grieving father above all. He was a wounded animal chomping at the bit to soothe the ripping pain of his daughter's murder, the same one those men were getting off to.
Tara and her exchanged a glance as Penelope relayed the information over their headsets, her once serious expression falling into something sombre and sorrowful. How could she arrest a man she couldn’t help but feel sorry for, one she couldn’t help but think wasn’t entirely wrong in his actions.
“Bobbie Wrids,” Tara’s voice was stern, cutting through the silence of the desolate building. Their footsteps were careful as they made their way through the hallway, down to what had once been a rec-room, or perhaps a staff room, where they knew Bobbie had Henry, “This is the FBI, we’d like to talk,”
They heard nothing, and she looked up to the older woman hesitantly, her finger hovering over the trigger the way Spencer had taught her. Tara took a minute, knowing she was leading the charge here with the girl being so inexperienced, before she nodded to the door knob and the rookie twisted the handle, pushing the peeling wood open gently.
Bobbie Wrids stood in the centre of the room, moth eaten couches either side of the damp rug, the ceiling tiles half caved in from wear and tear. Henry Frond was already a pulp in the UnSub’s arms, and yet it was Bobbie that her eyes shot to first, sympathy shooting through every fibre of her being when she saw the distraught look on the father’s face.
He was grieving. He was grieving his little girl’s death. He was looking for a solution, and this seemed to be his best bet.
“Bobbie,” Her voice was shaky, her and Tara frozen in the doorway as the man brought the pistol to Henry’s beaten face, cocking it towards his temple before they could even explain themselves. “We’re going to come in, is that okay? We just want to talk, just let us talk-”
They had only edged closer by three paces between them as she was speaking before his knuckles turned white and he squeezed the gun tighter to Henry’s skin, the barrel contorting the flesh, “Don’t come any closer, this pig isn’t worth your mercy,”
“We know,” She said, her and Tara slowly stepping over a fallen ceiling tile, cracking under her boot as she met his desolate gaze for the first time, his head snapping to her. “We know what he did, Bobbie. What they all did.”
His throat bobbed, his bottom lip quivering and the sight of it, a man so broken, forced a frog into her oesophagus, and she willed herself not to cry.
“They hurt my little girl,” Bobbie choked out, his face turning mauve as the tears began to build behind his eyes, “She was my girl. She was only eighteen.”
She nodded, his wetted hues seemingly permissive when she stepped closer to where he held Henry hostage.
“I know, I’m so sorry for what happened to her,” She said, her voice croaky, unstable as she wrenched it into something audible, “I’m so sorry,”
“He doesn’t deserve mercy, none of them did,” Bobbie spat, his forearm crushing against Henry’s trachea in a vice-like grip. The man floundered, a wheeze coming from his lungs, not that she felt much sympathy for him.
She sprung into action, flicking her gun onto safety and holstering it, Tara doing the same as she lowered her weapon to her side. He profiled as a vigilante; he had no reason to hurt them.
“Bobbie, listen, I know they didn’t deserve to walk free, okay?” She said, taking the smallest step towards where the men stood, “But she wouldn’t want this for you, would she?”
The man flinched, his jaw hard as a rock with how he clenched his teeth together, as if holding back a sob.
“Come on, Bobbie. Let him go, we have enough evidence to get him sentenced. We can get you a plea deal, I know a good lawyer,” She begged, because she wasn’t beneath it, because she knew he was a good man backed into a corner, “Please,”
Maybe it was the way her eyes were soft when she looked at him, or the fact two more agents burst into the room from the hallway, Spencer’s eye immediately falling to where she was stood so close to their UnSub, her gun out of hand. Tara stood by, but that wasn’t good enough for him. He edged with light footsteps until he was behind her, his gaze cautious, never leaving the gun in Bobbie’s hand.
“Please,” She repeated, and Spencer saw Bobbie’s shoulders drop, every sliver of resolve draining from his body at her gentle tone, a deer approaching a hunter.
Henry was thrown to the floor, the man practically dead weight as he gasped, almost retching at the feeling of air sucking back into his chest frantically, and Luke and Tara were quick to wrestle him into cuffs, the woman reading him his Miranda rights.
Spencer almost made a grab for her then, because she was still creeping forward towards the man who had a loaded gun still live in his hand. He didn’t care for one second that the statistics said Bobbie wouldn’t lay a hand on her since she wasn’t part of his list. He didn’t care that every sign pointed to their UnSub being benevolent towards women, especially younger ones, that she fit his daughter’s description. Spencer didn’t care, he wanted her as far away from that gun as possible.
His heart lurched into his throat when Bobbie did in fact make a lunge for her, just not the way he’d feared. Because she had grabbed him. She’d pulled him into an embrace, a hug, kind and sweet as she always was.
Spencer cursed her for being so soft. It was going to get her killed.
“Agent,” His voice was terse, worried if you dug a little deeper than the sharp surface, but she didn’t listen to him. She held Bobbie tight as the man unravelled on her shoulder, falling into heart breaking sobs and it was then Spencer realised she was crying with him.
“It’s going to be okay, you’re okay,” She was shushing him, the killer, reassuring him he was safe, as if the killing thing wasn’t still between his fingers that clutched at her back with rough hands.
“They killed my girl, they took her from me, and then they laughed about it,” He wailed, and she nodded, squeezing him even tighter if that was so possible, “No one would listen, the police didn’t listen, I had to do something,”
“I know, I know, I’m so sorry,” This was wrong. She wasn’t supposed to be sympathising with the criminals. But she couldn’t help it, she couldn’t help the gasping urge to comfort the man who had lost his whole world, “I’m listening. Tell me about her,”
“She was so beautiful,” Bobbie whimpered, sniffling into her shoulder. Spencer felt his chest twinge at the scene. He hated that she was so soft. “She never hurt a soul,”
She cried with him, though hers were choked down as much as she could get them, her wet cheeks the only proof she had ever let them slip.
“I’m sorry,” She said again, because no matter how many times she repeated those two little words, it would never bring his daughter back, “I can help you,”
He pulled away from her shoulder, and it was only then that Bobbie Wrids even noticed Spencer, his face taut in anxiety as he watched the man’s hands still holding onto her body as if she was the only thing that kept him upright, which Spencer wouldn’t be surprised if it were true.
He fished the cuffs out of his back pocket, his finger never leaving the trigger as he stared down at their UnSub cautiously. He knew he may be being cruel, knew that ten years ago he would be just as caring as her. But that Spencer was long gone. And what remained was screaming in terror that she was in the line of danger, that she was holding the danger in her bare hands like she didn’t see the jeopardy she was putting herself in.
Bobbie pulled away to look at her, the creases around his eyes deep chasms, and even with the smattering of grey hair, the stubble, the cold, empty look of someone with nothing left, she thought he might have been a handsome man once. He looked at her with a ghost of a smile, and one of his callused hands came up to tuck her hair behind her ear as if it had been second nature to him for eighteen years.
“You’re a sweet girl,” He murmured, and she blinked at him, her chest easing at the way his wails had subsided into something quiet. She could help him, she swore she would help him. He was a good man beneath it all. “But no one can help me anymore, sweet girl,”
And with that he lifted the pistol beneath his chin and pulled the trigger.
—
She heard someone scream before she realised it was coming from her own throat, but her ears were ringing and she couldn’t open her eyes. Her face was wet and hot, and for a second she thought it was tears, but she was beyond crying now. She felt arms pulling her back into a strong chest, and someone was murmuring to her, or perhaps they were speaking normally and the sound of the gunshot had knocked her hearing. Either way, it was like someone had pulled a bag over her head as she brought her shaking hands up to her eyes to wipe.
She managed to crack her lids then when the sludge was gone, only to see the room still a blurry mess. She could make out, in the haze of blobs and crimson tint, Bobbie’s body slumped to the floor, a dark puddle seeping into the rug as those long arms tugged her out of the room. She only then looked down to her hands where she had rubbed her face and she caught the same claret plasma coating her fingers, her white shirt, her pants, her arms. It covered her head to toe.
It was in her eyes, she realised when she saw the ichor coating her fingertips. It was blocking her vision, turning the world a vivid wine colour, and she thinks she whimpered, or perhaps it was a moan of horror seeing the puddle beneath Bobbie’s body growing larger by the second.
“I don’t understand,” She said out loud, her head spinning, and she brought her fingertips up to her eyes again, maybe to get the blood out, god there was so much blood on her face, or maybe because she hoped to everything out there that she would clear her sight and find it all a terrible hallucination, the product of one too many nights of sleepless tossing.
But when she rubbed her lids again, this time seeing the scene a little better, Bobbie was still dead. She had still been too late.
“You’re in shock, you need to breathe,” A voice instructed her over her shoulder, and it was from the same person who had their hands around her waist, pulling her away from the crime scene, as CSI filed in from behind them.
She tried pushing the arms off her, weak because she couldn’t feel anything that wasn’t the horror in her stomach, and it took her a second before she listened to their words and realised she was holding a breath in her chest, the way a toddler does when they’re overwhelmed.
“I don’t-” She gasped, the air rushing through her lungs, so fast it made her cough, “I don’t understand, I was going to help him- I don’t understand- why?”
“I know, just breathe for me, sweetheart,” Spencer. She only just realised it was Spencer speaking, because he had never called her that and the gentle tone he’d taken was nothing like his usual, civil cadence. He had been dropping a few jokes the past few weeks since she’d driven him home, had been more touchy feely with correcting her form when she was at the shooting range, had delicately touched the small of her back when they were navigating a crowd together. He was slowly cracking from his statuesque expression that hadn’t left his face since he’d gotten out of prison, but the softness with which he held her waist was entirely new.
“Spencer, I don’t- I don’t get it,” She said, her voice bubbling into a sob as she allowed herself to be pulled away with no fight left in her. He took her into the hallway, turning her body from the sight of his hand lifeless on the floor with little to no effort. She was damn near limp in his arms, “Spencer, I don’t under-understand, I was going to h-help him, why would h-he do that-”
“Shhh, you need to breathe,” He murmured into her hair, trying to lead her out the front of the building and far away from where she’d just been front row seats to a messy suicide, “Come on, just breathe for me, baby, and then we can talk,”
But she wasn’t listening, and he wasn’t offended. Spencer knew it was the shock. He knew the symptoms by how her respiratory system had picked up in a matter of seconds and it was like she had gone from zero to a hundred. She let out a long whine, tears collecting the blood on her lash line and her chest seized into action, gulping down air, too short to do anything for her lungs, and her legs began to buckle beneath the two of them.
Spencer stopped in the hallway, realising she was in more shock than he must have thought. He knew she was sensitive, hell it was one of his favourite things about her. He knew she felt everything so deeply, burned too easily, like a daisy wilting in a dry heat, or candyfloss melting in his mouth. Spencer knew, as awful as watching death up close was for any agent, it would hit her hardest of all of them.
He moved around to her front, his hands migrating from her waist up to her shoulders, brushing over her upper arms soothingly. But her body felt numb, her head felt heavy, and her eyes were glazed over, down a rabbit hole entirely away from him, even when one of his hands cupped her wetted cheek gently.
“Just breathe, hey, look at me,” He tried a firmer tone, and she bent to his will too easily. It was a punch in the gut seeing everything shining and pretty leached out of her eyes, as if she had become soulless in a matter of minutes, as if she had lost all hope in the world the second Bobbie pulled that trigger. She looked like hell, blood still fresh on her cheeks, in her hair, smeared around her eye sockets where she had scrubbed so hard to get it off her skin, “You need to calm down, you’re going to faint if you don’t breathe,”
She nodded, or something close to it, her eyes falling down to the floor, and she seemed to wrestle for control over her chest then. But what came after was worse, Spencer thought. Her brows screwed together, her eyes welling up with more of those fat tears, and her lips dropping into a devastated pout, her eyes trailing over the mess on her uniform, on her hands.
“Spencer, I don’t understand, I tried to help him, I wanted to help him,” She sobbed, sniffling to herself miserably, and he barely even thought about it when he pulled her into his chest, not caring that her skin would dirty his shirt.
His hand wound into her hair, stroking her sweetly as she buried her wails into his vest. He used his other arm to pull her close to him, which she seemed to have zero qualms about as she clawed at his back to keep him close, as if she didn’t want to face what was going to happen when they left that building.
Spencer regretted ever thinking her sunshine was too bright for him.
–
She hadn’t smiled in a whole week. Well, that wasn’t entirely true. She had given Penny a very forced smile when she had fussed over the younger woman the first day she got back, had said thankyou with downcast eyes and a fragile grin when the blonde presented her with a framed picture of a puppy to keep on her desk ‘incase she needed something nice to think about,’
She hadn’t looked at it once, because they both knew it wouldn’t do anything, no matter how much she pretended for Penelope’s sake that she would put it to good use.
He had taken her out for coffee on him that first day, but by the time they had got to the front of the queue, he had been doing almost all of the talking, which had become rare nowadays since he had come home from Mexico. Usually, it had been her filling the silences, because he knew in her right mind she hated the sound of static nothingness, she found it awkward and unnecessary when she could talk to anyone without thinking about it too hard.
They had got to the desk, the barista smiling up at him as he ordered his usual, before he turned to look at her as the woman serving asked her what she would like. But she wasn’t listening, she was watching out the window, nothing particularly invigorating beside a bird cleaning its feathers on top of a stop sign.
He said her name, putting his hand on her back and her head whipped around, her eyes empty as they looked up at him expectantly, “What do you want to drink?”
She blinked, waking herself from a stupor, and looked at the barista with an embarrassed expression, “Hot chocolate, please,”
And that was all she really had to say until lunch rolled around, and she excused herself to head home early. Emily smiled at her reassuringly, her eyes wary as she watched their happy-go-lucky rookie head for the elevators with a desolate look in her eyes.
Spencer hoped she would come around on her own, or maybe even be brave enough to talk to someone about the thoughts rattling around that head of hers, but she just didn’t. She stayed as silent as possible, only ever speaking when spoken to, asking Emily if she could finish off her reports at home, to which the Prentiss woman never protested.
But Spencer had had enough. He’d worried himself sick over her, and where all thoughts of how endearing and lovely and charming she was had sat in his head before, now it was all just ways he could think to make her smile again.
It was the following Tuesday by the time he braved action. She had gone home after their midday briefing, apologising to Emily with tired eyes that seemed to be growing more and more heavy by the day, like she hadn’t slept a wink in a fortnight. Which Spencer thought was entirely possible.
He pulled up to the house Penelope had not so discreetly told him was hers, definitely not because he’d asked, and definitely, definitely not breaching any human resource policies about distributing fellow workers information (meaning Spencer had almost certainly not begged Penelope for the address with those puppy eyes of his he knew could bag him anything).
The peonies in the window bays were wilting but her house was something out of a fairytale. He wasn’t sure why he was really so surprised. It screamed her, everything about it, from the toadstool post box to the little green, cast iron bench that sat in the garden, the metal forged to look like florets of ivy holding the sitter upright.
He rapped the brass knocker, the metal cold under his long fingers. Brushing invisible dirt off his shirt, he hoped she would answer as the present squirmed at his feet.
“Just a second,” He hushed, and as if she heard him, the front door swung open to reveal her bare face he hadn’t seen since he’d helped her wipe the blood from her skin in the back of the ambulance.
She looked at him with furrowed brows, before they quickly shot to the floor, to her cobbled pathway that had clicked under his shoes, and her face washed with a shock.
“Oh my god, Spencer!” She crouched to her knees, a slobbery lick immediately meeting her cheek as the Spaniel rubbed his wet nose up to her ear, sniffing her unique smell, as if it was a bag of Class A’s, “I never knew you had a dog,”
“I don’t,” He replied, kneeling with her to ruffle the soft fur behind the canine’s ear, “This is Ace. He retired from the Bomb Unit a month ago and Penelope sent me his handler’s number. They said he’s the happiest dog in the world,”
“I would be too if I stopped so many people from blowing up,” She said, but before he could ask what she meant exactly by that, Ace had jumped up and attacked her entire face with kisses as if he too thought that statement was worth silencing.
And she laughed. She laughed louder than she had in days, weeks, her eyes crinkling in joy as the little pink tongue stole away her sorrow, tickled away the traces of the blood that had tainted her skin.
Spencer smiled, his eyes watching her face scrunch in a squeal, hands eventually coming up to the elderly dog’s jowls to gently push him down.
“Oh, you are the sweetest guy,” She said, and the words had him tugging at the leash to lick her all over again, “Yes you are, you’re the sweetest little guy around, huh?”
She chuckled, scratching down the mutt’s neck, and her eyes flicked back up to Spencer, who watched her with more intent than she’d realised.
“Petting and receiving affection from pets causes spikes in serotonin in our brain and reduces anxiety, did you know that?” Spencer said, Ace pushing his muzzle into the palm of her hand to prove a point.
Her smile wavered slightly, and she looked at his hazel hues that seemed to see right through her, “Look, I’m sorry I’ve been so off lately, I just can’t sleep at the moment-”
“Don’t apologise,” He cut in, though his tone was kind, and the two of them stood back up to their full height, “What happened was horrifying, even some of the longest serving agents I know would struggle seeing that,”
She scoffed, unusually pessimistic coming out of her mouth, “You wouldn’t,”
His head tilted, not quite understanding what she meant, because she hadn’t sounded cruel when she said it. Then again, he didn’t think she was actually capable of that emotion.
She looked at him, a flash of something vulnerable in her eyes, something like that day he’d held her in the hallway; too fast he almost missed it.
“You’re so brave, Spencer, you’re like invincible. I mean, you survived prison and your mom getting kidnapped and you bounced straight back to work like it was nothing. I can’t even watch a murderer die without spiralling out of control,” She huffed, rubbing the bridge of her nose and before he could respond on just how wrong she was, before he could tell her that that was exactly the opposite of what had happened because he had damn near changed every inch of himself in prison to stop himself from breaking, he caught her murmuring and he thought he might just have been punched all over again, “I wish I was like you,”
His jaw clenched, eyebrows furrowing into a frown as he stepped towards her, and her head shot to him, worried she may have said the wrong thing by mentioning everything that had happened, everything Pen had specifically said was a touchy subject, and she opened her mouth to apologise.
“Do you know how unbelievably glad I am that you are nothing like me?” Spencer said, his voice bordering on furious and her fumbled for a reply, worried she had truly pissed him off.
She wouldn’t blame him for hating her. She’d always worried, until perhaps that day they’d gotten into her car and she’d driven him home, that her very essence annoyed him.
“I’m sorry-” She started, but he shook his head.
“Stop apologising,” He said, his hand reaching up to grab where her fingers tugged together nervously, his hold featherlike, his face softening when he saw her expression, “I don’t want you to be anything like me. I like you just how you are,”
She sighed, eyes doe like with emotion as she looked at him, “Really?”
He smiled, a rare and genuine smile as she seemed to glow under his words, “Yes, really.” Spencer allowed himself to enjoy the way that the twinkle returned to her expression when he smiled at her with something almost like the old Spencer in him, before he cleared his throat, “We all like you. Everyone on the team likes how you are,”
She paused, nodding to herself as if knocking herself out of a silly daze, and Ace bounced on his hind legs trying to get her attention again.
“You don’t think I’m too sensitive?” She asked, holding her palm out for the dog to nuzzle at with that wet nose of his.
Spencer shook his head, “Sensitive is good. It means you feel something. Means you feel the good things deeper too,”
Her smile was blinding, because she’d never thought of it that way before, and she looked like her old self again. Spencer wasn’t stupid enough to think she was never going to think about Bobbie again, he still thought about that first UnSub he’d tried to save. He still thought about Tobias Hankel. He thought about them all.
But he was going to make sure she never turned into him. He didn’t think he’d ever forgive himself if she did. He’d protect her sunlight even if it burned him to know he could never have her the way he wanted. Because she was everything good, and he was him.
She looked down at Ace, the life returning to her as she stood aside for the two of them to enter her house, “Tea?”
Yep. Spencer felt something run hot knowing she would always be out of reach. Didn’t stop him from thinking about it, though.
#spencer reid x reader#spencer reid imagine#spencer reid fanfiction#spencer reid fanfic#dr spencer reid#Post Prison!Spencer Reid x reader#criminal minds x reader#criminal minds fic#matthew grey gubler x reader
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Aventurine with a virgin reader </3 guiding her and moving slowly and gently as he always gives her praises 🥹
𝝑𝑒 𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐒. soft dom!aventurine x virgin!female reader. smut. p in v -> protected. lots of praise. clit stimulation. breast play kinda. very soft and gentle sex. reader gets called ‘baby, my jewel, pretty girl.’ wc; 1.4k
aventurine is a gentle lover; never once having forced you into any acts of intimacy. you’re always the one leading the progress of your relationship. the control over the speed of how things go soothes your worries.
your comfort and consent is his number one priority. his little ‘may i’s before touching you are what reassure you. you’ve clearly chosen the right person to be your partner.
even now - when you’re finally beneath him, with your naked bodies indulging in a romantic session - aventurine makes sure to go slow. softly, gently and tenderly; like you’re a delicate flower. a delicate gem that’s threatening to break with just the slightest touch.
“you’re okay, baby,” aventurine mumbles quietly against your skin, his lips attaching to your neck. he gives you soft kisses all over in hopes to soothe you. he can feel you tremble when he pushes his tip against your tight entrance, “i got you, i got you—i promise.”
he does, in fact, have your back. you trust that he does. aventurine never fails to keep his promises, he always keeps his word even if it may seem impossible. perhaps it’s due to his luck—perhaps it’s due to his overbearing love for you.
“kakavasha..” you whimper his name. the blonde nearly chokes on his spit at the way you called out to him. he pats your head gently, that same hand moving down to collect the tears running down your cheeks. you sniff, “mph, h-how much more?”
aventurine kisses a tear drop away, sighing against your skin. you’re so precious to him and he wishes to convey that fact. he’s trying his best to keep calm, though he can feel his restraints fading each time your nails dig into his back. it hurts so good.
he doesn’t want to hurt nor scare you. therefore, aventurine takes a deep breath and flashes you his charming smile, blonde locks covering his magenta and cyan colored eyes. those eyes that were once devoid of life, now sparkling with affection for you.
“just a little bit. can you hold on for me?” aventurine asks in a soft tone. he places a quick kiss on the tip of your nose. his hands move to hold yours, fingers interlocking. he squeezes them when you answer his question with a nod, “heh, thank you.”
aventurine bottoms out after what feels like hours. he sighs in relief and buries his face into the crook of your neck. you’re tight, squeezing his cock like you’re begging him to stay—to stay connected forever. he gives you all the time you need to adjust to your insides being stretched and moulded to fit him.
your eyes are glazed over as you stare up at the ceiling. you feel so full. the stretch hurts a little, though you’re quick to accommodate to the intrusion. your fluids make it easy and more comfortable for both aventurine and you.
you’re grateful that your lover understands your position. you’ve been scared of sex since you were but a virgin, however it doesn’t seem as bad in the moment.
not when you got a boyfriend like aventurine.
“so precious,” aventurine coos and kisses your jaw. he eventually reaches your lips and gives them a quick yet passionate peck. his eyes roam over your naked, sweaty body that’s glimmering underneath the dim light of the small lamp, “you look stunning, my jewel.”
you tighten up around aventurine the moment he calls you by that nickname. he hisses at the feeling, his cock throbbing with the desire to move already. aventurine distracts himself from those urges by kissing your breasts.
his tongue rolls over your nipples, his hands still pinning yours to the soft mattress below you. he sucks on your chest and doesn’t think twice before leaving a hickey or two. you’re his and he likes to remind you of that fact.
aventurine slowly detaches from your tits, his saliva coating the plump flesh. he grins at the sight and hums in satisfaction. he looks up at you and watches as you say those words he’s waited on;
“it’s okay, you can move.”
aventurine nods after he makes sure you’re totally fine with it. he pulls his hips away, until his cock is halfway in before pushing back in your pussy. slow and gentle thrusts are the way to go.
you quickly get used to the rhythm of your lover’s thrusts. you can feel the love and passion behind them, each move done with a purpose. that purpose being to pleasure you and make you feel appreciated.
“is this okay? yeah?” aventurine pants, his pace quickening, yet also slowing down whenever he feels like he’s overwhelming you. your moans slowly fill his ears and your brain is visibly being taken over by the satisfaction.
your lover is entranced by the way your tits bounce in circles with each soft thrust. he can feel his tip hitting the deepest parts of your wet cunt, claiming you like he’s always dreamed of doing. the way you’re already drunk on pleasure is adorable.
he leans down and presses his lips against yours. this isn’t just mindless sex—it’s your first time and he strives to make it as romantic as possible. his tongue mingles with yours, the mixture of saliva running down your chin because of how sloppy you’re making out.
“just like that– fuck,” aventurine groans as his hips roll against you. he’s slowly drowning in the ecstasy. seeing you enjoy the moment as much as he does, is exciting him more than the actual act. he loves it when you enjoy yourself—gets off to it even, “let me hear more of that pretty voice.”
you let out little whines, blessing aventurine’s ears with your voice, just like he asked you. your boyfriend moans at the sound of you as his fingers reach down to circle your clit. he’s addicted to you—so in love. his hands move to your thighs, pulling them apart just a little more so his dick could reach further.
you get more sensitive by the second. especially when aventurine wraps your legs around his waist, his hands wandering all over your body. the pad of his thumb presses down on your clit, making you even more sensitive. your eyes roll back as you leave red scratches on his back, “feels good, s-so good!”
aventurine smirks at your moans. you’re beautiful in this moment beneath him, his cock filling you up to the brim. he feels the connection between the two of you deepening, your relationship reaching new heights.
the blonde male pants while he holds your body close—hips moving non-stop. he can’t get enough of you and vice versa.
“you’re so sensitive, baby,” aventurine chuckles as he feels your pussy spasm around his thick dick. it’s your first time, so he doesn’t blame you when you tell him that you’re close. he slyly increases the pace in which he rubs your clit, “gonna cum, hm? c’mon, you can make a mess on my dick, pretty girl.”
his smooth voice echoes in your mind and that’s all it takes to push over the edge. you hold tightly onto your lover’s biceps and your back arches off the bed, head lolling backwards against the pillow. your lower abdomen tingles and you feel your legs shake due to the impact.
you’ve never felt so good. it’s so much—the feeling is overwhelming you. your body shakes underneath aventurine. he reads your body language and easily concludes that you’re a bit overstimulated by your own orgasm.
“good girl,” aventurine pats your head and rubs your cheek with his thumb. he kisses the corners of your eyes before doing the same to your forehead. your little whimpers and incoherent babbles melt his heart. your lover nods, “shhh, shh, i know. i know.”
he doesn’t care about the fact that he didn’t get to cum. tonight is all about you, not him. aventurine hugs you to his chest and whispers sweet nothings into your ear while you come down from your high.
“i love you so much,” you whisper between shallow breaths. you can feel your lover smile against the skin of your shoulder before he kisses you there. he sighs in content, not yet pulling out.
aventurine wishes to stay with you as one. for as long as you allow him to. he tilts his head back and looks down at you, placing his forehead against yours.
he truly is a lucky man;
“i love you more. so much more.”
#sttoru writes.#hsr smut#hsr x reader#aventurine x reader#aventurine smut#honkai star rail x reader#honkai star rail smut#hsr x you#hsr x y/n#aventurine x you#aventurine x y/n
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Woof woof grrrrrr
Content:
Dub-Con, Dirty Talk, Oral Sex (reader giving)
The bar is exactly as busy as you’re hoping for when you get there. Quiet and intimate, low lights, a hum of conversation but not overwhelmingly loud. The bar is mostly full but not crowded. As luck would have it, you instantly spot a couple empty stools towards the back.
You glide across the establishment, head held high and shoulders back. Pick a seat and smooth your skirt under you to perch. The bartender comes to you instantly; you pick something sweet and fruity (delighted that it’ll match your outfit.)
It takes up until they slide it across to you — a tab opened with your card — that the insecurity starts to set in. What if no one is interested? What if Soap doesn’t show up?
You sip at your drink and pull out your phone, reading your latest book. If nothing else… at least you’re getting out? God.
“This isn’t your usual scene.”
Oh. Oh this is worse than being ignored all night and going home alone. So much worse. Just barely manage not to curse aloud as you turn to your ex.
“Justin…” you start, realize you don’t know where to go from there. “Hi.”
“It’s been a minute, huh?”
You look him up and down. Designer everything, of course, brands printed all over him. No taste, though, none of it is cohesive. You wouldn’t be caught dead at his side ever again.
“How’s your arm?”
His expression flickers, hand unconsciously going to the spot where Johnny tried to tear it off.
“Fine. Thanks.” He gives you a long look. Unfriendly. “You know people have had dogs put down for less.”
You run your tongue over your teeth, fear and anger twisting up in your stomach like hot lava. How dare he threaten your boy like that?! Wish Johnny was here now to take another chunk out of him.
“Not when people trespass on private property,” you reply coldly, eyes narrowing.
He puts his hands up, laughing awkwardly. “Well, now. I wouldn’t call it — let’s just say we’re even, yeah?”
“For that at least.”
You take another big sip of your drink. Find it empty. Make hopeful eye contact with the bartender and nod for another when they gesture questioningly. There’s a reason you love this bar.
“Right… listen, about that, luv…”
“There you are, bonnie!”
You perk up despite yourself. Says something that the creep who sexually harasses you in public is better company than your ex-fiancé. Something zings through you when you realize Soap is bigger than your Justin (hopefully in every aspect). Taller, wider, more muscular. Better jawline and prettier eyes, too.
“Tucked up back here like this,” Soap mock scolds, shouldering past Justin. You let out a little squeak as he scoops you off your barstool, hand just under your ass for a hold. “Almost didn’t see you, hen.”
“H-Hi,” you say, arms going around his neck automatically. He presses his nose to your collarbone and audibly inhales. You shiver.
“Sorry to keep you waiting,” he continues, voice dropping lower.
He sets you down on your stool again with a wink, then takes the stool next to yours.
“Oi, do you mind?” Justin snaps, bumped out of the way by Soap’s bulk.
“I do, actually.” The look Soap levels him is sharp, cold. Bloody killer. Instantly reminds you of all the alarm bells that normally play in your head when he’s around. “Don’t like puffed up knobs like you around my girl.”
You bite your tongue on a protest that you’re not his girl. Wouldn’t be particularly helpful right about now. You’ll correct him later.
“Your girl,” Justin scoffs. “She was mine before she was ever — hey!”
Soap’s got his fist in the front of Justin’s shirt, jerking him nearly off his feet. A few heads turn. You feel hot with embarrassment, skin prickling at so many eyes on your little trio of stupidity.
“Woah!” You yelp. “Soap!”
You grab his forearm (remind yourself not to get distracted by the muscles cording it) and lean into his line of sight. The near-murderous glint in his blue eyes softens, though there’s still an unnatural sheen to them. Something that makes the hair on the back of your head stand on end.
“Soap, let him go,” you say, quiet. “I like this bar, don’t get us kicked out… please?”
He hums, instantly drops Justin to cup his hand around the back of your neck, fingers edging into your hair. His palm feels so big and harm, a little rough with callouses. You try not to think about how easy it would be for him to manipulate your head however he wants…
“Like when you say ‘please,’ hen,” Soap purrs.
You swallow, feel your cheeks flushing as you say, “Then… you should sit down and have a drink with me. Please?”
He grins, crooked and a little mean. “Anythin’ fer you.”
He drops into his stool again like a king on his throne. You perch gingerly on your own, waving Justin away like an annoying fly. Don’t even look as he slinks off, too busy staring at Soap. Who’s… busy staring at you. As always.
“You never called,” he drawls after ordering. Whiskey, neat. The bartender sets your new drink in front of you; you start sipping to gather your thoughts and nerve. “Lucky I happened to stop in here, eh? Imagine if I’d walked past…”
You grimace a bit. A fantastic bit of luck, that. Thought you’re still not sure what type of luck.
Definitely not going to admit to him that you didn’t call on purpose, wanting plausible deniability if you did see him. As if trying to get him under your skirt by happenstance is better than calling him to do it.
“Why did you stop in here?” You ask, looking to change the subject.
“Could smell you,” he answers, eyes twinkling.
You wrinkle your nose, kick at his shin. Want to blame it on the alcohol, but you drink red wine most nights of the week. This is just… placebo and desperation.
“You’re so nasty, you know that?” You huff.
He arches his eyebrows, grins wolfishly. “Could show you how nasty I can be,” he offers.
You wrinkle your nose even as your cheeks burn. That’s exactly what you’re hoping for.
“You can’t keep talking to me like that,” you complain.
He snorts in amusement, hooking his fingers beneath your stool and tugging you closer. Until your knees are between both of his, jeans brushing against your thighs.
“Here’s the thing, darlin’,” he murmurs, low and private. “I think you like when I talk to you like that.”
You swallow audibly, hands dropping down to twist nervously in your lap.
“I think it makes your pretty pussy all wet and swollen when I get all mean like this,” he continues. You shake your head; his palm clamps down on your thigh beneath your skirt, thumb sweeping back and forth over the sensitive skin. “Think she’s fuckin’ aching fer me to make good on all my promises. And you can get all shy and sweet here, but I bet all your cunt wants is to be mounted and bred like a bitch in heat.”
And he’s right. Of course he’s fucking right. That goddamn bad guy fantasy and your shallow, needy pussy, and Soap’s stupid fucking everything.
You feel like you’re about to explode when the bartender sets his whiskey down, snapping the tension like a rubber band. Feel dizzy as you lean away, sipping desperately at your own drink in an attempt to cool off. He gives you all over maybe fifteen second before opening that sinful mouth again.
“So how about it, bonnie? Did I hit the mark?”
You feel frustrated tears pricking at your eyes. Blink and look away at your nervous hands.
“I-I don’t even know you,” you mutter. “You could be dangerous.”
“I am dangerous, baby,” he replies, “just not to you.”
You shake your head. “You’re awful.”
“Mm and you want me to do awful things to you.”
You sigh through your nose, that little logical voice blaring again. He’s going to hurt you. He’s going to use you.
(Would that be so bad, if you go in knowing it?)
A tug at your necklace startles you out of your thoughts, his finger hooked beneath the pendant. You lean in with a noise of protest, afraid he’s going to break it. Gasp as your lips brush his.
“Whatever’s goin’ on in that pretty head, let me fuck it out of you.”
You shudder, hand balanced on his thick, muscular thigh. Can feel a twitch near your thumb. Holy shit.
“I’ll be so good to you, princess,” he promises. “Let me be good to you.”
You suck in a breath. Now or never.
Well, if nothing else, maybe you’ll let Johnny eat him if he’s turns out to be a bastard.
“Prove it,” you breathe.
He guides your chin up, eyes blazing with hunger.
“Yeah?” He asks.
You blink, muster up your courage. “You heard me. Or are you back out?”
His expression goes deliciously dark. “Oh, I’ll prove it, lass. You just sit right here and I’ll get us sorted.”
His fingers slip just that last little bit up and start teasing at the lace of your panties. You bite the inside of your cheek, trying to sip at your cocktail while he flags down the bartender. His nails scrape lightly across the fabric over your clit as gets your card and throws down enough cash to cover all three drinks.
When he pulls his hand away, you have to bite back a whimper.
“If you don’t get up right now, I’m haulin’ you out of here over my shoulder,” he growls in your ear.
You’re up in an instant, smoothing down your skirt. His hand stays glued to your lower back as he ushers you out to the lot. Sits you down in the passenger seat of a black pickup, barely waits for you to buckle yourself in before peeling out of the lot.
You’re about to tell him your address when you hear the clink of a belt, a zipper. Eyes wide as they drop to his pants, to him fishing a huge, hard cock out of jeans.
“C’mere,” he near snarls.
“Soap, that’s not— mph!”
The head of his cock catches on your teeth, but that only seems to spur him on, hips twitching.
“Gonna ruin that pretty makeup, your pretty hair. Gettin’ all dolled up like that for any fucking wanker to see.”
He twists his fingers in your hair and presses you down, your cheek rubbing against the shaft. He feels huge and unnaturally hot. You press your thighs together as you imagine how it’s going to feel inside of you.
“This isn’t safe,” you complain, mouth open as you gasp against the flushed skin.
He curses, tugs you up so that your lips press against the head, already dripping. Your eyes widen in the darkness, shocked and flattered that you’ve already worked him up this much.
“Not gonnae let anything happen,” he promises, “but you need to convince me not to spank this pretty ass black and blue.”
You squeal as he releases you hair just to deliver a harsh smack to one ass cheek, the sting making you clench up.
“H-hey!”
“You want me to slap that pretty pussy too? Bet I could make you cum just tapping that little clit over and over again. That what you want, slag?”
“N-no!”
“Then show me.”
You seal your mouth around the head, sucking and licking at the precum beading at the tip. Try to brace yourself, nearly gag as he hits a pothole and shoves into your throat. It’s noisy and messy, eyes watering from how thick and deep he is already, not letting you up for more than brief gasps of air.
“Fuck, that’s it baby. Work your tongue just like that…” he groans.
You lose track of everything but trying not to gag, his threat lingering with each obscene slurp and twist of your tongue. He tastes better than you expected, and the scent of him surrounds you. Musk and pine, something familiar that niggles at your cock-drunk brain. Can’t be bothered to work it out though, not when he’s tugging your hair. Not when he comes to an abrupt stop and you deepthroat him.
He yanks you off with a near-animal growl. You whine, scrambling to brace yourself and panting. Your head feels foggy. Know your panties are soaked through; shocked you’re not dripping down your leg. If you were sitting properly, you’d probably leave a wet mark on the seat.
You moan as his mouth crashes into yours, tongue sweeping inside like he owns it. He licks the taste of himself off your tongue, hands fumbling your seatbelt off, dragging you over the center console to straddle his lap.
You gasp at the sight of his rock hard, angry cock next to your pretty dress, pressed up against your stomach. Show just how deep he’ll be inside your guts.
“Fuck, look’it that,” he groans rutting against your stomach. “Oh you were made to be mine.”
You scream as he scoops you up, stepping out of the truck with you over his shoulder.
“Soap!” You shout. “Soap, put me down, my dog—”
“I’m your fuckin’ dog,” he replies.
“No, seriously, he’s protective—”
He grabs the spare out of its hiding place and shoves the door open. You brace for angry barking and growls, but hear nothing. Soap doesn’t even pause. He just kicks the door shut and storms down the hall to your room, like he knows exactly where he’s going.
He drops you onto the bed, watches your breasts bounce as you settle on the mattress. He strips off int he blink of any eyes while you’re still catching your breath.
“W-wait, wait, my—”
He flips you onto your stomach, hikes your ass up high in the air. You squirm, try to crawl away, but he slaps your ass so hard you see stars. He places his palm flat between your shoulder blades to bin you still.
“S-Soap,” you whine as he shoves your skirt up over your ass, palms a cheek. Spreads you open just to let the flesh jiggle back into place.
“Fuck,” he growls. It sounds off. Sounds deeper, rougher now.
“Just-just slow down…!”
He yanks your panties aside, plunges two thick fingers into you. You squeal, legs kicking uselessly against the mattress.
“Oh, you’re plenty ready,” he says, dark, almost to himself. “All ready to be mated and bred. All mine.”
That finally starts to break the lust-drunk haze. Open your mouth to tell him absolutely not, it’s been way to long and your need to be stretched—
He forces his entire cock into you with one brutal thrust. You scream, cry, try to flatten yourself against the bed but he won’t even let you do that, muttering about “presenting” properly. It hurts but it feels good, know that’s it’s just too much.
“Soap,” you sob, “y-you can’t— you have to… I’m-I’m gonna break.”
“Shhhh, no you’re not,” he soothes, grinding a bit deeper. Your eyes roll back, keening through your teeth. “You were made for me. You’re all for me.”
You shake your head, but he just chuckles.
“Yes, baby, yes. You let me in, you kept me. Now we belong to each other.”
“Soap, w-what are you talking about…?” you manage, fists tight in the sheets. He draws back once and slams into you, hard, mean.
Leans down so he’s rumbling directly in your ear.“‘S Johnny, hen.”
You blink, confused and overwhelmed. “W-what… n-no. No, Johnny is my….”
“Woof.”
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Y’know what would be hilarious?
Ace does not give Zoro a shovel talk. He watches, and he observes, and in the end he decides that that poor dumb swordsman is so clearly whipped for his idiot little brother that drawing attention to it would be cruel. Luffy can look after himself anyway, and honestly? His whole crew seem pretty protective of him. He’s made good friends. If he and Zoro ever somehow do get their shit together, Ace will be happy for them.
Sabo does not give Zoro a shovel talk. He’s been gone for so long, and by the time he’s back in Luffy’s life Luffy and Zoro have already been an item for a while. As much as he wants to stand menacingly at Luffy’s shoulder and demand that Zoro have him home by ten, it’s too late for that. He doesn’t need to threaten Zoro anyway; the guy is obviously gone for Luffy, and if he DOES make Luffy cry, Sabo will just kill him. No need for the build-up.
Garp does not give Zoro a shovel talk. Or at least, not in so many words. The man does seem to take extra pleasure in beating Zoro up whenever they cross paths, but it’s unclear if that’s actually happening or if it’s just in Zoro’s head. If Garp brings up their relationship at all, Luffy doesn’t say, and Zoro doesn’t ask.
Dragon does not give Zoro a shovel talk. He stands in a shadowy corner and stares at Zoro very intensely for a very long time, and then he silently walks away without Zoro ever even knowing he was there.
Shanks does not give Zoro a shovel talk. He just slaps him on the back of the head, hands him a beer, and wishes him good luck. Then he tears up when Luffy asks him to be at the wedding.
Dadan does not give Zoro a shovel talk. Why should she care about who that brat shacks up with? Ignore that she’s cleaning her guns threateningly on the table. She’s a bandit. They do things like that. She does not care at all that Luffy is dating Zoro, and if Zoro breaks his heart then that’s Luffy’s own fault for falling for some roguish swordsman. None of her business.
Makino… Makino gives Zoro a shovel talk. Plz imagine Makino smiling sweetly and coming to stand in front of Zoro while he's sitting so that they're eye level. Plz imagine Makino looming menacingly over Zoro. Plz imagine Zoro letting her do that. Plz imagine the Staw Hats all watching as The King Of Hell falls all over himself to “yes ma’am” and “no ma’am” and “right away ma’am” this tiny non-combatant with zero fighting skill or experience.
Plz imagine Luffy just nodding approvingly. That’s Makino! Of course you have to respect Makino! She’s Makino!
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In the cave boy fic, I hope Danny has to end up fighting against reanimated hot dogs (I blame the Joker) and when asked why he can fight off reanimated meat. he comments that that's a normal Tuesday in his house as his mom and dad end up reanimating dinner at least once a week, and honestly being here is the longest time he spent without having to fight against reanimated food. He loves his parents but they really need to practice better lab safety or at least stop putting the ectoplasm samples in the same fridge with the food.
This is also adjusted to the cave boy storyline before he takes out the Joker.
One morning, Brucie wakes up and decides to cook everyone breakfast since the night previous was rough for the crime fighters. Almost everyone had gotten injured in one of Riddler's games, nothing life-threatening, but they would be sore and in some cases, in casts for some time. Alfred had been the one to patch the heroes up, so even the aged butler had a rough time.
Bruice had woken before anyone, quickly frying up some sausages, making various versions of eggs (boiled, scrambled, fried, over-easy, omelets) spread out on the table for them to pick which lond they wanted. He made some oatmeal and cut up various fruit in a pretty arrangement of swans.
When the family finally dragged their tired bodies down to the table, they were all greeted by the sight of Alfred being utterly flabbergasted by the spread Bruice proudly presented. Bruicie happily has them take a seat, gathering a plate for them- not before forcing Alfred to sit at the head of the table and make Bruce move to the seat usually reserved for the Lady of the house- and cheerfully place a plate before him.
Everyone was giving each other unsure looks or staring at the plates in wonder. Even Bruce.
Because if there was one thing that was another consent in all the multiverse it was that Bruce Wayne can not cook. The closest any variate has even gotten was burned beyond recognition ash.
Yet here was an entire spread that while not the meal of kings still looked rather taste and some may even say artsty.
"Don't just sit there. Dig in!" Brucie laughs. His hair bounces around his face in an adorable helo, and the family can only stare.
"How did you do this? Is it laced with something?" Tim's voice is heavy with suspicion, which would have been an overreaction if everyone wasn't feeling the same way.
"What? No, It's just eggs, sausage and fruit. With some presentation, I guess, but this isn't hard to make," Brucie says with a hint of defensiveness. "I worked really hard on it."
"We all appricate it Brucie." Dick speaks up leveling the table with a hard look "And we will eat it no matter the taste."
Ah, that must be it. It may look editable, but indeed it would taste terrible. In fact, they wouldn't put it past a version of Bruce Wayne to cause them all to cling to a toilet with his cooking.
Knowing it best to get it over with, the Bats pick up a utensil and carefully cut a bite of eggs or sausage. They hesitate for a moment- Brucie digs in, chewing loudly and quickly through his omelet-throwing. Each other looks to wish them luck, and in one symmetrical movement, everyone eats.
It's...heavenly. It tastes as good as Alfred's food, which they thought no one could match. Before they know it, they fill their plates and go for seconds, not long afterward.
Alfred is all but glowing with paternal pride by the end.
"Young Master Brucie, I had no idea you knew how to cook and so wonderfully as well!" Aldred compliments
Brucie looks up, one piece of sausage dangling from his mouth, reminding them he had no table manners. How in the world does Alfred of his world allow that? They would never know.
Brucie swallows before grinning widely. "Thanks. I love cooking when it's not attacking me."
What?
"Come again?" Bruce asks, blinking slowly as Brucie launches into tale after tale about his food reanimating and creating armies in the family fridge to fight for their freedoms. Or just eating as quickly as possible to prevent the food from coming to life.
He jokingly points at the plate with the sausage. "We better hurry before they develop eyes."
He then just goes back to eating like nothing and the rest of the table is left horrified. Eventually, Brucie excuses himself to go watch a mind-numbing movie- because he doesn't do anything- and they rush the food down to the cave for tests.
They all panic until the results come back like usual, and they realize that he is likely just joking. They all feel bad for doubting him, all but Tim and Cass, who knew Brucie had not lied or joked.
His food honestly did come to life in his old world. They just don't know what to do with that information.
Why did Bruce have to be weird in all universes?
#dcxdpdabbles#dc x dp crossover#Cave Boy Au#Danny can cook...when his parents don't contaminate it.#The bats don't know what to do with a Bruce that can cook#They thought he was trying to poison then.
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Afraid - Dean Winchester (smut)
Y'all asked for some jealous!posessive!Dean, so who am I to deny that wish? I came across a Dean edit paired with the song "Afraid" by The Neighbourhood, I guess that set the mood. Honestly, it's just pwp, but I ain't sorry. Please like and reblog if you enjoyed reading this, your comments keep us writers motivated! Enjoy my loves. xxx
Summary: Dean is tired of watching men trying to chat (y/n) up wherever the brothers take her. Dean is tired of faking his disinterest in the reader. Dean is tired of holding back.
Warnings: 18+, smut, piv, choking, oral (m), car sex, but some fluff and a love confession
Pairing: Dean Winchester x fem!reader (2.2k words)
The sound of her boots meeting the ground was drowned out by the music echoing through the bar and the chatter filling the air. She was working on the adrenaline still thumping through her veins, riled up by the hunt Dean and her had just finished, wiping their weapons clean before they found their way to this very bar, ready for some distraction before they left this town in the morning.
With a bright – yet awfully fake – smile glued to her lips, (y/n) made her way to the bartender, studying the man who was focused on the drinks he kept preparing. She was too concentrated on the game she was about to play with the guy, all too used to these moments, to notice the eyes of some other men on her frame, intently studying the woman’s body.
“Hi.” Her soft voice forced the bartender’s grey eyes to find hers, grinning at the smiling woman. He was handsome, with his bright, stormy eyes and the black hair he had gelled back, yet he was nowhere near as handsome as the green-eyed hunter she had been friends with for years by now. Dean fucking Winchester, the man who had an awfully confusing grasp on her body and soul, holding her heart in his hands, crushing it whenever he turned from her to find shelter in another woman’s bed.
“Hi, darlin’. What can I get for you?” Before (y/n) could speak her and Dean’s order, an unfamiliar voice spoke up from behind her.
“Give the lovely woman a few shots it’s on me.” Slowly (y/n) turned towards the man, eyes finding his greedy ones, trying to keep her disgust from finding its way to her features. A soft chuckle left her, hoping to distract the man for a few seconds, while she figured out a way out of this situation.
“Mhm, thank you, that’s very sweet.” (Y/n) tried to turn away from him, though without any luck, stopped by the hand finding its way to her waist.
“Not so fast, pretty. At least tell me your name.” A groan threatened to claw through (y/n), eyes fluttering in annoyance the man clearly mistook for shy flattery, making the smirk he wore on his thin lips grow.
“It’s Mandy. Now, if you’ll excuse me, my friend is waiting for me.” The man’s hand didn’t move, tightening its grip on her waist. With her lips forming a snarl, (y/n) was hellbent on fighting her way out of this, it wasn’t the first time a man tried to chat her up against her will, and it certainly wouldn’t be the last, all too used to these uncomfortable situations. Though while her mind raced to find a snarky reply, she was gently though determinedly pulled away from the man.
“Hey, I was talking to her!” Her mind didn’t get the chance to concentrate on the man’s loud voice, distracted by the all-too-familiar scent forcing its way up her nose. For a second (y/n) allowed her eyes to flutter close, relaxing in Dean’s possessive grasp, concentrating on his scent, of the feeling of his muscles pressing against her frame, wordlessly telling her that he wouldn’t let her go.
“Well, now she’s done talking to you. Let’s go, baby, I want to get out of here.” The man got no chance to protest, forced to watch Dean guide (y/n) through the crowd and out into the cold evening. She inhaled a few breaths, wrapping her arms around herself the second Dean let go of her, searching the distance between them.
“Not that I don’t appreciate your help, but I would have managed just fine on my own, Dean.” He was walking a few steps ahead of her, coming to an abrupt stop the second she spoke the words. Dean turned towards her with dark eyes, features pulled into a hard frown, looking at (y/n) as if she was a supernatural being he was about to kill.
“I’m so fucking sick and tired of watching these men get their hands on you. Do you even know what seeing that does to me?” Dean’s voice carried an unfamiliar kind of anger, dripping with possessiveness, with jealousy. Her heart started racing in her chest, forcing heat to rise to her face, wondering where this was coming from. (Y/n) kept her gaze focused on Dean, eyebrows furrowed together as the seconds kept ticking by, trying to figure out what was going on inside his mind. “You know what, forget it.”
“Absolutely not. Talk to me, Dean, where is this coming from?” She reached for his hand before he could try to start walking once again, eyes drawn to hers like a moth drawn to any source of light. (Y/n) could tell that he was fighting an inner battle, tongue kissing his teeth, fingers forcing themselves closer to hers, interlacing them with his.
“I,” a deep, almost defeated exhale left Dean, wondering how to put his thoughts into words. But the second the sound of somebody stepping out of the bar found its way to the two, it was as if he was lured out of his trance, letting go of (y/n). “I can’t do this, not here.”
Dean started walking towards Baby without looking back, growling something under his breath (y/n) couldn’t pick up. With determination guiding her, she jogged towards him, forcing him to a halt in front of Baby once again, murmuring his name. The last thing she heard before Dean turned towards her, reaching for (y/n) to press her against Baby, was an angry “Fuck it” leaving the tall man.
Her gasp was swallowed by his lips finding hers, kissing her hungrily as if they had been parted from one another for years, dreaming of their shared kisses, clinging to bits and pieces of their memories. Both moaned in unison, allowing their tongues to meet, turning the kiss even more heated.
Slowly he parted from her, allowing the both of them to catch their breaths. His cold hands found their way to her warm cheeks, thumb stroking along her swollen lips as he pondered over his words. (Y/n) struggled to concentrate on anything but his touch, taken up by the feeling she had been desperate to feel for years, wondering if and how Dean would touch her.
“You’re mine, you always have been, and you always will be. I won’t share you, just the thought of it makes me sick.” Dean’s growled words shot heat to her core, walls clenching around nothing. Wordlessly she pulled him down for another kiss, needing to feel him close once again, not fully trusting that this wasn’t just a trick of her imagination. Dean pressed her even further against Baby, keeping her trapped to make her feel every inch of his body, groaning the second his growing bulge came in contact with her desperate heat. “Do you feel what you do to me? I should fuck you right here, for them to see that you’re mine, mine only.”
A whimper left (y/n) at his words, drawing a dangerous chuckle from Dean as he let go of her, giving her just enough space to find her way to the passenger seat. Her eyes didn’t dare part from his features, trying to soak up every second. She couldn’t stop her grin from widening as her hands began to move, finding his thigh before Dean could catch up on what she was trying to do. He shot her a warning look, teeth nibbling on his lower lip, but her hands kept moving, finding their way to his crotch, feeling his hardening cock strain against the fabric of his washed-out jeans.
“Sweetheart,” Dean choked on the word, struggling to keep his eyes focused on the road. (Y/n) didn’t speak up, she began to shift in her seat, leaning towards him to free his growing cock from the confines of his clothes. The groan that left Dean filled her with giddiness, spitting into her palms before she touched him for the first time, slowly stroking him. “Fuck, feels so good, been dreaming of this.”
Her soft chuckles forced a grin to widen on Dean’s lips, freezing the second he felt her warm breath clashing against his soft skin. Without another warning, she parted her lips, spitting onto his tip before she took him in her mouth. The groan that left Dean echoed through Baby, a sound that forced (y/n) to hum around him, making the sound vibrate on his skin.
Even though Dean tried to concentrate on the dark road ahead, he felt his concentration slipping, parking Baby on the side of the road before (y/n) realised what he was doing. With one hand getting tangled in her hair, Dean roughly pulled her off his cock and back in for a teeth-clashing kiss.
“Get in the backseat, I need to fuck you now.” The rough tone of Dean’s voice left (y/n) moaning, struggling to make her way to the backseat with her thoughts focused on the things Dean would do to her. He didn’t waste any time the second she found him hovering over her, hands pulling on her trousers and panties to expose her dripping cunt, groaning at the sight.
His calloused fingers touched her expertly, circling her pulsing bundle with just enough pressure to push her into another dimension. Within seconds Dean had turned her into a blabbering mess, choking on her words as he pushed two fingers into her tightness. He didn’t hold back, kept her pinned to the leather seat with his free hand finding her throat.
“You’re mine, your body belongs to me from now on.” For years she had imagined moments like this, wondering if she’d ever be fortunate enough to feel him this close, wondering how it must feel to have his hands on her. She could stay buried beneath him till the end of their time, allowing Dean to touch her as he pleased.
“Dean,” she whispered his name, unable to use any more strength with his hand choking her just the way she liked. “Fuck me, please.”
Dean stared down at her for a few seconds, nodding his head as he pulled away, reaching for his wallet to pull out a condom. Within moments he placed himself on top of (y/n), aligning his tip with her cunt. With their eyes holding contact, he pushed into her, groaning at the feeling of her walls fluttering around him.
Her lips parted at the feeling of Dean slowly pushing into her, allowing (y/n) to adjust to the unfamiliar sensation. Dean stared down at her, eyes growing a few shades darker at the sight of her pleasure drunken features, finding excitement in her moans. Only as she nodded her head, teeth buried in her lower lip, did he start a faster rhythm, set on pushing her closer and closer to the edge.
“Fuck, Dean, feels so good.” One of his hands found its way back to her throat, holding onto her as he fucked her faster, deeper, set on making her remember this very night till their last moment together. The Impala moved with his every thrust, keeping them protected from any dangers waiting out in the dark, allowing the two lovers to give in to their every emotion.
“Been imagining this for years, but you feel even better than I thought, fuck, it’s like you were made for me, sweetheart.” (Y/n) couldn’t reply, could only clench around him with her eyes squeezed shut and her fingernails leaving crescent shapes on his neck. She held onto him as if he was about to disappear, about to leave her behind – even though she very well knew that Dean would never let go of her, forever holding her close.
The second Dean tightened his grip on her throat, she found herself looking up at him, allowing heat to rise in her system as she picked up on the love swimming in his pupils. Dean tilted his head down to press a kiss to her lips, momentarily distracting her from the feeling of his cock nudging her swollen spot, leaving her body tingling.
“Touch yourself for me, baby.” The simple command rolled off Dean’s tongue, filling the Impala with another wave of heat to crawl up her body. With one arm slung around his neck, the other found its way down her frame, fingers rubbing her clit. Dean could swear that he was finally in heaven, that he had finally found his peace with her buried beneath him, finally his to love.
(Y/n) could only whisper Dean’s name, eyes once again falling shut as she came. He fucked her through her high, staring down at her with his lips pulled into a smirk. It took Dean a few more moments before he gave in, letting a string of curses roll off his tongue.
“I love you, sweetheart.” His words made tears well up in (y/n)’s eyes, pulling him down for one last kiss before she repeated the three loving words.
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instead of hotch being protective what about bau!girly standing her ground when a reporter flirts with her man
you knew better than to be jealous. aaron was more than loyal to you, more than faithful, to betray, to cheat, those were not things even in his vocabulary, definitely not in his moral code. but the thing is, you weren't jealous, you were baffled, to say the least. just before the press conference the woman you had your eyes fiercely glued on right now saw aaron gripping on your waist and placing a kiss on your forehead as you wished him good luck. she knew.
she knew very well she wasn't flirting with a single man, and she proved it every time she touched his arm after the cameras shut off, her eyes betraying her as she looked at you for few seconds at a time.
aaron had already told her he was busy and needed to leave, but she was insisting on keeping the one sided conversation going, taking advantage of his politeness and the fact he couldn't be rude to news reporters, he couldn't misrepresent the fbi.
luckily. or unluckily for him, he decided to date someone not as preoccupied with the bureau's image, so after the second time he tried to leave and the reporter held him by the wrist, you stepped in, gently taking her hand from him.
"for a news reporter you're really slow on catching on, huh?" your voice and the smile you gave her sickly sweet, aaron giving you his best i'm still your boss do not do this look, even if he knew you well enough to see it was a lost cause.
"excuse me!?" her eyes finally gave attention to anyone else rather than hotchner, giving you her best offended expression. it was pitiful, to try and conceal her true intentions from an experienced profiler, really.
"sweetie, this man is not interested in you. and we have a job to do here, so get off of him, will ya? jesus." you shook your head at her, not giving her time to try anything else, pulling aaron with you by the end of the sleeve of his blazer.
in other occasions he might have apologized for your behavior, but he was indeed bothered and he wanted to leave just as much as you wanted to take him out of there. it was nice to be the protected one at times. and it was cute to see you jealous.
"what about the whole too mature to be jealous talk we had months ago?" he teases you, hugging you sideways.
"hotchner, don't try me, i could've arrested her, i was completely sane and controlled." you glanced up to him, met with his very known smile, lips lightly turned as he shook his head at you.
"arrested her in what grounds!?"
"trespassing federal property! i'm a federal agent and she was touching my property!" you're obviously making fun of the situation now, but your face looks dead serious and you're using your most threatening voice tone.
"terrible, awful, jealous thing you." aaron laughs and you mock his list of adjectives directed at you, he opens the door of the suv so you can get on the passenger seat, and he puts the seat belt on you, kissing you tenderly right after. "i love you."
"love you too."
#today you walk free from your crimes bc this was the PERFECT request jo#aaron x reader#aaron x you#aaron hotch x reader#aaron hotch x you#aaron hotch imagine#aaron hotchner x reader#aaron hotchner x you#aaron hotchner imagine#criminal minds x reader
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”Start of the season-drama” pt2
Max Verstappen x reader
TW: slight angst, raised voices
A/N: thank you sooo much for the support on part one!! doing a lil happy dance because of u xx
~~~~
Max had tried calling you over fifty times the past three days but you refused to answer. You didn’t know if it was because you were still upset with him or because you were just that ashamed, but you couldn’t find it in you to talk to him. You had hope that there was a reasonable explanation for the photos but no matter how hard you tried to come up with one they all ended with you heartbroken. You were terrified Max would confirm any of them.
You read his texts and listened to his voice messages, responding that you’d talk to him when he’d get back. When he threatened to take an early flight, missing the race, you told him he was being dramatic and then you wished him good luck. Max stopped trying to reach you after that.
You had called in sick to work Friday and Saturday, staying home to simultaneously write and watch the qualifying and the race. You weren’t surprised to see Max bring home another win, but you felt bad when you noticed his seemingly bad mood in the post-race interviews. You could just assume you were the reason for the constant frown on his face and the dark circles under his eyes.
Sunday afternoon rolled in and you were restless. The fact that Max would be arriving back home tomorrow was starting to freak you out and you forced yourself to keep busy at all times not to overthink everything more than you already were. Currently you were standing on your tiptoes on one of the bar chairs, dusting the top of the bookshelves that were lining one wall in the living room. It obviously hadn’t been done in years and didn’t necessarily need to be done now either, but it was something to do. You were so caught up in your work that you hadn’t noticed the sound of the front door being unlocked, the bags being dropped on the floor or someone entering the room. Max stopped on the other side of the room, brows furrowed as he took you in. You were wearing one of his shirts, by the look of it one of his oldest ones and he knew you would’ve had to dug deep in the drawers for that one. As you reached the top shelf it rode up enough for him to see that you were wearing a pair of his boxers too and for some reason he melted slightly at the fact that you were dressed all in his clothes.
“Be careful.” You flinched, a gasp leaving your lips as your head spun around to follow the sudden sound. Max eyes widened as you wobbled for a second before regaining your balance and he thanked god he didn’t cause you to fall.
“Max, you’re home already?” You were confused, trying to figure out if your calculations had been wrong. He nodded, having to stop himself from walking over to help you as you climbed down from the chair.
“I took an early flight, left right after the podium.” He paused for a second, feeling the anger he’d felt for the past few days bubbling up again. “Felt a bit stressed to get back here since my girlfriend has been refusing to talk to me.” You bit down on the inside of your cheeks, resisting the urge to roll your eyes.
“Congrats on the win, you were-“ you began, but Max cut you off. He had told himself to keep calm, talk this through, but he felt the plan collapse almost immediately. He couldn’t deny the frustration.
“Are you fucking kidding me? I don’t want a congratulation from you y/n, I want an explanation! I want to know what the fuck happened on Thursday?” His voice was sharp, arms crossed over his chest. You looked away.
“What happened was that I wanted to come see you, but you said no.” You shrugged, the frown on your face deepening.
“I didn’t say no, I said it was unnecessary- that’s not even the issue here. The thing I’m most upset- confused over is you said I had some girl?”
“I saw the pictures Max.” You glared at him, all the hurt and confusion and anger from the past few days coming back. “I saw you with her.“
Max looked even more bewildered than a second ago, flailing his arms out in exasperation. “Who?! What are you talking about?”
“I’m talking about your fucking date to the banquet!” You exclaimed, raising your voice to match his. “The girl you snuck away with when you didn’t think anyone would see!” Max just stared at you with wide eyes, lips opening and parting in confusion. You, however, took his silence as a sign of guilt. “I get that you’d want a girl who’s willing to follow you everywhere, who’s willing to give up her own life to be your trophy but fuck, Max, I thought you’d at least give me a heads up.”
”I didn’t bring a fucking date to the banquet, where are you getting this from? What fucking photos?”
Without another word you reached for your phone, searching up the tweet that started this whole mess. Zooming in on the photo where he was cupping her cheeks you handed him the phone, crossing your arms over your chest the second he grabbed it from you. Max stared down at the screen, eyebrows going up before they were pushed together. Slowly he looked up at you again.
“Baby-“ he began with a sigh, the apologetic tone of his voice had you assuming he was about to confess to cheating on you. The anger was quickly replaced with hurt and a shockwave of sadness. Suddenly your vision was watery and you took a step back, wrapping your arms tighter around yourself. Max seemed to understand, quickly shaking his head.
“It’s not what you think, not what it looks like.”
“Oh come on-“ you sniffed, but Max wouldn’t have it.
“No, I get how that sounds but just let me explain. That’s Rebecca, you’ve met her. Tommy’s daughter.” You had to rummaged through your brain for a second before you could place the name. Rebecca was the daughter of one of Redbulls mechanics. You’d met her a few times during races, she was a sweet girl. Your eyes widened slightly.
“Isn’t she like seventeen?”
“Yeah!”
You stared at him, even more chocked than a moment before. Max saw the look on your face and quickly shook his head. A shiver ran up his spine at the realization of what you were thinking.
“God no! Not like that. She was at the banquet with Tommy but something happened, I think someone tried to pressure her into drinking and stuff- I met her when I came from the restroom and she was crying so I brought her out, away from everyone.” Max looked down at the photo again, frowning. “Away from the cameras, I thought. She was hyperventilating and I all could think about is when you’re having a panic attack so I did what I do then, I held her and I forced her to breathe with me.” When he looked back up you were already staring at him, lips slightly parted in chock. Max tossed your phone into the couch, taking a careful step closer to you. “That’s it. That’s all that happened. I did what you taught me.”
“God.” You let out a shaky breath, hiding your face behind your hands. Out of all the scenarios you’d constructed over the past few days, none even came close to this. Max hadn’t cheated, he hadn’t even been close to. He’d helped an innocent girl, doing for her what he always did for you when you suffered from anxiety. The guilt was slowly settling in your stomach. Max watched you softly shake your head before you carefully glanced at him between fingers. “Max I’m so sorry.” You saw him visibly relax when he realized you accepted his explanation and a second later he sunk down in the couch, seemingly exhausted. With a deep breath he leaned back, closing his eyes.
“Fuck.” He sighed, reaching up to rub his forehead. “I’ve been wracking my brain trying to figure out what I did and why you were so mad and not once did it occur to me that it might’ve been this.” Things were quiet after that. You crawled up on the barstool, pulling your knee to your chest, as Max stayed half laying down in the couch. Leaning your cheek against your knee you watch his chest rise and fall slower and slower. You almost thought he’d fallen asleep when he suddenly spoke again. “Did you think I cheated on you?”
“I don’t know.” You answered honestly, making Max open his eyes to look at you. You felt your heart clench at the sad look on his face. “I love you Max, and I know you love me but-“
“But?” He asked softly, moving to sit up properly. He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, and watched your through thick lashes. You took a deep breath.
“But sometimes I worry I’m not what you want. I know a lot of the others wife’s and girlfriends come to every race and you know, follow you guys around the world. I would understand if you’d want that too. You’re always talking about how I should quit my job and- well I saw the pictures and I guess all my insecurities came to life and I freaked out. I’m sorry.” You reached up to swiftly wipe away a stray tear and Max frowned. He reached a hand out, waving it as to call you over. You got the hint and slid down from the chair, carefully padding across the floor to him. The second you were within reach he pulled you down in his lap and you could practically feel yourself melt into him. God you’d missed having him close.
“You are everything I want.” Max mumbled against the top of your head and you felt shivers run up your spine. You opened your mouth to answer but quickly shut it again when you felt the lump in your throat, a few tears spilling over as you blinked. Max let his arms snake even tighter around you as he heard you sniff quietly against his chest. “I love how much you value your job and I’m so proud of you for actually being able to handle both studying and working at the same time.” You felt his fingers press softly into your side as he spoke, voice hushed and gentle. “I tell the guys all the time how smart you are, how much I admire you.”
“But I’m never there for you.” You whispered and Max carefully shifted the two of you enough so that he could look down at you. His eyes flickered between yours, hand moving up to wipe your tears.
“You’re always there for me. Maybe not in person, but I always know I have you. Like you always know you have me, right?” He waited for you to nod before he continued. “I can race on my own, just like you work on your own. Whats important to me is that I get to come home to you.” He carefully picked an eyelash from your cheek as you processed his words. When he met your eyes again he offered a small smile, tilting his head slightly. “That being said, if I could I’d spend every second literally glued to your side but apparently that’s not healthy.” You laughed at that and the smile on Maxs face widened. With something between a sigh and a chuckle you dropped your forehead back against his chest.
“I’m sorry again Maxie.” You mumbled against his shirt, feeling it vibrate as he hummed.
“Don’t worry about it schatje.” He pulled you with him to lay down in the couch and it barely took a second before the two of you were comfortably entangled in each other. “Honestly, it was kind of nice seeing you that jealous. It’s an achievement from my part, without even knowing.” He joked, earning another laugh from you as you lifted your head to look at him.
“First place the first two races of the season wasn’t enough achievements for you?”
The grin almost took up Maxs whole face and you giggled at the proud twinkle in his eyes. Before he had time to say something that would have you slap him, you leaned in to press your lips against his instead.
Max was home and everything was alright.
~~~~
Tagging ppl who asked for pt2 <333
@lpab @aexitizen-ln4 @buttfug213 @sxcretricciardo @hadthemapplebottomjeans @sunny44 @phantomxoxo @sunnyfunnydemon
#Max verstappen#max verstappen x reader#verstappen x reader#verstappen#formula 1 imagine#formula 1#f1 imagine#f1 x reader#redbull#verstappen fanfic#formula one#f1 fanfic#f1
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The Chauffeur.
Yan Aventurine x F Reader.
Synopsis: Life has always made losers out of people like you. You dream even now that that could be changed. But can it really?
Warnings: Yandere themes, manipulation, kidnapping, stalking, drugging, misogyny, abuse of power, and mentions of violence.
Word Count: 3.2k.
*~*~*~*
When thrust into a world filled with illusions of chance, one can only hope that change will soon arise.
The company, the appearances, the losers, the winners; nothing ever changes, not even the dreams that things will.
How you are treated is a gamble all on its own too, despite you wishing it were not so. Lady Luck has yet to smile upon you, but instead of gifting you with snake eyes, she gives you the utmost displeasure of being slapped, being threatened, or having your salary lowered. You sometimes wish she would just give you the lowest score on a physical die instead of an invisible one.
You wish she would have made you less appealing to unwanted stares, would have made you have a burned face that would scare off anyone as soon as they looked at you. Hell, even make you be an old woman begging for spare change. That would be a better existence than to live in this body, where you are forced to wave and smile and conceal the bruises and slap marks whenever they appear in a place not covered by your dress. Not that your dress covers anything.
You have three jobs in this casino. Your first one is to spin the wheel or make the letters visible after all the bets are placed and the speaker gives you the signal to do so. Your second one is to always look presentable, your boss’s definition of “best”. Appearances will bring in more onlookers, he said. Just get yourself all dolled up. Okay, toots?
You conform every time your clothes change in color, size, and pattern because after all, they could just replace you with someone more willing.
After all, you have your mouth to feed and your own back to clothe.
So, you endure not all of it, but most of it. You endure the times your assigned makeup artist has called you a whore for not letting him stay in your room during his breaks, the times the suited mascot of this place squeezed you a bit too tight when you were told to take a few photos with him. You pretend not to notice things like that, because if you start a conflict who knows what will happen?
The applause of onlookers is always paired up with lewd comments about your body instead of congratulations to the winner.
The heels you are paid to wear always manage to make you trip onto someone, or rely on some flirty stranger to help you walk to and fro. Your manager told you to grow your hair out when you first started working here, and when it finally reached the desired length he gave you very few options when it came to which hairstyle you wanted. If you remember correctly, it couldn’t have been more than four. All of them had curtain bangs and waves. There was even one, you think, that had something to do with bleaching.
You opted for the one that let you keep the most of your natural hair pattern, not that that was a lot.
Your dresses always come with a slit to see one of your legs. Temptations bring in more dreams, and with dreams come people wanting to be big shots. That is what your boss said to you after you questioned your given work wardrobe. You did not want his glare and mocking laugh to be aimed at you any longer, so you nodded and went to change. He praised you for it later, but your brain protected itself by not remembering what he said.
All you can recall is the way you shuttered at him wrapping an arm around your bare shoulders, a lit cigarette in his hand.
You don’t shutter as often anymore after he scowled and threatened to place it on your palm.
Your world is simpler than it was before when you were sleeping on the streets and given just barely enough to scrape by. You only have three jobs to do, but the third one holds the most importance. Sabotage the gamble. Never let them win unless they hold enough power that your boss permits you to stand back.
There have been very few instances of that happening, but they happen nonetheless. They are this casino’s equivalent of a blue moon. There are telltale signs before you are told of their status. Their clothes are always glittering like an invisible spotlight is on them. They always have guards, and people sticking to their arms like glue just itching for a taste. It is an even rarer sight to see one of them being chosen to be their partner for the night. You can tell when a person can buy you off with their proportion of pocket change. Not that anyone has, much to your gratitude.
This man is just like them. You can sense the ego dripping off of him, and can sense how much all those rings on his fingers cost.
This is the real deal. You can tell. That earring of his is probably worth twice that of all of your organs. That is being generous with the price you would most likely hold on the black market. In reality, perhaps thrice. That is not even going into his pink sunglasses, which have tiny gems stuck on the sides.
He has a gun holster, you think, but the gun itself is nowhere to be seen.
Perhaps one of his men is holding it for him. Perhaps.
From the corner of your eye, you see your boss amongst the crowd, nodding slowly at you. He is sitting in a booth a bit more distanced from the others, three women on either side of him. Every time he sits there, it is your first signal that something is surely going to happen. Good or bad. This time it is good, and you will end the night with nothing less than a few thousand credits for playing your part well. Last time it was bad, and you ended up having so much more than a simple slap on the wrist.
He has three dice between his pointer and middle fingers. One green, one teal, and one dark blue. They are each twelve-sided from what you can see, but the sigils remain unseen by you. Maybe for the best, you think, you don’t want him to take up as much memory space as he already has.
All you want is for this shift to be over, but with this unplanned patron skipping the line of gamblers to gamble himself, who knows how long until the dice stops rolling?
Your fellow staff members look happier, displaying genuine smiles on their faces. Not that you can blame them though, most of them are new hires because your boss tends to fire people on the daily.
“Hold on a sec, please. Madam, I would like to use my lucky charms before you spin the wheel. If you don’t mind, that is.” The man requests. It is not a sincere question, you note, because he clasps onto the dice in his palm so lightly like they are gravity-resistant.
Instead of looking at him, you look at your boss first. He doesn’t seem to be paying attention to you any longer with what looks like one of the women being straddled on his left thigh. Hmm. It’s your call then, you suppose.
“Sure,” You answer, trying to put on your best polite grin. “Who am I to deny such an… experienced gambler?”
“Thank you for the praise,” He replies, his free arm bending as he scratches the back of his head. “But you… misunderstand, I am just a simple bettor, nothing more.”
The positioned desk with a microphone attached has just become this casino’s newest playing ground. Faster than you can blink, the dice are let out of his hand and roll. When they stop, you can hear cheers and praises, as if they are all meant for him.
A spotlight is focused on him too, a color more dazzling than the brightest glittering gold.
“I’m going to choose the peach.”
You nod and spin the wheel, all of the colors blurring together, slowly but surely soon coming to a stop.
The pink area with the same peach is on the pointer, and the crowd all clap their hands and dance.
*~*~*~*
During your breaks, you are allowed to go to your recovery room to do whatever limited array of activities your bookshelf and dusty boxes under your bed had in store for you. The breaks are always nothing more than half an hour, but you earned the right to have your breaks’ minimal times be nothing less than ten minutes.
“I just… noticed you never play the games you so often assist, that’s all.” The blond stranger continues to follow as you speedily walk down the hallway to the backrooms. Little by little, the golden paint that coats the walls turns into a dull beige, a sure sign that your treasured little hiding place is near.
“I wish I could but right now I have my lunch break, sir.”
His speed is nowhere near diminishing, no, if anything it is getting more profound.
If you did not have unwanted company, if you did not have to worry about the security cameras in every corner of this part of the casino, if you did not have this job you hate to your very core, you would have torn the high heels off of your blistered feet.
But you cannot because you do have unwanted company, you do have to worry about the security cameras in every corner of this part of the casino, you do have this job you hate to your very core. So, the high heels stay on and make sounds with every step you take.
“Come on, Miss [First]. I know you want to.” You have been unable to get him off your back for the past ten minutes. Even when you attempted to walk around the less crowded parts of this casino in circles, he was there. “[First]. A lovely name, if I say so myself. [First], [First], [First].”
It takes everything in you not to frown or cross your arms. That could be considered rude, especially to someone as high standing as this man. “Utmost sincere apologies, sir, but I really-”
“Aventurine.” He interrupts. “It’s Aventurine, Miss. You don’t have to call me sir, you know. We’re alone here in this stank hallway. Without my money, I’m just like you, and I’m sure we can become great friends.”
“In my opinion, I believe that there are better people than me to form connections with, Mister Aventurine.” You try not to huff in frustration, but you could have sworn that one was let out.
In the distance, you see your recovery room, the number two on it turning off and on every few seconds.
It has always been that way. The only one who often gets renovations to their living quarters is your boss. The rest of you are nothing more than cow fodder to him, even his assistants.
“You should head back, Mister Aventurine.” You say, the smile on your face trying its hardest not to fade as you turn to look at him. “I don’t want your seat at the pinball machine to be taken from you.”
“And who do you think would have the guts to steal from me?” Aventurine smirks, one of his hands lowering his sunglasses down to the tip of his nose. “No one is that suicidal, that’s the hard truth.”
He winks at you faster than you can get a grip on your door’s handle.
“Just think about it, m’kay?”
In a flash, he starts walking off, leaving you all alone.
*~*~*~*
“Ah, you’re back!”
Aventurine is at the start of the hallway, the part where the gold paint is the most pronounced.
“My break ended.” You say your answer quickly and simply as you walk past him. Instead of your high heels, you are wearing black flats.
Your feet were bleeding much more than usual when you finally made it to your room. Yeah. That is the excuse you will give to your boss if he asks. He seems drunk and is still at his little booth, not to mention it is dark in the casino at the moment, so there is quite a low chance he will.
“You don’t look so good.” Aventurine nearly shouts, causing you to walk even faster to make it to the wheel of fortune. “Did something happen?”
His voice is soon drowned out by the crowds of people talking. Just a few more seconds. A few more seconds, and he won’t be able to bother you much longer and he will head back to that pinball machine he has been hoarding for the past hour.
You move past the ogling eyes of drunk consumers and move past the guards, who always let you behind the stage without a hassle. Your flats don’t make nearly as much noise as the heels as you walk up the five steps.
You only have three minutes before the curtains withdraw from their positions, so you pull on your bun to make it tighter and put the stray baby hairs behind your ears. You brush any dust off your dress and then brush off any dust that is on the gambling wheel. The cleaners only work after all the shows are done and all the guests go home, so it is up to you to make sure the show is always looking its best.
You hear the countdown from the electric speakers and the onlookers.
“Five! Four!”
You take a few deep breaths.
“Three!”
You hear the confetti cannons turn on.
You close your eyes and think about the best possible future, one where you can be happy. Where you can be yourself. Where your smiles are real. Where your happiness is real. Reading for as much as your heart desires. Trying all the delicious-looking food no matter how strange it may look.
“Two!”
Instead of hearing the number one, you just hear more cheers.
The curtains move to the designated sides of the stage, and the near-blinding spotlight shines at you. You smile, waving at the crowds of people, until you see something that nearly causes your facade to crumble down.
Aventurine stands there at the start of the line, holding his three dice just like before.
*~*~*~*
You avoid Aventurine just long enough for the casino to close for the night. It was not an easy task by any means, but somehow retreating to the bar on the job and making simple conversations with other patrons and fellow staff members was enough to repel him.
Since it is after hours, the bartender has gone back to his room to sleep after downing five shots of Spade. He will be hungover tomorrow, that much is certain.
Ah, to only work when it is far past dusk. A dream only for your boss’s most favored employees. Aside from the bartender, there is his guard, who has been seen for the past few months being so drunk that he cannot even stand; he has to sit on the floor.
There is no room for you in that little club. But your gut tells you that it is better this way, for no one unfavored can see what goes on inside.
It is only you in this bar now, spinning around on the stool closest to the gates that lead to the other side. It’s you. Despite this job, despite everything, you are still you. All you ever have to be is you. Only you.
The glass in front of you is half full. Half full with Melancholy. It is only slightly bitter, the rest of the flavor profile being floral and refreshing. This type of shot glass is only reserved for people as high standing as Aventurine due to the little scattering of gold at the rim.
They are stuck there so they won’t choke whoever is drinking from the cup. For once, your boss put his resources into something partially useful. If only he would do the same with your salary and put some more credits into it.
The door’s chiming bell rings. You hear the front door then close. Did the bartender forget to lock the door?
Should you say something? You don’t want to get in trouble with your boss tomorrow, and his hangover will certainly make his wrath ten times worse than it already was.
The sound of footsteps doesn't fade, and another sound accompanies it soon enough; Aventurine’s voice.
“Hey. Just wanted to drop by. See what you’re doing this late all alone, you know?”
Before you can turn around and politely ask him to leave, he sits on the stool beside you. Vibrant eyes make contact with yours.
A hand goes on your shoulder, squeezing with a purpose; to keep you quiet.
“Are you drunk? You smell like Blossom Dew and Soothing Soda. Heavily.”
He's exaggerating, you know this. You've barely had a sip. It's not nearly enough to get you intoxicated. Not at this early into the after-hours. You still need to have a few more beverages before heading to your room for the night.
“Mister Aventurine, I am going to have to ask you to leave.” As he chuckles, your body instinctively reacts, possibly as a protective response. You wouldn’t blame it for acting this way, even under ordinary circumstances.
“I don’t think you’re in the right place to be making orders like that. Maybe if you worked for the IPC, but you’d have to work at the speed of light to get anything close to my ranking.” His hands slither from his sides to your glass, tilting it so he can see the dark yellow liquid within it. “Hmm. Do you not have a high alcohol tolerance, Miss [First]?”
“I do.” You rebuke. He shrugs his shoulders.
“I don’t think I should believe you, honestly.” With one of his hands, he takes off his pink sunglasses, putting them beside your cup. “Maybe if you drank the rest of it in one gulp.” With a slam, he puts a stack of credits on the table. “Go on, do it and I’ll give you enough credits to leave Penacony forever. I promise.”
Who are you to decline such an enticing proposition, despite your distaste for the man's company? This employment, with all its hardships, can vanish if you are simply granted the funds. Thus, you hastily consume the remainder of your beverage without deliberation.
You’re too focused on the bet at hand to notice the unusual saltiness.
With a wide grin, he applauds enthusiastically, his cheers echoing through the stillness. However, his clapping abruptly ceases, leaving behind an unexpected emptiness. In its place, a throbbing headache emerges, surpassing the intensity of any typical morning-after discomfort.
The fall into a state of unconsciousness is far from effortless; it feels more like a sudden, jarring blow to the face, sharp and agonizing.
“I’ll keep my word, that is a gambler's responsibility after all."
#author aya#yandere#yandere x reader#yandere honkai star rail x reader#yandere honkai star rail#yandere hsr x reader#hsr x reader#honkai star rail x reader#yandere hsr#yandere aventurine#yandere aventurine x reader#aventurine x reader
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Riding oscar and he's all blushy and whimpering beneath you 😳😳
After winning the Qatar sprint race, Oscar Piastri was on top of the world. After suffering with a shitty car for the entire year, he finally got a chance to prove himself and surpass even his own expectations for his rookie year.
However, after his win, he felt like everything was going downhill. After a DNF in Austin and placing P14 in Mexico, he couldn't shake the feeling that maybe Qatar was just luck. Maybe he wasn't as good as everyone thought he was.
The triple header was exauhsting, as was every race, but Oscar felt specifically exauhsted after the end of the seemingly never-ending 3 weeks. The only motivation through the end of the draining races was to complete Andrea's goal of having Oscar single-handedly surpass Alpine in race points. But after his finish outside of the points, once again in Brazil, it seemed nearly impossible.
After all his media duties and all the tedious tasks he had to complete were done, he boarded a flight as soon as he possibly could. The entire flight, he restlessly stared out the window, his heart aching and his mind racing. He was always an overthinker; he'd get stuck in an overwhelming flurry of thoughts until he fell into a hole of self-loathing.
As the plane ascended to the ground, he felt the pit in his stomach grow heavy. He longed to feel the presence of his lovely girlfriend, but he couldn't shake the overshadowing feeling of disappointment he felt. He felt as if he let everyone down and, most importantly, let you down.
He drove home with shakey hands and a stubborn lump in his throat. Usually when he'd drive, even if you weren't there with him, he'd have your music blaring in his echoey car to make it feel as if you were sitting alongside him, singing with the girly pop and flashing him happy smiles as he drove. However, tonight, he let himself drown in the silence of the car, fighting back tears that threatened to hinder his vision of the road.
As he approached your shared house, he begrudgingly opened the door, trembling fingers gripping the door handle. Whenever he got home, he'd always be praying you were awake so he could spend some time with you, but tonight he was wishing on every star in the sky that you were asleep so he didn't have to face you in this state.
However, his prayers were not answered as you ran to him, encapsulating him with a tight hug before he could even get the door closed. He sighed for a moment before composing himself and returning the affection, wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling you flush to his toned chest.
You hummed softly when he pressed a sweet kiss to the top of your head, but as you pulled away for a moment and caught sight of his face, you knew something was wrong. You cupped his pale cheeks in your hands, looking into his watery eyes, before whispering, "What's wrong, baby?"
In his exhausted state, Oscar couldn't find the strength to even attempt to lie to you. He knew you could see right through him, and it would be useless anyway, so with a sigh, he poured his heart out. He rambled all his woes about how he feels like a disappointment. He expressed how he felt he wasn't good enough. He let his tears pour while he mumbled and weeped, letting his insecurities air out and letting the weight on his heart lighten, if even just a little.
Your heart broke listening to his words. Watching your usually nonchalant boyfriend crumble in front of you made your gut wrench and your lungs feel as if they were closing. It hurt so bad seeing him like this. You brought him over to the couch and sat on his lap, and you began pressing sweet kisses to his cheeks. You covered his weepy eyes and wet cheeks with pretty lipgloss stains as you mumbled little praises to him.
You held him close and ran your fingers through his hair as you told him how incredible you thought he was. "Of course you're not a disappointment, baby. You're one of the greatest rookies ever. You already got your first win. You're a future world champion. You're my favorite driver. I love you." You punctuated each little compliment with a heartfelt kiss as you watched Oscar slowly regain his composure and saw the tears stop rolling down his cheeks.
Once you gave him a small smile, though, his cheeks began to flush for a far different reason. With all this love and attention you had been showering him with, Oscar found himself growing hard in his trousers. You hadn't thought your innocent cheering up would turn him on, but you certainly weren't complaining.
You hadn't expected this tonight, but in his vulnerable state, you couldn't help but want to give Oscar every little thing he wanted. You'd go to the ends of the earth to make him happy again if that's what it called for. And to be fully honest, his hazy eyes and glossy lips made him look even more beautiful than he already was, and you couldn't help yourself from him if you tried.
So slowly, you began to take off the gray sweats he wore for comfort on the plane ride home and freed his cock from his boxers. It was aching and leaky and so desperately begged for the same attention you'd been giving Oscar just before, so you instantly pressed a wet kiss to his pretty pink tip before taking it in your hands and stroking him softly.
He was sobby and helpless under you, allowing soft moans and whimpers to slip out of his lips. Sex with Oscar was always amazing; it was always hard and rough, with Oscar very clearly in control. He'd let his apathetic personality shatter away from him, letting himself spout filth at you as he pounded into your cunt until you were seeing stars.
But this was different. It was slow and passionate, and with every stroke of his cock and every sweet sound he made, there was a silent confession of love. This wasn't just sex; this was a promise that you were proud of Oscar no matter what and that he never had to come home and worry about you being disappointed.
Oscar let his head loll back, eyes fluttering closed as his needy sounds grew as they echoed through your living room. You wanted nothing more than to see Oscar come undone under you, but as much as it pained you, you couldn't give him that just yet. So you pulled your hands away, forcing his body to jolt back to attention.
You calmed his frantic whimpers with small shushing noises before getting up for a moment to pull off your sleep shorts and underwear, throwing the soaked material somewhere in the living room, and climbing back on top of your needy boyfriend.
You took his cock in your hands once more, a plethora of moans slipping through your lips as you brushed it over your aching clit. In a swift movement, you aligned him with your hole and sank down onto his cock, causing a harmony of yours and his moans to reverberate throughout the living room.
You kissed him softly, leaving a small shimmer of your gloss on his lips before you began bouncing on his cock, the angle hitting just right inside of you. You hid your head in the crook of his neck, sucking onto it, nothing that would leave a mark, more of just a reminder of 'it's ok, I'm here.'
Your insides twisted at how vocal your boyfriend was being. His desperate moans and whimpers flooded your ears as you continued fucking yourself on his sensitive cock. You pulled yourself away from his neck, and the image you were met with would stay with you for the rest of your life.
Oscar's eyes were glassy and watery, nearly threatening to spill over with tears of pure pleasure. His mouth was frozen open in a small 'o' shape, forcing the needy sounds out of it. His arms were flexed, gripping onto you with such pressure that it was sure to leave a mark, but you couldn't bring yourself to care.
You felt his cock twitch inside of you, a wordless signal that he was close. You reached down between your bodies to your sensitive clit and rubbed small figure eights onto it, the slight push you needed to fall over the edge. You clenched tightly around Oscar's cock as you came, letting your head rest on his shoulder as your body twitched and jolted in pleasure, your legs giving out and forcing Oscar to help your movements on his cock.
Your drawn out orgasm forced Oscar off the edge, a near pornographic moan coming from him as he emptied his heavy balls inside of you, cumming hot white ropes until it was leaking back onto his legs.
He held you close to him, pulling you off his softening cock and returning your attack of kisses from earlier. You giggled softly at the turn this night took before whispering lovingly into his ear, "You're perfect, Oscar; don't let anything or anyone ever make you think differently."
He sighed contently, letting his eyes flutter shut with you in his arms, wondering how he ever had a doubt in his mind that you couldn't make him feel better, even on his worst nights.
A/N: I began this like a week ago but Tumblr deleted my draft and i lost all my motivation 😭. Its finally out though and I hope you all enjoy!! <3
#f1 smut#formula 1 smut#eden writes#f1 fanfiction#f1 imagine#oscar piastri smut#oscar piastri x reader#oscar piastri x you#oscar piastri fanfic#oscar piastri imagine#Oscar Piastri x female reader#f1 x reader
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Dc x Dp Prompt #3
Immortal Ghost King Au:
Daniel Fenton was crowned as High King Phantom of the Infinite Realms on his 16th birthday. He knew many were opposed to him being crowned at such a young age (he was too), but the Realms had gone too long without a ruler and it was getting restless.
The Realms were sentient to some extent. It can not run itself as it has no form but it chooses a host, a King if you will, to fulfill its wishes. It may have lived on an entire millennia without a ruler, but it was only out of sheer luck and the contributions of countless gods that it had survived. The Infinite Realms needed a King and Danny Phantom was the only contender.
So the people were ignored and their boy king was crowned. However Phantom was young and naive, a child as both a human and a ghost. Even worse, he knew nothing about being a king. But the little godling would learn and learn he did.
Most kings were taught before they were coronated, but Danny had no such privilege. His coronation came and left with the wind. His private lessons overshadowed any thoughts he had left of mortal schooling. And Danny gave up on living a normal human life.
That last part was perhaps the easiest for Danny. Amity Park was already considered too liminal for them to have any “sentience”. The GIW had all but declared war on the Realms with their continuous violent actions upon his people and the land itself.
It wasn’t difficult for Amity to give up their “rights” and “humanity” either. They said good riddance to the world that never helped them, to the heroes that ignored their cries for help. And they bowed to Phantom, declaring him their King, just as he declared them citizens of the Infinite Realms.
He welcomed his liminals with open arms, vowing to protect them from any harm that would come their way, just as he would with any of his other citizens. He gave them a home in the Realms, an island- no a haunt of their own should they wish to truly reject the land of the living, and they accepted. Not many wanted to try their luck against the human government.
But with a God, no, their King on their side, they knew their safety and happiness was all but assured. After all, it was Phantom who protected them even as they turned their own backs at him. It was Phantom who fought against foes that could have erased him from existence.
And of course it was Phantom who would now receive any and all support he could ever want and need should he declare war against the humans of Earth. No, there was no need for people of the Infinite Realms to worry. High King Phantom was a God after all. It was only ever his right to exact divine punishment onto those who opposed and threatened his will. It was not their fault if the humans actively went against his will. No, the humans had no one but themselves to blame for whatever came for them.
#dc x dp#dp x dc#dc x dp prompt#dp x dc prompt#the infinite realms is home to more than just ghosts#like demons and other things too#it uses the king as its host to ensure its people’s survival and in turn makes the king a god#pariah dark went against the realms will#so he was sealed away and not killed because you can not kill an already dead god#the people of the realms were skeptical of having such a young king#but Danny’s a quick learner and turned out to be really good#amity park vs GIW wouldn’t be the first war he’s led#Danny gave himself a god complex bc people respect him more that way#it’s a mask he only uses outside of the realms#he’s acts normally when he’s with citizens of the realms#can a god even have a god complex??#amity park moved to the infinite realms after the GIW tried killing them all#JL and JLD are struggling trying to find a way to negotiate a peace agreement#but amity park feels abandoned and spiteful so they refuse#lucky for the JL that it’s Phantom who’s in charge#or maybe that’s the reason they’re not so lucky#amity found out Danny was a god and ran with it#this might be a good way to like make this into an arranged marriage au with a person of your choice#make Danny as old or as young as you want#Danny will do what he needs to make sure his people are safe and happy
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𝒟𝒶𝓉𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝒯𝒽𝑒𝓂
Characters: Blade, Dan Heng, Robin, Jingliu
Warnings: Pre-plotline Jingliu (back in the quintet, spoilers for various quests, penacony spoilers (Robin), Pre-plotline & during plotline Robin, Small spoilers for Luofu questline(?) (Jingliu)
Part 2 Here: (w/Aventurine, Acheron & Boothill)
Fic: Fluff, Headcannons if you date them, Honkai Star Rail
- Main love languages is gift giving & acts of service
- Whenever he’s on a mission and sees something that reminds him of you he immediately buys it
- As for acts of service well he’ll help you out all the time, cooking, cleaning, opening the door for you etc.
- A quieter person also, but blade enjoys just sitting there and listening to you ramble on about life
- Most times you do a bunch of things and then blade follows you around like a little lost puppy… Its adorable
- Cuddles are not uncommon but not common either-it really depends on blades current mood for if he decides to cuddle with you (or if you ask him 100 times)
- Blade gets both Jealous & Possessive quite easily
- All it takes is one look from a man, not even suggestively, even if it’s looking at you for 0.5 of a second, blade is already on their throats
- It did depend on who you prefer to date, if you only like males he’s a little less jealous around women, although if you like both he’d ready to murder everyone in the world
- Blade doesn’t show much emotion, often you can’t figure out what he’s thinking
- His favourite date spots include picnic dates or small cafe dates
- Remember he’s a wanted criminal so he can’t go anywhere too public, that said he dislikes PDA a lof
- Blade would rather keep any affections between the two of you only, not even for the other stellaron hunters to see
- Some gifts Blade gives you include souvenirs from different worlds he goes to, a sword to protect yourself (if you need it) and some cute stuffed animals he saw that reminded him of you
- Hes the quiet type in the relationship most of the time
- Likes affection in private, but in public he loves kisses (on the cheek, or small kisses on his lips), hugs or even holding hands
- Cuddles are his favourite, he doesn’t care too much in who hugs who
- Especially loves physical touch & giving you gifts
- Its adorable seeing your face light up when he gives you something
- You both have a shared room in the express so most of the time you both just cuddle while you sleep
- Loves forehead kisses, especially when you give them-it makes him blush every single time
- During the trailblaze mission of the Luofu he tried avoiding you in his Imbibitor Lunae form (but he knows he can’t hide forever and you guys have to fight together so you end up seeing it)
- His tail gives away his emotions away whenever hes in that form (its adorable)
- Oh and March is your #1 shipper
- Shes gotten a lot of pictures of the two of you when you guys weren’t looking
- Robin is similar to the other two, fairly quiet in the relationship
- As a popular singer you attend all of her concerts and help give her some luck
- As well as calm her nerves when needed
- Loves cuddling! Its her favorite pastime (small spoon)
- Physical touch means a lot to her, cuddling, handholding, hugging, anything
- In public Robin loves holding your hand, keeping you close to her
- In private, she enjoys cuddling you, hugs again, but she adores when you touch her wings (watch her get all flustered from that)
- Also enjoys giving you gifts
- Many of her fans adore you, some are very jealous though…
- Speaking of jealousy she doesn’t get too jealous-if you spend too long ignoring her though she’ll start sulking just a little bitbit
- Her fans are definitely jealous at you both, they wish they were in your place all of the time
- You’ve met Sunday plenty of times, the first time you both met he threatened you if anything happens to her
- But he understands how much his sister loves you and ends up accepting you
- When Robin “dies” in the Penacony dreamscape you and Sunday teamup to find the murderer as the ultimate duo
- Of course he makes you do most of the labor
- In the end, you end up like Sunday when you both confront Gallagher
- Jingliu adores her partner
- Naturally, the other 4 members of the quintet love you aswell-you often hangout with eachother
- Jing Yuan tells you stories about Jingliu on missions, Yinqing is quiet yet you both chat about smaller things like food or tea, Dan Feng is most likely the busiest out of the 4
- Around the Quintet Jingliu doesn’t mind if you hug her, hold her waist, hold hands or even kiss
- Most likely she’ll have her arm around your waist to keep you close
- Other than the quintet, she generally doesn’t do any actions of PDA except hand holding (+ an occasional kiss)
- She actually isn’t a jealous person, even if she is (which never happens), shes great at hiding how she truly feels
- With her, you’ll wake up to her arms around you, forcing you to sleep and stay with her longer
- One adorable thing she does is she always kisses you on the forehead before leaving for a mission
- As she returns from a mission, she is often tired and loves to cuddle you
- In those moments shes a small spoon-but usually Jingliu perfers being the big spoon
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#honkai star rail x reader#honkai star rail#blade x reader#blade x y/n#blade x you#blade x gender neutral reader#hsr blade#blade fluff#dan heng#dan heng x reader#dan heng x you#dan heng x y/n#robin x reader#hsr robin x reader#robin x reader hsr#robin x you#robin x y/n#jingliu x you#jingliu x reader#jingliu x y/n#hsr x reader#hsr x you#honkai star rail x you
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